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Updated: June 6, 2025
That very night a telegram was sent from the station of Long's Peak by Joseph T. Maston and Belfast to the gentlemen of the Cambridge Observatory, announcing that on the 11th of December at 8h. 47m. P.M., the projectile launched by the Columbiad of Stones Hill had been detected by Messrs.
"Laugh at an American!" cried J.T. Maston; "but that's a casus belli!" "Be comforted, my worthy friend; before Frenchmen laughed they were completely taken in by our countryman.
"I should like to see the first spadeful turned up," said the president. "And I the last!" exclaimed J.T. Maston. "We shall manage it, gentlemen," answered the engineer; "and, believe me, the Goldspring Company will not have to pay you any forfeit for delay."
"This fete of the casting will be a grand ceremony," said J. T. Maston to his friend Barbicane. "Undoubtedly," said Barbicane; "but it will not be a public fete" "What! will you not open the gates of the enclosure to all comers?" "I must be very careful, Maston. The casting of the Columbiad is an extremely delicate, not to say a dangerous operation, and I should prefer its being done privately.
"A man like Barbicane would not lay traps or condescend to any manoeuvre! He is too frank, too courageous. He has gone straight into danger, and doubtless far enough from the bushman for the wind to carry off the noise of the shot!" "But we should have heard it!" answered Michel Ardan. "But what if we came too late?" exclaimed J.T. Maston in an accent of despair.
Under the perfumed shade of these magnificent trees sang and fluttered a world of brilliantly-coloured birds, amongst which the crab-eater deserved a jewel casket, worthy of its feathered gems, for a nest. J.T. Maston and the major could not pass through such opulent nature without admiring its splendid beauty.
Shall it be a cannon, howitzer, or a mortar?" "A cannon," replied Morgan. "A howitzer," said the major. "A mortar," exclaimed J.T. Maston. A fresh discussion was pending, each taking the part of his favourite weapon, when the president stopped it short. "My friends," said he, "I will soon make you agree. Our Columbiad will be a mixture of all three.
"But if you arrive smashed to pieces," replied J.T. Maston, "you will be as incomplete as I." "Certainly," answered Michel Ardan, "but we shall not arrive in pieces." In fact, a preparatory experiment, tried on the 18th of October, had been attended with the best results, and given rise to the most legitimate hopes.
Barbicane must have passed the border half an hour ago. There was an old bushman working there, occupied in selling fagots from trees that had been leveled by his axe. Maston ran toward him, saying, "Have you seen a man go into the wood, armed with a rifle? Barbicane, the president, my best friend?" The worthy secretary of the Gun Club thought that his president must be known by all the world.
"And what if we came too late?" cried Maston in tones of despair. For once Ardan had no reply to make, he and Maston resuming their walk in silence. From time to time, indeed, they raised great shouts, calling alternately Barbicane and Nicholl, neither of whom, however, answered their cries.
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