Chapter 26 - Page 2

fish chowder, underdone
'possum, and raccoon steaks. And as for the liquors which
accompanied this indigestible repast! The shouts, the
vociferations that resounded through the bars and taverns
decorated with glasses, tankards, and bottles of marvelous
shape, mortars for pounding sugar, and bundles of straws!
"Mint-julep" roars one of the barmen; "Claret sangaree!"
shouts another; "Cocktail!" "Brandy-smash!" "Real mint-julep
in the new style!" All these cries intermingled produced a
bewildering and deafening hubbub.

But on this day, 1st of December, such sounds were rare. No one
thought of eating or drinking, and at four P.M. there were vast
numbers of spectators who had not even taken their customary
lunch! And, a still more significant fact, even the national
passion for play seemed quelled for the time under the general
excitement of the hour.

Up till nightfall, a dull, noiseless agitation, such as
precedes great catastrophes, ran through the anxious multitude.
An indescribable uneasiness pervaded all minds, an indefinable
sensation which oppressed the heart. Every one wished it was over.

However, about seven o'clock, the heavy silence was dissipated.
The moon rose above the horizon. Millions of hurrahs hailed
her appearance. She was punctual to the rendezvous, and shouts
of welcome greeted her on all sides, as her pale beams shone
gracefully in the clear heavens. At this moment the three
intrepid travelers appeared. This was the signal for renewed
cries of still greater intensity. Instantly the vast
assemblage, as with one accord, struck up the national hymn of
the United States, and "Yankee Doodle," sung by five million of
hearty throats, rose like a roaring tempest to the farthest
limits of the atmosphere. Then a profound silence reigned
throughout the crowd.

The Frenchman and the two Americans had by this time entered the
enclosure reserved in the center of the multitude. They were
accompanied by the members of the Gun Club, and by deputations
sent from all the European Observatories. Barbicane, cool and
collected, was giving his final directions. Nicholl, with
compressed lips, his arms crossed behind his back, walked with
a firm and measured step. Michel Ardan, always easy, dressed in
thorough traveler's costume, leathern gaiters on his legs, pouch
by his side, in loose velvet suit, cigar in mouth, was full of
inexhaustible gayety, laughing, joking, playing pranks with J.
T. Maston. In one word, he was the thorough "Frenchman" (and
worse, a "Parisian") to the last moment.

Ten o'clock struck! The moment had arrived for taking their
places in the projectile! The necessary operations for the
descent, and the subsequent removal of the cranes and