IV. _The Doctor._
I wonder if it has struck any of my readers as strange that, during all
these manifestations in England and America, I had never seen the form,
nor heard the voice, of my late father, Captain Marryat. Surely if these
various media lived by trickery and falsehood, and wished successfully
to deceive me, _some_ of them would have thought of trying to represent
a man so well known, and whose appearance was so familiar. Other
celebrated men and women have come back and been recognized from their
portraits only, but, though I have sat at numbers of _seances_ given
_for me_ alone, and at which I have been the principal person, my father
has never reappeared at any. Especially, if these manifestations are all
fraud, might this have been expected in America. Captain Marryat's name
is still "a household word" amongst the Americans, and his works largely
read and appreciated, and wherever I appeared amongst them I was
cordially welcomed on that account. When once I had acknowledged my
identity and my views on Spiritualism, every medium in Boston and New
York had ample time to get up an imitation of my father for my benefit
had they desired to do so. But never has he appeared to me; never have I
been told that he was present. Twice only in the whole course of my
experience have I received the slightest sign from him, and on those
occasions he sent me a message--once through Mr. Fletcher (as I have
related), and once through his grandson and my son, Frank Marryat. That
time he told me he should never appear to me and I need never expect
him. But since the American media knew nothing of this strictly private
communication, and I had seen, before I parted with them, _seventeen_ of
my friends and relations, none of whom (except "Florence," "Powles," and
"Emily,") I had ever seen in England, it is at the least strange,
considering his popularity (and granted their chicanery) that Captain
Marryat was not amongst them.
As soon as I became known at the Berry's _seances_ several people
introduced themselves to me, and amongst others Mrs. Isabella Beecher
Hooker, the sister of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe and Henry Ward Beecher.
She was delighted to find me so interested in Spiritualism, and anxious
I should sit with a friend of hers, a great medium whose name became so
rubbed out in my pencil notes, that I am not sure if it was Doctor
Carter, or Carteret, and therefore I shall speak of him here as simply
"the doctor." The doctor was bound to start for Washington the following
afternoon, so Mrs. Hooker asked me to breakfast with her the next
morning, by which time she would have found out if he could spare us an
hour before he set out on his journey. When I arrived at her house I
heard that he had very obligingly offered to give me a complimentary
_seance_ at eleven o'clock, so, as soon as we had finished breakfast, we
set out for his abode. I found the doctor was quite a young man, and
professed himself perfectly ignorant on the subject of Spiritualism. He
said to me, "I don't know and I don't profess to know _what_ or _who_ it
is that appears to my sitters whilst I am asleep. I know nothing of what
goes on, except from hearsay. I don't know whether the forms that appear
are spirits, or transformations, or materializations. You must judge of
that for yourself. There is one peculiarity in my _seances_. They take
place in utter darkness. When the apparitions (or whatever you choose to
call them) appear, they must bring their own lights or you won't see
them, I have no conductor to my _seances_. If whatever comes can't
announce itself it must remain unknown. But I think you will find that,
as a rule, they can shift for themselves. This is my _seance_ room."
As he spoke he led us into an unfurnished bedroom, I say bedroom,
because it was provided with the dressing closet fitted with pegs, usual
to all bedrooms in America. This closet the doctor used as his cabinet.
The door was left open, and there was no curtain hung before it. The
darkness he sat in rendered that unnecessary. The bedroom was darkened
by two frames, covered with black American cloth, which fitted into the
windows. The doctor, having locked the bedroom door, delivered the key
to me. He then requested us to go and sit for a few minutes in the
cabinet to throw our influence about it. As we did so we naturally
examined it. It was only a large cupboard. It had no window and no door,
except that which led into the room, and no furniture except a
cane-bottomed chair. When we returned to the _seance_ room, the doctor
saw us comfortably established on two armchairs before he put up the
black frames to exclude the light. The room was then pitch dark, and the
doctor had to grope his way to his cabinet. Mrs. Hooker and I sat for
some minutes in silent expectation. Then we heard the voice of a
negress, singing "darkey" songs, and my friend told me it was that of
"Rosa," the doctor's control. Presently "Rosa" was heard to be
expostulating with, or encouraging some one, and faint lights, like
sparks from a fire, could be seen flitting about the open door of the
cabinet. Then the lights seemed to congregate together, and cluster
about a tall form, draped in some misty material, standing just outside
the cabinet. "Can't you tell us who you are?" asked Mrs. Hooker. "You
must tell your name, you know," interposed "Rosa," whereupon a low voice
said, "I am Janet E. Powles."
Now this was an extraordinary coincidence. I had seen Mrs. Powles, the
mother of my friend "John Powles," only once--when she travelled from
Liverpool to London to meet me on my return from India, and hear all the
particulars of her son's death. But she had continued to correspond with
me, and show me kindness till the day of her own death, and as she had a
daughter of the same name, she always signed herself "Janet _E._
Powles." Even had I expected to see the old lady, and published the fact
in the Boston papers, that initial _E_ would have settled the question
of her identity in my mind.
"Mrs. Powles," I exclaimed, "how good of you to come and see me."
"Johnny has helped me to come," she replied. "He is so happy at having
met you again. He has been longing for it for so many years, and I have
come to thank you for making him happy." (Here was another coincidence.
"John Powles" was never called anything but "Powles" by my husband and
myself. But his mother had retained the childish name of "Johnny," and I
could remember how it used to vex him when she used it in her letters to
him. He would say to me, "If she would only call me 'John' or 'Jack,' or
anything but 'Johnny.'") I replied, "I may not leave my seat to go to
you. Will you not come to me?" For the doctor had requested us not to
leave our seats, but to insist on the spirits approaching us. "Mrs.
Powles" said, "I cannot come out further into the room to-day. I am too
weak. But you shall see me." The lights then appeared to travel about
her face and dress till they became stationary, and she was completely
revealed to view under the semblance of her earthly likeness. She smiled
and said, "We were all at the Opera House on Thursday night, and
rejoiced at your success. 'Johnny' was so proud of you. Many of your
friends were there beside ourselves."
I then saw that, unlike the spirits at Miss Berry's, the form of "Mrs.
Powles" was draped in a kind of filmy white, _over_ a dark dress. All
the spirits that appeared with the doctor were so clothed, and I
wondered if the filmy substance had anything to do with the lights,
which looked like electricity. An incident which occurred further on
seemed to confirm my idea. When "Mrs. Powles" had gone, which we guessed
by the extinguishing of the lights, the handsome face and form of "Harry
Montagu" appeared. I had known him well in England, before he took his
fatal journey to America, and could never be mistaken in his sweet smile
and fascinating manner. He did not come further than the door, either,
but he was standing within twelve or fourteen feet of us for all that.
He only said, "Good-luck to you. We can't lose an interest in the old
profession, you know, any more than in the old people." "I wish you'd
come and help me, Harry," I answered. "Oh, I do!" he said, brightly;
"several of us do. We are all links of the same chain. Half the
inspiration in the world comes from those who have gone before. But I
must go! I'm getting crowded out. Here's Ada waiting to see you.
Good-bye!" And as his light went out, the sweet face of Adelaide Neilson
appeared in his stead. She said, "You wept when you heard of my death;
and yet you never knew me. How was that?" "Did I weep?" I answered, half
forgetting; "if so, it must have been because I thought it so sad that a
woman so young, and beautiful, and gifted as you were, should leave the
world so soon." "Oh no! not sad," she answered, brightly; "glorious!
glorious! I would not be back again for worlds." "Have you ever seen
your grave?" I asked her. She shook her head. "What are _graves_ to us?
Only cupboards, where you keep our cast-off clothes." "You don't ask me
what the world says about you, now," I said to her. "And I don't care,"
she answered. "Don't _you_ forget me! Good-bye!"
She was succeeded by a spirit who called herself "Charlotte Cushman,"
and who spoke to me kindly about my professional life. Mrs. Hooker told
me that, to the best of her knowledge, none of these three spirits had
ever appeared under the doctor's mediumship before. But now came out
"Florence," dancing into the room--_literally dancing_, holding out in
both hands the skirt of a dress, which looked as if it were made of the
finest muslin or lace, and up and down which fireflys were darting with
marvellous rapidity. She looked as if clothed in electricity, and
infinitely well pleased with herself. "Look!" she exclaimed; "look at my
dress! isn't it lovely? Look at the fire! The more I shake it, the more
fire comes! Oh, mother! if you could only have a dress like this for the
stage, what a _sensation_ you would make!" And she shook her skirts
about, till the fire seemed to set a light to every part of her drapery,
and she looked as if she were in flames. I observed, "I never knew you
to take so much interest in your dress before, darling." "Oh, it isn't
the dress," she replied; "it's the _fire_!" And she really appeared as
charmed with the novel experience as a child with a new toy.
As she left us, a dark figure advanced into the room, and ejaculated,
"Ma! ma!" I recognized at once the peculiar intonation and mode of
address of my stepson, Francis Lean, with whom, since he had announced
his own death to me, I had had no communication, except through trance
mediumship. "Is that you, my poor boy," I said, "come closer to me. You
are not afraid of me, are you?" "O, no! Ma! of course not, only I was at
the Opera House, you know, with the others, and that piece you recited,
Ma--you know the one--it's all true, Ma--and I don't want you to go back
to England. Stay here, Ma--stay here!" I knew perfectly well to what the
lad alluded, but I would not enter upon it before a stranger. So I only
said, "You forget my children, Francis--what would they say if I never
went home again." This seemed to puzzle him, but after a while he
answered, "Then go to _them_, Ma; go to _them_." All this time he had
been talking in the dark, and I only knew him by the sound of his voice.
I said, "Are you not going to show yourself to me, Francis. It is such a
long time since we met." "Never since you saw me at the docks. That was
_me_, Ma, and at Brighton, too, only you didn't half believe it till you
heard I was gone." "Tell me the truth of the accident, Francis," I asked
him. "Was there foul play?" "No," he replied, "but we got quarrelling
about _her_ you know, and fighting, and that's how the boat upset. It
was _my_ fault, Ma, as much as anybody else's."
"How was it your body was never found?" "It got dragged down in an
undercurrent, Ma. It was out at Cape Horn before they offered a reward
for it." Then he began to light up, and as soon as the figure was
illuminated I saw that the boy was dressed in "jumpers" and "jersey" of
dark woollen material, such as they wear in the merchant service in hot
climates, but over it all--his head and shoulders included--was wound a
quantity of flimsy white material I have before mentioned. "I can't bear
this stuff. It makes me look like a girl," said "Francis," and with his
hands he tore it off. Simultaneously the illumination ceased, and he was
gone. I called him by name several times, but no sound came out of the
darkness. It seemed as though the veiling which he disliked preserved
his materialization, and that, with its protection removed, he had
dissolved again.
When another dark figure came out of the cabinet, and approaching me,
knelt at my feet, I supposed it to be "Francis" come back again, and
laying my hand on the bent head, I asked, "Is this you again, dear?" A
strange voice answered, with the words, "Forgive! forgive!" "_Forgive!_"
I repeated, "What have I to forgive?" "The attempt to murder your
husband in 1856. Arthur Yelverton Brooking has forgiven. He is here with
me now. Will you forgive too?" "Certainly," I replied, "I have forgiven
long ago. You expiated your sin upon the gallows. You could do no more."
The figure sprung into a standing position, and lit up from head to
foot, when I saw the two men standing together, Arthur Yelverton
Brooking and the Madras sepoy who had murdered him. I never saw anything
more brilliant than the appearance of the sepoy. He was dressed
completely in white, in the native costume, with a white "puggree" or
turban on his head. But his "puggree" was flashing with jewels--strings
of them were hung round his neck--and his sash held a magnificent
jewelled dagger. You must please to remember that I was not alone, but
that this sight was beheld by Mrs. Hooker as well as myself (to whom it
was as unexpected as to her), and that I know she would testify to it
to-day. And now to explain the reason of these unlooked-for apparitions.
In 1856 my husband, then Lieutenant Ross-Church, was Adjutant of the
12th Madras Native Infantry, and Arthur Yelverton Brooking, who had for
some time done duty with the 12th, was adjutant of another native corps,
both of which were stationed at Madras. Lieutenant Church was not a
favorite with his men, by whom he was considered a martinet, and one day
when there had been a review on the island at Madras, and the two
adjutants were riding home together, a sepoy of the 12th fired at
Lieutenant Church's back with the intent to kill him, but unfortunately
the bullet struck Lieutenant Brooking instead, who, after lingering for
twelve hours, died, leaving a young wife and a baby behind him. For this
offence the sepoy was tried and hung, and on his trial the whole truth
of course came out. This then was the reason that the spirits of the
murdered and the murderer came like friends, because the injury had
never been really intended for Brooking.
When I said that I had forgiven, the sepoy became (as I have told) a
blaze of light, and then knelt again and kissed the hem of my dress. As
he knelt there he became covered, or heaped over, with a mass of the
same filmy drapery as enveloped "Francis," and when he rose again he was
standing in a cloud. He gathered an end of it, and laying it on my head
he wound me and himself round and round with it, until we were bound up
in a kind of cocoon. Mrs. Hooker, who watched the whole proceeding, told
me afterwards that she had never seen anything like it before--that she
could distinctly see the dark face and the white face close together all
the time beneath the drapery, and that I was as brightly illuminated as
the spirit. Of this I was not aware myself, but _his_ brightness almost
dazzled me.
Let me observe also that I have been in the East Indies, and within a
few yards' length of sepoys, and that I am sure I could never have been
wrapt in the same cloth with a mortal one without having been made
painfully aware of it in more ways than one. The spirit did not _unwind_
me again, although the winding process had taken him some time. He
whisked off the wrapping with one pull, and I stood alone once more. I
asked him by what name I should call him, and he said, "The Spirit of
Light." He then expressed a wish to magnetize something I wore, so as to
be the better able to approach me. I gave him a brooch containing "John
Powles'" hair, which his mother had given me after his death, and he
carried it back into the cabinet with him. It was a valuable brooch of
onyx and pearls, and I was hoping my eastern friend would not carry it
_too_ far, when I found it had been replaced and fastened at my throat
without my being aware of the circumstance. "Arthur Yelverton Brooking"
had disappeared before this, and neither of them came back again. These
were not all the spirits that came under the doctor's mediumship during
that _seance_, but only those whom I had known and recognized. Several
of Mrs. Hooker's friends appeared and some of the doctor's controls, but
as I have said before, they could not help my narrative, and so I omit
to describe them. The _seance_ lasted altogether two hours, and I was
very grateful to the doctor for giving me the opportunity to study an
entirely new phase of the science to me.