Over the border

by Morgan Robertson

Now, be it understood at the first word that I have never believed in astrology as an exact science, or even a working hypothesis to explain the curious happenings of life which we ascribe to luck, fate, Providence, the law of cause and effect, or, latterly, to mortal mind. Nor do I offer this story with any intent to help the astrologers in their difficult efforts to prove their science correct; for it proves nothing beyond the scope of coincidence—unless, possibly, that the laws, mathematical and other, beyond human soul life, are past our present comprehension. This is merely the contribution of an experienced old man, grown gray and tired in the effort to understand his fellowman, and who has at last given up the problem, trusting that it may aid some younger investigator.

My acquaintance with them began early, very early—in fact I was present at, and assisted at, their birth, which occurred at the same moment, their mothers lying side by side on the same narrow cot in the crowded hospital. There had been a railroad accident, and these two injured women had been carried to the nearby institution where I was serving my apprenticeship in medicine. They recovered in time, went to their separate homes unacquainted, and resumed their lives, one the wife of a wealthy man, the other a scrubwoman. They never met again, nor did their lives conflict; but their children, born at the same moment, and at the same spot, lived out careers that were strangely parallel, strangely consistent with what the astrologers teach.

In my later capacity of visiting physician to that hospital I often met young Dunbar, the scrub-woman's boy, as he progressed through the ailments and accidents of childhood; and as family physician to the wealthy Lance family I as often met their pampered youngster. After a few years I noticed that if anything was wrong with one, something—not necessarily the same thing—happened to the other. For instance, young Dunbar broke his arm at the time young Lance had the measles. The latter sprained his wrist, and the former came to the free clinic the same day with a black eye, acquired in a fight. I called this coincidence for a while, until both mothers died at the same hour, of the same disease. Then I recalled that I, who had been present at that other momentous event in their widely divergent lives, was now the useless physician to each. I began to take notes, but never investigated the lives of the mothers; my studies and speculations were concerned with the lives of the sons. And I first learned that since birth they had never met.

Each in his own environment, these two boys grew up, as different in physique, mentality, and morals as can be imagined. At sixteen their characters were shaped, and at this age I invoiced their attributes. Each was what the other was not. Dunbar was a tough, Lance a gentleman; but Dunbar possessed physical courage of the highest order, while Lance, up to this period in his life, had never voluntarily placed himself in the way of pain or punishment. He would run from an angry goose or girl playmate. On the other hand, he possessed moral courage, while Dunbar was a moral coward. Lance proudly bore himself through a storm of boyish ridicule when caught playing with dolls and toy-houses, while Dunbar hid himself in shame because of defeat at the hands of a larger, heavier boy. Lance was truthful, polite, and with a high sense of honor and justice; Dunbar a liar, a bully, and a bad example. His associates were the worst in the town, and when there came the time that my safe was robbed, and the loot was found upon Dunbar, I could not have saved him, even though I had believed him innocent. It was simply a case of the People against Dunbar, and I was prosecuting witness.

Others had robbed me, and Dunbar, unthinkingly, had held the goods until arrested. I could not prove this at the time, and so Dunbar was convicted. But, as an incident in this story, on the day that he entered prison to begin a four-years' sentence, Lance, the most effeminate boy I had known in my experience, entered the Naval Academy at Annapolis, there to begin a four-year tutelage in a profession where the most masculine attributes are required.

I saw him on his four vacations at home, each time more mature, more certain of himself, more effeminate in speech and mannerisms, yet graceful in bearing and possessed of what might be called masculine beauty. He was tall, erect, with curly hair and a pink complexion, untouched by the tan of sun and sea and wind; for he had not yet begun his two years' sea cruise.

I visited Dunbar in prison as often as I saw Lance, for my own vacations took me into his vicinity. On the first three occasions he was sulky and resentful, but on the fourth and last was utterly changed. He begged my forgiveness, was earnest and hopeful of the future. He asked for books to read, and advice on his plans. I met him more than half-way, and soon learned the cause of the change in him—the warden's daughter. She had lent him her small store of books, had sympathized with him as she dared or cared, and had become his Goddess of Light and Hope. I talked with her before I left; she was a tall, willowy sort of girl with a very sweet, spiritual face—not so beautiful as compelling. She could exercise a strong influence on any man of Dunbar's rugged type. Dunbar was tall, broad, and intensely masculine. He was dark of complexion and dark of mood, for his limitations bore heavily upon him; he knew that he must start life and ambition handicapped by a term in prison. But the dogged, courageous spirit of the man triumphed over this, and he had planned for a seafaring career, in which not too much would be asked of a man's past, and not too much would be required in the way of refinement to insure success.

"For I know I'm a bad investment, Doc," he said, "because I didn't go to school when I could, and I traveled with the worst playmates I could find. But I think I can make it up. I'll have that girl ahead of me, to reach for and work for if I get her. She understands about my kind of men. There are a lot of us here."

I wished him good luck, and when his time had expired—he served the full term with no commutation—I secured him a berth with a relative of mine who commanded a ship, and he went to sea. The ship sailed on the day that Lance's leave expired, and, on that day, Lance, too, went to sea on his practice cruise.

Astrologers say that, given the date, place, and exact minute of a person's birth, a calculation can be made that will prophesy the happenings for good or evil in that person's life, and fix the dates or the periods of time; and, conversely, if given the dates of the happenings and departures, the exact minute and place of birth can be determined. If this is true, it would equally apply to the case of two persons born side by side, giving them similar experiences varying only by the pressure of environment and the initial distance apart when born. And Lance and Dunbar seemed to be proving it true.