terrors of the Infinite, surged up inopportunely. To face it
without flinching, one must be a resolute savant like Barbicane,
a phlegmatic being like Nicholl, or an audacious adventurer like
Michel Ardan.
Conversation was started upon this subject. Other men would
have considered the question from a practical point of view;
they would have asked themselves whither their projectile
carriage was carrying them. Not so with these; they sought for
the cause which produced this effect.
“So we have become diverted from our route,” said Michel; “but why?”
“I very much fear,” answered Nicholl, “that, in spite of
all precautions taken, the Columbiad was not fairly pointed.
An error, however small, would be enough to throw us out of
the moon’s attraction.”
“Then they must have aimed badly?” asked Michel.
“I do not think so,” replied Barbicane. “The perpendicularity
of the gun was exact, its direction to the zenith of the spot
incontestible; and the moon passing to the zenith of the spot,
we ought to reach it at the full. There is another reason,
but it escapes me.”
“Are we not arriving too late?” asked Nicholl.
“Too late?” said Barbicane.
“Yes,” continued Nicholl. “The Cambridge Observatory’s note
says that the transit ought to be accomplished in ninety-seven
hours thirteen minutes and twenty seconds; which means to say,
that _sooner_ the moon will _not_ be at the point indicated, and
_later_ it will have passed it.”
“True,” replied Barbicane. “But we started the 1st of December,
at thirteen minutes and twenty-five seconds to eleven at night;
and we ought to arrive on the 5th at midnight, at the exact
moment when the moon would be full; and we are now at the
5th of December. It is now half-past three in the evening;
half-past eight ought to see us at the end of our journey.
Why do we not arrive?”
“Might it not be an excess of speed?” answered Nicholl; “for we
know now that its initial velocity was greater than they supposed.”
“No! a hundred times, no!” replied Barbicane. “An excess of
speed, if the direction of the projectile had been right, would
not have prevented us reaching the moon. No, there has been
a deviation. We have been turned out of our course.”
“By whom? by what?” asked Nicholl.
“I cannot say,” replied Barbicane.
“Very well, then, Barbicane,” said Michel, “do you wish to know
my opinion on the subject of finding out this deviation?”
“Speak.”
“I would not give half a dollar to know it. That we have
deviated is a fact. Where we are going matters little; we shall
soon see. Since we are being borne along in space we shall end
by falling into some center of attraction or other.”
Michel Ardan’s indifference did not content Barbicane. Not that
he was uneasy about the future, but he wanted to know at any
cost _why_ his projectile had deviated.
But the projectile continued its course sideways to the moon,
and with it the mass of things thrown out. Barbicane could even
prove, by the elevations which served as landmarks upon the
moon, which was only two thousand leagues distant, that its
speed was becoming uniform– fresh proof that there was no fall.
Its impulsive force still prevailed over the lunar attraction,
but the projectile’s course was certainly bringing it nearer to
the moon, and they might hope that at a nearer point the weight,
predominating, would cause a decided fall.
The three friends, having nothing better to do, continued their
observations; but they could not yet determine the topographical
position of the satellite; every relief was leveled under the
reflection of the solar rays.
They watched thus through the side windows until eight o’clock
at night. The moon had grown so large in their eyes that it
filled half of the firmament. The sun on one side, and the orb
of night on the other, flooded the projectile with light.
At that moment Barbicane thought he could estimate the distance
which separated them from their aim at no more than 700 leagues.
The speed of the projectile seemed to him to be more than 200
yards, or about 170 leagues a second. Under the centripetal
force, the base of the projectile tended toward the moon; but