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Updated: May 9, 2025
Observe Eratosthenes as long as you have the opportunity." "Which will not be very long," said M'Nicholl. "He is already sinking out of view too far to the right to be carefully observed." "What are those peaks beyond him?" asked Ardan. "The Apennines," answered Barbican; "and those on the left are the Carpathians."
Barbican and M'Nicholl tried to kill time by revising their calculations and putting their notes in order; Ardan, by feverishly walking back and forth from window to window, and stopping for a second or two to throw a nervous glance at the cold, silent and impassive Moon. Now and then reminiscences of our lower world would flit across their brains.
In the entangled valleys of their clustered peaks, appeared the dazzling sheets of white, noted by Father Secchi, but their peculiar nature Barbican could now examine with a greater prospect of certainty than the illustrious Roman astronomer had ever enjoyed. "They're beds of snow," he said at last in a decided tone. "Snow!" exclaimed M'Nicholl.
Therefore, between the extreme cold of the aphelion and the excessive heat of the perihelion, by the great law of compensation, it is probable that the mean temperature would be tolerably endurable." "At how many degrees is the temperature of the interplanetary space estimated?" asked M'Nicholl.
Are we so shiftless that we can't do without them when we get to the Moon?" "I don't insist on them!" cried Ardan, who submitted to Barbican like a child. "Hang the Lunarians! Certainly, we can do without them! What do I care for them? Down with them!" "Yes, down with the Lunarians!" cried M'Nicholl as spitefully as if he had even the slightest belief in their existence.
That being the moment when its velocity will most probably be nil, it will also be the moment for us to discharge our rockets, and the possibility is that we may force a direct fall on the lunar disc." "Good!" cried Ardan, clapping hands. "Why didn't we execute this grand manoeuvre the first time we reached the neutral point?" asked M'Nicholl a little crustily.
M'Nicholl, seeing himself struck at, immediately assumed such a posture of defence as showed him to be no novice at the business. A battle seemed unavoidable; but even at this trying moment Barbican showed himself equal to the emergency.
Falling from the neutral point, the Projectile should strike the Earth with a velocity of more than 25,000 miles an hour! "We are lost!" said M'Nicholl gloomily, his philosophy yielding to despair. "One consolation, boys!" cried Ardan, genial to the last. "We shall die together!"
"That theory of yours holds no more water than mine, Ardan," observed M'Nicholl. "Correct, Captain," replied the Frenchman; "Barbican has a trick of knocking the bottom out of every weaker vessel. But let us hear what he has to say on the subject himself. What is your theory. Barbican?"
"But that's exactly what we want to do ourselves, friend Ardan," said Barbican, endeavoring to give an example of calmness to the impatient M'Nicholl; "the only trouble is that we have not the means to do it." "Can't we modify the Projectile's movement?" "No." "Nor diminish its velocity?" "No." "Not even by lightening it, as a heavily laden ship is lightened, by throwing cargo overboard?"
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