From the Earth to the Moon (12 page)

This subscription was to succeed beyond all expectations, even though the money was donated, not lent. It was purely a disinterested operation which offered no chance of profit.

But the effect of Barbicane’s announcement had not stopped at the borders of the United States: it had crossed the Atlantic and the Pacific, invading Asia, Europe, Africa, and Oceania. American observatories immediately entered into communication with foreign observatories. Some of the latter—those in Paris, St. Petersburg, Cape-town, Berlin, Altona, Stockholm, Warsaw, Hamburg,
Buda, Bologna, Malta, Lisbon, Benares, Madras, and Peking—sent their congratulations to the Gun Club. The others waited cautiously.

As for the Greenwich Observatory, it took a firm stand that was supported by the twenty-two other astronomical establishments in Great Britain: it boldly denied the possibility of success, and stated its agreement with Captain Nicholl’s theories. Thus, while various learned societies were promising to send representatives to Tampa, the Greenwich staff held a meeting at which Barbicane’s proposal was unceremoniously brushed aside. It was simply a matter of English jealousy, and nothing else.

All in all, the reaction was excellent in the scientific world, and from there it passed to the masses, who, in general, were keenly interested in the project. This was an important fact, since the masses were going to be called upon to subscribe a large capital.

On October 8, Barbicane had issued an enthusiastic manifesto in which he appealed to “all men of good will on earth.” This document, translated into all languages, was highly successful.

Subscriptions were opened in the main cities of the United States, with a central office in the Bank of Baltimore, at 9 Baltimore Street, and were then opened in various countries on both sides of the Atlantic, with the following firms:

Within three days after Barbicane’s manifesto, four million dollars had been deposited in the different American cities. With such a first installment, the Gun Club was already able to get under way.

A few days later there were dispatches telling America that the foreign subscriptions had been eagerly covered. Some countries had distinguished themselves by their generosity; others did not loosen their purse strings so easily. It was a matter of temperament.

Figures are more eloquent than words, so here is the official tabulation of the sums that were deposited to the account of the Gun Club after the subscription was closed:

For her share, Russia paid the enormous sum of 368,733 rubles ($272,875). This will be surprising only if one is unfamiliar with the Russians’ strong scientific inclination and the progress they have made in astronomical studies, thanks to their many observatories, the most important one of which cost two million rubles.

France began by laughing at the Americans’ pretensions.
The moon served as a pretext for countless tired puns and a score of vaudeville numbers whose bad taste was equaled only by the ignorance they displayed. But just as the French formerly paid after having sung, they now paid after having laughed, and they subscribed the sum of 1,253,932 francs ($231,980). At that price they were entitled to a little merriment.

Austria showed sufficient generosity in the midst of her financial troubles. Her contribution was 216,000 florins ($96,200), which was welcome.

Sweden and Norway contributed 52,000 rixdalers ($54,450). It was a large sum in relation to the population, but would surely have been still larger if the subscription had taken place in Christiania as well as in Stockholm. For one reason or another, the Norwegians do not like to send their money to Sweden.

Prussia showed her approval of the project by sending 250,000 thalers ($173,440). Her observatories readily contributed a sizable sum and were the most ardent in encouraging Barbicane.

Turkey behaved generously, but she had a personal interest in the matter: the moon governs the course of her years and her fast of Ramadan. She could do no less than to give 1,372,640 piasters ($63,300), although she gave it with an eagerness which betrayed a certain pressure from the Ottoman government.

Belgium distinguished herself among the smaller countries by a gift of 513,000 francs ($94,900), or a little more than two cents per inhabitant.

Holland and her colonies put 10,000 florins ($43,500) into the project, asking only that they be given a five-percent discount, since they were paying cash.

Although a little cramped in her territory, Denmark
gave 9,000 ducats ($21,720), which proves the Danes’ love of scientific expeditions.

The Germanic Confederation agreed to give 34,385 florins ($13,320). She could not have been asked for more; and anyway, she would not have given it.

Italy, though in straitened circumstances, managed to scrape up 200,000 lire ($37,000) by turning her children’s pockets inside out. If she had had Venetia she would have done better; but she did not have it.

The Papal States felt it their duty to contribute no less than 7,040 scudi ($7,030), and Portugal showed her devotion to science by a donation of 30,000 crusados ($20,940).

As for Mexico, her gift amounted to only $320, and she could scarcely afford even that small sum; an empire that has just been founded is always a little short of cash.

Switzerland’s modest contribution to the American project was 257 francs ($47). It must be said frankly that she did not see the practical side of the operation. It seemed unlikely to her that shooting a shell to the moon would result in the establishment of business relations with it, and she felt it would be imprudent to place any considerable amount of her capital in such a hazardous undertaking. And, after all, she may have been right.

As for Spain, it was impossible for her to get together more than 110 reals ($11). She gave as her excuse that she had her railroads to finish. The truth is that science is not very highly regarded in Spain. She is still a little backward. Furthermore, there were some Spaniards, and they were not among the least educated, who did not have a clear idea of the relation between the mass of the projectile and that of the moon; they were afraid the projectile might alter the moon’s orbit, make it cease to be a satellite
and bring it crashing into the earth. Under such circumstances they felt it would be better to do nothing, and, practically speaking, that was what they did.

There was still England. We have already noted the contemptuous hostility with which she greeted Barbicane’s proposal. The twenty-five million people who live in Great Britain have a single soul. They maintained that the Gun Club’s project was contrary to the principle of nonintervention, and they refused to give one farthing to it. On hearing this news, the members of the Gun Club shrugged their shoulders and went on with their great enterprise.

When South America—that is, Peru, Chile, Brazil, Colombia, and the provinces of La Plata—had given $300,000 as her share, the Gun Club had a considerable amount of capital at its disposal: $4,000,000 from the American subscriptions and $1,410,143 from the foreign ones for a total of $5,410,143.

The size of this sum should not be surprising. According to the estimates, the money would be almost completely absorbed by the work of casting and boring, masonry, transporting the workers and providing them with living quarters in an almost uninhabited region, constructing furnaces and buildings, equipping factories, the powder, the projectile, and incidental expenses. During the Civil War there were cannon shots that cost a thousand dollars apiece; Barbicane’s shot, unique in the annals of artillery, could easily cost five thousand times as much.

On October 20 a contract was signed with the Cold Spring factory, near New York City, which had supplied Parrott with his best cast-iron cannons during the war.

It was stipulated in the contract that the management of the company would assume the responsibility of transporting the iron for the casting to Tampa. This operation
was to be terminated by October 15 of the following year, and the cannon was to be completed and in good condition, under penalty of an indemnity of a hundred dollars a day, until the next time when the moon would be in the same conditions, that is, in eighteen years and eleven days. The company would also be responsible for hiring and paying the workers, and making all necessary arrangements.

Two copies of this contract were signed by I. Barbicane, president of the Gun Club, and J. Murchison, manager of the Cold Spring Company, after both men had given their approval to its terms.

A
FTER THE
Gun Club had decided against Texas, there was no one in the United States, where everyone knows how to read, who did not feel duty-bound to study the geography of Florida. The bookstores had never sold so many copies of Bartram’s
Travel in Florida,
Roman’s
Natural History of East and West Florida,
Williams’
The Territory of Florida,
and Cleland’s
On the Culture of Sugar Cane in East Florida.
New editions had to be printed. They were bought up with frenzied haste.

Barbicane had better things to do than read: he wanted to make the site of the cannon and see it with his own eyes. Without wasting a single moment, he turned over to the Cambridge Observatory the funds necessary for the construction of a telescope and negotiated a contract with Breadwill & Co. of Albany for the manufacture of an aluminum projectile. Then he left Baltimore, accompanied by J. T. Maston, Major Elphiston, and Mr. Murchison, manager of the Cold Spring Company.

They reached New Orleans the next day. There they immediately boarded the
Tampico,
a navy dispatch boat which the government had placed at their disposal. They left the harbor with a full head of steam and the coast of Louisiana soon vanished behind them.

The voyage was not long. Two days after their departure, having covered 480 miles, they sighted the coast of Florida. As they approached it, Barbicane saw that the land was low, flat, and rather barren-looking. After passing several coves rich in oysters and lobsters, the
Tampico
entered Tampa Bay.

The upper end of this bay is divided into two sections. The
Tampico
soon steamed into the eastern one. A short time later, the low batteries of Fort Brooke came into view, then the town of Tampa appeared, casually spread out at the far end of the little natural harbor formed by the mouth of the Hillsborough River.

It was there that the
Tampico
dropped anchor on October 22, at seven o’clock in the evening. The four passengers immediately went ashore.

Barbicane felt his heart pounding when he set foot on Florida soil. He seemed to be testing it, like an architect testing the solidity of a house. J. T. Maston scratched the ground with his hook.

“Gentlemen,” said Barbicane, “we have no time to lose. Tomorrow we’ll explore the region on horseback.”

As soon as he had stepped ashore, the three thousand inhabitants of Tampa had come forward to meet him. It was an honor he was fully entitled to for having favored them with his choice. They received him with a formidable outburst of cheering, but he hurried away to a room in the Hotel Franklin and refused to see anyone. The role of a famous man did not suit him at all.

The next morning, October 23, a group of little Spanish horses, full of vigor and fire, were prancing beneath his windows. But instead of four, there were fifty, and they had riders. Barbicane and his three companions went downstairs. At first he was surprised to find himself in the midst of such a cavalcade. He noticed that each
rider had a rifle slung over his shoulder and a brace of pistols in his saddle holsters. The reason for this array of armed strength was soon given by a young Floridian who said to him:

“It’s because of the Seminoles, sir.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They’re wild Indians. We thought it would be better if we escorted you.”