Recovered from the Sea

The spot where the projectile sank under the waves was exactly known; but the machinery to grasp it and bring it to the surface of the ocean was still wanting. It must first be invented, then made. American engineers could not be troubled with such trifles. The grappling-irons once fixed, by their help they were sure to raise it in spite of its weight, which was lessened by the density of the liquid in which it was plunged.

The exact spot where the projectile sank beneath the waves was known. But the machinery needed to grasp it and bring it to the surface was still missing. It had to be invented first, then built. American engineers could not be bothered by such trifles. Once the grappling irons were attached, they were sure they could raise the projectile despite its weight. The density of the water reduced its weight.

But fishing-up the projectile was not the only thing to be thought of. They must act promptly in the interest of the travelers. No one doubted that they were still living.

But recovering the projectile was not the only thing to consider. They had to act quickly for the travelers' sake. No one doubted that the travelers were still alive.

“Yes,” repeated J. T. Maston incessantly, whose confidence gained over everybody, “our friends are clever people, and they cannot have fallen like simpletons. They are alive, quite alive; but we must make haste if we wish to find them so. Food and water do not trouble me; they have enough for a long while. But air, air, that is what they will soon want; so quick, quick!”

“Yes,” J. T. Maston kept repeating. His confidence won everyone over. “Our friends are clever people. They could not have fallen like fools. They are alive, very much alive. But we must hurry if we want to find them alive. I’m not worried about food or water. They have enough to last a long time. But air, air is what they will soon need. So hurry, hurry!”

And they did go quick. They fitted up the Susquehanna for her new destination. Her powerful machinery was brought to bear upon the hauling-chains. The aluminum projectile only weighed 19,250 pounds, a weight very inferior to that of the transatlantic cable which had been drawn up under similar conditions. The only difficulty was in fishing up a cylindro-conical projectile, the walls of which were so smooth as to offer no hold for the hooks. On that account Engineer Murchison hastened to San Francisco, and had some enormous grappling-irons fixed on an automatic system, which would never let the projectile go if it once succeeded in seizing it in its powerful claws. Diving-dresses were also prepared, which through this impervious covering allowed the divers to observe the bottom of the sea. He also had put on board an apparatus of compressed air very cleverly designed. There were perfect chambers pierced with scuttles, which, with water let into certain compartments, could draw it down into great depths. These apparatuses were at San Francisco, where they had been used in the construction of a submarine breakwater; and very fortunately it was so, for there was no time to construct any. But in spite of the perfection of the machinery, in spite of the ingenuity of the savants entrusted with the use of them, the success of the operation was far from being certain. How great were the chances against them, the projectile being 20,000 feet under the water! And if even it was brought to the surface, how would the travelers have borne the terrible shock which 20,000 feet of water had perhaps not sufficiently broken? At any rate they must act quickly. J. T. Maston hurried the workmen day and night. He was ready to don the diving-dress himself, or try the air apparatus, in order to reconnoiter the situation of his courageous friends.

And they did move quickly. They fitted out the Susquehanna for its new mission, using its powerful machinery to pull the hauling chains. The aluminum projectile weighed only 19,250 pounds, far less than the transatlantic cable raised under similar conditions. The only difficulty was fishing up a projectile shaped like a cylinder with a conical end. Its walls were so smooth that the hooks could find no grip. Engineer Murchison therefore hurried to San Francisco. There he had enormous grappling irons fitted with an automatic mechanism. Once their powerful claws seized the projectile, they would never let it go. Diving suits were also prepared. Though watertight, they allowed the divers to see the sea floor. Murchison also had a cleverly designed compressed-air apparatus put on board. It consisted of self-contained chambers with portholes. Water could be let into certain compartments to lower the chambers to great depths. The chambers were in San Francisco, where they had been used to build an underwater breakwater. This was very fortunate, for there was no time to build any. But despite the excellent machinery and the ingenuity of the scientists entrusted with it, success was far from certain. How great were the odds against them, with the projectile 20,000 feet underwater! And even if it was brought to the surface, how would the travelers have endured the terrible shock? Perhaps 20,000 feet of water had not cushioned it enough. In any case, they had to act quickly. J. T. Maston urged the workers on day and night. He was ready to put on a diving suit himself, or try the air apparatus, to locate his courageous friends.

But in spite of all the diligence displayed in preparing the different engines, in spite of the considerable sum placed at the disposal of the Gun Club by the Government of the Union, five long days (five centuries!) elapsed before the preparations were complete. During this time public opinion was excited to the highest pitch. Telegrams were exchanged incessantly throughout the entire world by means of wires and electric cables. The saving of Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel Ardan was an international affair. Every one who had subscribed to the Gun Club was directly interested in the welfare of the travelers.

But despite all the hard work preparing the various machines, and the considerable sum the Government of the Union had given the Gun Club, five long days (five centuries!) passed before preparations were complete. During that time, public excitement reached its peak. Telegrams were exchanged constantly across the world by wire and undersea cable. Saving Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel Ardan was an international affair. Everyone who had contributed to the Gun Club had a direct interest in the travelers’ welfare.

At length the hauling-chains, the air-chambers, and the automatic grappling-irons were put on board. J. T. Maston, Engineer Murchison, and the delegates of the Gun Club, were already in their cabins. They had but to start, which they did on the 21st of December, at eight o’clock at night, the corvette meeting with a beautiful sea, a northeasterly wind, and rather sharp cold. The whole population of San Francisco was gathered on the quay, greatly excited but silent, reserving their hurrahs for the return. Steam was fully up, and the screw of the Susquehanna carried them briskly out of the bay.

At last, the hauling chains, air chambers, and automatic grappling irons were loaded on board. J. T. Maston, Engineer Murchison, and the Gun Club delegates were already in their cabins. All that remained was to set off, which they did at eight o’clock on the night of December 21. The corvette met calm seas, a northeasterly wind, and rather sharp cold. The whole population of San Francisco had gathered on the quay, greatly excited but silent. They were saving their cheers for the return. With steam at full pressure, the Susquehanna’s propeller carried them swiftly out of the bay.

It is needless to relate the conversations on board between the officers, sailors, and passengers. All these men had but one thought. All these hearts beat under the same emotion. While they were hastening to help them, what were Barbicane and his companions doing? What had become of them? Were they able to attempt any bold maneuver to regain their liberty? None could say. The truth is that every attempt must have failed! Immersed nearly four miles under the ocean, this metal prison defied every effort of its prisoners.

There is no need to recount the conversations among the officers, sailors, and passengers on board. All these men had only one thought. All their hearts shared the same emotion. As they rushed to help Barbicane and his companions, what were the companions doing? What had happened to them? Could they try some bold maneuver to free themselves? No one could say. The truth was that any attempt would have failed! Nearly four miles beneath the ocean, this metal prison defeated every effort of its prisoners.

On the 23rd inst., at eight in the morning, after a rapid passage, the Susquehanna was due at the fatal spot. They must wait till twelve to take the reckoning exactly. The buoy to which the sounding line had been lashed had not yet been recognized.

On the 23rd of this month, the Susquehanna was due to reach the fatal spot at eight in the morning, after a quick voyage. The crew had to wait until noon to determine their exact position. They had not yet spotted the buoy to which the sounding line had been tied.

At twelve, Captain Blomsberry, assisted by his officers who superintended the observations, took the reckoning in the presence of the delegates of the Gun Club. Then there was a moment of anxiety. Her position decided, the Susquehanna was found to be some minutes westward of the spot where the projectile had disappeared beneath the waves.

At noon, Captain Blomsberry calculated the ship's position in the presence of the Gun Club delegates. His officers assisted him by overseeing the observations. There was a moment of anxiety. The Susquehanna was found to be a few minutes west of the spot where the projectile had disappeared beneath the waves.

The ship’s course was then changed so as to reach this exact point.

The ship’s course was then changed to reach this exact point.

At forty-seven minutes past twelve they reached the buoy; it was in perfect condition, and must have shifted but little.

At 12:47, they reached the buoy. It was in perfect condition and could not have moved much.

“At last!” exclaimed J. T. Maston.

“At last!” exclaimed J. T. Maston.

“Shall we begin?” asked Captain Blomsberry.

“Should we begin?” asked Captain Blomsberry.

“Without losing a second.”

“Without wasting a second.”

Every precaution was taken to keep the corvette almost completely motionless. Before trying to seize the projectile, Engineer Murchison wanted to find its exact position at the bottom of the ocean. The submarine apparatus destined for this expedition was supplied with air. The working of these engines was not without danger, for at 20,000 feet below the surface of the water, and under such great pressure, they were exposed to fracture, the consequences of which would be dreadful.

Every precaution was taken to keep the corvette almost completely still. Before trying to retrieve the projectile, Engineer Murchison wanted to locate it exactly on the ocean floor. The submarine equipment for the expedition was supplied with air. Operating the equipment was dangerous. At 20,000 feet below the surface, the great pressure could cause it to break, with dreadful consequences.

J. T. Maston, the brothers Blomsberry, and Engineer Murchison, without heeding these dangers, took their places in the air-chamber. The commander, posted on his bridge, superintended the operation, ready to stop or haul in the chains on the slightest signal. The screw had been shipped, and the whole power of the machinery collected on the capstan would have quickly drawn the apparatus on board. The descent began at twenty-five minutes past one at night, and the chamber, drawn under by the reservoirs full of water, disappeared from the surface of the ocean.

J. T. Maston, the Blomsberry brothers, and Engineer Murchison ignored the dangers and took their places in the air-chamber. The commander stood on the bridge and oversaw the operation. He was ready to stop or haul in the chains at the slightest signal. The propeller had been fitted, and the machinery’s full power was directed to the capstan. It could have quickly pulled the apparatus on board. The descent began at 1:25 a.m. The water-filled reservoirs pulled the chamber down, and it disappeared beneath the ocean’s surface.

The emotion of the officers and sailors on board was now divided between the prisoners in the projectile and the prisoners in the submarine apparatus. As to the latter, they forgot themselves, and, glued to the windows of the scuttles, attentively watched the liquid mass through which they were passing.

The officers and sailors on board were now concerned for both groups of prisoners: those in the projectile and those in the submarine apparatus. The prisoners in the submarine apparatus forgot their own plight. With their faces pressed to the portholes, they watched the water around them closely as they passed through it.

The descent was rapid. At seventeen minutes past two, J. T. Maston and his companions had reached the bottom of the Pacific; but they saw nothing but an arid desert, no longer animated by either fauna or flora. By the light of their lamps, furnished with powerful reflectors, they could see the dark beds of the ocean for a considerable extent of view, but the projectile was nowhere to be seen.

The descent was rapid. At seventeen minutes past two, J. T. Maston and his companions reached the bottom of the Pacific. But they saw nothing except a barren desert, where neither plants nor animals lived anymore. Their lamps had powerful reflectors, allowing them to see a considerable distance across the dark ocean floor. But the projectile was nowhere to be seen.

The impatience of these bold divers cannot be described, and having an electrical communication with the corvette, they made a signal already agreed upon, and for the space of a mile the Susquehanna moved their chamber along some yards above the bottom.

The impatience of these brave divers was beyond description. Using their electrical connection to the corvette, they gave a signal they had agreed on. The Susquehanna then moved their chamber for a mile, keeping it several yards above the bottom.

Thus they explored the whole submarine plain, deceived at every turn by optical illusions which almost broke their hearts. Here a rock, there a projection from the ground, seemed to be the much-sought-for projectile; but their mistake was soon discovered, and then they were in despair.

They explored the whole underwater plain, fooled at every turn by optical illusions that almost broke their hearts. Here a rock, there a rise in the ground, seemed to be the projectile they were searching for. But they soon discovered their mistake, and then they fell into despair.

“But where are they? where are they?” cried J. T. Maston. And the poor man called loudly upon Nicholl, Barbicane, and Michel Ardan, as if his unfortunate friends could either hear or answer him through such an impenetrable medium! The search continued under these conditions until the vitiated air compelled the divers to ascend.

“But where are they? Where are they?” cried J. T. Maston. The poor man called loudly to Nicholl, Barbicane, and Michel Ardan. It was as if his unfortunate friends could hear or answer him through something so impossible to penetrate! The search continued under these conditions until the stale air forced the divers to come up.

The hauling in began about six in the evening, and was not ended before midnight.

The hauling began around six in the evening and did not end until midnight.

“To-morrow,” said J. T. Maston, as he set foot on the bridge of the corvette.

“Tomorrow,” said J. T. Maston, as he stepped onto the bridge of the corvette.

“Yes,” answered Captain Blomsberry.

“Yes,” replied Captain Blomsberry.

“And on another spot?”

“And in another spot?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

J. T. Maston did not doubt of their final success, but his companions, no longer upheld by the excitement of the first hours, understood all the difficulty of the enterprise. What seemed easy at San Francisco, seemed here in the wide ocean almost impossible. The chances of success diminished in rapid proportion; and it was from chance alone that the meeting with the projectile might be expected.

J. T. Maston had no doubt that they would succeed in the end. But his companions were no longer buoyed by the excitement of the first hours. They understood all the difficulties of the undertaking. What had seemed easy in San Francisco now seemed almost impossible in the vast ocean. The chances of success were rapidly diminishing, and they could only hope to find the projectile by chance.

The next day, the 24th, in spite of the fatigue of the previous day, the operation was renewed. The corvette advanced some minutes to westward, and the apparatus, provided with air, bore the same explorers to the depths of the ocean.

The next day, the 24th, they repeated the operation, despite their fatigue from the day before. The corvette moved west for a few minutes. The apparatus, supplied with air, carried the same explorers down into the ocean again.

The whole day passed in fruitless research; the bed of the sea was a desert. The 25th brought no other result, nor the 26th.

The whole day passed in a fruitless search. The seabed was a desert. The search found nothing on the 25th or the 26th either.

It was disheartening. They thought of those unfortunates shut up in the projectile for twenty-six days. Perhaps at that moment they were experiencing the first approach of suffocation; that is, if they had escaped the dangers of their fall. The air was spent, and doubtless with the air all their morale.

It was discouraging. They thought of the unfortunate people shut inside the projectile for twenty-six days. Perhaps they were beginning to suffocate at that very moment, if they had survived the dangers of their fall. The air had run out, and no doubt all their morale had gone with it.

“The air, possibly,” answered J. T. Maston resolutely, “but their morale never!”

“The air, perhaps,” J. T. Maston answered firmly, “but their morale never!”

On the 28th, after two more days of search, all hope was gone. This projectile was but an atom in the immensity of the ocean. They must give up all idea of finding it.

On the 28th, after two more days of searching, all hope was gone. The projectile was just an atom in the vast ocean. They had to give up all hope of finding it.

But J. T. Maston would not hear of going away. He would not abandon the place without at least discovering the tomb of his friends. But Commander Blomsberry could no longer persist, and in spite of the exclamations of the worthy secretary, was obliged to give the order to sail.

But J. T. Maston refused to leave. He would not go without at least finding his friends' tomb. But Commander Blomsberry could wait no longer. Despite the protests of the worthy secretary, he had to give the order to sail.

On the 29th of December, at nine A.M., the Susquehanna, heading northeast, resumed her course to the bay of San Francisco.

On December 29, at 9 a.m., the Susquehanna resumed its northeast course toward San Francisco Bay.

It was ten in the morning; the corvette was under half-steam, as it was regretting to leave the spot where the catastrophe had taken place, when a sailor, perched on the main-top-gallant crosstrees, watching the sea, cried suddenly:

It was ten in the morning. The corvette was steaming at half speed, as if reluctant to leave the spot where the catastrophe had occurred. A sailor perched on the main topgallant crosstrees was watching the sea when he suddenly cried:

“A buoy on the lee bow!”

“A buoy ahead on the side sheltered from the wind!”

The officers looked in the direction indicated, and by the help of their glasses saw that the object signalled had the appearance of one of those buoys which are used to mark the passages of bays or rivers. But, singularly to say, a flag floating on the wind surmounted its cone, which emerged five or six feet out of water. This buoy shone under the rays of the sun as if it had been made of plates of silver. Commander Blomsberry, J. T. Maston, and the delegates of the Gun Club were mounted on the bridge, examining this object straying at random on the waves.

The officers looked in the direction indicated and examined the object through their glasses. It looked like a buoy used to mark channels in bays or rivers. But, strangely, a flag fluttered in the wind above its cone, which rose five or six feet out of the water. The buoy shone in the sunlight as if it were made of silver plates. Commander Blomsberry, J. T. Maston, and the Gun Club delegates stood on the bridge, examining the object drifting aimlessly on the waves.

All looked with feverish anxiety, but in silence. None dared give expression to the thoughts which came to the minds of all.

Everyone watched in feverish silence. No one dared speak the thoughts that came to everyone’s mind.

The corvette approached to within two cables’ lengths of the object.

The corvette came within two cable lengths of the object.

A shudder ran through the whole crew. That flag was the American flag!

The whole crew shuddered. That flag was the American flag!

At this moment a perfect howling was heard; it was the brave J. T. Maston who had just fallen all in a heap. Forgetting on the one hand that his right arm had been replaced by an iron hook, and on the other that a simple gutta-percha cap covered his brain-box, he had given himself a formidable blow.

At that moment, a loud howl rang out. The brave J. T. Maston had just collapsed in a heap. He had forgotten that his right arm had been replaced by an iron hook. He had also forgotten that only a simple gutta-percha cap covered his skull. He had given himself a tremendous blow.

They hurried toward him, picked him up, restored him to life. And what were his first words?

They rushed to him, picked him up, and brought him back to life. And what were his first words?

“Ah! trebly brutes! quadruply idiots! quintuply boobies that we are!”

“Ah! We are three times brutes, four times idiots, and five times fools!”

“What is it?” exclaimed everyone around him.

“What is it?” everyone around him exclaimed.

“What is it?”

“What is it?”

“Come, speak!”

“Come on, speak!”

“It is, simpletons,” howled the terrible secretary, “it is that the projectile only weighs 19,250 pounds!”

“It’s because, you fools,” the terrifying secretary howled, “the projectile weighs only 19,250 pounds!”

“Well?”

“Well?”

“And that it displaces twenty-eight tons, or in other words 56,000 pounds, and that consequently it floats!”

“And it displaces twenty-eight tons, or 56,000 pounds, so it floats!”

Ah! what stress the worthy man had laid on the verb “float!” And it was true! All, yes! all these savants had forgotten this fundamental law, namely, that on account of its specific lightness, the projectile, after having been drawn by its fall to the greatest depths of the ocean, must naturally return to the surface. And now it was floating quietly at the mercy of the waves.

Ah! How the good man had stressed the word “float!” And he was right! All, yes, all these scientists had forgotten a basic law. Because the projectile was light for its size, it would naturally return to the surface after sinking to the ocean’s greatest depths. And now it was floating quietly at the mercy of the waves.

The boats were put to sea. J. T. Maston and his friends had rushed into them! Excitement was at its height! Every heart beat loudly while they advanced to the projectile. What did it contain? Living or dead?

The boats were launched. J. T. Maston and his friends rushed into them! Excitement was at its peak! Every heart pounded as they approached the projectile. What did it contain? Were they alive or dead?

Living, yes! living, at least unless death had struck Barbicane and his two friends since they had hoisted the flag. Profound silence reigned on the boats. All were breathless. Eyes no longer saw. One of the scuttles of the projectile was open. Some pieces of glass remained in the frame, showing that it had been broken. This scuttle was actually five feet above the water.

Alive, yes! At least, unless death had struck Barbicane and his two friends since they raised the flag. Deep silence fell over the boats. Everyone held their breath. Eyes could no longer see. One of the projectile's portholes was open. Some pieces of glass remained in the frame, showing that the porthole had been broken. The porthole was five feet above the water.

A boat came alongside, that of J. T. Maston, and J. T. Maston rushed to the broken window.

J. T. Maston's boat came alongside, and he rushed to the broken window.

At that moment they heard a clear and merry voice, the voice of Michel Ardan, exclaiming in an accent of triumph:

At that moment, they heard Michel Ardan's clear, cheerful voice cry out triumphantly:

“White all, Barbicane, white all!”

“All white, Barbicane, all white!”

Barbicane, Michel Ardan, and Nicholl were playing at dominoes!

Barbicane, Michel Ardan, and Nicholl were playing dominoes!