A. D. 2000

Cobb pressed his face against the glass and silently gazed upon the lifeless buildings and streets of the city. Even as they stood years ago, so stood many at that moment. Others were in ruins, with gaping walls and broken doors and windows, and all were covered with mud and slime and marine vegetation.

The streets were half-way up to the second stories, but the tops of the street-lamps could be discerned sticking out of the muddy sediment which had been deposited over everything.

Slowly the Tracer moved forward, and the whole expanse of the southeast side of this unfortunate, but once brilliant, city was presented to view.

What emotions filled that man’s breast, with his eyes glued, as if fascinated by some unknown power, upon the spot he had, in years long since past, visited, looked upon, and walked in! With a sickening feeling of utter sadness at his heart, he turned away.

“God’s ways are inscrutable,” he sighed. A tear glistened in his eye as he cried: “No more! Let us ascend!”

At 24 dial the Tracer was at her moorings in Pittsburgh, and Cobb, Rawolle, and Lyman took the Chicago Pneumatic for Washington.

As he lay in his berth in the sleeper, his mind reverted back to the days when he had met his friends in social evenings of pleasure; to his old friend in Duke’s Lane, and to the bright, lovely face of that man’s daughter. Ah! how he longed for but an hour with them – an hour of true friendship and love; how he craved to listen to but a moment’s innocent prattle of his girl-love. Alone among strangers, among a people far ahead of his time, he felt that he was looked upon as a curiosity, but not as one claiming sympathy and love as a relative or dear friend. Did the experiment come up to the ideal? Was he satisfied to die and live again? He asked these questions of himself. He meditated – reflected – and slept.

CHAPTER XI

It was 1:25 dial when the Chicago Pneumatic glided noiselessly into the switching section at Washington. Seizing their grips and coats, the party moved out on to the platform of the sleeper. In a moment the huge train had been raised by the hydraulic lift, and was soon standing in the depot of the capital of the United States.

What a beautiful and fairy-like scene presented itself to Junius Cobb! A depot of magnificent proportions, exquisite workmanship and finish, and possessing a hundred conveniences never dreamed of in his time. The great vaulted roof was set with thousands of electric lights which appeared like brilliant stars in the firmament. Thousands more, in every direction and in every conceivable place, made the vast chamber as bright as the midday sun.

At the barriers of the discharging section a great but orderly crowd was pushing and elbowing its way to a closer position at the gate. All Washington knew that Junius Cobb, the man of two centuries ago, would arrive on that particular train, and a great multitude had congregated to catch a glimpse of him.

As he passed through the gates, while the police pushed back the crowd, he heard their exclamations and remarks:

“There he is!”

“Where?”

“There, with Commissioner Rawolle – on his left.”

“I believe him to be a fake.”

“Oh, he’s a toola!”

“He has never slept a hundred years!”

“Isn’t he a young man to have lived so long?”

“What’s the matter with you? he didn’t live, he just slept.”

“They say he is an officer in the army yet.”

“Well, people will be gulled!”

Thus were the expressions bandied about, and fell upon the ears of Cobb in a harsh and unpleasant manner. He was not flattered by the remarks he heard. Already, it seemed, there was a desire to doubt his identity.

As they neared the center of the hall, someone in the crowd cried: “Junius Cobb! Junius Cobb! Three cheers for Junius Cobb!” And the building rang and echoed back the salutation. Surely this was flattering. His reception, after all, was not without sincerity on the part of many of that vast throng.

A step or two more, and Cobb and Rawolle entered an electric drag, while Lyman bade them good-night, or rather good-morning, and hurried away to report.

Away, and at a rapid gait, sped the drag, its wheels of rubber giving no sound on the elastic pavement of the street, its headlight flashing out a brilliant beam, while ever and anon the driver caused a muffled-toned gong, whose sound was low and musical, to indicate the approach of the carriage.

Looking from the window on his side, Cobb saw to what extent street illumination had progressed in a hundred years. At every fifty feet, on either side, were arc lamps; and this at two in the morning, when those of the shops were extinguished. No gas lights were visible. It was a September morning, but the air was mild and balmy, and it seemed like a morning in early spring. Many people were upon the street, and the electric drags, with their flashing lights and musical gongs, were passing in every direction.

At exactly 1:42 dial the drag stopped under the arch of the entrance to the President’s mansion, and Junius Cobb was received by the chief magistrate of the United States.

Emory D. Craft, President of the United States, was a tall, rotund, and pleasant gentleman of over sixty years of age. His head was massive, and his features square and clean-cut; his hair almost white, and a beard heavy and gray. A man of great perception, executive ability, true kindness, and wisdom, he ruled the greatest nation on earth as a loving father rules his household, with justice and firmness.

As Rawolle and Cobb alighted, he descended the steps, and, advancing, extended his hand to the former, exclaiming:

“I welcome you back, Mr. Rawolle.”

“Thank you, sir; and let me present Mr. Junius Cobb.”

“Mr. Cobb, I cannot express to you the pleasure of this meeting;” and the President shook the young man’s hand heartily. “Be assured that your remarkable, nay, wonderful, case has been uppermost in my mind since first I became aware of your existence.”

“Nor can I, Mr. President, express the gratification I feel in meeting and shaking the hand of the chief magistrate of this great nation, especially when that magistrate is ruling the country a hundred and forty years after my birth.”

Cobb seemed proud of the fact that he, of all the world, could make such a statement.

A few moments later, the President and Cobb were sitting before a glowing, cheerful fire, engaged in earnest conversation.

Mr. Rawolle had been dismissed by the President, and had hastened to the welcome he knew awaited him from his wife and children.

“There, Mr. President,” said Cobb, after a long recital of his life and the facts attending his entombment on Mt. Olympus, “you have the whole story. It is a remarkable one, is it not?”

“Stranger than any fiction I ever read,” he exclaimed. “I can scarcely believe that I behold the intimate friend and contemporary of my great-grandfather in the person of one so young as you.”

He looked at Cobb in wonder and awe.

“And are you the great-grandson of Hugh Craft, my dear old friend of 1887?” cried Cobb with joy, as if a new tie had been found to bind him to this new world.

“Yes; here is our family history.” He arose and went to the cabinet, and returned with a large book. “Read it;” opening it and handing it to the other; “you will there see the history of your friend.” He placed his finger on the page.

Cobb read slowly, and like one in a dream, this page of the history of the dead – this chronicle of the life of his chum and bosom friend.

“First Lieutenant, Captain, Major,” he read, “killed at the battle of Ottawa, August 5, 1917.”

He read it over twice; then suddenly turning to the President, he cried:

“A soldier’s death! A noble ending to a noble man! But what battle is this in which he died?”

“’Tis a long story – too long for to-night,” the President replied; “but, in brief, it was the decisive termination of English power in North America. Canada desired annexation to the United States: England opposed it. British troops were massed on Canadian soil, and she endeavored to prevent the loss of her colonies. War between the Canadians and the mother country followed. We looked on, but offered no assistance. It was not until the cry for freedom became a wail of misery and a piteous appeal for succor, that we interfered. We offered England $500,000,000 for the whole of her possessions in North America. The offer was refused with contempt. Indignation prevailed throughout the United States, and public opinion demanded that assistance be given to the suffering people in their struggle for freedom. Great Britain was notified by joint resolution of Congress of March 22, 1917, to evacuate Canada and all territory between the boundaries of the United States and parallel fifty-one degrees of north latitude. The demand was refused; and on April 2, in full Congress, war was declared against England. For twenty-five years, or from about 1890, this country had been building first-class ships of war, fortifying its coast and putting the nation in a condition to enforce its demands.”

“They hadn’t done much in my time,” broke in Cobb, with a thought of the utterly defenseless condition of the country in 1887.

“No,” continued the President; “but Congress, as you can see by referring to history, in 1890 awoke to the necessity of national protection. In 1917, we could and did enforce our demand. The war was short but terrible. England’s great but slow floating fortresses were no match for our harbor vessels. She never gained entrance to a single port of note, but lost many of her finest ships in the attempt. On land, of course, the effect of our arms was more rapid. An army marched across the border, and the decisive battle of Ottawa was fought. Here was gathered all of England’s force of occupation. On August 5, 1917, her army was utterly routed, and laid down its arms. With the loss of her American army, and the destruction of many of her finest iron-clads, England asked for terms. By the protocol of October 16th, England, in consideration of $250,000,000, relinquished, forever, all possessions on the continent of North America, together with all national property, fortifications, etc.”

“And poor Craft never lived to see the fruits of his nation’s courage,” said Cobb.

“No; he died in the charge of his regiment.” And then, after a pause: “But Hugh Craft still lives. I will introduce him to you to-morrow – do not ask any questions,” as Cobb was about to interrupt him – “to-morrow, or rather to-day; and until then, you must sleep.”

It was 4 dial when Cobb was shown to his apartments.

The next morning Cobb was awakened from a refreshing slumber by a voice singing:

“He sleeps; he wakes; the hour is late.Arise, get up! the clock strikes eight.”

Springing quickly from his bed, he glanced around the room. Again the song and words, and again he looked, but saw no one. Wondering much at the occurrence, he proceeded with his toilet.

At 8:45 he was with the President at breakfast, and had been introduced to Mrs. Craft and her lovely daughter, Mollie.

“Papa says he has taken complete possession of you, Mr. Cobb; and I am so glad, for I want you to tell me so much about those queer old days so long ago;” and she gave him a pleasant smile.

“We are delighted, dear Mr. Cobb, to have you with us. You must consider this your home now, for you have no other, you know;” and good Mrs. Craft spoke in a motherly tone of voice.

“And, of course, you will want a sister;” Mollie Craft cast her eyes down in a shy manner.

“Yes,” said Mr. Craft, with evident pleasure and hope in his voice. “We want you to feel that you have not left all your friends in that distant age. We desire you to consider this your home as long as it shall please you to do so. My wife and I will endeavor to be a mother and a father to you; our daughter, a sister; our son, a brother.”

Mollie Craft was a lovely girl of nineteen years – tall, dark, and robust. She was possessed of a clear skin, sparkling eyes, and beautiful teeth. She was accomplished, and a leader among the young ladies of her set. Her disposition was frank, kind, and retiring. No wonder that Cobb’s eyes often wandered in her direction during that breakfast! It seemed to him that he had never before seen so lovely a face and figure, nor such charming ways as Mollie Craft was mistress of. Yes, there was one face that held just comparison with that before him; there was one figure that matched the symmetry of Mollie Craft; but, alas! she was no more! The queen was dead, but the princess lived! So passed the thoughts in his mind.

Adjourning to the President’s library, for Mr. Craft loved to have his family about him while he smoked his after-breakfast cigar, the conversation proceeded with animation, but always with Cobb as the central figure.

“A Captain in the army, a Colonel up a tree;Quite soon I’ll be a Major, as you can plainly see.”

As the words came forth in a free though quiet manner, a young man entered the door, stopped, and then, bowing, exclaimed:

“Pardon me; I did not know that you had company.”

Junius Cobb looked up; then, starting from his seat with a white and perplexed expression, sprang toward the stranger, who, in astonishment, drew half back through the door.

“Hugh Craft! How came you here?”

Recovering himself, the man replied, but with embarrassment:

“Well! that’s very good, indeed! Asking a man what he is doing in his own father’s house!” and he gave a quiet, undecided laugh.

“Mr. Cobb, my son. Hugh, this is Mr. Junius Cobb; you know who he is,” with emphasis on the pronoun.

Junius Cobb rubbed his eyes in confusion. He comprehended the situation at once, and also remembered the President’s words of the night before, when he said, “Hugh Craft still lives.”

Hugh Craft bowed, and moved behind his sister’s chair, and whispered:

“Is he dangerous?”

Cobb, as he turned around, overheard the words, and smiled.

“No, Hugh,” he exclaimed; “not dangerous, but amazed. You are the exact image and counterpart of him who was my dearest and best friend, your – ” he hesitated a moment – “your great-great-grandfather.”

Hugh and Mollie looked bewildered, while Mr. Craft’s face wore a smile. The situation was too comical, and all burst into a hearty laugh, Cobb joining the others.

“It is funny, is it not, to hear me talking of having been the friend and chum of this man’s great-great-grandfather?”

A few moments and everything had been fully explained to Hugh, who had been absent a week, and had not heard that Cobb was at the executive mansion.

“Dear brother,” said Mollie, as she put her arms about the young man’s neck and kissed him, “I want you and Mr. Cobb to be brothers; to be to each other as your great-great-grandfather and he were long years ago.”

“Hugh,” said his father, “as you have returned so opportunely, you can take charge of Mr. Cobb – Junius, let us call him, if he does not object – until time for the reception. I have some work to attend to, and I know Junius will excuse me – will you not?” to him.

“Certainly. Do not let my presence interfere with your work; and let me thank you for calling me Junius. I hope you will always continue to do so.”

For an hour these three – Hugh, Junius, and Mollie – sat and chatted. To Cobb it seemed very home-like and most pleasant, and his companions so kind and natural. Hugh was so like that other Hugh, and Mollie so charming and witty, that he scarcely realized, as Hugh looked at his watch and said that they had better dress, that an hour had passed away.

On their way to their rooms, Cobb suddenly said:

“By the bye, Hugh, I wish to ask you a question. This morning, as I was about to arise, I heard someone singing in my room. It was not a very melodious voice, but nevertheless clear and distinct; something like ‘Get up, arise; the hour is late!’ Can you explain it?”

“Nothing easier. It was my old phonograph clock – one I picked up at a pawn-shop one day – a relic of fifty years back;” and he laughed at the thought of his friend’s perplexity at hearing the words ground out of the machine.

“Why did I not think of that?” petulantly. “Why, they were just getting them out in 1887. Do you not have them now?”

“No; we have something better. The electric clock companies of every city run their wires to nearly every house in their towns, and to these wires are attached electric clocks. The resident buys the clock for five dollars, and pays twenty-five cents a month for its use. At the central station, a large clock of the finest make, and absolutely correct in its time, causes all the others to follow its movements. Thus every house has a dial which records correctly and requires no care. It is simple, cheap, and beneficial.”

At the President’s reception, at 11 dial, Junius Cobb was the lion of the hour. Senators gave him every attention; the foreign ambassadors treated him as a man of the greatest distinction; the army and navy laughed, chatted, and petted him.

Just after the introductions of the Senators, Tsu-nan-li, the Minister from China, and dean of the diplomatic corps, approached and bowed low to the President; the latter, also, bowing low, in acknowledgment of the salutation, said:

“O Sölal obik! Dälolsös obe nuikön mani yunik olse kela sava milagik de deil penunols, fuliko, nen dot.”1

As the President made the introduction, Cobb gave a slight start at hearing him speak in Volapük; then a smile of pleasure came over his face.

Bowing to the young man, the Minister expressed his pleasure at the meeting by saying:

“O Söl obik löfik! Panunob das pebinols bevü pedeilölsis balmil jöltum jölsevel, kaleda olsik. In ols logob oni, kel pegönom fa Confucius e Buddha god, in dat padälols denu getön luti lifa. Ogivols stimi obe fa visitöl obi ven plidos-la olsi kömön.”2

Seeing the President about to translate the words of Tsu-nan-li, Cobb quickly interrupted him, and, smiling at his ability to meet at least one of the requirements of this new age, said:

“O Söl President, ed ols, Sölal obik! No stunolsös lilön obi gepükön in pük egebols. Lesevob, äs jen lefulnik, ut kel päbüsagos äyelos lemödik, das tim äkömomöv ven valik nets kulik äcälomsöv volapüki. Klödöl das et del no äbinom fago, ästudob at pük, ed adelo logob bizugi osa.”3

An expression of astonishment overspread the faces of the other two gentlemen, and the President exclaimed, gleefully:

“Good enough, Cobb! There’s one thing of the past equal to the present.”

The others claiming attention, no more was said, and the throng of visitors met, were introduced to and passed the President and Junius Cobb.

A little later a party of officers were talking to Cobb near the grand stairway. Speculation was rife as to what his position in the army would be, knowing that he had been dropped for desertion years ago. The discussion was animated, though Cobb himself took no active part in it.

“Ah! Cobb, my boy,” and a tall young man, in the full regimentals of a captain in the Second Cavalry – Cobb’s old regiment – came forward and familiarly slapped him on the shoulder:

“I have been looking for you. Hugh informs me that you will undoubtedly be restored to your rank in the army; in fact, he says that they can’t help giving you your commission again.”

“Ah!” from Cobb, as he looked the other in the face.

“Yes,” smiling. “And you will be my lieutenant, for I command your old troop of the Second. You will be a böd seledik (rare bird) to us in the Second, and, as I am ordered to join my regiment on the 10th of next month, I intend applying to have you ordered back with me.”

Several smiled at the young captain’s cool impudence, but Cobb simply bowed in recognition of the other’s desire for his company to his regiment.

Captain Hathaway, of the Second Cavalry, was twenty-eight years of age, tall in stature, slight in build, and wearing a little, light mustache. With a glass in his eye, and a voice which sounded low and sweet, he was, with all his known cool impudence, a right clever fellow. But he had taken a dislike to Junius Cobb – and why?

“Yes, Mr. Cobb,” taking up the army style of address to lieutenants, “I fear you will have to give up your good times here and join me. Of course they cannot refuse my request,” with a new adjustment of his eyeglass.

“Mr. Hathaway – ”

“Captain, sir; Captain Hathaway. You forget you are addressing your troop commander;” with dignity.

A flush overspread Cobb’s face, and he bit his lip to keep from replying in hot terms to this uncalled-for insolence.

“Captain Hathaway, you will join your regiment before the 10th, and I will not be with you. Good morning.” He turned on his heel and moved toward a group near the President.

With a laugh at the blank and crushed expression of the young Captain, the others sauntered away.

“Damme! but that’s cool. Going to order his Captain to his regiment, eh! Going to get me out of the way and take my girl. Well, I guess not!” and he, too, moved off.

At lunch, after the reception and departure of the guests, Cobb laughingly referred to the little incident of the morning. The President expressed his disapprobation of the Captain’s behavior, and told Cobb that he would give the young man a lesson in politeness.

According to their programme, the office of the Secretary of War was visited at 13:30 dial, and Cobb was introduced to Mr. Fowler, the urbane but quick-spoken Secretary. Here he learned much concerning himself, and a great deal in regard to the state of the nation for purposes of offense and defense.

“Yes,” continued the Secretary, in answer to a question from Cobb, “your status has been investigated, and it is found that you were dropped from the army, as a deserter, December 1, 1904, under the provisions of section 1,229, Revised Statutes. But when the wonderful facts attending your return to life, and the existence and tenor of your leave of absence, given in 1887, had been fully laid before the Supreme Court, sitting in bank, yesterday, a decree was formulated that you have never been out of service – that is, legally. You, therefore, Mr. Cobb, revert back to your status as a Lieutenant in the Second Cavalry.”

Cobb meditatively admitted that perhaps Captain Hathaway would, after all, take him back to the regiment on the 10th of the following month.

“But,” and the Secretary looked inquiringly at the President, who nodded assent, “you would have been the ranking Major in the cavalry arm in 1918, the year you would have retired for age, according to the law at that date.”

“Yes, you are quite right, Mr. Secretary, I would have been a Major; but I never expected to have been the senior. Promotion at that time was slow beyond measure – stagnated. Old men with grown-up families were still Lieutenants, while the majority of Captains were old, rheumatic, and unable to perform their duty. Lieutenants did all the work.” Cobb seemed to revert back in disgust at the state of promotion in 1887.

“As you would have been retired as the ranking Major,” slowly continued the Secretary, paying no attention to Cobb’s remarks, but with a pleasant air at the news he was about to communicate, “the President has been guided by a sense of the justice due you, and has nominated you to the Senate as such, to rank at the head of the list. Further, as a vacancy exists in the grade of Lieutenant-Colonel, your promotion to that rank follows as a natural course. The Senate will confirm the nomination at 16 dial. Allow me, Colonel Cobb, to congratulate you,” and the good old man clasped the hand of the new Lieutenant-Colonel; nor was the President slow in his congratulations. Both seemed to have taken a special interest in Cobb.

He, in his turn, expressed his sincere thanks for their kindness to him, and was highly elated at the good fortune attending his new life.

“By the records,” continued Mr. Fowler, “you are thirty-three years of age, for you entered the cataleptic state at that age; and it has been decided that the period of your inanimation shall not in any manner be counted against you. A Lieutenant-Colonel at thirty-three, the youngest in the army, you will one day command the army of the United States.” And he smiled kindly, while the President looked admiringly upon his protégé.

Then, for an hour, the Secretary gave Colonel Cobb a brief history of the army during the hundred and odd years which had passed.

“We have, to-day,” said he, “a population of over 500,000,000 of people, occupying sixty-eight States and nine Territories, covering the whole of North America from the Isthmus of Panama to the Arctic, and from the Pacific to the Atlantic Ocean.”