CHAPTER XIX.

A MEETING.

The next day the sun did not rise early enough to satisfy public
impatience. Barbicane, fearing that indiscreet questions would be put to
Michel Ardan, would like to have reduced his auditors to a small number
of adepts, to his colleagues for instance. But it was as easy as to dam
up the Falls at Niagara. He was, therefore, obliged to renounce his
project, and let his friend run all the risks of a public lecture. The
new Town Hall of Tampa Town, notwithstanding its colossal dimensions,
was considered insufficient for the occasion, which had assumed the
proportions of a public meeting.

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