President Barbicane’s Announcement

On the 5th of October, at eight p.m., a dense crowd pressed toward the saloons of the Gun Club at No. 21 Union Square. All the members of the association resident in Baltimore attended the invitation of their president. As regards the corresponding members, notices were delivered by hundreds throughout the streets of the city, and, large as was the great hall, it was quite inadequate to accommodate the crowd of savants. They overflowed into the adjoining rooms, down the narrow passages, into the outer courtyards. There they ran against the vulgar herd who pressed up to the doors, each struggling to reach the front ranks, all eager to learn the nature of the important communication of President Barbicane; all pushing, squeezing, crushing with that perfect freedom of action which is so peculiar to the masses when educated in ideas of “self-government.”

On October 5, at eight p.m., a dense crowd pressed toward the Gun Club rooms at No. 21 Union Square. All the association’s members who lived in Baltimore came at their president’s invitation. Hundreds of notices had also been delivered throughout the city to corresponding members. The great hall was large, but it could not hold the crowd of scholars. They overflowed into the adjoining rooms, down the narrow passages, and into the outer courtyards. There they ran into the common herd pressing toward the doors. Everyone struggled to reach the front, eager to learn what important news President Barbicane had to share. They all pushed, squeezed, and crushed one another with that complete freedom of action so peculiar to masses raised on ideas of “self-government.”

On that evening a stranger who might have chanced to be in Baltimore could not have gained admission for love or money into the great hall. That was reserved exclusively for resident or corresponding members; no one else could possibly have obtained a place; and the city magnates, municipal councilors, and “select men” were compelled to mingle with the mere townspeople in order to catch stray bits of news from the interior.

That evening, any stranger who happened to be in Baltimore could not have entered the great hall at any price. It was reserved exclusively for resident or corresponding members. No one else could possibly get a place. The city’s leading figures, municipal councilors, and “select men” had to mingle with ordinary townspeople to catch scraps of news from inside.

Nevertheless the vast hall presented a curious spectacle. Its immense area was singularly adapted to the purpose. Lofty pillars formed of cannon, superposed upon huge mortars as a base, supported the fine ironwork of the arches, a perfect piece of cast-iron lacework. Trophies of blunderbuses, matchlocks, arquebuses, carbines, all kinds of firearms, ancient and modern, were picturesquely interlaced against the walls. The gas lit up in full glare myriads of revolvers grouped in the form of lustres, while groups of pistols, and candelabra formed of muskets bound together, completed this magnificent display of brilliance. Models of cannon, bronze castings, sights covered with dents, plates battered by the shots of the Gun Club, assortments of rammers and sponges, chaplets of shells, wreaths of projectiles, garlands of howitzers—in short, all the apparatus of the artillerist, enchanted the eye by this wonderful arrangement and induced a kind of belief that their real purpose was ornamental rather than deadly.

Nevertheless, the vast hall was a curious sight. Its enormous space was especially well suited to the purpose. Tall pillars made of cannons rested on huge mortars and supported the elegant iron arches. The cast iron was as delicate as lace. Trophies of blunderbuses, matchlocks, arquebuses, carbines, and all kinds of firearms, old and new, were arranged in picturesque patterns on the walls. Gas lamps brightly lit countless revolvers grouped like chandeliers. Groups of pistols and candelabra made of muskets bound together completed the magnificent, glittering display. There were cannon models, bronze castings, dented sights, and plates battered by shots from the Gun Club. There were also assortments of rammers and sponges, strings of shells, wreaths of projectiles, and garlands of howitzers. In short, all the artillery equipment was arranged so wonderfully that it delighted the eye. It almost made one believe the weapons were meant to be decorative rather than deadly.

At the further end of the saloon the president, assisted by four secretaries, occupied a large platform. His chair, supported by a carved gun-carriage, was modeled upon the ponderous proportions of a 32-inch mortar. It was pointed at an angle of ninety degrees, and suspended upon truncheons, so that the president could balance himself upon it as upon a rocking-chair, a very agreeable fact in the very hot weather. Upon the table (a huge iron plate supported upon six carronades) stood an inkstand of exquisite elegance, made of a beautifully chased Spanish piece, and a sonnette, which, when required, could give forth a report equal to that of a revolver. During violent debates this novel kind of bell scarcely sufficed to drown the clamor of these excitable artillerists.

At the far end of the saloon, the president sat on a large platform, assisted by four secretaries. His chair rested on a carved gun carriage and was modeled on the massive shape of a 32-inch mortar. It pointed straight up at a ninety-degree angle and was mounted on trunnions. These allowed the president to rock in it like a rocking chair, a great comfort in very hot weather. The table was a huge iron plate supported by six carronades. On it stood an exquisitely elegant inkstand made from a beautifully engraved Spanish gun. There was also a bell that, when needed, could make a report as loud as a revolver. During heated debates, this novel bell was scarcely enough to drown out the clamor of these excitable artillerists.

In front of the table benches arranged in zigzag form, like the circumvallations of a retrenchment, formed a succession of bastions and curtains set apart for the use of the members of the club; and on this especial evening one might say, “All the world was on the ramparts.” The president was sufficiently well known, however, for all to be assured that he would not put his colleagues to discomfort without some very strong motive.

In front of the table, benches were arranged in a zigzag like the outer defenses of a fortification. They formed a series of bastions and connecting walls reserved for club members. On this particular evening, one might say, “All the world was on the ramparts.” The president was well enough known, however, that everyone was sure he had a very strong reason for inconveniencing his colleagues.

Impey Barbicane was a man of forty years of age, calm, cold, austere; of a singularly serious and self-contained demeanor, punctual as a chronometer, of imperturbable temper and immovable character; by no means chivalrous, yet adventurous withal, and always bringing practical ideas to bear upon the very rashest enterprises; an essentially New Englander, a Northern colonist, a descendant of the old anti-Stuart Roundheads, and the implacable enemy of the gentlemen of the South, those ancient cavaliers of the mother country. In a word, he was a Yankee to the backbone.

Impey Barbicane was forty years old, calm, cold, and austere. He was unusually serious and self-contained, as punctual as a clock, and impossible to upset or sway. He was not at all chivalrous, yet he was adventurous. He always brought practical ideas to even the riskiest undertakings. He was a New Englander through and through, a Northern colonist descended from the old Roundheads who opposed the Stuarts. He was also an unrelenting enemy of the gentlemen of the South, descendants of the old cavaliers of the mother country. In short, he was a Yankee to the backbone.

Barbicane had made a large fortune as a timber merchant. Being nominated director of artillery during the war, he proved himself fertile in invention. Bold in his conceptions, he contributed powerfully to the progress of that arm and gave an immense impetus to experimental researches.

Barbicane had made a large fortune as a timber merchant. When he was appointed director of artillery during the war, he proved highly inventive. His bold ideas greatly advanced artillery and gave experimental research an enormous boost.

He was personage of the middle height, having, by a rare exception in the Gun Club, all his limbs complete. His strongly marked features seemed drawn by square and rule; and if it be true that, in order to judge a man’s character one must look at his profile, Barbicane, so examined, exhibited the most certain indications of energy, audacity, and sang-froid.

He was of medium height and, unusually for a member of the Gun Club, had all his limbs intact. His sharply defined features seemed drawn with a ruler and square. If a man’s character can be judged by his profile, Barbicane’s showed clear signs of energy, boldness, and composure.

At this moment he was sitting in his armchair, silent, absorbed, lost in reflection, sheltered under his high-crowned hat—a kind of black cylinder which always seems firmly screwed upon the head of an American.

At that moment, he sat silently in his armchair, deep in thought, sheltered beneath his tall hat. It was a kind of black cylinder that always seems firmly screwed onto an American's head.

Just when the deep-toned clock in the great hall struck eight, Barbicane, as if he had been set in motion by a spring, raised himself up. A profound silence ensued, and the speaker, in a somewhat emphatic tone of voice, commenced as follows:

Just as the deep-toned clock in the great hall struck eight, Barbicane stood up as if a spring had set him in motion. A deep silence followed. Then he began speaking in a somewhat emphatic tone:

“My brave, colleagues, too long already a paralyzing peace has plunged the members of the Gun Club in deplorable inactivity. After a period of years full of incidents we have been compelled to abandon our labors, and to stop short on the road of progress. I do not hesitate to state, baldly, that any war which would recall us to arms would be welcome!” (Tremendous applause!) “But war, gentlemen, is impossible under existing circumstances; and, however we may desire it, many years may elapse before our cannon shall again thunder in the field of battle. We must make up our minds, then, to seek in another train of ideas some field for the activity which we all pine for.”

“My brave colleagues, peace has gone on too long, leaving the members of the Gun Club paralyzed and sadly inactive. After years full of action, we have been forced to abandon our work and halt our progress. I do not hesitate to say plainly that any war that called us back to arms would be welcome!” (Tremendous applause!) “But war, gentlemen, is impossible under the present circumstances. However much we may wish for war, many years may pass before our cannons thunder on the battlefield again. So we must look elsewhere for a field of activity to satisfy us all.”

The meeting felt that the president was now approaching the critical point, and redoubled their attention accordingly.

The people at the meeting sensed that the president was approaching the critical point and paid even closer attention.

“For some months past, my brave colleagues,” continued Barbicane, “I have been asking myself whether, while confining ourselves to our own particular objects, we could not enter upon some grand experiment worthy of the nineteenth century; and whether the progress of artillery science would not enable us to carry it out to a successful issue. I have been considering, working, calculating; and the result of my studies is the conviction that we are safe to succeed in an enterprise which to any other country would appear wholly impracticable. This project, the result of long elaboration, is the object of my present communication. It is worthy of yourselves, worthy of the antecedents of the Gun Club; and it cannot fail to make some noise in the world.”

“For the past few months, my brave colleagues,” Barbicane continued, “I have been asking myself a question. Could we undertake a grand experiment worthy of the nineteenth century while staying within our own field? And would advances in artillery science enable us to bring it to a successful conclusion? I have thought, worked, and calculated. My studies have convinced me that we are sure to succeed in an undertaking any other country would consider completely impractical. This project, which I have developed over a long time, is what I am here to tell you about. It is worthy of you and of the Gun Club’s history. And it is sure to make a stir in the world.”

A thrill of excitement ran through the meeting.

A wave of excitement swept through the meeting.

Barbicane, having by a rapid movement firmly fixed his hat upon his head, calmly continued his harangue:

Barbicane quickly fixed his hat firmly on his head, then calmly continued his speech:

“There is no one among you, my brave colleagues, who has not seen the Moon, or, at least, heard speak of it. Don’t be surprised if I am about to discourse to you regarding the Queen of the Night. It is perhaps reserved for us to become the Columbuses of this unknown world. Only enter into my plans, and second me with all your power, and I will lead you to its conquest, and its name shall be added to those of the thirty-six states which compose this Great Union.”

“There is no one among you, my brave colleagues, who has not seen the Moon, or at least heard of it. Don’t be surprised that I am about to speak to you about the Queen of the Night. Perhaps we are destined to become the Columbuses of this unknown world. If you embrace my plans and support me with all your power, I will lead you in conquering the Moon. Its name will be added to those of the thirty-six states that make up this Great Union.”

“Three cheers for the Moon!” roared the Gun Club, with one voice.

“Three cheers for the Moon!” the Gun Club roared together.

“The moon, gentlemen, has been carefully studied,” continued Barbicane; “her mass, density, and weight; her constitution, motions, distance, as well as her place in the solar system, have all been exactly determined. Selenographic charts have been constructed with a perfection which equals, if it does not even surpass, that of our terrestrial maps. Photography has given us proofs of the incomparable beauty of our satellite; all is known regarding the moon which mathematical science, astronomy, geology, and optics can learn about her. But up to the present moment no direct communication has been established with her.”

“The moon, gentlemen, has been carefully studied,” Barbicane continued. “Its mass, density, weight, composition, movements, distance, and place in the solar system have all been determined exactly. Maps of the moon have been made as accurately as maps of Earth, if not more so. Photographs have shown us the incomparable beauty of our satellite. We know everything about the moon that mathematics, astronomy, geology, and optics can teach us. But so far, no direct communication has been established with it.”

A violent movement of interest and surprise here greeted this remark of the speaker.

The speaker's remark caused a great stir of interest and surprise.

“Permit me,” he continued, “to recount to you briefly how certain ardent spirits, starting on imaginary journeys, have penetrated the secrets of our satellite. In the seventeenth century a certain David Fabricius boasted of having seen with his own eyes the inhabitants of the moon. In 1649 a Frenchman, one Jean Baudoin, published a ‘Journey performed from the Earth to the Moon by Domingo Gonzalez,’ a Spanish adventurer. At the same period Cyrano de Bergerac published that celebrated ‘Journeys in the Moon’ which met with such success in France. Somewhat later another Frenchman, named Fontenelle, wrote ‘The Plurality of Worlds,’ a chef-d’œuvre of its time. About 1835 a small treatise, translated from the New York American, related how Sir John Herschel, having been despatched to the Cape of Good Hope for the purpose of making there some astronomical calculations, had, by means of a telescope brought to perfection by means of internal lighting, reduced the apparent distance of the moon to eighty yards! He then distinctly perceived caverns frequented by hippopotami, green mountains bordered by golden lace-work, sheep with horns of ivory, a white species of deer and inhabitants with membranous wings, like bats. This brochure, the work of an American named Locke, had a great sale. But, to bring this rapid sketch to a close, I will only add that a certain Hans Pfaal, of Rotterdam, launching himself in a balloon filled with a gas extracted from nitrogen, thirty-seven times lighter than hydrogen, reached the moon after a passage of nineteen hours. This journey, like all previous ones, was purely imaginary; still, it was the work of a popular American author—I mean Edgar Poe!”

“Let me briefly tell you,” he continued, “how certain eager minds explored the secrets of our satellite through imaginary journeys. In the seventeenth century, a man named David Fabricius claimed he had seen the inhabitants of the moon with his own eyes. In 1649, a Frenchman named Jean Baudoin published ‘A Journey from the Earth to the Moon by Domingo Gonzalez,’ a Spanish adventurer. Around the same time, Cyrano de Bergerac published the celebrated ‘Journeys in the Moon,’ which was a great success in France. Somewhat later, another Frenchman, Fontenelle, wrote ‘The Plurality of Worlds,’ a masterpiece of its time. “Around 1835, a short account translated from the New York American told a remarkable story about Sir John Herschel. He had been sent to the Cape of Good Hope to make astronomical calculations. There, using a telescope perfected with internal lighting, he had made the moon appear to be only eighty yards away! He could then clearly see caves frequented by hippopotami and green mountains bordered by golden lacework. He also saw sheep with ivory horns, a white species of deer, and inhabitants with membranous wings like bats. This pamphlet, written by an American named Locke, sold very well. “But to end this brief sketch, I will add just one more story. A man named Hans Pfaal, of Rotterdam, set off in a balloon filled with a gas extracted from nitrogen. The gas was thirty-seven times lighter than hydrogen, and he reached the moon after a journey of nineteen hours. Like all the previous journeys, this one was purely imaginary. Still, it was the work of a popular American author, Edgar Poe!”

“Cheers for Edgar Poe!” roared the assemblage, electrified by their president’s words.

“Cheers for Edgar Poe!” the crowd roared, thrilled by their president’s words.

“I have now enumerated,” said Barbicane, “the experiments which I call purely paper ones, and wholly insufficient to establish serious relations with the Queen of the Night. Nevertheless, I am bound to add that some practical geniuses have attempted to establish actual communication with her. Thus, a few days ago, a German geometrician proposed to send a scientific expedition to the steppes of Siberia. There, on those vast plains, they were to describe enormous geometric figures, drawn in characters of reflecting luminosity, among which was the proposition regarding the ‘square of the hypothenuse,’ commonly called the ‘Ass’s Bridge’ by the French. ‘Every intelligent being,’ said the geometrician, ‘must understand the scientific meaning of that figure. The Selenites, do they exist, will respond by a similar figure; and, a communication being thus once established, it will be easy to form an alphabet which shall enable us to converse with the inhabitants of the moon.’ So spoke the German geometrician; but his project was never put into practice, and up to the present day there is no bond in existence between the Earth and her satellite. It is reserved for the practical genius of Americans to establish a communication with the sidereal world. The means of arriving thither are simple, easy, certain, infallible—and that is the purpose of my present proposal.”

“I have now listed,” said Barbicane, “the experiments I call purely theoretical. They are entirely inadequate for establishing any serious connection with the Queen of the Night. Nevertheless, I must add that some practical geniuses have tried to establish actual communication with her. Just a few days ago, a German mathematician proposed sending a scientific expedition to the steppes of Siberia. On those vast plains, the expedition would draw enormous geometric figures using brightly reflective markings. Among them would be the proposition concerning the ‘square of the hypotenuse,’ commonly called the ‘Ass’s Bridge’ by the French. “‘Every intelligent being,’ said the mathematician, ‘must understand the scientific meaning of that figure. The Selenites, if they exist, will respond with a similar figure. Once communication has been established, it will be easy to create an alphabet. That will allow us to converse with the inhabitants of the moon.’ “So spoke the German mathematician, but his plan was never put into practice. To this day, there is no connection between the Earth and her satellite. It remains for the practical genius of Americans to establish communication with the world of the stars. The means of reaching it are simple, easy, certain, and infallible. That is the purpose of my present proposal.”

A storm of acclamations greeted these words. There was not a single person in the whole audience who was not overcome, carried away, lifted out of himself by the speaker’s words!

A storm of cheers greeted these words. Everyone in the audience was overcome, swept away, and lifted out of themselves by the speaker’s words!

Long-continued applause resounded from all sides.

Applause rang out from all sides for a long time.

As soon as the excitement had partially subsided, Barbicane resumed his speech in a somewhat graver voice.

As soon as the excitement had partly died down, Barbicane continued his speech in a somewhat more serious voice.

“You know,” said he, “what progress artillery science has made during the last few years, and what a degree of perfection firearms of every kind have reached. Moreover, you are well aware that, in general terms, the resisting power of cannon and the expansive force of gunpowder are practically unlimited. Well! starting from this principle, I ask myself whether, supposing sufficient apparatus could be obtained constructed upon the conditions of ascertained resistance, it might not be possible to project a shot up to the moon?”

“You know,” he said, “how much artillery science has advanced in recent years. Firearms of every kind have also reached a high degree of perfection. Moreover, you know that, generally speaking, the strength of cannons and the explosive force of gunpowder are practically unlimited. Well, starting from that principle, I ask myself a question. If we could build a suitable apparatus to withstand the known forces, might we be able to fire a projectile to the moon?”

At these words a murmur of amazement escaped from a thousand panting chests; then succeeded a moment of perfect silence, resembling that profound stillness which precedes the bursting of a thunderstorm. In point of fact, a thunderstorm did peal forth, but it was the thunder of applause, or cries, and of uproar which made the very hall tremble. The president attempted to speak, but could not. It was fully ten minutes before he could make himself heard.

At these words, a murmur of amazement rose from a thousand gasping people. Then came a moment of complete silence, like the deep stillness before a thunderstorm breaks. And a thunderstorm did break out. It was a storm of applause, cries, and uproar that shook the hall. The president tried to speak, but could not. A full ten minutes passed before he could make himself heard.

“Suffer me to finish,” he calmly continued. “I have looked at the question in all its bearings, I have resolutely attacked it, and by incontrovertible calculations I find that a projectile endowed with an initial velocity of 12,000 yards per second, and aimed at the moon, must necessarily reach it. I have the honor, my brave colleagues, to propose a trial of this little experiment.”

“Let me finish,” he continued calmly. “I have considered every aspect of the question and tackled it head-on. My calculations prove beyond doubt that a projectile aimed at the moon will reach it. It must leave at a speed of 12,000 yards per second. My brave colleagues, I have the honor of proposing that we try this little experiment.”