AN ACCOUNT OF
THE FINDING OF THE MANUSCRIPT.
I, Chrysostom Trueman, Clergyman of the Established Church of England, in assuming the editorship of this book, do hereby solemnly avow that it is not the work of my brain; that, in fact, I have not had the least part in its composition—not even to the substitution of a word, the remodelling of a sentence, or the better rounding of a period: but, that it really and truly came into my possession in the manner I am about to relate. Also, that nothing but a firm belief in the truth of the narrative, combined with a strong sense of duty, could possibly have induced me to lay it before the world, and thus in a manner to become its champion—which, however, on second thoughts, I must in reality decline being, merely stating the manner in which it came into my possession.
I was walking in my garden before breakfast, as I very often do, when my eye was arrested by a piece of thin flat metal, like tin, about six inches square, lying upon the mould, near the path. Attached to it was a chain, the continuation of which was hidden from sight by a rose-bush; but, stepping amongst the flowers. I saw that, while about ten feet of this chain remained above ground, the rest descended into a large round hole, which, in some unaccountable manner, had been made in the soil. I put my arm down the hole, but could not touch the bottom; I took up the piece of metal attached to the chain, and read—rudely graven upon it, and almost obliterated—these startling words: “From The Moon”!!!
My astonishment may be faintly conceived—only faintly. I turned the metal tablet over, examined it, and re-read the words again and again. Some minutes elapsed before my ideas upon the subject were at all collected. I instinctively pulled at the chain, but could not move it: it was firmly fixed. I looked at the hole: the sides, except where it had fallen in a little, were smooth and regular, as though some round or cylindrical body had been forced down. It was a mystery!
My first impression was that this was the work of some would-be wit, attempting a feeble joke, and that the chain was fixed to something at the bottom of the hole, which something would explain the nature of the hoax. Now, although to be at the trouble of digging this up would only be fulfilling the . wish of the person playing the trick, yet my curiosity was such that, hoax or no hoax, I at once resolved to dig for it. One precaution I took, however, and that was to look up into the branches of a large tree close by—the only one of any size in the garden—to see if, perchance, any grinning idiot had perched himself therein-amongst; and, not seeing any one, I took a ladder, and planting it against the wall, on one side of the garden, ascended, and looked over, half expecting, as the wall was not much above a man’s head, to see some rascal skulking beneath. shaking his sides with suppressed laughter. There was no one on that side, but, as the garden was narrow, I looked over the wall on the other side, and also at the back. The supposed trickster was not, however, to be seen; and, as the house extended across the front, it was pretty certain that, whoever he might be, he was not an observer of my movements. Breakfast was now announced as ready. This I rather hastily despatched, and returned to the garden.
Now, I am not a wealthy rector, not even a vicar, but only a curate. My house is small, and is managed by my maiden sister; my garden also is small, and is managed by myself. This I state, to show the reason why I myself set to work, spade in hand, to discover what it was that the chain was attached to.
I due; industriously for some time, during which, my maiden sister Martha came to see what I was about, while the small servant maid stood looking on wonderingly in the distance. I informed her of what had happened, and of my resolve to fathom the mystery, and she departed.
I continued digging throughout the greater part of the day, till my head, as I stood upright in the excavation I had made, was beneath the level of the ground. When I left off, I felt half inclined to give it up; but, all the night through, it was, with different modifications, the subject of my dreams; and I got up in the morning resolved (as my duties permitted, and I thought, from particular circumstances, that I might rely upon not being interrupted) to dig on through that day also, if need were.
The soil which I had already excavated was of a loamy nature, but, soon after recommencing, I came upon a stratum of gravel, which increased the labour of excavation immensely; but, I hoped for that very reason, that the object of my search had penetrated less far than it otherwise would have done. I had, as I dug down, repeatedly pulled at the chain, but to no purpose; and I should certainly have abandoned the task long before, had not the possibility of its being something better than a fool’s trick, something more than I could at all conjecture, thrust itself upon me—in short, had not an indefinable hope of making a discovery of some sort, but what I could not in the least imagine, entered my brain, and nerved my body to continued and protracted exertion.
I had dug down to the depth of about twelve feet, having made two platforms, as it were, one higher than the other, on which to throw the soil, when, on pushing a pole down the round hole for about the twentieth time, it struck something hard—a welcome earnest that the object of search was not anywhere near the centre of the earth, as I had lately been muttering it must be. A bright thought now struck me, and ascending to the world above, I procured some water, which I poured into the hole, till it was full, and then again descending, pushed at the sides with the end of the pole, particularly towards the bottom—all with the view of loosening the object’s hold upon the soil around it. This had the desired effect; for, on again pulling lustily at the chain, I started it, and at length drew it forth, in the shape of a large ball of stone, in two parts, firmly held together by bands of metal, apparently partly fused, to the thickest of which the chain was linked. I quickly ascended with it, and—truth I speak—after several hours’ filing and hammering, divided or broke the bands, when the stone ball fell asunder, proving to be hollow and a receptacle for another ball, surrounded by several thicknesses of cloth. This was soon cut off, and then came the second ball, made of a metal resembling copper, and, like the stone case, divided into halves. These were held together by cord wound round in all directions, which being cut, the metal ball fell in two, disclosing to my astonished view a thick book, in manuscript and in the English language, and four letters—one in German, another in French, a third in Spanish, and the fourth in English. The latter I immediately read, in amazement unspeakable. It was as follows:
“This Ball has been hurled from a Volcano in the Moon.
“We who have enclosed in it this letter and the accompanying MS. are two Europeans, who, having discovered a means both of leaving the Earth and of existing beyond its atmosphere, planned, attempted, and accomplished a voyage to the Moon—rising from the Earth in the neighbourhood of the Rocky Mountains, in the month of August, of the year 1853.
“The accompanying Book reveals the discovery which enabled us to traverse the distance between the Earth and its satellite—it is a history of the enterprise.
“We would have preferred to have proved in person the fact of our having made so unprecedented a discovery, applied by us to as equally unprecedented an invention, but we are unable to return to the Earth. Consequently, we have been compelled to essay this mode of transmitting intelligence, that will, we suppose, astonish the whole of the civilised world. But, although there is nothing like the evidence of the senses in proof of any extraordinary statement, there can be no doubt of the truth of this; for if, through its necessarily great swiftness, the descent of the ball be not witnessed, still the depth to which the ball must penetrate, in soil of average density, will surely be sufficient verification of its lunar origin.
“The idea of effecting a communication with our former fellow-men by the employment of volcanic agency, was suggested by the recollection of the belief entertained by astronomers that many apparently meteoric stones (which, descending with great velocity, bury themselves some distance under ground) really come from the Moon, being thrown from its volcanoes with such force, as to get beyond the limited extent of the Moon’s attraction of gravitation into the more extensive reach of that of the Earth.
“This letter has been written in four European languages, that the finder might the more probably be able to read it, if nut an Englishman. Five other copies also of the narrative will be despatched in like manner with this, that, with increase of number there may be increased probability of one not only passing out of the Moon’s attraction, but also of its escaping the oceans and seas of the Earth, and being found, sooner or later, by one of its nine hundred million inhabitants.
“To the finder of this volume, whoever and whatever he may be, we lastly and specially address ourselves. By the reward that must follow, by the worldwide fame that will be his, we conjure him to proclaim his discovery, and place the Book in the hands of some man of science or authority. So shall knowledge be increased, and further insight be afforded into the mysteries of Nature.
(Signed) “Stephen Howard,
Carl Geister.”
This I thought very startling, and at once commenced reading the accompanying manuscript volume; the which, as I read did but the more surprise me. ‘No man of science or authority other than myself,’ thought I, ‘shall have the custody of this Book. I will publish it to the world, right glad in truth to be its editor!’ This was my feeling as I read; to a certain extent I have acted upon that feeling; but now, writing dispassionately, I would announce myself as simply the finder of this extraordinary narrative, and the agent of its publication, not as necessarily myself endorsing the sentiments of its authors. And so, having done my part, I now end this preface, as I began it, with my name,
Chrysostom Trueman.
The Manse, Kirkfield, 1864.