"
"Enough, Michel, enough!" said Barbicane, in a serious voice;
"let us prepare. A few instants alone separate us from an
eventful moment. One clasp of the hand, my friends."
"Yes," exclaimed Michel Ardan, more moved than he wished to
appear; and the three bold companions were united in a last embrace.
"God preserve us!" said the religious Barbicane.
Michel Ardan and Nicholl stretched themselves on the couches
placed in the center of the disc.
"Forty-seven minutes past ten!" murmured the captain.
"Twenty seconds more!" Barbicane quickly put out the gas and
lay down by his companions, and the profound silence was only
broken by the ticking of the chronometer marking the seconds.
Suddenly a dreadful shock was felt, and the projectile, under
the force of six billions of litres of gas, developed by the
combustion of pyroxyle, mounted into space.
CHAPTER II
THE FIRST HALF-HOUR
What had happened? What effect had this frightful shock produced?
Had the ingenuity of the constructors of the projectile obtained
any happy result? Had the shock been deadened, thanks to the
springs, the four plugs, the water-cushions, and the partition-breaks?
Had they been able to subdue the frightful pressure of the initiatory
speed of more than 11,000 yards, which was enough to traverse Paris
or New York in a second? This was evidently the question suggested
to the thousand spectators of this moving scene.
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