A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder, James De Mille [best classic romance novels .TXT] 📗

massive edifices on the lower, until at last the ascent ended at the fifth terrace, and here we turned to the left. Now the view became more varied. The tree-ferns arose on either side, arching overhead; on my right were the portals that opened into caverns, on my left solid and massive houses, built of great blocks of stone, with pyramidal roofs. As far as I could judge, I was in a city built on the slope of a mountain, with its streets formed thus of successive terraces and their connecting crossways, one half its habitations consisting of caverns, while the other half were pavilions and massive stone structures. Few people, however, were to be seen. Occasionally I saw one or two groping along with their eyes half shut, seeking the darkest shadows; and it seemed to me that this extraordinary race of men had some natural and universal peculiarity of eyesight which made them shun the sunlight, and seek the darkness of caves and of dense, overshadowing foliage.

At length we came to a place where the terrace ran back till it formed a semicircle against the mountain slope, when several vast portals appeared. Here there was a large space, where the tree-ferns grew in long lines crossing each other, and making a denser shade than usual. On the lower side were several stone edifices of immense size; and in the middle of the place there arose a singular structure, shaped like a half pyramid, with three sides sloping, and the fourth perpendicular, flat on the top, which was approached by a flight of steps. We now went on until we reached the central portal of the range of caverns, and here we stopped. The chief got out and beckoned to me. I followed. He then led the way into the cavern, while I, full of wonder, walked behind him.

VII Scientific Theories and Scepticism

Thus far Melick had been reading the manuscript, but at this point he was interrupted by the announcement that dinner was ready. Upon this he stopped abruptly; for on board the Falcon dinner was the great event of the day, and in its presence even the manuscript had to be laid aside. Before long they were all seated around the dining-table in the sumptuous cabin, prepared to discuss the repast which had been served up by the genius of the French chef whom Lord Featherstone had brought with him.

Let us pause here for a moment to take a minuter survey of these four friends. In the first place, there was Lord Featherstone himself, young, handsome, languid, good-natured to a fault, with plenty of muscle if he chose to exert it, and plenty of brain if he chose to make use of it⁠—a man who had become weary of the monotony of high life, and, like many of his order, was fond of seeking relief from the ennui of prosperity amid the excitements of the sea. Next to him was Dr. Congreve, a middle-aged man, with iron-gray hair, short beard and mustache, short nose, gray eyes, with spectacles, and stoutish body. Next came Noel Oxenden, late of Trinity College, Cambridge, a college friend of Featherstone’s⁠—a tall man, with a refined and intellectual face and reserved manner. Finally, there was Otto Melick, a litterateur from London, about thirty years of age, with a wiry and muscular frame, and the restless manner of one who lives in a perpetual fidget.

For some time nothing was said; they partook of the repast in silence; but at length it became evident that they were thinking of the mysterious manuscript. Featherstone was the first to speak.

“A deuced queer sort of thing this, too,” said he, “this manuscript. I can’t quite make it out. Who ever dreamed of people living at the South Pole⁠—and in a warm climate, too? Then it seems deuced odd, too, that we should pick up this copper cylinder with the manuscript. I hardly know what to think about it.”

Melick smiled. “Why, it isn’t much to see through,” said he.

“See through what?” said the doctor, hastily, pricking up his ears at this, and peering keenly at Melick through his spectacles.

“Why, the manuscript, of course.”

“Well,” said the doctor, “what is it that you see? What do you make out of it?”

“Why, anyone can see,” said Melick, “that it’s a transparent hoax, that’s all. You don’t mean to say, I hope, that you really regard it in any other light?”

“A transparent hoax!” repeated the doctor. “Will you please state why you regard it in that light?”

“Certainly,” said Melick. “Some fellow wanted to get up a sensation novel and introduce it to the world with a great flourish of trumpets, and so he has taken this way of going about it. You see, he has counted on its being picked up, and perhaps published. After this he would come forward and own the authorship.”

“And what good would that do?” asked the doctor, mildly. “He couldn’t prove the authorship, and he couldn’t get the copyright.”

“Oh, of course not; but he would gain notoriety, and that would give him a great sale for his next effort.”

The doctor smiled. “See here, Melick,” said he, “you’ve a very vivid imagination, my dear fellow; but come, let us discuss this for a little while in a commonsense way. Now how long should you suppose that this manuscript has been afloat?”

“Oh, a few months or so,” said Melick.

“A few months!” said the doctor. “A few years you mean. Why, man, there are successive layers of barnacles on that copper cylinder which show a submersion of at least three years, perhaps more.”

“By Jove! yes,” remarked Featherstone. “Your sensation novelist must have been a lunatic if he chose that way of publishing a book.”

“Then, again,” continued the doctor, “how did it get here?”

“Oh, easily enough,” answered Melick. “The ocean currents brought it.”

“The ocean currents!” repeated the doctor. “That’s a very vague expression. What do you mean? Of course it has been brought here by the ocean