to me. I clearly remembered the departure of the bark Endeavor, her failure to return, and the various newspaper accounts of her disappearance, with the published lists of her personnel. These facts, as I have stated, would alone have convinced me even had I not felt assured, from the character of the receptacle chosen to hold the manuscript, that the tale was true, for the material could not have been obtained or prepared in any known country or by any known race of men.
Deeply have I regretted, since that time, the fact that my engrossment with the manuscript swept all thoughts of the cylinder from my mind. I had carelessly dropped it as I secured the contents, and when, having read and reread the astounding tale from beginning to end, I looked for the receptacle, it could not be found. My closest and most painstaking search failed to reveal it. Whether it had rolled into some crevice or hole in the volcanic rock or whether some curious albatross, attracted by the glitter of the cylinder, had surreptitiously approached and swallowed it, I shall never know.
But even without the cylinder and its attendant cord as corroborative evidence as to the truth of the story I so strangely obtained, the tale itself is so manifestly fact, and is of such incalculable value to the world that I have not the slightest hesitation in publishing it.
The manuscript, quite unaltered, is reproduced in the following pages, and my readers may judge for themselves as to the veracity of the author and the importance of its revelations which are now made public for the first time. The narrative, written legibly in some dark colored medium upon a peculiar parchment-like and exceedingly tough though light material, covered many sheets, and was as follows:
HERE is one of the most gripping stories that it has ever been our good fortune to read. At the same time, it is one of the best scientifiction works of the modern school that we have lately seen. It is easily the best scientifiction story of this year.
The author, in choosing a civilisation of lobster-like people, should not be accused of sketching an impossibility. Indeed, it is impossible to say, at this moment, in what form an intelligent reasoning creature might or might not exist. Just because we have never met a reasoning creature different from a human being tells nothing, and we certainly should not be so arrogant as to think that intelligence, as we know it, combined with reasoning, exists solely in the human type.
So far we have not been able to penetrate the secrets of ant life, or of the bee life, despite our so-called "intelligence," so we should not judge too harshly what is and what is not possible, when it comes to reasoning intelligence.
In nature we know that everything is repeated—not only once, but thousands of times. Why should reasoning intelligence be represented only in one species?
At any rate, we know that somehow you will feel that "Beyond the Pole" is a real story, where real facts are given to you for what they are worth. It is an engrossing story that cannot fail to grip you from start to finish.
BEYOND THE POLE
By A. HYATT VERILL
O whosoever finds this message:—I entreat that you will read, and after reading will either notify the relatives and friends of myself and my comrades of the crew of the bark Endeavor of New Bedford, in the State of Massachusetts, U. S. A., of the fate of that vessel and her men, or failing in this, will give this writing to some reliable newspaper in order that it may be published for the benefit and peace of mind of all who have an interest in the fate of the bark which set sail from New Bedford on the fourteenth day of August, 1917.
My name is Franklin Bishop and I was born and resided at Fair haven, Mass., across the harbor from New Bedford. For many years I followed the sea as a whaleman, until in 1917 I shipped as first mate on the bark Endeavor, Captain Ranklin, bound for the South Shetland Islands in search of sea-elephant oil, the price of oil having greatly increased owing to the war. The bark carried a crew of sixteen men, six of whom were Portugese boat-steerers shipped at Funchal.
I cannot now recall the names or homes of the crew, if indeed I ever knew them, for a large number were greenies—human derelicts, and were known aboard ship only by their Christian or their nicknames. The skipper was George Rankin of New London, Ct. The second mate was Jacob
Marten of Noank, Ct. The cooper was Nicholas Chester of Mystic, Ct., and the carpenter was a huge, raw boned Scandinavian named Olaf Johnson. But the names matter little, for I have no doubt that even after six years the bark's owners or the New Bedford shipping lists of 1917 can supply the names of all hands with the exception of the Portuguese, and I mention the above merely to prove the truth of my tale and to induce whoever finds it to make known the fate of the bark and of her crew."[1]
Our voyage, after leaving Funchal, was pleasant and with favorable winds and good weather we made a quick run until south of Tristan da Cunha when we ran into heavy weather with a north-east gale that forced us to shorten sail to almost bare poles. Even then the old bark wallowed heavily and made such bad weather of the sharp irregular seas that we at last were forced to heave to and even to use oil over the bows. This made the ship ride easier but our drift was tremendous and when, on the fifth day, we managed to take sights we found ourselves far off our course and in latitude about 45° South and longitude 11° west. The exact figures I do not remember.
We had scarcely made sail and gotten on our course when another and even harder gale bore down upon us from the northwest, and under bare poles we scudded before it for sixty hours, when,
- ↑ See footnote on next page.
