When you land on a peak or on a steep
mountain side, where are you? Tumbling over an embankment with the train
going forty miles an hour, would be nothing to it."
"Therefore, Captain Barbican," cried the Frenchman, "as we should like
to appear before the Selenites in full skins, please land us in the snug
though unromantic North. We shall have time enough to break our necks in
the South."
Barbican made no reply to his companions, because a new reflection had
begun to trouble him, to talk about which would have done no good. There
was certainly something wrong. The Projectile was evidently heading
towards the northern hemisphere of the Moon. What did this prove?
Clearly, a deviation resulting from some cause. The bullet, lodged,
aimed, and fired with the most careful mathematical precision, had been
calculated to reach the very centre of the Moon's disc. Clearly it was
not going to the centre now. What could have produced the deviation?
This Barbican could not tell; nor could he even determine its extent,
having no points of sight by which to make his observations. For the
present he tried to console himself with the hope that the deviation of
the Projectile would be followed by no worse consequence than carrying
them towards the northern border of the Moon, where for several reasons
it would be comparatively easier to alight.
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