Chapter 21

How a Frenchman Handles a Matter

10 min

While the contract of this duel was being discussed by the president and the captain—this dreadful, savage duel, in which each adversary became a man-hunter—Michel Ardan was resting from the fatigues of his triumph. Resting is hardly an appropriate expression, for American beds rival marble or granite tables for hardness.

While the president and the captain discussed the terms of the duel, Michel Ardan rested after the exhaustion of his triumph. It was a dreadful, savage duel, in which each opponent became a man-hunter. Resting is hardly the right word, though, since American beds are as hard as marble or granite tables.

Ardan was sleeping, then, badly enough, tossing about between the cloths which served him for sheets, and he was dreaming of making a more comfortable couch in his projectile when a frightful noise disturbed his dreams. Thundering blows shook his door. They seemed to be caused by some iron instrument. A great deal of loud talking was distinguishable in this racket, which was rather too early in the morning. “Open the door,” some one shrieked, “for heaven’s sake!” Ardan saw no reason for complying with a demand so roughly expressed. However, he got up and opened the door just as it was giving way before the blows of this determined visitor. The secretary of the Gun Club burst into the room. A bomb could not have made more noise or have entered the room with less ceremony.

Ardan was sleeping badly, tossing between the pieces of cloth that served as his sheets. He was dreaming of making a more comfortable bed in his projectile when a terrible noise disturbed his dreams. Thunderous blows shook his door. They seemed to come from an iron tool. He could also hear loud voices amid the racket, which came rather too early in the morning. “Open the door,” someone shrieked, “for heaven’s sake!” Ardan saw no reason to obey such a rudely expressed demand. However, he got up and opened the door just as it was giving way under the determined visitor’s blows. The secretary of the Gun Club burst into the room. A bomb could not have made more noise or entered with less ceremony.

“Last night,” cried J. T. Maston, ex abrupto, “our president was publicly insulted during the meeting. He provoked his adversary, who is none other than Captain Nicholl! They are fighting this morning in the wood of Skersnaw. I heard all the particulars from the mouth of Barbicane himself. If he is killed, then our scheme is at an end. We must prevent his duel; and one man alone has enough influence over Barbicane to stop him, and that man is Michel Ardan.”

“Last night,” cried J. T. Maston, suddenly, “our president was publicly insulted during the meeting. He challenged his opponent, who is none other than Captain Nicholl! They are fighting this morning in the woods of Skersnaw. I heard all the details from Barbicane himself. If he is killed, our plan is finished. We must stop the duel. Only one man has enough influence over Barbicane to stop him, and that man is Michel Ardan.”

While J. T. Maston was speaking, Michel Ardan, without interrupting him, had hastily put on his clothes; and, in less than two minutes, the two friends were making for the suburbs of Tampa Town with rapid strides.

While J. T. Maston was speaking, Michel Ardan quickly got dressed without interrupting him. Less than two minutes later, the two friends were walking quickly toward the outskirts of Tampa Town.

It was during this walk that Maston told Ardan the state of the case. He told him the real causes of the hostility between Barbicane and Nicholl; how it was of old date, and why, thanks to unknown friends, the president and the captain had, as yet, never met face to face. He added that it arose simply from a rivalry between iron plates and shot, and, finally, that the scene at the meeting was only the long-wished-for opportunity for Nicholl to pay off an old grudge.

During the walk, Maston explained the situation to Ardan. He told him the real reasons for the hostility between Barbicane and Nicholl. Their feud went back a long way. Thanks to unnamed friends, the president and the captain had never met face to face. Maston added that the feud arose simply from a rivalry between iron plates and shot. Finally, he explained that the scene at the meeting had given Nicholl a long-awaited chance to settle an old grudge.

Nothing is more dreadful than private duels in America. The two adversaries attack each other like wild beasts. Then it is that they might well covet those wonderful properties of the Indians of the prairies—their quick intelligence, their ingenious cunning, their scent of the enemy. A single mistake, a moment’s hesitation, a single false step may cause death. On these occasions Yankees are often accompanied by their dogs, and keep up the struggle for hours.

Nothing is more terrifying than private duels in America. The two opponents attack each other like wild beasts. At such times, they might well wish for the remarkable abilities of the Indians of the prairies: their quick intelligence, clever cunning, and instinct for sensing an enemy. One mistake, a moment’s hesitation, or a single misstep may mean death. On these occasions, Yankees often bring their dogs and continue the fight for hours.

“What demons you are!” cried Michel Ardan, when his companion had depicted this scene to him with much energy.

“What demons you are!” cried Michel Ardan, after his companion described the scene to him with great energy.

“Yes, we are,” replied J. T. modestly; “but we had better make haste.”

“Yes, we are,” J. T. replied modestly, “but we’d better hurry.”

Though Michel Ardan and he had crossed the plains still wet with dew, and had taken the shortest route over creeks and ricefields, they could not reach Skersnaw in under five hours and a half.

Michel Ardan and he crossed plains still wet with dew and took the shortest route across creeks and rice fields. Even so, it took them at least five and a half hours to reach Skersnaw.

Barbicane must have passed the border half an hour ago.

Barbicane must have crossed 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.

An old bushman worked there, selling bundles of wood from trees he had cut down with 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?”

Maston ran toward him and said, “Have you seen a man with a rifle go into the woods? Barbicane, the president, my best friend?”

The worthy secretary of the Gun Club thought that his president must be known by all the world. But the bushman did not seem to understand him.

The good secretary of the Gun Club thought everyone in the world must know its president. But the bushman did not seem to understand him.

“A hunter?” said Ardan.

“A hunter? Yes,” replied the bushman.

“A hunter? Yes,” the bushman replied.

“Long ago?”

“About an hour.”

“Too late!” cried Maston.

“Too late!” shouted Maston.

“Have you heard any gunshots?” asked Ardan.

“No!”

“Not one?”

“Not one! that hunter did not look as if he knew how to hunt!”

“Not one! That hunter didn't look as if he knew how to hunt!”

“What is to be done?” said Maston.

“What should we do?” said Maston.

“We must go into the wood, at the risk of getting a ball which is not intended for us.”

“We must go into the woods, even though we risk being hit by a stray bullet.”

“Ah!” cried Maston, in a tone which could not be mistaken, “I would rather have twenty balls in my own head than one in Barbicane’s.”

“Ah!” cried Maston, in a tone that left no doubt, “I’d rather have twenty bullets in my own head than one in Barbicane’s.”

“Forward, then,” said Ardan, pressing his companion’s hand.

“Let’s go, then,” said Ardan, squeezing his companion’s hand.

A few moments later the two friends had disappeared in the copse. It was a dense thicket, in which rose huge cypresses, sycamores, tulip-trees, olives, tamarinds, oaks, and magnolias. These different trees had interwoven their branches into an inextricable maze, through which the eye could not penetrate. Michel Ardan and Maston walked side by side in silence through the tall grass, cutting themselves a path through the strong creepers, casting curious glances on the bushes, and momentarily expecting to hear the sound of rifles. As for the traces which Barbicane ought to have left of his passage through the wood, there was not a vestige of them visible: so they followed the barely perceptible paths along which Indians had tracked some enemy, and which the dense foliage darkly overshadowed.

A few moments later, the two friends disappeared into the grove. It was a dense thicket filled with huge cypresses, sycamores, tulip trees, olives, tamarinds, oaks, and magnolias. Their branches intertwined in a tangled maze that the eye could not penetrate. Michel Ardan and Maston walked side by side in silence through the tall grass. They cut a path through the tough vines, glanced curiously at the bushes, and expected to hear rifles at any moment. There was no visible trace of Barbicane’s passage through the woods. So they followed the barely visible paths along which Indians had tracked an enemy. Dense foliage cast deep shadows over the paths.

After an hour spent in vain pursuit the two stopped in intensified anxiety.

After an hour of searching in vain, the two stopped, even more anxious than before.

“It must be all over,” said Maston, discouraged. “A man like Barbicane would not dodge with his enemy, or ensnare him, would not even maneuver! He is too open, too brave. He has gone straight ahead, right into the danger, and doubtless far enough from the bushman for the wind to prevent his hearing the report of the rifles.”

“It must all be over,” said Maston, discouraged. “A man like Barbicane would not dodge his enemy or trap him. He would not even maneuver! He is too open, too brave. He has gone straight ahead, right into danger. He is surely far enough from the bushman that the wind will keep him from hearing the rifle shots.”

“But surely,” replied Michel Ardan, “since we entered the wood we should have heard!”

“But surely,” Michel Ardan replied, “we would have heard since we entered the woods!”

“And what if we came too late?” cried Maston in tones of despair.

“And what if we’re too late?” cried Maston in 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. Only the birds, awakened by the sound, flew past them and disappeared among the branches, while some frightened deer fled precipitately before them.

For once, Ardan had no reply. He and Maston resumed their walk in silence. From time to time, they shouted loudly, calling out for Barbicane and then Nicholl, but neither answered. Only the birds, awakened by the noise, flew past them and disappeared among the branches. Some frightened deer also fled before them.

For another hour their search was continued. The greater part of the wood had been explored. There was nothing to reveal the presence of the combatants. The information of the bushman was after all doubtful, and Ardan was about to propose their abandoning this useless pursuit, when all at once Maston stopped.

They continued searching for another hour. They had explored most of the woods. There was no sign of the fighters. The bushman's information seemed doubtful after all. Ardan was about to suggest giving up the pointless search when Maston suddenly stopped.

“Hush!” said he, “there is some one down there!”

“Quiet!” he said. “There’s someone down there!”

“Some one?” repeated Michel Ardan.

“Someone?” repeated Michel Ardan.

“Yes; a man! He seems motionless. His rifle is not in his hands. What can he be doing?”

“Yes, a man! He seems to be standing still. He isn't holding his rifle. What could he be doing?”

“But can you recognize him?” asked Ardan, whose short sight was of little use to him in such circumstances.

“But can you recognize him?” asked Ardan. His nearsightedness was of little help in such circumstances.

“Yes! yes! He is turning toward us,” answered Maston.

“Yes! Yes! He’s turning toward us,” Maston said.

“And it is?”

“And what is it?”

“Captain Nicholl!”

“Nicholl?” cried Michel Ardan, feeling a terrible pang of grief.

“Nicholl?” cried Michel Ardan, feeling a terrible surge of grief.

“Nicholl unarmed! He has, then, no longer any fear of his adversary!”

“Nicholl is unarmed! So he’s no longer afraid of his opponent!”

“Let us go to him,” said Michel Ardan, “and find out the truth.”

“Let’s go to him,” said Michel Ardan, “and find out the truth.”

But he and his companion had barely taken fifty steps, when they paused to examine the captain more attentively. They expected to find a bloodthirsty man, happy in his revenge.

But he and his companion had barely taken fifty steps when they stopped to look more closely at the captain. They expected to find a bloodthirsty man, pleased with his revenge.

On seeing him, they remained stupefied.

When they saw him, they were stunned.

A net, composed of very fine meshes, hung between two enormous tulip-trees, and in the midst of this snare, with its wings entangled, was a poor little bird, uttering pitiful cries, while it vainly struggled to escape. The bird-catcher who had laid this snare was no human being, but a venomous spider, peculiar to that country, as large as a pigeon’s egg, and armed with enormous claws. The hideous creature, instead of rushing on its prey, had beaten a sudden retreat and taken refuge in the upper branches of the tulip-tree, for a formidable enemy menaced its stronghold.

A fine-meshed net hung between two enormous tulip trees. In the middle of the trap, a poor little bird struggled in vain to escape, its wings tangled in the net. It cried out pitifully. The birdcatcher that had set the trap was not human, but a venomous spider found in that country. It was as large as a pigeon’s egg and had enormous claws. Instead of rushing at its prey, the hideous creature had suddenly retreated into the upper branches of the tulip tree. A formidable enemy was threatening its stronghold.

Here, then, was Nicholl, his gun on the ground, forgetful of danger, trying if possible to save the victim from its cobweb prison. At last it was accomplished, and the little bird flew joyfully away and disappeared.

Nicholl had put his gun on the ground and forgotten the danger. He was trying to save the little bird from the cobweb. At last, he freed it, and the bird flew joyfully away and disappeared.

Nicholl lovingly watched its flight, when he heard these words pronounced by a voice full of emotion:

Nicholl watched its flight with affection when he heard a voice speak these words with deep emotion:

“You are indeed a brave man.”

“You really are a brave man.”

He turned. Michel Ardan was before him, repeating in a different tone:

He turned. Michel Ardan stood in front of him, repeating in a different tone:

“And a kindhearted one!”

“And a kind one!”

“Michel Ardan!” cried the captain. “Why are you here?”

“Michel Ardan!” shouted the captain. “Why are you here?”

“To press your hand, Nicholl, and to prevent you from either killing Barbicane or being killed by him.”

“To shake your hand, Nicholl, and to stop you from killing Barbicane or being killed by him.”

“Barbicane!” returned the captain. “I have been looking for him for the last two hours in vain. Where is he hiding?”

“Barbicane!” the captain replied. “I've been looking for him for two hours and can't find him. Where is he hiding?”

“Nicholl!” said Michel Ardan, “this is not courteous! we ought always to treat an adversary with respect; rest assureed if Barbicane is still alive we shall find him all the more easily; because if he has not, like you, been amusing himself with freeing oppressed birds, he must be looking for you. When we have found him, Michel Ardan tells you this, there will be no duel between you.”

“Nicholl!” said Michel Ardan, “that’s not polite! We should always treat an opponent with respect. Rest assured, if Barbicane is still alive, we’ll find him all the more easily. Because if he hasn’t been amusing himself by freeing oppressed birds, as you have, he must be looking for you. When we find him, I, Michel Ardan, tell you there will be no duel between you.”

“Between President Barbicane and myself,” gravely replied Nicholl, “there is a rivalry which the death of one of us—”

“President Barbicane and I have a rivalry that the death of one of us...” Nicholl replied seriously.

“Pooh, pooh!” said Ardan. “Brave fellows like you indeed! you shall not fight!”

“Nonsense!” said Ardan. “Brave fellows like you! You must not fight!”

“I will fight, sir!”

“I'll fight, sir!”

“No!”

“Captain,” said J. T. Maston, with much feeling, “I am a friend of the president’s, his alter ego, his second self; if you really must kill some one, shoot me! it will do just as well!”

“Captain,” said J. T. Maston, emotionally, “I’m a friend of the president’s, his alter ego, his second self. If you really must kill someone, shoot me! That will do just as well!”

“Sir,” Nicholl replied, seizing his rifle convulsively, “these jokes—”

“Sir,” Nicholl replied, gripping his rifle spasmodically, “these jokes...”

“Our friend Maston is not joking,” replied Ardan. “I fully understand his idea of being killed himself in order to save his friend. But neither he nor Barbicane will fall before the balls of Captain Nicholl. Indeed I have so attractive a proposal to make to the two rivals, that both will be eager to accept it.”

“Our friend Maston is not joking,” replied Ardan. “I understand why he would be willing to die to save his friend. But neither he nor Barbicane will be killed by Captain Nicholl’s bullets. In fact, I have a proposal for the two rivals that both will be eager to accept.”

“What is it?” asked Nicholl with manifest incredulity.

“What is it?” asked Nicholl, clearly skeptical.

“Patience!” exclaimed Ardan. “I can only reveal it in the presence of Barbicane.”

“Be patient!” exclaimed Ardan. “I can only reveal it when Barbicane is present.”

“Let us go in search of him then!” cried the captain.

“Then let's go look for him!” cried the captain.

The three men started off at once; the captain having discharged his rifle threw it over his shoulder, and advanced in silence. Another half hour passed, and the pursuit was still fruitless. Maston was oppressed by sinister forebodings. He looked fiercely at Nicholl, asking himself whether the captain’s vengeance had already been satisfied, and the unfortunate Barbicane, shot, was perhaps lying dead on some bloody track. The same thought seemed to occur to Ardan; and both were casting inquiring glances on Nicholl, when suddenly Maston paused.

The three men set off at once. The captain had fired his rifle, and now he slung it over his shoulder and walked on in silence. Another half hour passed, and the search still turned up nothing. Maston was troubled by dark fears. He looked fiercely at Nicholl, wondering if the captain had already taken his revenge. Perhaps poor Barbicane had been shot and was lying dead on some bloody path. Ardan seemed to have the same thought. Both men were looking at Nicholl questioningly when Maston suddenly stopped.

The motionless figure of a man leaning against a gigantic catalpa twenty feet off appeared, half-veiled by the foliage.

A man stood motionless, leaning against a huge catalpa twenty feet away, partly hidden by its leaves.

“It is he!” said Maston.

“It’s him!” said Maston.

Barbicane never moved. Ardan looked at the captain, but he did not wince. Ardan went forward crying:

Barbicane did not move. Ardan looked at the captain, but the captain did not flinch. Ardan stepped forward, crying out:

“Barbicane! Barbicane!”

No answer! Ardan rushed toward his friend; but in the act of seizing his arms, he stopped short and uttered a cry of surprise.

No answer! Ardan rushed toward his friend, but as he reached for his arms, he stopped and cried out in surprise.

Barbicane, pencil in hand, was tracing geometrical figures in a memorandum book, while his unloaded rifle lay beside him on the ground.

Barbicane was drawing geometric shapes in a notebook with a pencil. His unloaded rifle lay on the ground beside him.

Absorbed in his studies, Barbicane, in his turn forgetful of the duel, had seen and heard nothing.

Barbicane was absorbed in his studies and had forgotten the duel himself. He had seen and heard nothing.

When Ardan took his hand, he looked up and stared at his visitor in astonishment.

When Ardan took his hand, he looked up and stared at his visitor in surprise.

“Ah, it is you!” he cried at last. “I have found it, my friend, I have found it!”

“Oh, it’s you!” he cried at last. “I’ve found it, my friend, I’ve found it!”

“What?”

“My plan!”

“What plan?”

“The plan for countering the effect of the shock at the departure of the projectile!”

“The plan to counter the shock when the projectile launches!”

“Indeed?” said Michel Ardan, looking at the captain out of the corner of his eye.

“Really?” said Michel Ardan, glancing sideways at the captain.

“Yes! water! simply water, which will act as a spring—ah! Maston,” cried Barbicane, “you here also?”

“Yes! Water! Just water, which will act like a spring. Ah, Maston,” Barbicane cried, “are you here too?”

“Himself,” replied Ardan; “and permit me to introduce to you at the same time the worthy Captain Nicholl!”

“Himself,” Ardan replied. “And let me also introduce the worthy Captain Nicholl!”

“Nicholl!” cried Barbicane, who jumped up at once. “Pardon me, captain, I had quite forgotten—I am ready!”

“Nicholl!” cried Barbicane, jumping up at once. “Sorry, Captain, I had completely forgotten. I’m ready!”

Michel Ardan interfered, without giving the two enemies time to say anything more.

Michel Ardan stepped in before the two enemies could say anything more.

“Thank heaven!” said he. “It is a happy thing that brave men like you two did not meet sooner! we should now have been mourning for one or other of you. But, thanks to Providence, which has interfered, there is now no further cause for alarm. When one forgets one’s anger in mechanics or in cobwebs, it is a sign that the anger is not dangerous.”

“Thank heaven!” he said. “It is a good thing that two brave men like you did not meet sooner! Otherwise, we would now be mourning one of you. But thanks to Providence, which stepped in, there is no longer any cause for alarm. When someone forgets their anger over mechanics or cobwebs, it is a sign that their anger is not dangerous.”

Michel Ardan then told the president how the captain had been found occupied.

Michel Ardan then told the president what the captain had been doing when they found him.

“I put it to you now,” said he in conclusion, “are two such good fellows as you are made on purpose to smash each other’s skulls with shot?”

“Let me ask you this,” he said in conclusion. “Were two good fellows like you made to shoot each other’s skulls to pieces?”

There was in “the situation” somewhat of the ridiculous, something quite unexpected; Michel Ardan saw this, and determined to effect a reconciliation.

There was something ridiculous and quite unexpected about “the situation.” Michel Ardan saw this and decided to bring about a reconciliation.

“My good friends,” said he, with his most bewitching smile, “this is nothing but a misunderstanding. Nothing more! well! to prove that it is all over between you, accept frankly the proposal I am going to make to you.”

“My good friends,” he said with his most charming smile, “this is just a misunderstanding. Nothing more! Well, to prove the dispute between you is over, please accept the proposal I’m about to make.”

“Make it,” said Nicholl.

“Our friend Barbicane believes that his projectile will go straight to the moon?”

“Our friend Barbicane believes his projectile will go straight to the moon?”

“Yes, certainly,” replied the president.

“Yes, certainly,” the president replied.

“And our friend Nicholl is persuaded it will fall back upon the earth?”

“And our friend Nicholl is convinced it will fall back to Earth?”

“I am certain of it,” cried the captain.

“I’m certain of it,” cried the captain.

“Good!” said Ardan. “I cannot pretend to make you agree; but I suggest this: Go with me, and so see whether we are stopped on our journey.”

“Good!” said Ardan. “I can't expect to convince you. But I suggest this: Come with me and see whether anything stops us on the journey.”

“What?” exclaimed J. T. Maston, stupefied.

“What?” exclaimed J. T. Maston, stunned.

The two rivals, on this sudden proposal, looked steadily at each other. Barbicane waited for the captain’s answer. Nicholl watched for the decision of the president.

At this sudden proposal, the two rivals stared at each other. Barbicane waited for the captain’s answer. Nicholl waited for the president’s decision.

“Well?” said Michel. “There is now no fear of the shock!”

“Well?” said Michel. “There's no danger of a shock now!”

“Done!” cried Barbicane.

“Done!” shouted Barbicane.

But quickly as he pronounced the word, he was not before Nicholl.

But however quickly he said the word, Nicholl said it first.

“Hurrah! bravo! hip! hip! hurrah!” cried Michel, giving a hand to each of the late adversaries. “Now that it is all settled, my friends, allow me to treat you after French fashion. Let us be off to breakfast!”

“Hurrah! Bravo! Hip! Hip! Hurrah!” cried Michel, shaking hands with each of the former opponents. “Now that everything is settled, my friends, let me treat you in the French style. Let’s go to breakfast!”