Altogether, our little party of three has been a very agreeable one up to the present. John Claxton is a splendid fellow—a good talker when in the humour, and an excellent listener when either myself or M’Allister are in the vein for airing our own particular views. He is rather fond of chaffing M’Allister, who has a quiet humour of his own, and takes it all in good part. John has only one weakness—he has become a most inveterate smoker, and we have learned by experience that in this matter his wishes must never be opposed. Both M’Allister and myself are also smokers, though to a much less extent; the former, indeed, more often prefers to chew navy plug-tobacco—a habit which I am glad to say I never acquired, but it is a pretty general one amongst those who have been employed on sea-going vessels. In these matters it is an understood thing that each is to do as he pleases, without let or hindrance.
One more point and then I will finish this rather long but very necessary digression. In conversation I am generally addressed by my colleagues as “Professor.” Not that I ever occupied a Professorial Chair at a university or elsewhere, but it arose in this way: When John first came to live with me he felt a diffidence, owing to the disparity between our ages, in addressing me by my Christian name; on the other hand, to call me by my surname seemed to him far too cold and formal. So on one occasion, when I had been holding forth on my favourite science, he remarked, “I think, sir, if you will allow me, I shall call you ‘Professor’ in future; the title seems most appropriate for one who has the power of conveying information on scientific subjects in so clear and interesting a manner.”
I was much amused at this proposal, but fully appreciating the difficulty he felt in the matter, replied, “John, you really flatter me too much; but as you seem to think the title fits, you may call me by it if you like.” So from that time forth John always addressed me as “Professor,” and from hearing him constantly using the term, M’Allister soon acquired the same habit. I am afraid they both credited me with rather more erudition than I really possessed; but although I should never attempt to talk at large on matters with which I was not fully acquainted, I have lived long enough to know that it is not always wise to go very far in disillusioning others of the favourable opinions they may have formed respecting one’s own abilities. It is, perhaps, one of those matters in which “a still tongue makes a wise head”; and, if dealt with in a tactful way, may be of real advantage to both persons. The one will continue to be receptive of the ideas of the person whom he esteems as well qualified to impart sound and reliable information, whilst the other will honestly endeavour to live up to his reputation, and be most scrupulously careful to make sure of the accuracy of the information which he desires to impart.
CHAPTER III
WE APPROACH THE MOON—A MAGNIFICENT SPECTACLE
When we had finished our supper John remarked, “Professor, I am a little mystified in regard to our present position. We have started on a voyage to Mars, but up to the present I have not seen even a glimpse of the planet to-night. How is that?”
“Hear, hear,” chimed in M’Allister. “Mon, I’ve been bothering over the very same thing ever since we started, and wondering where yon little red star has gone to!”
“The question is very soon answered,” I replied: “it is a case of ‘the Spanish fleet you cannot see because it’s not in sight.’ Mars does not rise above our late horizon until about a quarter-past ten, and was therefore hidden by the earth whilst we were out on the platform; so we could not expect to see it then, but if we look out now no doubt we shall see it.”
We went over to a window, and I pointed out the planet, remarking, “There it is; that little red star is the world which we hope to land upon in a few weeks’ time. You will notice that it does not lie quite in the direction in which we are moving, for I must tell you that we are not on our course to Mars at present. I thought we should all be glad to have a look at the moon from a close point of view now we have the chance, and M’Allister will remember that I gave him instructions just before supper to direct our course so as to head off the moon in its journey.”
“Quite right, Professor, so you did,” said M’Allister; “but I did not fully understand the reason of your instructions.”
“But,” interrupted John, “are we not going rather out of our way?”
“Yes, that is so, John,” I replied, “but a few thousand miles more or less will make very little difference to us at the rate we shall travel, especially if you allow for the fact that the earth and moon are both moving nearly in the direction we wish to go. Besides, I hope to approach sufficiently near the moon to enable us to add a little more power to our store, so it will not all be lost time; and we can also use the moon to give us a fresh start. But for the fact that it would be best for us to reach the moon before it has waned to any large extent we might have delayed our start for many days, and, whilst considerably shortening our journey, still arrived at Mars on the date we have fixed.”
Our chronometer was housed in a substantial non-magnetic cubicle, with a very thick glass window, in order to protect it from the magnetism and electricity which pervaded our vessel. On looking at the chronometer I found the time was nearly eleven o’clock. We had, therefore, been nearly two hours on our journey and had travelled some three hundred miles, mostly in an upward direction from the earth; so if there were any of the earth’s atmosphere around our vessel it must be of the most extreme tenuity, and we might safely increase our speed.
I accordingly gave M’Allister the order to switch on the power gradually, up to our full speed, and it was not long before we were rushing through space at the rate of over eighty-three thousand miles an hour. At this rate, as I told them, we might expect to reach the moon in a little over sixteen hours, allowing for loss in slackening down at the latter part of the journey.
“It so happens,” I said, “that the moon’s present distance from the earth is rather less than 226,000 miles, being its nearest approach to the earth during this month.”
John at once asked, “How it happened that, if the moon were only this comparatively short distance away from us, I reckoned it would require over sixteen hours to reach it at the tremendous speed we were now moving”; and added, “I thought we should be there in about three hours.”
“Ah, John,” I replied, “you have forgotten that the earth is rushing along and carrying the moon with it nearly as fast as we are travelling, and you are reckoning as though they were standing still all the time. As a matter of fact we are only gaining on the moon by a little over fifteen thousand miles an hour, and we must allow for slackening speed long before we reach the moon, so we cannot expect to cover the distance in less than sixteen hours. You will see that if we did not travel faster than the moon is moving away from us we should never catch it up at all!”
“That explains it all, Professor,” said John, “and I must confess I felt rather puzzled at the length of time required to reach the moon, so was altogether out in my calculations.”
After we had been proceeding at this rate for nearly two hours, M’Allister came hurrying into our compartment in a state of great excitement.
“Professor,” he exclaimed with a gasp, “something’s gone wrong altogether, and I don’t know what to do!”
“Gone wrong!” I repeated. “Why, what is the matter?”
“Mon,” he answered, “everything is the matter! A while back we were rushing towards the moon, but just now when I looked ahead there wasn’t any moon to be seen. I happened to go round to the other window and look back and, my word! if there wasn’t the moon right behind us! We have been travelling so very fast that we must have run past it without knowing we had done so.”