Chapter: The first of December had arrived! the fatal day! for, if the
projectile were not discharged that very night at 10h. 48m. 40s.
P.M., more than eighteen years must roll by before the moon
would again present herself under the same conditions of zenith
and perigee.

The weather was magnificent.  Despite the approach of winter,
the sun shone brightly, and bathed in its radiant light that
earth which three of its denizens were about to abandon for a
new world.

How many persons lost their rest on the night which preceded
this long-expected day!  All hearts beat with disquietude, save
only the heart of Michel Ardan.  That imperturbable personage
came and went with his habitual business-like air, while nothing
whatever denoted that any unusual matter preoccupied his mind.

After dawn, an innumerable multitude covered the prairie which
extends, as far as the eye can reach, round Stones Hill.  Every
quarter of an hour the railway brought fresh accessions of
sightseers; and, according to the statement of the Tampa Town
_Observer_, not less than five millions of spectators thronged
the soil of Florida.

For a whole month previously, the mass of these persons had
bivouacked round the enclosure, and laid the foundations for a
town which was afterward called "Ardan's Town."  The whole plain
was covered with huts, cottages, and tents.  Every nation under
the sun was represented there; and every language might be heard
spoken at the same time.  It was a perfect Babel re-enacted.
All the various classes of American society were mingled
together in terms of absolute equality.  Bankers, farmers,
sailors, cotton-planters, brokers, merchants, watermen,
magistrates, elbowed each other in the most free-and-easy way.
Louisiana Creoles fraternized with farmers from Indiana;
Kentucky and Tennessee gentlemen and haughty Virginians
conversed with trappers and the half-savages of the lakes and
butchers from Cincinnati.  Broad-brimmed white hats and Panamas,
blue-cotton trousers, light-colored stockings, cambric frills,
were all here displayed; while upon shirt-fronts, wristbands,
and neckties, upon every finger, even upon the very ears, they
wore an assortment of rings, shirt-pins, brooches, and trinkets,
of which the value only equaled the execrable taste.  Women, children,
and servants, in equally expensive dress, surrounded their husbands,
fathers, or masters, who resembled the patriarchs of tribes in the
midst of their immense households.

At meal-times all fell to work upon the dishes peculiar to the
Southern States, and consumed with an appetite that threatened
speedy exhaustion of the victualing powers of Florida,
fricasseed frogs, stuffed monkey, 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
scaffolding that inclined over the mouth of the Columbiad,
required a certain period of time.

Barbicane had regulated his chronometer to the tenth part of a
second by that of Murchison the engineer, who was charged with
the duty of firing the gun by means of an electric spark.
Thus the travelers enclosed within the projectile were enabled
to follow with their eyes the impassive needle which marked the
precise moment of their departure.

The moment had arrived for saying "good-by!"  The scene was a
touching one.  Despite his feverish gayety, even Michel Ardan
was touched.  J. T. Maston had found in his own dry eyes one
ancient tear, which he had doubtless reserved for the occasion.
He dropped it on the forehead of his dear president.

"Can I not go?" he said, "there is still time!"

"Impossible, old fellow!" replied Barbicane.  A few moments
later, the three fellow-travelers had ensconced themselves in
the projectile, and screwed down the plate which covered the
entrance-aperture.  The mouth of the Columbiad, now completely
disencumbered, was open entirely to the sky.

The moon advanced upward in a heaven of the purest clearness,
outshining in her passage the twinkling light of the stars.
She passed over the constellation of the Twins, and was now
nearing the halfway point between the horizon and the zenith.
A terrible silence weighed upon the entire scene!  Not a breath of
wind upon the earth! not a sound of breathing from the countless
chests of the spectators!  Their hearts seemed afraid to beat!
All eyes were fixed upon the yawning mouth of the Columbiad.

Murchison followed with his eye the hand of his chronometer.
It wanted scarce forty seconds to the moment of departure, but
each second seemed to last an age!  At the twentieth there was
a general shudder, as it occurred to the minds of that vast
assemblage that the bold travelers shut up within the projectile
were also counting those terrible seconds.  Some few cries here
and there escaped the crowd.

"Thirty-five!-- thirty-six!-- thirty-seven!-- thirty-eight!--
thirty-nine!-- forty!  FIRE!!!"

Instantly Murchison pressed with his finger the key of the
electric battery, restored the current of the fluid, and
discharged the spark into the breech of the Columbiad.

An appalling unearthly report followed instantly, such as can be
compared to nothing whatever known, not even to the roar of
thunder, or the blast of volcanic explosions!  No words can
convey the slightest idea of the terrific sound!  An immense
spout of fire shot up from the bowels of the earth as from a crater.
The earth heaved up, and with great difficulty some few spectators
obtained a momentary glimpse of the projectile victoriously
cleaving the air in the midst of the fiery vapors!

 It's December first, the day of the launch--Stone Hill is surrounded by a massive crowd of people from all over the world. Our three proto-astronauts are greeted by a decent rendition of "Yankee Doodle," and J.T. Maston tries one last time to get into the capsule. He is rebuffed one last time, though. Poor guy. Finally, they enter the capsule and prepare for launch. When the cannon is finally fired, it releases a "superhuman" sound and "immense column of flame" . That's supposed to happen, right?

