A. D. 2000

Mr. Bennett was not aware of Cobb’s true intentions regarding the chamber; it was simply a contract between them that such a piece of work should be performed. Bennett was a man of his word, and was well known to Cobb, who placed the utmost confidence in him; yet, to make it still more binding, he placed him under a sacred oath not to enter the chamber after it was built, or communicate his knowledge of its existence to any living soul, nor to leave any information of it at his death.

While the pedestal was being built, Bennett had one of the largest marble slabs taken out, at night, by workmen brought there blindfolded, and replaced upon hinges, so it would easily open and shut by the pressure of a finger on a concealed spring.

This part of the work having been accomplished, it was very easy to carry out the remainder.

The pedestal being finished and solid, he took workmen there every night, blindfolded, and opening the slab door, cut out the masonry, hauling away the material as fast as it was taken out. Cobb desired that the chamber should be as deep as possible below the center of the pedestal, for security; Bennett made it so by digging down, after entering the base, and lining the sides with heavy brick-work.

The interior of the chamber, after construction, was fourteen by eighteen feet, and in height nine feet and six inches. The floor was made very smooth by a liberal use of Portland cement. The door was so constructed that after an inside catch had been set, it would lock itself upon being closed, and no amount of skill could open it without breaking the marble slab. There was no inlet for light, nor was there any entrance or exit for air.

Such was the finished condition of the chamber, as turned over by Mr. Bennett to Cobb, on the 15th of November, 1887.

Cobb had not been negligent in the meantime, but had gotten many of the necessary things into shape which he knew would be required, for his chamber was to have a great many and a great variety of instruments, all of which would be absolutely necessary to insure success.

Nothing could be done before the 24th of November, for on that day the Statue of Liberty was to be unveiled and turned over to the city of San Francisco by Mr. Sutro.

At last the 24th arrived, and the ceremonies of dedication were over.

As the last citizen left the vicinity of the statue a man came up the hill to view the surroundings. That man was Junius Cobb.

He approached the pedestal and looked carefully over its sides. Yes, it was all right; no one had had an inkling of the secret entrance, or a thought that it was to be used for anything save that for which it had been erected.

Satisfied with his inspection, he passed down the hill, and took the Haight-street cars to the city, leaving them at the corner of Market and Montgomery. With rapid strides he quickly passed down that street to the Occidental Hotel.

Near the entrance of that noted army resort, whipping his legs with a small cane in a most impatient manner, stood Hathaway, as if awaiting the arrival of some expected person.

Cobb at once walked up to him and cried:

“Hello! Hathaway; on time, I see; but where is Craft?”

“Playing billiards in the other room – at least he was there a minute ago; but do you want us to-night?” inquiringly.

“Of course! did I not ask you to meet me here?”

“Yes, I know; but are you going to work so soon? What is the use of doing anything to-night? You know I have a partial engagement for this evening, and would like to keep it;” and Hathaway looked beseechingly toward his companion.

“To me this is business, and I cannot postpone it; if your social duties are so pressing, why, I will have to excuse you.”

Cobb showed the displeasure he felt at the apparent want of interest displayed by the other in what to him was the greatest undertaking a man could engage in.

“Oh, no,” quickly replied Hathaway, noticing the effect of his words upon Cobb; “you do not understand me. I am ready now and at all times to give you my earnest assistance. What shall I do?”

“Go and find Craft, and meet me here in ten minutes;” and Cobb turned on his heel, and passed down the street. Proceeding a few blocks, he hailed the driver of a passing express wagon, who pulled up his team at the curb-stone near where Cobb was standing.

“Are you engaged?” quickly asked Cobb.

“No,” the man replied.

“Do you wish to earn twenty dollars?”

“Do I? try me!” The man’s face gave evidence of his sincerity.

“Will you work all night for that amount?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And go wherever I wish?”

“Yes; so I get back by morning.”

“And will you permit me to take your team, after you have gone a certain distance, and drive the remainder of the way, you to remain with one of my men until I return?”

“Well, as to that, is it not a little peculiar to ask a man to let his team be driven off by unknown parties without a guarantee that it will be returned?” and the expression of his countenance indicated that he was in a quandary, for he did not like to lose the twenty dollars, nor did he like the idea of letting his team be driven away by strangers.

“You need have no fear as to that; your team will be returned; but, to satisfy you, I will leave two hundred dollars with you as security until I return it.”

“That alters the case,” said the man. “I am with you.”

“Then, be at the corner of California street in ten minutes;” and Cobb turned and walked back to the Occidental.

Craft and Hathaway were awaiting him at the door of the hotel, the former puffing away at a cigar which the kindness of some friend had furnished.

“Ah, here you are, both of you. Good! And now to business.”

Cobb seemed as if he was in a hurry to get to work, yet he showed no signs of excitement.

They passed up Bush street to the works of the electrical supply company, where, entering the place, Cobb asked if the stores and apparatus which he had ordered had been packed and were ready for shipment.

Receiving an affirmative reply, he told his friends to await him there, and quickly descended the stairs. Proceeding to the corner of California street, he met the expressman whom he had engaged; mounting the driver’s seat, he directed him up Bush street, and stopped the team where he had left his friends. Giving the man orders to wait for him, he again ascended the stairs. The work of removing the boxes was at once commenced.

First, there was a long box, looking much like a coffin, being some eight feet by three, and over eighteen inches in depth. This was carefully taken down-stairs and placed in the wagon; then followed five boxes of various shapes and weights.

All things being safely placed in the wagon, Cobb mounted to the seat, telling Craft and Hathaway to get in and sit upon the boxes, as there was no room for them in front. Then, turning to the driver, he said:

“Drive up into Kearney, and thence into Market toward the park; take Haight street at the junction.”

Away rattled the wagon, passing through the crowded streets and by the flashing windows filled with all the holiday goods, ready for the Christmas season.

The night was quite dark; a slight drizzling rain which was falling, was very favorable to the scheme which Cobb and his friends had on hand. Passing up Haight street to within about half a mile of Mt. Olympus, Cobb ordered the driver to pull up his team. He then directed Hathaway to remain with the driver while he and Craft took the outfit to its destination.

The place where they had stopped was a side street, close to and off of Haight street, and it was impossible for the driver, as much as he strained his eyes, to determine his surroundings.

Cobb handed the expressman ten twenty-dollar gold pieces, with the understanding that they were to be returned when he brought back the team.

Leaving Hathaway with positive orders not to permit the driver to leave that particular spot until their return, Cobb mounted the seat again, Craft sitting beside him.

Turning once more into Haight street, for the purpose of throwing the driver off of their true course, they proceeded down that street for a couple of blocks, and turned sharp to the right, and drove quickly toward Mt. Olympus.

Not a soul was in sight, and the many wagon-tracks made by the artillery and carriages, which had attended the unveiling of the statue, would conceal all indication that another carriage had gone up to the pedestal that evening.

Driving close to the side of the base, Cobb pulled up, and both dismounted from the wagon.

The secret spring of the door was quickly touched, and the heavy marble slab swung upon its hinges; then, with all dispatch, the boxes were unloaded and carried into the interior of the chamber. The large box required all the strength of the two men, but it was finally gotten inside. This being finished, Craft took the reins, and quickly drove the team back to where Hathaway was impatiently awaiting him.

The money was returned by the driver, who then hurriedly departed for the city.

Seeing the man well out of sight, Craft and Hathaway carefully made their way back to the statue, and were soon inside of the pedestal. The slab door was then nearly closed, leaving but a slight aperture for the entrance of air, the opening covered by boxes, to prevent the rays of their lights being seen by any chance visitors to that neighborhood.

During their absence, Cobb had taken out two lanterns from one of the boxes, and now a bright light made everything quite clear within the chamber.

“Now,” said Cobb to Hathaway, “take that hatchet and open all of the boxes.”

The lids were quickly torn off and thrown to one side.

The contents of these boxes needed careful inspection. The large one was first emptied. The sides of this box were wrenched off, disclosing a large glass case, seven feet six inches by two feet eight inches, and sixteen inches in height. This glass coffin – for such, indeed, it resembled – was carefully taken out and set upon the floor. Then followed, from the same box, an ordinary set of single bed-springs, or woven-wire mattress, such as are used on single beds. Cobb then took from one of the smaller boxes a pair of iron horses or trestles, and placed them in one corner of the room, with their legs firmly fixed into the cemented floor. Carefully lifting the glass case, he and Craft set it upon the trestles, leaving a space of about thirty inches between it and the floor. Next they hinged the wire mattress to the trestles, so that there were full twenty inches between it and the bottom of the glass case. From the next box unpacked were taken seventy-five cells of Grenet battery. These cells were of peculiar construction, and differed from the regular style in that the zincs were drawn up and held clear of the electropoion fluid by slight fastenings, which terminated in glass bulbs blown in the tops. Cobb had selected this battery on account of its great strength, and for the reason that it would remain inactive for an indefinite time, provided the zincs were kept out of the fluid. Placing an iron stand near the head of the case, he and Hathaway arranged the jars upon it, and connected the various cells for intensity.

The wires were then run through small holes in the top glass of the large case, being insulated with a special covering that would withstand age without deteriorating.

The next thing was to set in position, over the row of battery cells, an iron beam, with a fall of about four inches, the fall terminating in two sockets. This beam was held over and in position by a pulley, over which ran a wire rope composed of aluminum strands, and having attached to it a fifty-pound weight. Connected to the two poles of the battery were insulated wires, terminating in flat discs of copper.

These wires were about thirty feet long, and passed through the holes in the top of the glass case, the copper discs being inside.

From another box were taken two bottles of fine old French brandy, two bottles of whisky, a small bottle of Valentine’s beef juice, and several cans of preserved meats, which had been prepared by Cobb, and the cans made of aluminum for the purpose. An alcohol heater was also taken out and set up in such a manner that a glass reservoir could, upon being turned on, feed it with alcohol. Through this heater ran wires joined to a platinum strip and connected with twenty cells of the battery. A cup and saucer, knife, fork, can-opener, spoon, and a couple of stew-pans, were next taken out and laid by the heater.

All these things having been put in order, Cobb, with the assistance of Hathaway, carefully lifted from a large box a heavy glass case, two feet nine inches high by three feet square. This case was set in the further corner of the chamber.

Through a door in the top, which Cobb opened, both Craft and Hathaway saw a number of wheel and pinion works, while at the bottom of the case was a circular piece of bright aluminum divided into equal divisions. The center of the ring was sunk into the glass bottom half an inch, and on one side of the ring was a number of small wheels and rods; the whole presenting the aspect of very fine and delicate mechanism.

Cobb now took out of the last box a large and very elegant compass, two feet in diameter and with a heavy needle; this he placed in the sunken center of the glass case.

Craft noticed that there was no iron or steel in the works in this box; nothing but aluminum, save the needle itself.

Through the sides of the case, Cobb adjusted an aluminum rod connecting with the pulley and weight attached to the beam over the batteries.

By this time the needle in the compass had settled and the positive pole pointed to 283 on the aluminum scale.

Both Craft and Hathaway had asked but few questions during all this work, curbing their curiosity until such time as their companion would enlighten them as to the meaning of all this apparatus. They had been on the point, a number of times, of asking for some information, but the other had, by a look, quickly given them to understand that he was not yet ready to explain things. But it was impossible for Craft to hold in any longer; he had to ask the use of this last glass case, with its many wheels and delicate machinery.

“Wait! You will understand it all soon,” answered Cobb. “There is little more to do to-night.” Then, taking a paper from his pocket, he scanned it for fully five minutes, making a few notes upon it with his pencil during the time.

At last, seeming satisfied, he bent over the compass in the box, and by a small screw in its side turned the whole delicately adjusted works around until a fine pointer, from which projected a tiny hook, became flush with the figures 260 from the zero of the scale, or to a reading of 4 degrees 20 minutes; then turning the whole compass-box around, he carefully adjusted it so that the needle should point exactly to the figures 993, equivalent to a reading of 16 degrees 33 minutes, the magnetic variation east, of San Francisco, California, in December, 1887.

It was easy to see that the little hook which hung down from the overlapping works would become engaged with the needle of the compass if the latter were to retrograde in arc 12 degrees 13 minutes.

Unscrewing a cap on the top of the case, he applied a small air-pump, which he had taken out of the box, to the opening, and screwed it firmly on; then, closing the glass door, he placed cement along the junction of the door and sides, from a bottle which he had brought for that purpose. In a few moments, the cement had set, and then, working the air-pump, he soon exhausted the air from the case; finally unscrewing the pump, he replaced the cap and laid the pump in the corner of the chamber.

All this being finished to his satisfaction, he announced that the work for the night was completed.

Looking at his watch, Cobb said:

“It is now four o’clock in the morning, and time that we should get out of this if we don’t wish to be seen departing. We have done all that it is possible to do for the present; let us at once start for town; besides, you have to be at the post by six o’clock.”

“Yes, that is true,” returned Hathaway; “we are due at that hour. We have done a good deal of work, but for the life of me, I am totally ignorant of the purposes of all this apparatus. I would like to have you explain some of it to me,” and his eyes turned inquiringly toward the large case with its wheels and compass.

“All in good time!” and Cobb cautiously opened the swinging panel.

The coast was clear; not a single person was in sight.

“Now, then, be lively!” and he stepped out, the others following quickly. In another moment the door was closed, and not a sign was left to indicate that the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty held within its interior the apparatus necessary for prolonging the life of a human being.

The three friends passed down the hill, and took the Haight-street cars for the city. It was the first car for the day, and not another passenger was on board.

Arriving at the Occidental, Cobb said:

“You are expected to be at reveille this morning, but I have no duties until retreat. There are a few things that I wish to attend to; so I will leave you here. Be sure to be at my quarters at 9:30 to-night. Good-bye!” and he left them without waiting for a reply.

It was nearly eight o’clock, and after a hearty breakfast, when Cobb left the hotel, passed down Montgomery street into Washington, and made his way to a small-sized house at the foot of an alley leading from that thoroughfare.

The windows of the house were all closed by shutters, and the whole building bore an aspect of dilapidation.

Ascending the four rickety steps that led to the door, he gave a sharp knock, repeating it after a moment, as no answer was obtained.

“Who knocks?”

“It is I, Colchis! Open the door.”

The door swung open, and Cobb entered, the door closing behind him with a bang.

CHAPTER IV

It is necessary to go back a few months in our story, and introduce a new character, the inhabitant of the little old, dilapidated house in the lane.

On the evening of December 10, 1886, as Cobb was coming out of the Cosmos, a favorite club of the young gentlemen of San Francisco, he had run into an old and crippled man who was passing down the street. Cobb was in a hurry as he emerged from the place, and did not notice the poor pedestrian in time to avoid a collision. The consequences were that the old man was knocked to the ground, and appeared to be badly hurt. Cobb at once stopped and lifted the man up to ascertain the extent of his injuries, and finding him still insensible, had called a hack to convey him to the nearest druggist.

The man was about sixty years of age, his right leg partially paralyzed, the sight of his right eye gone, and deep scars upon his face and neck. His clothes were shabby and much worn, yet there were indications that the man had seen better days.

That portion of his face which was not scarred and seamed, gave evidence of quickness and perception, and a general appearance of knowledge and former refinement was plainly noticeable. His hands, too, were not those of a man accustomed to hard work.

This man was Jean Colchis, a native of France, but a refugee from that country. He had, in his time, been a great chemist; he had been noted, far and near, as a man greatly gifted in the sciences, and one who had given much to his native country in the way of scientific invention; but, at a later day in his life, he had been led away by the persuasion of others to engage in a plot against the ruling power of his land. This plot being discovered, he was sentenced to death, but, escaping, had taken refuge in the United States.

He was the recipient of a small pension from the members of his family who had not joined in the conspiracy, and upon this small pension Jean Colchis lived in the humble and rickety house in Duke’s Lane.

The pension was sufficient for all the needs of the old man and his only daughter, a lovely girl of seventeen years; it gave them their daily sustenance and life, and a slight margin from which to purchase the few things he needed to continue the one hobby of his life, chemical analysis.

When Cobb had taken the old man to the druggist’s, an examination had shown that nothing but a slight contusion of the side of the head had resulted from the unexpected knock-down he had received. He soon regained his senses, but was in a weak and helpless condition.

Learning from him the place of his abode, Cobb at once took him there in a hack, and carefully attended him during the remainder of that evening.

Such was the introduction of Junius Cobb to Jean Colchis.

Cobb’s kindness to the old Frenchman was rewarded by an invitation to call again, and as he descended the stairs of the old, rain-beaten house, he resolved to come the next evening.

He did come, and many evenings after, and it was from this old man that Cobb first learned the art of making ozone in quantities. It was not a difficult matter for them to ascertain the various hobbies each possessed. Their conversation soon gave each an insight into the desires of the other for a knowledge of the many things yet unknown, but yet imagined. Their desires being so assimilated, their tendencies so coincident, it was only natural that each should take more than a common liking to the other.

But, though he had worked with Colchis in the manufacture and uses of ozone, the latter never had any idea of the grand scheme his friend had in view, for Cobb would not communicate the secret to him for fear that he might divulge it to others.

The door of the old house had opened to admit Cobb, and had closed again, leaving him in the hall. There was no light to guide him, but his knowledge of the place and surroundings was such that he found no difficulty in ascending to the little back parlor where Colchis usually sat when not at work.

Opening the door, he entered, and was quickly clasped about the neck by a pair of plump white arms, while a face, radiantly beautiful, looked into his, and a red pouting mouth invited the kiss which he quickly bestowed upon it.

“Oh, Mr. Cobb, I am so glad you have come! I heard you at the door, and have surprised you! Now, have I not? Say yes; for you know I have!” and the sweet little maiden released him, and shook her delicate finger in a menacing gesture, as if her command could not be disobeyed.

Marie Colchis was the only child of Jean Colchis – a beautiful, fair-skinned girl of seventeen, with long, heavy blonde hair; plump in form, with small, fine hands; loving in disposition, with most winsome ways; innocent as a new-born babe.

Jean Colchis had kept this sweet girl close to him with a jealous care. She knew no one, scarcely, save her father and Junius Cobb. Witty and bright beyond her years, yet gentle and innocent as a lamb, she had from the very first conceived a girlish love for her father’s visitor. And Junius Cobb loved the girl dearly; loved to hear her girlish talk and watch her innocent ways; loved to stroke her hair, and loved to kiss her lips and feel her arms about him. Was there any harm? He was thirty-three, and she was but seventeen.

Jean Colchis noted their peculiar love, and smiled. No man was closer to the heart of Jean Colchis than Junius Cobb. Nothing could the latter ask that the old man in Duke’s Lane would not have given him – even his daughter, should he seek her. But this, of course, the old man knew was beyond expectation. It would have pleased his old heart, but the disparity of years caused him to believe it to be impossible.

And Marie – what were her thoughts and feelings?

She loved Junius Cobb – loved him, young as she was, as a mature woman loves the man she would call husband. She loved him with her whole heart, with her very soul.

Cobb knew this, and reproached himself many times for causing her affectionate heart to entertain the hope that she would sometime be his wife.

It had come by degrees, unseen by either, until each had felt that the brightness of the world was centered in the other. He could not marry her; this he knew, for she was too young. He could not wait until she had bloomed into the magnificent woman that he knew nature had destined her to become, for he would then be dead to the world. He could not tell her the truth! He did what thousands of others have done – he temporized.