indifference of bodies to motion or rest is what physicists call
_inertia_.

Barbican and his companions, therefore, shut up in the Projectile, could
readily imagine themselves to be completely motionless. Had they been
outside, the effect would have been precisely the same. No rush of air,
no jarring sensation would betray the slightest movement. But for the
sight of the Moon gradually growing larger above them, and of the Earth
gradually growing smaller beneath them, they could safely swear that
they were fast anchored in an ocean of deathlike immobility.

Towards the morning of next day (December 3), they were awakened by a
joyful, but quite unexpected sound.

"Cock-a-doodle! doo!" accompanied by a decided flapping of wings.

The Frenchman, on his feet in one instant and on the top of the ladder
in another, attempted to shut the lid of a half open box, speaking in an
angry but suppressed voice:

"Stop this hullabaloo, won't you? Do you want me to fail in my great
combination!"

"Hello?" cried Barbican and M'Nicholl, starting up and rubbing their
eyes.

"What noise was that?" asked Barbican.

"Seems to me I heard the crowing of a cock," observed the Captain.