A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder by James De Mille (good summer reads txt) 📕

title, and interest in and to anything in the shape of meat that may be inside.”

“Meat cans,” said Melick, “are never so large as that.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said the doctor, “they make up pretty large packages of pemmican for the arctic expeditions.”

“But they never pack up pemmican in copper cylinders,” said Melick, who had been using his knife to scrape off the crust from the vessel.

“Copper!” exclaimed Oxenden. “Is it copper?”

“Look for yourselves,” said Melick, quietly.

They all looked, and could see, where the knife had cut into the vessel, that it was as he said. It was copper.

“It’s foreign work,” said Melick. “In England we make tin cans for everything. It may be something that’s drifted out from Mogadore or some port in Morocco.”

“In that case,” said Oxenden, “it may contain the mangled remains of one of the wives of some Moorish pasha.”

By this time they had reached the yacht and hurried aboard. All were eager to satisfy their curiosity. Search was made for a cold-chisel, but to no purpose. Then Featherstone produced a knife which was used to open sardine boxes, but after a faithful trial this proved useless. At length Melick, who had gone off in search of something more effective, made his appearance armed with an axe. With this he attacked the copper cylinder, and by means of a few dexterous blows succeeded in cutting it open. Then he looked in.

“What do you see?” asked Featherstone.

“Something,” said Melick, “but I can’t quite make it out.”

“If you can’t make it out, then shake it out,” said Oxenden.

Upon this Melick took the cylinder, turned it upside down, shook it smartly, and then lifted it and pounded it against the deck. This served to loosen the contents, which seemed tightly packed, but came gradually down until at length they could be seen and drawn forth. Melick drew them forth, and the contents of the mysterious copper cylinder resolved themselves into two packages.

The sight of these packages only served to intensify their curiosity. If it had been some species of food it would at once have revealed itself, but these packages suggested something more important. What could they be? Were there treasures inside⁠—jewels, or golden ornaments from some Moorish seraglio, or strange coin from far Cathay?

One of the packages was very much larger than the other. It was enclosed in wrappers made of some coarse kind of felt, bound tight with strong cords. The other was much smaller, and, was folded in the same material without being bound. This Melick seized and began to open.

“Wait a minute,” said Featherstone. “Let’s make a bet on it. Five guineas that it’s some sort of jewels!”

“Done,” said Oxenden.

Melick opened the package, and it was seen that Featherstone had lost. There were no jewels, but one or two sheets of something that looked like paper. It was not paper, however, but some vegetable product which was used for the same purpose. The surface was smooth, but the color was dingy, and the lines of the vegetable fibres were plainly discernible. These sheets were covered with writing.

“Halloa!” cried Melick. “Why, this is English!”

At this the others crowded around to look on, and Featherstone in his excitement forgot that he had lost his bet. There were three sheets, all covered with writing⁠—one in English, another in French, and a third in German. It was the same message, written in these three different languages. But at that moment they scarcely noticed this. All that they saw was the message itself, with its mysterious meaning.

It was as follows:

“To the finder of this:

“Sir⁠—I am an Englishman, and have been carried by a series of incredible events to a land from which escape is as impossible as from the grave. I have written this and committed it to the sea, in the hope that the ocean currents may bear it within the reach of civilized man. Oh, unknown friend! whoever you are. I entreat you to let this message be made known in some way to my father, Henry More, Keswick, Cumberland, England, so that he may learn the fate of his son. The MS. accompanying this contains an account of my adventures, which I should like to have forwarded to him. Do this for the sake of that mercy which you may one day wish to have shown to yourself.

“Adam More.”

“By Jove!” cried Featherstone, as he read the above, “this is really getting to be something tremendous.”

“This other package must be the manuscript,” said Oxenden, “and it’ll tell all about it.”

“Such a manuscript’ll be better than meat,” said the doctor, sententiously.

Melick said nothing, but, opening his knife, he cut the cords and unfolded the wrapper. He saw a great collection of leaves, just like those of the letter, of some vegetable substance, smooth as paper, and covered with writing.

“It looks like Egyptian papyrus,” said the doctor. “That was the common paper of antiquity.”

“Never mind the Egyptian papyrus,” said Featherstone, in feverish curiosity. “Let’s have the contents of the manuscript. You, Melick, read; you’re the most energetic of the lot, and when you’re tired the rest of us will take turns.”

“Read? Why, it’ll take a month to read all this,” said Melick.

“All the better,” said Featherstone; “this calm will probably last a month, and we shall have nothing to interest us.”

Melick made no further objection. He was as excited as the rest, and so he began the reading of the manuscript.

II Adrift in the Antarctic Ocean

My name is Adam More. I am the son of Henry More, apothecary, Keswick, Cumberland. I was mate of the ship Trevelyan (Bennet, master), which was chartered by the British Government to convey convicts to Van Dieman’s Land. This was in 1843. We made our voyage without any casualty, landed our convicts in Hobart Town, and then set forth on our return home. It was the 17th of December when we left. From the first adverse winds prevailed, and in order to make any