my
journey—the gradual passage of the Earth off the face of the Sun. For
some little time after this the Earth was entirely invisible; but
later, looking through the telescope adjusted to the lens on that
side, I discerned two very minute and bright crescents, which, from
their direction and position, were certainly those of the Earth and
Moon, indeed could hardly be anything else.
Towards the thirtieth day of my voyage I was disturbed by the
conflicting indications obtained from different instruments and
separate observations. The general result came to this, that the
discometer, where it should have indicated a distance of 333, actually
gave 347. But if my speed had increased, or I had overestimated the
loss by changes of direction, Mars should have been larger in equal
proportion. This, however, was not the case. Supposing my reckoning to
be right, and I had no reason to think it otherwise, except the
indication of the discometer, the Sun's disc ought to have diminished
in the proportion of 95 to 15, whereas the diminution was in the
proportion of 9 to 1. So far as the barycrite could be trusted, its
very minute indications confirmed those of the discometer; and the
only conclusion I could draw, after much thought and many intricate
calculations, was that the distance of 95 millions of miles between
the Earth and the Sun, accepted, though not very confidently, by all
terrestrial astronomers, is an over-estimate; and that, consequently,
all the other distances of the solar system have been equally
overrated. Mars consequently would be smaller, but also his distance
considerably less, than I had supposed. I finally concluded that the
solar distance of the Earth was less than 9 millions of miles, instead
of more than 95. This would involve, of course, a proportionate
diminution in the distance I had to traverse, while it did not imply
an equal error in the reckoning of my speed, which had at first been
calculated from the Earth's disc, and not from that of the Sun. Hence,
continuing my course unchanged, I should arrive at the orbit of Mars
some days earlier than intended, and at a point behind that occupied
by the planet, and yet farther behind the one I aimed at. Prolonged
observation and careful calculation had so fully satisfied me of the
necessity of the corrections in question, that I did not hesitate to
alter my course accordingly, and to prepare for a descent on the
thirty-ninth instead of the forty-first day. I had, of course, to
prepare for the descent very long before I should come within the
direct influence of the attraction of Mars. This would not prevail
over the Sun's attraction till I had come within a little more than
100,000 miles of the surface, and this distance would not allow for
material reduction of my speed, even were I at once to direct the
whole force of the apergic current against the planet. I estimated
that arriving within some two millions of miles of him, with a speed
of 45,000 miles per hour, and then directing the whole force of the
current in his direction, I should arrive at his surface at a speed
nearly equal to that at which I had ascended from the Earth. I knew
that I could spare force enough to make up for any miscalculation
possible, or at least probable. Of course any serious error might be
fatal. I was exposed to two dangers; perhaps to three: but to none
which I had not fully estimated before even preparing for my voyage.
If I should fail to come near enough to the goal of my journey, and
yet should go on into space, or if, on the other hand, I should stop
short, the Astronaut might become an independent planet, pursuing an
orbit nearly parallel to that of the Earth; in which case I should
perish of starvation. It was conceivable that I might, in attempting
to avert this fate, fall upon the Sun, though this seemed exceedingly
improbable, requiring a combination of accidents very unlikely to
occur. On the other hand, I might by possibility attain my point, and
yet, failing properly