The place chosen was a vast plain, situated outside the town.  In a few hours they succeeded in sheltering it from the rays of the sun.  The ships of the port, rich in canvas, furnished the necessary accessories for a colossal tent.  Soon an immense sky of cloth was spread over the calcined plain, and defended it against the heat of the day.  There 300,000 persons stood and braved a stifling temperature for several hours whilst awaiting the Frenchman’s arrival.  Of that crowd of spectators one-third alone could see and hear; a second third saw badly, and did not hear.  As to the remaining third, it neither heard nor saw, though it was not the least eager to applaud.

At three o’clock Michel Ardan made his appearance, accompanied by the principal members of the Gun Club.  He gave his right arm to President Barbicane, and his left to J.T.  Maston, more radiant than the midday sun, and nearly as ruddy.

Ardan mounted the platform, from which his eyes extended over a forest of black hats.  He did not seem in the least embarrassed; he did not pose; he was at home there, gay, familiar, and amiable.  To the cheers that greeted him he answered by a gracious bow; then with his hand asked for silence, began to speak in English, and expressed himself very correctly in these terms:—­

“Gentlemen,” said he, “although it is very warm, I intend to keep you a few minutes to give you some explanation of the projects which have appeared to interest you.  I am neither an orator nor a savant, and I did not count upon having to speak in public; but my friend Barbicane tells me it would give you pleasure, so I do it.  Then listen to me with your 600,000 ears, and please to excuse the faults of the orator.”

This unceremonious beginning was much admired by the audience, who expressed their satisfaction by an immense murmur of applause.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “no mark of approbation or dissent is prohibited.  That settled, I continue.  And, first of all, do not forget that you have to do with an ignorant man, but his ignorance goes far enough to ignore difficulties.  It has, therefore, appeared a simple, natural, and easy thing to him to take his passage in a projectile and to start for the moon.  That journey would be made sooner or later, and as to the mode of locomotion adopted, it simply follows the law of progress.  Man began by travelling on all fours, then one fine day he went on two feet, then in a cart, then in a coach, then on a railway.  Well, the projectile is the carriage of the future, and, to speak the truth, planets are only projectiles, simple cannon-balls hurled by the hand of the Creator.  But to return to our vehicle.  Some of you, gentlemen, may think that the speed it will travel at is excessive—­nothing of the kind.  All the planets go faster, and the earth itself in its movement round the sun carries us along three times as fast.  Here are some examples.  Only I ask your permission to express myself in leagues, for American measures are not very familiar to me, and I fear getting muddled in my calculations.”