Jules Verne - All Around the Moon

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When you look at any map of the Moon, you are struck first of all with
one peculiarity. Contrary to the arrangement prevailing in Mars and on
our Earth, the continents occupy principally the southern hemisphere of
the lunar orb. Then these continents are far from presenting such sharp
and regular outlines as distinguish the Indian Peninsula, Africa, and
South America. On the contrary, their coasts, angular, jagged, and
deeply indented, abound in bays and peninsulas. They remind you of the
coast of Norway, or of the islands in the Sound, where the land seems to
be cut up into endless divisions. If navigation ever existed on the
Moon's surface, it must have been of a singularly difficult and
dangerous nature, and we can scarcely say which of the two should be
more pitied--the sailors who had to steer through these dangerous and
complicated passes, or the map-makers who had to designate them on their
charts.

You will also remark that the southern pole of the Moon is much more
_continental_ than the northern. Around the latter, there exists only a
slight fringe of lands separated from the other continents by vast
"seas." This word "seas"--a term employed by the first lunar map
constructors--is still retained to designate those vast depressions on
the Moon's surface, once perhaps covered with water, though they are now
only enormous plains. In the south, the continents cover nearly the
whole hemisphere. It is therefore possible that the Selenites have
planted their flag on at least one of their poles, whereas the Parrys
and Franklins of England, the Kanes and the Wilkeses of America, the
Dumont d'Urvilles and the Lamberts of France, have so far met with
obstacles completely insurmountable, while in search of those unknown
points of our terrestrial globe.

The islands--the next feature on the Moon's surface--are exceedingly
numerous. Generally oblong or circular in shape and almost as regular in
outline as if drawn with a compass, they form vast archipelagoes like
the famous group lying between Greece and Asia Minor, which mythology
has made the scene of her earliest and most charming legends. As we gaze
at them, the names of Naxos, Tenedos, Milo, and Carpathos rise up before
our mind's eye, and we begin looking around for the Trojan fleet and
Jason's Argo. This, at least, was Ardan's idea, and at first his eyes
would see nothing on the map but a Grecian archipelago. But his
companions, sound practical men, and therefore totally devoid of
sentiment, were reminded by these rugged coasts of the beetling cliffs
of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia; so that, where the Frenchman saw the
tracks of ancient heroes, the Americans saw only commodious shipping
points and favorable sites for trading posts--all, of course, in the
purest interest of lunar commerce and industry.

To end our hasty sketch of the continental portion of the Moon, we must
say a few words regarding her orthography or mountain systems. With a
fair telescope you can distinguish very readily her mountain chains, her
isolated mountains, her circuses or ring formations, and her rills,
cracks and radiating streaks. The character of the whole lunar relief is
comprised in these divisions. It is a surface prodigiously reticulated,
upheaved and depressed, apparently without the slightest order or
system. It is a vast Switzerland, an enormous Norway, where everything
is the result of direct plutonic action. This surface, so rugged, craggy
and wrinkled, seems to be the result of successive contractions of the
crust, at an early period of the planet's existence. The examination of
the lunar disc is therefore highly favorable for the study of the great
geological phenomena of our own globe. As certain astronomers have
remarked, the Moon's surface, though older than the Earth's, has
remained younger. That is, it has undergone less change. No water has
broken through its rugged elevations, filled up its scowling cavities,
and by incessant action tended continuously to the production of a
general level. No atmosphere, by its disintegrating, decomposing
influence has softened off the rugged features of the plutonic
mountains. Volcanic action alone, unaffected by either aqueous or
atmospheric forces, can here be seen in all its glory. In other words
the Moon looks now as our Earth did endless ages ago, when "she was void
and empty and when darkness sat upon the face of the deep;" eons of ages
ago, long before the tides of the ocean and the winds of the atmosphere
had begun to strew her rough surface with sand and clay, rock and coal,
forest and meadow, gradually preparing it, according to the laws of our
beneficent Creator, to be at last the pleasant though the temporary
abode of Man!

Having wandered over vast continents, your eye is attracted by the
"seas" of dimensions still vaster. Not only their shape, situation, and
look, remind us of our own oceans, but, again like them, they occupy
the greater part of the Moon's surface. The "seas," or, more correctly,
plains, excited our travellers' curiosity to a very high degree, and
they set themselves at once to examine their nature.

The astronomer who first gave names to those "seas" in all probability
was a Frenchman. Hevelius, however, respected them, even Riccioli did
not disturb them, and so they have come down to us. Ardan laughed
heartily at the fancies which they called up, and said the whole thing
reminded him of one of those "maps of matrimony" that he had once seen
or read of in the works of Scudery or Cyrano de Bergerac.

"However," he added, "I must say that this map has much more reality in
it than could be found in the sentimental maps of the 17th century. In
fact, I have no difficulty whatever in calling it the _Map of Life!_
very neatly divided into two parts, the east and the west, the masculine
and the feminine. The women on the right, and the men on the left!"

At such observations, Ardan's companions only shrugged their shoulders.
A map of the Moon in their eyes was a map of the Moon, no more, no less;
their romantic friend might view it as he pleased. Nevertheless, their
romantic friend was not altogether wrong. Judge a little for yourselves.

What is the first "sea" you find in the hemisphere on the left? The
_Mare Imbrium_ or the Rainy Sea, a fit emblem of our human life, beaten
by many a pitiless storm. In a corresponding part of the southern
hemisphere you see _Mare Nubium_, the Cloudy Sea, in which our poor
human reason so often gets befogged. Close to this lies _Mare Humorum_,
the Sea of Humors, where we sail about, the sport of each fitful breeze,
"everything by starts and nothing long." Around all, embracing all, lies
_Oceanus Procellarum_, the Ocean of Tempests, where, engaged in one
continuous struggle with the gusty whirlwinds, excited by our own
passions or those of others, so few of us escape shipwreck. And, when
disgusted by the difficulties of life, its deceptions, its treacheries
and all the other miseries "that flesh is heir to," where do we too
often fly to avoid them? To the _Sinus Iridium_ or the _Sinus Roris_,
that is Rainbow Gulf and Dewy Gulf whose glittering lights, alas! give
forth no real illumination to guide our stumbling feet, whose sun-tipped
pinnacles have less substance than a dream, whose enchanting waters all
evaporate before we can lift a cup-full to our parched lips! Showers,
storms, fogs, rainbows--is not the whole mortal life of man comprised in
these four words?

Now turn to the hemisphere on the right, the women's side, and you also
discover "seas," more numerous indeed, but of smaller dimensions and
with gentler names, as more befitting the feminine temperament. First
comes _Mare Serenitatis_, the Sea of Serenity, so expressive of the
calm, tranquil soul of an innocent maiden. Near it is _Lacus Somniorum_,
the Lake of Dreams, in which she loves to gaze at her gilded and rosy
future. In the southern division is seen _Mare Nectaris_, the Sea of
Nectar, over whose soft heaving billows she is gently wafted by Love's
caressing winds, "Youth on the prow and Pleasure at the helm." Not far
off is _Mare Fecunditatis_, the Sea of Fertility, in which she becomes
the happy mother of rejoicing children. A little north is _Mare
Crisium_, the Sea of Crises where her life and happiness are sometimes
exposed to sudden, and unexpected dangers which fortunately, however,
seldom end fatally. Far to the left, near the men's side, is _Mare
Vaporum_, the Sea of Vapors, into which, though it is rather small, and
full of sunken rocks, she sometimes allows herself to wander, moody, and
pouting, and not exactly knowing where she wants to go or what she wants
to do. Between the two last expands the great _Mare Tranquillitatis_,
the Sea of Tranquillity, into whose quiet depths are at last absorbed
all her simulated passions, all her futile aspirations, all her
unglutted desires, and whose unruffled waters are gliding on forever in
noiseless current towards _Lacus Mortis_, the Lake of Death, whose misty
shores

"In ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods are girt."

So at least Ardan mused as he stooped over Beer and Maedler's map. Did
not these strange successive names somewhat justify his flights of
fancy? Surely they had a wonderful variety of meaning. Was it by
accident or by forethought deep that the two hemispheres of the Moon had
been thus so strangely divided, yet, as man to woman, though divided
still united, and thus forming even in the cold regions of space a
perfect image of our terrestrial existence? Who can say that our
romantic French friend was altogether wrong in thus explaining the
astute fancies of the old astronomers?

His companions, however, it need hardly be said, never saw the "seas" in
that light. They looked on them not with sentimental but with
geographical eyes. They studied this new world and tried to get it by
heart, working at it like a school boy at his lessons. They began by
measuring its angles and diameters.

To their practical, common sense vision _Mare Nubium_, the Cloudy Sea,
was an immense depression of the surface, sprinkled here and there with
a few circular mountains. Covering a great portion of that part of the
southern hemisphere which lies east of the centre, it occupied a space
of about 270 thousand square miles, its central point lying in 15 deg. south
latitude and 20 deg. east longitude. Northeast from this lay _Oceanus
Procellarum_, the Ocean of Tempests, the most extensive of all the
plains on the lunar disc, embracing a surface of about half a million of
square miles, its centre being in 10 deg. north and 45 deg. east. From its bosom
those wonderful mountains _Kepler_ and _Aristarchus_ lifted their vast
ramparts glittering with innumerable streaks radiating in all
directions.

To the north, in the direction of _Mare Frigoris_, extends _Mare
Imbrium_, the Sea of Rains, its central point in 35 deg. north and 20 deg.
east. It is somewhat circular in shape, and it covers a space of about
300 thousand square miles. South of _Oceanus Procellarum_ and separated
from _Mare Nubium_ by a goodly number of ring mountains, lies the little
basin of _Mare Humorum_, the Sea of Humors, containing only about 66
thousand square miles, its central point having a latitude of 25 deg. south
and a longitude of 40 deg. east.

On the shores of these great seas three "Gulfs" are easily found: _Sinus
Aestuum_, the Gulf of the Tides, northeast of the centre; _Sinus
Iridium_, the Gulf of the Rainbows, northeast of the _Mare Imbrium_; and
_Sinus Roris_, the Dewy Gulf, a little further northeast. All seem to be
small plains enclosed between chains of lofty mountains.

The western hemisphere, dedicated to the ladies, according to Ardan, and
therefore naturally more capricious, was remarkable for "seas" of
smaller dimensions, but much more numerous. These were principally:
_Mare Serenitatis_, the Sea of Serenity, 25 deg. north and 20 deg. west,
comprising a surface of about 130 thousand square miles; _Mare Crisium_,
the Sea of Crises, a round, well defined, dark depression towards the
northwestern edge, 17 deg. north 55 deg. west, embracing a surface of 60
thousand square miles, a regular Caspian Sea in fact, only that the
plateau in which it lies buried is surrounded by a girdle of much higher
mountains. Then towards the equator, with a latitude of 5 deg. north and a
longitude of 25 deg. west, appears _Mare Tranquillitatis_, the Sea of
Tranquillity, occupying about 180 thousand square miles. This
communicates on the south with _Mare Nectaris_, the Sea of Nectar,
embracing an extent of about 42 thousand square miles, with a mean
latitude of 15 deg. south and a longitude of 35 deg. west. Southwest from _Mare
Tranquillitatis_, lies _Mare Fecunditatis_, the Sea of Fertility, the
greatest in this hemisphere, as it occupies an extent of more than 300
thousand square miles, its latitude being 3 deg. south and its longitude 50 deg.
west. For away to the north, on the borders of the _Mare Frigoris_, or
Icy Sea, is seen the small _Mare Humboldtianum_, or Humboldt Sea, with a
surface of about 10 thousand square miles. Corresponding to this in the
southern hemisphere lies the _Mare Australe_, or South Sea, whose
surface, as it extends along the western rim, is rather difficult to
calculate. Finally, right in the centre of the lunar disc, where the
equator intersects the first meridian, can be seen _Sinus Medii_, the
Central Gulf, the common property therefore of all the hemispheres, the
northern and southern, as well as of the eastern and western.

Into these great divisions the surface of our satellite resolved itself
before the eyes of Barbican and M'Nicholl. Adding up the various
measurements, they found that the surface of her visible hemisphere was
about 7-1/2 millions of square miles, of which about the two thirds
comprised the volcanoes, the mountain chains, the rings, the islands--in
short, the land portion of the lunar surface; the other third comprised
the "seas," the "lakes," the "marshes," the "bays" or "gulfs," and the
other divisions usually assigned to water.

To all this deeply interesting information, though the fruit of
observation the closest, aided and confirmed by calculation the
profoundest, Ardan listened with the utmost indifference. In fact, even
his French politeness could not suppress two or three decided yawns,
which of course the mathematicians were too absorbed to notice.

In their enthusiasm they tried to make him understand that though the
Moon is 13-1/2 times smaller than our Earth, she can show more than 50
thousand craters, which astronomers have already counted and designated
by specific names.

"To conclude this portion of our investigation therefore," cried
Barbican, clearing his throat, and occupying Aldan's right ear,--"the
Moon's surface is a honey combed, perforated, punctured--"

"A fistulous, a rugose, salebrous,--" cut in the Captain, close on the
left.

--"And highly cribriform superficies--" cried Barbican.

--"A sieve, a riddle, a colander--" shouted the Captain.

--"A skimming dish, a buckwheat cake, a lump of green cheese--" went on
Barbican--.

--In fact, there is no knowing how far they would have proceeded with
their designations, comparisons, and scientific expressions, had not
Ardan, driven to extremities by Barbican's last profanity, suddenly
jumped up, broken away from his companions, and clapped a forcible
extinguisher on their eloquence by putting his hands on their lips and
keeping them there awhile. Then striking a grand attitude, he looked
towards the Moon and burst out in accents of thrilling indignation:

"Pardon, O beautiful Diana of the Ephesians! Pardon, O Phoebe, thou
pearl-faced goddess of night beloved of Greece! O Isis, thou sympathetic
queen of Nile-washed cities! O Astarte, thou favorite deity of the
Syrian hills! O Artemis, thou symbolical daughter of Jupiter and Latona,
that is of light and darkness! O brilliant sister of the radiant Apollo!
enshrined in the enchanting strains of Virgil and Homer, which I only
half learned at college, and therefore unfortunately forget just now!
Otherwise what pleasure I should have had in hurling them at the heads
of Barbican, M'Nicholl, and every other barbarous iconoclast of the
nineteenth century!--"

Here he stopped short, for two reasons: first he was out of breath;
secondly, he saw that the irrepressible scientists had been too busy
making observations of their own to hear a single word of what he had
uttered, and were probably totally unconscious that he had spoken at
all. In a few seconds his breath came back in full blast, but the idea
of talking when only deaf men were listening was so disconcerting as to
leave him actually unable to get off another syllable.

CHAPTER XII.

A BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF THE LUNAR MOUNTAINS.

I am rather inclined to believe myself that not one word of Ardan's
rhapsody had been ever heard by Barbican or M'Nicholl. Long before he
had spoken his last words, they had once more become mute as statues,
and now were both eagerly watching, pencil in hand, spyglass to eye, the
northern lunar hemisphere towards which they were rapidly but indirectly
approaching. They had fully made up their minds by this time that they
were leaving far behind them the central point which they would have
probably reached half an hour ago if they had not been shunted off their
course by that inopportune bolide.

About half past twelve o'clock, Barbican broke the dead silence by
saying that after a careful calculation they were now only about 875
miles from the Moon's surface, a distance two hundred miles less in
length than the lunar radius, and which was still to be diminished as
they advanced further north. They were at that moment ten degrees north
of the equator, almost directly over the ridge lying between the _Mare
Serenitatis_ and the _Mare Tranquillitatis_. From this latitude all the
way up to the north pole the travellers enjoyed a most satisfactory view
of the Moon in all directions and under the most favorable conditions.
By means of their spyglasses, magnifying a hundred times, they cut down
this distance of 875 miles to about 9. The great telescope of the Rocky
Mountains, by its enormous magnifying power of 48,000, brought the Moon,
it is true, within a distance of 5 miles, or nearly twice as near; but
this advantage of nearness was considerably more than counterbalanced by
a want of clearness, resulting from the haziness and refractiveness of
the terrestrial atmosphere, not to mention those fatal defects in the
reflector that the art of man has not yet succeeded in remedying.
Accordingly, our travellers, armed with excellent telescopes--of just
power enough to be no injury to clearness,--and posted on unequalled
vantage ground, began already to distinguish certain details that had
probably never been noticed before by terrestrial observers. Even Ardan,
by this time quite recovered from his fit of sentiment and probably
infected a little by the scientific enthusiasm of his companions, began
to observe and note and observe and note, alternately, with all the
_sangfroid_ of a veteran astronomer.

"Friends," said Barbican, again interrupting a silence that had lasted
perhaps ten minutes, "whither we are going I can't say; if we shall ever
revisit the Earth, I can't tell. Still, it is our duty so to act in all
respects as if these labors of ours were one day to be of service to our
fellow-creatures. Let us keep our souls free from every distraction. We
are now astronomers. We see now what no mortal eye has ever gazed on
before. This Projectile is simply a work room of the great Cambridge
Observatory lifted into space. Let us take observations!"

With these words, he set to work with a renewed ardor, in which his
companions fully participated. The consequence was that they soon had
several of the outline maps covered with the best sketches they could
make of the Moon's various aspects thus presented under such favorable
circumstances. They could now remark not only that they were passing the
tenth degree of north latitude, but that the Projectile followed almost
directly the twentieth degree of east longitude.

"One thing always puzzled me when examining maps of the Moon," observed
Ardan, "and I can't say that I see it yet as clearly as if I had thought
over the matter. It is this. I could understand, when looking through a
lens at an object, why we get only its reversed image--a simple law of
optics explains _that_. Therefore, in a map of the Moon, as the bottom
means the north and the top the south, why does not the right mean the
west and the left the east? I suppose I could have made this out by a
little thought, but thinking, that is reflection, not being my forte, it
is the last thing I ever care to do. Barbican, throw me a word or two on
the subject."

"I can see what troubles you," answered Barbican, "but I can also see
that one moment's reflection would have put an end to your perplexity.
On ordinary maps of the Earth's surface when the north is the top, the
right hand must be the east, the left hand the west, and so on. That is
simply because we look _down_ from _above_. And such a map seen through
a lens will appear reversed in all respects. But in looking at the Moon,
that is _up_ from _down_, we change our position so far that our right
hand points west and our left east. Consequently, in our reversed map,
though the north becomes south, the right remains east, and--"

"Enough said! I see it at a glance! Thank you, Barbican. Why did not
they make you a professor of astronomy? Your hint will save me a world
of trouble."[C]

Aided by the _Mappa Selenographica_, the travellers could easily
recognize the different portions of the Moon over which they were now
moving. An occasional glance at our reduction of this map, given as a
frontispiece, will enable the gentle reader to follow the travellers on
the line in which they moved and to understand the remarks and
observations in which they occasionally indulged.

"Where are we now?" asked Ardan.

"Over the northern shores of the _Mare Nubium_," replied Barbican. "But
we are still too far off to see with any certainty what they are like.
What is the _Mare_ itself? A sea, according to the early astronomers? a
plain of solid sand, according to later authority? or an immense forest,
according to De la Rue of London, so far the Moon's most successful
photographer? This gentleman's authority, Ardan, would have given you
decided support in your famous dispute with the Captain at the meeting
near Tampa, for he says very decidedly that the Moon has an atmosphere,
very low to be sure but very dense. This, however, we must find out for
ourselves; and in the meantime let us affirm nothing until we have good
grounds for positive assertion."

_Mare Nubium_, though not very clearly outlined on the maps, is easily
recognized by lying directly east of the regions about the centre. It
would appear as if this vast plain were sprinkled with immense lava
blocks shot forth from the great volcanoes on the right, _Ptolemaeus_,
_Alphonse_, _Alpetragius_ and _Arzachel_. But the Projectile advanced so
rapidly that these mountains soon disappeared, and the travellers were
not long before they could distinguish the great peaks that closed the
"Sea" on its northern boundary. Here a radiating mountain showed a
summit so dazzling with the reflection of the solar rays that Ardan
could not help crying out:

"It looks like one of the carbon points of an electric light projected
on a screen! What do you call it, Barbican?"

"_Copernicus_," replied the President. "Let us examine old
_Copernicus_!"

This grand crater is deservedly considered one of the greatest of the
lunar wonders. It lifts its giant ramparts to upwards of 12,000 feet
above the level of the lunar surface. Being quite visible from the Earth
and well situated for observation, it is a favorite object for
astronomical study; this is particularly the case during the phase
existing between Last Quarter and the New Moon, when its vast shadows,
projected boldly from the east towards the west, allow its prodigious
dimensions to be measured.

After _Tycho_, which is situated in the southern hemisphere,
_Copernicus_ forms the most important radiating mountain in the lunar
disc. It looms up, single and isolated, like a gigantic light-house, on
the peninsula separating _Mare Nubium_ from _Oceanus Procellarum_ on one
side and from _Mare Imbrium_ on the other; thus illuminating with its
splendid radiation three "Seas" at a time. The wonderful complexity of
its bright streaks diverging on all sides from its centre presented a
scene alike splendid and unique. These streaks, the travellers thought,
could be traced further north than in any other direction: they fancied
they could detect them even in the _Mare Imbrium_, but this of course
might be owing to the point from which they made their observations. At
one o'clock in the morning, the Projectile, flying through space, was
exactly over this magnificent mountain.

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