spoken at the same time. It was a perfect Babel re-enacted.
All the various classes of American society were mingled
together in terms of absolute equality. Bankers, farmers,
sailors, cotton-planters, brokers, merchants, watermen,
magistrates, elbowed each other in the most free-and-easy way.
Louisiana Creoles fraternized with farmers from Indiana;
Kentucky and Tennessee gentlemen and haughty Virginians
conversed with trappers and the half-savages of the lakes and
butchers from Cincinnati. Broad-brimmed white hats and Panamas,
blue-cotton trousers, light-colored stockings, cambric frills,
were all here displayed; while upon shirt-fronts, wristbands,
and neckties, upon every finger, even upon the very ears, they
wore an assortment of rings, shirt-pins, brooches, and trinkets,
of which the value only equaled the execrable taste. Women, children,
and servants, in equally expensive dress, surrounded their husbands,
fathers, or masters, who resembled the patriarchs of tribes in the
midst of their immense households.
At meal-times all fell to work upon the dishes peculiar to the
Southern States, and consumed with an appetite that threatened
speedy exhaustion of the victualing powers of Florida,
fricasseed frogs, stuffed monkey, fish chowder, underdone
‘possum, and raccoon steaks. And as for the liquors which
accompanied this indigestible repast! The shouts, the
vociferations that resounded through the bars and taverns
decorated with glasses, tankards, and bottles of marvelous
shape, mortars for pounding sugar, and bundles of straws!
“Mint-julep” roars one of the barmen; “Claret sangaree!”
shouts another; “Cocktail!” “Brandy-smash!” “Real mint-julep
in the new style!” All these cries intermingled produced a
bewildering and deafening hubbub.
But on this day, 1st of December, such sounds were rare. No one
thought of eating or drinking, and at four P.M. there were vast
numbers of spectators who had not even taken their customary
lunch! And, a still more significant fact, even the national
passion for play seemed quelled for the time under the general
excitement of the hour.
Up till nightfall, a dull, noiseless agitation, such as
precedes great catastrophes, ran through the anxious multitude.
An indescribable uneasiness pervaded all minds, an indefinable
sensation which oppressed the heart. Every one wished it was over.
However, about seven o’clock, the heavy silence was dissipated.
The moon rose above the horizon. Millions of hurrahs hailed
her appearance. She was punctual to the rendezvous, and shouts
of welcome greeted her on all sides, as her pale beams shone
gracefully in the clear heavens. At this moment the three
intrepid travelers appeared. This was the signal for renewed
cries of still greater intensity. Instantly the vast
assemblage, as with one accord, struck up the national hymn of
the United States, and “Yankee Doodle,” sung by five million of
hearty throats, rose like a roaring tempest to the farthest
limits of the atmosphere. Then a profound silence reigned
throughout the crowd.
The Frenchman and the two Americans had by this time entered the
enclosure reserved in the center of the multitude. They were
accompanied by the members of the Gun Club, and by deputations
sent from all the European Observatories. Barbicane, cool and
collected, was giving his final directions. Nicholl, with
compressed lips, his arms crossed behind his back, walked with
a firm and measured step. Michel Ardan, always easy, dressed in
thorough traveler’s costume, leathern gaiters on his legs, pouch
by his side, in loose velvet suit, cigar in mouth, was full of
inexhaustible gayety, laughing, joking, playing pranks with J.
T. Maston. In one word, he was the thorough “Frenchman” (and
worse, a “Parisian”) to the last moment.
Ten o’clock struck! The moment had arrived for taking their
places in the projectile! The necessary operations for the
descent, and the subsequent removal of the cranes and
scaffolding that inclined over the mouth of the Columbiad,
required a certain period of time.
Barbicane had regulated his chronometer to the tenth part of a
second by that of Murchison the engineer, who was charged with
the duty of firing the gun by means of an electric spark.
Thus the travelers enclosed within the projectile were enabled
to follow with their eyes the impassive needle which marked the
precise moment of their departure.
The moment had arrived for saying “good-by!” The scene was a
touching one. Despite his feverish gayety, even Michel Ardan
was touched. J. T. Maston had found in his own dry eyes one