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."
