Читать книгу A. D. 2000 - Alvarado M. Fuller - Страница 9

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It was the night of December 1st, and torrents of rain poured down, flooding the streets of the city and the grounds of the Presidio.

Seven had just struck from the little, old-fashioned clock on Cobb’s mantel.

But few changes had taken place in that room since the last evening we saw our friends there.

The lights shone just as brightly, and the fire in the grate glowed with all its former heat and cheerfulness, yet an air of depression seemed to pervade the whole room and its occupants.

Cobb walked the floor with a quick and jerky step, while Craft sat silently watching the embers in the grate, as if trying to solve some abstruse problem by their aid. Hathaway lay at full length upon the long sofa, near the further wall, puffing a cigar and sending out the circles of smoke in a manner peculiar to men who are in a nervous mood.

From the time that his comrades came that evening, with the exception of a few words of welcome, Cobb had appeared in this abstracted manner, and had seemed to be totally oblivious to his surroundings. His friends had, with great perception, understood his feelings, and had remained in their chairs, preserving a dead silence, waiting for him to open the conversation.

At last, with a quick movement, he stepped toward a side-table and filled a glass tumbler with whisky, and drank it to the bottom; then, setting down the glass, seemed to be again absorbed in his thoughts.

Only a minute, however, did he remain in this position; for it seemed that the liquor had revived him and the depressing sense of gloom was passing off. Turning to his friends, he exclaimed:

“Am I not a coward, thus to seek energy and strength in that bottle of liquor? But I cannot help it; I am in the saddest mood of my life! Until this moment I have had only a longing for the time to come for me to make the experiment; but now that the time has arrived, I must admit that I am terribly loath to undertake the ordeal. O my friends!” he cried, “it is certainly impossible for you to understand my feelings! I am like the condemned man on the scaffold about to leave this world, with its pleasures and sorrows, never again to see those whom he loves; never again to associate with those who have been dear and kind to him. I am to enter into a strange condition; and when I again move, and walk, and see, if, indeed, I ever do, it will be to find that those who were dear to me are but dust.”

Saying this, he buried his face in his hands, bowed his head, and wept.

His friends said no word, their own feelings almost overcoming them, but waited the passing of this transitory outbreak of the man’s feelings.

“There, dear boy,” said Hathaway, rising and putting his arms about the latter; “there, let it pass. We are convinced, that if it was required of you, you would undertake this task; but it is not required, so let it end here and forever.”

“Yes;” and Craft joined his voice with that of his friend. “Yes; there is no need for you to suffer, no need for you to imperil your life for the sake of advancing the sciences. Let it end!”

Cobb brushed away the tears, and looked at them a minute in silence; then, with a quick, jerky tone, said:

“No, it is too late! My fate ordains it! I will—I will, I say, go through this ordeal! Were I to stop now, what would you think of me? that I was a coward and afraid to carry out my boasted theory!”

He paused a moment, and then his face brightened.

“Enough!” he cried. “It’s all over now, and I am Cobb once more! Were I never again to see the light of day, yet would I venture this uncertain existence!”

The old fire of his eyes flashed forth.

Craft and Hathaway saw that it was useless to argue the question with him, and reluctantly submitted to the inevitable.

Striking a match, the latter said:

“So be it, Cobb; I deplore your undertaking, but I admire your pluck.”

“Then to business,” returned Cobb, “for this is my last night with you. Now, listen and understand well your instructions: My leave is here; countersigned this morning,” and he touched his blouse pocket; “so to all inquiring friends to-morrow you are to say that I left last evening. All my property in this house is to be divided between you two, and to be yours forever, for I will have no use for any of it again, excepting a few things which I will take with me when I leave here to-night. The iron box which you see in the corner goes with us, as it contains papers and valuables which I hope to again see and use. This valise is packed with a few articles necessary upon our arrival at the chamber; with these exceptions, everything in all my rooms belongs henceforth to you both. In my laboratory you will find many interesting works and many valuable instruments; make such use of them as will improve your minds. My manuscripts are there also, and you will find much information in them. I wish you, Hathaway, to go to town and get the same teamster that we had before—you will find him at Neeland’s, and his number is fifty-six. Drive to this address,” giving him a paper, “where you will receive certain packages which will be ready; then drive to the old place where Craft remained with the driver before, and await his arrival. You must not go to the address until 11:30 o’clock, nor must you be at the rendezvous an instant before 12:30. Craft will meet you there at that time, and remain with the driver, while you will continue on to the pedestal. I will be at the latter place. Is that perfectly understood?”

Both signified assent.

“There is one other subject,” he continued, “which is of the most vital importance, and concerning which I pray you make no mistake. At 127 Market street is a medium-sized safe, within which is a full account of all that which has transpired up to this morning, as well as a full account of what will take place, as regards myself, to-night. It contains all information necessary to enable the person who may open it, a hundred years hence, to locate my body and bring me to life, should my arrangements fail to fulfill my expectations. This safe has been sealed, and the key thrown away by me. Upon the door is the legend: ‘Intrusted to the care of the Treasurer of the United States, and to be opened by him in the presence of the President and his cabinet, on January 1st, 1988.’ With this safe is a letter explaining that the contents are of the greatest importance, and that it will be for the good of the nation that the same be well taken care of; and further, that it is desired and requested that it be deposited in the Treasury vaults until the day set for its opening. This safe will be transferred to you upon presentation of this order,” and Cobb handed Craft a large envelope which he had taken from his inside pocket. “I charge you, upon your oath, to deliver it safely at the vault doors of the Treasury. Draw lots to see which of you shall take a leave of absence and take it to Washington. Gentlemen, be sure in this; it may be life or death to me.”

Both of the others reiterated their promises to carry out every detail as desired by him, not only in this, but in all other things connected with the work he had in hand.

“Good! And now, Hathaway, away upon your mission. Craft and I will await the arrival of the hack.”

Hathaway at once left the room, and passed out into the storm, while Craft settled himself down in an easy-chair by the fire.

Cobb wrote a P. P. C. card, and laid it upon the table.

“Give that,” he said, “to the boys at the mess; it will be for a longer time than any of them think, I guess. When they read it, little will they think that that card will be faded, musty, and, perhaps, crumbling into dust when its owner calls at the club again. Ah, Craft, never before did I leave a farewell card with such feelings of sadness! They will take it in their hands, read it, and cast it aside with the single remark, ‘Well, he’ll be back soon.’ Will be back soon! Yes: when their bones are dust; when their souls have passed out to their Maker; when they have each solved the grand problem of life!” Seizing the card in his trembling hand, he kissed it—“a brother’s kiss, a parting kiss to those who are dear to me,” he cried. “Ah, Craft, perhaps before theirs will my bones be mingled with the dust of the earth!”

Dropping the card from his hand, he bowed his head in sad contemplation of the future. His thoughts were turning back, once more, into a gloomy channel.

“Cheer up, Junius, and let us trust, dear boy, that you will successfully pass through the ordeal and live among men again. Have you completed everything that is necessary to be done? or are there some few things yet to be gotten ready?” Craft hoped to change the current of his friend’s thoughts.

“Nothing. Everything is ready for me, and I hope—aye, I know—I am ready myself;” and he raised his eyes glittering with his powerful will.

“And to-night is your last with us? Oh, Cobb, I wish you would give this up!” imploringly said the other.

“No, no; oh, press me not, Craft!” and he looked beseechingly at his friend. “I must advance to my task; it is impossible to retrace my steps, yet God knows the heart-pains which rack my breast; He alone can fathom the utter misery of my position. From father, mother, brother, and sister, and from friends most dear I am soon to be parted forever—forever, forever! Hear you the word? forever!”

Like a wail of deepest anguish, prolonged and heart-breaking, came the last words, ending in a sob, as he sank into his chair and pressed his hands to his streaming eyes.

Let him not be called weak. He who could face death with a smile upon his lips, now cried at simple separation. But, alas! how much meant the word, separation—forever, forever!

The sound of carriage-wheels caused Cobb to start from his brooding. Raising his head, he glanced through the window just as the bright lights of a hack flashed along the road.

“Our time is up!” he exclaimed, with a strong effort at firmness; “there is our hack. Take that box and your coats, while I will take this valise.”

Saying this, he arose and put the things together near the door; then entering the other room, he put out the lights. Returning to the front room, he and Craft took their several loads, turned down the lamps, and descended the stairs to the hack.

Could anyone have seen Cobb’s eyes in that dark hall, he would have seen the tears falling many and fast. His anguish was great, and it was all that he could do to refrain from crying out in his pain. The quarters that had sheltered him for many a day and many a night, were being left behind, never again to be occupied by him. His books and instruments, the companions of many happy hours, were to be used no more. He had taken his last look upon them. Oh, it was hard! and his strength was sublime to overcome the tendencies to a complete breakdown, and a bursting into a flood of tears.

“Good-bye, dear old rooms! Good-bye to all that is in them—again, good-bye!”

Craft heard his sobs as he uttered the words, and his eyes filled to overflowing.

Down the walk they went without another word, and to the hack which was standing in the pouring rain, with its lights flashing out upon the night. There was no thought of the water that was streaming down upon them; other feelings filled their breasts. The door was thrown open, and Cobb motioned Craft to enter, and then followed himself.

“Drive according to your instructions,” he said to the driver; and the door was closed upon them.

As they started away, Cobb turned to the glass window, raised his hand gently toward his old quarters and murmured sadly: “Good-bye! good-bye!”

Away they rattled down the road toward the main gate.

“It’s a bad night, Craft.” Cobb’s voice was hard and forced, but it was evident that he was desirous of bringing his thoughts to other things.

“Yes, indeed it is; but good for us, nevertheless. How much warmer and drier are we in this hack than if we were outside to-night!” trying to put his thoughts into another channel.

“Number two! Half-past eleven o’clock—and all’s well!”

“Number three! Half-past eleven o’clock—and all’s well!”

And the cry was repeated on to all the posts, the answers coming clear and sweet to this poor, departing soul.

As the last sentinel gave his call, the carriage passed through the outer gate by the main guardhouse, where number one was walking his lonely and solitary beat. As they passed the porch, the sentinel repeated the round of posts, crying, in a sharp and pleasing tone:

“A-l-l’s well!”

“A good omen, by the gods!” and Cobb half sprang up in his seat. “A good omen, and it is for me! I feel it! I know it! Away, then, with all sorrow, and let me feel that this is my bridal trip, instead of my funeral voyage. Come, Craft, we are clear of the post; sing me the old song of ‘Benny Havens.’ It will cheer us up and I want to hear the words once more.”

“All right!” and soon Craft’s soft, melodious voice swelled forth in the strains of that old song so dear to the hearts of every man from West Point. Softly, but with power, came the words: