"I don't know that I do, really; but, at any rate, 'they' are not always
mind-readers--that I have proved very conclusively. In all my experience
I have never had any satisfactory evidence of the clairvoyance of these
manifesting intelligences."
"I thought 'they' could read one's every thought."
"I do not find that 'they' can read so much as _one_ of my thoughts, and
I would not invest a dollar on their recommendations. Seldom does so
much as a familiar name come up in my sittings, and no message of any
intimate sort has ever come from the shadow world for me. The messages
are intelligent, but below rather than above the average. 'They' always
seem very fallible, very human to me, and nothing 'they' do startles me.
I have no patience with those who make much of the morbid side of this
business. To me it is neither 'theism' nor 'diabolism,' and is neither
destruction of an old religion or the basis of a new one--But all this
verges on the controversial, and is not good for our psychic. Let's sing
some good old tune, like 'Suwanee River' or 'Lily Dale.' We must keep to
the genial side of conversation. Spread your hands wide on the table and
be as comfortable as you can. We may have to wait a long time now, all
on Miller's account."
"Because he is a sceptic?"
"No; because he's belligerent," I answered. "It doesn't matter whether
you believe or not if you do not stir up controversy. Miller's
'suggestion' is adverse to the serenity of the psychic, that's all. The
old-time sleepy back-parlor logic has no weight with me. Maxwell and
Flammarion are my guides."
_For four hours we sat thus, and nothing happened._ How I kept them at
it I do not now understand, but they stayed. We sang, joked, told
stories, gossiped in desperate effort to kill time, and not one rap,
tap, or crackle came to guide us or to give indication of the presence
of any unusual power. Part of the time Mrs. Smiley was awake and sorely
grieved at her failure. She understood very well the position in which I
seemed to stand. To Miller I was a dupe, the victim of a trickster. He
himself afterward confessed that at the time he almost regretted his
preternatural acuteness, and was ready to take himself away in order to
let the show go on. But he didn't, and from time to time I encouraged
our psychic by saying: "Never mind, Mrs. Smiley, there are other
evenings to come. We will not despair."
At last she sank into profound sleep, and at exactly twelve o'clock I
heard a faint tapping on top of the piano, just behind Miller. "Hooray,
here they are!" I exclaimed, with vast relief. "What is the matter?" I
asked of "the presence." "Aren't we sitting right?"
"_No_," was the answer, by means of one decided tap.
"Am I right?"
"_No_," answered the taps.
I may explain at this point that in the accepted code of signals one tap
means "_No_," three taps mean "_Yes_," and two taps, "_Don't know_,"
"_Will try_," or any other doubtful state of mind. One has, of course,
to guess at the precise meaning; but one may confirm one's
interpretation by putting it in the form of a question that can be
answered by "_Yes_" or "_No_."
"Shall I change with Miller?" I asked.
Three brisk taps made affirmative answer.
I exchanged places with Miller, but did not again touch Mrs. Smiley's
hand. Immediately thereafter the sound of soft drumming came from the
piano at a point entirely out of reach of the psychic, and at my request
the drummer kept time to my whistling. After some minutes of this
foolery "the force" left the piano abruptly, as if with a leap, and
dropped to the middle of the table. A light, fumbling noise followed,
and I called out: "Is every hand in the circle accounted for?"
While the members of the group were, in turn, assuring me of this, a
small bell on the table was taken up and rung, and the table itself was
shoved powerfully toward the circle and away from the psychic. I assure
you, my sitters were profoundly interested now, and some of the women
were startled. A sharp, pecking sound came upon the cone. I called
attention to the fact that this took place at least six feet from the
psychic, and a moment later, with intent to detect her in any movement,
I leaned far forward so that my head came close to her breast. I could
not discern the slightest motion; I could not even hear her breathe. All
this, while very impressive to me, was referred by the others to
trickery on Mrs. Smiley's part.
At my request, the drumming on the cone kept time to "Dixey" and "Yankee
Doodle," and at length I said to "the spirit": "You must have liked
topical songs when you were on the earth-plane."
Instantly _the cone was swept violently from the table, and a deep,
jovial, strong whisper came from the horn to me_. "_I do now_," was the
amazing answer.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"_Wilbur Thompson._"
"Oh, it is you, is it? Well, I am glad you've found a voice; I felt
rather helpless up to this moment. Are we sitting right?"
"_All right._"
"What are you going to do for us to-night? Can you raise the table?"
"_I'll try_," he whispered again.
"Are there other 'spirits' here?"
"_Yes; many._"
"Can't 'they' write their names on the pad?"
There was a moment's silence, and then the sound of writing began in the
middle of the table. When this had finished, I said, "Did you succeed?"
Again the cone rose, and another whisper, a fainter voice, answered:
"_Yes, but the writing is very miserable._"
The rest of the sitters were silent with amazement till Miller said, in
a tone of disgust: "That is of no value. It is so easy for Howard, or
some one else, to break the circle and write or speak through the cone."
"Yes, we'll have to trust one another for to-night," I admitted.
The psychic now began to twist and moan and struggle, choking, gasping
in such evident suffering that Mrs. Cameron cried out: "Mr. Garland,
don't you hear? She is ill! Let me go to her!"
"Don't be alarmed," I replied. "This struggle almost always precedes her
strongest manifestations. It seems cruel to say so, but, remember, Mrs.
Smiley has been through these paroxysms hundreds of times. It appears
very painful and exhausting, but she has assured me that 'they' take
care of her. She suffers almost no ill effects from her trance."
Miller, living up to his character as remorseless scientist, remarked:
"I'd like to control her hands. Shall I try?"
"Not now, not till the 'guides' consent to it," I replied. "It is said
to be dangerous to the psychic to touch her unexpectedly."
"I can understand that it might be inconvenient," remarked Harris, with
biting brevity.
Again we sat in expectant silence until several of the group became
restless. "What is she about now?" asked Cameron, wearily.
"She is in dead trance, apparently. Please be patient a little while
longer. Are you still with us, 'Wilbur'?"