there is a man moving inside the chamber!
“My God! Look!” excitedly exclaimed Rawolleto 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 madeplain 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. Quicklyseizing 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 ironbox, 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.”
“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 thenext 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.
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 ofyears. 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 hideousdream, 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 itwas 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 hewas 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. Nocollars 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, heperceived 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 headlineletters. 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, 22D.—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, 11D.—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, 5D.—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, 13D.“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.”
“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 knownhis 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! theywere 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 littlesound 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, andthat 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 ofthe 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 computationmust 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 notthis 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.
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 throughits 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, 16D.,” 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 thereis 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 pressureof 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 enterin frontof 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 tunnelbehindthe 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 the pressure of the air against the rear shield is one pound per square inch, a like pressure is exerted at the orifice of each tube; but, as there is no resistanceto its ingress, it passes through into the cars, causing an internal pressure of the atmosphere of nearly one pound per square inch. Valves opening infrontof the rear shield, and at a pressure of a little less than one pound per square inch, permit of the escape of the vitiated air into the tunnelaheadof the rear shield. Thus a steady stream of pure air is maintained throughout the whole train. The trains are received at their destination upon compressed-air receivers, and gradually come to a stand-still. At Salt Lake, forty five minutes are allowed for this train to transfer passengers and for supper, and then the train starts onward for Omaha. At that city the train is again made up and starts upon its new course for Chicago, New York, New Orleans, Minneapolis, or other point, as the case may be. Now, our train was placed, as I said, in an auxiliary tunnel, which was, by simple mechanical means, brought into position as the segment of the main tunnel. You, of course, noticed that each car was fitted at its end with a circular disc, covering the whole end excepting the door which leads into the next car. Well, this circular disc covers the end car completely. When our train was brought into the main tunnel, the pressure upon its end-section would have been, if suddenly exerted, so great that we would have started off with a great shock, but the air is allowed to enter behind the car gradually, as I have explained. When the full momentum is reached the full pressure of the externalair is allowed to exert itself against the end of the train.”
“And how long does it take to gain this full momentum?” Cobb asked.
“But a few moments. Are you aware that you are now traveling at the rate of two hundred and forty miles per hour, or four miles per minute?”
He smiled at the look of incredulity which his words evoked. Cobb was loath to believe he was in earnest, for he felt no shock of starting, nor did he experience any motion such as he would naturally associate with such a terrific speed.
“Such a rate must make the wheels spin,” from Cobb.
Lyman looked at him, while Rawolle burst into a laugh.
“I do not see anything to laugh at,” the other retorted, a little nettled.
“No, no, Mr. Cobb; do not be displeased. We really meant no discourtesy; but your remark is not what you would have made had you thought a moment, for we know you to be a man of education. We do not use wheels on the pneumatic roads. These trains run upon the many little runners which you saw under the cars. Were we to use wheels,” he continued, after a pause, “centrifugal force would tear them into pieces in no time. Take the case of a wheel four feet in diameter: the circumference of such a wheel is a little over twelve feet. At the rate of four miles per minute, it would haveto revolve 1,760 times. No wheel that can be made would stand such a test. It would fly into fragments inside of the first mile. A wheel of the above dimensions and at that rate of revolution would have a centrifugal force equal to 1,000,000 pounds. Now, as the centripetal force is the tensile strength of the material only, and that of the best steel wire only 160,000 pounds, it will readily be seen that the centrifugal force would instantly cause the wheel to fly into fragments.”
“You are right,” Cobb answered, going over the figures in his mind. “Wheels would never do; I can see it plainly.”
“Even were we to use a smaller wheel to decrease the centrifugal force, we would have to increase the number of revolutions, so there would be no gain in so doing. Our trains run upon two peculiarly constructed rails, and the runners are flanged to exactly fit the rail. There is, in addition, on either side of the tunnel, another rail of similar shape, while upon the upper part are two more. The car has runners for all of these rails, and the position of them is such that the car cannot jump the track, or swing or sway from side to side. It travels as if in a groove, and the little runners, separate from one another, conform to the curves of the tunnel.”
“It must take powerful engines to exhaust the air from such a long tunnel, does it not?”
“Yes, very powerful ones. But what is different from any other mode of propulsion, the same enginecan do as much service for a line 2,000 miles long as for one of 200 miles in length, rate of speed being the same. The reason for stations at intervals of about 500 miles, is because more trains can be kept in motion on medium short lines than on very long ones. There are at Salt Lake, at the receiving end of this line, fifteen engines of 5,000 horse-power each; ten at work all the time, with five in reserve.”
“A pretty strong set of engines for a single railroad, I would say; and a costly motive power, too.”
“Not so costly as you would think,” he returned. “If you take into consideration that these engines are worked by electricity, and not by steam, and that the electricity is furnished by water-power, you will perceive that they can be worked quite cheaply.”
“Give me some of the statistics, please,” said Cobb.
“Certainly. The tunnel is twelve feet in diameter, which gives it a superficial area of 17,712 square inches. Now, at a pressure of one pound to the square inch, a train has a pushing force at its end of the same number of pounds. A train weighs 50,000 pounds. The heaviest grades on the line are some of two hundred feet to the mile. The power required to push this train up such grades is 2,000 pounds, for the matter of friction is not taken into consideration, being, by our arrangements, reduced to the minimum. Thus the pressure in the tunnel is always sufficient to move eight trains. If a trainmoves four miles in a minute, then the volume of air in the tunnel to be displaced is equivalent to the area multiplied by the length, which gives 2,600,000 cubic feet; but, under a pressure of one pound, this volume becomes 3,000,000. The pumps at each station are ten in number, each of thirty feet diameter by ten-foot stroke, with a volume for each of 7,060 cubic feet. These pumps make thirty strokes per minute, which is equivalent to sixty single strokes. Thus the volume of air displaced by the pumps is 7,060 × 60 × 10 = 4,236,000 cubic feet, an amount far in excess of that required.”
“Then, judging from your remarks, there is practically no limit to the speed which can be obtained by this method of propulsion?”
“On the contrary,” Rawolle returned, “the limit is reached when the friction on the runners generates such an amount of heat that they begin to disintegrate. At three hundred miles per hour they become very hot. As it is, we have to use a very peculiar kind of alloy for runners, and during all the time of running, keep a stream of oil flowing just in front of each runner.”
“But,” asked Cobb, “does not this oil congeal upon the rail in cold weather?”
“It does, most certainly; but there are little scrapers just in front of each runner which cut away the congealed oil to the merest fraction of an inch from the rail. These cutters must, by the train running between its upper and lower rails,always be just so far away, and no farther, from the rails.”
It seemed to Cobb that he could advance nothing but what this man had a ready explanation for its action or cause. It was, indeed, a most marvelous invention. Here he was traveling at the rate of two hundred and forty miles per hour, and scarcely felt the motion.
“Where is the electricity for these powerful engines generated?” he inquired.
“For the Central and Northern, as well as for the Pacific Pneumatic and Mountain lines, the dynamos are at the Shoshone Falls, in Idaho. These falls furnish an immense water-power, estimated at over 300,000 horse-power. The current is delivered at the station in great cables of peculiar construction, and well insulated.”
“Do you have any accidents on the roads? At such a rate of speed, an accident would be fraught with frightful consequences,” Cobb continued.
Rawolle smiled as he said:
“During your time, accidents were not uncommon—in fact, I might say quite common, judging from the old chronicles; but we have never had an accident yet upon any of our lines. There have been, of course, breaks and delays; but as each train is in communication with each other, and with each end, and with the chief of the exhausting department, everything is known at all times regarding the position of trains and their condition.”
Striking a match, he continued:
“No train could run into the one ahead of it, for the reason that there will always be a cushion of air between them; and further, were any ordinary number of runners to break at one time, the train would not be affected by the loss.”
“How wonderful, yet how simple!” exclaimed Cobb, lost in admiration. “But I am at a loss to understand why the people of my time did not discover and put into operation the same project.”
“Perhaps someone did discover the principle, but had not the means to test his theory,” Rawolle returned.
“How long has this system been in operation?”
“About thirty years,” he replied, after a moment’s thought.
“Tell me one other thing,” said Cobb; “has the pneumatic railroad superseded all other kinds?”
“Oh, no; by no means. There are railroads all over the United States, and very much the same style of your day, excepting the great improvements which have been made, and also the one other most important fact, that all engines are run by electricity. The pneumatic lines are through lines only, and are for rapid transit between very distant points, and only for passengers, mail, and express. All freight is sent by the other roads.”
“Then, the towns, excepting the great centers, are connected by electric railroads for inter-transportation?”
“Yes; the pneumatic is only an auxiliary to the rest of the roads—a means only of overcoming great distances quickly.”
“And what is considered good speed for the electric roads?”
“Seventy-five miles per hour for passenger trains, and fifty for freights.”
“Then, they must be very differently constructed from those of old,” exclaimed Cobb.
“They have very different roadbeds, and, of course, different engines. But enough for the present,” looking at his watch. “It is 18 dial, and we had better get into the sleeper and prepare for supper, for we are almost at Salt Lake.”