Chapter 5

The Cold of Space

10 min

This revelation came like a thunderbolt. Who could have expected such an error in calculation? Barbicane would not believe it. Nicholl revised his figures: they were exact. As to the formula which had determined them, they could not suspect its truth; it was evident that an initiatory velocity of seventeen thousand yards in the first second was necessary to enable them to reach the neutral point.

The revelation struck like a thunderbolt. Who could have expected such a calculation error? Barbicane refused to believe it. Nicholl checked his figures again. They were correct. Nor could they doubt the formula used to calculate them. Clearly, they needed a starting velocity of seventeen thousand yards in the first second to reach the neutral point.

The three friends looked at each other silently. There was no thought of breakfast. Barbicane, with clenched teeth, knitted brows, and hands clasped convulsively, was watching through the window. Nicholl had crossed his arms, and was examining his calculations. Michel Ardan was muttering:

The three friends looked at each other in silence. None of them thought about breakfast. Barbicane watched through the window, his teeth clenched, his brow furrowed, and his hands gripping each other tightly. Nicholl had crossed his arms and was checking his calculations. Michel Ardan was muttering:

“That is just like these scientific men: they never do anything else. I would give twenty pistoles if we could fall upon the Cambridge Observatory and crush it, together with the whole lot of dabblers in figures which it contains.”

“That’s just like scientists. They never do anything else. I’d give twenty pistoles if we could fall on the Cambridge Observatory and crush it, along with all the number crunchers inside.”

Suddenly a thought struck the captain, which he at once communicated to Barbicane.

Suddenly, the captain had an idea and immediately told Barbicane about it.

“Ah!” said he; “it is seven o’clock in the morning; we have already been gone thirty-two hours; more than half our passage is over, and we are not falling that I am aware of.”

“Ah!” he said. “It’s seven in the morning. We’ve already been gone for thirty-two hours. More than half our journey is over, and as far as I can tell, we aren’t falling.”

Barbicane did not answer, but after a rapid glance at the captain, took a pair of compasses wherewith to measure the angular distance of the terrestrial globe; then from the lower window he took an exact observation, and noticed that the projectile was apparently stationary. Then rising and wiping his forehead, on which large drops of perspiration were standing, he put some figures on paper. Nicholl understood that the president was deducting from the terrestrial diameter the projectile’s distance from the earth. He watched him anxiously.

Barbicane did not answer. After a quick glance at the captain, he took a pair of compasses to measure Earth’s angular diameter. Then he took an exact measurement through the lower window and noticed that the projectile appeared to be stationary. He rose, wiped the large drops of sweat from his forehead, and wrote some figures on paper. Nicholl understood that the president was calculating the projectile’s distance from Earth using Earth’s diameter. He watched Barbicane anxiously.

“No,” exclaimed Barbicane, after some moments, “no, we are not falling! no, we are already more than 50,000 leagues from the earth. We have passed the point at which the projectile would have stopped if its speed had only been 12,000 yards at starting. We are still going up.”

“No,” Barbicane exclaimed after a few moments, “no, we aren’t falling! No, we’re already more than 50,000 leagues from Earth. We’ve passed the point where the projectile would have stopped if its starting speed had been only 12,000 yards. We’re still going up.”

“That is evident,” replied Nicholl; “and we must conclude that our initial speed, under the power of the 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton, must have exceeded the required 12,000 yards. Now I can understand how, after thirteen minutes only, we met the second satellite, which gravitates round the earth at more than 2,000 leagues’ distance.”

“That is clear,” replied Nicholl. “We must conclude that the 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton gave us an initial speed greater than the required 12,000 yards. Now I understand how we met the second satellite after only thirteen minutes. It orbits the earth at a distance of more than 2,000 leagues.”

“And this explanation is the more probable,” added Barbicane, “Because, in throwing off the water enclosed between its partition-breaks, the projectile found itself lightened of a considerable weight.”

“And this explanation is more likely,” Barbicane added, “because the projectile lost considerable weight when it expelled the water trapped between its partition-breaks.”

“Just so,” said Nicholl.

“Exactly,” said Nicholl.

“Ah, my brave Nicholl, we are saved!”

“Oh, my brave Nicholl, we are saved!”

“Very well then,” said Michel Ardan quietly; “as we are safe, let us have breakfast.”

“All right,” said Michel Ardan quietly. “Since we're safe, let's have breakfast.”

Nicholl was not mistaken. The initial speed had been, very fortunately, much above that estimated by the Cambridge Observatory; but the Cambridge Observatory had nevertheless made a mistake.

Nicholl was right. Fortunately, the initial speed had been much higher than the Cambridge Observatory had estimated. But the Cambridge Observatory had still made a mistake.

The travelers, recovered from this false alarm, breakfasted merrily. If they ate a good deal, they talked more. Their confidence was greater after than before “the incident of the algebra.”

The travelers recovered from the false alarm and ate breakfast cheerfully. They ate a lot, but they talked even more. They were more confident after “the incident of the algebra” than before it.

“Why should we not succeed?” said Michel Ardan; “why should we not arrive safely? We are launched; we have no obstacle before us, no stones in the way; the road is open, more so than that of a ship battling with the sea; more open than that of a balloon battling with the wind; and if a ship can reach its destination, a balloon go where it pleases, why cannot our projectile attain its end and aim?”

“Why shouldn’t we succeed?” said Michel Ardan. “Why shouldn’t we arrive safely? We’ve been launched, and there are no obstacles or stones in our way. The road is clear, clearer than the path of a ship battling the sea or a balloon battling the wind. And if a ship can reach its destination and a balloon can go where it pleases, why can’t our projectile reach its goal?”

“It will attain it,” said Barbicane.

“It will reach it,” said Barbicane.

“If only to do honor to the Americans,” added Michel Ardan, “the only people who could bring such an enterprise to a happy termination, and the only one which could produce a President Barbicane. Ah, now we are no longer uneasy, I begin to think, What will become of us? We shall get right royally weary.”

“If only to honor the Americans,” added Michel Ardan, “the only people who could bring such an undertaking to a successful end. They are also the only people who could produce a President Barbicane. Ah, now that we are no longer worried, I’m beginning to wonder, what will become of us? We shall get terribly bored.”

Barbicane and Nicholl made a gesture of denial.

Barbicane and Nicholl gestured in denial.

“But I have provided for the contingency, my friends,” replied Michel; “you have only to speak, and I have chess, draughts, cards, and dominoes at your disposal; nothing is wanting but a billiard-table.”

“But I’ve planned for that, my friends,” replied Michel. “Just say the word. I have chess, checkers, cards, and dominoes for you. All that’s missing is a pool table.”

“What!” exclaimed Barbicane; “you brought away such trifles?”

“What!” exclaimed Barbicane. “You brought such trivial things with you?”

“Certainly,” replied Michel, “and not only to distract ourselves, but also with the laudable intention of endowing the Selenite smoking divans with them.”

“Certainly,” Michel replied, “and not just to entertain ourselves. We also have the worthy goal of supplying the Selenite smoking lounges with them.”

“My friend,” said Barbicane, “if the moon is inhabited, its inhabitants must have appeared some thousands of years before those of the earth, for we cannot doubt that their star is much older than ours. If then these Selenites have existed their hundreds of thousands of years, and if their brain is of the same organization of the human brain, they have already invented all that we have invented, and even what we may invent in future ages. They have nothing to learn from us, and we have everything to learn from them.”

“My friend,” said Barbicane, “if the moon is inhabited, its inhabitants must have appeared thousands of years before those of Earth. We cannot doubt that the moon is much older than Earth. So if these Selenites have existed for hundreds of thousands of years, and their brains are organized like human brains, they have already invented everything we have invented. They have even invented what we may invent in future ages. They have nothing to learn from us, and we have everything to learn from them.”

“What!” said Michel; “you believe that they have artists like Phidias, Michael Angelo, or Raphael?”

“What!” said Michel. “You believe they have artists like Phidias, Michael Angelo, or Raphael?”

“Yes.”

“Poets like Homer, Virgil, Milton, Lamartine, and Hugo?”

“I am sure of it.”

“I'm sure of it.”

“Philosophers like Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Kant?”

“Philosophers like Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, and Kant?”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Scientific men like Archimedes, Euclid, Pascal, Newton?”

“Scientists like Archimedes, Euclid, Pascal, and Newton?”

“I could swear it.”

“Comic writers like Arnal, and photographers like—like Nadar?”

“Comic writers like Arnal, and photographers like, like Nadar?”

“Certain.”

“Sure.”

“Then, friend Barbicane, if they are as strong as we are, and even stronger—these Selenites—why have they not tried to communicate with the earth? why have they not launched a lunar projectile to our terrestrial regions?”

“Then, friend Barbicane, if the Selenites are as strong as we are, or even stronger, why haven't they tried to communicate with Earth? Why haven't they launched a lunar projectile toward Earth?”

“Who told you that they have never done so?” said Barbicane seriously.

“Who told you they’ve never done that?” Barbicane said seriously.

“Indeed,” added Nicholl, “it would be easier for them than for us, for two reasons; first, because the attraction on the moon’s surface is six times less than on that of the earth, which would allow a projectile to rise more easily; secondly, because it would be enough to send such a projectile only at 8,000 leagues instead of 80,000, which would require the force of projection to be ten times less strong.”

“Indeed,” Nicholl added, “it would be easier for them than for us, for two reasons. First, gravity on the moon’s surface is six times weaker than on Earth, so a projectile could rise more easily. Second, they would only need to send a projectile 8,000 leagues instead of 80,000. That would require ten times less force to launch it.”

“Then,” continued Michel, “I repeat it, why have they not done it?”

“Then,” Michel continued, “I’ll ask again, why haven’t they done it?”

“And I repeat,” said Barbicane; “who told you that they have not done it?”

“And I repeat,” said Barbicane, “who told you they haven't done it?”

“When?”

“Thousands of years before man appeared on earth.”

“Thousands of years before humans appeared on Earth.”

“And the projectile—where is the projectile? I demand to see the projectile.”

“And the projectile. Where is the projectile? I demand to see the projectile.”

“My friend,” replied Barbicane, “the sea covers five-sixths of our globe. From that we may draw five good reasons for supposing that the lunar projectile, if ever launched, is now at the bottom of the Atlantic or the Pacific, unless it sped into some crevasse at that period when the crust of the earth was not yet hardened.”

“My friend,” replied Barbicane, “the sea covers five-sixths of our globe. So we have five good reasons to suppose that the lunar projectile, if it was ever launched, now lies at the bottom of the Atlantic or the Pacific. It could also have flown into a crevasse when the earth’s crust had not yet hardened.”

“Old Barbicane,” said Michel, “you have an answer for everything, and I bow before your wisdom. But there is one hypothesis that would suit me better than all the others, which is, the Selenites, being older than we, are wiser, and have not invented gunpowder.”

“Old Barbicane,” said Michel, “you have an answer for everything, and I bow to your wisdom. But I prefer one hypothesis above all the others. The Selenites are older than we are, so they are wiser and have not invented gunpowder.”

At this moment Diana joined in the conversation by a sonorous barking. She was asking for her breakfast.

At that moment, Diana joined the conversation with a loud bark. She was asking for her breakfast.

“Ah!” said Michel Ardan, “in our discussion we have forgotten Diana and Satellite.”

“Ah!” said Michel Ardan, “we’ve forgotten Diana and Satellite in our discussion.”

Immediately a good-sized pie was given to the dog, which devoured it hungrily.

The dog was immediately given a good-sized pie, which it hungrily devoured.

“Do you see, Barbicane,” said Michel, “we should have made a second Noah’s ark of this projectile, and borne with us to the moon a couple of every kind of domestic animal.”

“Do you see, Barbicane,” said Michel, “we should have made this projectile into a second Noah’s ark. We should have taken two of every kind of domestic animal to the moon.”

“I dare say; but room would have failed us.”

“I suppose so, but we would have run out of room.”

“Oh!” said Michel, “we might have squeezed a little.”

“Oh!” said Michel, “we could have squeezed in a little.”

“The fact is,” replied Nicholl, “that cows, bulls, and horses, and all ruminants, would have been very useful on the lunar continent, but unfortunately the car could neither have been made a stable nor a shed.”

“The fact is,” replied Nicholl, “cows, bulls, horses, and all ruminants would have been very useful on the lunar continent. But unfortunately, the car could not have been turned into a stable or a shed.”

“Well, we might have at least brought a donkey, only a little donkey; that courageous beast which old Silenus loved to mount. I love those old donkeys; they are the least favored animals in creation; they are not only beaten while alive, but even after they are dead.”

“Well, we could at least have brought a donkey, just a little one. Old Silenus loved to ride that brave animal. I love those old donkeys. They are the most neglected animals in creation. They are beaten not only while they are alive, but even after they are dead.”

“How do you make that out?” asked Barbicane. “Why,” said Michel, “they make their skins into drums.”

“How do you figure that?” asked Barbicane. “Well,” said Michel, “they turn their skins into drums.”

Barbicane and Nicholl could not help laughing at this ridiculous remark. But a cry from their merry companion stopped them. The latter was leaning over the spot where Satellite lay. He rose, saying:

Barbicane and Nicholl could not help laughing at this ridiculous remark. But a cry from their cheerful companion stopped them. He was leaning over the spot where Satellite lay. He stood up and said:

“My good Satellite is no longer ill.”

“My good Satellite is well again.”

“Ah!” said Nicholl.

“No,” answered Michel, “he is dead! There,” added he, in a piteous tone, “that is embarrassing. I much fear, my poor Diana, that you will leave no progeny in the lunar regions!”

“No,” Michel answered, “he is dead! Well,” he added sadly, “that’s a problem. I’m afraid, my poor Diana, that you won’t have any offspring on the moon!”

Indeed the unfortunate Satellite had not survived its wound. It was quite dead. Michel Ardan looked at his friends with a rueful countenance.

The unfortunate Satellite had indeed died from its wound. It was quite dead. Michel Ardan looked at his friends with a sad expression.

“One question presents itself,” said Barbicane. “We cannot keep the dead body of this dog with us for the next forty-eight hours.”

“One question comes to mind,” said Barbicane. “We can't keep the dog's dead body with us for the next forty-eight hours.”

“No! certainly not,” replied Nicholl; “but our scuttles are fixed on hinges; they can be let down. We will open one, and throw the body out into space.”

“No, certainly not,” replied Nicholl. “But our hatches are hinged and can be lowered. We’ll open one and throw the body into space.”

The president thought for some moments, and then said:

The president thought for a few moments, then said:

“Yes, we must do so, but at the same time taking very great precautions.”

“Yes, we must do so, but we must be very careful.”

“Why?” asked Michel.

“For two reasons which you will understand,” answered Barbicane. “The first relates to the air shut up in the projectile, and of which we must lose as little as possible.”

“For two reasons you’ll understand,” answered Barbicane. “The first concerns the air trapped in the projectile. We must lose as little of it as possible.”

“But we manufacture the air?”

“But we make the air?”

“Only in part. We make only the oxygen, my worthy Michel; and with regard to that, we must watch that the apparatus does not furnish the oxygen in too great a quantity; for an excess would bring us very serious physiological troubles. But if we make the oxygen, we do not make the azote, that medium which the lungs do not absorb, and which ought to remain intact; and that azote will escape rapidly through the open scuttles.”

“Only partly. We make only the oxygen, my good Michel. And we must watch that the apparatus does not produce too much oxygen. An excess would cause us very serious physical problems. But although we make the oxygen, we do not make the nitrogen. The lungs do not absorb nitrogen, and it must remain intact. The nitrogen will escape rapidly through the open portholes.”

“Oh! the time for throwing out poor Satellite?” said Michel.

“Oh! Time to throw out poor Satellite?” said Michel.

“Agreed; but we must act quickly.”

“Agreed, but we must act quickly.”

“And the second reason?” asked Michel.

“The second reason is that we must not let the outer cold, which is excessive, penetrate the projectile or we shall be frozen to death.”

“The second reason is that we must keep the extreme cold outside from entering the projectile. Otherwise, we will freeze to death.”

“But the sun?”

“The sun warms our projectile, which absorbs its rays; but it does not warm the vacuum in which we are floating at this moment. Where there is no air, there is no more heat than diffused light; and the same with darkness; it is cold where the sun’s rays do not strike direct. This temperature is only the temperature produced by the radiation of the stars; that is to say, what the terrestrial globe would undergo if the sun disappeared one day.”

“The sun warms our projectile, which absorbs its rays. But it does not warm the vacuum in which we are now floating. Where there is no air, there is no heat or diffused light. The same is true in darkness. It is cold where the sun’s rays do not strike directly. This temperature is produced only by radiation from the stars. It is the temperature the Earth would experience if the sun disappeared one day.”

“Which is not to be feared,” replied Nicholl.

“Which is nothing to fear,” Nicholl replied.

“Who knows?” said Michel Ardan. “But, in admitting that the sun does not go out, might it not happen that the earth might move away from it?”

“Who knows?” said Michel Ardan. “But even if the sun doesn't go out, couldn't the earth move away from it?”

“There!” said Barbicane, “there is Michel with his ideas.”

“There!” said Barbicane. “There’s Michel with his ideas.”

“And,” continued Michel, “do we not know that in 1861 the earth passed through the tail of a comet? Or let us suppose a comet whose power of attraction is greater than that of the sun. The terrestrial orbit will bend toward the wandering star, and the earth, becoming its satellite, will be drawn such a distance that the rays of the sun will have no action on its surface.”

“And,” Michel continued, “don't we know that Earth passed through a comet's tail in 1861? Or suppose a comet's gravitational pull is stronger than the sun's. Earth's orbit would bend toward the wandering star, and Earth would become its satellite. It would be pulled so far away that the sun's rays would have no effect on its surface.”

“That might happen, indeed,” replied Barbicane, “but the consequences of such a displacement need not be so formidable as you suppose.”

“That might happen,” replied Barbicane, “but the consequences of such a displacement might not be as serious as you think.”

“And why not?”

“Because the heat and cold would be equalized on our globe. It has been calculated that, had our earth been carried along in its course by the comet of 1861, at its perihelion, that is, its nearest approach to the sun, it would have undergone a heat 28,000 times greater than that of summer. But this heat, which is sufficient to evaporate the waters, would have formed a thick ring of cloud, which would have modified that excessive temperature; hence the compensation between the cold of the aphelion and the heat of the perihelion.”

“Because the heat and cold on our globe would balance each other out. It has been calculated that the comet of 1861 might have carried Earth along with it. At the comet’s perihelion, its closest approach to the sun, Earth would have experienced heat 28,000 times greater than summer heat. But that heat, enough to evaporate the waters, would have formed a thick ring of cloud. The cloud would have reduced the extreme temperature. In this way, the cold at aphelion would have been balanced by the heat at perihelion.”

“At how many degrees,” asked Nicholl, “is the temperature of the planetary spaces estimated?”

“What is the estimated temperature of space between the planets?” asked Nicholl.

“Formerly,” replied Barbicane, “it was greatly exagerated; but now, after the calculations of Fourier, of the French Academy of Science, it is not supposed to exceed 60° Centigrade below zero.”

“People used to greatly exaggerate it,” Barbicane replied. “But after Fourier’s calculations, it is now thought to be no colder than 60 degrees Celsius below zero. Fourier was a member of the French Academy of Science.”

“Pooh!” said Michel, “that’s nothing!”

“Ha!” said Michel. “That’s nothing!”

“It is very much,” replied Barbicane; “the temperature which was observed in the polar regions, at Melville Island and Fort Reliance, that is 76° Fahrenheit below zero.”

“That is very cold,” replied Barbicane. “It is the temperature recorded in the polar regions at Melville Island and Fort Reliance, 76° Fahrenheit below zero.”

“If I mistake not,” said Nicholl, “M. Pouillet, another savant, estimates the temperature of space at 250° Fahrenheit below zero. We shall, however, be able to verify these calculations for ourselves.”

“If I’m not mistaken,” said Nicholl, “M. Pouillet, another scientist, estimates the temperature of space at 250° Fahrenheit below zero. But we’ll be able to check these calculations for ourselves.”

“Not at present; because the solar rays, beating directly upon our thermometer, would give, on the contrary, a very high temperature. But, when we arrive in the moon, during its fifteen days of night at either face, we shall have leisure to make the experiment, for our satellite lies in a vacuum.”

“Not right now. The sun’s rays would strike our thermometer directly and give a very high temperature instead. But when we reach the moon, we’ll have time to try the experiment during the fifteen days of night on either side. The moon lies in a vacuum.”

“What do you mean by a vacuum?” asked Michel. “Is it perfectly such?”

“What do you mean by a vacuum?” asked Michel. “Is it a perfect vacuum?”

“It is absolutely void of air.”

“There is absolutely no air in it.”

“And is the air replaced by nothing whatever?”

“And is the air replaced by nothing at all?”

“By the ether only,” replied Barbicane.

“Only by the ether,” Barbicane replied.

“And pray what is the ether?”

“And what exactly is the ether?”

“The ether, my friend, is an agglomeration of imponderable atoms, which, relatively to their dimensions, are as far removed from each other as the celestial bodies are in space. It is these atoms which, by their vibratory motion, produce both light and heat in the universe.”

“The ether, my friend, is a collection of weightless atoms. Compared with their size, these atoms are as far apart as celestial bodies in space. Their vibrations produce both light and heat in the universe.”

They now proceeded to the burial of Satellite. They had merely to drop him into space, in the same way that sailors drop a body into the sea; but, as President Barbicane suggested, they must act quickly, so as to lose as little as possible of that air whose elasticity would rapidly have spread it into space. The bolts of the right scuttle, the opening of which measured about twelve inches across, were carefully drawn, while Michel, quite grieved, prepared to launch his dog into space. The glass, raised by a powerful lever, which enabled it to overcome the pressure of the inside air on the walls of the projectile, turned rapidly on its hinges, and Satellite was thrown out. Scarcely a particle of air could have escaped, and the operation was so successful that later on Barbicane did not fear to dispose of the rubbish which encumbered the car.

They now prepared to bury Satellite. They only had to drop him into space, just as sailors drop a body into the sea. But President Barbicane suggested they act quickly, so as to lose as little air as possible. The air would quickly expand and escape into space. They carefully unfastened the bolts on the right hatch, whose opening was about twelve inches across. Meanwhile, Michel, deeply saddened, prepared to send his dog into space. A powerful lever lifted the glass against the pressure of the air inside the projectile. The glass swung quickly on its hinges, and Satellite was thrown out. Hardly any air could have escaped. The operation was so successful that Barbicane later felt safe disposing of the rubbish cluttering the car.