The Passenger Of The Atlanta

: From The Earth To The Moon

If this astounding news, instead of flying through the electric

wires, had simply arrived by post in the ordinary sealed envelope,

Barbicane would not have hesitated a moment. He would have held

his tongue about it, both as a measure of prudence, and in order

not to have to reconsider his plans. This telegram might be a

cover for some jest, especially as it came from a Frenchman.

What human being would ever have conc ived the idea of such

a journey? and, if such a person really existed, he must be an

idiot, whom one would shut up in a lunatic ward, rather than

within the walls of the projectile.



The contents of the dispatch, however, speedily became known;

for the telegraphic officials possessed but little discretion,

and Michel Ardan's proposition ran at once throughout the

several States of the Union. Barbicane, had, therefore, no

further motives for keeping silence. Consequently, he called

together such of his colleagues as were at the moment in Tampa

Town, and without any expression of his own opinions simply read

to them the laconic text itself. It was received with every

possible variety of expressions of doubt, incredulity, and

derision from every one, with the exception of J. T. Maston, who

exclaimed, "It is a grand idea, however!"



When Barbicane originally proposed to send a shot to the moon

every one looked upon the enterprise as simple and practicable

enough-- a mere question of gunnery; but when a person,

professing to be a reasonable being, offered to take passage

within the projectile, the whole thing became a farce, or, in

plainer language a humbug.



One question, however, remained. Did such a being exist?

This telegram flashed across the depths of the Atlantic, the

designation of the vessel on board which he was to take his

passage, the date assigned for his speedy arrival, all combined

to impart a certain character of reality to the proposal.

They must get some clearer notion of the matter. Scattered groups

of inquirers at length condensed themselves into a compact crowd,

which made straight for the residence of President Barbicane.

That worthy individual was keeping quiet with the intention of

watching events as they arose. But he had forgotten to take

into account the public impatience; and it was with no pleasant

countenance that he watched the population of Tampa Town

gathering under his windows. The murmurs and vociferations

below presently obliged him to appear. He came forward,

therefore, and on silence being procured, a citizen put

point-blank to him the following question: "Is the person

mentioned in the telegram, under the name of Michel Ardan, on

his way here? Yes or no."



"Gentlemen," replied Barbicane, "I know no more than you do."



"We must know," roared the impatient voices.



"Time will show," calmly replied the president.



"Time has no business to keep a whole country in suspense,"

replied the orator. "Have you altered the plans of the

projectile according to the request of the telegram?"



"Not yet, gentlemen; but you are right! we must have better

information to go by. The telegraph must complete its information."



"To the telegraph!" roared the crowd.



Barbicane descended; and heading the immense assemblage, led the

way to the telegraph office. A few minutes later a telegram was

dispatched to the secretary of the underwriters at Liverpool,

requesting answers to the following queries:



"About the ship Atlanta-- when did she leave Europe? Had she on

board a Frenchman named Michel Ardan?"



Two hours afterward Barbicane received information too exact to

leave room for the smallest remaining doubt.



"The steamer Atlanta from Liverpool put to sea on the 2nd of

October, bound for Tampa Town, having on board a Frenchman borne

on the list of passengers by the name of Michel Ardan."



That very evening he wrote to the house of Breadwill and Co.,

requesting them to suspend the casting of the projectile until

the receipt of further orders. On the 10th of October, at nine

A.M., the semaphores of the Bahama Canal signaled a thick smoke

on the horizon. Two hours later a large steamer exchanged

signals with them. the name of the Atlanta flew at once over

Tampa Town. At four o'clock the English vessel entered the Bay

of Espiritu Santo. At five it crossed the passage of

Hillisborough Bay at full steam. At six she cast anchor at

Port Tampa. The anchor had scarcely caught the sandy bottom when

five hundred boats surrounded the Atlanta, and the steamer was

taken by assault. Barbicane was the first to set foot on deck,

and in a voice of which he vainly tried to conceal the emotion,

called "Michel Ardan."



"Here!" replied an individual perched on the poop.



Barbicane, with arms crossed, looked fixedly at the passenger of

the Atlanta.



He was a man of about forty-two years of age, of large build,

but slightly round-shouldered. His massive head momentarily

shook a shock of reddish hair, which resembled a lion's mane.

His face was short with a broad forehead, and furnished with a

moustache as bristly as a cat's, and little patches of yellowish

whiskers upon full cheeks. Round, wildish eyes, slightly

near-sighted, completed a physiognomy essentially feline.

His nose was firmly shaped, his mouth particularly sweet in

expression, high forehead, intelligent and furrowed with

wrinkles like a newly-plowed field. The body was powerfully

developed and firmly fixed upon long legs. Muscular arms,

and a general air of decision gave him the appearance of a hardy,

jolly, companion. He was dressed in a suit of ample dimensions,

loose neckerchief, open shirtcollar, disclosing a robust neck;

his cuffs were invariably unbuttoned, through which appeared

a pair of red hands.



On the bridge of the steamer, in the midst of the crowd, he

bustled to and fro, never still for a moment, "dragging his

anchors," as the sailors say, gesticulating, making free with

everybody, biting his nails with nervous avidity. He was one of

those originals which nature sometimes invents in the freak of

a moment, and of which she then breaks the mould.



Among other peculiarities, this curiosity gave himself out for

a sublime ignoramus, "like Shakespeare," and professed supreme

contempt for all scientific men. Those "fellows," as he called

them, "are only fit to mark the points, while we play the game."

He was, in fact, a thorough Bohemian, adventurous, but not an

adventurer; a hare-brained fellow, a kind of Icarus, only

possessing relays of wings. For the rest, he was ever in

scrapes, ending invariably by falling on his feet, like those

little figures which they sell for children's toys. In a few

words, his motto was "I have my opinions," and the love of the

impossible constituted his ruling passion.



Such was the passenger of the Atlanta, always excitable, as if

boiling under the action of some internal fire by the character

of his physical organization. If ever two individuals offered

a striking contrast to each other, these were certainly Michel

Ardan and the Yankee Barbicane; both, moreover, being equally

enterprising and daring, each in his own way.



The scrutiny which the president of the Gun Club had instituted

regarding this new rival was quickly interrupted by the shouts

and hurrahs of the crowd. The cries became at last so

uproarious, and the popular enthusiasm assumed so personal a

form, that Michel Ardan, after having shaken hands some

thousands of times, at the imminent risk of leaving his fingers

behind him, was fain at last to make a bolt for his cabin.



Barbicane followed him without uttering a word.



"You are Barbicane, I suppose?" said Michel Ardan, in a tone

of voice in which he would have addressed a friend of twenty

years' standing.



"Yes," replied the president of the Gun Club.



"All right! how d'ye do, Barbicane? how are you getting on--

pretty well? that's right."



"So," said Barbicane without further preliminary, "you are quite

determined to go."



"Quite decided."



"Nothing will stop you?"



"Nothing. Have you modified your projectile according to my telegram."



"I waited for your arrival. But," asked Barbicane again, "have

you carefully reflected?"



"Reflected? have I any time to spare? I find an opportunity of

making a tour in the moon, and I mean to profit by it. There is

the whole gist of the matter."



Barbicane looked hard at this man who spoke so lightly of his

project with such complete absence of anxiety. "But, at least,"

said he, "you have some plans, some means of carrying your

project into execution?"



"Excellent, my dear Barbicane; only permit me to offer one remark:

My wish is to tell my story once for all, to everybody, and then

have done with it; then there will be no need for recapitulation.

So, if you have no objection, assemble your friends, colleagues,

the whole town, all Florida, all America if you like, and

to-morrow I shall be ready to explain my plans and answer any

objections whatever that may be advanced. You may rest assured

I shall wait without stirring. Will that suit you?"



"All right," replied Barbicane.



So saying, the president left the cabin and informed the crowd of

the proposal of Michel Ardan. His words were received with clappings

of hands and shouts of joy. They had removed all difficulties.

To-morrow every one would contemplate at his ease this European hero.

However, some of the spectators, more infatuated than the rest,

would not leave the deck of the Atlanta. They passed the night

on board. Among others J. T. Maston got his hook fixed in the

combing of the poop, and it pretty nearly required the capstan to

get it out again.



"He is a hero! a hero!" he cried, a theme of which he was never

tired of ringing the changes; "and we are only like weak, silly

women, compared with this European!"



As to the president, after having suggested to the visitors it

was time to retire, he re-entered the passenger's cabin, and

remained there till the bell of the steamer made it midnight.



But then the two rivals in popularity shook hands heartily and

parted on terms of intimate friendship.