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Chapter XVI: The Columbiad
Had the casting succeeded? They were reduced to mere conjecture.
There was indeed every reason to expect success, since the mould
has absorbed the entire mass of the molten metal; still some
considerable time must elapse before they could arrive at any
certainty upon the matter.
The patience of the members of the Gun Club was sorely tried
during this period of time. But they could do nothing. J. T. Maston
escaped roasting by a miracle. Fifteen days after the casting an
immense column of smoke was still rising in the open sky and the
ground burned the soles of the feet within a radius of two hundred
feet round the summit of Stones Hill. It was impossible to approach
nearer. All they could do was to wait with what patience they
might.
“Here we are at the 10th of August,” exclaimed J. T.
Maston one morning, “only four months to the 1st of December!
We shall never be ready in time!” Barbicane said nothing, but
his silence covered serious irritation.
However, daily observations revealed a certain change going on
in the state of the ground. About the 15th of August the vapors
ejected had sensibly diminished in intensity and thickness. Some
days afterward the earth exhaled only a slight puff of smoke, the
last breath of the monster enclosed within its circle of stone.
Little by little the belt of heat contracted, until on the 22nd of
August, Barbicane, his colleagues, and the engineer were enabled to
set foot on the iron sheet which lay level upon the summit of
Stones Hill.
“At last!” exclaimed the president of the Gun Club,
with an immense sigh of relief.
The work was resumed the same day. They proceeded at once to
extract the interior mould, for the purpose of clearing out the
boring of the piece. Pickaxes and boring irons were set to work
without intermission. The clayey and sandy soils had acquired
extreme hardness under the action of the heat; but, by the aid of
the machines, the rubbish on being dug out was rapidly carted away
on railway wagons; and such was the ardor of the work, so
persuasive the arguments of Barbicane’s dollars, that by the
3rd of September all traces of the mould had entirely
disappeared.
Immediately the operation of boring was commenced; and by the
aid of powerful machines, a few weeks later, the inner surface of
the immense tube had been rendered perfectly cylindrical, and the
bore of the piece had acquired a thorough polish.
At length, on the 22d of September, less than a twelvemonth
after Barbicane’s original proposition, the enormous weapon,
accurately bored, and exactly vertically pointed, was ready for
work. There was only the moon now to wait for; and they were pretty
sure that she would not fail in the rendezvous.
The ecstasy of J. T. Maston knew no bounds, and he narrowly
escaped a frightful fall while staring down the tube. But for the
strong hand of Colonel Blomsberry, the worthy secretary, like a
modern Erostratus, would have found his death in the depths of the
Columbiad.
The cannon was then finished; there was no possible doubt as to
its perfect completion. So, on the 6th of October, Captain Nicholl
opened an account between himself and President Barbicane, in which
he debited himself to the latter in the sum of two thousand
dollars. One may believe that the captain’s wrath was
increased to its highest point, and must have made him seriously
ill. However, he had still three bets of three, four, and five
thousand dollars, respectively; and if he gained two out of these,
his position would not be very bad. But the money question did not
enter into his calculations; it was the success of his rival in
casting a cannon against which iron plates sixty feet thick would
have been ineffectual, that dealt him a terrible blow.
After the 23rd of September the enclosure of Stones hill was
thrown open to the public; and it will be easily imagined what was
the concourse of visitors to this spot! There was an incessant flow
of people to and from Tampa Town and the place, which resembled a
procession, or rather, in fact, a pilgrimage.
It was already clear to be seen that, on the day of the
experiment itself, the aggregate of spectators would be counted by
millions; for they were already arriving from all parts of the
earth upon this narrow strip of promontory. Europe was emigrating
to America.
Up to that time, however, it must be confessed, the curiosity of
the numerous comers was but scantily gratified. Most had counted
upon witnessing the spectacle of the casting, and they were treated
to nothing but smoke. This was sorry food for hungry eyes; but
Barbicane would admit no one to that operation. Then ensued
grumbling, discontent, murmurs; they blamed the president, taxed
him with dictatorial conduct. His proceedings were declared
“un-American.” There was very nearly a riot round
Stones Hill; but Barbicane remained inflexible. When, however, the
Columbiad was entirely finished, this state of closed doors could
no longer be maintained; besides it would have been bad taste, and
even imprudence, to affront the public feeling. Barbicane,
therefore, opened the enclosure to all comers; but, true to his
practical disposition, he determined to coin money out of the
public curiosity.
It was something, indeed, to be enabled to contemplate this
immense Columbiad; but to descend into its depths, this seemed to
the Americans the ne plus ultra of earthly felicity. Consequently,
there was not one curious spectator who was not willing to give
himself the treat of visiting the interior of this great metallic
abyss. Baskets suspended from steam-cranes permitted them to
satisfy their curiosity. There was a perfect mania. Women,
children, old men, all made it a point of duty to penetrate the
mysteries of the colossal gun. The fare for the descent was fixed
at five dollars per head; and despite this high charge, during the
two months which preceded the experiment, the influx of visitors
enabled the Gun Club to pocket nearly five hundred thousand
dollars!
It is needless to say that the first visitors of the Columbiad
were the members of the Gun Club. This privilege was justly
reserved for that illustrious body. The ceremony took place on the
25th of September. A basket of honor took down the president, J. T.
Maston, Major Elphinstone, General Morgan, Colonel Blomsberry, and
other members of the club, to the number of ten in all. How hot it
was at the bottom of that long tube of metal! They were half
suffocated. But what delight! What ecstasy! A table had been laid
with six covers on the massive stone which formed the bottom of the
Columbiad, and lighted by a jet of electric light resembling that
of day itself. Numerous exquisite dishes, which seemed to descend
from heaven, were placed successively before the guests, and the
richest wines of France flowed in profusion during this splendid
repast, served nine hundred feet beneath the surface of the
earth!
The festival was animated, not to say somewhat noisy. Toasts
flew backward and forward. They drank to the earth and to her
satellite, to the Gun Club, the Union, the Moon, Diana, Phoebe,
Selene, the “peaceful courier of the night!” All the
hurrahs, carried upward upon the sonorous waves of the immense
acoustic tube, arrived with the sound of thunder at its mouth; and
the multitude ranged round Stones Hill heartily united their shouts
with those of the ten revelers hidden from view at the bottom of
the gigantic Columbiad.
J. T. Maston was no longer master of himself. Whether he shouted
or gesticulated, ate or drank most, would be a difficult matter to
determine. At all events, he would not have given his place up for
an empire, “not even if the cannon— loaded, primed, and
fired at that very moment—were to blow him in pieces into the
planetary world.”
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