Mr. Bangs on the Trail in the West.-- Terre Haute and its
Spiritualists.-- Mrs. Deck's Boarding-house.-- The
Nettleton Family broken up.-- Back at the Michigan
Exchange.-- Mother Blake's Recital.-- Through Chicago to
Wisconsin.-- A disheartening Story.-- The practical result
of Spiritualism.
Superintendent Bangs arrived at Terre Haute in good time, and found
himself in one of the greatest centres of Spiritualism in the world.
The very air seemed charged and surcharged with the permeating power.
People watching incoming trains had a listless, far-away look, as though
watching for the dim spirits which were constantly expected from the
other land, but which never came. The clamorous cabmen raised their
sing-song voices as if only expecting, though more than desiring, only
shadowy freight. The regular loiterers had long hair, cadaverous faces,
and large, lustrous eyes, and where females appeared, they were
generally in pinched faces, flowing hair, long pantaloons and short
gowns, as if ready for a grand Amazon-march upon the gullible public.
On the way to the hotel every other stairway held the sign of one or
more clairvoyants, mediums, or astrologists, and every manner of
business seemed to have the ghostly trail upon it. The pedestrians upon
the streets, the men at their counters, the workmen at their trades, the
women at their various employments, the common laborers at their most
menial toil, each and every, from the highest to the lowest, seemed to
have a weary, listless air, as if constant wrestling with communicating
spirits healthier and more robust than themselves, had left a chronic
exhaustion upon and with them.
At the hotel the register was thin and ghostly, the office was deserted
and dreary, the meals were served in a listless, dreamy way, as if the
guests were ghosts and the waiters not so good. In fact, the whole place
and everything in it was tinctured with the common craziness, and gave
the healthy, wide-awake stranger the impression of having suddenly come
upon a community of mild lunatics, who were quite happy in the
conviction that they were directing the affairs of both earth and
heaven, and establishing pleasant, intramural relations between their
chosen Hoosier City and the beautiful City beyond the River; all of
which would be very pleasant and profitable if anybody had ever come
back from the undiscovered country to give us its geographical outlines,
define its limits, or explain any profit that has accrued from becoming
a monomaniac on a subject that has no relation whatever to the common
needs and duties of life, and has never been known to give to the world
or its society a single healthful, helpful nature or intellect.
Mr. Bangs was neither pleased with the hotel, or able to get much
information while there, and consequently changed his quarters to Mrs.
Deck's boarding-house, a long, rambling brick building, that at one time
had been a fine residence after the Southern style. It was covered with
moss and vines, and had a snug, pleasant appearance, while everything
about the house had an air of quaint, attractive restfulness. Every
person who has ever been in Terre Haute for a few days' stay, as Bangs
was, will remember the genial old soul who presided over the destinies
of this particular boarding-house--the fat, garrulous, whimpering, but
kind-hearted Mrs. Deck; her charming daughter, the blooming Belle
Ruggles, by a former and more fortunate marriage, with her fair face and
wealth of golden hair, flitting about the house--which was also the
abode of spirits, mysterious materializations and unexplainable
rappings--like a good, sensible spirit that _she_ was, and letting her
good sense and kind ways into the cobwebbed rooms and dark places, like
an ever-changing though constant flood of sunlight; and "Old Deck," as
the boys called him, who believed in another kind of spirits still, and,
when opportunity offered, became so full of them that he held a grand
and extended "seance" on his own account.
People not only sought Mrs. Deck for good board, but for reliable
neighborhood gossip; and Mr. Bangs, learning of her reputation as a
repository of news as well as a liberal dispenser of creature comforts,
changed his quarters from the hotel to her place, and found from a few
days in her company that she was a sort of historian, having at her
tongue's end numberless incidents connected with the growth of the city
and the family relations of every class of people in or near it.
He learned from her where the Hosfords had lived, but could get nothing
particular regarding the woman herself, as Mrs. Deck had never seen her,
and only knew of her by reputation, which she was sure had been good.
Mr. Bangs at once went into the country neighborhood where the Hosfords
had lived, and found that they had removed to some point in Wisconsin,
near Sheboygan Falls, the neighbors had heard, but he could not find
that there had been a single trace of trouble at Terre Haute. All those
who had known them spoke of them both in the highest terms. They had
both been staunch members of the Methodist Church, and though plain,
quiet farmers, had been considered prominent people in the neighborhood.
Hosford was remembered as a slow-going, easy-conditioned, good-natured
fellow, but as honest as the day was long; and no one had ever known
aught against his wife, save that some of the old gossips thought that
she had brought too much jewelry and fine clothing into the neighborhood
with her. This, however, she had judiciously kept out of sight as much
as possible, and, as far as could be learned, had led in every respect
an exemplary life.
From this point Mr. Bangs proceeded to Kalamazoo. The Nettleton family
were gone, no one knew where; but here he was told of the escapade to
Detroit of Lilly Nettleton years before, enough of which had floated
back to her native place--coupled with the old people's later sorrows,
which were largely dilated upon--to account for the breaking up of the
family and its members being scattered broadcast.
Accidentally at Kalamazoo, in conversation with the clerk at the
Kalamazoo House, who had formerly been employed at Detroit, and who was
"up to snuff," as he termed it, Bangs learned of Mother Blake, who had
informed the clerk of Bland's unfortunate experience with one Lilly
Mercer. He also got from the clerk a description of Mother Blake
sufficiently comprehensive to enable him to find her if she were still
at Detroit, where he at once proceeded.
On arriving in that city he went to the Michigan Exchange Hotel, and,
through the courtesy of the proprietors, was allowed to look up the
records of the house.
It was fifteen years previous that the man who said he was "from Bland"
met Lilly Nettleton at the depot and had taken her to the Michigan
Exchange to meet the reverend circuit-rider; but after he had got at the
dusty records he found on the register, evidently in the handwriting of
a clerk: "Lilly Mercer, Buffalo, Room 34," under date of August 15,
1856, and also the names of "R. J. Hosford, Terre Haute, Room 98," and
"Lilly Nettleton, Kalamazoo, Room 34," in a cramped and almost illegible
hand under date of November 28th of the same year; and on the next day's
page, in the same hand: "R. J. Hosford and wife, Terre Haute, Room 34."
The next step was to hunt up Mother Blake, which was not a very hard
matter, as women of her character generally run in the same noisome rut,
until they are swept from the great highway with other pestilences of
life, and pass from bitter existence and infamous memory; and after one
or two evenings running about among the _demi-monde_ he found the
woman--quite an old lady now, but nearly as well-kept and quite as jolly
as ever, presiding over a group of soiled divinities at a neat retreat
on Griswold Street.
Through the purchase of a vile bottle of wine the old lady's lips were
opened, and her tongue began a perfect gallop about Bland and Lilly
Mercer.
She gave the latter the reputation of being one of the shrewdest women
she had ever met, and laughed until the tears came into her eyes over
the way in which she had "played it" on Bland, who had picked her up for
a fool, and had himself been terribly sold. Then she launched into
vituperations towards the young minister, who had accused her of
"standing in" with the girl in the robbery, when she had been as badly
fooled as himself. Whatever she had been and was, she said, there wasn't
a dishonest hair in her head; which assertion Bangs had reason to
believe to be literally true, as he noticed that she wore a wig.
She then in great glee told him how she had "got even" with Bland by
"giving him away" to the papers, which had soon taken the feathers out
of _his_ cap, she remarked with much satisfaction, broken his mother's
heart, who died and willed all her property to the good cause of
furnishing the heathen with an occasional fat missionary steak, and
finally drove Bland out of Detroit, when he had gone to some Eastern
city and, under another name, with his fine manners, airy ways, and good
clothes, was playing it fine on some old Spiritualist millionaire out
our way.
When the vision of the magnificent Harcout--which was almost a constant
one, as he rushed into my office on the slightest pretext whatever, big
with his own importance and unusually full of enthusiasm over "our
case"--flitted before my eyes, it gave to me additional romance in the
work, in the sense that here, after many years, the man whom Mrs.
Winslow in her early career had so magnificently duped, had
unconsciously become one of her most relentless pursuers.
But it was a matter for speculation whether Harcout knew her to be the
person who had so neatly taken him in, or whether he had risen to this
condition of fervor in his work merely to impress Lyon with his useful
friendship. I inclined to the latter opinion, however, as I was
satisfied that if he had known with whom he was dealing he would have
given up all expectations of continued favor and patronage from Lyon,
and left Rochester as hastily as he had, as Bland, departed from
Detroit.
Bangs also asked her if she had ever seen Lilly Mercer since that time.
Of course she had seen her, just at the close of the war. One day as she
was crossing the river in the ferry, coming back from Windsor, she had
met her face to face. Mother Blake said that she seemed wonderfully
glad to meet her, and wanted to borrow some money, which she had
refused. She then gave her her card, upon which she was called some
Madam or other, a clairvoyant, and she had some shabby rooms on
Wisconsin Street, near the theatres. She was still young and pretty,
Mother Blake said, and she easily persuaded her to come and live with
her, which she did, "and," continued the old woman, with a withering
look at the girls, "low down as she was, she made more money in a day
than any half-dozen women I ever had." The old lady further said that
she had only remained with her long enough to get some fine clothing and
money together, when she started for the East.
She had never seen her since, but she had heard that she had several
times passed through the city towards Chicago, always returning to the
East, however, and also always richly dressed, and having every
appearance of living in clover. "Let her alone to get along," concluded
the old lady; "she'll live like a queen where another, a million times
better than she, would starve."
From Detroit, Bangs proceeded to Chicago, and from thence to Sheboygan
Falls, Wisconsin, where it required but a few minutes' inquiries to put
him on track of the Hosfords.
Hosford had come there from Terre Haute several years ago, bought a fine
farm a few miles out, and had, as far as could be ascertained, lived a
comfortable sort of life for about a year, when trouble began.
Mrs. Hosford, from the good member of society which she was supposed to
be, or really had been, suddenly embraced Spiritualism, and began
running about the country with any old vagabond tramp of this kind that
came along; and from the hard-working, economical woman she had been,
she had become a spendthrift, a drunkard, and a prostitute. Hosford had
moved away, and after considerable time and inquiry, it was ascertained
that he had gone to Oskaloosa, in Iowa, determined to get away from old
associations as far as possible, and had taken their three children with
him, which she had vainly endeavored to secure.
Bangs spent several days here in hunting up evidence. There was plenty
of it--mountains of it. Merchants and other business men of the town
would button-hole him, take him into some retired place and tell him how
this man had been caught _in flagrante delicto_ with Mrs. Hosford, how
that man had confessed to having been caught in her toils, and how some
other person had been made a suspicious person in the society of the
place, through some peccadillo with the dashing _Madam_.
All these persons referred to told of all the other persons who had
divulged their weaknesses, until it seemed to Mr. Bangs, after remaining
a few days in the vicinity, that the entire male portion of the
community were implicated. But securing promises of depositions was
quite another thing. Mr. A. was a married man, belonged to the church,
had extensive business relations, and, while he would like to assist in
the noble effort to show up the infamous woman, he really could not,
you see, place himself in so delicate a position.
Mr. B. was not a member of any church, but had the reputation of a high
order of morality. While he could not but acknowledge the justice of the
request, and hoped that Mr. Bangs would have no trouble in securing all
the evidence he needed, which would be a very easy matter, still he did
not see how he could consistently compromise himself by going on record
as a common adulterer.
Mr. C. was neither a churchman, nor did he claim a high order of
morality; but if he had good luck, he would in the spring marry a very
pretty girl of the village, and if she should ascertain that he had
previously been so generous with his affections in another direction, he
was satisfied that his dream of future bliss would be dissolved in thin
air at once.
And so on through the entire village directory. There were pointed out
scores of persons who had the knowledge desired, were all willing to
help him secure _some other person_ for sacrifice, and all equally
enthusiastically hoped that her suit against Lyon would end in an
ignominious failure; but declined, with thanks, the proud honor of
exposing their own weaknesses, for even the extreme honor of assisting
in her downfall.