it was the evening of the 22nd of september—that memorable date to which public opinion assigned an influence as disastrous as that of the 1st of january, 1000.

twelve hours after the sun passed the meridian of kilimanjaro, that is to say, at midnight, the hand of captain nicholl would fire the terrible mine.

from kilimanjaro to baltimore is one hundred and fourteen degrees, or a difference in time of four hundred and fifty-six minutes. at the moment of discharge it would be twenty-four minutes past five in the afternoon in the great city of maryland.

the weather was magnificent. the sun had just set on the plains of the wamasai behind a perfectly clear horizon. barbicane & co. could not have wished for a better night, a calmer or a more star-lit one, in which to hurl their projectile into space. there was not a cloud to mingle with the artificial vapours developed by the deflagration of the meli-melonite.

who knows? perhaps barbicane and nicholl were regretting that they could not take their places inside the projectile? in the first second they could have travelled over seventeen hundred miles! after having penetrated the mysteries of the lunar world, they would have penetrated those of the solar world, and under conditions differently interesting from those of hector servadac on the comet gallia!

the sultan bali-bali, the great personages of his court; that is to say, his minister of finance and his minister of works, and the staff of black workmen, were gathered together to watch their final operation. but, with commendable prudence, they had taken up their position three miles away from the mouth of the mine, so as to suffer no inconvenience from the disturbance of the atmosphere.

around them were a few thousand natives from kisongo and the villages in the south of the province, who had been ordered by the sultan to come and admire the spectacle.

a wire connecting an electric battery with the detonator of the fulminate in the tube lay ready to fire the meli-melonite.

as a prelude, an excellent repast had assembled at the same table the sultan, his american visitors, and the notabilities of the capital—the whole at the cost of bali-bali, who did the thing all the better from his knowing he would be reimbursed out of the ample purse of barbicane & co.

it was eleven o’clock when the banquet, which had begun at half-past seven, came to an end by a toast proposed by the sultan in honour of the engineers of the north polar practical association and the success of their undertaking.

in an hour the modification of the geographical and climatological conditions of the earth would be an accomplished fact.

barbicane, his colleague, and the ten foremen began to take up their places around the hut in which the electric battery was placed.

barbicane, chronometer in hand, counted the minutes—and never did they seem so long—those minutes which seemed not years, but centuries!

at ten minutes to twelve he and captain nicholl approached the apparatus which put the wire in communication with the cannon of kilimanjaro.

the sultan, his court, the crowd of natives, formed an immense circle round them.

it was essential that the discharge should take place at the precise moment indicated in the calculations of j. t. maston, that is at the instant the sun touched the equinoctial line, which henceforth he would never leave in his apparent orbit round the terrestrial spheroid.

five minutes to twelve!

four minutes to twelve!

three minutes to twelve!

two minutes to twelve!

one minute to twelve!

barbicane followed the hand of the chronometer, which was lighted by a lantern held by one of the foremen.

captain nicholl stood with his finger on the button of the apparatus ready to close the circuit.

twenty seconds to twelve!

ten seconds!

there was not the suspicion of a shake in the hand of the impassible captain nicholl. he and his friend were no more excited than when, shut up in the projectile, they waited for the columbiad to despatch them to the moon.

five seconds!

one!

“fire!” said barbicane.

and nicholl’s finger pressed the button.

the noise was truly awful. the echoes rolled in thunders far beyond the realm of the wamasai. there was a shrill shriek of the projectile which traversed the air under the impetus from milliards of milliards of litres of gas developed by the instantaneous deflagration of two thousand tons of meli-melonite. it seemed as though there had passed over the surface of the earth one of those storms in which are gathered all the fury of nature.

and the effect would have been no less terrible if all the guns of all the artilleries of the world had been joined to the thunders of the sky to give one long continuous roar together.