10:20 to 10:47 p.m.

As ten o’clock struck, Michel Ardan, Barbicane, and Nicholl, took leave of the numerous friends they were leaving on the earth. The two dogs, destined to propagate the canine race on the lunar continents, were already shut up in the projectile.

As ten o’clock struck, Michel Ardan, Barbicane, and Nicholl said goodbye to the many friends they were leaving on Earth. The two dogs were already shut inside the projectile. They were destined to breed and populate the lunar continents with dogs.

The three travelers approached the orifice of the enormous cast-iron tube, and a crane let them down to the conical top of the projectile. There, an opening made for the purpose gave them access to the aluminum car. The tackle belonging to the crane being hauled from outside, the mouth of the Columbiad was instantly disencumbered of its last supports.

The three travelers approached the opening of the enormous cast-iron tube. A crane lowered them to the cone-shaped top of the projectile. There, an opening made for the purpose let them enter the aluminum car. The crane’s rigging was pulled away from outside, and the last supports were immediately removed from the mouth of the Columbiad.

Nicholl, once introduced with his companions inside the projectile, began to close the opening by means of a strong plate, held in position by powerful screws. Other plates, closely fitted, covered the lenticular glasses, and the travelers, hermetically enclosed in their metal prison, were plunged in profound darkness.

Once Nicholl and his companions were inside the projectile, he began closing the opening with a strong plate secured by powerful screws. Other tightly fitted plates covered the lens-shaped windows. Sealed inside their metal prison, the travelers were plunged into complete darkness.

“And now, my dear companions,” said Michel Ardan, “let us make ourselves at home; I am a domesticated man and strong in housekeeping. We are bound to make the best of our new lodgings, and make ourselves comfortable. And first let us try and see a little. Gas was not invented for moles.”

“And now, my dear friends,” said Michel Ardan, “let’s make ourselves at home. I’m a domestic man and good at housekeeping. We must make the best of our new lodgings and get comfortable. First, let’s have some light. Gas wasn’t invented for moles.”

So saying, the thoughtless fellow lit a match by striking it on the sole of his boot; and approached the burner fixed to the receptacle, in which the carbonized hydrogen, stored at high pressure, sufficed for the lighting and warming of the projectile for a hundred and forty-four hours, or six days and six nights. The gas caught fire, and thus lighted the projectile looked like a comfortable room with thickly padded walls, furnished with a circular divan, and a roof rounded in the shape of a dome.

With that, the thoughtless fellow struck a match on the sole of his boot. He brought it to the burner attached to the gas container. The carbonized hydrogen was stored there under high pressure, enough to light and heat the projectile for 144 hours, or six days and six nights. The gas caught fire. Now lit, the projectile looked like a comfortable room with thickly padded walls, a circular sofa, and a domed ceiling.

Michel Ardan examined everything, and declared himself satisfied with his installation.

Michel Ardan examined everything and said he was satisfied with his accommodations.

“It is a prison,” said he, “but a traveling prison; and, with the right of putting my nose to the window, I could well stand a lease of a hundred years. You smile, Barbicane. Have you any arriere-pensee? Do you say to yourself, ‘This prison may be our tomb?’ Tomb, perhaps; still I would not change it for Mahomet’s, which floats in space but never advances an inch!”

“It is a prison,” he said, “but a traveling prison. And as long as I could put my nose to the window, I could stand a hundred years in it. You smile, Barbicane. Do you have a thought in the back of your mind? Are you saying to yourself, ‘This prison may be our tomb?’ Perhaps it will be our tomb. But I still would not trade it for Mahomet’s, which floats in space but never moves an inch!”

While Michel Ardan was speaking, Barbicane and Nicholl were making their last preparations.

While Michel Ardan was speaking, Barbicane and Nicholl were making their final preparations.

Nicholl’s chronometer marked twenty minutes past ten P.M. when the three travelers were finally enclosed in their projectile. This chronometer was set within the tenth of a second by that of Murchison the engineer. Barbicane consulted it.

Nicholl’s chronometer showed 10:20 P.M. when the three travelers were finally enclosed in their projectile. The chronometer had been set to match that of Murchison the engineer within a tenth of a second. Barbicane checked it.

“My friends,” said he, “it is twenty minutes past ten. At forty- seven minutes past ten Murchison will launch the electric spark on the wire which communicates with the charge of the Columbiad. At that precise moment we shall leave our spheroid. Thus we still have twenty-seven minutes to remain on the earth.”

“My friends,” he said, “it is 10:20. At 10:47, Murchison will send an electric spark through the wire connected to the Columbiad’s charge. At that exact moment, we will leave our planet. So we have twenty-seven minutes left on Earth.”

“Twenty-six minutes thirteen seconds,” replied the methodical Nicholl.

“Twenty-six minutes and thirteen seconds,” replied the methodical Nicholl.

“Well!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, in a good-humored tone, “much may be done in twenty-six minutes. The gravest questions of morals and politics may be discussed, and even solved. Twenty-six minutes well employed are worth more than twenty-six years in which nothing is done. Some seconds of a Pascal or a Newton are more precious than the whole existence of a crowd of raw simpletons—”

“Well!” exclaimed Michel Ardan cheerfully, “a lot can be done in twenty-six minutes. The most serious questions of morality and politics can be discussed, and even solved. Twenty-six minutes well spent are worth more than twenty-six years spent doing nothing. A few seconds of Pascal’s or Newton’s life are worth more than the entire lives of a crowd of complete fools.”

“And you conclude, then, you everlasting talker?” asked Barbicane.

“So, what do you conclude, you never-ending talker?” asked Barbicane.

“I conclude that we have twenty-six minutes left,” replied Ardan.

“So we have twenty-six minutes left,” Ardan replied.

“Twenty-four only,” said Nicholl.

“Only twenty-four,” said Nicholl.

“Well, twenty-four, if you like, my noble captain,” said Ardan; “twenty-four minutes in which to investigate—”

“Well, twenty-four, if you like, my noble captain,” said Ardan. “Twenty-four minutes to investigate...”

“Michel,” said Barbicane, “during the passage we shall have plenty of time to investigate the most difficult questions. For the present we must occupy ourselves with our departure.”

“Michel,” said Barbicane, “during the journey, we’ll have plenty of time to explore the most difficult questions. For now, we must focus on our departure.”

“Are we not ready?”

“Aren't we ready?”

“Doubtless; but there are still some precautions to be taken, to deaden as much as possible the first shock.”

“Certainly, but we still need to take some precautions to lessen the first shock as much as possible.”

“Have we not the water-cushions placed between the partition- breaks, whose elasticity will sufficiently protect us?”

“Don't we have water cushions between the partition breaks? Their elasticity will protect us sufficiently.”

“I hope so, Michel,” replied Barbicane gently, “but I am not sure.”

“I hope so, Michel,” Barbicane replied gently, “but I'm not sure.”

“Ah, the joker!” exclaimed Michel Ardan. “He hopes!—He is not sure!—and he waits for the moment when we are encased to make this deplorable admission! I beg to be allowed to get out!”

“Ah, what a joker!” exclaimed Michel Ardan. “He hopes! He isn’t sure! And he waits until we’re shut inside to make this terrible admission! Please let me out!”

“And how?” asked Barbicane.

“And how?” asked Barbicane.

“Humph!” said Michel Ardan, “it is not easy; we are in the train, and the guard’s whistle will sound before twenty-four minutes are over.”

“Humph!” said Michel Ardan. “It’s not easy. We’re on the train, and the guard’s whistle will sound in less than twenty-four minutes.”

“Twenty,” said Nicholl.

“Twenty,” said Nicholl.

For some moments the three travelers looked at each other. Then they began to examine the objects imprisoned with them.

For a few moments, the three travelers looked at each other. Then they began to examine the objects trapped with them.

“Everything is in its place,” said Barbicane. “We have now to decide how we can best place ourselves to resist the shock. Position cannot be an indifferent matter; and we must, as much as possible, prevent the rush of blood to the head.”

“Everything is in place,” said Barbicane. “Now we must decide how best to position ourselves to withstand the shock. Our position matters, and we must prevent blood from rushing to our heads as much as possible.”

“Just so,” said Nicholl.

“Exactly,” said Nicholl.

“Then,” replied Michel Ardan, ready to suit the action to the word, “let us put our heads down and our feet in the air, like the clowns in the grand circus.”

“Then,” replied Michel Ardan, ready to do just that, “let’s put our heads down and our feet up, like the clowns in the grand circus.”

“No,” said Barbicane, “let us stretch ourselves on our sides; we shall resist the shock better that way. Remember that, when the projectile starts, it matters little whether we are in it or before it; it amounts to much the same thing.”

“No,” said Barbicane, “let’s lie on our sides. We’ll withstand the shock better that way. Remember, when the projectile starts moving, it hardly matters whether we’re inside it or in front of it. It amounts to much the same thing.”

“If it is only ‘much the same thing,’ I may cheer up,” said Michel Ardan.

“If it is only ‘much the same thing,’ I might feel better,” said Michel Ardan.

“Do you approve of my idea, Nicholl?” asked Barbicane.

“Do you like my idea, Nicholl?” asked Barbicane.

“Entirely,” replied the captain. “We’ve still thirteen minutes and a half.”

“Completely,” the captain replied. “We still have thirteen and a half minutes.”

“That Nicholl is not a man,” exclaimed Michel; “he is a chronometer with seconds, an escape, and eight holes.”

“Nicholl isn't a man,” exclaimed Michel. “He's a chronometer with seconds, an escapement, and eight holes.”

But his companions were not listening; they were taking up their last positions with the most perfect coolness. They were like two methodical travelers in a car, seeking to place themselves as comfortably as possible.

But his companions were not listening. They were calmly taking their final positions. They were like two methodical travelers in a car, trying to make themselves as comfortable as possible.

We might well ask ourselves of what materials are the hearts of these Americans made, to whom the approach of the most frightful danger added no pulsation.

One might well ask what these Americans' hearts were made of. Even the approach of the most terrifying danger did not make them beat faster.

Three thick and solidly-made couches had been placed in the projectile. Nicholl and Barbicane placed them in the center of the disc forming the floor. There the three travelers were to stretch themselves some moments before their departure.

Three thick, sturdy couches had been placed in the projectile. Nicholl and Barbicane moved them to the center of the disc that formed the floor. The three travelers were to lie down on the couches a few moments before departure.

During this time, Ardan, not being able to keep still, turned in his narrow prison like a wild beast in a cage, chatting with his friends, speaking to the dogs Diana and Satellite, to whom, as may be seen, he had given significant names.

Meanwhile, Ardan could not keep still. He paced around his cramped prison like a wild beast in a cage. He chatted with his friends and spoke to the dogs, Diana and Satellite. As you can see, he had given them meaningful names.

“Ah, Diana! Ah, Satellite!” he exclaimed, teasing them; “so you are going to show the moon-dogs the good habits of the dogs of the earth! That will do honor to the canine race! If ever we do come down again, I will bring a cross type of ‘moon-dogs,’ which will make a stir!”

“Ah, Diana! Ah, Satellite!” he exclaimed, teasing them. “So you’re going to teach the moon-dogs the good habits of Earth’s dogs! That will be an honor to the whole dog family! If we ever come back down, I’ll bring back a crossbreed of ‘moon-dogs’ that will cause a stir!”

“If there are dogs in the moon,” said Barbicane.

“If there are dogs on the moon,” said Barbicane.

“There are,” said Michel Ardan, “just as there are horses, cows, donkeys, and chickens. I bet that we shall find chickens.”

“There are,” said Michel Ardan, “just as there are horses, cows, donkeys, and chickens. I bet we’ll find chickens.”

“A hundred dollars we shall find none!” said Nicholl.

“A hundred dollars says we won't find any!” said Nicholl.

“Done, my captain!” replied Ardan, clasping Nicholl’s hand. “But, by the bye, you have already lost three bets with our president, as the necessary funds for the enterprise have been found, as the operation of casting has been successful, and lastly, as the Columbiad has been loaded without accident, six thousand dollars.”

“Done, Captain!” replied Ardan, shaking Nicholl’s hand. “But by the way, you’ve already lost three bets with our president, totaling six thousand dollars. The funds for the enterprise were found, the casting succeeded, and the Columbiad was loaded without an accident.”

“Yes,” replied Nicholl. “Thirty-seven minutes six seconds past ten.”

“Yes,” Nicholl replied. “It’s ten thirty-seven and six seconds.”

“It is understood, captain. Well, before another quarter of an hour you will have to count nine thousand dollars to the president; four thousand because the Columbiad will not burst, and five thousand because the projectile will rise more than six miles in the air.”

“Agreed, captain. Well, in less than fifteen minutes, you will have to pay the president nine thousand dollars. Four thousand is because the Columbiad will not burst. The other five thousand is because the projectile will rise more than six miles into the air.”

“I have the dollars,” replied Nicholl, slapping the pocket of this coat. “I only ask to be allowed to pay.”

“I have the dollars,” Nicholl replied, slapping his coat pocket. “I just want to be allowed to pay.”

“Come, Nicholl. I see that you are a man of method, which I could never be; but indeed you have made a series of bets of very little advantage to yourself, allow me to tell you.”

“Come on, Nicholl. I can see that you’re a methodical man, which I could never be. But I must say, you’ve made a series of bets that give you very little advantage.”

“And why?” asked Nicholl.

“And why?” asked Nicholl.

“Because, if you gain the first, the Columbiad will have burst, and the projectile with it; and Barbicane will no longer be there to reimburse your dollars.”

“Because if you win the first, the Columbiad and the projectile will have exploded. And Barbicane will no longer be there to pay you back.”

“My stake is deposited at the bank in Baltimore,” replied Barbicane simply; “and if Nicholl is not there, it will go to his heirs.”

“My stake is in the bank in Baltimore,” Barbicane replied simply. “And if Nicholl is not there, it will go to his heirs.”

“Ah, you practical men!” exclaimed Michel Ardan; “I admire you the more for not being able to understand you.”

“Ah, you practical men!” exclaimed Michel Ardan. “I admire you all the more because I can't understand you.”

“Forty-two minutes past ten!” said Nicholl.

“Ten forty-two!” said Nicholl.

“Only five minutes more!” answered Barbicane.

“Only five more minutes!” Barbicane answered.

“Yes, five little minutes!” replied Michel Ardan; “and we are enclosed in a projectile, at the bottom of a gun 900 feet long! And under this projectile are rammed 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton, which is equal to 1,600,000 pounds of ordinary powder! And friend Murchison, with his chronometer in hand, his eye fixed on the needle, his finger on the electric apparatus, is counting the seconds preparatory to launching us into interplanetary space.”

“Yes, just five minutes!” replied Michel Ardan. “And we’re inside a projectile at the bottom of a 900-foot-long gun! Beneath us, 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton have been packed into the gun. That’s equal to 1,600,000 pounds of ordinary gunpowder! And our friend Murchison is holding his chronometer, watching its hand, and keeping his finger on the electrical device. He’s counting the seconds before launching us into interplanetary space.”

“Enough, Michel, enough!” said Barbicane, in a serious voice; “let us prepare. A few instants alone separate us from an eventful moment. One clasp of the hand, my friends.”

“Enough, Michel, enough!” said Barbicane seriously. “Let us prepare. Only a few moments separate us from a momentous event. Let us shake hands, my friends.”

“Yes,” exclaimed Michel Ardan, more moved than he wished to appear; and the three bold companions were united in a last embrace.

“Yes!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, more emotional than he wanted to appear. The three brave companions shared one last embrace.

“God preserve us!” said the religious Barbicane.

“God protect us!” said Barbicane, who was religious.

Michel Ardan and Nicholl stretched themselves on the couches placed in the center of the disc.

Michel Ardan and Nicholl stretched out on the couches in the center of the disc.

“Forty-seven minutes past ten!” murmured the captain.

“Ten forty-seven!” the captain murmured.

“Twenty seconds more!” Barbicane quickly put out the gas and lay down by his companions, and the profound silence was only broken by the ticking of the chronometer marking the seconds.

“Twenty seconds more!” Barbicane quickly turned off the gas and lay down beside his companions. The only sound in the deep silence was the ticking of the chronometer as it marked the seconds.

Suddenly a dreadful shock was felt, and the projectile, under the force of six billions of litres of gas, developed by the combustion of pyroxyle, mounted into space.

Suddenly, a terrible shock was felt. The projectile shot into space, propelled by six billion litres of gas produced by burning pyroxyle.