John Schettler - Devil's Garden

With recreation in the wilderness in vogue, national parks were opening all over the US that year, and another national pastime celebrated its groundbreaking for the construction of Philadelphia's Shibe Park, future home of both A's amp; Phillies. The song “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” would be copyrighted on May 2nd, and soon sung forever after at ballparks all across the nation. And on the Field of Dreams, pitchers dominated the Boys of Summer, with Bill Burns working a no-hitter on May 21st, with two outs in the 9th inning before it was finally broken up by a hit. Another great pitcher was also denied that achievement a week later on May 30th, but he would persist and finally nail down the no-no a month later.

The year was half gone by June 30, a fine mid-summer day when the big right hander Denton True “Cy” Young stood on the mound in New York, staring in at the last man he would face that game. He had missed a chance at a perfect game by walking the first man up in the game, but now he looked in to get the sign with the odd thought that he would need just one final out to pitch the third no-hitter of his amazing career. For a man his age, 41, that would be no small feat, and he thought to himself that it would be only fitting to throw the batter just what he expected, a fastball at the speed of a raging cyclone, the pitch that had garnered him his nickname.

Even at 41, Young was still an imposing pitcher, 6'-2” and 200 pounds, with experience and guile to equal the strength he still had in that golden right arm. Young was still building on a remarkable streak of winning seasons that would stand the test of history for more than a century. After winning 27 games in 1891, he would go on to win 20 games or more in all but three of his next 17 seasons, and for those three when he won 19, 18 and then a measly 13 games. But to atone for that he added four seasons where he piled up over 30 wins each year during that incredible streak, winning all of 36 games in 1892!

After two sub-par years, in 1905 and 1906, the sports writers had come to call Young the “Old Man” of baseball. Yet when he turned 40 the following year, he went right back to his winning ways with 21 wins and started the 1908 season with 457 wins behind him. He would win 21 more this year on his way to amassing an insurmountable record of 511 career wins. Yet, to the soft spoken and amiable Cy, this win was just like all the rest.

A month earlier to the day, he had missed nabbing his third no hitter against Washington when Jerry Freeman smacked a single off his slow pitch, a pitch modern hurlers now called their “changeup.” Today, on June 30th, he was just a tad tight when he first took the mound, and walked the leadoff hitter for the New York Highlanders, Harry Niles. They picked off Niles trying to steal second, and the next 25 men would be retired in order.

From the sixth inning on the New York home town fans were firmly behind the 'Old Man,' rooting against their own team as Young piled up the outs, aided by some spectacular defensive plays by shortstop Heinie Wagner, and outfielders Denny Sullivan and Gavvy Cravath, who had just made a leaping catch at the center field fence to prevent a hit. Now there was just one last man standing. Young was only one pitch away from his 468th win and third no-hitter, a record that would stand until a young left hander named Sandy Koufax, “the left hand of God,” would notch his fourth no-hitter on Sept 9, 1965.

Young reached back, spun up that big right arm in a whirlwind windup, and let the ball fly. As it thundered wildly toward the plate to secure his third no-hitter, something much more ominous was also hurtling through the jet black skies of northern Siberia, a world away, though no one present in the stadium that day would know about it for years to come.

It came out of the northeast, a little after 7:15 on the morning of June 30th 1908, cleaving away the fading night like a great sword of doom. Its piercing blue light gleamed on the sapphire waters of the great Lake Baikal, lighting up the skies with a searing smear of cobalt fire as it sped north. Those that saw it that morning said it was as if a second sun had come that day, illuminating the vast reaches of the heavily forested taiga with its blazing light. Then came the immense explosion, high up in the sky above the Stony Tunguska River, and from that moment on the world was never the same.

A young Russian naval officer named Fedorov would witness the event in a chance encounter with a man named Mironov at the Railway Inn at Ilanskiy, and a reporter from the London Times named Thomas Byrne disappeared soon thereafter. He had been sent to get the story of the Great Race, but would end up seeing much more than he imagined.

CaptainRupert Archibald stood on the bridge of the Empress of China holding the long eyepiece of his telescope to a grey browed eye and peering at the distant silhouette of an approaching ship with a vague disquiet. His ship was one of three built for the Canadian Pacific Steamship Company, in an agreement that was part of the Canadian Pacific Railway development that now spanned the north American continent. Once the rail lines ended in Vancouver, a means of getting things across the Pacific, particularly mail and passengers, resulted in three beautifully elegant ships, the three Empresses of India, China and Japan.

Their exotic names seemed to fire the imagination and put the thirst for adventure that would compel a long sea voyage in the minds of potential passengers. Empress of China could also bear the prefix RMS for “Royal Mail Ship” with an agreement to carry mail to the far east outpost of Hong Kong for the Royal Post. As such, it was no surprise that the officers and men who commanded these ships were often born of the Royal Navy itself, sturdy and experienced reserve officers from the nation that had conquered the known world with its superb navy.

The Empresses proved to be fast, reliable ships as well, with the Empress of Japan currently holding the Blue Ribbon for speed in the Pacific, which she won in 1897 and held for 20 years. Rated at a steady 16 knots, the ships could easily spin up to 18 knots or better. The Captain had seen the world in his day, serving aboard Empress of India as her Chief Officer before becoming Captain of Empress of China in 1905. Something about the look of this ship now bearing down on him was most unsettling. It had a tall superstructure, rising in tiers like the battlements of a great fortress, its aspect profoundly threatening even at this distance. It was certainly a military ship in his estimation.

“Have a look at this, Mister Robinson,” he handed off the telescope to his Chief Officer of the boat, Commander Samuel Robinson, simply called the “Chief” in reference to his post as first officer.

Robinson took a long look, his brow furrowing with obvious concern. He had worked his way up through the ranks of Junior Officers on Empress of Japan to reach his present post, and was destined to have a long and storied career at sea.

“My goodness…Look at that bow wave! This ship must be very fast. They look like they might be making all of twenty knots.”

“And note its size, Chief. It has the look of a battleship, does it not?”

“It does, sir, but out here? Who would it be? The Great White Fleet sailed from San Francisco several days ago, but they aren’t scheduled to arrive in Hawaii for another week.”

“Let’s get off a message on the Marconi wireless. Send our call sign and request identification.”

“Right away, sir.” Robinson saw to the matter, and soon returned no more the wiser. “They say they have a dodgy chronometer, sir and request our date and time readings for navigation.”