A mystery inside a moving box

I was unpacking a moving box one rainy day when I come across something mysterious: it wasn’t mine, and I had no idea where it had come from.

"It" was a packet of three folded newspapers, found at the very bottom of the box. I know, I know, there’s nothing mysterious about finding newspapers nestled in a moving box. There were lots of other newspapers in there, piled like sedimentary rock with the fossils and artifacts of our family's life sandwiched in between. There was the kindergarten artwork of our now-adult children, unmatched china tea cups, a brass crocodile nutcracker, journals from family vacations and photo albums.

But this folded packet of newspapers was from another time entirely: three consecutive copies of the Montreal Weekly Witness: A Commercial Review and Family Newspaper, issued on May 8, 15 and 23 – in the year 1889.

How on earth had these gotten into my moving box?

After pausing to pop a bit of bubble wrap, I carried the papers over to the kitchen table and carefully spread them out. I was afraid they would crumble to pieces as I touched them, but my three editions were in surprisingly good shape given their 133 years of age.

I did a quick Google and discovered that the Montreal Weekly Witness newspaper was founded in 1845 by John Dougall and folded (pun intended) in 1938.

I leaned over the first newspaper with a magnifying glass (the font was about 4 pts) and stepped more than a century back in time. On the front page was a detailed illustration of a three-masted ship in roiling ocean waters, as men in old-style dress waved frantically from another ship nearby. “The Disastrous hurricane in Samoa,” the caption read. The story was about the HMS Calliope overcoming said hurricane, and the “great fight she made for her existence.”

Part of the story read:

"Although the fact that the “Calliope” was the only ship that escaped from the bay of Apia on that fateful day of March 16, when one of the most violent hurricanes that ever raged over the South Pacific swept the Samoan Islands, has, in all probability, had more to do with calling public attention to the manner in which the “Calliope” was saved than the admirable character of the seamanship displayed in that action, yet the deed was in itself worthy of all the attention it received and more."

As an editor myself, I note that this sentence is 89 words long. I don’t know if there was a premium to typeset periods back then, but obviously there was a sale on commas that day, with six of them appearing in one sentence.

The writing is both more refined and flowery than we see in today’s news media. Nobody “blasts” anybody, or “slams” someone, or “claps back.” No one is called out and there are no links to share the story on social media.

A nearby sidebar captured my attention with the headline "The First Sea Serpent of the Season." (Gee, only the first?) It may seem implausible, until you remember the giant squid was thought to be a myth until recently, a figment of sailors' imaginations.

As I sifted through the other pages of my mini-history museum, I was in awe of how much societal issues have changed -- and yet, stayed the same.

One story talked about Sitting Bull - in the present tense. He was quoted as saying, “This will be our last treaty as, hereafter, if we give up our land, we will have nothing more that the white man wants.” Tragically, Sitting Bull would be shot dead by Red Tomahawk the following year.

Another story was about a man – the newspaper feels the need to put (colored) beside his name – who sued the rail company because he had to ride in a second-class car despite having paid for a first-class ticket. He claimed the rail company had not made enough cars of equal comfort to accommodate both black and white riders. He won; the rail company was directed by the court to make more first-class carriages to accommodate riders of color. The idea that the practice of segregation in itself was wrong didn’t seem to be considered.

Another snippet, entitled "Unequal Burdens" was indignant about the working conditions for dairymaids in Scotland, and how they were paid less than other agricultural workers even though they worked longer hours.

Stories about cows featured far more prominently than I would have expected from a newspaper based in Montreal.

In the classified ads, you could anonymously ask a question, and then a lawyer or doctor or other expert would give you a response. These read like a Dear Abby column, from inquiries about divorce proceedings, how to legally respond to insults, and the theft of a gold ring. Lawyers were certainly to the point:

Q. A young man marries in Ontario and shortly after moves to Quebec, has two children, and wife dies. Father has real assets. 1. What claim have children in this property? 2. Can father sell it without claim of children?

A. 1. None. 2. Yes.

Who owned this historical treasure?

While the news is fascinating, I'm even more curious about the person who owned these papers. Why were they saving them? Were they following a news story? The fictional serial story? Were they passing the time while waiting for something -- or someone? The only clue I have to their mood or personality is that the first paper is folded very neatly, the second less precisely, and the third haphazardly.

I wonder if they ever imagined someone would be opening up their newspapers up 133 years later, in a world that was so different it would blow their mind? In 1889, the story about the Calliope was breaking news, even though it happened two months prior. In 2022, we have pocket-sized devices that give us news as it's happening around the globe. In 1889, Nellie Bly traveled by land and sea around the world in 72 days. Now we fly half way around the world in a matter of hours, have been to the moon and are exploring Mars. In 1889, Nintendo was founded to develop a game with playing cards. In 2022, Nintendo lets you experience virtual reality.

In 133 years from now, the year will be 2155. I wonder if anyone in that future world will stumble across, in an old moving box perhaps, something that once belonged to me. Maybe something I've written. How will their future world compare to mine today?

I carefully folded the papers and tucked them back inside the moving box for the next journey. I quietly thanked the person who left them for me, a small gift that, in the matter of an hour, impressed upon me the passing of time and the changes that brings.