Rebecca's Trump Card
: The PanchroniconWhen Rebecca set out for the Panchronicon from London Bridge, she knew
that she had a long walk in prospect, and settled down to the work with
dogged resolution. Her trip was quite uneventful until she neared the
village of Newington, and then she realized for the first time that she
did not know exactly where to find the deserted grove. One grove looked
much like another, and how was she to choose between garden walls "as
"Look here, Rebecca Wise," she said, aloud, as she paused in the middle
of the road, "you'll be lost next you know!"
She looked about dubiously and shook her head.
"The thing fer you to do is to set right down an' wait fer that pesky
good-fer-nothin' Copernicus Droop!" she remarked, and suiting action to
speech she picked her way to a convenient mile-stone and seated herself.
Having nothing better to do, she began to review mentally the events of
the last two days, and as she recalled one after the other the
unprecedented adventures which had overtaken her, she wondered in a
dreamy way what would next befall. She built hazy hypotheses, sitting
there alone in the moonlight, nodding contentedly. Suddenly she
straightened up, realizing that she had been aroused from a doze by a
cry near at hand.
Turning toward London, she saw a wriggling mass about fifty feet away
which, by a process of slow disentanglement, gradually developed into a
man's form rising from the ground and raising a fallen bicycle.
"Darn the luck!" said this dark figure. "Busted my tire, sure as
shootin'!"
"Copernicus Droop!" cried Rebecca, in a loud voice.
Droop jumped high in the air, so great was his nervousness. Then,
realizing that it was Rebecca who had addressed him, he limped toward
her, rolling his bicycle beside him.
"How in creation did you get here?" he asked. "Ain't any steam-cars
'round here, is there?"
"Guess not!" Rebecca replied. "I come by short cut up river. I guessed
you'd make fer the Panchronicle, and I jest made up my mind to come,
too. Thinks I, 'that Copernicus Droop ud be jest mean enough to fly away
all by himself an' leave me an' Phoebe to shift fer ourselves.' So I'm
here to go, too--an' what's more, we've got to take Phoebe!"
"How'll ye find yer sister, Cousin Rebecca?" said Droop. "We must git
out to-night. When the Queen gets on her ear like that, it's now or
never. Can you find Cousin Phoebe to-night?"
"Where is the old machine, anyhow?" Rebecca asked, not heeding Droop's
question.
"Right over yonder," said he, pointing to a dark group of trees a few
rods distant.
"Well, come on, then. Let's go to it right away," said Rebecca. "I'd
like to rest a bit. I'm tired!"
"Tired!" Droop exclaimed. "What about me, then?"
Without further parley, the two set off toward the grove which Droop had
indicated. Having dwelt here for several weeks, he knew his bearings
well, but it was not until they came much nearer to the deserted mansion
that Rebecca recognized several landmarks which convinced her that he
had made no mistake.
Under the trees, the shadows were so black that they were unable to find
the breach in the wall.
"Got any matches, Cousin Rebecca?" Droop asked.
"Yes. Wait a minute an' I'll strike a light. I know that blessed hole is
somewhere right near here."
She found again her card of matches, and breaking off one of them, soon
had a tiny taper which lit up their surroundings wonderfully.
"There 'tis! I've found it," cried Droop, and, taking Rebecca by the
arm, he led her toward the broken place in the wall. The match went out
just as they reached it.
Droop was about to suggest that he go in first to see if all was well,
when he was startled by Rebecca's hand on his arm.
"Hark!" she cried.
He listened and distant cries coming nearer through the night were borne
to his ears.
"What's that?" Rebecca exclaimed again.
Rigid with excitement and dread, they stood there listening. At length
Droop pulled himself free of Rebecca's hold.
"That's some o' them palace folks chasin' after me!" he cried, in a
panic.
"Fiddle-dee-dee!" Rebecca exclaimed, with energy. "How should they know
where you are?"
By this time the sounds were more distinct, and they could easily make
out cries of: "Traitor! Stop him! For the Queen! Stop him!"
The two listeners had just mentally concluded that this alarm did not in
any wise concern them when Rebecca was startled beyond measure to hear
her sister Phoebe's voice, loud above all other sounds.
"Nay--nay, Guy!" she was screaming. "Stop not to fight! Fly--follow!
Shelter is here at hand!"
Forgetting everything but possible danger for Phoebe, Rebecca dashed
out from under the trees.
There in the moonlight she saw Phoebe on horseback, her head
uncovered, her hair floating free and her clothing in tatters. A few
paces behind her was Sir Guy, also mounted, fiercely attacking two
pursuing horsemen with his sword. Farther back, rendered indistinct by
distance, was a larger group of mingled horse and foot travellers.
There was a lantern among them, and Rebecca inferred that the watch was
with them.
A moment later, one of the two men engaged with Sir Guy fell from his
horse. Instantly the young knight turned upon the second pursuer, who
fled at once toward the larger group now rapidly approaching.
Rebecca ran forward and waved her card of matches frantically,
apparently thinking in her excitement that she held a flag.
"Here, Phoebe--here, child!" she screamed. "This way, quick! Here we
are awaitin' fer ye. Come, quick--quick!"
With a loud cry of joy, Phoebe slipped from her horse and ran toward
her sister.
"Oh, Rebecca, Rebecca!" she cried, throwing herself into her sister's
arms. "Oh, you dear, lovely, sweet old darling!"
Rebecca kissed her younger sister with tears in her eyes, almost as
affected as the girl herself, who was now laughing and crying
hysterically on her breast.
While they stood thus tightly locked in each other's arms, Guy came to
their side with sword in hand.
"Quick!" he said, sharply. "You must away to shelter. Here comes the
watch apace. I will protect the rear."
The two women started apart and Phoebe set forward obediently, but
Rebecca only gave the fast-approaching crowd a look of proud contempt.
"Fiddle-ends!" she exclaimed. "You go on ahead, Guy. I'll fix them queer
folks!"
Whether Rebecca's voice convinced him of her power to make good her
words or that he felt his first duty was at Phoebe's side, the fact is
that the young knight strode forward with his sweetheart toward the
breach in the wall, leaving Rebecca behind to bear the first attack.
Droop had already passed within the enclosure and was groping his way
toward the black mass of the Panchronicon.
Phoebe, led by an accurate memory of her surroundings, had but little
difficulty in finding the opening, and, by her voice, Sir Guy and
Rebecca were guided to it.
Phoebe passed through first and Sir Guy followed just as the advance
guard of the pursuing mob rushed under the trees, swinging their two
lanterns and shouting aloud:
"Here--this way! We have 'em fast!"
Rebecca coolly stooped and drew the edge of her entire card of matches
across a stone at her feet. Then, standing erect, she thrust the
sulphurous blue blaze into the faces of two rough-looking fellows just
advancing to seize her.
Sir Guy, who stood within the wall, found cause for deep amazement in
the yell of startled fear with which Rebecca's act was met; and deeper
yet grew his astonishment when that cry was re-echoed by the whole
terror-stricken mob, who turned as one man to flee from this flaming,
sulphurous sorceress.
Rebecca quietly waited until the sulphur had burned off and the wood
blazed bright and clear. Then she pushed through the broken wall and
showed the way to their destination by the light of the small torch.
Sir Guy's feelings may be imagined when he suddenly found that they were
all four standing before a strangely formed structure in the side of
which Copernicus had just opened a door.
"Why, Mary!" he exclaimed, pausing in his walk. "What have we here?"
She took his hand with a smile and drew him gently forward.
"Trust thy Mary yet further, Guy," she said. "Thy watchword must be,
'Trust and question not.'"
He smiled in reply and, sheathing his sword, stepped boldly forward into
the interior of the Panchronicon. Phoebe knew the power of
superstition in that age, and she glowed with pride and tenderness,
conscious that in this act of faith in her the knight evinced more
courage than ever he might need to bear him well in battle.
When the electric lights shed a sudden bright glare down the spiral
staircase, Sir Guy cowered and stopped short again, turning pale with a
fear irrepressible. But Phoebe put one arm about his neck and drew his
head down to hers, whispering in his ear. What she said none heard save
him, but the spell of her words was potent, for the young knight stood
erect once more and firmly ascended to the room above.
Droop stood nervously waiting at the engine-room door.
"Are ye all in?" he said, sharply. "Where's Cousin Rebecca?"
"Here I be!" came a voice from below. "I'm jest lockin' the door tight."
"Well, hurry up--hurry! Come up here an' lay down. I'm goin' to start."
In a few moments all was in readiness. Droop pulled the lever, and with
a roar and a mighty bound the Panchronicon, revived by its long period
of waiting, sped upward into the night.
As the four fugitives sat upright again, and Droop, rubbing his hands
with satisfaction, was about to speak, the door of one of the
bedchambers was opened, and a stranger dressed in nineteenth-century
attire stepped forward, shading his blinking eyes with his hand.
The two women screamed, but Droop only dropped amazed into a chair.
"Francis Bacon!" he exclaimed.
Then, leaping forward eagerly, he cried aloud:
"Gimme them clothes!"
* * * * *
Of the return trip of the five, little need be said save to record one
untoward incident which has been the occasion of a most unfortunate
historic controversy.
The date-recording instrument must have been deranged in some way, for
when, after a great number of eastward turns around the pole, it marked
the year 1898, they had really only reached 1857. Supposing themselves
to have actually reached the year erroneously indicated by the recorder,
they set off southward and made a first landing in Hartford,
Connecticut.
Here they discovered their mistake, and returned to the pole to complete
their journey in time. All but Francis Bacon. He declared that so much
whirling made him giddy, and remained in Connecticut. Alas! Had Phoebe
known the result of this desertion, she would never have consented to
it.
Bacon, who had read much of Shakespeare while in the Panchronicon, found
on returning thus accidentally to modern America, that this playwright
was esteemed the first and greatest of poets and dramatists by the
modern world. Then and there he planned a conspiracy to rob the greatest
character in literary history of his just fame; and, under the pseudonym
of "Delia Bacon," advanced those theories of his own concealed
authorship which have ever since deluded the uncritical and disgusted
all lovers of common-sense and of justice.
Copernicus Droop, on returning his three remaining passengers to their
proper dates and addresses, discovered that his sole remaining
phonograph, with certain valuable records of Elizabethan origin, had
disappeared. As he owed a grudge to Francis Bacon, that worthy fell at
once under suspicion, and accordingly Droop promptly returned to 1857,
sought out the deserter, and charged him with having stolen these
instruments.
It was not until the accused man had indignantly denied all knowledge of
Droop's property that the crestfallen Yankee recollected that he had
left the apparatus in question in the deserted mansion of Newington,
where he had stored it for greater safety after Bacon's first unexpected
visit.
Without hesitation, he determined to return to 1598 and reclaim his own.
Bacon, who had learned from modern historical works of the brilliant
future in store for himself in England, begged Droop to take him back;
and as an atonement for his unjust accusation, Droop consented.
It is not generally known that, contrary to common report, Francis Bacon
was not arrested for debt in 1598; but that, during the time he was
supposed to have been in prison, he was actually engaged in building up
in his own behalf the greatest hoax in history.
* * * * *
Let those who may be inclined to discredit this scrupulously authentic
chronicle proceed forthwith to Peltonville, New Hampshire, and there ask
for Mr. and Mrs. Guy Fenton. From them will be gained complete
corroboration of this history, not only in the account which they will
give of their own past adventures, but in the unmistakable Elizabethan
flavor distinguishable to this day in their speech and manner. Indeed,
the single fact that both ale and beer are to be found behind their
wood-pile should be convincing evidence on this point.
As for Rebecca, fully convinced at last of the marvellous qualities of
the Panchronicon, she never tires of taking her little nephew, Isaac
Burton Wise Fenton, on her knee and telling him of her amazing
adventures in the palace of "Miss Tudor."
More
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