A. D. 2000

“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 have to 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 engine can 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 train moves 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.”

CHAPTER X

After supper, and when settled back once again in the cushions of their sleeper, Cobb immediately resumed the conversation about the pneumatic roads.

“They must be very rich and powerful corporations, these which own such lines as this?”

“No,” returned Rawolle; “for they are not owned by individuals, but by the government. All railroads in the United States are in the hands of the government, and are operated with a view to just covering expenses.”

“Are the rates of passage high?”

“We do not consider them so. There is one fixed rate throughout the country of one cent per mile.”

“But,” musingly inquired Cobb, “is not there a difference in operating the roads? Are not some more expensive to the government than others?”

“Certainly,” answered Rawolle. “But, like postage on letters, a universal rate is found to be the best; the larger and more patronized roads paying the losses incurred by the smaller and country routes.”

“I presume,” said Cobb, “that there can be but few changes in the general management, supervision, etc., of the roads from those in vogue in my time?”

“There you make a mistake,” quickly returned the other; “for, having been connected with the pneumatic lines, I am well posted in what is done to-day and what was the manner of operating railroads during the first part of the twentieth century. Nearly every detail of to-day’s management differs from that in vogue a hundred years ago. It would tire you for me to go into details. A few facts, though, I will give you: All freight is of two classes, and is sent at so much per pound per mile. At the sending point it is stamped similarly to a letter, showing date, place of shipment, destination, etc. The same rule is followed in regard to baggage of individuals, the owner having a duplicate of the stamp placed upon his baggage. There are no tickets shown or taken up on the pneumatic lines, but the names of passengers to depart from the train at intermediate points are telegraphed ahead, and the persons are looked after by the inspectors. On all lines the tracks are double, trains passing but one way on each line of rail. There are no whistles or bells to the locomotives of the service lines; no tender with its coal and water; no cab in the rear for the engineer; no furnace and fireman. The locomotive is an electric one, with the engineer in a cab in front. In place of the huge boilers is an iron and steel tank containing the storage batteries. The whole weight is nearer the rail, thus bringing down the center of gravity and reducing the danger from oscillation.”

As Rawolle was thus enlightening Cobb about the innovations made in the last century, the sleeper door opened, and a trainman entered and walked direct to their section and asked for Mr. Rawolle, saying he had a telegram for him, at the same time handing out the envelope.

Rawolle took it and thanked the man, who then left the car.

“He hit the right man squarely that time!” surprisedly exclaimed Cobb. “They seem to know you here.”

“Not at all,” replied Rawolle, smiling, while he tore open the envelope. “Every person on the train is known by name, and section, and car. Such is the system.”

He opened and read the telegram.

“There!” he exclaimed, after a moment, extending the telegram to Cobb. “There is an order from the Secretary of State to stop at the Central Sea.” And he and Lyman looked quizzingly at their companion, as he slowly took the telegram and read:

“Washington, 16, 18 D.

“Albert Rawolle, on Central Pneumatic No. 3, east:

“Telegram received. Stop at Cairo. Submarine boat Tracer ordered there to take you and Cobb through Central Sea.

“By order Secretary State.

“Harry G. Collins, Chief Clerk.”

Cobb read it through twice ere he ventured any remark; then, handing it back while a troubled look overspread his countenance, he said:

“Cairo is in Illinois, at the junction of the Ohio with the Mississippi; but I fail to comprehend the import of the words ‘Central Sea.’ The submarine boat spoken of does not surprise me, for I would naturally expect that that which was almost an accomplished fact in 1887, would be an actual success at this late date.”

“There is no Ohio River, or not as was in your time. The Ohio is now but a small stream flowing into the Central Sea,” replied Rawolle.

“Again those words ‘Central Sea;’ what does it mean? Is there an inland sea?” and Cobb looked inquiringly at both of the others.

“There is,” slowly spoke Rawolle.

“And a mighty big one, too,” put in Lyman.

Cobb was highly educated and of a sanguine temperament; he neither doubted what seemed impossible, nor did he believe until the facts were clearly before his mind. He was perfectly cognizant of the physical geography of the United States, and did not understand under what conditions a great inland sea could have been formed, or maintained.

Settling himself back in his seat and breaking the circuit of the electric light to lessen the glare in their faces, Rawolle continued:

“I will give you some facts concerning this sea, for, now that you are one of a new generation, you have much to learn, and we cannot pass the hours between now and bed-time to better advantage. On the last day of August, 1916,” he began, “at about 14 dial, or as they then said, 2 P. M., that which was taken, at the time, as the shock of a great earthquake, was felt by thousands of persons throughout the central portion of the United States. In less than two hours later, the nation was informed of the true nature of the shocks which followed each other in rapid succession. It was the explosion of natural gases deep down in the strata of the earth’s crust, and the scene of the disturbances covered a vast area of territory. During the following week the shaking and trembling of the earth caused great destruction in many cities and towns not otherwise affected. Houses fell, the water supply failed, and other serious results were experienced. But throughout portions of the area now covered by the Central Sea, the scene was terrible, awe-inspiring, horrible. The earth heaved and sank; huge cracks opened, and flames hundreds of feet high shot into the air; thunder and lightning added to the horrors of the situation. The bursting of the earth’s crust was attended by an appalling roar and crash, as if a million peals of thunder had combined in one grand effort to terrify mankind; then came a pall of dense, black smoke that wrapped the land in darkness. Consternation seized upon the people, and well it might, for when the full import of the disturbances was known, it was only then ascertained that a great cataclysm had befallen the nation. Without going too much into details, for you can later on gain a full knowledge of this great physical disturbance from the books published soon after its occurrence, I will explain but a few of the facts causing it. You are aware, Mr. Cobb, to what extent natural gas was used in the United States in 1887; that there were thousands of wells pouring out millions of cubic feet daily; that many of them showed pressure of from ten to twenty atmospheres. From the time you left the world, as it were, until August, 1916, gas wells were being sunk all over the country drained by the Ohio and its tributaries. Their number was way up in the thousands. Billions of cubic feet of natural gas were being consumed or flowing to waste daily. Pittsburgh alone used 300,000,000 cubic feet a day in its vast manufactories. The earth in the Ohio basin was honey-combed with the gas pockets and strata, and gas veins were struck in which the gas was under such pressure that the flow could not be checked by human hands. It was 14 dial, as I have said, on the last day of August, 1916, and the workmen in the large foundry of Dillenback & Co., at Lakeside, on the Ohio, some fifty miles below Pittsburgh, were tapping a huge melting of aluminum bronze for the purpose of casting the outer shell of one of the latest model guns of that period. But let me first describe the interior arrangements of the foundry, that you may fully grasp the situation as it then stood, and the cause of the results which followed. Natural gas was, and had been for a long time, the fuel used in these works. Up to 1914 the gas boring of Lakeside had furnished all the gas required. This well was of ten-inch bore, and reached a depth of 4,737 feet, but in the year mentioned the well had failed to furnish gas at any pressure. The standard pipe had been moved and an iron plate set over the mouth of the tube, on a level with the floor. Five hundred feet from this well a boring to 4,016 feet had struck a new stratum, giving vast quantities of gas at a pressure of five atmospheres. To revert back: Just as the tapping of the furnaces was made, the steam boiler of the crane engine, through some unaccountable cause, burst. The concussion shook the buildings, tore up the ground, displaced the iron plate over the disused gas well, and broke the aluminum furnaces, letting over one hundred tons of molten metal flow rapidly across the foundry floor. Recovering from the first shock and fright of the explosion, all efforts were at once made to arrest the flow of the liquid stream, or to divert its course away from the old well. That well, as all knew, still contained gas intermingled with common air, the mixture being of a very explosive nature. All perceived at a glance what would be the consequences if such a mass of molten metal should precipitate itself into the old well and fall over 4,500 feet into the interior of the earth’s crust; the shock at bottom, the continuance of heat, the explosive medium through which it would pass, all were dangers to be dreaded. The gas strata were overlaid and underlaid by water and air strata; the breaking of one into another would cause a commingling of their constituent parts, and form explosive compounds of the most dangerous types. Human efforts failed to stem the fiery stream in its onward course across the foundry floor. With a bounding, hissing, and, as it were, victorious cry, the river of melted aluminum approached, reached and went plunging down into the old supply-pipe. Who could describe the terrible effect! Of all those hundreds of human beings employed in Dillenback’s works, but two lived to tell the story of the catastrophe. These two men knew only one thing: that the earth seemed to shake to its very center, and they were hurled down among the debris of the fallen buildings, while sheets of fire almost scorched their very souls. Peal upon peal of thunder reverberated about them, and then darkness buried everything from their vision. Burned, bleeding, and nearly dead, these two men found themselves pinned down by the timbers of the works. Fire was upon every side; the timbers were burning, the heat was oppressive, and from a horrible death no man could save them. There was a higher Power, though, who had ordained that these two men should be witnesses of the full effects of this mighty effort of nature to overcome the grasping endeavors of man to accumulate wealth at the expense of reason. A sudden rush of waters from beneath them cooled their parching bodies, extinguished the fires about them, raised the mass of timbers which pinned them down, and gave them their liberty. You can read of this escape, as it is fully chronicled. This was the cause; now the effects. Are you tired?” seeing Cobb so quiet; “or would you like a drink of something to warm the inner man?”

Cobb had sat with scarcely a movement, save the heaving of his chest, as he listened to this terrible narrative. The last words of Rawolle seemed to awaken him.

“No, and yes,” he slowly replied. “Let us take a glass of wine and retire. I wish to think this over before you finish. My head aches, and I need rest.”

A few minutes later, all was quiet in the first sleeper of the Central Pneumatic No. 3, east.

It was 2:25 dial, or 25 minutes past 2, the next morning, when the Central Pneumatic arrived at Cairo.

Here Rawolle’s party was met at the train by an officer from the government submarine boat Tracer, and conducted aboard that vessel, which lay at anchor in the stream. Cobb was informed that, as it was so early, he had better retire and take a little more rest, for they would not weigh anchor until 7 dial. Acquiescing, he was shown to his state-room.

It was a cozy affair, indeed, that Cobb was ushered into – a little, but handsomely furnished room, containing all that one could desire in a thoroughly well-appointed apartment. Electric lamps threw a charming, subdued light over everything in the room, while an electric heater diffused a gentle warmth which was most agreeable this September morning. Retiring to rest, Cobb dreamed of nothing but pneumatic railways, submarine boats, and gigantic convulsions of nature.

It was about 7 dial when both Rawolle and Lyman came and awoke their guest, who, after a refreshing bath and a delicious breakfast, ascended to the upper deck of the Tracer.

The main deck of the vessel was of very small area amidship, some two feet above the water-line, and inclosed by an iron railing.

A beautiful scene presented itself to his view. The Tracer lay about half a mile from the docks of Cairo, and that city was just awakening to its daily round of bustle and activity. The stream was covered with shipping, some at anchor, while others were plying between the city and the opposite shore, a mile and a half away. Sailing craft there were a plenty, but no steamers, though there were many vessels moving swiftly through the water, yet showing no smoke or funnels.

This fact was immediately noted by Cobb, and inquiry made of Lyman, who stood near him, as to why there was no smoke visible.

“Neither coal nor wood is now used for marine propulsion,” replied Lyman. “Lipthalite vapor, or lipthalene, is now the motive power of vessels without sails. I will show you some of this lipthalite, later on, in this vessel.”

Turning his eyes from the busy and charming scene about him, Cobb’s thoughts came back to his immediate surroundings. What was he standing upon? The small, water-flush deck of a metal submarine vessel, the total area of which could not exceed a thousand square feet. A number of peculiar openings, valves, and pipes abutted on the deck, and a single metal mast stood at the bows; but no smoke-stack or other accessories to propulsion were visible.

Surveying all these things, he was about to ask information concerning their use, when Lieutenant Sibley, the officer in command, made his appearance, and was introduced to him.

“I am sorry I was not aboard to welcome your arrival, last evening, Mr. Cobb,” he began, in a courteous and pleasing tone of voice, “but I was detained in Central City, across the river, until early this morning. I hope you slept well, and are ready for the trip to Pittsburgh?”

“Not only ready, but anxious for it,” was the reply.

In a few moments more, by order of the Lieutenant, the anchor was raised, and the Tracer moved up the stream, headed E. ¼ N.

As the vessel moved through the shipping, the national colors, which were displayed from its mast, were saluted by the dipping of flags and sounding of whistles.

A hoarse-toned marine whistle, almost at Cobb’s feet, answered these salutations, and also caused that gentleman to jump back with a startled expression.

Drawing his hand from the whistle button, Lieutenant Sibley apologized for frightening him, saying:

“It did not occur to me that I had others aboard than those who are accustomed to these vessels.”

The Tracer was a cigar-shaped vessel of two hundred feet in length by twenty beam, or middle diameter, and of nearly 1,000 tons displacement when submerged.

With an outer shell of aluminum bronze and an inner shell of the finest steel, the vessel combined great strength with a minimum amount of metal in its construction.