The Moon-Voyage | Page 4

happen; and if one did, it would be of no use
to us. American sensitiveness is declining daily, and we are going to
the dogs!"
"Yes, we are growing quite humble," replied Bilsby.
"And we are humiliated!" answered Tom Hunter.
"All that is only too true," replied J.T. Maston, with fresh vehemence.
"There are a thousand reasons for fighting floating about, and still we
don't fight! We economise legs and arms, and that to the profit of folks
that don't know what to do with them. Look here, without looking any
farther for a motive for war, did not North America formerly belong to
the English?"
"Doubtless," answered Tom Hunter, angrily poking the fire with the
end of his crutch.
"Well," replied J.T. Maston, "why should not England in its turn belong
to the Americans?"
"It would be but justice," answered Colonel Blomsberry.
"Go and propose that to the President of the United States," cried J.T.
Maston, "and see what sort of a reception you would get."
"It would not be a bad reception," murmured Bilsby between the four
teeth he had saved from battle.
"I'faith," cried J.T. Maston, "they need not count upon my vote in the
next elections."
"Nor upon ours," answered with common accord these bellicose
invalids.
"In the meantime," continued J.T. Maston, "and to conclude, if they do
not furnish me with the opportunity of trying my new mortar on a real
battle-field, I shall send in my resignation as member of the Gun Club,
and I shall go and bury myself in the backwoods of Arkansas."
"We will follow you there," answered the interlocutors of the
enterprising J.T. Maston.
Things had come to that pass, and the club, getting more excited, was

menaced with approaching dissolution, when an unexpected event
came to prevent so regrettable a catastrophe.
The very day after the foregoing conversation each member of the club
received a circular couched in these terms:--
"Baltimore, October 3rd.
"The president of the Gun Club has the honour to inform his colleagues
that at the meeting on the 5th ultimo he will make them a
communication of an extremely interesting nature. He therefore begs
that they, to the suspension of all other business, will attend, in
accordance with the present invitation,
"Their devoted colleague,
"IMPEY BARBICANE, P.G.C."



CHAPTER II
.
PRESIDENT BARBICANE'S COMMUNICATION.
On the 5th of October, at 8 p.m., a dense crowd pressed into the saloons
of the Gun Club, 21, Union-square. All the members of the club
residing at Baltimore had gone on the invitation of their president. The
express brought corresponding members by hundreds, and if the
meeting-hall had not been so large, the crowd of savants could not have
found room in it; they overflowed into the neighbouring rooms, down
the passages, and even into the courtyards; there they ran against the
populace who were pressing against the doors, each trying to get into
the front rank, all eager to learn the important communication of
President Barbicane, all pressing, squeezing, crushing with that liberty
of action peculiar to the masses brought up in the idea of
self-government.
That evening any stranger who might have chanced to be in Baltimore
could not have obtained a place at any price in the large hall; it was
exclusively reserved to residing or corresponding members; no one else
was admitted; and the city magnates, common councillors, and select

men were compelled to mingle with their inferiors in order to catch
stray news from the interior.
The immense hall presented a curious spectacle; it was marvellously
adapted to the purpose for which it was built. Lofty pillars formed of
cannon, superposed upon huge mortars as a base, supported the fine
ironwork of the arches--real cast-iron lacework.
Trophies of blunderbusses, matchlocks, arquebuses, carbines, all sorts
of ancient or modern firearms, were picturesquely enlaced against the
walls. The gas, in full flame, came out of a thousand revolvers grouped
in the form of lustres, whilst candlesticks of pistols, and candelabra
made of guns done up in sheaves, completed this display of light.
Models of cannons, specimens of bronze, targets spotted with
shot-marks, plaques broken by the shock of the Gun Club, balls,
assortments of rammers and sponges, chaplets of shells, necklaces of
projectiles, garlands of howitzers--in a word, all the tools of the
artilleryman surprised the eyes by their wonderful arrangement, and
induced a belief that their real purpose was more ornamental than
deadly.
In the place of honour was seen, covered by a splendid glass case, a
piece of breech, broken and twisted under the effort of the powder--a
precious fragment of J.T. Maston's cannon.
At the extremity of the hall the president, assisted by four secretaries,
occupied a wide platform. His chair, placed on a carved gun-carriage,
was modelled upon the powerful proportions of