A. D. 2000
by Alvarado M. Fuller · English · Gutenberg #44307 · 556,478 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: A. D. 2000
Author: Alvarado M. Fuller
Illustrator: W. Bretsnyder
Release date: November 29, 2013 [eBook #44307]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A. D. 2000 ***
Transcriber's note
A detailed transcriber's note can be found at the end of this book.
[Illustration]
A. D. 2000
BY
LIEUT. ALVARADO M. FULLER
U. S. A.
CHICAGO
LAIRD & LEE PUBLISHERS
1890
Entered according to act of Congress in the year eighteen hundred
and ninety, by LAIRD & LEE, in the office of the librarian of
Congress at Washington.
(All rights reserved.)
PREFACE
Lest originality of title and theme be denied, it is but justice to
myself to state that both were assumed in November, 1887. My thanks are
due to Lieutenant D. L. Brainard, Second Cavalry, for the true copy of
the record of the Greely party left in the cairn at the farthest point
on the globe ever reached by man--83 degrees 24 minutes North Latitude,
40 degrees 46 minutes West Longitude.
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
JUNIUS COBB'S MARVELOUS DISCOVERY 9
CHAPTER II
A STARTLING PROPOSITION 31
CHAPTER III
PREPARING FOR THE TEST 45
CHAPTER IV
JEAN COLCHIS, CONSPIRATOR AND SAVANT 61
CHAPTER V
ON THE EVE OF A CENTURY'S SLEEP 80
CHAPTER VI
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH 101
CHAPTER VII
"YOU SAY THIS IS A. D. 2000?" 108
CHAPTER VIII
SAN FRANCISCO IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY 130
CHAPTER IX
THE CENTRAL PNEUMATIC RAILROAD 150
CHAPTER X
UNDER THE CENTRAL SEA 168
CHAPTER XI
THE ARMY OF INSTRUCTION 199
CHAPTER XII
JUNIUS COBB READS A NEWSPAPER 235
CHAPTER XIII
NEW YORK CITY--POPULATION 4,000,000 245
CHAPTER XIV
THE LAW OF THE LAND 261
CHAPTER XV
THE SYMPATHETIC TELEGRAPH 278
CHAPTER XVI
CHICAGO THE METROPOLIS OF THE COUNTRY 299
CHAPTER XVII
NIAGARA FALLS HARNESSED 309
CHAPTER XVIII
THE MYSTERY OF THE COPPER CYLINDER 315
CHAPTER XIX
RESURRECTED 332
CHAPTER XX
AN AERIAL VOYAGE 347
CHAPTER XXI
THE TRANSATLANTIC LIFE-SAVING STATIONS 363
CHAPTER XXII
LOCATING THE NORTH POLE 380
CHAPTER XXIII
UNITED AT LAST 396
CHAPTER XXIV
CONCLUSION 404
A. D. 2000
CHAPTER I
"Number three! half-past eleven o'clock--and all's well!"
"All is well!" came the response from the sentry at the guard-house,
while the sharp click of his piece as he brought it to his shoulder and
the heavy tread of his retreating footsteps were all that was heard to
break the stillness that reigned supreme throughout the garrison.
It was a dark, dreary, foggy night. The heavy atmosphere seemed laden
with great masses of fleeting vapor, and the walks of the post and the
ground surrounding them were as wet as if a heavy shower had just spent
its force.
Such was the Presidio of San Francisco, California, a military post of
the United States government, on the night of November 17th, 1887. The
lights of the garrison made little effect upon that thick and saturated
atmosphere; yet the little that they did make only seemed to add more
to the depth of the surrounding gloom.
In the officers' club-room, near the main parade, was gathered a
jolly party of old and young officers. The rooms were handsomely,
even superbly, furnished. The billiard-tables were in full blast; the
card-tables were occupied; while many sat and chatted upon the various
military topics which are ever a part of the soldier's life.
In a set of officers' quarters, some distance away from the main
parade, were assembled three subalterns of the line. The room was
bright and cheerful, and the decanters upon the table showed that they
knew of the good cheer of the world. The furniture upon which the
officers sat and reclined, as also about the room, gave evidence of
refinement and education; while the cases stacked with books, near the
entrance, bespoke a tendency and desire on the part of the occupant of
the quarters for the improvement of his mind. A grate fire in the angle
threw its cheerful rays upon those present, while the luxuriousness and
warmth of the whole room was in direct contrast with the gloominess and
cold without.
Opening from the main room through a curtained door was a second room,
the inside of which was a study. There was no carpet upon the floor,
and the boards gave evidence of having been used by many feet. Tables
containing jars and many curious vessels, wires in every direction,
bottles filled and empty, maps and drawings, and instruments of
peculiar form and shape, were seen about the room.
In one corner was a large Holtz machine, whose great disc of glass
reflected back the rays from the lights in the front room.
The three men were soldiers and officers of the army.
In the center of the room, by a small table upon which was a roll of
paper, with one hand holding down the pages, while the other was raised
in a commanding gesture, stood Junius Cobb, a lieutenant in the cavalry
arm of the service. Sitting in an easy-chair near the fire, with his
legs on the fender and his eyes watching every movement of the speaker,
reclined Lester Hathaway; while midway between the table and the right
side of the room, in a large rocker, sat Hugh Craft.
Lester Hathaway was a graduate of the military academy of the United
States, as was also Hugh Craft; both were lieutenants in the army--the
former in the infantry, and the latter in the artillery branch of the
service.
Lester Hathaway was about twenty-eight years of age, tall and slim,
fair-haired, a pleasing face, languid air, and a blasé style. To him
the world was one grand sphere for enjoyment; it was his life, his
almost every thought, as to how he could pass his time in an easy and
amusing manner. Balls, parties, and dances were his special vocations.
With him there was no thought of the true hardships of life.
Young and handsome, courted by the ladies, he could not understand how
it was that others should occupy their minds with subjects of research
and study.
Hugh Craft was of a different type; yet, like Hathaway, he was tall
and thin, and about the same age; but here the likeness terminated. He
was darker than his companion, with sharp features, an aquiline nose,
and a chin denoting great firmness. His eye was piercing, and wandered
from one object to another with the rapidity of lightning. He was much
more of a student than Hathaway, delighting in all that portion of
the sciences touching the marvelous; a good listener to the views of
others. Altogether, Hugh Craft was a man worthy to be the partner of a
scientific man in a great enterprise.
Junius Cobb, the central figure in the room, deserves more than a
passing description. He was a man about thirty-three years of age, of
medium height, but of a full and well-developed form, black eyes, a
pleasing countenance, a dark mustache nearly covering his lips, square
chin, and eyebrows meeting in the center of the face--all tokens
of a great firmness and decision. He was one who had given many of
his days and nights to hard study in science, in political economy,
and, in fact, had taken a deep interest in almost all of the various
progressive undertakings of his day.
Outside of his duties, Junius Cobb had employed every spare moment of
his time in experimenting in chemistry and electricity. The room off
the sitting-room, where the three gentlemen were gathered this dark
and foggy night, was his workshop, into which no man was permitted to
go save he himself. Its mysterious contents were known to no other
person.
His friends would come and visit him, and sit for hours talking and
chatting, but no invitation was ever accorded them to enter that single
room.
"Craft," and Cobb pointed his finger at that personage in an impatient
manner, "we have often discussed these matters, I will admit, but it is
a theme I like to talk upon. Do you believe in the immortality of the
soul?"
"Why, of course," replied that person, looking surprised.
"And you, too, Hathaway?" continued Cobb, addressing the other.
"Most certainly I do," was the reply.
"Now, do either of you believe that the living body can be so prepared
that it will continue to hold the soul within its fleshly portals for
years without losing that great and unknown essence?" and Cobb fixed
his sparkling eyes upon his listeners.
"Yes," answered Craft; "but by God alone."
"I do not mean by God," quickly returned the other. "God is all
powerful; but by man?"
"Then, of course, I would say that it cannot be done."
"But if I were to show you that it was a fact, an accomplished fact,
you would, of course, admit it?"
"No, Cobb. Look here, old fellow," pettishly exclaimed Hathaway, rising
from his chair, "what is all this about, anyway?"
Cobb glanced at him with an expression of pity, and quickly replied:
"I mean, Hathaway, that it is in my power to hold the life of mortal
man within its living body for an unlimited time. I mean that I can
take your body, Hathaway, and so manipulate it that you will be, to all
appearance, dead; but your soul, or whatever you choose to call it,
will still be in your body; and further, that after a certain time you
will again come to life, having all your former freshness and youth."
Cobb stood at the table with his hand upon the pages of his book, and a
smile upon his face which seemed to say, "Deny it if you can."
Hathaway and Craft looked at him in amazement. These men had known Cobb
to be a student, but neither of them had ever thought him demented.
The proposition advanced by him seemed so terribly contrary to all the
principles of science, natural law, and life, that neither of them
could believe that the man was in earnest.
Both Hathaway and Craft had often come to Cobb's quarters, and
exchanged ideas with him concerning various and many topics; both knew
him to be a student of chemistry and philosophy, and that he worked
many hours in his little back room. They knew that he worked with
chemicals and electricity, and both knew him to be a very peculiar man,
yet neither of them had ever before seemed to be imbued with the belief
that the man was of unsound mind. The grave and startling statement
advanced by Cobb had so astonished them that it was impossible to think
him sane.
"Yes," continued Cobb, "I have found this power. I have no doubt that
it strikes you with amazement that I should even suggest such an
almost preposterous theory. I have no doubt that you almost think me
insane; but my researches in the past few years have been rewarded
by the most startling discoveries. We have all imagined, for many
years, that as soon as the body was deprived of air for a considerable
time, life would become extinct, or, in other words, that life could
not exist without air. Such is not the case--ah! do not start," he
exclaimed, seeing both Hathaway and Craft bend forward inquiringly
in their chairs. "I repeat, such is not the case. Without the oxygen
in the air, the blood of man would be white, yet it would possess
all the properties necessary to continue life. But one thing must
not be confounded with this statement: oxygen is necessary for life
_with_ action, but not necessary for life _without_ action. A strange
statement, is it not? Am I tedious?" he asked, looking at his listeners.
"No; not at all," they both exclaimed. "Please continue, for we are
very much interested."
"Well," and Cobb's eyes flashed as he warmed up to his subject, "it
was long ago discovered that there was a peculiar odor arising upon
the passage of a current of electricity through oxygen gas; this was
also perceived even in working an electrical machine. This odor was
named ozone. Both of you gentlemen are sufficiently proficient in
chemistry for me to pass over the various methods by which ozone can
be manufactured, yet I think it quite necessary that I should state a
few facts about this very remarkable gas, if, indeed, it can be called
a gas; it is really allotropic oxygen. Now, oxygen can be put into a
liquid state, or even into a solid state; yet it is most difficult
to keep it in either of those conditions--so much so that it would
be of no use for the purposes for which I desire to use it. Oxygen
is contracted by passing an electric spark through it, and ozone is
perceived by the peculiar odor arising therefrom. If the intensity of
the current is increased sufficiently, the oxygen is proportionately
decreased in bulk. Suffice it to say that oxygen can be reduced
millions of times in bulk by this simple method, always provided that
the electrical energy was sufficient at starting. You will perceive,"
and he hastily quitted the room, entered his workshop, and returned
with a small bottle fitted with a tight stopper, and containing
apparently a stick of camphor--"you will perceive," he continued,
"when I open this bottle, a most peculiar odor, a lightness in the
atmosphere, a seeming renewal of life, and a sense of languidness
passing over you."
Saying this, he took out the glass stopper and passed the bottle two
or three times in front of Hathaway and Craft. As the bottle was moved
from side to side, both of them experienced a strange sensation; it
seemed that the air was heavily charged with a something that gave
them feelings of unutterable lightness, of calm repose, and intense
satisfaction. The lights danced about in thousands of forms, yet each
appeared to possess some true and beautiful shape. They moved, they
walked and ran, yet no effort seemed to be required. It was as if they
were a part of some living thing, yet not a part: a part of it in that
they moved and had feelings coincident with it, yet not a part because
no effort was required, of brain or muscle, to be a part of it. For a
moment it seemed to each of them that a state of exertionless existence
had been reached, and then each knew no more. They lay in their chairs
apparently lifeless.
Cobb quickly replaced the stopper in the bottle, and took from his
nostrils two small pieces of sponge, which had been saturated in some
kind of solution.
Returning to the back room, he replaced the bottle on the shelf from
which he had taken it, and came back to his position by the table.
He watched Hathaway and Craft a few minutes, when, seeing no appearance
of reviving, he arose and opened the windows and wheeled their chairs
around so that the cool night air could strike them full in the face.
This done, he sat himself down near the table and seemed to watch with
great earnestness the countenances of his two friends.
He had sat this way but a moment, when a sigh escaped the lips of
Craft, his eyes opened, and he gazed about him with a most puzzled and
dazed expression.
Cobb sprang quickly to his side, and presented a glass of wine to his
lips.
"There," he said, "take some of that, old fellow; you will feel like
your former self in a moment."
Craft drank the liquor without saying a word; then, raising himself, he
looked Cobb in the eyes, and asked:
"Have I been asleep, Cobb, or what is the matter? I feel as if I had
just awakened from a most delicious slumber, a most refreshing one, and
yet I had no dreams, nor does it seem that I am fatigued in the least."
At this moment Hathaway opened his eyes, and also in a dazed manner
viewed his surroundings.
"Why, bless me, I have been asleep!" he exclaimed.
Cobb quickly filled a second glass of wine and gave it to him, saying:
"Drink that; you will feel all right in a jiffy."
Hathaway emptied the glass, and then, looking at Craft, said:
"I know now; it was the bottle, or rather the contents, that has caused
us both to fall asleep."
"Yes," said Cobb, "it was the contents of that bottle that has caused
you both to enter the first stages of death."
"How long has this sleep continued?" asked Craft.
"About ten minutes."
"And was I also asleep as long?" asked Hathaway.
"Yes; a little longer," returned Cobb. "Craft awoke first."
Pausing to light a cigar, he then resumed:
"How do you feel--sick or languid?"
"Oh, as for me, not at all," spoke up Craft. "I cannot say that I feel
any ill effect from the drug."
"Nor I," said Hathaway, "except that I am a little dry," with a laugh.
"Then take some of this wine," and Cobb filled a glass for each of
them. "It will brace up your nerves."
They drank the wine, and appeared to suffer no evil effects from their
enforced sleep.
"Will you not smoke, also?" asked Cobb, as he passed over a box of fine
Havana cigars. Each took one, and Cobb laid the box aside.
Soon the clouds of smoke rising to the ceiling renewed the scene of
warmth and sociability which had prevailed before the uncorking of the
bottle of ozone.
"You, gentlemen," said Cobb, drawing his chair to the fire, and taking
a seat near the others, "have seen pure ozone in its solid state, and
you both have felt its effect. It is the life-giving principle of
oxygen. Ozone is everywhere; in the air, of course; in all creation,
in fact. I do not wish to tire you, but if you desire, I will explain
why I said that I had the power to hold life in the human body for an
indefinite time."
"You will not tire us. Pray go on; I, for one, am most anxious to know
more of this wonderful discovery of yours," quickly returned Craft.
"I also can listen for hours to your words," answered Hathaway.
"Then, I will explain to you my researches in this direction;" and
Cobb arose and entered his little back room, soon returning with a
good-sized box, which he laid upon the table.
Craft and Hathaway watched him with an earnestness which gave evidence
of the interest they took in the strange theories which he had
advanced. Indeed, it was a most strange, not to say terrible, power for
a man to possess--that of holding the soul of man within its fleshly
portals during his pleasure.
After Cobb had placed the box upon the table, he opened the roll of
papers which he had before him at the time he got the bottle of ozone.
Referring to one of the pages, he looked toward Hathaway and said:
"Can you tell me how many cubic feet of air the average man requires
in every twenty-four hours?"
Hathaway, taken by surprise, hesitated, blushed, and admitted that he
had forgotten the exact amount.
"Well," continued the other, quickly, "it is not to be supposed that
you should remember the answer to such a question, so I will tell you.
A healthy man, in action, consumes about 686,000 cubic inches in every
twenty-four hours. Now, what I wish to have you understand by that,
is this: that the average man requires about 137,200 cubic inches of
oxygen in every twenty-four hours. This is the accepted way of putting
it; in reality, he needs the ozone contained in that amount of oxygen.
I do not desire that you should receive the impression that the oxygen
is not needed for the man, but that the ozone only is required for the
continuance of life where there is no action. I may surprise you when
I say that each of you draws into your lungs, every day, over seven
pounds of oxygen gas, but such is the case. Now, in those seven pounds
of oxygen there are just two grains of pure ozone. Do not interrupt
me," as Craft attempted to speak; "I know what you would say--that that
is contrary to the accepted opinion on the subject, and that the amount
is much greater--but let me tell you that my researches have found it
entirely different: two grains only, to seven pounds of oxygen, or
thirty-five pounds of common air. You will perceive by the above that
each of you requires nearly two grains of ozone per day, or about 700
grains per year. Now, if by any freak of nature you could remain in a
perfectly passive state, doing nothing, exercising no action at all,
this amount of 700 grains would fall to about 400 grains; that is,
the blood would require that amount to continue to perform its vital
functions. Thus you see that you would require for the maintenance
of life for a hundred years, 40,000 grains. This is equivalent to
nearly seven pounds of ozone. Ozone, as you have already ascertained,
cannot be taken into the system through the nostrils without serious
consequences. It is too powerful, and would soon cause paralysis and
death; but it can be taken into the system through the pores of the
body without danger to life. Again, ozone can be kept in the solid
state under the pressure of two atmospheres; reduce this pressure, and
it will begin to evaporate. Crystals of stronetic acid, you both know,
quickly decompose carbonic acid gas. Now, the whole secret is this:
If insensibility is first produced by any of the various means at our
command, and the subject is then placed in a receptacle sufficiently
strong to withstand a pressure of over two atmospheres, and surrounded
by crystals of ozone and stronetic acid in certain proportions,
insensibility will continue, and the subject will in no way change,
save a slight decrease in weight. Life is there, and will continue
there until the ozone is entirely exhausted. To compensate for the
loss in weight, the subject is bound about the abdomen with cloths
saturated in certain oils and preparations which I have ascertained
will furnish all the nourishment required for a given period."
Craft and Hathaway could not help looking at this man in amazement.
Was this the man with whom they had played billiards, with whom they
had drank and associated, never dreaming that he was engaged in any
such investigations? Was he, indeed, crazy? and were they the listeners
to a lunatic's chattering discourse?
Such were the thoughts that passed through the minds of both.
Cobb stood watching the effect of his words upon them. He noted every
change in their countenances; he read every thought as it came to their
minds. He spoke not a word, waiting for them to give utterance to the
skeptical ideas which he knew they entertained.
"It is too strange! It is too contrary to natural law and science! It
is impossible!" and Craft arose as if to go.
"Yes, Cobb," said Hathaway, "this is too much; it is a fancy you have
gotten, but a fancy which can never be realized. You have allowed your
theories to become shadows, your shadows to become tangible, but the
tangibility is apparent to no one but yourself." He too arose from his
chair.
A smile played upon the lips of Cobb, a smile of perfect
self-satisfaction. His eyes shone as if his very soul centered in them.
"Look!" he cried; "look! and behold for yourselves whether my words are
worthy of consideration!"
Saying this, he raised the lid of the box on the table; then, stepping
back and pointing his finger at it, exclaimed, in a tone of command, a
tone of majestic confidence in his own power:
"Look! Behold life in death; death in life!"
Craft took a step forward, and glanced into the box. A puzzled and
ludicrous expression came over his face, his lips parted, then,
finally, his white teeth showed themselves as he gave vent to a loud
and prolonged laugh.
Hathaway had by this time advanced and obtained a view of the contents
of the box.
"A cat, by all that's holy!" he exclaimed; "a poor dead cat!" and he
too joined in the merriment of his friend.
Cobb stood still, not in the least endeavoring to check their hilarity,
but waiting for them to get through.
Again the others looked at the cat in the box, and again they laughed
heartily; but seeing Cobb so quiet, it at last dawned upon them that
there was something peculiar in the surroundings of the animal.
In the box which had been brought out and placed upon the table was a
large Maltese cat, lying upon its side on an asbestos pillow. The head
of the animal was wrapped with bandages, as was also the under part of
the body for a space of about two inches above its thighs. The cushion
upon which it lay was placed within what appeared to be a zinc coffin
of something under ten inches in height. At the head of the cat was a
small saucer-shaped vessel with a perforated top, while surrounding
the whole was a space of over four inches in width. In this space were
the remains of a few crystals of some white substance. The box seemed
to be lined with glass, and a glass top covered the whole, its sides
seemingly glued to the sides of the box.
"Come," said Craft, noticing that Cobb was waiting for some remark from
one or the other of them; "tell us, Cobb, why you have that cat lying
in that box. Is this the principle you have been speaking of? Are we
really to believe that you have in that case an animal undergoing the
treatment you have spoken of?"
"Gentlemen," answered Cobb, with a feeling of pride, "you have guessed
it. One year ago to-night, at twelve o'clock, I caused this poor animal
to become insensible; then placing it in this case, with its mouth and
nostrils covered, with bandages of nourishment about its loins, with a
cup of stronetic acid at its head, and crystals of ozone surrounding
the body, I hermetically sealed the case. From my experiments, I
ascertained that the amount of ozone necessary for the continuance
of life in an animal of this size, and for a period of one year, was
1,425 grains. This amount I put into the case. You can easily see
how near correct I was in my calculations, for there are not over ten
grains of ozone left on the floor of the box to-night. I asked you
here, gentlemen, not only to listen to my lecture on ozone, but to
witness the return to life of this animal."
All laughter in Hathaway and Craft had changed to a grave attention to
all that was said by their friend.
At last it seemed to them that there was something, indeed, in the
theory he advanced. In an attitude of intense expectation, they awaited
his next move.
"As I have said," continued Cobb, "that cat was placed in this
condition one year ago to-night. It is my intention to bring it to life
again this evening; but before we begin, let us take a glass of wine
and light our cigars, and then to business."
He filled their glasses from the decanter on the table, and each took a
fresh cigar from the box.
Craft again sat himself down in his chair and leisurely puffed clouds
of smoke from his mouth, while Hathaway stood with his back to the fire.
Both were now prepared for anything which Cobb might advance, for it
seemed to each of them that it was no longer a question of "Is it
true?" but a "fact only to be proved."
Cobb, having left the room, soon returned with a small box containing
six cells of Grenet battery and about ten feet of wire attached to two
pieces of copper. These he placed upon the table.
Taking the box containing the cat, he carried it to the front window
and set it upon a chair. Entering once again his little work-room, he
brought out three sponges and as many strips of common linen, and then
from a bottle in his hand he sprinkled the sponges well. Approaching
Craft, he said:
"Let me bind this upon your nostrils, and at the same time caution you
not to open your mouth, but to breathe through the linen bandage and
sponge."
Craft arose and submitted to the operation of having his face below the
eyes covered by the sponge and bandages.
Cobb then approached Hathaway and treated him in like manner.
This having been finished, he wrapped his own face carefully with the
third bandage. His mouth was purposely left free that he might explain
the few remaining acts in his strange comedy.
Going across the room, he threw open the window to its full extent;
then coming back again, he opened the window before which stood the
chair containing the box. Turning to his friends, he answered their
mute inquiries by stating that he took these precautions lest the
remaining ozone in the case should, in escaping, overpower them. The
air passing through the room from the back window would quickly carry
out the evaporating ozone.
"I will break the glass top of the case," he said, "and quickly seize
the cat, withdraw it, and throw the box out of the window."
Cobb now adjusted the cloth about his mouth, while the others came
closer to him that they might not miss any part of the proceedings.
Taking a small hammer from a shelf near by, he struck the glass a smart
blow, shattering it into many pieces; quickly seizing the cat, he
drew it out of the case and threw the latter out of the window. Next,
tearing off the bandages about its loins and head, he clapped the two
copper discs against the body of the animal--one upon its back and one
upon its breast, just over the heart; then dropping the zincs into the
fluid of the battery, completed the circuit by touching a push-button.
The effect was startling: the poor animal gave a gasp, a shiver ran
through its frame, its chest heaved a moment, and it breathed.
Quickly taking it to the fire, he rubbed it briskly with a towel for
a couple of minutes, and then laid it down upon the warm rug near the
grate, that its body might receive the heat from the fire.
The animal lay but a moment where he had placed it; it soon arose on
its legs, walked around once or twice, and then quietly lay down in a
new position.
Taking the bandages from his face, Cobb told the others to do likewise.
The air in the room was only slightly impregnated with the odor of
ozone.
The windows being closed, a saucer of milk was placed before the cat,
and the animal instantly arose and lapped its contents.
It seemed to all present as if the animal had just arisen from a sound
sleep. There was no indication in its manner that it had undergone any
new or unusual treatment.
It was strange! It was more than strange--it was marvelous!
No longer was there any doubt in the mind of either Craft or Hathaway.
The theory had been plainly and truly demonstrated. Cobb had become
possessed of a power unknown to any other living man. What would he do
with this power? was the question that immediately came to the mind of
each. Would he use it for good, or for evil? Was it a play-thing that
he had discovered? or had he worked out this problem for some great and
grand undertaking?
"What next?" inquired Hathaway. "What is the next act in this drama?"
"To bed," said Cobb, glancing up at the clock. "It is now ten minutes
past one. To-morrow evening meet me here. Say nothing, not even a word,
about what you both have witnessed and heard to-night. Have I your
word?" he asked, inquiringly.
"Yes, certainly," they replied together; "if you wish us not to speak
of it."
"I do indeed wish it, and trust that nothing will cause you to divulge
a single part of this evening's occurrences. Good-night!"
Shaking their hands at the door, he again said good-night as they
descended the stairway.
Returning, he filled the grate with more coal, and threw himself down,
without undressing, upon the cot in the corner of the room. A moment
later, the deep sound of his breathing and the low purring of the cat
on the rug were the only sounds heard in the room.
CHAPTER II
The next evening, Junius Cobb again welcomed the arrival of his friends
to his apartments.
The November rains had set in in reality, and like the preceding
evening, the post wore an aspect of moistened gloom.
Cobb's friends had come earlier than usual, for the events of the
previous evening were so vividly before their minds that it was
impossible to await the arrival of the conventional hour for calling
upon their friend.
They rattled up the stairs, knocked respectfully at his door, and
entered without waiting for his well-known voice.
He was sitting in his easy-chair, but arose at the first sound of their
approach, and as they entered, cordially grasped the hand of each.
"Boys, I am glad you came earlier than is your custom," he said,
motioning them to chairs.
"We could not wait for nine o'clock," replied Hathaway, breathless from
running up the stairs.
"No; we couldn't wait," chimed in Craft. "I do believe I dreamed of
nothing but ozone, dead cats, chemistry, and the like, all night. I am,
in fact, weary for want of sleep."
Cobb did the honors of his house, and soon all three were quietly
sitting, and sending clouds of smoke airily toward the ceiling.
"Any news at the club?" inquired Cobb of Craft.
"Nothing out of the usual run. Dilly, the young one from the Point, and
the others are working hard at a game of cinch."
"A good night for a quiet game, or for a quiet chat, too," said
Hathaway.
"Yes," said Cobb; "but would you rather play cinch to remaining here
and listening to what I have to say?"
"Oh, no, my dear boy; excuse us. I left them all in their glory, and
hunted up Craft, that we might the sooner get here, for I have no doubt
that you have some remarkable disclosures to make to-night."
"You are right; I have--and some that will probably strike you as
being the most fanciful and, perhaps, untenable, you have ever heard,"
returned the other, looking his two listeners in the eye.
"Let that be seen in the future," they both exclaimed.
"What is your pay?" abruptly asked Cobb, after a moment's silence.
"You ought to know--$1,500 a year."
"And yours the same?" to Craft, "both being dismounted officers."
"Certainly; and a mighty small sum for a man to put on style, go to
parties, and send bouquets and the like, I assure you," returned that
personage.
"And mine is but a trifle more. We are all poor, impecunious gentlemen,
are we not?"
"Yes, decidedly so, I fear; for I am not aware that either of us has
anything outside of his pay," answered Craft.
"And what are our chances for promotion? The way things go now, I will
have to serve fifty years to become a colonel. Of course, I cannot
serve that long, as I would be over the maximum age," gloomily broke in
Hathaway.
"It is even so, gentlemen," and Cobb knocked the ashes from his cigar.
"Promotion in the army is so exceedingly slow that none of us can
expect to reach a colonelcy; in fact, the most that is before us is a
majority. Here we are, gentlemen of thirty and thirty-five years of
age, giving our lives and brains to this government for a paltry $2,000
a year. I, for one, intend to remedy this sad state of affairs," and he
arose and walked across the room in an impatient manner.
The others watched him curiously. His manner of action spoke volumes,
and indicated plainly that there was something he had to tell them in
conjunction with his remarks.
Cobb strode nervously across the room for a minute, then suddenly
approaching the table, he filled to the brim a glass with whisky from
one of the decanters. Raising it to his lips to drink its contents, he
suddenly paused, and begging the pardon of his guests, invited them to
join him. His thoughts were not upon his actions.
"Listen," he exclaimed, as their glasses were laid upon the table; "are
you ready to give me your strictest attention?"
"We are all ears, and will gladly listen to all you have to say,"
answered Craft, while Hathaway's eyes and manner betokened the
curiosity he could not conceal.
"Are you both willing to give your oaths that what I tell you to-night
will never, under any circumstances, be divulged by either of you to a
living soul, or ever put in writing, or in any manner made possible to
be known?"
Both of the men gave him this promise.
Cobb arose and took a small Bible from the mantel over the grate, and
advancing to the table, held it in his right hand, requesting each of
the others to place his hand upon it. They arose from their chairs and
placed their hands upon the sacred volume.
"Repeat after me," said Cobb: "I swear by all that I hold sacred, by
my hope of salvation in the after life, and by my belief in a just
and good God, that I will not divulge or disclose, by tone of voice,
or writing, or other symbol, that which maybe communicated to me this
night; so help me God."
His words were slowly and solemnly spoken, and the repetition of them
by the others was in a manner indicative of the sincerity and truth
they both felt in the obligation taken.
"Good!" and Cobb laid the book upon the table.
"I might now go on and tell you of that for which I asked you to meet
me here to-night, but there would be no use in communicating to you
these secrets unless you agree to assist me. It is your help that I
desire."
"Cobb," and Craft's manner indicated that he felt hurt by his friend's
hesitation, "I have known you for quite a long time. I have admired and
respected you, and if I can be of any assistance to you in any way, you
have but to ask me."
"Then, if I tell you that that which I ask of you can be performed
without any neglect of the duties you owe to your God, your country,
or yourself--that it will harm no one, nor will anyone have cause to
complain of your action--will you swear it?"
"Yes!" they both exclaimed.
Again Cobb took the sacred volume from the mantel; again was the oath
administered, and again was it taken freely and unreservedly.
"Gentlemen, I thank you," and an expression of gratitude came into
Cobb's eyes. "Such friendship is worthy of you!"
After some ordinary conversation, he wheeled his chair nearer the
others, and thus addressed them:
"For many years I have served this government honestly and well, but my
salary has never seemed to me sufficient for the actual needs of a man
in the position of an army officer. The government requires too much
for the pay it gives. Again, a man is required to serve too many years
in the lower grades; he is an old man by the time he is a captain.
This is certainly contrary to the principles of a good and efficient
government. As a captain, he should not be over thirty years of age, at
the most. Here am I, who will be only a captain at fifty, if even then.
This discourages the average young man. It keeps many from entering the
service, because they say, 'I can do better outside.' I am ambitious,
and desire to gain rank and wealth. But one thing I have found: _Life
is too short._ I propose to lengthen it. You do not yet comprehend the
import of my words. _I propose to enter life again a hundred years
hence!_ I know this statement startles you, but such is my intention.
I propose to put myself in the condition in which you have seen that
Maltese cat. I will sleep a hundred years. My arrangements are all
made; my property, small though it is; is so fixed that it will not
be lost to me in that time. But I must hold my commission in the
army--that is the hard problem. What do you think of my scheme?" and
he put his hands behind him, and stood watching the effects of his
proposition.
To say that his listeners were surprised, would ill interpret their
feelings. They were dumbfounded. They could not believe that this man
would dare to undergo the risk of death for the mere possibility of
again living at a future day. He certainly was joking! He had asked
them there to see if they would be such fools as to accept his remarks
as given in earnest and good faith!
As soon as Craft could get his breath, he exclaimed, vehemently:
"You are certainly not going to subject yourself to such a test!"
Hathaway could not speak; he simply sat and looked at this man in
amazement.
"Yes," and Cobb laughed at the horrified expressions upon their faces.
"Yes, I do most certainly intend this very thing. I have nothing
to lose; I have everything to gain. My theories will be tested, my
suppositions proved. I have invested all my wealth except a sufficient
amount to carry out my programme, in such a manner that in a hundred
years it must, or my calculations are very much out of the way,
increase in a way to make me a rich man. If I can hold my rank in the
army, I will be a colonel, probably. With wealth and rank, I can again
enter the world in a position to gratify my ambitions and desires. If
I succeed, all will be well; if I fail, why, that is the end of it.
Without chick or soul in this world dependent upon me, why should I
hesitate to advance the sciences by undergoing the ordeal of that which
I have advocated? No one but I ought to be called upon to prove the
theory I have originated. If I fail, what is the consequence? I simply
die! On this earth, a human being dies every second; does it interfere
with the steady and slow movement of the machinery of life? No, not
at all! Though 32,000,000 die every year, they are not missed! Do we
know what the future is? Do we know it to be worse than the present?
No! Then, why care if we die to-day or to-morrow? I am resolved to
take this opportunity of demonstrating that man can live longer than
the allotted time accorded him. I have always longed to know what this
world would be like in a hundred years: it certainly will be a strange
world! Most men think that we have reached a state of perfection
already, and that it is almost impossible for man to improve upon the
present condition of life, surrounded, as we are, by so many and great
inventions. I, for one, do not think that way. I believe we are but
in our infancy to what we will be in a hundred years. You have each
given me your sacred promise that you will assist me in my undertaking.
I hold you to it. I am, in reality, going to die, as regards all my
friends, all my associations, and as regards the very present itself.
I think I can almost understand the feelings of the condemned criminal
on the scaffold, who is about to leave behind him all that is dear, all
that is sacred to him. Yet I am buoyed up by other feelings that that
poor wretch has not; I will live again. I do not believe that either
of you can quite understand my feelings in this matter. It is too new
to you both. There are many cases on record where men have given up
life for various reasons--given it up cheerfully and without a murmur;
and those men never expected to live again--at least, in the flesh.
Why should I falter? I, who go but to come again; to again enjoy the
pleasures of life; to walk, see, speak, and associate with mankind!"
Cobb ceased speaking, and paced the floor in an excited manner. It was
evident that this man, much as he talked of severing his connections
with the present, was still loath to attempt this terrible ordeal. Yet,
it was also apparent to both that he would not hesitate in his purpose.
He was a man of too strong will; he would make the sacrifice.
His friends knew it and felt it.
Ceasing his walk, Cobb faced them and said:
"Before I leave, before I enter this dormant state, I must secure my
position in the army beyond the possibility of losing it. How I am
to do this, has long been a problem. If I am dead, I will be dropped
from the rolls of the army; if I go on leave, I must return at the
expiration of that leave, or, failing to do so, be declared a deserter.
There seems to be but one way for me to accomplish my object. I will
explain it."
Cobb now entered his little room, and soon returned with a small
sporting rifle and a paper box.
It was an ordinary thirty-calibre rifle, such as is used in sporting
galleries.
Approaching his friends, he opened the box and showed them a row of
small cartridges. They differed very little from those used in the
ordinary rifle.
Handing one to Craft, he said:
"Do you notice anything peculiar about that cartridge?"
"Well," and Craft examined it critically, turning it over and over, "it
seems to be nothing but a solid thirty-calibre bullet. I cannot see
that it is a cartridge at all," and he handed it to Hathaway.
The latter examined it closely. It was, indeed, to all appearance,
but an ordinary bullet with the base filled flush with some black
substance; in length it was only seven-tenths of an inch; in calibre,
thirty one-hundredths.
Taking one of them between his thumb and forefinger, Cobb twirled it
about and said:
"This is one of my new cartridges for use in actual service. It seems
to you, no doubt, very small, very inadequate to the needs of actual
warfare. You would both naturally say that it is too small for long
range, too small for executive work; that it is altogether unfit for
the purposes for which bullets are made." A smile played about his
lips. Then, continuing, as he held up one of these bullets: "This is
an ordinary thirty-calibre bullet, but the grand principle is in the
explosive used with it. Heretofore it has required about fifty grains
of powder to send such a missile on an effective mission. Now, fifty
grains of powder require quite a good-sized space; it requires a case
to hold it, and all this lengthens out the cartridge. If a magazine gun
is used, but few such cartridges can be placed in the magazine. I have
overcome all this by using a new explosive of my own manufacture. I
take the ordinary bullet and simply fill the hollow end with one grain
of my new compound, covering the whole with a fine and durable cement.
All this saves space, and enables me to put about forty cartridges in
my gun. Do you comprehend the drift of my remarks?"
Both of his listeners nodded assent.
Cobb loaded the gun with one of the ordinary cartridges, and then
placed a bundle of common wrapping-paper on end at the other side of
the room. Taking a position in the further corner, he discharged the
piece at this improvised target.
The bullet entered the paper and penetrated through about forty sheets.
Then, loading with one of his own cartridges, he again took the same
position, and again discharged the piece.
Upon examination, it was found that over ninety-seven sheets of paper
had been perforated. Cobb laid the gun on the table and said:
"You see the effect of the two cartridges! Which is the superior of
the two? Of course, mine; and in effect as forty is to ninety-seven,
or even more, perhaps. This is the power that will grant me my leave!
This explosive is my own invention. You have seen its power. If we
put gunpowder at one and that of gun-cotton at four, then that of
meteorite, my new compound, would be nearly forty-six.
"Like gun-cotton, there is little or no smoke upon discharge, as
you have witnessed; but, unlike gun-cotton or nitro-glycerine, the
explosion is not instantaneous, but similar to that of gunpowder. Now,
the amount of gas evolved upon the explosion of one grain of gunpowder
is, in volume, about three hundred of carbonic acid and nitrogen, but
the true volume, considering the heat, is about fifteen hundred times
that of the original charge. Meteorite has a rate of combustion three
times slower than gunpowder, while the volume of gas liberated is more
than sixty-six times that of the latter, or about one hundred thousand
times its original bulk. This is the power, as I have said, that gives
me my leave of absence. On the 22d of last month I sent an application
to the War Department for a leave for the purpose of perfecting a gun
in which to use these cartridges. With the application I sent some of
the cartridges. I also sent a sealed packet containing the formula for
making the explosive, but with the positive directions that the formula
should not be made known until I had perfected my experiments. I asked
for leave until I had completed my work. Through the little influence
I possessed, I pressed this application to be granted in the manner I
asked. Yesterday I received my leave, and here it is;" and he handed
Craft the following paper:
"WAR DEPARTMENT, A.-G. O., }
WASHINGTON, November 9, 1887.}
"Special Orders,
No. 156. [Extract.]
"5. Leave of absence is hereby granted First Lieutenant Junius
Cobb, Second Cavalry, from December 1, 1887, until surrendered by
him in writing, or upon his return to duty, for purposes which he
has communicated to this department.
"By command of Lieut.-Gen. Sheridan.
"R. C. DRUM,
"_Adjutant-General_."
"I had this leave," said Cobb, as he took it from Craft, after the
latter had read it, "while I was talking to you last night, but I
preferred not to show it to you until this evening. Any time after the
first of next month I can leave the service and return when I wish, and
my commission will be secured to me."
Craft and Hathaway both told him that though they thought his
undertaking was a very foolish one, nevertheless they would give him
all the assistance in their power, as they had promised.
Cobb and his friends talked a little longer on various things to be
done, and finally separated for the night; the two latter going home
to wonder over this great scheme of their friend, the former seating
himself in his easy-chair to deliberate upon the thousand and one
incidentals necessary to carry it out.
CHAPTER III
In order to carry into effect this great and ambitious idea, Cobb had
commenced operations as early as July.
He knew that he must find some place in which to lay his body, that
would be perfectly safe from any possible disturbance. It would not do
to select any house, or any particular piece of ground, nor could he go
to any island or distant part of the globe.
A hundred years would make such changes that it was impossible to
foretell what places would not be disturbed in that time. It was a most
difficult problem to solve.
Was there a place on earth that he was sure would not be reached by
human hands, and its contents and secrets made known, in a hundred
years!
It was imperative that he should find such a place, and with all the
assurance that one has in life of anything, that it would remain
unmolested. What would not happen in a hundred years! Were he to take
the most unfrequented and out-of-the-way place he could conceive of,
it might be the very place of all others that would be the first to be
explored by some enterprising genius in the future.
Cobb knew this, and realized the necessity of selecting such a spot as
would give the utmost assurance that no one would desire to destroy,
enter, or molest it in any way.
After many hours of reflection upon the subject, he at last decided
upon what he considered to be the best place possible to select--the
place that would, in all probability, remain in its primitive state for
the period desired.
There was being built upon Mount Olympus, some three miles from the
city of San Francisco, by a Mr. Sutro, a generous gentleman of that
city, a reduced copy of the statue of "Liberty Enlightening the World,"
then in position on Bedloe's Island, New York harbor.
This statue was to be about thirty feet in height, resting upon a
pedestal some forty by thirty feet in area, and twenty-five feet high.
Cobb conceived the idea that such a piece of work would, in all
likelihood, remain undisturbed by any and every person for the
period necessary for his long sleep. No sooner had this belief taken
possession of him than he at once took measures to communicate with the
gentleman who had charge of its construction.
A Mr. Bennett was the supervising architect, and this gentleman was
easily induced, for a consideration, to undertake the construction of a
small chamber within the base of the pedestal. He also agreed that the
chamber should be reached through the side by a hinged block of marble
fitting perfectly, but movable with ease from the inside, and that the
purpose for which it was constructed should never be made known by him.
Mr. Bennett was not aware of Cobb's true intentions regarding the
chamber; it was simply a contract between them that such a piece of
work should be performed. Bennett was a man of his word, and was well
known to Cobb, who placed the utmost confidence in him; yet, to make
it still more binding, he placed him under a sacred oath not to enter
the chamber after it was built, or communicate his knowledge of its
existence to any living soul, nor to leave any information of it at his
death.
While the pedestal was being built, Bennett had one of the largest
marble slabs taken out, at night, by workmen brought there blindfolded,
and replaced upon hinges, so it would easily open and shut by the
pressure of a finger on a concealed spring.
This part of the work having been accomplished, it was very easy to
carry out the remainder.
The pedestal being finished and solid, he took workmen there every
night, blindfolded, and opening the slab door, cut out the masonry,
hauling away the material as fast as it was taken out. Cobb desired
that the chamber should be as deep as possible below the center of
the pedestal, for security; Bennett made it so by digging down, after
entering the base, and lining the sides with heavy brick-work.
The interior of the chamber, after construction, was fourteen by
eighteen feet, and in height nine feet and six inches. The floor was
made very smooth by a liberal use of Portland cement. The door was so
constructed that after an inside catch had been set, it would lock
itself upon being closed, and no amount of skill could open it without
breaking the marble slab. There was no inlet for light, nor was there
any entrance or exit for air.
Such was the finished condition of the chamber, as turned over by Mr.
Bennett to Cobb, on the 15th of November, 1887.
Cobb had not been negligent in the meantime, but had gotten many of the
necessary things into shape which he knew would be required, for his
chamber was to have a great many and a great variety of instruments,
all of which would be absolutely necessary to insure success.
Nothing could be done before the 24th of November, for on that day the
Statue of Liberty was to be unveiled and turned over to the city of San
Francisco by Mr. Sutro.
At last the 24th arrived, and the ceremonies of dedication were over.
As the last citizen left the vicinity of the statue a man came up the
hill to view the surroundings. That man was Junius Cobb.
He approached the pedestal and looked carefully over its sides. Yes, it
was all right; no one had had an inkling of the secret entrance, or a
thought that it was to be used for anything save that for which it had
been erected.
Satisfied with his inspection, he passed down the hill, and took the
Haight-street cars to the city, leaving them at the corner of Market
and Montgomery. With rapid strides he quickly passed down that street
to the Occidental Hotel.
Near the entrance of that noted army resort, whipping his legs with a
small cane in a most impatient manner, stood Hathaway, as if awaiting
the arrival of some expected person.
Cobb at once walked up to him and cried:
"Hello! Hathaway; on time, I see; but where is Craft?"
"Playing billiards in the other room--at least he was there a minute
ago; but do you want us to-night?" inquiringly.
"Of course! did I not ask you to meet me here?"
"Yes, I know; but are you going to work so soon? What is the use of
doing anything to-night? You know I have a partial engagement for this
evening, and would like to keep it;" and Hathaway looked beseechingly
toward his companion.
"To me this is business, and I cannot postpone it; if your social
duties are so pressing, why, I will have to excuse you."
Cobb showed the displeasure he felt at the apparent want of interest
displayed by the other in what to him was the greatest undertaking a
man could engage in.
"Oh, no," quickly replied Hathaway, noticing the effect of his words
upon Cobb; "you do not understand me. I am ready now and at all times
to give you my earnest assistance. What shall I do?"
"Go and find Craft, and meet me here in ten minutes;" and Cobb turned
on his heel, and passed down the street. Proceeding a few blocks, he
hailed the driver of a passing express wagon, who pulled up his team at
the curb-stone near where Cobb was standing.
"Are you engaged?" quickly asked Cobb.
"No," the man replied.
"Do you wish to earn twenty dollars?"
"Do I? try me!" The man's face gave evidence of his sincerity.
"Will you work all night for that amount?"
"Yes, sir."
"And go wherever I wish?"
"Yes; so I get back by morning."
"And will you permit me to take your team, after you have gone a
certain distance, and drive the remainder of the way, you to remain
with one of my men until I return?"
"Well, as to that, is it not a little peculiar to ask a man to let his
team be driven off by unknown parties without a guarantee that it will
be returned?" and the expression of his countenance indicated that he
was in a quandary, for he did not like to lose the twenty dollars, nor
did he like the idea of letting his team be driven away by strangers.
"You need have no fear as to that; your team will be returned; but,
to satisfy you, I will leave two hundred dollars with you as security
until I return it."
"That alters the case," said the man. "I am with you."
"Then, be at the corner of California street in ten minutes;" and Cobb
turned and walked back to the Occidental.
Craft and Hathaway were awaiting him at the door of the hotel, the
former puffing away at a cigar which the kindness of some friend had
furnished.
"Ah, here you are, both of you. Good! And now to business."
Cobb seemed as if he was in a hurry to get to work, yet he showed no
signs of excitement.
They passed up Bush street to the works of the electrical supply
company, where, entering the place, Cobb asked if the stores and
apparatus which he had ordered had been packed and were ready for
shipment.
Receiving an affirmative reply, he told his friends to await him
there, and quickly descended the stairs. Proceeding to the corner of
California street, he met the expressman whom he had engaged; mounting
the driver's seat, he directed him up Bush street, and stopped the team
where he had left his friends. Giving the man orders to wait for him,
he again ascended the stairs. The work of removing the boxes was at
once commenced.
First, there was a long box, looking much like a coffin, being some
eight feet by three, and over eighteen inches in depth. This was
carefully taken down-stairs and placed in the wagon; then followed five
boxes of various shapes and weights.
All things being safely placed in the wagon, Cobb mounted to the seat,
telling Craft and Hathaway to get in and sit upon the boxes, as there
was no room for them in front. Then, turning to the driver, he said:
"Drive up into Kearney, and thence into Market toward the park; take
Haight street at the junction."
Away rattled the wagon, passing through the crowded streets and by
the flashing windows filled with all the holiday goods, ready for the
Christmas season.
The night was quite dark; a slight drizzling rain which was falling,
was very favorable to the scheme which Cobb and his friends had on
hand. Passing up Haight street to within about half a mile of Mt.
Olympus, Cobb ordered the driver to pull up his team. He then directed
Hathaway to remain with the driver while he and Craft took the outfit
to its destination.
The place where they had stopped was a side street, close to and off
of Haight street, and it was impossible for the driver, as much as he
strained his eyes, to determine his surroundings.
Cobb handed the expressman ten twenty-dollar gold pieces, with the
understanding that they were to be returned when he brought back the
team.
Leaving Hathaway with positive orders not to permit the driver to leave
that particular spot until their return, Cobb mounted the seat again,
Craft sitting beside him.
Turning once more into Haight street, for the purpose of throwing the
driver off of their true course, they proceeded down that street for
a couple of blocks, and turned sharp to the right, and drove quickly
toward Mt. Olympus.
Not a soul was in sight, and the many wagon-tracks made by the
artillery and carriages, which had attended the unveiling of the
statue, would conceal all indication that another carriage had gone up
to the pedestal that evening.
Driving close to the side of the base, Cobb pulled up, and both
dismounted from the wagon.
The secret spring of the door was quickly touched, and the heavy marble
slab swung upon its hinges; then, with all dispatch, the boxes were
unloaded and carried into the interior of the chamber. The large box
required all the strength of the two men, but it was finally gotten
inside. This being finished, Craft took the reins, and quickly drove
the team back to where Hathaway was impatiently awaiting him.
The money was returned by the driver, who then hurriedly departed for
the city.
Seeing the man well out of sight, Craft and Hathaway carefully made
their way back to the statue, and were soon inside of the pedestal. The
slab door was then nearly closed, leaving but a slight aperture for the
entrance of air, the opening covered by boxes, to prevent the rays of
their lights being seen by any chance visitors to that neighborhood.
During their absence, Cobb had taken out two lanterns from one of the
boxes, and now a bright light made everything quite clear within the
chamber.
"Now," said Cobb to Hathaway, "take that hatchet and open all of the
boxes."
The lids were quickly torn off and thrown to one side.
The contents of these boxes needed careful inspection. The large one
was first emptied. The sides of this box were wrenched off, disclosing
a large glass case, seven feet six inches by two feet eight inches,
and sixteen inches in height. This glass coffin--for such, indeed,
it resembled--was carefully taken out and set upon the floor. Then
followed, from the same box, an ordinary set of single bed-springs,
or woven-wire mattress, such as are used on single beds. Cobb then
took from one of the smaller boxes a pair of iron horses or trestles,
and placed them in one corner of the room, with their legs firmly
fixed into the cemented floor. Carefully lifting the glass case, he
and Craft set it upon the trestles, leaving a space of about thirty
inches between it and the floor. Next they hinged the wire mattress
to the trestles, so that there were full twenty inches between it and
the bottom of the glass case. From the next box unpacked were taken
seventy-five cells of Grenet battery. These cells were of peculiar
construction, and differed from the regular style in that the zincs
were drawn up and held clear of the electropoion fluid by slight
fastenings, which terminated in glass bulbs blown in the tops. Cobb had
selected this battery on account of its great strength, and for the
reason that it would remain inactive for an indefinite time, provided
the zincs were kept out of the fluid. Placing an iron stand near the
head of the case, he and Hathaway arranged the jars upon it, and
connected the various cells for intensity.
The wires were then run through small holes in the top glass of
the large case, being insulated with a special covering that would
withstand age without deteriorating.
The next thing was to set in position, over the row of battery cells,
an iron beam, with a fall of about four inches, the fall terminating in
two sockets. This beam was held over and in position by a pulley, over
which ran a wire rope composed of aluminum strands, and having attached
to it a fifty-pound weight. Connected to the two poles of the battery
were insulated wires, terminating in flat discs of copper.
These wires were about thirty feet long, and passed through the holes
in the top of the glass case, the copper discs being inside.
From another box were taken two bottles of fine old French brandy,
two bottles of whisky, a small bottle of Valentine's beef juice, and
several cans of preserved meats, which had been prepared by Cobb, and
the cans made of aluminum for the purpose. An alcohol heater was also
taken out and set up in such a manner that a glass reservoir could,
upon being turned on, feed it with alcohol. Through this heater ran
wires joined to a platinum strip and connected with twenty cells of the
battery. A cup and saucer, knife, fork, can-opener, spoon, and a couple
of stew-pans, were next taken out and laid by the heater.
All these things having been put in order, Cobb, with the assistance
of Hathaway, carefully lifted from a large box a heavy glass case, two
feet nine inches high by three feet square. This case was set in the
further corner of the chamber.
Through a door in the top, which Cobb opened, both Craft and Hathaway
saw a number of wheel and pinion works, while at the bottom of the case
was a circular piece of bright aluminum divided into equal divisions.
The center of the ring was sunk into the glass bottom half an inch,
and on one side of the ring was a number of small wheels and rods; the
whole presenting the aspect of very fine and delicate mechanism.
Cobb now took out of the last box a large and very elegant compass, two
feet in diameter and with a heavy needle; this he placed in the sunken
center of the glass case.
Craft noticed that there was no iron or steel in the works in this box;
nothing but aluminum, save the needle itself.
Through the sides of the case, Cobb adjusted an aluminum rod connecting
with the pulley and weight attached to the beam over the batteries.
By this time the needle in the compass had settled and the positive
pole pointed to 283 on the aluminum scale.
Both Craft and Hathaway had asked but few questions during all this
work, curbing their curiosity until such time as their companion would
enlighten them as to the meaning of all this apparatus. They had been
on the point, a number of times, of asking for some information, but
the other had, by a look, quickly given them to understand that he was
not yet ready to explain things. But it was impossible for Craft to
hold in any longer; he had to ask the use of this last glass case, with
its many wheels and delicate machinery.
"Wait! You will understand it all soon," answered Cobb. "There is
little more to do to-night." Then, taking a paper from his pocket, he
scanned it for fully five minutes, making a few notes upon it with his
pencil during the time.
At last, seeming satisfied, he bent over the compass in the box, and
by a small screw in its side turned the whole delicately adjusted works
around until a fine pointer, from which projected a tiny hook, became
flush with the figures 260 from the zero of the scale, or to a reading
of 4 degrees 20 minutes; then turning the whole compass-box around,
he carefully adjusted it so that the needle should point exactly to
the figures 993, equivalent to a reading of 16 degrees 33 minutes, the
magnetic variation east, of San Francisco, California, in December,
1887.
It was easy to see that the little hook which hung down from the
overlapping works would become engaged with the needle of the compass
if the latter were to retrograde in arc 12 degrees 13 minutes.
Unscrewing a cap on the top of the case, he applied a small air-pump,
which he had taken out of the box, to the opening, and screwed it
firmly on; then, closing the glass door, he placed cement along the
junction of the door and sides, from a bottle which he had brought
for that purpose. In a few moments, the cement had set, and then,
working the air-pump, he soon exhausted the air from the case; finally
unscrewing the pump, he replaced the cap and laid the pump in the
corner of the chamber.
All this being finished to his satisfaction, he announced that the work
for the night was completed.
Looking at his watch, Cobb said:
"It is now four o'clock in the morning, and time that we should get out
of this if we don't wish to be seen departing. We have done all that
it is possible to do for the present; let us at once start for town;
besides, you have to be at the post by six o'clock."
"Yes, that is true," returned Hathaway; "we are due at that hour. We
have done a good deal of work, but for the life of me, I am totally
ignorant of the purposes of all this apparatus. I would like to have
you explain some of it to me," and his eyes turned inquiringly toward
the large case with its wheels and compass.
"All in good time!" and Cobb cautiously opened the swinging panel.
The coast was clear; not a single person was in sight.
"Now, then, be lively!" and he stepped out, the others following
quickly. In another moment the door was closed, and not a sign was left
to indicate that the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty held within its
interior the apparatus necessary for prolonging the life of a human
being.
The three friends passed down the hill, and took the Haight-street
cars for the city. It was the first car for the day, and not another
passenger was on board.
Arriving at the Occidental, Cobb said:
"You are expected to be at reveille this morning, but I have no duties
until retreat. There are a few things that I wish to attend to; so I
will leave you here. Be sure to be at my quarters at 9:30 to-night.
Good-bye!" and he left them without waiting for a reply.
It was nearly eight o'clock, and after a hearty breakfast, when Cobb
left the hotel, passed down Montgomery street into Washington, and made
his way to a small-sized house at the foot of an alley leading from
that thoroughfare.
The windows of the house were all closed by shutters, and the whole
building bore an aspect of dilapidation.
Ascending the four rickety steps that led to the door, he gave a sharp
knock, repeating it after a moment, as no answer was obtained.
"Who knocks?"
"It is I, Colchis! Open the door."
The door swung open, and Cobb entered, the door closing behind him with
a bang.
CHAPTER IV
It is necessary to go back a few months in our story, and introduce a
new character, the inhabitant of the little old, dilapidated house in
the lane.
On the evening of December 10, 1886, as Cobb was coming out of the
Cosmos, a favorite club of the young gentlemen of San Francisco, he
had run into an old and crippled man who was passing down the street.
Cobb was in a hurry as he emerged from the place, and did not notice
the poor pedestrian in time to avoid a collision. The consequences
were that the old man was knocked to the ground, and appeared to be
badly hurt. Cobb at once stopped and lifted the man up to ascertain the
extent of his injuries, and finding him still insensible, had called a
hack to convey him to the nearest druggist.
The man was about sixty years of age, his right leg partially
paralyzed, the sight of his right eye gone, and deep scars upon his
face and neck. His clothes were shabby and much worn, yet there were
indications that the man had seen better days.
That portion of his face which was not scarred and seamed, gave
evidence of quickness and perception, and a general appearance of
knowledge and former refinement was plainly noticeable. His hands,
too, were not those of a man accustomed to hard work.
This man was Jean Colchis, a native of France, but a refugee from that
country. He had, in his time, been a great chemist; he had been noted,
far and near, as a man greatly gifted in the sciences, and one who had
given much to his native country in the way of scientific invention;
but, at a later day in his life, he had been led away by the persuasion
of others to engage in a plot against the ruling power of his land.
This plot being discovered, he was sentenced to death, but, escaping,
had taken refuge in the United States.
He was the recipient of a small pension from the members of his family
who had not joined in the conspiracy, and upon this small pension Jean
Colchis lived in the humble and rickety house in Duke's Lane.
The pension was sufficient for all the needs of the old man and his
only daughter, a lovely girl of seventeen years; it gave them their
daily sustenance and life, and a slight margin from which to purchase
the few things he needed to continue the one hobby of his life,
chemical analysis.
When Cobb had taken the old man to the druggist's, an examination had
shown that nothing but a slight contusion of the side of the head
had resulted from the unexpected knock-down he had received. He soon
regained his senses, but was in a weak and helpless condition.
Learning from him the place of his abode, Cobb at once took him there
in a hack, and carefully attended him during the remainder of that
evening.
Such was the introduction of Junius Cobb to Jean Colchis.
Cobb's kindness to the old Frenchman was rewarded by an invitation to
call again, and as he descended the stairs of the old, rain-beaten
house, he resolved to come the next evening.
He did come, and many evenings after, and it was from this old man
that Cobb first learned the art of making ozone in quantities. It
was not a difficult matter for them to ascertain the various hobbies
each possessed. Their conversation soon gave each an insight into the
desires of the other for a knowledge of the many things yet unknown,
but yet imagined. Their desires being so assimilated, their tendencies
so coincident, it was only natural that each should take more than a
common liking to the other.
But, though he had worked with Colchis in the manufacture and uses of
ozone, the latter never had any idea of the grand scheme his friend had
in view, for Cobb would not communicate the secret to him for fear that
he might divulge it to others.
The door of the old house had opened to admit Cobb, and had closed
again, leaving him in the hall. There was no light to guide him, but
his knowledge of the place and surroundings was such that he found
no difficulty in ascending to the little back parlor where Colchis
usually sat when not at work.
Opening the door, he entered, and was quickly clasped about the neck by
a pair of plump white arms, while a face, radiantly beautiful, looked
into his, and a red pouting mouth invited the kiss which he quickly
bestowed upon it.
"Oh, Mr. Cobb, I am so glad you have come! I heard you at the door, and
have surprised you! Now, have I not? Say yes; for you know I have!" and
the sweet little maiden released him, and shook her delicate finger in
a menacing gesture, as if her command could not be disobeyed.
Marie Colchis was the only child of Jean Colchis--a beautiful,
fair-skinned girl of seventeen, with long, heavy blonde hair; plump in
form, with small, fine hands; loving in disposition, with most winsome
ways; innocent as a new-born babe.
Jean Colchis had kept this sweet girl close to him with a jealous care.
She knew no one, scarcely, save her father and Junius Cobb. Witty and
bright beyond her years, yet gentle and innocent as a lamb, she had
from the very first conceived a girlish love for her father's visitor.
And Junius Cobb loved the girl dearly; loved to hear her girlish talk
and watch her innocent ways; loved to stroke her hair, and loved to
kiss her lips and feel her arms about him. Was there any harm? He was
thirty-three, and she was but seventeen.
[Illustration]
Jean Colchis noted their peculiar love, and smiled. No man was
closer to the heart of Jean Colchis than Junius Cobb. Nothing could
the latter ask that the old man in Duke's Lane would not have given
him--even his daughter, should he seek her. But this, of course, the
old man knew was beyond expectation. It would have pleased his old
heart, but the disparity of years caused him to believe it to be
impossible.
And Marie--what were her thoughts and feelings?
She loved Junius Cobb--loved him, young as she was, as a mature woman
loves the man she would call husband. She loved him with her whole
heart, with her very soul.
Cobb knew this, and reproached himself many times for causing her
affectionate heart to entertain the hope that she would sometime be his
wife.
It had come by degrees, unseen by either, until each had felt that the
brightness of the world was centered in the other. He could not marry
her; this he knew, for she was too young. He could not wait until she
had bloomed into the magnificent woman that he knew nature had destined
her to become, for he would then be dead to the world. He could not
tell her the truth! He did what thousands of others have done--he
temporized.
"Marie," and he took both of her hands in his, and looked long and
lovingly into her eyes; "Marie, you are not a child, you are a woman.
You are far beyond your years. What I tell you to-night will cause you
pain, but it must be said."
"O, Mr. Cobb!" she cried, and the tears flooded her eyes; "are
you going to tell me that I am no longer your little Marie! that
an--an--another is going to take you away from your little girl?" and
she buried her head in his hands and cried piteously.
"No, Marie, not that!" he quickly returned. "But I am going to leave
you; am going far away; I may never return!"
"And you will meet other and beautiful women, and will forget your
Marie!" she said, still sobbing.
"No! darling little Marie! Will it give you pleasure if I tell you that
I swear to be true to you--to wait until you have grown to womanhood?
that I will marry no other woman living but you?" and he stroked her
beautiful hair and raised her face to his.
"If you swear this, you do love me!" she cried through her tears; then,
brightening up, she threw her arms about him, and murmured: "Though
it will grieve me to the heart to see you leave me, yet your promise
will ever tend to dull the sorrow of your absence, and will be a beacon
light for me to look forward to. A few years, and you will come and
claim me, will you not, Junius?" and as the words left her lips, she
blushed and dropped her eyes from before his gaze.
Somehow, she had never before used his first name. It seemed to her
that he was too far above her, too much older, for such a liberty on
her part.
And how had their love ripened, these two of years so wide apart?
Simply and easily enough. In one of his loving moods, Junius Cobb, in
kissing her good-night, had said:
"Marie, I will wait until you grow up, and marry you!"
"Will you?" she had replied, laughing, yet earnestly. "Then, I accept
you, Mr. Cobb, and will grow just as fast as I can."
Very simple, and very easy.
"Marie, little darling," and Cobb's voice was sad and low, "to-night I
go far away. To-night we must part; but my sacred promise I give you,
my girl darling, that when I return, you shall be my wife, _if living_."
He knew his deception, but it was better, he thought, to let her live
without the knowledge of the utter impossibility of the fulfillment of
her hopes, than to tell her the truth, and break her heart. She would
outgrow her girlish love, he argued, and time would soften, if not
deaden, the sorrow of his continued absence.
For a half-hour they talked, they loved, this man of thirty-three and
the girl of seventeen.
Who can fathom the mysteries of love!
Leaving her in sorrow at his coming departure, but hopeful for the
future, he moved toward the workshop of Colchis, while a choking
sensation surrounded his heart, and tears filled his eyes.
Turning the knob of the last door at the end of the hall, Cobb
entered, and found his friend moving toward him.
The room was lighted by four Edison incandescent lamps, one in each
corner, besides an arc light directly over a large and peculiar machine
from which sparks were incessantly being emitted.
Like all true workers in electricity, Colchis' apartments were a
net-work of wires, while the various parts of the house were connected,
in one way or another, for quick communication. The answer to the
summons which Cobb had made at the door was given by a speaking-tube,
while the door itself opened and closed by magnets; thus Colchis was
enabled to remain in his room while answering the calls at his door
made by the few who had occasion to visit him.
"Ah, Junius, my boy, welcome to the shop!" and the old man grasped the
latter's hand. "I was expecting you this morning, sure; for it is now
over forty-eight hours since you were here. What has kept you away?"
"Duty, master; duty." Cobb had early used the term master, in token of
the ability of his old but generous friend.
"I was engaged the past two nights, and it was impossible for me to get
here; but how progresses the work? Are you making a good showing, for
you know the time is drawing near when I shall want the full amount."
"Yes; there are nearly eight pounds ready for you when you desire to
take them."
"Good! It is close to the amount, I must say; and the batteries are
still at it, I see."
"Will you take a look at the work of the day?"
"Yes; but yet, master, you know that I do not pretend to pass upon your
work. I am too well satisfied that it is being well done."
They moved toward the sparkling and crackling instrument near the
further corner of the room.
In reality, it was not what would be called an instrument, but a
veritable manufacturing machine, turning out its products, small
though they were, in the most perfect manner, and ceasing in its work
but for a brief time during the whole twenty-four hours. This was the
decomposing machine which Colchis and Cobb had devised and made for
the concentrating of the ozone in the air. It was a rude affair, in
one sense of the word, for neither of them had had any experience in
making such machinery before; yet it was marvelous in other respects,
for it accurately performed the duty for which it had been constructed.
Standing upon four legs, was a glass case, about sixteen inches
square by twenty deep, in the upper portion of which was a separate
compartment with a glass bottom, having a hole some eight inches square
through its center; on each side of this hole, with the points about
one-sixteenth of an inch apart, were ten platinum wires, while the
opening in the top terminated in a common stove-pipe, which was run
into the chimney. Entering at the bottom of the case was a two-inch
pipe, connected with a large double-cylinder air-pump, which in turn
was coupled to a pony motor worked by storage batteries.
Along the other side of the room were twenty-four cases, each
containing four accumulators of under .005-ohm internal resistance.
These batteries were, individually, capable of developing 350 ampere
hours of work, and each cell had an electromotive force of eight volts.
A part of this battery was attached to the platinum points in the
inside of the case, while the remainder was used to work the pump, feed
the lamps in the house, etc.
The pump was an ordinary compressor of two cylinders, each cylinder
having a capacity of 1,000 cubic inches. The total power exerted was
3,000 pounds every six-tenths of a second, or about thirteen actual
horse power.
The air being received into the cylinder, was forced into the glass
case through the pipe in the bottom, and under a pressure of two
atmospheres; thus delivering, every three minutes, 200,000 cubic inches
of air. The air, in rising, passed through the aperture above and out
through the pipe, which was provided with a valve opening at a pressure
of thirty-five pounds per square inch. Between the platinum points, by
means of an automatic break, were continually being sent a series of
electric sparks, causing the air to be deprived of its ozone, which
fell in vapor to the bottom of the glass case, and there formed into
crystals of various sizes.
The machinery which Colchis and Cobb had erected was not perfect by
any means, and the consequence was that they could not save all of
the ozone in any given quantity of air. They did the best they could,
saving about fifty per cent.
The air-pumps were capable of driving through the reduction chamber
over 80,000,000 cubic inches, or 4,000 pounds of air in every twenty
hours; but this vast amount yielded only 400 grains of ozone. The
expenditure of force for the result obtained was enormous; but there
was no other method for them to get the amount of ozone required,
except with greater power and cost.
Early in July, Cobb had gained the assistance of Colchis to manufacture
these crystals, and had put in the reducer, pumps, and motor
immediately after.
Every evening at six o'clock, and every morning at five, a team drove
up to Colchis' back gate, delivering new storage batteries and taking
away the old ones.
Day after day, from seven in the morning until five in the afternoon,
and from seven in the afternoon until five in the morning, since the
5th of August, the manufacture had been going on; making one hundred
and twelve days' work up to the morning in question--November 25, 1887.
"Master, this is the 25th of August, is it not?"
"Yes, Junius."
"And you say the quantity that I asked for is nearly ready?"
"Nearly. At five o'clock to-morrow morning I will have 45,000 grains."
"Good! That is the amount, exactly."
"But at first you desired only seven pounds; I would have had that some
time ago."
"Yes, master; but I did not care to have you stop at the exact amount;
circumstances might cause me to wish for more, at the last moment."
"It has been incessant work for the machines, I can assure you; but
they have done splendidly;" and Colchis laid his hand lovingly upon the
reducer, near which he was standing.
"Colchis, how can I ever repay you for the time you have given to the
manufacture of these crystals?" and Cobb took up a glass bottle with a
sealed top containing a pound of ozone, the result of over two weeks'
constant work.
"Say nothing about pay, my dear boy; it has cost you enough already, I
fear; for the continual recharging of all these accumulators must take
no small sum."
"True; it has taken quite a little fortune, to me at least, to obtain
these eight pounds of ozone; but I hope the money has been well
expended."
"Junius," and Colchis laid his hand upon the other's shoulder, "you
have never told me what you are going to do with all this ozone. Is
there a secret about it? If there is, my boy, you need not say a
word; perhaps I ought not to ask you, but leave you to tell me, or not,
as you wish."
[Illustration]
"Colchis, my dear old friend, I ought to be more confiding, and tell
you why I sought your assistance, why I have used your time, why I
have taken your knowledge and used it to my own advantage; but it is
impossible to make you acquainted with this one great object. Ask no
more, I pray you!" and he turned away as if he had refused that which
the other was justly entitled to request.
Putting his arm about Cobb's neck, Colchis looked him in the eyes with
a kind and loving expression:
"Say no more; make no excuses; I surely would not pry into your
secrets. We all have undertakings, we all have periods of our lives
concerning which we do not care to communicate to the world. Your
secrets are yours, Junius; I do not feel hurt in the least that you
enlighten me not upon them."
"But I know your curiosity has been aroused, and you naturally have
wondered why I have wanted all this ozone, especially when it has taken
such an expenditure of money and time to procure it."
"Yes, it has; but it is gone now. I no longer have any curiosity on the
subject. To-morrow morning I will have the full amount that you have
requested, 45,000 grains."
"How much have I had already?"
"In August, a year ago, you had about ninety grains, and in the
following October, a little over 1,500 more."
"Yes; that was for the experiment with the cat." He had spoken without
thinking.
Colchis looked up, surprised; a curious expression came over his face,
but he said nothing.
"Yes," he continued, "I remember now. There were about 1,600 grains
made by the old process. Had we been compelled to follow that method,
we would never have completed our task."
"True, my boy! It was a lucky day for you, I have no doubt, when we hit
upon the idea we have since employed."
"Come," said Cobb, "let us sit down. I have a little more to speak of
ere we part for the night."
They passed through the door into a smaller but neater room.
The furniture was plain and scarce, but the fire in the grate gave the
room an agreeable appearance. Colchis touched a button, and instantly a
bright light shone out from a pair of Edison lamps; then, handing Cobb
a glass and bottle, taken from a pile of books and papers on the table,
he said:
"Brighten up, Junius, with some of this old cognac; it is good, I can
assure you, for we Frenchmen know what is good brandy. Had I a cigar,
I would offer you one; but I do not smoke, so you will have to provide
yourself with that article, if you smoke at all. Now, sit down," as
Cobb finished his glass of brandy, "and tell me what it is that
appears to worry you. Why are you so sad to-night?"
"There is not much to tell, master, except that this will be my last
night to pass with you, my dear old friend; I am going on a long and
dangerous journey, one from which I will never return--that is, to my
friends now living. I go not to escape the consequences of any crime or
wrong-doing, but to gratify my ambition alone. It would give me much
pleasure, much happiness, could I but take with me such a dear friend
as you have been; but it cannot be. Do not look startled, dear Colchis;
I am not going to commit suicide; and yet, again, I am--suicide as
regards all present, but not as regards the future. I will say no more,
nor must you ask me any questions. For your kindness, I have only
thanks to offer, unless you will confer a favor upon me by taking this
check for $2,000 as a partial recompense for your labors in my behalf,"
and he laid the check upon the table.
Colchis arose from his chair, seized the check, and tore it into a
hundred pieces; his eyes looked deep into those of his young friend,
and then the tears came, and the old man sunk back into his chair.
The friendship which had been so romantically begun between these two
men was then, by Cobb, to be ended, and the sore healed by a money
consideration!
"Junius, I did not believe that you would insult me in this manner! Our
friendship has been one of the brightest spots in my life. Let it end
if it must, but let it end with the feeling that each has aided the
other to the best of his ability, and without hope of other recompense
than the knowledge that the assistance was spontaneously and willingly
given. You are about to embark in some new and great enterprise; of
that I feel assured, yet I do not ask its import. If you must leave the
old man, never again to see him--if you must sever the friendship that
has been a Godsend to the refugee from his native land--so be it; I can
say no word against it, believing you would not do it were it possible
to do otherwise. Let us say no more upon the subject. At six o'clock
to-morrow morning send to me, and I will have the ozone ready to be
delivered to your man. There will be eight pounds of it, in as many
bottles."
"Then, there is nothing more for me to do but to take your hand, dear,
kind old master, and bid you a lasting but sorrowful farewell. May a
good God watch over you, Colchis, is the last wish of your friend and
pupil. Good-bye!" and, saying this, Cobb pressed the old cripple to his
heart.
"Good-bye! my darling boy," sobbed the old man. "But, Junius, does
Marie know this? The child loves you. She talks of you continually.
Does she know you are going away forever?" and he put both hands on the
shoulders of the young man and looked him in the eyes.
"Ah! master, master! Like a coward, like a cur, am I running away! I
have seen her! I have lied to her! lied, I tell you; lied to her! and
because I had not strength to tell the truth!" He buried his face in
his hands, and sobbed like a child.
"My son, cry not at what I am convinced you did for the best interests
of that dear girl. My faith in you is not shaken. Let God alone judge
our motives; mankind can do it not!"
"O master! I cannot leave you in this manner! To leave you now with
the simple knowledge that I will never return, would be to provoke
all manner of thoughts detrimental to my honesty and sincerity of
character. You shall know all! I will confide in you my secret!"
Then by the side of this grand old man, Cobb sat and told him of his
great undertaking, and of his love for his daughter.
Half an hour after, the door opened, and Colchis, with a face grave and
sad, called to his daughter Marie.
Entering the room, she looked from one to the other, as if seeking some
explanation of the quiet, sad expression of each.
Junius Cobb bowed his head, and the hot tears fell upon his hands.
Colchis turned his face away.
Quickly going to her lover, Marie knelt at his feet, and gently raised
his head until their eyes met.
"Do not cry, Junius; do not cry. I know you cannot help yourself.
Duty calls you away, and you must go. Such, you have told me, is a
soldier's fortune."
He clasped her to his heart.
"Marie," gravely and sadly spoke her father, "he leaves us to-night.
When he returns, no man can tell. But let this comfort you: he has
asked for your hand; your heart, I know, is his already. I have given
my consent, and gladly. Let him go to his duty cheerfully, and await
his return. If you are constant in the love you profess as a girl,
you shall marry Junius Cobb, or no other. I swear it, as I hope for
salvation hereafter," and he raised his hand toward Heaven in token of
his oath.
Cobb raised his eyes inquiringly to those of his friend.
What did he mean by those words? Was he, too, imposing upon the girl's
innocence? A strange light, a gleam of hope, of inspiration, shone in
the eyes of Jean Colchis as he once more bade Cobb good-bye, and left
the room.
Marie and Cobb were alone--alone for the last time: she, hopeful for
the future; he, broken-hearted from a knowledge of what that future was
to be.
"Junius, my own," she murmured, "go, and do your duty. God be with you,
as will always my prayers. But go with this knowledge: that I swear by
the God my mother taught me to adore, that I will wait till you come to
me, will be true to you forever; will marry none on earth but you."
How beautiful, heavenly beautiful, was this girl, standing there under
the electric light.
None can tell the passions that moved that man's heart.
Would he give up his great undertaking, and live and marry this Hebe,
this angel? Too late! too late! The die was cast; he must meet his
destiny!
With an aching heart, he kissed her good-bye--kissed her good-bye, and
forever.
Into the chilly morning air he went, but there was no chill like the
chill at his heart. Turning once toward the old house, he cried in his
anguish:
"God watch over you and take you, for you are lost to me forever!"
CHAPTER V
It was the night of December 1st, and torrents of rain poured down,
flooding the streets of the city and the grounds of the Presidio.
Seven had just struck from the little, old-fashioned clock on Cobb's
mantel.
But few changes had taken place in that room since the last evening we
saw our friends there.
The lights shone just as brightly, and the fire in the grate glowed
with all its former heat and cheerfulness, yet an air of depression
seemed to pervade the whole room and its occupants.
Cobb walked the floor with a quick and jerky step, while Craft sat
silently watching the embers in the grate, as if trying to solve some
abstruse problem by their aid. Hathaway lay at full length upon the
long sofa, near the further wall, puffing a cigar and sending out the
circles of smoke in a manner peculiar to men who are in a nervous mood.
From the time that his comrades came that evening, with the exception
of a few words of welcome, Cobb had appeared in this abstracted manner,
and had seemed to be totally oblivious to his surroundings. His friends
had, with great perception, understood his feelings, and had remained
in their chairs, preserving a dead silence, waiting for him to open the
conversation.
At last, with a quick movement, he stepped toward a side-table and
filled a glass tumbler with whisky, and drank it to the bottom; then,
setting down the glass, seemed to be again absorbed in his thoughts.
Only a minute, however, did he remain in this position; for it seemed
that the liquor had revived him and the depressing sense of gloom was
passing off. Turning to his friends, he exclaimed:
"Am I not a coward, thus to seek energy and strength in that bottle
of liquor? But I cannot help it; I am in the saddest mood of my life!
Until this moment I have had only a longing for the time to come for me
to make the experiment; but now that the time has arrived, I must admit
that I am terribly loath to undertake the ordeal. O my friends!" he
cried, "it is certainly impossible for you to understand my feelings!
I am like the condemned man on the scaffold about to leave this world,
with its pleasures and sorrows, never again to see those whom he loves;
never again to associate with those who have been dear and kind to him.
I am to enter into a strange condition; and when I again move, and
walk, and see, if, indeed, I ever do, it will be to find that those who
were dear to me are but dust."
Saying this, he buried his face in his hands, bowed his head, and wept.
His friends said no word, their own feelings almost overcoming them,
but waited the passing of this transitory outbreak of the man's
feelings.
"There, dear boy," said Hathaway, rising and putting his arms about the
latter; "there, let it pass. We are convinced, that if it was required
of you, you would undertake this task; but it is not required, so let
it end here and forever."
"Yes;" and Craft joined his voice with that of his friend. "Yes; there
is no need for you to suffer, no need for you to imperil your life for
the sake of advancing the sciences. Let it end!"
Cobb brushed away the tears, and looked at them a minute in silence;
then, with a quick, jerky tone, said:
"No, it is too late! My fate ordains it! I will--I will, I say, go
through this ordeal! Were I to stop now, what would you think of me?
that I was a coward and afraid to carry out my boasted theory!"
He paused a moment, and then his face brightened.
"Enough!" he cried. "It's all over now, and I am Cobb once more! Were I
never again to see the light of day, yet would I venture this uncertain
existence!"
The old fire of his eyes flashed forth.
Craft and Hathaway saw that it was useless to argue the question with
him, and reluctantly submitted to the inevitable.
Striking a match, the latter said:
"So be it, Cobb; I deplore your undertaking, but I admire your pluck."
"Then to business," returned Cobb, "for this is my last night with
you. Now, listen and understand well your instructions: My leave is
here; countersigned this morning," and he touched his blouse pocket;
"so to all inquiring friends to-morrow you are to say that I left last
evening. All my property in this house is to be divided between you
two, and to be yours forever, for I will have no use for any of it
again, excepting a few things which I will take with me when I leave
here to-night. The iron box which you see in the corner goes with us,
as it contains papers and valuables which I hope to again see and use.
This valise is packed with a few articles necessary upon our arrival
at the chamber; with these exceptions, everything in all my rooms
belongs henceforth to you both. In my laboratory you will find many
interesting works and many valuable instruments; make such use of them
as will improve your minds. My manuscripts are there also, and you will
find much information in them. I wish you, Hathaway, to go to town
and get the same teamster that we had before--you will find him at
Neeland's, and his number is fifty-six. Drive to this address," giving
him a paper, "where you will receive certain packages which will be
ready; then drive to the old place where Craft remained with the driver
before, and await his arrival. You must not go to the address until
11:30 o'clock, nor must you be at the rendezvous an instant before
12:30. Craft will meet you there at that time, and remain with the
driver, while you will continue on to the pedestal. I will be at the
latter place. Is that perfectly understood?"
Both signified assent.
"There is one other subject," he continued, "which is of the most vital
importance, and concerning which I pray you make no mistake. At 127
Market street is a medium-sized safe, within which is a full account
of all that which has transpired up to this morning, as well as a
full account of what will take place, as regards myself, to-night. It
contains all information necessary to enable the person who may open
it, a hundred years hence, to locate my body and bring me to life,
should my arrangements fail to fulfill my expectations. This safe
has been sealed, and the key thrown away by me. Upon the door is the
legend: 'Intrusted to the care of the Treasurer of the United States,
and to be opened by him in the presence of the President and his
cabinet, on January 1st, 1988.' With this safe is a letter explaining
that the contents are of the greatest importance, and that it will be
for the good of the nation that the same be well taken care of; and
further, that it is desired and requested that it be deposited in the
Treasury vaults until the day set for its opening. This safe will be
transferred to you upon presentation of this order," and Cobb handed
Craft a large envelope which he had taken from his inside pocket. "I
charge you, upon your oath, to deliver it safely at the vault doors
of the Treasury. Draw lots to see which of you shall take a leave of
absence and take it to Washington. Gentlemen, be sure in this; it may
be life or death to me."
Both of the others reiterated their promises to carry out every detail
as desired by him, not only in this, but in all other things connected
with the work he had in hand.
"Good! And now, Hathaway, away upon your mission. Craft and I will
await the arrival of the hack."
Hathaway at once left the room, and passed out into the storm, while
Craft settled himself down in an easy-chair by the fire.
Cobb wrote a P. P. C. card, and laid it upon the table.
"Give that," he said, "to the boys at the mess; it will be for a longer
time than any of them think, I guess. When they read it, little will
they think that that card will be faded, musty, and, perhaps, crumbling
into dust when its owner calls at the club again. Ah, Craft, never
before did I leave a farewell card with such feelings of sadness! They
will take it in their hands, read it, and cast it aside with the single
remark, 'Well, he'll be back soon.' Will be back soon! Yes: when their
bones are dust; when their souls have passed out to their Maker; when
they have each solved the grand problem of life!" Seizing the card in
his trembling hand, he kissed it--"a brother's kiss, a parting kiss to
those who are dear to me," he cried. "Ah, Craft, perhaps before theirs
will my bones be mingled with the dust of the earth!"
Dropping the card from his hand, he bowed his head in sad contemplation
of the future. His thoughts were turning back, once more, into a gloomy
channel.
"Cheer up, Junius, and let us trust, dear boy, that you will
successfully pass through the ordeal and live among men again. Have you
completed everything that is necessary to be done? or are there some
few things yet to be gotten ready?" Craft hoped to change the current
of his friend's thoughts.
"Nothing. Everything is ready for me, and I hope--aye, I know--I am
ready myself;" and he raised his eyes glittering with his powerful will.
"And to-night is your last with us? Oh, Cobb, I wish you would give
this up!" imploringly said the other.
"No, no; oh, press me not, Craft!" and he looked beseechingly at his
friend. "I must advance to my task; it is impossible to retrace my
steps, yet God knows the heart-pains which rack my breast; He alone
can fathom the utter misery of my position. From father, mother,
brother, and sister, and from friends most dear I am soon to be parted
forever--forever, _forever_! Hear you the word? _forever!_"
Like a wail of deepest anguish, prolonged and heart-breaking, came the
last words, ending in a sob, as he sank into his chair and pressed his
hands to his streaming eyes.
Let him not be called weak. He who could face death with a smile upon
his lips, now cried at simple separation. But, alas! how much meant the
word, separation--forever, _forever_!
The sound of carriage-wheels caused Cobb to start from his brooding.
Raising his head, he glanced through the window just as the bright
lights of a hack flashed along the road.
"Our time is up!" he exclaimed, with a strong effort at firmness;
"there is our hack. Take that box and your coats, while I will take
this valise."
Saying this, he arose and put the things together near the door; then
entering the other room, he put out the lights. Returning to the front
room, he and Craft took their several loads, turned down the lamps, and
descended the stairs to the hack.
Could anyone have seen Cobb's eyes in that dark hall, he would have
seen the tears falling many and fast. His anguish was great, and it
was all that he could do to refrain from crying out in his pain. The
quarters that had sheltered him for many a day and many a night,
were being left behind, never again to be occupied by him. His books
and instruments, the companions of many happy hours, were to be used
no more. He had taken his last look upon them. Oh, it was hard! and
his strength was sublime to overcome the tendencies to a complete
breakdown, and a bursting into a flood of tears.
"Good-bye, dear old rooms! Good-bye to all that is in them--again,
good-bye!"
Craft heard his sobs as he uttered the words, and his eyes filled to
overflowing.
Down the walk they went without another word, and to the hack which was
standing in the pouring rain, with its lights flashing out upon the
night. There was no thought of the water that was streaming down upon
them; other feelings filled their breasts. The door was thrown open,
and Cobb motioned Craft to enter, and then followed himself.
"Drive according to your instructions," he said to the driver; and the
door was closed upon them.
As they started away, Cobb turned to the glass window, raised his hand
gently toward his old quarters and murmured sadly: "Good-bye! good-bye!"
Away they rattled down the road toward the main gate.
"It's a bad night, Craft." Cobb's voice was hard and forced, but it was
evident that he was desirous of bringing his thoughts to other things.
"Yes, indeed it is; but good for us, nevertheless. How much warmer and
drier are we in this hack than if we were outside to-night!" trying to
put his thoughts into another channel.
"Number two! Half-past eleven o'clock--and all's well!"
"Number three! Half-past eleven o'clock--and all's well!"
And the cry was repeated on to all the posts, the answers coming clear
and sweet to this poor, departing soul.
As the last sentinel gave his call, the carriage passed through the
outer gate by the main guardhouse, where number one was walking his
lonely and solitary beat. As they passed the porch, the sentinel
repeated the round of posts, crying, in a sharp and pleasing tone:
"A-l-l's well!"
"A good omen, by the gods!" and Cobb half sprang up in his seat. "A
good omen, and it is for me! I feel it! I know it! Away, then, with
all sorrow, and let me feel that this is my bridal trip, instead of
my funeral voyage. Come, Craft, we are clear of the post; sing me the
old song of 'Benny Havens.' It will cheer us up and I want to hear the
words once more."
"All right!" and soon Craft's soft, melodious voice swelled forth in
the strains of that old song so dear to the hearts of every man from
West Point. Softly, but with power, came the words:
"Come, fill your glasses, fellows, and stand up in a row;
To singing sentimentally, we're going for to go.
In the army there's sobriety promotion's very slow;
So we'll sing our reminiscences of Benny Havens, oh!"
And then Cobb's full voice joined in the chorus;
"Oh Benny Havens, oh! Oh! Benny Havens, oh!
So we'll sing our reminiscences of Benny Havens, oh!"
As the last words of the chorus were sung, the lamps of California
street shot their rays into the carriage.
On they went, but a silence again ensued, and neither spoke until the
hack had reached McAllister street. Here Cobb caused the driver to pull
up, and alighted, telling Craft to continue on until he came to where
Hathaway was waiting for him.
He was then to transfer the iron box into the express wagon, dismiss
the hack, and send on the team.
"You will find me at the appointed place," he said, as he passed down
the hill.
The hack soon passed out of sight, and Cobb continued on until he had
arrived at the pedestal. Seeing no one in view, he applied his hand
to the spring, and was soon inside of the chamber. Striking a light,
he was enabled to ascertain that everything was just as he had left
it. Turning to the compass box, he was satisfied that it had not been
disturbed, for the needle still pointed to 993.
Opening his valise, he took from it the eight bottles of ozone, a
two-quart bottle of a thick, dark-brown liquor, several rolls of silk
bandages, three or four small boxes, and a tumbler and sponge.
By the time these preparations had been completed, Hathaway drove up
with the express wagon.
Dismounting quickly, the two men unloaded the contents, and carried
them inside.
First there were two iron boxes; these Cobb laid at the head of the
case on the trestles. Next was a very heavy iron cylinder, and then a
barrel of plaster of Paris and a ten-gallon keg of water; finally, a
wooden frame-work with a large screw and wheel to it, was brought in.
All things being gotten into the chamber, Hathaway drove back to where
Craft was in waiting with the driver. The team was quickly transferred,
and the driver dismissed, and watched until well on his way to the
city. The two men then joined Cobb in the chamber.
It was now one o'clock in the morning of December 2, 1887.
Cobb turned some alcohol into the asbestos lining of the heater, and
soon a bright and cheerful fire made the room quite comfortable.
The bottom of the glass case, which was hung upon hinges, was then
taken off and laid upon the smooth floor, then some of the old boxing
was laid out to form a mixing-board for the plaster. These things being
satisfactorily arranged, the plaster was mixed by Hathaway and Craft,
while Cobb commenced undressing. Stripping himself to the skin, he
bound his hair back with bands of flannel, and then thoroughly oiled
himself from his head to his feet, that the plaster might not adhere to
his naked body.
"Is the plaster ready to set?" he asked, as he stood with his back to
the fire.
"Yes," answered Craft, adding a little more water to the mass.
"Now spread the plaster upon the glass door, to the depth of two
inches."
This was done, and in a minute it had set; then another spreading was
made to a depth of three inches. As soon as this was laid upon the
former mass, Cobb carefully stretched himself upon the whole and placed
his hands by his side. The plaster gave way a little as his form sunk
in it.
"Now," he said, "pile up the plaster until you have made it about five
inches high, and I will remain in this position until it has set."
[Illustration]
They did so, and in about five minutes Cobb arose from the door,
leaving a perfect mold of his body.
Next, he bound his head and body with wide strips of cloth, surrounding
the loins, and up to the lower parts of the breasts, with some fifteen
wrappings. This being satisfactorily accomplished, he threw a greatcoat
over his shoulders, and said:
"I will now explain the working of the various apparatus which we have
placed in position. After I have wrapped my face, as I will show you
later on, I will lie down within this mold; you will then place the
door, supporting me upon it, on its hinges and close the catch. Through
the small glass door in the upper part of the case, you will arrange
this platinum tube from my mouth to the orifice in the side of the
case, just here where this wheel is," and he pointed to a little wheel
made on the end of a projecting tube through the side of the case.
"Opening the small door, you will have free access to my body, and
you will attach the bandages upon my face to the little spring catch
which you see upon the inside of the case, near the upper part. Cover
my face and bandages well with plaster of Paris, so that no entrance
may be given to the ozone. Take those eight bottles of ozone, and
quickly empty the contents upon both sides of my body, into the side
troughs which you see, and at once close the door. I will take this
position at 2:30 o'clock, and immediately take a dose of five grains
of opium. In twenty minutes after, by your watches, you will turn this
wheel on the side, one point, and every minute thereafter a point,
until the forty-five points, or full revolution of the wheel, have
been passed over. This is to shut off the supply of air gradually as
the ozone commences to enter through the pores of my body. Have some
fresh plaster ready, so that the instant this is accomplished, you can,
by quickly opening the little door, pull out the tube from my mouth,
and cover the opening with a spoonful of plaster; then, as quickly as
possible, withdraw your hand, leaving the pipe inside, and close the
door again and seal it with Portland cement. Before the ozone is placed
within the case, see that the lower door upon which I lie is sealed by
this preparation," and he took a medium-sized bottle, and gave it to
Craft. "Now, as regards the compass-needle, I will explain its action."
He moved over toward the instrument as he spoke, but suddenly started
back upon discovering that the needle no longer pointed to the figures
993.
With a troubled look upon his face he gazed upon it. The needle now
pointed to 1,007.8, or to a reading of 16 degrees 47.8 minutes.
"This is caused by some local attraction," he said, looking around.
Then, suddenly: "Ah! I see it! It is caused by those two iron chests.
But I fear it cannot be helped; for if they are moved into any other
position, the attraction, though it might not be so great now, would
be greater at some future time. It cannot be helped! I am sorry, for
it will add nearly a year to my stay in this chamber. You perceive
that the needle of that compass points to 1,007.8, or 16 degrees 47.8
minutes. That is the magnetic variation, plus 14.8 minutes for those
iron boxes, of this place at the present moment. The magnetic pole is
moving slowly toward the west; very slowly, indeed, but fast enough for
me to utilize its movement. At present it is moving but 0.3 minutes
per year, but this movement is increasing in a direct ratio of 0.145
minutes per year, which will bring the change in the variation, in
1988, to within 14.85 minutes of where the little hanging catch now
is. My calculations were for one hundred years, but those iron boxes
will carry it just one year longer, or to January 1, 1989. As I said,
the needle will move 0.445 minutes toward the west this year, and
0.590 minutes next, and so on, arriving at 4 degrees 34.85 minutes on
January 1, 1988; but this will be still 14.85 minutes from the little
catch which you see hanging down. In one year from that time, it will
strike it. The instant that it does do so, the fine wheel-work is
released, and the heavy weight will cause it to move; this movement
will drop the large beam upon the glass bulbs of the batteries, break
them, and drop the zinc into the electropoion fluid. The batteries will
then work, and I will have my power. The flask of alcohol is broken,
its contents saturating the asbestos feeder, while a current heating
to a white heat the platinum strip, starts the fire. At the same time
the same current through these magnets withdraws the bolt holding the
under door of the glass case in which I am: it falls by my weight, and
I roll upon the bed-springs, while the door, relieved of its weight,
closes again, thus shutting off the escape of the ozone. In descending
through the bottom of the case, the bandages are torn off of my face,
and another current of electricity passes through my heart by means of
the proper discs. Thus, you see, I am released from my ozone prison
into good and fresh air; the ozone is shut off, and my life is brought
back by the shock of electricity. From the alcohol heater, which is by
this time all aglow, I receive the warmth necessary to again set my
blood circulating properly through my veins. Of course, I am weak, very
weak; so I at once commence refreshing myself from the liquors in those
bottles. After that I prepare some of the beef juice, clothe myself in
one of the suits I have in that small iron chest, and I am a new man.
If the air in the chamber is not pure enough for me, I have plenty in
that cylinder, and can turn it on at any time, for it contains 8,000
cubic inches of air under pressure of twelve atmospheres, or, in round
numbers, 96,000 cubic inches; giving me plenty of air for over five
hours, without counting that which may be in the chamber. Before that
time I will be out of the place. Last comes the wooden frame and wheel;
that we will now set in position. I had this made for fear that I might
not have the necessary strength to open the door when the time came;
with it in position I can bring a pressure to bear upon the slab door
of this chamber and burst it open, if need be. Do you understand it all
now?" and he smiled at the curious expression on their faces.
"Yes," said Hathaway; "but why have you gone to all this trouble with
that compass, when you could have put in good-sized springs, as well?"
"That is just it, my boy. I could not have put in a spring just as
well. Had I used a spring, it might be rusted or broken by the time I
would want it to work. Batteries could not be thought of at all, as
they would not keep so long. In fact, I had to get something that was
as sure in its work as the earth is in its movement around the sun.
Nothing is more sure than that the compass needle will slowly turn back
toward the west. It is simple and sure; why, then, should I seek for
anything different?"
"I understand it all; your explanation is quite clear," said Craft.
"It is a most marvelous and ingenious combination of natural laws with
human auxiliaries."
Taking his watch out of his pocket, Cobb then said:
"The time is passing; let us at once to our work. You both know your
duties; so commence."
At exactly thirty minutes past two, Cobb had taken the opium and had
his nostrils, and mouth between the lips and teeth, filled with fine
asbestos cloth, while strips of the same material were placed over his
whole face, leaving but a small opening for the platinum tube between
his lips. He had previously thoroughly saturated the bandages about his
loins and body with the brown compound which he took from the bottles,
and which he had informed them was the nourishment to give sustenance
to his system during the period of his inanimation.
Lying down within the plaster mold, he told them to place the door
in its position. Craft and Hathaway, by hard work, got it on to the
hinges, and fastened the catch; then opening the little top door,
asked Cobb if it was all right so far.
"Yes," answered Cobb, partly opening his mouth, and speaking through
the filling. "Yes; it is all right. And now, no tears, no show of
grief; let me say a lasting farewell. I thank you, dear boys, for all
your kindness to me, and it grieves me sorely that I will never again
see you; but such is fate! May God bless you a thousand fold, and watch
over you through life, is my last wish! Take my hand, each of you;
there, that is right; good-bye! Now fit the plaster well over my face,
and look to your watches."
"Good-bye, dear old friend!" they both exclaimed, while the tears
streamed down their cheeks. "Again good-bye! and God be with you!"
Craft then quickly broke the seals of the ozone bottles, while Hathaway
placed the perforated vessel containing the stronetic acid at Cobb's
head.
Craft then placed all of the eight bottles of ozone in the case, and,
wrapping his coat about his arm to cover the hole and prevent the
escape of the ozone gas, scattered the contents on either side of the
body, but not touching the door upon which Cobb lay. Taking his arm
out, the door was fastened, and their attention was given to watching
for the time when they should commence turning the small wheel at the
side of the case.
Save a slight raising of his finger in token of recognition of their
last farewell, Cobb had not moved since the closing of the door.
At 2:41 his chest was rising and falling in a regular manner, while a
slight tremor of the case denoted his heavy breathing.
As their watches showed 2:51, Craft turned the wheel its first notch.
From that moment on, not a word was spoken by either of them, nor a
sound made, save the sharp click of the wheel as it turned onward
toward the 45th division.
They watched their friend through the glass cover; the heaving of the
chest became less and less, the breathing lower and lower, while a
purple hue settled upon his body.
At thirty-six minutes past four, the last division of the wheel had
been reached. Craft then took a spoonful of plaster, and, inserting
his hand carefully inside of the case, pulled out the tube from Cobb's
mouth, and poured the half-liquid plaster into the hole in the cast.
Taking his hand out, the door was carefully fastened and cemented
around its edges; the same thing was done around the edges of the lower
door. They then put out the fire in the heater, and set the inside
spring of the slab door of the pedestal.
Going to the case, Craft laid his hand upon it, and then, kneeling at
its side, gave way to his grief, and the tears came thick and fast.
"Come, Craft," said Hathaway, whose eyes were also filled to
overflowing; "come, old boy; it is all over. We have performed our
part, and, perhaps, are accessories to a man's suicide. God be with
him! he was a noble man, a true friend, and one we will never cease
missing."
Craft arose, and they passed out into the cool morning air. The marble
door swung back upon its hinges, the inside catch gave a sharp sound as
it closed upon the latch, and Junius Cobb was entombed alive.
Quickly applying the cement to the edges of this door, as they had done
to the glass case inside, the two friends, seeing that it was perfectly
set, descended the hill and passed out of sight.
CHAPTER VI
For nearly five years, Jean and Marie Colchis occupied the old house in
Duke's Lane.
The old man worked hard, and long hours were passed in arduous
experiments. The ozone machine had performed its mission, and was a
thing of the past. The hair on Colchis' brows was whiter, the lines of
care on his face deeper, and his gait slower.
Fortune had smiled upon him. Money had rolled in, and the interior of
the dilapidated old building was in strange contrast with the exterior.
The rooms were handsomely furnished: bric-a-brac, books, a piano, and
a thousand and one little _joujous_ dear to the feminine heart, gave
evidence of the hand that had wrought this change--Marie Colchis.
The seventeen-year-old girl to whom Junius Cobb had bidden a tearful
adieu, had become a highly educated woman of twenty-one. The beauty
of her youth grew with her years. Her disposition was commensurate
with her beauty. The solace of her father in his age, the pride of his
heart, she became the one object for which he lived and labored.
Often and often had this sweet girl asked of her father some knowledge
of Junius Cobb. When would he come? Was it known where he was? and did
her father think that he still remembered his old friends in Duke's
Lane? Then, as her thoughts wandered to their last interview, with its
sad parting, tears filled her eyes, and her bosom heaved and fell with
deep, sorrowing emotion.
She still loved him; time had wrought no change. Her father saw it,
knew it; and while a shade of sadness passed over his brow, he simply
muttered:
"It must be done!"
Thus time passed.
A great invention was Colchis at work upon. It would astonish the
world; it would make him famous for life; his wealth would become
vast in the extreme. But none of these thoughts disturbed the calm
equanimity of this great man.
He cared not for fame and honor, for his life was about run out. But
wealth! Ah! that was another thing! He did want it; but for whom? Not
himself? Who knows?
"They will want it, will want all I can give them," he said to himself
many times.
Later on, there came many visitors to the house in Duke's Lane. They
came singly, and sometimes in pairs. They remained awhile closeted with
the old man, and then they went away. They were scientists sent by the
government to report upon the invention of Jean Colchis.
One day, after a more lengthy visit than usual from one of these
gentlemen, Colchis entered the little parlor where Marie sat reclining
in a large chair, reading a book of poems.
Upon his approach, she quickly arose, and greeted him with warm
affection.
"My daughter," he commenced, as he led her to a chair and seated
himself by her side, "we are going to leave Duke's Lane. I believe
the time has come when you should see more of the world; should mix
in society, and take the place which your talents, beauty, and moral
attainments give you by right. You are nearly twenty-one years old,
highly educated, and exquisitely beautiful. You will make friends
wherever you go, and you will have suitors by the score. With wealth,
position, wit, and beauty, what more can you desire? Do not interrupt
me, darling," as his daughter was about to speak; "I know what you
would say: that your heart is given to Junius Cobb, and that you want
no other suitors. I have had fears, Marie, that Junius would never come
back to us in this world--that, perhaps, he is dead."
A cry of anguish burst from the poor girl's lips:
"Oh! do not, do not say that! He is not dead! You know it, father! Oh!
tell me he is not dead!" and she sank at her father's feet, overcome
with grief.
"O, God!" breathed the old man between his set teeth; "I fear it must
be done!" Then, leaning over and stroking the golden locks of his
daughter, he said:
"Marie, look up."
Her eyes, glistening with tiny tear-crystals, were turned up to his.
"Look into my eyes, my child, and listen well to my words. Do you love
Junius Cobb as fondly now as when you were a girl, on the night when he
said good-bye and left you? Answer me as your heart dictates."
"O, father! can you doubt it?" A heavenly look appeared in her eyes.
"Would to God I could be with him in this life, or in death!" Her head
fell upon her father's bosom.
"Then, life without your lover is worse than death?" and her father
fixed his eyes in a hoping, expecting, desiring expression upon his
daughter.
"Yes!" burst from her lips; "a thousand times yes! for what is life
without him? If I be not with him in death, then death is oblivion!"
"My noble, true-hearted daughter!" and he folded her to his heart.
"Your lover is true to you--that I can swear. Await with patience, my
child, till God wills your union. Now, once more listen to my words:
it is my desire that you enter the world of life and fashion, rule my
house as its mistress; entertain, make friends, and let no worry enter
thy heart. Do this, and if at the end of four years more, you ask for
Junius Cobb, your betrothed, he shall come to you. I swear to you, my
daughter, that my words are true."
"Father, I will do thy bidding." She wept tears of hope as she sank
into her chair.
Soon the world of fashion, the society of money and brains, began to
chipper-chapper of the new Croesus and his divine daughter, who had
suddenly come into their midst.
The Colchis mansion was among the finest of those beautiful homes which
have made San Francisco famous as a city of palaces. His hospitality
was prodigal; his entertainments fit for kings. He and his beautiful
daughter were objects around which fluttered the culture, the fashion,
and the wealth of the city.
Men came, saw the divinity, and worshiped at the shrine. Suitors
implored her love, begged it, but without success. To all was Marie
Colchis kind, honorable, and lovely, but to none gave she the slightest
encouragement.
Time passed, and still she was the same. Suitors still persevered, but
without success. Against her no word of disrespect could be uttered,
none could bear feelings save of love and admiration; all spoke of her
as the frozen sunbeam.
Colchis père saw it, and understood it; she could never change.
Then Jean Colchis arose one morning, and told his daughter that he must
go away on important duty. His stay might be protracted to months,
he could not tell her how long. She was to remain, and under the
guardianship of her housekeeper, she should find what amusement she
chose.
Their adieus were spoken, and Colchis sailed out of the Golden Gate in
a ship of his own.
Months passed, and Marie Colchis grew sad and disconsolate. Her lover
gone, and her father away, there was nothing to live for. Hours upon
hours she sat and wept--wept tears of such sadness as only a heart
bowed down by the most intense sorrow could cause to flow.
The house on the hill was closed to the world, and Marie lived but in
the past, and with slight hopes for the future.
It was the 13th of March, 1897, and Jean Colchis had arrived home to
his child. There was sadness in his eyes as he clasped his darling
daughter to his heart; but a firm, determined expression overspread
his countenance, as though he had fought some great battle, and felt
himself the victor.
"Never again, dear old father, can I open this house to the world," she
said to him, as they sat and spoke of the past.
"And never again shall you, my child," he had returned, holding her in
a loving embrace.
"Let me leave the world and all it contains! Let me go and bury my body
as I have my love! Father, I am dying!"
The time had come. Jean Colchis saw that not an hour was to be lost.
Fate had ordained it; he must comply, though he murdered his beloved
child!
"Grieve not, my child," he tenderly said, "the future is bright and
assured. I am going to take you to your husband!"
Like a burst of the sun through a dark and dreary sky, her eyes lighted
up, and she sprang toward him, clasped him around the neck, and covered
his face with kisses. Then she arose, staggered, and fainted. The good
news was too sudden.
Two weeks after this eventful day, Jean Colchis and his daughter sailed
away in the ship which had once before borne him out of the harbor.
As the vessel passed through the Golden Gate, the father and daughter
stood at the rail and took one last look at the life behind them.
"See! dear father," Marie exclaimed, pointing to the shore on the
south, while a bright smile illumined her face. "See! there is the
Presidio, with its little houses! Junius lived there, once--Junius, my
own, and to whom we are now hastening. God watch over him!"
"Amen!"
The words came sadly from the old man's lips. Thus they sailed away,
and never more was word heard of them by the living world.
The years came and passed, but these two loving hearts came not again
to the haunts of man.
And the other--Junius Cobb? He lay an inert mass in the pedestal of the
Statue of Liberty, on Mt. Olympus.
CHAPTER VII
A beautiful day it was, this 19th of June, A. D. 2000; to be sure,
the sun was sending down its rays with a trifle more heat than was
agreeable, but all things considered, it was one of those lovely days
which one sees, in the month of June, in Washington.
The heads of the various departments had not yet left the city for
their summer vacations in the country, but were hard pressed by the
business required of them by Congress; for that body was still in
session, as the national legislature did not end its work until the
first of July.
In the Treasury building, Treasury Square, all was bustle and activity,
and clerks and messengers were flying in every direction.
At his desk in the sumptuous office provided for him, sat Mr. Brett,
the Treasurer of the United States; while near him, quietly smoking a
cigar, sat Mr. Peck, the first assistant to the Treasurer.
They were quietly discussing matters pertaining to their department,
and evidently had plenty of time on their hands.
It was 14:10 by the large dial on the wall, and near the time when the
Secretary of the Treasury would ask for the final papers for signature
for the day. A huge stack lay upon the table awaiting this call, and
the two chiefs were only remaining to send them to him.
As the hands of the dial marked 14:15, a sharp knock was made upon the
door, and immediately after, Mr. Lane, the second assistant, entered
the room accompanied by Mr. Howell, a subordinate officer in the
Treasury Department.
"Well, Mr. Lane, what is it? Have you any more business?" asked the
Treasurer, looking up.
"Yes, sir," answered that gentleman, with apparent excitement. "Yes,
sir; I have some papers here which I think may be of very great
importance. As Mr. Howell was going through the old store-room
containing the records at the close of the administration of 1908, he
found this bundle, marked as you will see by looking at it. Deeming it
my duty, sir, to at once acquaint you with the fact, I have brought it
here." Saying which, he handed the Treasurer a small package of papers,
bearing upon the brief-side this indorsement:
"TREASURY DEPARTMENT, }
WASHINGTON, January 29, 1888. }
"This paper is this day deposited with the Treasurer of the United
States, by Hugh Craft, Second Lieutenant in the First Artillery.
With it is also deposited an iron safe, presumably containing the
papers referred to in the body of the communication. Entry of the
papers is made in book 'C,' folio 476. This document is to be
transmitted from Treasurer to Treasurer, as they may be appointed,
until its contents can be complied with; which will be by the
Treasurer serving in 1988.
"CONRAD N. JORDAN,
"_Treasurer of the United States_."
The Treasurer took the paper in an unconcerned manner and glanced over
the brief. Looking over his glasses, he said:
"Well, Mr. Howell, I see nothing about these papers that requires my
attention. Undoubtedly they have been long ago acted upon by the proper
authorities," and he handed them toward that gentleman.
"But the inside, sir," quickly returned Howell. "I must admit I read
it, and so found out that it was of importance, even at this late day.
It contains an account of a safe to be opened in 1988, and which has
been deposited in the vaults since 1888. Now, if such a safe had been
opened in this department in 1988, or since, I would have known it;
for, as you know, sir, I have been here over fifteen years. I think,
sir, that this communication has been mislaid long before the time set
for opening the safe, if, indeed, any such article is in the vaults,
and that it might require investigation."
Mr. Brett seemed a little more interested in the matter, as he again
turned the document over in his hand; then opening it, he read its
contents.
In silence his subordinates watched him, and noticed an increasing
excitement in his manner as he progressed.
This was the letter which Cobb had written and sent with the safe, and
of which he had spoken to Craft and Hathaway.
Having read the main document, the Treasurer returned to the briefs
and saw that it had been transmitted by five Secretaries, as their
indorsements were upon it; but after the year 1904 no more indorsements
were made, and it was apparent that the paper had been mislaid since
then. Handing the bundle to Mr. Peck, the Treasurer said:
"That is a most curious document, I must say. Can you make anything out
of it?"
The latter perused it carefully, and also looked at its indorsements.
"If such a safe is now in the vaults," he answered, returning the
communication, "it should be looked after at once, for the time has
long since passed when it should have been opened. Perhaps you did not
notice that the last indorsement says that the safe was deposited in
the certificate vaults on January 7, 1904, by Treasurer Chamberlin. I
think it would be well to look into this matter; and if you wish it, I
will at once attend to searching that vault."
"I quite agree with you, Mr. Peck, that we ought not to let this matter
drop without at least trying to discover if the safe mentioned in the
paper is now in this department. I wish you would take the matter in
hand and thoroughly search the old vaults, especially the one mentioned
as containing the safe on January 7, 1904. Notify me if your labors
are rewarded by success. Good morning," and the Treasurer bowed to Mr.
Peck as the latter left the office. In passing out, Peck motioned to
Mr. Howell to follow him.
The vaults of the Treasury were cut up into many small and minor
vaults. Some had been used for the storage of old documents of the
department which had no further value than that, by law, they could not
be destroyed. One series of these latter were the certificate vaults
containing the stacks of fraudulent certificates used by the Chinese,
in the latter part of the nineteenth century, to gain admission into
the country, and in one of which the safe was supposed to have been
deposited.
An investigation was at once made by Peck and Howell in these vaults,
and resulted in complete success; for, hidden behind huge piles of
papers and boxes of documents, was found the small safe taken to
Washington in 1888, by Hugh Craft.
It had taken several hours for the two men, with the aid of a couple
of janitors, to unearth, or rather unpaper, the iron box; but it was
there, nevertheless, and they read the legend painted upon it with many
expressions of wonder.
At 10:30 the next morning, when the Treasurer came to his desk, they
reported the result of their search, and informed him that they had
gotten the safe out into the main corridor of the vault, awaiting his
orders.
Mr. Brett immediately accompanied Peck down to the vaults, and saw for
himself the safe. He read the legend upon it, and could not conceal his
astonishment: the letter was genuine, and the safe was there.
The contents of that iron box had been placed in it over one hundred
and thirteen years ago! What were the secrets it contained? Why was it
sent to the Treasurer of the United States, with instructions not to be
opened before a hundred years had passed? Why was it not opened at the
proper time?
All these thoughts quickly passed through the Treasurer's mind.
Carefully noting the inscription upon the door of the safe, he informed
Mr. Peck that he would at once communicate with the President upon the
subject. He then went back to his office.
At 11:15 that morning the President was informed that the Treasurer of
the United States had most important business with him, and desired
an immediate audience; it was granted him. The President was sitting
in his private office, in the executive mansion, and received the
Treasurer with a kind smile of welcome as he entered.
Mr. Brett immediately communicated the purport of his mission, and
handed the President the letter which had been found.
Mr. Craft, the President, seemed greatly surprised at the communication,
and taking the letter, read it carefully--both it and its indorsements.
"Delivered by Hugh Craft, of the army," he read, to himself; then aloud:
"Why, a namesake of mine! I have had relatives in the army for many
years; I wonder if this man could have been one of my ancestors?"
Taking down a large volume from an upper shelf of his book-case, he
quickly turned the pages under the date of 1888. "Yes; yes, it is
here," and he followed on for several pages more; then, referring back,
read:
"'Hugh Craft, Second Lieutenant, First Artillery, July 1, 1886;
First Lieutenant, September 15, 1891; Captain, October 6, 1906;
Major, October 14, 1916; killed at the battle of Ottawa, August 5,
1917. Married Augustine Phelps, May 28, 1890. Children: Edward, born
September 12, 1891; Harry, born May 4, 1894; Mabel, born December 11,
1906.'" Then, turning over the pages, he continued:
"'Edward married in 1916 and died December 22, 1937, leaving three
sons; one of whom, Arthur, married in 1940. Arthur died in 1981,
leaving one son, Emory D., born June 19, 1941.' And that man is
myself. It is most strange that I should at this late day receive a
communication signed by my great-grandfather. Whatever the contents of
this safe may be, they are in some manner connected with me, and I am
most anxious to at once unravel the mystery."
Rising from his chair, he touched an electric bell, and upon its being
answered by an orderly in the uniform of the President's guards,
sent a summons to his Cabinet to immediately meet him at the Treasury
building; he then called for his wraps and signified his intention of
at once proceeding with Mr. Brett to the Treasury and opening the safe.
In about an hour afterwards there were gathered in the office of the
Treasurer the President and all the members of his Cabinet, and Mr.
Brett, the Treasurer. The gentlemen, upon request of the President,
then proceeded to where the safe had been drawn out into the corridor.
There it stood, apparently in as good condition as when first sent to
the Treasury, save a slight discoloration caused by time. The legend
was still plain, and the party surveyed it with much curiosity. The
combination of the lock, of course, was unknown to any of them, and the
key-hole was of no use, as none had a key to fit it. The services of
a couple of machinists were soon procured, and the outer door quickly
yielded to their efforts, and was torn from its hinges, exposing a
large plate-glass door, behind which were plainly seen several articles.
Breaking open this door, for it was cemented around its edges, the
contents of the safe were soon in the possession of the President.
First was a bundle of papers, then some newspapers of 1887, and finally
three photographs in well preserved condition, though brown with age.
The bundle of papers was first examined. They gave the whole secret
of Cobb's intention of undergoing the ordeal of the cataleptic state,
together with all that which had taken place up to the evening of
December 1st, 1887, as well as what would follow on that night, and
complete directions as to what was necessary to be done to again bring
him to life should he not gain his natural state by the means he had
prepared. Full mention, with the names of Craft and Hathaway, was made
of their share in the work, and the photographs were of himself and
his two friends. His leave of absence, also, was among the papers, and
proved, by its signatures, its genuineness.
Upon intimation from the President, the whole party repaired to the
office of the Secretary of War, where the papers were carefully read,
and a deliberate consideration of the matter undertaken.
The records of the War Department for the years 1887 to 1950 were then
sent for, and the record of Cobb and the other two found.
Opposite Craft's name was the entry, "Killed at the battle of Ottawa,
August 5, 1917;" after Hathaway's name, "Died of wounds received at
Bovispe Hacienda, Mexico, March 17, 1915;" while after Cobb's name
were the words, "Dropped from the rolls of the army as a deserter, to
date from December 1, 1904, under the provisions of section 1229 of
the Revised Statutes, no report having been received from him since
December 1, 1887."
All those present read the instructions contained in the bundle
of papers; all saw the photographs, and all read portions of the
newspapers which were found in the safe. The signatures of both Craft
and Cobb were carefully compared with those which were made in the old
signature papers attached to the record-book, and found to correspond
exactly.
All present agreed that everything was perfectly genuine, and that the
articles had been placed in the safe about the time specified.
"This is a very remarkable affair, gentlemen!" finally exclaimed the
President, after again looking over the documents. "This paper directs
that the place of entombment be opened by the first of January,
1988, or as soon thereafter as possible. It is now the 20th of June,
A. D. 2000; quite a long time after that set by Mr. Cobb for giving
him assistance is it not? If he has done what he says he has, in
my opinion, the man is long since dead. The mislaying of the first
document was a culpable act on the part of the administration of 1908;
but it is our duty to remedy it, if possible. I know of nothing to do
but to send at once to California and open the statue spoken of in this
letter. If the man is dead, we may at least learn something more of his
strange undertaking. I feel a personal interest, aside from that of my
office, in this matter; for it appears that my great-grandfather was an
accessory to this man's foolish venture, and I would do all in my power
to repair his wrong-doing. Mr. Miles, I desire that you take measures
at once to solve this mystery and, if possible, render some aid to the
man Cobb, if, indeed, it be not too late."
The Secretary of State answered that everything would be done that
was possible, and that men would that afternoon leave on the Central
Pneumatic for California. He arose, bowed to those present, and retired.
At 16:30 that afternoon, two men, with grips and coats, left Washington
on the Central Pneumatic for California.
The distance was a little over 3,600 miles, and the party arrived at
its destination at 11:25 the next day.
An immediate call was made upon the mayor and council of the city,
and the purport of their mission disclosed. Full arrangements were
soon made for going to the Statue of Liberty, which still occupied Mt.
Olympus, and was apparently in as good condition as when placed there
in 1887, and ascertaining if the disclosures contained in the safe were
true or not.
San Francisco had grown so much that the statue no longer occupied
an isolated position on the outskirts, but was entirely surrounded
by large and beautiful dwellings, and that part of the city was now
densely populated.
As it would not be well to have the mission of the party known while
working into the base of the pedestal, it was decided that no entry
should be attempted before the following midnight. The two gentlemen,
having taken dinner, proceeded with their arrangements, and soon had
procured the services of four strong men to open the supposed chamber.
As the dial struck the hour of twenty-two that evening, two hacks
passed quickly up Haight street, and thence to the foot of Mt. Olympus,
which, though surrounded by residences, was yet bare upon its top.
Leaving the carriage in two parties, the occupants cautiously proceeded
to the statue.
It was a quiet night, and in that part of the city few persons were
about, and none in the vicinity of the top of the hill. The moon was
in its first quarter, shedding very little light, and in consequence
dark-lanterns had been provided.
Albert Rawolle, the chief of the party which had left Washington, and
who had charge of all the preparations, was a cool and quiet man, and
well fitted to superintend such a piece of work. Stationing two of his
men in position to guard against surprise, he commenced operations on
the north-east corner of the base. He had made a careful survey of
the whole structure, but could find no signs of an entrance, so had
selected that corner as affording an easier task for his men.
At 23:55 the work was commenced, and the picks were driven into the
hard joints with quickness and dispatch, soon making a large breach
in the wall. At 1:25 one of the men drove his bar through the side,
piercing the wall into the chamber. Quickly enlarging the opening,
bull's-eye lanterns were held to the hole, and the interior was bared
to view.
As their eyes gradually became accustomed to the gloom, all the
contents of the chamber were brought to their vision: the cases, the
batteries, the boxes, and all the many things which Cobb had placed
therein a hundred years before.
There were no signs of life, however; everything was as cold and silent
as the grave.
The first moments of their excitement being over, the men went to
work with increased vigor; for there was, indeed, something more than
ordinary in this place--something true in the letter of instructions
left in the safe; there was about to be disclosed to the world a most
marvelous fact in the history of mankind.
With alacrity the men worked and toiled at the breach, and soon it was
opened to a full foot in diameter. A moment later, as one of the men
gave a rather more powerful blow than usual, his bar slipped from his
hand and went crashing into the chamber.
With the exclamation of the man came a sharp, crashing sound from
within, followed by a flood of light. Everyone jumped to the opening,
and gazed within the chamber, while a superstitious shudder ran through
each, and it seemed to them as if their very hair was rising on end.
[Illustration]
"My God! Look!" excitedly exclaimed Rawolle to the others, and his
voice seemed hoarse and hollow. "Look! there is a man moving inside the
chamber!"
With eyes almost protruding from their sockets, the men gazed through
the breach. Indeed, it was enough to try a man's nerves; for within
that chamber which but a moment before was wrapped in total darkness,
in cold, and apparent death, was now light and life, and a man was
slowly rising from his bed, with his hands pressed against his breast.
They watched him as he moved feebly toward the fire, which they could
not see, but which they knew was there by its reflection.
They could not speak, so strained were their nerves; but their eyes
followed every motion he made. They saw him turn to the fire and
slowly rub himself with his hands; then take a bottle, and striking
its top against the side of the fire-place, break it open and take a
deep draught of its contents, giving no heed to its broken and ragged
edges. They saw him open a chest and take from it what appeared to be a
quilt and throw it around him, and then, seating himself at the fire,
continue the rubbing as before.
Lyman, Rawolle's assistant, was about to speak, but the latter motioned
him to silence, saying, under his breath:
"Hush! let us see what this all means--what this man will do; for it is
a scene that may never again be enacted upon this earth."
Cobb, for he it was, as is already surmised, did not sit long in front
of the fire, but soon arose and took from his breast and back the two
copper discs which were held in place by a band; then tearing off the
bandages from the lower part of his body, he threw them to one side;
next he placed upon the fire a small stew-pan, filling it with the
liquor from another bottle which he had taken up and opened.
In a minute the savory odor of cooking meat came to the nostrils of the
watchers, while Cobb, taking it from the fire, poured it into a cup and
began drinking it. Five minutes longer they watched him, during which
time he had finished his repast, and had partially arrayed himself in
clothing which he took from one of the boxes.
No longer able to restrain himself, Rawolle placed his head within the
breach, and in a quiet tone of voice, so as not to startle Cobb, said:
"Your friends are here and waiting to assist you; what shall we do?
See! we are at this hole which we have made endeavoring to gain
entrance to your cell."
As the words were spoken, the sound seemed to startle even the speaker,
as well as the others, and Cobb turned, and for a moment shook as if
some terrible vision had passed before his eyes; but, as the faces of
the men were distinctly visible by the reflection from the fire and the
incandescent lamp above it, he soon regained his composure, and in a
weak voice asked:
"Who are you that have dared to break into this place? By what
misfortune am I thus disturbed and my plans upset? By whose authority
do you come? Have you gained the knowledge through Mr. Craft or Mr.
Hathaway?"
"It is by the order of the former, sir, that we have broken into this
chamber," replied Rawolle, not knowing the exact import of Cobb's
question.
"Alas!" murmured Cobb, "are there no true friends on earth?"
With trembling limbs he sank down upon a box near the fire, but just in
view of the others.
"We are ordered to rescue you, Mr. Cobb," added Rawolle; "and your weak
condition demands immediate succor. Waste no time, we implore. It is
the President's order."
"Whose order?" quickly exclaimed Cobb.
"President Craft's."
Weak as he was, Cobb sprang toward the opening through which Rawolle
was speaking, and excitedly cried:
"Is it not 1887? Who is President Craft? I never heard of him. Tell me,
what is the year? Are we in 1800 or 1900?"
"Neither, sir," answered Rawolle. "It is A. D. 2000."
"My God! Have I been asleep since 1887?" and he pressed his hands to
his brow, clutching his hair as if endeavoring to tear aside the veil
of the past, that a realization of the moment might be made plain to
him. "Have I slept a hundred and thirteen years? Am I now alive? or is
this some terrible nightmare? No! no! I heard your voices! I live! I
live again! Thank God! I have not failed in my undertaking." He looked
around him in a dazed manner.
"But can we not help you?" broke in Rawolle; "you have no time to lose
in your weak condition. Tell us at once what we are to do; it will
take over an hour to enlarge this breach. Have you no door, or mode of
entrance?"
"Yes; there was a door, but it was sealed up after I entered this
place. Go to the other side of the pedestal, and I will try to open it."
They all passed around as directed, and Cobb applied himself to the
wheel and gearing. Weak as he was, it became somewhat of a difficult
task for him to turn the screw, but the mechanism had been so perfectly
adjusted that it revolved even by his feeble strength. Lifting up the
spring catch, he slowly turned the screw, and the door opened upon its
rusty hinges.
A moment later, all were in the chamber of the Statue of Liberty.
Astonishment was depicted upon the countenances of all, as they beheld
the interior of the chamber and its peculiar contents. But Rawolle gave
no heed to the strange condition of the place; his thoughts were upon
Cobb, who lay upon the floor, where he had fallen, unconscious, after
opening the door. Quickly seizing him, they bore his body to the fire
and rubbed back the departing life. His legs and arms were stiff from
long inaction; his face was wan and his form somewhat emaciated. Their
work was soon rewarded by a return to consciousness of their patient.
Rawolle opened the box from which he had seen the clothing taken, and
soon Cobb was clad in warm, comfortable garments. Ten minutes were
consumed in preparing fresh broth and administering to the weak man's
wants.
Cobb's strength returned quickly to him, thanks to the liquor and beef
juice, and he moved from the fire toward the compass case.
"You say it is A. D. 2000?" he asked again; "are you not joking me? Is
it indeed that year? or, rather, is A. D. 2000 this year?"
"For a fact," answered Rawolle. "It is as I tell you; and we are now in
the year 2000."
All the others joined Rawolle in assuring Cobb that he was not the
subject of any jest; it was just as had been told him.
"I cannot understand it; I cannot see why I have lain so long. I should
have been awake years ago, in 1988; something has gone wrong," and he
moved closer to the compass case. "It must be here, if anywhere," and
he leaned over the box and gazed upon the needle and wheel-work. An
instant only he looked, and then he sprang back and exclaimed:
"Ah! what is this?" and an expression of blank astonishment came over
his face. "What is this? The needle of the compass not at 260, but
still far away to the east of it!" and he examined it most carefully.
There it was, not at 260, but away to the east of those figures--at
899, or to the reading of 14 degrees 59 minutes. There was some mystery
about this that sorely puzzled the brain of Cobb.
As the others attempted to speak, he bade them be silent until he could
solve this problem.
Looking down, his eye fell upon the iron bar which the workman had let
slip through his hand in opening the breach. It rested just under the
aluminum rod attached to the wheel-work. From the bar his eyes wandered
inquiringly from one to the other.
"It shlipped out of me hond in making ther hule," said the man who had
dropped it into the chamber.
The mystery was solved. The iron bar, in slipping through the workman's
hands into the chamber, had struck the aluminum rod and set the
wheel-work in motion; everything else had worked perfectly, and as Cobb
had designed that it should work. But one other thing troubled him very
much, and that was why did the compass-needle mark 899 instead of 260,
as it ought to do?
"Give me a pencil and paper," he said to Rawolle, "and be still but a
moment, and I will answer your questions."
The materials were given to him, and he busied himself a moment in
putting down some figures.
"Yes, as I thought," he soon exclaimed, throwing down the pencil. "It
was I who made the mistake. Gentlemen, you see that needle marking
899," and he pointed it to them. "Well, a hundred and thirteen years
ago, or, more accurately, in December, 1887, it marked 1,007.8. I
computed that it would move to where that catch now is, at 260, in one
hundred years; but, like many another man, I made a most simple error.
In my work, I read 14.355, instead of 1.4355--the mere misplacing of
the decimal point. It came near costing me my life. Instead of the
needle moving 732.7 points, as I thought it would, it moved but 73.27
points in the hundred years that I anticipated remaining here. It has
moved only 108.7 points in one hundred and thirteen years."
It was well that Cobb had made this great mistake, for the movement of
the magnetic meridian was, in reality, so slow on the meridian of San
Francisco, that he could not have used it with any degree of safety.
One hundred and eight points, or an arc of 1 degree 48 minutes, was too
small to work upon, as any great magnetic storm, earthquake, or other
disturbance might have caused it to oscillate over such a small arc and
spring the wheel-work. In fact, the needle, as Cobb had set it, would
not have arrived at the little catch before the middle of June, A. D.
2198.
Without losing another moment, Cobb wrapped himself in a heavy overcoat
taken from the iron box, and requested Rawolle to take the other box
with him, and to take him to a hotel at once, as he needed rest and
refreshment.
The party then left the chamber which had been Cobb's abiding-place for
so many years, and proceeded to the Occidental Hotel, leaving a man to
guard the place and its contents.
Arriving at the hotel, Cobb was at once shown to his room, and
refreshments ordered; later on he detailed the whole story of his long
and death-like sleep, and received, in return, all the information
concerning the finding of the safe and the mission of Rawolle and Lyman.
Despite the secrecy with which all had been done, the papers of the
next day contained the following:
"MOST WONDERFUL!
"IS IT A HOAX? IS IT TRUE?
"ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN YEARS ASLEEP, BUT NOW ALIVE!
"Junius Cobb, a Lieutenant in the Army in 1887, was Last Night
Taken from a Chamber Cut in the Solid Masonry of the Statue of
Liberty on Mt. Olympus.
"The Rescue Made by a Party Sent from Washington.
"The Paraphernalia Still in the Base of the Pedestal.
"The Story of the Guard Who was Left to Prevent Entrance into the
Interior.
"The Man Now at the Occidental Hotel.
"Copy of the Dispatches sent by the Chief to the President of the
United States."
And then followed column after column of the news, which startled all
San Francisco at nine the next morning, when the extra edition was
sent into the streets.
Thousands upon thousands of people visited Mt. Olympus after twelve had
struck that day, and by midnight of that 22d of June, A. D. 2000, the
whole world had heard the news, and wondered and wondered.
CHAPTER VIII
The sun was streaming into Cobb's eyes; he was restless; he awoke. The
room was empty, not a soul in sight, and he lay in his bed, all alone.
How long he had lain there he could not tell, but he knew it must have
been some time, for his bones felt sore, and he had a great desire to
get up and stretch himself. The room was the same that he had entered
the night before; of that he felt assured as he glanced around.
For some time he lay half awake and half asleep, his thoughts running
in a most confused channel. In memory he wandered back to his old
friends, Craft and Hathaway. He was living, but where were they?
And his kindred, where were they? Dead! all of them! Not a single
soul of all those whom he had known and associated with were living.
Indeed, he was alone in the world! In his mind, once again he viewed
the longings and cravings which he had cherished for a knowledge of
what the world would be at a future day, and the vision materialized
into a full knowledge that at last he had the power he so long had
desired. What a wonderful experience! What a remarkable transition he
had passed through! He had become a king, an emperor, a very god, for
he had annihilated time, and passed, in a second, over many score of
years. Was he to find such changes in the world as he had anticipated?
Was he to be satisfied with things as he should find them now? Had he
thrown away a life of quiet enjoyment and comparative ease, among his
friends and kindred, for a new life in which he would be dissatisfied,
miserable? Was the light worth the candle? All these and many more were
the questions he asked himself as he lay there awaiting the approach of
some one from whom he might possibly receive an answer. He could lie
there no longer; he must arise and be about. Had they all deserted him,
that he was thus left alone? No, that was hardly possible; they would
soon come. He rose upon his elbow and looked about the room.
No sooner had he raised himself in his bed than a door opened and a man
entered and quickly approached his bed.
It was Lyman, and Cobb instantly recognized him, though he appeared to
be so differently dressed from the style which he was accustomed to
seeing that it made him doubt his identity.
Approaching close to him, Lyman looked into his eyes with a searching
expression, as if endeavoring to fathom his very thoughts.
Still upon his elbow, Cobb returned his gaze and asked:
"Well! is it time to get up? Why do you look at me in such a manner?"
and a feeling of fear ran through him that he might be laboring under
a hideous dream, and that he was not only alive again, but had never
been dead to the world, as he thought.
The sorrowful expression of Lyman's eyes disappeared, and a glad smile
parted his lips.
"Thank God, my boy, you are yourself again! We have watched you for a
long time, hoping for this return to consciousness. Do you indeed know
me?" and he leaned over and took the other's hand.
"Of course I know you. Have I been sick? have I lain here long? Has
everything been a dream? or am I awake in the new era?" and as he asked
the question, he sat up in bed.
"You are laboring under no delusion, Mr. Cobb," Lyman replied, smiling
at the man's eagerness on the subject. "You are the same man whom we
rescued from the pedestal of Sutro's statue, and you are still in the
land of the living, after years of inanimation. You have had a long
and most severe struggle for your life since being brought here on the
night we dug you out of the pedestal. It is now the 16th of September,
almost three months since your release, and you have lain upon your bed
or sat in your chair nearly all the time. Your mind has wandered, and
you have known no one until to-day. We have sat near you for hours, and
for hours have listened to the history of your life."
As he ceased speaking, he arose and filled a glass with wine, and gave
it to the other, saying that it was necessary that he should get well
as soon as possible, now that he was himself again.
"And I have lain here since June 22d?" Cobb asked again.
"Yes; lain, sat, and walked--for you did walk a very little of late."
"It is strange! But, really, is it A. D. 2000?"
"In truth, it is."
"And Rawolle; where is he?"
"Out; but he will soon be back, for he has not left your side, except
for brief periods, since we brought you here. One of us has always been
near you."
Cobb looked at him a moment, and then asked:
"Will you please explain why you are wearing such outlandish clothing,
for it is entirely different from anything I have been accustomed to
seeing," and he surveyed the other from head to foot.
Lyman smiled, and took a step backward that a better view of him might
be obtained.
"All in good time, my boy," he answered. "Suffice it to say that this
is the custom, or style, now. We have got a full suit for you as soon
as you are able to put it on."
Saying this, he went across the room and threw open the doors of a
wardrobe, disclosing a number of articles of wearing apparel hanging
therein.
To Cobb, he presented an appearance quite out of the general order of
dress, and an aspect quite comical; yet, the more he looked at him,
the more he was inclined to admit that his dress was becoming, and,
no doubt, very comfortable. It seemed to him that he had seen styles
similar to that his friend wore, depicted in the old prints as worn by
his forefathers. The main features were: tight-fitting knee-breeches,
but coming a little lower down than those of the old style; black silk
stockings and low-cut shoes, the shoes having large gilded buckles upon
the instep; vest low in front, but closing at the neck; close-fitting
cutaway coat without tails, unbuttoned in front, but held together by
frogs; neither collars nor cuffs, but in their place small and neat
rufflings. There was no shirt-front visible.
His glance was but momentary, yet it was long enough for him to note
these few changes and minor details in Lyman's dress.
"Come, Cobb," said Lyman, "get up and dress. I will bring you your
clothing."
With the aid of Lyman, it was but a few minutes ere he was thoroughly
arrayed and fitted out in the prevailing style of the day.
Handing him a fine pair of boots of very light material, Lyman said:
"Put these on, for it is wet outside; the low shoes are worn only
during dry weather."
Putting on the boots, which fitted him perfectly, Cobb surveyed himself
in the glass. He liked the change from the old style. It was indeed
a comfortable substitute for the heavy and loose-fitting trousers
and long-tailed coats formerly worn. No collars to cut one's ears,
nor cuffs to hang down over one's hands. It was handsome withal, and
permitted a free action of the limbs.
"Is this now the prevailing style?" he asked Lyman.
"Yes. No other style of clothing but this is worn by men," was the
answer.
"And how long has this been the custom?"
"A great many years--how many I cannot say. It has been the style since
I was born. I believe I have heard that it was inaugurated in 1910.
Certain gentlemen in the city of Chicago were the first to start the
movement, as near as I remember it. Anyway, the change was made, and
now it is the only style of gentlemen's wearing apparel in the United
States. Of course, there are certain modifications of it, as for summer
and winter, and in certain trades, but the one main idea is adhered to,
namely: close-fitting clothing and knee-breeches, with shoes for dry
and boots for wet weather."
"I think it a jolly change. It seems like old times, when I dressed
for mounted duty with my troop." And Cobb took a turn around the room,
bringing back the memories of the days when he had, in his top-boots,
swung the belle of a frontier town.
At this moment Rawolle entered the room, and started at seeing Cobb up
and dressed. With unfeigned pleasure he rushed up to him and grasped
his hand, crying:
"Cobb, I congratulate you on your return to consciousness!"
"Pray don't mention it. I am just as glad to be up and around as you
are to see me."
"And how do you feel? Have you had a good rest?"
"Good rest! Well, I like that! I should say I have. I hope you don't
think a man can sleep three months without being satisfied, do you?"
"No. You ought to be ready to get up by this time, I must admit; but
that is not to the point: are you in condition to start for Washington
to-day?"
"Yes; any time you desire."
"How glad I am!" Rawolle quickly returned. "I have been away from home
so long that I am most anxious to get back to my family. I will look
into the matter and see if we cannot go to-day. In the meantime, look
over the morning paper," and he tossed the paper which he had in his
hand to him.
"Yes," said Lyman, going over to the other side of the room and taking
up a large grip; "busy yourself with the news while I get our traps
into shape for traveling."
Cobb took the paper as it fell into his hand, and opened it. It was a
very large daily, and seemed to contain a vast amount of information.
Looking at the heading of the paper, he saw that it was the "Daily
American." At the first glance over it, he perceived that it was quite
different from the papers which he had seen in former days. Leaning
back in his chair, he carefully looked it over.
It was not headed San Francisco, as he thought it would be, but
America; and the date was the 16th of September. Where was America?
he asked himself; he knew of no such place. It must be some new and
very large city close by, else the paper could not have reached them
so soon. No paper that he had ever before seen contained the amount of
news that this did. There was news from all parts of the world; not
scant and close-cut, either, but full and elaborate accounts. What
appeared to him as very peculiar was that each column had its own
heading, as, "From Europe," "From Asia," "From South America," etc.
Another thing that appeared very remarkable was that there were no
advertisements, nor time-tables of transportation, nor lists of places
of amusement. In fact, there was nothing local in the paper that he
could ascertain. It was just such a combination of news as would as
quickly interest a man in New York as one in San Francisco. He also
noticed that the printing was peculiar; that but two or three kinds of
type were used in the body of the paper, and that the ends of lines
were not, as formerly, flush with the ruling of the next column.
All this was so very strange to him that he was on the point of asking
for information from Lyman, when his eyes met the word "Cobb," in big
headline letters. Of course he must read what was said of him before
asking any questions regarding the paper in which the account was
given. He read:
"COBB!
"S. F., 15, 22 D.--The physicians in charge of Junius Cobb report
no change in their patient during the day. Food is administered at
regular intervals, and taken with apparent relish by the sick man.
Mr. Cobb has gained rapidly in flesh, and his health seems to be
almost perfect, save the one remarkable condition of insensibility
to surrounding objects. The physicians in charge have strong hopes
that another week will bring forth great and marked improvement,
and that the man's mind will return to him."
And again, further on:
"JUNIUS COBB.
"WASHINGTON, 15, 11 D.--In the Cabinet meeting to-day, the
President said, referring to the peculiar condition of Junius Cobb,
the Lieutenant taken from the tomb in San Francisco last June,
'that if his condition did not soon show some signs of improvement,
he thought that it would be to the best interests of the man, as
well as the nation, that he should be brought to Washington for
treatment.' He further said, 'that all of the apparatus used by
Cobb in his experiment had been received at the State Department,
and was there held until Cobb would be able to arrive and explain
its use.'"
And still further on:
"LIEUTENANT COBB!
"S. F., 15, 5 D.--The excitement in the case of Lieutenant Cobb
has not in the least abated. Crowds of people have, for weeks,
endeavored to gain admission to his room, but have been prohibited
by the doctors. The Lieutenant has shown wonderful vitality in
passing through the fever which followed his resurrection from
the dead. Rawolle, the President's messenger, has shown most
commendable skill in keeping his patient quiet and holding back the
crowds of reporters who wished to gain admission."
He dropped the paper, closed his eyes, and sat in a kind of dreamy
state, revolving over the extracts which he had read. The world had
not forgotten him yet. He was still an object of interest, and his
condition was the subject of special telegrams to the papers. What
would be the next dispatch sent out to the world, when it was found
that he was up and in his right mind; was able to start for the capital
city--was, in fact, on his way? How would he be received when he
reached there? Whom would he meet? and what would his future be?
His reveries were broken into by the entrance of Rawolle, who took a
telegram from his pocket, saying: "We are going to-day. I have just
received this dispatch, and will read it to you:
"WAR DEPARTMENT, }
WASHINGTON, 16, 13 D.}
"_To Albert Rawolle, Occidental Hotel, S. F._
"Telegram received. If Cobb can travel, give him the orders of the
President to report with you at once in Washington. The President
has read your dispatches with the greatest interest, and awaits
further information in the matter. Notify me of the hour of your
departure. Acknowledge receipt.
"N. A. MILES,
"_Secretary of State_."
Cobb listened attentively to the reading of the message.
"Miles, Secretary of State; and the same initials," he mused. Then
aloud:
"Is this Miles, who is signed here as Secretary of State, any relation
to Brigadier-General Miles, of 1887?"
"Not to Brigadier-General Miles, Mr. Cobb, but to General Miles, who
died in 1918. He is a great-grandson of that noble and illustrious
general."
"And who is President now?"
"Emory D. Craft, of Illinois."
"Craft, did you say?" Cobb quickly asked, and he went back to his old
friend of the artillery, who had so nobly aided him in his work.
"Yes; but why does it seem to interest you so much? you do not know
him;" and Rawolle looked puzzled.
"Perhaps not," smiling; "but I may have known his great-grandfather;
in fact, I may possibly have been an intimate friend of his--who knows?"
"True. Your status is so different from that of any other man, that I
would not be surprised if you had been his bosom friend."
Then turning to Lyman, he continued:
"Come; it is time we were attending to business. Let us go at once and
see about our transportation and check. Cobb will excuse us for a few
minutes, will you not?" to the latter.
"Certainly. By all means get our tickets as soon as possible, for I
will then feel that we are soon to be on the road."
Saying this, he lighted a cigar and watched them depart.
A few moments later he went to the window and pulled aside the heavy
lace curtains and gazed out upon the busy street below him. This was
his first view of the outside world, in daylight, since 1887. A hundred
and thirteen years ago he had had rooms at this very same hotel. Was it
possible that he was not dreaming? Was he, in fact, alive and well, and
again standing in a place that had known him so many years ago--that
had been his home at a time so long since that every mortal man who
then lived was now dead and crumbling into dust? His thoughts wandered
back to the years long past, to his old friends, to the happy days
passed in their society; and then to the darling girl whom he had left
in Duke's Lane--his betrothed. Alas! they were no more! But he: he was
here, and alone in the world!
So many years must have made a great change in the history of his
country and in the manners and condition of the people. Until he should
have learned them, he would be practically a stranger in a strange
land. He remembered how he had sat, those many nights before entering
the pedestal on Mt. Olympus, and wondered upon the future, and what
that future would bring forth to him, if he was fortunate enough to
survive the ordeal and live again. He remembered with what delight he
had anticipated coming again into life among a new people and among
scenes of great advancement and of wonderful progress. His hopes had
been realized, and he lived again; yes, he who had lain a hundred years
in a comatose state, now breathed, walked, and had his being once more.
His theory had been most remarkably proved--proved by the man who had
first advanced it, and the world should demand no further proof. What
would be his reputation in Washington? Would there be any difficulty in
proving that he was what he claimed to be--a man who had lived in 1887?
No! it could not be; for there were the proofs in the safe, and such
proofs as no man could dispute--letters written years ago by men long
since dead--aye, dead before a man of his apparent age could have been
born. No! He quickly dispelled the idea that it would be difficult for
him to prove everything. Recovering from his sombre chain of thought,
he turned his attention to the street beneath his window.
He gazed again and again up and down the street and across the way. Was
this the Montgomery street he had so often walked upon? It differed so
from its former appearance that he felt that he was dreaming. Great,
massive buildings, in all the most artistic styles, met his eyes on
every side. Beautiful stores, with huge plate-glass windows, extended
as far as the eye could reach. The sidewalks, as well as he could
tell, were clean and in perfect condition; and where he had in former
times noticed the peanut-vender, the fruit-seller, the blind and the
lame with their excruciating music-boxes, and the scores of others
obstructing the sidewalks, was now clear, clean, and wholly for the
use of the pedestrian. He noticed that that which people had to sell
was kept within their stores, and not on the sidewalk; that there
were no signs hanging over the heads of the passers-by to fall and,
perhaps, break their bones; nor were there any posts of all and every
description along the streets. There were no telegraph or telephone
wires in view, nor were visible many other things which had formerly
been eye-sores to people of taste.
The streets were paved with some new kind of material; what it was,
he could not tell from where he stood, but it was such as gave very
little sound from the passing vehicles. It was smooth and clean, and
free from the many holes which had formerly rendered traveling so
uncertain, even dangerous.
A hundred years had made very little change in the heterogeneous
assortment of vehicles one sees in a great city. There were many fine
and elegant equipages, with and without horses, the latter driven, as
Cobb presumed, by electric motors. Yet of this class there were not
very many, as San Francisco is a city of hills, and not well adapted
for anything but horse or attachment propulsion.
The attire of the pedestrians was that which struck him as the most
peculiar. All the women wore short dresses, none reaching lower than
within eight inches of the ground. Their feet were covered with low-cut
shoes, in some instances; in others, with small, neat patent-leather
top-boots, the top of the boot just hidden under the dress. He noticed
very few silks worn, most of the dresses being of heavy goods.
No bustles were worn, and the dresses were close-fitting with jacket
basques in most cases. Hats were the prevailing style.
It seemed to Cobb, as he looked at his own new clothing and that of the
gentler sex, that the very acme of simplicity and good, sound common
sense was seen in this new order of raiment.
Cobb knew that there were many things for him to learn, now that he
was so new to the world, and that there would be so many peculiar and
remarkable inventions that he ought not to evince much surprise when
he should behold them for the first time. There was much that demanded
immediate attention and study, if he wished to be upon an equal footing
with the rest of mankind.
At this moment Lyman entered the room, followed by Rawolle.
"We have been a little longer than we anticipated," exclaimed the
latter, throwing off his coat; "but there was really no need of
hurrying too much. We have plenty of time to reach Washington by
to-morrow morning."
"To-morrow morning!" cried Cobb, in surprise.
"Certainly, to-morrow morning. I think we will be there at 6 dial,"
nonchalantly knocking the ashes from the end of a cigar which he was
smoking.
"Mr. Rawolle, I am prepared for many new and, to me, quite startling
statements, but this of yours is a little too strong, is it not? We are
over three thousand miles from Washington, and I very much doubt your
ability to overcome that distance by to-morrow morning, though you may
have made great strides toward its achievement."
"My dear Cobb, it is just as I tell you; at least, as near as I can
remember. Let me look at the schedule and I will give it to you,
exactly."
Rawolle took the time-card out of his pocket, and, quickly running over
it, said:
"No; I am a little out of the way. If we leave here at 16 dial to-day,
we will be in Washington at 8 dial to-morrow."
"Enough!" pettishly exclaimed Cobb. "I will not question you any more.
Go ahead and do it, that is all, and then I will be satisfied."
It piqued him to think that they were making sport of his ignorance; he
lighted a cigar and walked to the other side of the room.
"Now, Cobb," continued Rawolle, "we have our tickets here, and will
leave for Washington on the 16-dial train. I have had a trunk fully
furnished with all the necessary articles that you will need for the
first few days in Washington, so you will not have to immediately look
after such things upon your arrival. It is now 13 dial, and we have
three hours until train-time."
"But tell me, Rawolle, why do you speak of 16 dial and 13 dial? Of
course, I know you refer to the time; but what has been the change in
the calendar that you should employ such terms?"
Both Rawolle and Lyman smiled.
"True! you cannot know of the changes which have occurred."
Rawolle drew his chair closer to Cobb, and continued:
"The calendar has been somewhat revised since you were on earth before,
or rather, since you so unceremoniously skipped from the society of
your friends; and I suppose you have not kept note of the changes
in time?" looking at him in a quizzical manner. Cobb laughingly
acknowledged the sally, and requested him to continue.
"It was as long ago as 1920," proceeded Rawolle, "that the new order
of time went into effect. In that year, a commission of scientific
gentlemen was convened by direction of the national legislature for
the purpose of considering the feasibility of making such a change
in our calendar as would simplify it and make it more uniform. The
result was that the calendar, as we use it to-day, is quite different
from that which was in vogue during your time. We now divide the whole
day into twenty-four hours, as formerly, but number them from one to
twenty-four. Our time-pieces have two hands, but they are not used
as were those of old time; one hand marks the minutes, and the other
marks the seconds. The hours are marked by numbers showing themselves
through a circular slot in the dial, changing every hour. One hour
after midnight the dial shows the figure 1; and so on up to 24, which
is the close of the day. Thus: 12 o'clock, old style, is 12 dial, new
style; and 5 o'clock, old style, is 17 dial, new style. We do not use
the word 'o'clock' any more, but employ the word 'dial,' instead. The
word 'dial,' however, is usually omitted, the customary expression for
time being simply the numerals of the hours and fractions thereof. The
commission could not ignore the fact that the excess of 57.2 minutes
per day over the 86,400 used in the computation must still be carried
forward as an excess to be afterward accounted for; for 86,400 was
the nearest number to the whole which was a common multiple for three
numbers, representing seconds, minutes, and hours. The excess, being 5
hours 48 minutes and 47.8 seconds per year, is still carried forward
to the fourth year, where it is taken up as an extra day, and is
called 'Old-Year-Day.' The year, as now divided, consists of 13 months
of 28 days each, and one day over. The year has 365 days, as of old,
but the first day is not counted as a day of any month; it is called
'New-Year's-Day,' the next day being January first. There are 28 days
in each month, with a new month, _Finis_, added. New-Year's-Day is
neither Monday nor Tuesday, nor any other day of the week, but simply
New-Year's-Day; and January first is always Monday. The advantages
of this system are, that every month commences on Monday and ends on
Sunday, having just four weeks. In leap-year the additional day is
called 'Old-Year-Day,' and is just before New-Year's-Day; these days
are legal holidays. This, with some other minor alterations, is the way
the calendar stands in every civilized nation to-day."
"But is it not a little confusing to you, this change from the old to
the new style?"
"You forget that I never used any other," laughingly returned Rawolle.
"True; I had forgotten that fact. But does not this extra day
interfere in many ways with the dates of bills, notes, and other legal
documents?"
"Not at all. The extra day is simply New-Year's-Day--a day of time
to fill in the year, but not for any other purpose. In regard to the
dating of official papers, they are dated the next day, and this day is
as if it never existed. Do you comprehend?"
"Yes, I comprehend your statements, but not having had any experience
in the use of this new order of dates, I cannot say that I am fully
aware of how it works."
"You will find no difficulty in its application, I assure you."
Without speaking further on the subject, all busied themselves in their
preparations for the journey eastward.
CHAPTER IX
At 15:42, as Rawolle named it, but at 42 minutes past 3, as Cobb
persisted in calling it, their arrangements had been completed and they
were at the front entrance to the Occidental.
At the curb stood an elegant four-seated carriage of very light
construction, with a driver upon the seat. There were no horses
attached to the vehicle, which was very low in build, and with wheels
of fair size. The driver sat in the rear, on a sort of raised single
seat, with a small wheel, like a tiller-wheel, in front of him.
It was an electric drag, with the storage batteries underneath the
seat. There were many passers-by at the time, but, thanks to Rawolle's
care, none knew who were getting into the carriage, else there would
have been a crowd in a few minutes.
Taking their seats, the driver started the current, and the carriage
rolled rapidly down toward Market street.
"What do you think of this for a carriage, Mr. Cobb?" asked Rawolle.
"It is a most decided advance upon anything we had in old days," the
other returned, looking admiringly over it. "This is, no doubt, an
electric carriage?"
"It is an electric drag, and the style of all the first-class carriages
in the city, except those which are used for hill travel. These
carriages run up grades of three hundred feet to the mile with ease."
"Are they expensive? and how long will their batteries last?"
"No; far less expensive than horses. The batteries, or accumulators,
are very small, but with great power. The weight carried by such a
carriage as this, in accumulators, is about fifteen pounds, and the
energy is the equivalent of two horses for six hours, or a greater
number of horses for a less time. The accumulators are charged at the
rate of about fifty cents per set, which is a six-hour run. The great
saving is that when the carriage is not in use, there is no expense."
The carriage was going at a good round gait, but the motion was easy
and steady.
Passing into Market street, Cobb was astonished at the magnificence of
the buildings. He could not remember ever having seen a single building
then standing as being there during his time. The architecture was
grand in the extreme; beauty was not lacking, but was combined with
strength.
He saw horses, electric motors, and cable cars, but the latter no
longer ran upon tracks on the street; the trucks were all underneath
the roadbed, while the cars were held aloft by thin but strong steel
supports. The cars, moreover, were lighter built and set closer to the
ground.
He saw no horse-cars. The pavement was everywhere of the same
material--clean, smooth, and elastic; and he rejoiced to think that at
last mankind had awakened to the fact that it was not only cruel, but
costly, to cause horses to run upon cobble-stones, and pavements of
similar construction. He did not have time to note all the many changes
which had taken place and then in view, ere the carriage stopped at the
gate of a most imposing edifice.
Alighting from his seat, Rawolle assisted him down, saying:
"Here we are, Mr. Cobb."
Having gotten out, they all went into the depot, for such Cobb was
informed it was. He was surprised at the grandeur of the building. It
far exceeded anything he had ever seen for similar purposes. Rawolle
took him around and showed him the various waiting, toilet, dining, and
other rooms.
The depot was on the site formerly occupied by the old station, at the
corner of Third and Townsend streets.
Passing into the main hall, he perceived a stream of people coming
from the left. The interior of the depot, after passing through the
main hall, was a vast space with a great arched roof. The ground was
paved with marble slabs, and divided by iron fencing into five large
compartments; the first running from side to side of the building,
while the others were set at right angles to it. Each of the four
divisions had a great slot or opening through its floor, of about two
hundred feet in length by twelve in width. The last opening was filled
by a train which had just arrived.
The people were flocking out, and through the gates into the main hall,
or, as Cobb called it, the fifth compartment.
His attention was riveted to the train as it stood upon the track. It
was so different from anything in the railway line that he had ever
seen before, that he was most anxious to learn something about it.
It was a train of five cars, each about forty feet long, and of
circular construction. It rested upon innumerable little runners, and
was set quite close to the ground. The end of each car was a huge
circular disc of a diameter a little greater than that of the car, and
having an elliptical opening of some seven feet in the long diameter.
Along each side of the cars was another set of runners, while two more
sets were upon the tops.
There were no windows to the cars, and they looked plain iron cylinders
of vast size, set upon a lot of little iron legs.
Standing there a moment, Cobb watched the last passenger leave the
hall, and soon heard the guard cry for the gates to be closed. Almost
immediately the gate of that compartment was dropped, and he saw the
huge train sink into the opening and disappear from sight.
Turning toward Rawolle, who had been watching him with a curious
expression, he exclaimed:
"Rawolle, tell me what kind of transportation is this that I have
just seen? It is something that beats my time, and I am at a loss to
understand its working."
"I do not wonder at your expression of astonishment, my dear boy;"
then pointing toward the third opening, and looking at his watch, he
continued: "You will see a similar train soon come up; watch carefully."
Cobb did as directed, and in a moment saw a train of cars, in all
respects similar to the train which he had seen disappear through the
left-hand slot, rise from below. It came up gradually, and at last
stood, as its mate had stood, flush with the floor of the room; but,
unlike the former, it had no passengers to disembark. There it stood,
silent and empty.
As the train reached the level, a placard was dropped from the top of
the gate, bearing the words "Omaha, 16 D.," in large letters.
"That is our train, Cobb," said Rawolle, following the eyes of the
other to the sign. "Let us get our traps together and get aboard."
Approaching the gate, which had by this time been thrown open, and
through which many people were passing, Rawolle showed the tickets,
and the three men passed in and proceeded along the train to the
second carriage. Curbing his impatience to learn more of his peculiar
surroundings, Cobb followed Rawolle and Lyman into the car.
The car resembled the sleepers of former years, except that it was
decorated in a grander style and had no windows. It was lighted by
electric lamps, which made it as bright as day. The seats were somewhat
differently constructed from those of the old kind, but the general
appearance of the interior was quite the same.
A porter met them at the door, and after seeing their tickets, showed
them to their section.
Throwing down his grip and coat, Rawolle said:
"Come, Cobb, there are a few minutes before the train leaves; let me
show you about."
"All right; I am at your service."
"Mr. Cobb, I think you will find this train a most decided improvement
upon those used in your day," remarked Lyman. "Of course it is old to
us, but I can imagine your surprise at many of the improvements you see
about you."
"Right you are," returned Cobb; "there are so many new and peculiar
contrivances around me that I am like a man who has just awakened
in a land of fairies. I am not going to be too curious, but await
developments, for I have no doubt that I will be satisfactorily
informed concerning them all at the proper time."
"This is the pneumatic train," continued Lyman, motioning toward the
train on the track.
"Now, hold on," interrupted Rawolle, quickly; "all in good time. It
is better to explain all this to Mr. Cobb in detail. Let him first
see what there is to be seen, and then we will explain it to him
afterward."
Passing into the first car of the train, Cobb was shown the smoker; and
here he found a hundred little inventions which had been made with a
tendency to increase the comfort of the traveler across the continent.
"This is the Central Pneumatic, or Continental Express," said Rawolle,
"excepting the baggage-cars; they are below, receiving the baggage as
it arrives."
At this moment the sound of a deep-toned gong was heard, and Rawolle
said they must hurry back, as that was the signal for the gates above
to be closed preparatory to starting.
A moment later, they were all standing on the platform between the
cars, and an instant afterward the whole train began to sink, and
soon had left the opening far above them. The train rested upon a
sort of hydraulic lift which came to rest as soon as it had reached a
level some twenty-five feet below the floor of the depot. They were
in a subterranean chamber, or rather a series of chambers, which were
brilliantly lighted by electric lamps.
There were many tracks in every direction, with moving trains upon them.
Leaning out to the side of his car, Cobb saw an engine, or what he took
to be such, move up and couple to his train, and soon he felt it being
rapidly hauled away.
This subterranean labyrinth of roads was similar to the yard of a
great railroad center. Men were in every direction, turning switches,
coupling cars, clearing tracks, etc.
Their train was taken about a mile underground, and then run into a
great iron tunnel. A peculiar sighing sound, like that of a great storm
a long distance off, now fell upon his ears. Turning inquiringly to
Rawolle, he asked the meaning of it.
"Air--sucking air," was the answer.
"Yes; I presumed as much," Cobb returned, piqued at the brevity of the
answer.
"Observe all you can, Mr. Cobb, for you have but a few minutes more. I
will explain it after we are in the car," noticing the impatience of
the other.
The tunnel in which they then were was, like the great lower chambers,
well lighted up. At one side, and opposite to where they stood, was
a recessed chamber containing what appeared to be very powerful
machinery. Cobb saw the motor disconnect from the train at this point,
but he was not permitted to notice further the working of this most
remarkable invention, for the guards ordered them into the car, and the
door was closed and bolted.
Going back to the smoker, they lighted their cigars and settled
themselves comfortably among the cushions.
"Now," exclaimed Rawolle, sending up a cloud of smoke, "now I am at
your service."
"Then, tell me all about that which I have seen," Cobb impatiently
asked. "Don't you see how anxious I am?"
"Very well. Let us commence at the beginning: In the first place, this
that you have seen is the pneumatic railway. Its official designation
is 'The Central Pneumatic.' There are, in the United States, quite
a number of these roads. From San Francisco run three, as follows:
one to the north, one to the south, and this one to the east. Here
is a map showing all these roads in the country;" and he took from
his pocket an official railway guide, and handed it to his listener.
"As the word implies, air is the motive power--not compressed, but
atmospheric pressure against a surface, on the other side of which a
partial vacuum has been created by exhaustion. This is the method in
the tunnels only. After the trains leave the great tunnels, they are
moved about the yards, which you saw were all underground, by electric
motors. Hydraulic lifts take them up to the station and lower them
again. Everything is underground until the train rises through its
opening in the floor of the depot. When the guard ordered us into
the car, and bolted the door, we had been pushed into the receiving
section of the main tunnel. The main tunnel is a complete iron and
stone structure, extending between San Francisco and Salt Lake without
break. At Salt Lake are the engines which exhaust the air from this
tunnel, the pressure of the external air being the propelling power
to move the train forward to its destination. The tunnels are twelve
feet in diameter, and the rear car of the train carries a shield, or
end-piece, which almost fills the cross-section of the tunnel; in fact,
there is but the hundredth part of an inch between the edge of the
shield and the interior side of the tunnel. The engines, as I said, are
constantly pumping out the air, but this is carried to such a degree
that the external pressure on the tubing of the tunnel is always under
one pound per square inch. A series of valves at the end of the tunnel
farthest away from the engines, permits ingress to the air which acts
against the rear end of the train to move it forward. The train is
first placed in a movable section of this tunnel, and, everything being
ready, this section is moved upon rollers into connection with the main
tunnel--a sort of valve action. The instant this is done, the air is
permitted to enter _in front_ of the train, and then gradually shut
off until, the train having acquired its normal speed, the valves are
closed altogether, and the air permitted to enter the tunnel _behind_
the train only. It is very simple, and works to perfection. There are
inlets through the rear shield of the train, to which are connected
tubes running to each car. These are the air-tubes of the train. As
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