A. D. 2000

“You seem to be pretty well posted in this matter,” was all Cobb could say, as Hugh gave him this array of figures.

“I am. I was on a board of engineer officers in connection with the water-power of these falls, some years ago,” he replied.

“How long have these works been in operation?”

“About fifty years.”

“So long?”

“Yes.”

“Is it a private concern?” inquired Cobb.

“Oh, bless you, no. It cost too much money to put it into operation. The government expended over two hundred millions of dollars in building the works; but they have paid for themselves almost twice over.”

“And this is the source of the great electrical supply – ”

“For the Eastern States of the nation,” interrupted Hugh; “but it is only a portion of the power used. The water-power everywhere is converted into electricity, and sent over the country.”

“And steam isn’t used any more?” hesitatingly.

“To be sure, it is; in the great timber districts, and where fuel, which otherwise would go to waste, is plentiful, steam engines are still used.”

After a thorough inspection of the great center of electrical supply, the two returned to their hotel, and made preparations to leave Niagara and visit New England, and especially Boston and Providence, “the places I love so dearly,” said Cobb. “I must once more visit the scenes of my childhood, and note their advancement.”

So away they went to pass a week, intending to be in Washington by the 10th of January.

CHAPTER XVIII

It was the third morning after Cobb and Hugh had started for America, that Marie Colchester, or, as she should be called, Marie Hathaway, had said to Mollie:

“I wish I could see some of those peculiar contrivances which Mr. Cobb used in his sepulchre, in San Francisco.”

“And why may we not?” Mollie had returned. “He is away, and we can take a peep into his room without a living soul but ourselves knowing it.”

So it was that these two girls stole silently into Cobb’s bedroom, and noted, with feminine curiosity, every detail of a man’s private apartments.

With a guilty feeling, they opened bureau and chiffonier drawers, peered into boxes, and finally opened the doors of the wardrobe. None of the wonderful inventions for prolonging life, which they had expected to find, were discernible. Then into the closet, to the left of the bed, they looked. An old trunk, an iron box, some old boots, and a bundle of clothing, were all that met their view.

“Humph! We haven’t discovered much, Marie,” dolefully exclaimed Mollie. “Hugh’s room looks just like this. Nothing but clothing, old boots and shoes, and such traps,” and she seized the old clothing in the corner, and threw it disdainfully to the side of the closet.

“Hello! What’s this?” she slowly exclaimed, as a hollow rod of copper fell to the floor at her feet.

Stooping down, she cautiously picked it up and examined it. Marie was looking over her shoulder, brought there by her exclamation.

“There’s writing on it, Mollie!” Marie cried. “There; on the side!”

Mollie turned it over, and saw the words, dim and blurred by time:

“To Junius Cobb. Important!”

“In God’s name, do not delay in opening this cylinder!”

With palpitating hearts and bated breath, the two girls stood with their eyes glued upon the inscription. Finally, Mollie, in a solemn voice, said to her companion:

“Junius has never seen this. It has been mislaid. It is our duty to send it to him at once.”

“But you do not know where they will go from America,” referring to Hugh and Cobb.

“True,” sadly. “We may not see them for a week or more. What shall we do?” in a tone of inquiry.

“Why, put it where he will see it when he returns,” answered Marie, as if there was no doubt of the propriety of the action.

“But it says not to delay in opening it,” persisted Mollie.

“Yes,” slowly; “it does.” Then, after a pause: “Why not open it, Mollie? Maybe we may become like the good genii in the fairy tales, who always helped the poor, unfortunate prince who was about to lose his sweetheart.”

“Oh, I dare not,” and Mollie shook her head.

“But you must; we cannot leave it now,” the other returned.

“But dare I?”

It was evident that Mollie’s curiosity would overcome her scruples.

“Of course, you dare. We may do some good. At least,” hesitatingly, “it will do no harm to see what that cylinder contains.”

So they argued the point, and finally left the room bearing the cylinder with them.

An hour later, in the sanctity of Mollie’s bedroom, and with the aid of a file which she had procured, the cylinder was opened. From it Mollie drew forth, cautiously, and with a sense of fear, a tightly-rolled paper. The cylinder was only half an inch in diameter by ten inches in length, and the rolled paper, when spread out, was simply a letter containing a few words, yet with writing as fresh as if spread upon its surface only a short time since.

With heads together, and wonder in their hearts, they read:

“To you, Junius Cobb, is ordained the task of freeing from a living tomb a woman of rare beauty and angelic disposition of heart. Lose not a moment! A delay of a day will cost you a year of sorrow! Hasten to your duty, and God be with you! On the island of Guadalupe, in the Pacific Ocean, in latitude 29 degrees 15 minutes north, and longitude 41 degrees 16 minutes west, is entombed a woman whose return to life may gladden your heart, or be a curse to your existence. Listen, and heed well these instructions: From the town of Noniva, on the island, travel southwest, nineteen miles, to the deep canyons of the dry fork of the Ninta River; pass up this fork until you come to a tall and slender rock which the superstitious natives have named the ‘Finger of God.’ Set your chronometer with the exact time of the meridian, and when your time shall indicate the hour of four o’clock in the afternoon of January 6th, note carefully the spot where the shadow of the ‘Finger of God’ rests on the gray, steep rock of the eastern side of Ninta Creek. Along a shelving ledge on the face of the cliff, pass to the spot and look for the two letters ‘J. C.,’ cut in the wall. Into the lower point of the letter J, which will show a small hole, drive a steel rod until twenty inches have passed into the rock. A door of solid granite will open, and you will be at the mouth of a cavern. Enter, and learn the rest.”

A feeling of awe came over the hearts of the two girls, as they read this weird communication. Again and again they read the letter, and pondered long over its contents.

“What does it mean?” gasped Marie.

But Mollie was of a more practical turn of mind. She saw it to be an order for the deliverance of a human being – a woman. Casting aside her feelings of superstition which the reading of the letter had at first inspired, she commenced to debate in her mind what was the true meaning of the instructions so minutely given. Taking the letter again in her hand, she carefully read it over.

“Ah! this letter is very old!” she exclaimed; then pointing her delicate finger to a line, she cried: “Do you see that? ‘four o’clock in the afternoon,’ it says. It has been years and years since the time of day has been designated as ‘o’clock.’ This paper must be very old!”

“Yes; it must be very old,” agreed Marie, in a low voice, reverently looking at the letter.

“And here! this must be important! The shadow must be seen on January 6th of any year,” and she again read the letter. “Junius must go at once, or another year will have to be passed before a trial can be made.” Then, musing a moment, she exclaimed: “It is even less time than I thought, for if this paper is as ancient as we believe, then January 6th is really January 5th, for in old times, New-Year’s-Day was January 1st.”

“Yes?” from Marie.

“Yes,” sadly. “It is plain that we cannot get word to Junius in time for him to reach Guadalupe by that day.” Then starting up with fire in her eye, she cried: “Why not make the attempt ourselves?”

“Oh!” prolonged, and in amazement, by Marie. “We dare not!”

“And why dare we not, Miss Timidity?” retorted Mollie, scornfully.

“Because we are only poor, weak women; it would take men, great, big men, to perform this terrible task.”

“Oh, pshaw! you are a timid little mouse; that’s what you are, Marie Hathaway. I am going to rescue this woman, and you are going with me,” grandly. “Now, don’t say a word,” as the other attempted to speak. “You go immediately and get everything ready for our journey; we will leave for San Diego to-night, at 19 dial, for I remember that San Diego is in latitude 33, or thereabouts; and that should be the place from which to take a lipthalener.”

“Truly, Mollie?” with a look of consternation in her eyes.

“Yes; truly! Now, Marie; have some courage. Will you go with me and aid me? or must I go alone?” and she put her arms lovingly about the girl’s waist.

“If you really and truly mean it, dear Mollie, I will do as you wish, and go with you; but it’s an awful undertaking,” shaking her head.

Thus was it decided by these two young women to go thousands of miles to an unknown island, seek the location of an isolated cavern, and bring back to life the prisoner therein entombed.

An hour after, and Mollie came into the library, where her father was engaged in writing. Stealing softly up to him, she put her plump white arms about his neck, and kissed his forehead reverently.

“What is it now, pet?” he said, laying down his pen.

“Father, dear; I wish to visit aunt Lora in San Francisco; can I go?” looking him in the eyes.

“Why, yes; I suppose so. You may go next week if you can get ready.”

“Not next week, papa. I want to go to-night; on the Central Pneumatic.”

“What?” he exclaimed. “To-night! And why this haste, my daughter?” and he gave her a deep, searching look.

“Father, have I been a good, true daughter to you?” and her deep blue eyes looked straight into his.

“In truth you have, my daughter,” and he kissed her cheek, so close to his lips.

“Then, my dear father, I beg of you one great kindness, one great confidence in my sincerity, honesty, and truthfulness. Grant me permission to go West to-night with Marie Colchester; grant me a short time to remain, give me a thousand dollars, and ask me not to tell you the reasons for my strange request and actions.”

“My daughter, this is very strange!” and he arose from his chair, took her hands in his, and drew her toward him. His eyes looked into hers with an earnest expression. Steadily, and with an honest eye, she returned his gaze.

“Do you, indeed, make this request?” he slowly added.

“Father, I do,” she replied.

“Answer me one question. Has Lester Hathaway any connection with this undertaking?”

“As God sees me, he has not,” she firmly replied.

“My daughter, you shall go as you desire, and may God watch over you. Now see your mother and inform her, and then prepare for your journey.”

She again kissed him, and left the room.

At 19 dial the two girls, clad in traveling-dresses, and with grips in their hands, entered the depot, and were soon cozily ensconced in the fourth sleeper of the Central Pneumatic, No. 5, west.

“What will Lester say when he does not find me in the conservatory to-night?” sighed Mollie.

“And what will Hugh say when he returns and finds me gone?” and another deep sigh could have been heard.

“But I left a letter for him,” with a sly glance toward the other.

“And I left a note for Hugh,” glancing toward Mollie. Their eyes met, and a smile lighted up both faces.

“Oh! you did?” from Mollie.

“Ah! you did?” retorted Marie.

On rushed the train. Miles upon miles were left behind them, and the hours sped by. They should be at El Paso at 6:30 dial the next morning, and at San Diego at 10 dial. It would be nearly 11 dial before they would be able to search for a vessel to take them to Guadalupe.

The time was passing, and it was with a troubled mind that Mollie surveyed the route and the time at her command. With beating hearts, the two girls watched the hours pass as the train rushed along to the Pacific; eagerly did they look for the approach of the city by the sea.

It was 12 dial when the train reached the city of San Diego. Quickly disembarking, the girls entered a drag, and were rapidly propelled to the Great Pacific. Once within the office of the hotel, Mollie excitedly asked for information as to what lipthaleners were in the port.

“None, madame,” was the calm reply of the clerk. Her heart sank within her bosom at the words. “There are none but sailing vessels in the harbor; will madame have use for one of them?” continued the man, noticing her agitation.

“No; and yes – I cannot tell. Show us a room and serve breakfast there, and at once,” was the impatient reply.

During their breakfast, the two girls discussed the situation, but without arriving at any solution as to how they would reach Guadalupe Island.

Having partaken of a light repast, they proceeded to the docks to find some means of transportation to the island. Not a lipthalener was in port, and but few sailing vessels. To her inquiries, Mollie was informed that the island was 120 leagues southwest, and no sailing vessel could make the voyage in less than three days, with the best of winds; and that the chances were that it would take five.

Disheartened, she and Marie turned back to the hotel.

Fate was against them, and they would not be able to rescue the imprisoned girl ere another year had come and passed. Would the woman live through another year? Would she not die, if yet alive? Was she yet alive? Such were the questions Mollie asked herself.

Often and often she went out on the porch, and scanned the horizon for the approach of a lipthalener.

Sixteen dial came, and found poor Mollie in a fever of anxiety. If no lipthalener came into port before 20 dial, her case was hopeless. It was 350 miles to Guadalupe Island, and she must be there at 10 dial the next day, in order to have sufficient time to reach Ninta Creek and make her preparations. Discouraged, she sat and buried her face in her hands, while Marie, in sympathy, put her arms about her, and tried to comfort the sinking heart.

Hark! What was that sound? Like a flash of lightning, Mollie was on her feet.

“Did you hear it, Marie?” she cried, excitedly.

“Yes; what was it?” the other replied with equal excitement.

“There! there! Do you hear it? There it is again!” and the girl danced for very joy.

The hoarse, rolling sound of a marine whistle was plainly heard by both.

“A lipthalener! A lipthalener!” they both cried, and rushed out on to the porch.

Coming around the fortress point was a magnificent cruiser of about 3,000 tons. Her black hull and raking, yardless masts proclaimed her calling; the flag at the peak, the glorious stars and stripes, proclaimed her nationality. Off the lower dock, and a half-mile from it, she came to anchor, and her great hull swung around with the tide.

“Come, Marie; no time is to be lost!” and Mollie rushed into the parlor, seized her hat, and quickly made her way to the dock.

For a dollar, a boatman gladly took them in his little craft, and rowed to where the lipthalener lay quietly at her anchors.

“Ahoy! On deck! Is the captain on board?” cried the boatman, as he held off by a hook against the side of the big vessel.

“You’ll think so, you lubber, if he sees that hook in his vessel,” came the response from the port bows. “Heave off and lie to, and I’ll report,” and the man and voice disappeared.

A moment after, a man in the uniform of the United States navy, appeared at the companion-way and cried:

“Ahoy! What’s wanted?”

“Two ladies wish to come aboard and speak to the captain, sir,” replied the boatman, touching his hat in a nautical fashion.

“Very well. Heave to on the starboard side.”

A few minutes later Mollie and Marie were in the captain’s cabin of the San Francisco, and had asked its commander to take them to Guadalupe Island.

“But, ladies,” replied Captain Gordon, a bluff but kind-hearted old gentleman of fifty-five years, “this is rather an unusual request upon the United States navy, and comes from a very unusual source; yes, a very unusual source indeed, but a very charming source, I must confess,” and he bowed gallantly to the two girls.

“I know it, Captain; but the case is one of life or death: I must be in Guadalupe Island at 10 dial to-morrow.” Mollie looked beseechingly at him as she spoke.

“I wish I could accommodate you, ladies; but I fear it is impossible.”

Mollie’s heart almost ceased to throb as she heard these words.

“I am here for dispatches,” continued the captain, “and expect to leave for San Francisco to-morrow morning.”

“But,” pleaded Mollie, “it will only take a half-day to make the run – ”

“And a half-day back again,” interrupted the captain, “is a whole day. Why, my children, I might be court-martialed if I were to do this thing.”

“But, if I promise that you not only will not be court-martialed, but will receive the commendation of the President, and the Secretary of the Navy, will you go?”

“If you could guarantee this, ladies, why, damn me! – I beg your pardon – I would do it, just to please two such lovely girls as honor my cabin by their presence to-day; but, of course, you cannot do it.”

“But I can!” cried Mollie, “and your promise is given. I am Miss Mollie Craft, the President’s daughter: in his name, I guarantee approval of your action.”

The beautiful girl arose from her chair, and stood proudly before the old sailor.

Without moving a muscle of his face, Captain Gordon slowly said:

“Pardon me, ladies, but any woman could have uttered those words.”

Crushed, and with a sinking feeling at her heart, Mollie nearly fell at his feet. He doubted her, and she had nothing to prove her identity.

Deliberately came the words:

“Have you anything to prove your relationship to the President?”

“Alas, nothing!” she cried, and the tears filled her eyes.

“No letter in which you are recognized?” he kindly asked.

Ah! Stay! Hope again rose within her soul. Quickly thrusting her hand into her pocket, she drew out a letter. Nervously she broke the seal, and glanced over its contents. A ray of sunshine came into her tear-bedimmed eyes, her bosom heaved for a moment, and then she became calm. Handing the letter to the captain, she said:

“The letter is to my aunt, in San Francisco, and was written by my father just before my departure.”

Captain Gordon took the letter, and, instantly recognizing the executive heading, slowly read:

“Washington, January 3, 2001.

“Dear Lora:

******

“She is the only daughter I have, sister, and you must watch over her carefully. We cannot afford to lose our Mollie.

******“Affectionately, your brother,“Emory D. Craft.”

As he finished reading the letter, Captain Gordon rose from his chair, advanced toward Mollie, and extended his hand.

“You will pardon my doubts, will you not, Miss Craft?” he asked; “but men in official positions must protect themselves. I no longer doubt your identity; the San Francisco is at your command,” and he bowed low to her.

“I thank you, Captain Gordon, and you will not lose by this kind act.”

Mollie’s eyes were again flowing with tears, but now tears of joy.

“When do you desire to start, Miss Craft?”

“At once,” she cried.

“Return, then, dear ladies, and get your effects. I will leave the port in half an hour.”

Thirty minutes sped by, and Mollie and Marie were again on board the San Francisco. Then came the orders to weigh anchor, much to the astonishment of all the crew, and the vessel moved slowly toward the fortress at the point of the harbor.

As the San Francisco approached the north water battery, the sound of a gun was heard, and the flag on the battery-staff was dipped twice, then a red streamer was run up the staff, and a boat put off from the mole.

“Hard aport, Mr. Navigator, and stop the ship,” cried the captain, who was standing on the bridge by the side of Mollie, who had been invited there as the commander of the vessel for a day.

Slowly the great ship ceased on her course, and awaited the little craft, which came rushing through the water, propelled by a lipthalene screw.

“The dispatch boat, sir,” said the officer of the deck, touching his cap.

“So I perceive,” returned the captain. “You will receive the dispatches and cast her off, as we must not delay.”

“Very well, sir;” and the officer again saluted, and passed to the companion-way.

A moment later the dispatches had been received, and handed to Captain Gordon. Breaking the port seal, he read the dispatch; then, hesitating a moment, he handed it to Mollie, and noted the sudden paleness of her face as she slowly reached forth her hand and took it.

With a feeling of impending evil, she read the paper:

“Washington, January 4, 15 D.

“To Captain Gordon, U. S. L. San Francisco, San Diego, Cal.

“(Due at and hold.)

“Proceed to San Francisco at once. Make no delays.

C. Scofield,“Secretary of Navy.”

With a beating heart and a quivering lip, the girl handed it back.

“And you will obey this order?” she slowly asked.

“It is imperative,” he replied.

Almost out of the harbor, almost away from the chance of a telegram, she had become happy and cheerful once more. Now it was changed: this man would not dare, no matter how she prayed, to violate such an order.

Bursting into tears, a woman’s resource to relieve her overcharged heart, she looked into his face, and again asked:

“And you will obey these instructions?”

“Damn it; no! I – pardon me, I – I – well, damn it! the course of this vessel will not be changed; she goes to Guadalupe Island. There!” blowing as if from some great exertion, and wiping his forehead in a vigorous manner. “If they dismiss me from the service for it, you shall perform your mission on that island,” and the good old man walked to the extremity of the bridge to hide his agitation, and escape the thanks which Mollie was about to shower upon him.

The sea was rough, and the southwest winds blowing a small gale, a combination that told on the speed of the San Francisco, swift as she was. The 350 miles became nearly 450, and it was not until 4 dial the next day, that anchors were cast in the harbor of Noniva, Guadalupe Island.

Mollie Craft had had a long conversation with the ship’s surgeon, Dr. Town, the day previous, and had shown him the mysterious letter, and asked his assistance; the doctor had readily consented to aid her by all means in his power.

Captain Gordon gave Mollie until 20 dial to return to the vessel before shaping his course for San Francisco.

CHAPTER XIX

At 8 dial that bright day of January 5, 2001, an expectant and anxious party left the deck of the San Francisco, and landed at the mole of Noniva. The Doctor had two men from the ship to carry the stretcher – he was a thoughtful man, and always had a stretcher along for emergencies – and the tools and such things as he believed might be needed. In the town, saddle mules were obtained, and the party of five quietly left the vicinity, as if for a day’s camping in the hills.

The journey was through a broken and thickly-wooded country, and the traveling slow and tedious. It was long past the meridian when the party reached and passed up the dry bed of the Ninta River, and nearly 15 dial when “The Finger of God,” which all recognized from the description furnished by the natives of Noniva, was reached.

The gray cliffs on either bank of the river were steep and rugged. Huge festoons of tropical growth covered them from top to bottom, and stunted pines stood nodding their crested heads among the rocky crevices. Already the shadow of the rock was creeping up the eastern bank, and by its position the pathway ledge was easily found.

Leaving the two seamen at the base of the rock, Dr. Town, with the tools which he had brought, and followed by the two girls, carefully made his way up the narrow, overhanging ledge, and stood near the point of the dark shadow on the face of the rock. With watch in hand, which he had set to the meridian of Guadalupe, he awaited the time of 16 dial, or 4 P. M., as recorded by the author of the letter of instructions.

The minutes passed slowly – too slowly for the two girls, who stood by his side. Their feelings were wrought to a fever heat; their hearts beat a tattoo within their bosoms, and a fear of some dreadful revelation possessed their souls.