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"True," replied the president; "but we will overcome that, for the force of impulsion will depend on the length of the engine and the powder employed, the latter being limited only by the resisting power of the former. Our business, then, to-day is with the dimensions of the cannon." "Now, up to the present time," said Barbicane, "our longest guns have not exceeded twenty-five feet in length.
Barbicane had made a great fortune as a timber-merchant; named director of artillery during the war, he showed himself fertile in inventions; enterprising in his ideas, he contributed powerfully to the progress of ballistics, gave an immense impetus to experimental researches. He was a person of average height, having, by a rare exception in the Gun Club, all his limbs intact.
"Agreed," answered Nicholl; "but is not the moon habitable for beings differently organised to us?" "That question is more difficult to answer," replied Barbicane. "I will try to do it, however, but I ask Nicholl if movement seems to him the necessary result of existence, under no matter what organisation?" "Without the slightest doubt," answered Nicholl.
"Cursed be the thing that has caused our projectile to deviate from its course," cried Nicholl. And, as if a light had suddenly broken in upon his mind, Barbicane answered, "Then cursed be the meteor which crossed our path." "What?" said Michel Ardan. "What do you mean?" exclaimed Nicholl.
After this tirade of Michel Ardan's against savants and their billions, which he delivered without stopping to take breath, they set about burying Satellite. He was to be thrown into space like sailors throw a corpse into the sea. As President Barbicane had recommended, they had to act quickly so as to lose as little air as possible.
If ever individuals offered a striking contrast they were the Frenchman Michel Ardan and the Yankee Barbicane, both, however, enterprising, bold, and audacious, each in his own way. Barbicane's contemplation of his rival was quickly interrupted by the cheers of the crowd.
This singular fact, which had so curiously surprised Barbicane and his companions before, must again come about under identical circumstances. It was at that precise moment they must act. The conical summit of the bullet had already sensibly turned towards the lunar disc. The projectile was just right for utilising all the recoil produced by setting fire to the apparatus.
At what precise moment the projectile would reach the point of equal attraction, on which the travelers must play their last card. In order to calculate this to within a few seconds, Barbicane had only to refer to his notes, and to reckon the different heights taken on the lunar parallels.
These fusees were to burn in the void it is true, but oxygen would not fail them, for they would furnish that themselves like the lunar volcanoes, the deflagration of which has never been prevented by the want of atmosphere around the moon. Barbicane had therefore provided himself with fireworks shut up in little cannons of bored steel, which could be screwed on to the bottom of the projectile.
"Quite right," replied Nicholl. "On the contrary," continued Barbicane. "One moment," said Michel, interrupting his grave companion. "What do you want?" "I ask to be allowed to continue the explanation." "And why?" "To prove that I understand." "Get along with you," said Barbicane, smiling.
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