TO EARTH AGAIN--ONE HUNDRED YEARS LATER
One day an archaic-looking flying machine, a curiosity, settled from
aërial heights on to the lawn of one Dr. Newell, of Phœnix, Georgia.
When found I was unconscious and even after I had revived I could tell
nothing of my whereabouts, as to whither I was going, or whence I had
come; I was simply there, “a stranger in a strange land,” without being
able to account for anything.
I noticed however that the people were not those I had formerly left or
that I expected to see. I was bewildered--my brain was in a whirl--I
lapsed again into a trance-like state.
When I regained my full consciousness I found myself comfortably
ensconced in a bed in an airy room apparently in the home of some
well-to-do person. The furniture and decorations in the room were of
a fashion I had never seen before, and the odd-looking books in the
bookcase near the bed were written by authors whose names I did not
know. I seemed to have awakened from a dream, a dream that had gone
from me, but that had changed my life.
Looking around in the room, I found that I was the only occupant. I
resolved to get up and test the matter. I might still be dreaming.
I arose, dressed myself--my suit case lay on a table, just as I had
packed it--and hurriedly went downstairs, wondering if I were a
somnambulist and thinking I had better be careful lest I fall and
injure myself. I heard voices and attempted to speak and found my voice
unlike any of those I heard in the house. I was just passing out of the
front door, intending to walk around on the large veranda that extended
on both sides of the house, when I came face to face with a very
attractive young lady who I subsequently learned was the niece of my
host and an expert trained nurse. She had taken charge of me ever since
my unexpected arrival on her uncle’s lawn.
She explained that she had been nursing me and seemed very much
mortified that I should have come to consciousness at a moment when
she was not present, and have gotten out of the room and downstairs
before she knew it. I could see chagrin in her countenance and to
reassure her I said, “You needn’t worry about your bird’s leaving the
cage, he shall not fly away, for in the first place he is quite unable
to, and in the second place why should he flee from congenial company?”
“I am glad you are growing better,” she said, “and I am sure we are all
very much interested in your speedy recovery, Mr.--What shall I call
you?” she said hesitatingly.
I attempted to tell her my name, but I could get no further than, “My
name is--” I did not know my own name!
She saw my embarrassment and said, “O, never mind the name, I’ll let
you be my anonymous friend. Tell me where you got that very old flying
machine?”
Of course I knew, but I could not tell her. My memory on this point
had failed me also. She then remarked further that papers found in my
pocket indicated that a Mr. Gilbert Twitchell had been appointed to a
position as teacher in a Missionary School in the town of Ebenezer,
Georgia, in the year 1906, and inquired if these “old papers” would
help me in locating my friends. She left me for a moment and returned
with several papers, a diary and a large envelope containing a
certificate of appointment to said school.
She stated that inquiry had already been made and that “old records”
showed that a person by the name of Twitchell had been appointed in
1906, according to the reading of the certificate, and that while _en
route_ to his prospective field of labor in an air-ship he was supposed
to have come to an untimely death, as nothing had been seen or heard of
him since. Further than that the official records did not go.
“Now, we should be very glad to have you tell us how you came by that
certificate,” she suggested.
I was aghast. I was afraid to talk to her or to look about me. And the
more fully I came to myself the more I felt that I did not dare to ask
a question. The shock of one answer might kill me.
I summoned all my strength, and spoke hurriedly, more to prevent her
speaking again than to say anything.
“Perhaps I can tell you something later on,” I said hoarsely. “I find
my memory quite cloudy, in fact, I seem to be dreaming.”
She saw my misery and suggested that I go into “the room used to cure
nervousness” and that I remain as long as possible. I passed stupidly
through the door she held open for me and had hardly sat down before
I felt soothed. The only color visible was violet,--walls, ceiling,
furniture, carpet, all violet of different shades. An artificial light
of the same color filled the room. And the air!--What was there in it?
A desk was at the other end of the large apartment. As my eyes roved
about the strange looking place I saw on it an ordinary calendar pad,
the only thing in the room that closely resembled objects I had seen
before. The moment that I realized what it was I felt as though I was
about to have a nervous chill. I dared not look at it, even from that
distance. But the delicious air, the strength-giving light revived me
in spite of myself. For full five minutes I sat there, staring, before
starting over to look at it; for though I knew not who I was, and
though I had passed through only two rooms of the house, and had met
only one person, I had divined the truth a thousand times.
As I slowly neared it I saw the day of the month, the twenty-fourth.
Nearer and nearer I came, finally closing my eyes as the date of the
year in the corner became _almost_ legible--just as I had done in the
car of the air-ship, that awful moment. I moved a little nearer. I
could read it now! I opened my eyes and glanced, then wildly tore the
pads apart, to see if they were all alike--and fell to the floor once
more.
It was the year _two thousand and six_, just one hundred years from the
date of my appointment to the position of a teacher in the South!
* * * * *
In a short time I regained complete consciousness, and under the
influence of that wonderful room became almost myself again. I learned
that I had not really been left alone but had been observed, through a
device for that purpose, by both the doctor and his niece, and on her
return I related my whole story to her as far as I could then remember
it.
The strangest and most unaccountable part was that though I had been
away from the earth about one hundred years, yet, here I was back again
still a young man, showing no traces of age and I had lived a hundred
years. This was afterward accounted for by the theory that at certain
aerial heights the atmosphere is of such a character that no physical
changes take place in bodies permitted to enter it.
The physical wants of my body seemed to have been suspended, and
animation arrested until the zone of atmosphere immediately surrounding
the earth was reached again, when gradually life and consciousness
returned.
I have no recollection of anything that transpired after I lost
consciousness and the most I can say of it all is that the experience
was that of one going to sleep at one end of his journey and waking up
at his destination.