The captain had it taken to the Washington Polygon and challenged the president of the Gun Club to pierce it.
Barbicane, peace having been made, would not attempt the experiment.
Then Nicholl, in a rage, offered to expose his armour-plate to the shock of any kind of projectile, solid, hollow, round, or conical.
The president, who was determined not to compromise his last success, refused.
Nicholl, excited by this unqualified obstinacy, tried to tempt Barbicane by leaving him every advantage.

He proposed to put his plate 200 yards from the gun.

Barbicane still refused.

At 100 yards?
Not even at 75.
"At 50, then," cried the captain, through the newspapers, "at 25 yards from my plate, and I will be behind it." Barbicane answered that even if Captain Nicholl would be in front of it he would not fire any more.
On this reply, Nicholl could no longer contain himself.

He had recourse to personalities; he insinuated cowardice--that the man who refuses to fire a shot from a cannon is very nearly being afraid of it; that, in short, the artillerymen who fight now at six miles distance have prudently substituted mathematical formulae for individual courage, and that there is as much bravery required to quietly wait for a cannon-ball behind armour-plate as to send it according to all the rules of science.
To these insinuations Barbicane answered nothing.