In answer to my command she ceased to groan; her face smoothed out, and
with a bewildered smile she opened her eyes. "What are you saying? Have
I been asleep?"
"You have, indeed," I replied, "and you've disclosed a deal of dubious
family history. How do you feel?"
"I feel very funny around my neck," she answered, wonderingly. "What
have you been doing to me?" She rubbed her throat. "My neck feels as if
it had a band round it, and my tongue seems swollen. What have you been
about?"
I held up a warning hand to the others. "You went off into a quiet
little trance, that's all. I was mistaken. Either you are a psychic or
you should have been an actress."
As we stood thus confronting one another, Mrs. Cameron came between us,
saying, "Do you know, Pauline came and talked with me--"
At the word _Pauline_ the spell seemed to fall again over the bright
spirit of Mrs. Harris. Her eyelids drooped, her limbs lost their power,
and she sank into her chair as before, a helpless victim, apparently, to
the hidden forces. For a moment I was at a loss. I could not believe
that she was deceiving us, but it was possible that she was deceiving
herself. "In either case, she must be brought out of this," I decided,
and, putting my hands on her shoulders, I said: "If there is any
'control' here, let them stop this. We want no more of it. Stop it!"
My command was again obeyed, and the psychic slowly came back to
herself, and as she did so I said, warningly, to Mrs. Cameron: "Do not
utter another word of this in Mrs. Harris's presence. She seems to be
extremely sensitive to hypnotic influence, and I think she had better
go out into the air at once."
In rather subdued mood we went below to rejoin the frankly contemptuous
members of the party.
"Well, what luck?" cried Howard.
"You all look rather solemn," said Harris. "What about it? Dolly, what
have you been doing?"
Mrs. Cameron described the sitting as wonderful, but Mrs. Harris only
smiled vaguely, and I said: "Your wife seemed to go into a trance and
impersonate a number of individuals. She shows all the signs of a real
sensitive."
Harris, who had been studying his wife with half-humorous intentness,
now took command. "If you've been shamming, you need discipline; and if
you haven't, you need a doctor. I think we'll go home and have it out,"
he added, and shortly after led her away. "Some nice cool air is what we
need," he said at the door.
No sooner were the Harrises out of the door than the women of the party
fell upon me.
"What do you think of it, Mr. Garland?" asked Mrs. Cameron.
"If Mrs. Harris were not your friend, and if I had not seen other
performances of the same sort, I should instantly say that she was
having her joke with us. But I have seen too much of this sort of thing
to take it altogether lightly. That's the way this investigating goes.
One thing corroborates another. 'Impersonation' in the case of a public
medium may mean nothing--on the part of a psychic like your friend Mrs.
Harris it means a very great deal. In support of this, let me tell you
of a similar case. I have a friend, a perfectly trustworthy woman, and
of keen intelligence, whose 'stunt,' as she laughingly calls it, is to
impersonate nameless and suffering spirits who have been hurled into
outer darkness by reason of their own misdeeds or by some singular
chance of their taking off. My friend seems to be able in some way to
free these poor 'earth-bound souls' and send them flying upward to some
heaven. It's all very creepy," I added, warningly.
"Oh, delightful! Let it be _very_ creepy," called Mrs. Quigg.
"To begin with, my friend is as keen-eyed, as level-headed as any woman
I know--the last person in the world to be taken for a 'sensitive.' I
had never suspected it in her; but one night she laughingly admitted
having been 'in the work' at one time, and I begged for a sitting. We
were dining at her house--Jack Ross, a Miss Wilcox, and I, all intimate
friends of hers, and she consented. After sitting a few minutes she
turned to me and said: 'My "guide" is here. Be sure to keep near me;
don't let me fall.' She still spoke smilingly, but I could see she was
in earnest.
"'You see,' she explained, 'I seem to leave the body and to withdraw a
little distance above my chair. From this height I survey my material
self, which seems to be animated by an entirely alien influence.
Sometimes my body is moved by these forces to rise and walk about the
room. In such cases it is necessary for some friend to follow close
behind me, for between the going of "the spirit" and the return of my
"astral self" there lies an appreciable interval when my body is as limp
as an empty sack. I came very near having a bad fall once.'
"'I understand,' said I. 'I'll keep an eye on you.'
"In a few moments a change came over her face. She sank into a curious
negative state between trance and reverie. Her lips parted, and a soft
voice came from them. She spoke to Miss Wilcox, who sat opposite her:
'Sister--I am very happy. I am surrounded by children. It is beautiful
here in the happy valley--warm and golden--and oh, the merry children!'
"Miss Wilcox was deeply moved by this message and for a moment could not
reply. At length she recovered her voice and asked, 'Are you speaking to
me?'
"'Yes. I am worried about mother. She is sick. Go to her. She needs
help. Good-bye!' The smile faded; my friend's face resumed its
impersonal calm.
"'Did you recognize the spirit?' I asked.
"Miss Wilcox hesitated, but at last said: 'My sister was active in the
work of caring for orphan children. But that proves nothing. Anna may
have known it--there is no test in this. It may be only mind-reading.'
"'You are quite right,' I replied. 'But the message concerning your
mother can be tested, can it not?'
"At this moment the face of the psychic squared, and a deep, slow voice
came pulsing forth. 'Why do you wilfully blind your eyes? The truth will
prevail. Mystery is all about you. Why doubt that which would comfort
you?'
"'Who are you?' I inquired.
"'I am Theodore Parker, the psychic's control,' was the answer.
"Soon after this my friend opened her eyes and smiled. 'Do you know what
you've said?' I asked. 'Yes, I always have a dim notion of what is going
on,' she answered, 'but why I am moved to speak and act as I do I don't
know. It is just the same when I write automatically. I know when I do
it, but I can't see the connection between my own mind and the writing.
It is as if one lobe of my brain kept watch over the action of the
other.'
"She now passed into another period of immobility and so sat for a long
time. Suddenly her face hardened, became coarse, common, vicious in
line. Flinging out her hand, she struck me in the breast. 'What do you
want of me?' she demanded, in the voice of a harridan. 'What are you all
doing here? You're a nice lot of fools.'
"'Who are you?' I asked.
"'You know who I am,' she answered, with a hoarse laugh. 'A sweet bunch
you are! Where's Jim?'
"'Does any one recognize this "party"?' I asked. 'Ross, this must be one
of your set.'
"Ross laughed, and the 'influence,' thrusting her face close to his,
blurted out, menacingly: 'Don't know me, hey? Well, here I am. I wanted
a show, and they let me in. What you going to do about it?'
"'I reckon you lit in the wrong door-yard,' I replied; 'nobody knows you
here. Skiddoo!'
"She made an ugly face at me, and struck at me with her claw-like hand.
'I'd like to smash you!'
"'Good-bye,' said I. 'Get out!' And she was gone.
"Before a word could be spoken, a look of hopeless, heart-piercing woe
came over my friend's face. She began to moan and wring her hands most
piteously. 'Oh, where am I?' she wailed. 'It is so cold, so cold! So
cold and dark! Won't somebody help me? Oh, help me!'
"I gently asked: 'Who are you? Can't you tell us your name?'
"'Oh, I don't know, I can't tell,' moaned the voice. 'It's all so dark
and cold and lonely. Please tell me where I am. I've lost my name. All
is so dark and cold. Oh, pity me! Let me come in. Let me feel your
light. I'm freezing! Oh, pity me. I'm so lonely. It's so dark.'
"'Come in,' I said. 'We will help you.'
"The hands of the psychic crept timidly up my arm and touched my cheek.
'Thank you! Thank you! Oh, the cheer! Oh, the light!' she cried,
ecstatically. 'I see! I know! Good-bye!' And with a sigh of ecstasy the
voice ceased.
"I can hardly express to you the vivid and yet sombre impression this
made upon me. It was as if a chilled and weary bird, having winged its
way from the winter's midnight into a warm room, had been heartened and
invigorated, had rushed away confident and swift to the sun-lands of the
South.
"One by one other 'earth-bound souls' who, from one cause or another,
were 'unable to find their way upward,' came into our ken like chilled
and desperate bats condemned to whirl in endless outer darkness and
silence--poor, abortive, anomalous shadows, whose voices pleaded
piteously for release. Nameless, agonized, bewildered, they clung like
moths to the light of our psychic.
"Some of them appeared to be suffering all the terrors of the damned,
and as they moaned and pleaded for light, the lovely face of my friend
was convulsed with agony and her hands fluttered about like wounded
birds. Singular conception! Wonderful power of suggestion!
"At length, with a glad cry, the last of these blind souls saw, sighed
with happiness, and seemed to vanish upward, as if into some
unfathomable, fourth-dimension heaven. Then the sweet first spirit, the
woman with the glad children, returned to say to Miss Wilcox, 'Be
happy--George _is_ coming back to you.'
"After she passed, my friend opened her eyes as before, clearly,
smilingly, and said, 'Have you had enough?'
"'Plenty,' said I. 'You nearly took my eye out in your dramatic fervor.
I must say your ghosts are most unhappy creatures.'
"She became very serious. 'Please don't think that these spirits are my
affinities. My work is purely philanthropic, so Theodore Parker used to
tell mother. It was my duty, he said, to comfort the cheerless, to
liberate the earth-bound, and so I had to have these poor creatures
waiting around. That's why I gave it up. It got to be too dreadful. We
never could tell what would come next. Murderers and barnburners and
every other accursed spirit seemed to be privileged to come into my poor
empty house and abuse it, although Parker and his band promised to
protect me. I stopped it. I will not sit again,' she said, firmly. 'I
don't like it. It would be bad enough to be dominated by one's dead
friends, or the dead friends of one's friends, but to be helpless in the
hands of all the demons and suicides and miscreants of the other world
is intolerable. And if I am not dominated by dead people, I fear I am
acting in response to the minds of vicious living people, and I don't
like that. It's a dreadful feeling--can't you see it is?--this being
open to every wandering gust of passion. I wouldn't let any one of my
children be controlled for the world. Don't ask me to sit again, and
please don't let my friends know of my "gift."'
"Of course we promised, but the effect of that sitting I shall not soon
forget. By-the-way, Miss Wilcox 'phoned and proved the truth of her
message. Her mother really was ill and in need of her."
As I closed this story, Cameron said: "Garland, you tell that as if you
believed in it."
"I certainly do believe in my friend. It's no joke with her. She is
quite certain that she is controlled by those 'on the other side,' and
that to submit is to lose so much of her own individuality. You may call
it hysteria, somnambulism, hypnotism, anything you like, but that
certain people are moved subconsciously to impersonate the dead I am
quite ready to believe. However, 'impersonation' is the least convincing
(from my point of view) of all the phases of mediumship. I have paid
very little attention to it in the course of my investigation. It has no
value as evidence. You are still in the tattered fringes of 'spiritism,'
even when you have seen all that impersonation can show you."
"Well, what do you suggest as the proper method for the society?"
"As I told you at beginning, I have had a great deal of experience with
these elusive 'facts,' and it chances that a practised though
non-professional psychic with whom I have held many baffling sittings,
is in the city. I may be able to induce her to sit for us."
"Oh, do, do!" cried Mrs. Cameron and Miss Brush together.
"Who is she?" asked Miller.
"I'll tell you more about her--next time," I said, tantalizingly. "She
is very puzzling, I assure you. When and where shall we meet?"
"Here," said Cameron, promptly. "I'm getting interested. Bring on your
marvels."
"Yes," said Miller, and his mouth shut like a steel trap. "Bring on your
faker. It won't take us long to expose her little game."
"Bigger scientific bigots than you have been conquered," I retorted.
"All right. I'll see what I can do. We'll meet one week from to-day."
"Yes," said Cameron; "come for dinner."
As I was going out, Mrs. Quigg detained me. "If it had been anybody but
nice little Mrs. Harris, I should say that you had made this all up
between you. As it is, I guess I'll have to admit that there is
something in thought transference and hypnotism. _You were her
control._"
"That will serve for one evening," I retorted. "I'll make you doubt the
existence of matter before we finish this series of sittings." And with
this we parted.