The sun was streaming into Cobb's eyes; he was restless; he awoke. The
room was empty, not a soul in sight, and he lay in his bed, all alone.
How long he had lain there he could not tell, but he knew it must have
been some time, for his bones felt sore, and he had a great desire to
get up and stretch himself. The room was the same that he had entered
the night before; of that he felt assured as he glanced around.
For some time he lay half awake and half asleep, his thoughts running
in a most confused channel. In memory he wandered back to his old
friends, Craft and Hathaway. He was living, but where were they?
And his kindred, where were they? Dead! all of them! Not a single
soul of all those whom he had known and associated with were living.
Indeed, he was alone in the world! In his mind, once again he viewed
the longings and cravings which he had cherished for a knowledge of
what the world would be at a future day, and the vision materialized
into a full knowledge that at last he had the power he so long had
desired. What a wonderful experience! What a remarkable transition he
had passed through! He had become a king, an emperor, a very god, for
he had annihilated time, and passed, in a second, over many score of
years. Was he to find such changes in the world as he had anticipated?
Was he to be satisfied with things as he should find them now? Had he
thrown away a life of quiet enjoyment and comparative ease, among his
friends and kindred, for a new life in which he would be dissatisfied,
miserable? Was the light worth the candle? All these and many more were
the questions he asked himself as he lay there awaiting the approach of
some one from whom he might possibly receive an answer. He could lie
there no longer; he must arise and be about. Had they all deserted him,
that he was thus left alone? No, that was hardly possible; they would
soon come. He rose upon his elbow and looked about the room.
No sooner had he raised himself in his bed than a door opened and a man
entered and quickly approached his bed.
It was Lyman, and Cobb instantly recognized him, though he appeared to
be so differently dressed from the style which he was accustomed to
seeing that it made him doubt his identity.
Approaching close to him, Lyman looked into his eyes with a searching
expression, as if endeavoring to fathom his very thoughts.
Still upon his elbow, Cobb returned his gaze and asked:
"Well! is it time to get up? Why do you look at me in such a manner?"
and a feeling of fear ran through him that he might be laboring under
a hideous dream, and that he was not only alive again, but had never
been dead to the world, as he thought.
The sorrowful expression of Lyman's eyes disappeared, and a glad smile
parted his lips.
"Thank God, my boy, you are yourself again! We have watched you for a
long time, hoping for this return to consciousness. Do you indeed know
me?" and he leaned over and took the other's hand.
"Of course I know you. Have I been sick? have I lain here long? Has
everything been a dream? or am I awake in the new era?" and as he asked
the question, he sat up in bed.
"You are laboring under no delusion, Mr. Cobb," Lyman replied, smiling
at the man's eagerness on the subject. "You are the same man whom we
rescued from the pedestal of Sutro's statue, and you are still in the
land of the living, after years of inanimation. You have had a long
and most severe struggle for your life since being brought here on the
night we dug you out of the pedestal. It is now the 16th of September,
almost three months since your release, and you have lain upon your bed
or sat in your chair nearly all the time. Your mind has wandered, and
you have known no one until to-day. We have sat near you for hours, and
for hours have listened to the history of your life."
As he ceased speaking, he arose and filled a glass with wine, and gave
it to the other, saying that it was necessary that he should get well
as soon as possible, now that he was himself again.
"And I have lain here since June 22d?" Cobb asked again.
"Yes; lain, sat, and walked--for you did walk a very little of late."
"It is strange! But, really, is it A. D. 2000?"
"In truth, it is."
"And Rawolle; where is he?"
"Out; but he will soon be back, for he has not left your side, except
for brief periods, since we brought you here. One of us has always been
near you."
Cobb looked at him a moment, and then asked:
"Will you please explain why you are wearing such outlandish clothing,
for it is entirely different from anything I have been accustomed to
seeing," and he surveyed the other from head to foot.
Lyman smiled, and took a step backward that a better view of him might
be obtained.
"All in good time, my boy," he answered. "Suffice it to say that this
is the custom, or style, now. We have got a full suit for you as soon
as you are able to put it on."
Saying this, he went across the room and threw open the doors of a
wardrobe, disclosing a number of articles of wearing apparel hanging
therein.
To Cobb, he presented an appearance quite out of the general order of
dress, and an aspect quite comical; yet, the more he looked at him,
the more he was inclined to admit that his dress was becoming, and,
no doubt, very comfortable. It seemed to him that he had seen styles
similar to that his friend wore, depicted in the old prints as worn by
his forefathers. The main features were: tight-fitting knee-breeches,
but coming a little lower down than those of the old style; black silk
stockings and low-cut shoes, the shoes having large gilded buckles upon
the instep; vest low in front, but closing at the neck; close-fitting
cutaway coat without tails, unbuttoned in front, but held together by
frogs; neither collars nor cuffs, but in their place small and neat
rufflings. There was no shirt-front visible.
His glance was but momentary, yet it was long enough for him to note
these few changes and minor details in Lyman's dress.
"Come, Cobb," said Lyman, "get up and dress. I will bring you your
clothing."
With the aid of Lyman, it was but a few minutes ere he was thoroughly
arrayed and fitted out in the prevailing style of the day.
Handing him a fine pair of boots of very light material, Lyman said:
"Put these on, for it is wet outside; the low shoes are worn only
during dry weather."
Putting on the boots, which fitted him perfectly, Cobb surveyed himself
in the glass. He liked the change from the old style. It was indeed
a comfortable substitute for the heavy and loose-fitting trousers
and long-tailed coats formerly worn. No collars to cut one's ears,
nor cuffs to hang down over one's hands. It was handsome withal, and
permitted a free action of the limbs.
"Is this now the prevailing style?" he asked Lyman.
"Yes. No other style of clothing but this is worn by men," was the
answer.
"And how long has this been the custom?"
"A great many years--how many I cannot say. It has been the style since
I was born. I believe I have heard that it was inaugurated in 1910.
Certain gentlemen in the city of Chicago were the first to start the
movement, as near as I remember it. Anyway, the change was made, and
now it is the only style of gentlemen's wearing apparel in the United
States. Of course, there are certain modifications of it, as for summer
and winter, and in certain trades, but the one main idea is adhered to,
namely: close-fitting clothing and knee-breeches, with shoes for dry
and boots for wet weather."
"I think it a jolly change. It seems like old times, when I dressed
for mounted duty with my troop." And Cobb took a turn around the room,
bringing back the memories of the days when he had, in his top-boots,
swung the belle of a frontier town.
At this moment Rawolle entered the room, and started at seeing Cobb up
and dressed. With unfeigned pleasure he rushed up to him and grasped
his hand, crying:
"Cobb, I congratulate you on your return to consciousness!"
"Pray don't mention it. I am just as glad to be up and around as you
are to see me."
"And how do you feel? Have you had a good rest?"
"Good rest! Well, I like that! I should say I have. I hope you don't
think a man can sleep three months without being satisfied, do you?"
"No. You ought to be ready to get up by this time, I must admit; but
that is not to the point: are you in condition to start for Washington
to-day?"
"Yes; any time you desire."
"How glad I am!" Rawolle quickly returned. "I have been away from home
so long that I am most anxious to get back to my family. I will look
into the matter and see if we cannot go to-day. In the meantime, look
over the morning paper," and he tossed the paper which he had in his
hand to him.
"Yes," said Lyman, going over to the other side of the room and taking
up a large grip; "busy yourself with the news while I get our traps
into shape for traveling."
Cobb took the paper as it fell into his hand, and opened it. It was a
very large daily, and seemed to contain a vast amount of information.
Looking at the heading of the paper, he saw that it was the "Daily
American." At the first glance over it, he perceived that it was quite
different from the papers which he had seen in former days. Leaning
back in his chair, he carefully looked it over.
It was not headed San Francisco, as he thought it would be, but
America; and the date was the 16th of September. Where was America?
he asked himself; he knew of no such place. It must be some new and
very large city close by, else the paper could not have reached them
so soon. No paper that he had ever before seen contained the amount of
news that this did. There was news from all parts of the world; not
scant and close-cut, either, but full and elaborate accounts. What
appeared to him as very peculiar was that each column had its own
heading, as, "From Europe," "From Asia," "From South America," etc.
Another thing that appeared very remarkable was that there were no
advertisements, nor time-tables of transportation, nor lists of places
of amusement. In fact, there was nothing local in the paper that he
could ascertain. It was just such a combination of news as would as
quickly interest a man in New York as one in San Francisco. He also
noticed that the printing was peculiar; that but two or three kinds of
type were used in the body of the paper, and that the ends of lines
were not, as formerly, flush with the ruling of the next column.
All this was so very strange to him that he was on the point of asking
for information from Lyman, when his eyes met the word "Cobb," in big
headline letters. Of course he must read what was said of him before
asking any questions regarding the paper in which the account was
given. He read:
"COBB!
"S. F., 15, 22 D.--The physicians in charge of Junius Cobb report
no change in their patient during the day. Food is administered at
regular intervals, and taken with apparent relish by the sick man.
Mr. Cobb has gained rapidly in flesh, and his health seems to be
almost perfect, save the one remarkable condition of insensibility
to surrounding objects. The physicians in charge have strong hopes
that another week will bring forth great and marked improvement,
and that the man's mind will return to him."
And again, further on:
"JUNIUS COBB.
"WASHINGTON, 15, 11 D.--In the Cabinet meeting to-day, the
President said, referring to the peculiar condition of Junius Cobb,
the Lieutenant taken from the tomb in San Francisco last June,
'that if his condition did not soon show some signs of improvement,
he thought that it would be to the best interests of the man, as
well as the nation, that he should be brought to Washington for
treatment.' He further said, 'that all of the apparatus used by
Cobb in his experiment had been received at the State Department,
and was there held until Cobb would be able to arrive and explain
its use.'"
And still further on:
"LIEUTENANT COBB!
"S. F., 15, 5 D.--The excitement in the case of Lieutenant Cobb
has not in the least abated. Crowds of people have, for weeks,
endeavored to gain admission to his room, but have been prohibited
by the doctors. The Lieutenant has shown wonderful vitality in
passing through the fever which followed his resurrection from
the dead. Rawolle, the President's messenger, has shown most
commendable skill in keeping his patient quiet and holding back the
crowds of reporters who wished to gain admission."
He dropped the paper, closed his eyes, and sat in a kind of dreamy
state, revolving over the extracts which he had read. The world had
not forgotten him yet. He was still an object of interest, and his
condition was the subject of special telegrams to the papers. What
would be the next dispatch sent out to the world, when it was found
that he was up and in his right mind; was able to start for the capital
city--was, in fact, on his way? How would he be received when he
reached there? Whom would he meet? and what would his future be?
His reveries were broken into by the entrance of Rawolle, who took a
telegram from his pocket, saying: "We are going to-day. I have just
received this dispatch, and will read it to you:
"WAR DEPARTMENT, }
WASHINGTON, 16, 13 D.}
"_To Albert Rawolle, Occidental Hotel, S. F._
"Telegram received. If Cobb can travel, give him the orders of the
President to report with you at once in Washington. The President
has read your dispatches with the greatest interest, and awaits
further information in the matter. Notify me of the hour of your
departure. Acknowledge receipt.
"N. A. MILES,
"_Secretary of State_."
Cobb listened attentively to the reading of the message.
"Miles, Secretary of State; and the same initials," he mused. Then
aloud:
"Is this Miles, who is signed here as Secretary of State, any relation
to Brigadier-General Miles, of 1887?"
"Not to Brigadier-General Miles, Mr. Cobb, but to General Miles, who
died in 1918. He is a great-grandson of that noble and illustrious
general."
"And who is President now?"
"Emory D. Craft, of Illinois."
"Craft, did you say?" Cobb quickly asked, and he went back to his old
friend of the artillery, who had so nobly aided him in his work.
"Yes; but why does it seem to interest you so much? you do not know
him;" and Rawolle looked puzzled.
"Perhaps not," smiling; "but I may have known his great-grandfather;
in fact, I may possibly have been an intimate friend of his--who knows?"
"True. Your status is so different from that of any other man, that I
would not be surprised if you had been his bosom friend."
Then turning to Lyman, he continued:
"Come; it is time we were attending to business. Let us go at once and
see about our transportation and check. Cobb will excuse us for a few
minutes, will you not?" to the latter.
"Certainly. By all means get our tickets as soon as possible, for I
will then feel that we are soon to be on the road."
Saying this, he lighted a cigar and watched them depart.
A few moments later he went to the window and pulled aside the heavy
lace curtains and gazed out upon the busy street below him. This was
his first view of the outside world, in daylight, since 1887. A hundred
and thirteen years ago he had had rooms at this very same hotel. Was it
possible that he was not dreaming? Was he, in fact, alive and well, and
again standing in a place that had known him so many years ago--that
had been his home at a time so long since that every mortal man who
then lived was now dead and crumbling into dust? His thoughts wandered
back to the years long past, to his old friends, to the happy days
passed in their society; and then to the darling girl whom he had left
in Duke's Lane--his betrothed. Alas! they were no more! But he: he was
here, and alone in the world!
So many years must have made a great change in the history of his
country and in the manners and condition of the people. Until he should
have learned them, he would be practically a stranger in a strange
land. He remembered how he had sat, those many nights before entering
the pedestal on Mt. Olympus, and wondered upon the future, and what
that future would bring forth to him, if he was fortunate enough to
survive the ordeal and live again. He remembered with what delight he
had anticipated coming again into life among a new people and among
scenes of great advancement and of wonderful progress. His hopes had
been realized, and he lived again; yes, he who had lain a hundred years
in a comatose state, now breathed, walked, and had his being once more.
His theory had been most remarkably proved--proved by the man who had
first advanced it, and the world should demand no further proof. What
would be his reputation in Washington? Would there be any difficulty in
proving that he was what he claimed to be--a man who had lived in 1887?
No! it could not be; for there were the proofs in the safe, and such
proofs as no man could dispute--letters written years ago by men long
since dead--aye, dead before a man of his apparent age could have been
born. No! He quickly dispelled the idea that it would be difficult for
him to prove everything. Recovering from his sombre chain of thought,
he turned his attention to the street beneath his window.
He gazed again and again up and down the street and across the way. Was
this the Montgomery street he had so often walked upon? It differed so
from its former appearance that he felt that he was dreaming. Great,
massive buildings, in all the most artistic styles, met his eyes on
every side. Beautiful stores, with huge plate-glass windows, extended
as far as the eye could reach. The sidewalks, as well as he could
tell, were clean and in perfect condition; and where he had in former
times noticed the peanut-vender, the fruit-seller, the blind and the
lame with their excruciating music-boxes, and the scores of others
obstructing the sidewalks, was now clear, clean, and wholly for the
use of the pedestrian. He noticed that that which people had to sell
was kept within their stores, and not on the sidewalk; that there
were no signs hanging over the heads of the passers-by to fall and,
perhaps, break their bones; nor were there any posts of all and every
description along the streets. There were no telegraph or telephone
wires in view, nor were visible many other things which had formerly
been eye-sores to people of taste.
The streets were paved with some new kind of material; what it was,
he could not tell from where he stood, but it was such as gave very
little sound from the passing vehicles. It was smooth and clean, and
free from the many holes which had formerly rendered traveling so
uncertain, even dangerous.
A hundred years had made very little change in the heterogeneous
assortment of vehicles one sees in a great city. There were many fine
and elegant equipages, with and without horses, the latter driven, as
Cobb presumed, by electric motors. Yet of this class there were not
very many, as San Francisco is a city of hills, and not well adapted
for anything but horse or attachment propulsion.
The attire of the pedestrians was that which struck him as the most
peculiar. All the women wore short dresses, none reaching lower than
within eight inches of the ground. Their feet were covered with low-cut
shoes, in some instances; in others, with small, neat patent-leather
top-boots, the top of the boot just hidden under the dress. He noticed
very few silks worn, most of the dresses being of heavy goods.
No bustles were worn, and the dresses were close-fitting with jacket
basques in most cases. Hats were the prevailing style.
It seemed to Cobb, as he looked at his own new clothing and that of the
gentler sex, that the very acme of simplicity and good, sound common
sense was seen in this new order of raiment.
Cobb knew that there were many things for him to learn, now that he
was so new to the world, and that there would be so many peculiar and
remarkable inventions that he ought not to evince much surprise when
he should behold them for the first time. There was much that demanded
immediate attention and study, if he wished to be upon an equal footing
with the rest of mankind.
At this moment Lyman entered the room, followed by Rawolle.
"We have been a little longer than we anticipated," exclaimed the
latter, throwing off his coat; "but there was really no need of
hurrying too much. We have plenty of time to reach Washington by
to-morrow morning."
"To-morrow morning!" cried Cobb, in surprise.
"Certainly, to-morrow morning. I think we will be there at 6 dial,"
nonchalantly knocking the ashes from the end of a cigar which he was
smoking.
"Mr. Rawolle, I am prepared for many new and, to me, quite startling
statements, but this of yours is a little too strong, is it not? We are
over three thousand miles from Washington, and I very much doubt your
ability to overcome that distance by to-morrow morning, though you may
have made great strides toward its achievement."
"My dear Cobb, it is just as I tell you; at least, as near as I can
remember. Let me look at the schedule and I will give it to you,
exactly."
Rawolle took the time-card out of his pocket, and, quickly running over
it, said:
"No; I am a little out of the way. If we leave here at 16 dial to-day,
we will be in Washington at 8 dial to-morrow."
"Enough!" pettishly exclaimed Cobb. "I will not question you any more.
Go ahead and do it, that is all, and then I will be satisfied."
It piqued him to think that they were making sport of his ignorance; he
lighted a cigar and walked to the other side of the room.
"Now, Cobb," continued Rawolle, "we have our tickets here, and will
leave for Washington on the 16-dial train. I have had a trunk fully
furnished with all the necessary articles that you will need for the
first few days in Washington, so you will not have to immediately look
after such things upon your arrival. It is now 13 dial, and we have
three hours until train-time."
"But tell me, Rawolle, why do you speak of 16 dial and 13 dial? Of
course, I know you refer to the time; but what has been the change in
the calendar that you should employ such terms?"
Both Rawolle and Lyman smiled.
"True! you cannot know of the changes which have occurred."
Rawolle drew his chair closer to Cobb, and continued:
"The calendar has been somewhat revised since you were on earth before,
or rather, since you so unceremoniously skipped from the society of
your friends; and I suppose you have not kept note of the changes
in time?" looking at him in a quizzical manner. Cobb laughingly
acknowledged the sally, and requested him to continue.
"It was as long ago as 1920," proceeded Rawolle, "that the new order
of time went into effect. In that year, a commission of scientific
gentlemen was convened by direction of the national legislature for
the purpose of considering the feasibility of making such a change
in our calendar as would simplify it and make it more uniform. The
result was that the calendar, as we use it to-day, is quite different
from that which was in vogue during your time. We now divide the whole
day into twenty-four hours, as formerly, but number them from one to
twenty-four. Our time-pieces have two hands, but they are not used
as were those of old time; one hand marks the minutes, and the other
marks the seconds. The hours are marked by numbers showing themselves
through a circular slot in the dial, changing every hour. One hour
after midnight the dial shows the figure 1; and so on up to 24, which
is the close of the day. Thus: 12 o'clock, old style, is 12 dial, new
style; and 5 o'clock, old style, is 17 dial, new style. We do not use
the word 'o'clock' any more, but employ the word 'dial,' instead. The
word 'dial,' however, is usually omitted, the customary expression for
time being simply the numerals of the hours and fractions thereof. The
commission could not ignore the fact that the excess of 57.2 minutes
per day over the 86,400 used in the computation must still be carried
forward as an excess to be afterward accounted for; for 86,400 was
the nearest number to the whole which was a common multiple for three
numbers, representing seconds, minutes, and hours. The excess, being 5
hours 48 minutes and 47.8 seconds per year, is still carried forward
to the fourth year, where it is taken up as an extra day, and is
called 'Old-Year-Day.' The year, as now divided, consists of 13 months
of 28 days each, and one day over. The year has 365 days, as of old,
but the first day is not counted as a day of any month; it is called
'New-Year's-Day,' the next day being January first. There are 28 days
in each month, with a new month, _Finis_, added. New-Year's-Day is
neither Monday nor Tuesday, nor any other day of the week, but simply
New-Year's-Day; and January first is always Monday. The advantages
of this system are, that every month commences on Monday and ends on
Sunday, having just four weeks. In leap-year the additional day is
called 'Old-Year-Day,' and is just before New-Year's-Day; these days
are legal holidays. This, with some other minor alterations, is the way
the calendar stands in every civilized nation to-day."
"But is it not a little confusing to you, this change from the old to
the new style?"
"You forget that I never used any other," laughingly returned Rawolle.
"True; I had forgotten that fact. But does not this extra day
interfere in many ways with the dates of bills, notes, and other legal
documents?"
"Not at all. The extra day is simply New-Year's-Day--a day of time
to fill in the year, but not for any other purpose. In regard to the
dating of official papers, they are dated the next day, and this day is
as if it never existed. Do you comprehend?"
"Yes, I comprehend your statements, but not having had any experience
in the use of this new order of dates, I cannot say that I am fully
aware of how it works."
"You will find no difficulty in its application, I assure you."
Without speaking further on the subject, all busied themselves in their
preparations for the journey eastward.