time
the humidity of the mould, and hurled it upwards through the vent-holes
of the masonry in the form of impenetrable vapour. These artificial
clouds unrolled their thick spirals as they went up to a height of 3,000
feet into the air. Any Red Indian wandering upon the limits of the
horizon might have believed in the formation of a new crater in the
heart of Florida, and yet it was neither an irruption, nor a typhoon,
nor a storm, nor a struggle of the elements, nor one of those terrible
phenomena which Nature is capable of producing. No; man alone had
produced those reddish vapours, those gigantic flames worthy of a
volcano, those tremendous vibrations like the shock of an earthquake,
those reverberations, rivals of hurricanes and storms, and it was his
hand which hurled into an abyss, dug by himself, a whole Niagara of
molten metal!

CHAPTER XVI.

THE COLUMBIAD.

Had the operation of casting succeeded? People were reduced to mere
conjecture. However, there was every reason to believe in its success,
as the mould had absorbed the entire mass of metal liquefied in the
furnaces. Still it was necessarily a long time impossible to be certain.

In fact, when Major Rodman cast his cannon of 160,000 lbs., it took no
less than a fortnight to cool. How long, therefore, would the monstrous
Columbiad, crowned with its clouds of vapour, and guarded by its intense
heat, be kept from the eyes of its admirers? It was difficult to
estimate.

The impatience of the members of the Gun Club was put to a rude test
during this lapse of time. But it could not be helped. J.T. Maston was
nearly roasted through his anxiety. A fortnight after the casting an
immense column of smoke was still soaring towards the sky, and the
ground burnt the soles of the feet within a radius of 200 feet round the
summit of Stony Hill.

The days went by; weeks followed them. There were no means of cooling
the immense cylinder. It was impossible to approach it. The members of
the Gun Club were obliged to wait with what patience they could muster.

"Here we are at the 10th of August," said J.T. Maston one morning. "It
wants hardly four months to the 1st of December! There still remains the
interior mould to be taken out, and the Columbiad to be loaded! We never
shall be ready! One cannot even approach the cannon! Will it never get
cool? That would be a cruel deception!"

They tried to calm the impatient secretary without succeeding. Barbicane
sai