The next evening, Junius Cobb again welcomed the arrival of his friends to his apartments.

The November rains had set in in reality, and like the preceding evening, the post wore an aspect of moistened gloom.

Cobb’s friends had come earlier than usual, for the events of the previous evening were so vividly before their minds that it was impossible to await the arrival of the conventional hour for calling upon their friend.

They rattled up the stairs, knocked respectfully at his door, and entered without waiting for his well-known voice.

He was sitting in his easy-chair, but arose at the first sound of their approach, and as they entered, cordially grasped the hand of each.

“Boys, I am glad you came earlier than is your custom,” he said, motioning them to chairs.

“We could not wait for nine o’clock,” replied Hathaway, breathless from running up the stairs.

“No; we couldn’t wait,” chimed in Craft. “I do believe I dreamed of nothing but ozone, dead cats, chemistry, and the like, all night. I am, in fact, weary for want of sleep.”

Cobb did the honors of his house, and soon all three were quietly sitting, and sending clouds of smoke airily toward the ceiling.

“Any news at the club?” inquired Cobb of Craft.

“Nothing out of the usual run. Dilly, the young one from the Point, and the others are working hard at a game of cinch.”

“A good night for a quiet game, or for a quiet chat, too,” said Hathaway.

“Yes,” said Cobb; “but would you rather play cinch to remaining here and listening to what I have to say?”

“Oh, no, my dear boy; excuse us. I left them all in their glory, and hunted up Craft, that we might the sooner get here, for I have no doubt that you have some remarkable disclosures to make to-night.”

“You are right; I have—and some that will probably strike you as being the most fanciful and, perhaps, untenable, you have ever heard,” returned the other, looking his two listeners in the eye.

“Let that be seen in the future,” they both exclaimed.

“What is your pay?” abruptly asked Cobb, after a moment’s silence.

“You ought to know—$1,500 a year.”

“And yours the same?” to Craft, “both being dismounted officers.”

“Certainly; and a mighty small sum for a man to put on style, go to parties, and send bouquets and the like, I assure you,” returned that personage.

“And mine is but a trifle more. We are all poor, impecunious gentlemen, are we not?”

“Yes, decidedly so, I fear; for I am not aware that either of us has anything outside of his pay,” answered Craft.

“And what are our chances for promotion? The way things go now, I will have to serve fifty years to become a colonel. Of course, I cannot serve that long, as I would be over the maximum age,” gloomily broke in Hathaway.

“It is even so, gentlemen,” and Cobb knocked the ashes from his cigar. “Promotion in the army is so exceedingly slow that none of us can expect to reach a colonelcy; in fact, the most that is before us is a majority. Here we are, gentlemen of thirty and thirty-five years of age, giving our lives and brains to this government for a paltry $2,000 a year. I, for one, intend to remedy this sad state of affairs,” and he arose and walked across the room in an impatient manner.

The others watched him curiously. His manner of action spoke volumes, and indicated plainly that there was something he had to tell them in conjunction with his remarks.

Cobb strode nervously across the room for a minute, then suddenly approaching the table, he filled to the brim a glass with whisky from one of the decanters. Raising it to his lips to drink its contents, he suddenly paused, and begging the pardon of his guests, invited them to join him. His thoughts were not upon his actions.

“Listen,” he exclaimed, as their glasses were laid upon the table; “are you ready to give me your strictest attention?”

“We are all ears, and will gladly listen to all you have to say,” answered Craft, while Hathaway’s eyes and manner betokened the curiosity he could not conceal.

“Are you both willing to give your oaths that what I tell you to-night will never, under any circumstances, be divulged by either of you to a living soul, or ever put in writing, or in any manner made possible to be known?”

Both of the men gave him this promise.

Cobb arose and took a small Bible from the mantel over the grate, and advancing to the table, held it in his right hand, requesting each of the others to place his hand upon it. They arose from their chairs and placed their hands upon the sacred volume.

“Repeat after me,” said Cobb: “I swear by all that I hold sacred, by my hope of salvation in the after life, and by my belief in a just and good God, that I will not divulge or disclose, by tone of voice, or writing, or other symbol, that which maybe communicated to me this night; so help me God.”

His words were slowly and solemnly spoken, and the repetition of them by the others was in a manner indicative of the sincerity and truth they both felt in the obligation taken.

“Good!” and Cobb laid the book upon the table.

“I might now go on and tell you of that for which I asked you to meet me here to-night, but there would be no use in communicating to you these secrets unless you agree to assist me. It is your help that I desire.”

“Cobb,” and Craft’s manner indicated that he felt hurt by his friend’s hesitation, “I have known you for quite a long time. I have admired and respected you, and if I can be of any assistance to you in any way, you have but to ask me.”

“Then, if I tell you that that which I ask of you can be performed without any neglect of the duties you owe to your God, your country, or yourself—that it will harm no one, nor will anyone have cause to complain of your action—will you swear it?”

“Yes!” they both exclaimed.

Again Cobb took the sacred volume from the mantel; again was the oath administered, and again was it taken freely and unreservedly.

“Gentlemen, I thank you,” and an expression of gratitude came into Cobb’s eyes. “Such friendship is worthy of you!”

After some ordinary conversation, he wheeled his chair nearer the others, and thus addressed them:

“For many years I have served this government honestly and well, but my salary has never seemed to me sufficient for the actual needs of a man in the position of an army officer. The government requires too much for the pay it gives. Again, a man is required to serve too many years in the lower grades; he is an old man by the time he is a captain. This is certainly contrary to the principles of a good and efficient government. As a captain, he should not be over thirty years of age, at the most. Here am I, who will be only a captain at fifty, if even then. This discourages the average young man. It keeps many from entering the service, because they say, ‘I can do better outside.’ I am ambitious, and desire to gain rank and wealth. But one thing I have found: Life is too short. I propose to lengthen it. You do not yet comprehend the import of my words. I propose to enter life again a hundred years hence! I know this statement startles you, but such is my intention. I propose to put myself in the condition in which you have seen that Maltese cat. I will sleep a hundred years. My arrangements are all made; my property, small though it is; is so fixed that it will not be lost to me in that time. But I must hold my commission in the army—that is the hard problem. What do you think of my scheme?” and he put his hands behind him, and stood watching the effects of his proposition.

To say that his listeners were surprised, would ill interpret their feelings. They were dumbfounded. They could not believe that this man would dare to undergo the risk of death for the mere possibility of again living at a future day. He certainly was joking! He had asked them there to see if they would be such fools as to accept his remarks as given in earnest and good faith!

As soon as Craft could get his breath, he exclaimed, vehemently:

“You are certainly not going to subject yourself to such a test!”

Hathaway could not speak; he simply sat and looked at this man in amazement.

“Yes,” and Cobb laughed at the horrified expressions upon their faces. “Yes, I do most certainly intend this very thing. I have nothing to lose; I have everything to gain. My theories will be tested, my suppositions proved. I have invested all my wealth except a sufficient amount to carry out my programme, in such a manner that in a hundred years it must, or my calculations are very much out of the way, increase in a way to make me a rich man. If I can hold my rank in the army, I will be a colonel, probably. With wealth and rank, I can again enter the world in a position to gratify my ambitions and desires. If I succeed, all will be well; if I fail, why, that is the end of it. Without chick or soul in this world dependent upon me, why should I hesitate to advance the sciences by undergoing the ordeal of that which I have advocated? No one but I ought to be called upon to prove the theory I have originated. If I fail, what is the consequence? I simply die! On this earth, a human being dies every second; does it interfere with the steady and slow movement of the machinery of life? No, not at all! Though 32,000,000 die every year, they are not missed! Do we know what the future is? Do we know it to be worse than the present? No! Then, why care if we die to-day or to-morrow? I am resolved to take this opportunity of demonstrating that man can live longer than the allotted time accorded him. I have always longed to know what this world would be like in a hundred years: it certainly will be a strange world! Most men think that we have reached a state of perfection already, and that it is almost impossible for man to improve upon the present condition of life, surrounded, as we are, by so many and great inventions. I, for one, do not think that way. I believe we are but in our infancy to what we will be in a hundred years. You have each given me your sacred promise that you will assist me in my undertaking. I hold you to it. I am, in reality, going to die, as regards all my friends, all my associations, and as regards the very present itself. I think I can almost understand the feelings of the condemned criminal on the scaffold, who is about to leave behind him all that is dear, all that is sacred to him. Yet I am buoyed up by other feelings that that poor wretch has not; I will live again. I do not believe that either of you can quite understand my feelings in this matter. It is too new to you both. There are many cases on record where men have given up life for various reasons—given it up cheerfully and without a murmur; and those men never expected to live again—at least, in the flesh. Why should I falter? I, who go but to come again; to again enjoy the pleasures of life; to walk, see, speak, and associate with mankind!”

Cobb ceased speaking, and paced the floor in an excited manner. It was evident that this man, much as he talked of severing his connections with the present, was still loath to attempt this terrible ordeal. Yet, it was also apparent to both that he would not hesitate in his purpose. He was a man of too strong will; he would make the sacrifice.

His friends knew it and felt it.

Ceasing his walk, Cobb faced them and said:

“Before I leave, before I enter this dormant state, I must secure my position in the army beyond the possibility of losing it. How I am to do this, has long been a problem. If I am dead, I will be dropped from the rolls of the army; if I go on leave, I must return at the expiration of that leave, or, failing to do so, be declared a deserter. There seems to be but one way for me to accomplish my object. I will explain it.”

Cobb now entered his little room, and soon returned with a small sporting rifle and a paper box.

It was an ordinary thirty-calibre rifle, such as is used in sporting galleries.

Approaching his friends, he opened the box and showed them a row of small cartridges. They differed very little from those used in the ordinary rifle.

Handing one to Craft, he said:

“Do you notice anything peculiar about that cartridge?”

“Well,” and Craft examined it critically, turning it over and over, “it seems to be nothing but a solid thirty-calibre bullet. I cannot see that it is a cartridge at all,” and he handed it to Hathaway.

The latter examined it closely. It was, indeed, to all appearance, but an ordinary bullet with the base filled flush with some black substance; in length it was only seven-tenths of an inch; in calibre, thirty one-hundredths.

Taking one of them between his thumb and forefinger, Cobb twirled it about and said:

“This is one of my new cartridges for use in actual service. It seems to you, no doubt, very small, very inadequate to the needs of actual warfare. You would both naturally say that it is too small for long range, too small for executive work; that it is altogether unfit for the purposes for which bullets are made.” A smile played about his lips. Then, continuing, as he held up one of these bullets: “This is an ordinary thirty-calibre bullet, but the grand principle is in the explosive used with it. Heretofore it has required about fifty grains of powder to send such a missile on an effective mission. Now, fifty grains of powder require quite a good-sized space; it requires a case to hold it, and all this lengthens out the cartridge. If a magazine gun is used, but few such cartridges can be placed in the magazine. I have overcome all this by using a new explosive of my own manufacture. I take the ordinary bullet and simply fill the hollow end with one grain of my new compound, covering the whole with a fine and durable cement. All this saves space, and enables me to put about forty cartridges in my gun. Do you comprehend the drift of my remarks?”

Both of his listeners nodded assent.

Cobb loaded the gun with one of the ordinary cartridges, and then placed a bundle of common wrapping-paper on end at the other side of the room. Taking a position in the further corner, he discharged the piece at this improvised target.

The bullet entered the paper and penetrated through about forty sheets. Then, loading with one of his own cartridges, he again took the same position, and again discharged the piece.

Upon examination, it was found that over ninety-seven sheets of paper had been perforated. Cobb laid the gun on the table and said:

“You see the effect of the two cartridges! Which is the superior of the two? Of course, mine; and in effect as forty is to ninety-seven, or even more, perhaps. This is the power that will grant me my leave! This explosive is my own invention. You have seen its power. If we put gunpowder at one and that of gun-cotton at four, then that of meteorite, my new compound, would be nearly forty-six.

“Like gun-cotton, there is little or no smoke upon discharge, as you have witnessed; but, unlike gun-cotton or nitro-glycerine, the explosion is not instantaneous, but similar to that of gunpowder. Now, the amount of gas evolved upon the explosion of one grain of gunpowder is, in volume, about three hundred of carbonic acid and nitrogen, but the true volume, considering the heat, is about fifteen hundred times that of the original charge. Meteorite has a rate of combustion three times slower than gunpowder, while the volume of gas liberated is more than sixty-six times that of the latter, or about one hundred thousand times its original bulk. This is the power, as I have said, that gives me my leave of absence. On the 22d of last month I sent an application to the War Department for a leave for the purpose of perfecting a gun in which to use these cartridges. With the application I sent some of the cartridges. I also sent a sealed packet containing the formula for making the explosive, but with the positive directions that the formula should not be made known until I had perfected my experiments. I asked for leave until I had completed my work. Through the little influence I possessed, I pressed this application to be granted in the manner I asked. Yesterday I received my leave, and here it is;” and he handed Craft the following paper:

“Special Orders,

No. 156.

[Extract.]

“5. Leave of absence is hereby granted First Lieutenant Junius Cobb, Second Cavalry, from December 1, 1887, until surrendered by him in writing, or upon his return to duty, for purposes which he has communicated to this department.

“By command of Lieut.-Gen. Sheridan.

“R. C. Drum,
“Adjutant-General.”