From the Earth to the moon; and, round the moonVerne, Jules
Science
From the Earth to the moon; and, round the moon
Verne, Jules
Manned space flight -- Fiction; Moon -- Fiction; Science fiction; Space flight to the moon -- Fiction; Space ships -- Fiction
“It really is too much!” cried Michel Ardan’s adversary. “I do not know
why I should continue so frivolous a discussion! Please yourself about
this insane expedition! We need not trouble ourselves about you!”
“Pray don’t stand upon ceremony!”
“No! another person is responsible for your act.”
“Who, may I ask?” demanded Michel Ardan in an imperious tone.
“The ignoramus who organized this equally absurd and impossible
experiment!”
The attack was direct. Barbicane, ever since the interference of the
unknown, had been making fearful efforts of self-control; now, however,
seeing himself directly attacked, he could restrain himself no longer.
He rose suddenly, and was rushing upon the enemy who thus braved him to
the face, when all at once he found himself separated from him.
The platform was lifted by a hundred strong arms, and the president of
the Gun Club shared with Michel Ardan triumphal honors. The shield was
heavy, but the bearers came in continuous relays, disputing,
struggling, even fighting among themselves in their eagerness to lend
their shoulders to this demonstration.
However, the unknown had not profited by the tumult to quit his post.
Besides he could not have done it in the midst of that compact crowd.
There he held on in the front row with crossed arms, glaring at
President Barbicane.
The shouts of the immense crowd continued at their highest pitch
throughout this triumphant march. Michel Ardan took it all with evident
pleasure. His face gleamed with delight. Several times the platform
seemed seized with pitching and rolling like a weatherbeaten ship. But
the two heros of the meeting had good sea-legs. They never stumbled;
and their vessel arrived without dues at the port of Tampa Town.
Michel Ardan managed fortunately to escape from the last embraces of
his vigorous admirers. He made for the Hotel Franklin, quickly gained
his chamber, and slid under the bedclothes, while an army of a hundred
thousand men kept watch under his windows.
During this time a scene, short, grave, and decisive, took place
between the mysterious personage and the president of the Gun Club.
Barbicane, free at last, had gone straight at his adversary.
“Come!” he said shortly.
The other followed him on the quay; and the two presently found
themselves alone at the entrance of an open wharf on Jones’ Fall.
The two enemies, still mutually unknown, gazed at each other.
“Who are you?” asked Barbicane.
“Captain Nicholl!”
“So I suspected. Hitherto chance has never thrown you in my way.”
“I am come for that purpose.”
“You have insulted me.”
“Publicly!”
“And you will answer to me for this insult?”
“At this very moment.”
“No! I desire that all that passes between us shall be secret. Their is
a wood situated three miles from Tampa, the wood of Skersnaw. Do you
know it?”
“I know it.”
“Will you be so good as to enter it to-morrow morning at five o’clock,
on one side?”
“Yes! if you will enter at the other side at the same hour.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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