The American public took a lively interest in the smallest details of the enterprise of the Gun Club. It followed day by day the discussion of the committee.
The most simple preparations for the great experiment, the questions of figures which it involved, the mechanical difficulties to be resolved—in one word, the entire plan of work—roused the popular excitement to the highest pitch.
The purely scientific attraction was suddenly intensified by the following incident: We have seen what legions of admirers and friends Barbicane’s project had rallied round its author.
There was, however, one single individual alone in all the States of the Union who protested against the attempt of the Gun Club.
He attacked it furiously on every opportunity, and human nature is such that Barbicane felt more keenly the opposition of that one man than he did the applause of all the others.
He was well aware of the motive of this antipathy, the origin of this solitary enmity, the cause of its personality and old standing, and in what rivalry of self-love it had its rise. This persevering enemy the president of the Gun Club had never seen.
Fortunate that it was so, for a meeting between the two men would certainly have been attended with serious consequences. This rival was a man of science, like Barbicane himself, of a fiery, daring, and violent disposition; a pure Yankee. His name was Captain Nicholl; he lived at Philadelphia.
Most people are aware of the curious struggle which arose during the Federal war between the guns and armor of iron-plated ships. The result was the entire reconstruction of the navy of both the continents; as the one grew heavier, the other became thicker in proportion.
The Merrimac, the Monitor, the Tennessee, the Weehawken discharged enormous projectiles themselves, after having