<h2 id="sigil_toc_id_37">CHAPTER XVIII.</h2>
<h3 id="sigil_toc_id_38">THE PASSENGER OF THE "ATLANTA."</h3>
<p>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 conceived 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.</p>
<p>The contents of the despatch, 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 motive 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!"</p>
<p>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
<i>humbug.</i></p>
<div class="illus"><ANTIMG alt="Illustration: PRESIDENT BARBICANE AT HIS WINDOW." id="window" src=
"images/window.jpg" /></div>
<div class="caption">PRESIDENT BARBICANE AT HIS WINDOW.</div>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"Gentlemen," replied Barbicane, "I know no more than you do."</p>
<p>"We must know," roared the impatient voices.</p>
<p>"Time will show," calmly replied the President.</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"Not yet, gentlemen; but you are right! we must have better
information to go by. The telegraph must complete its
information."</p>
<p>"To the telegraph!" roared the crowd.</p>
<p>Barbicane descended; and heading the immense assemblage, led the
way to the telegraph office. A few minutes later a telegram was
despatched to the secretary of the underwriters at Liverpool,
requesting answers to the following queries:—</p>
<p>"About the ship 'Atlanta'—when did she leave Europe? Had she on
board a Frenchman named Michel Ardan?"</p>
<p>Two hours afterwards Barbicane received information too exact to
leave room for the smallest remaining doubt.</p>
<p>"The steamer 'Atlanta' from Liverpool put to sea on the 2nd
October, bound for Tampa Town, having on board a Frenchman borne on
the list of passengers by the name of Michel Ardan."</p>
<p>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 20th October, at 9 a.m., the
semaphores of the Bahama Canal signalled 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 500 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."</p>
<p>"Here!" replied an individual perched on the poop.</p>
<p>Barbicane, with arms crossed, looked fixedly at the passenger of
the "Atlanta."</p>
<p>He was a man of about 42 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 whisker upon full cheeks.
Round, wildish eyes, slightly near-sighted, completed a physiognomy
essentially <i>feline.</i> His nose was firmly shaped, his mouth
particularly sweet in expression, high forehead, intelligent and
furrowed with wrinkles like a newly-ploughed 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 shirt-collar, disclosing a robust neck; his cuffs
were invariably unbuttoned, through which appeared a pair of red
hands.</p>
<div class="illus"><ANTIMG alt="Illustration: MICHEL ARDAN." id="ardan"
src="images/ardan.jpg" /></div>
<div class="caption">MICHEL ARDEN.</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Amongst 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 hair-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 pith figures which they sell for children's
toys. In two words, his motto was "I have my opinions," and the love
of the impossible constituted his ruling passion.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Barbicane followed him without uttering a word.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"Yes," replied the President of the G. C.</p>
<p>"All right! how d'ye do, Barbicane? how are you getting on—pretty
well? that's right."</p>
<p>"So," said Barbicane without further preliminary, "you are quite
determined to go."</p>
<p>"Quite decided."</p>
<p>"Nothing will stop you?"</p>
<p>"Nothing. Have you modified your projectile according to my
telegram."</p>
<p>"I waited for your arrival. But," asked Barbicane again, "have you
carefully reflected?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>"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 to 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?"</p>
<p>"All right," replied Barbicane.</p>
<p>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.
Amongst 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.</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>But then the two rivals in popularity shook hands heartily and
parted on terms of intimate friendship.</p>
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