yards from where we stood. For a moment neither of us stirred. Then with
a common impulse we rushed forward and together raised the grewsome
souvenir from the ground. At first it seemed much like any human skull
except that it was unusually large, and polished so that its top
glistened like a billiard ball. As we turned it around, however, a cry
of astonishment broke from both. The eye sockets were not empty, but
contained a pair of the oddest sort of eyes. They were perfect in shape
and expression, and though carved from what seemed to be deep blue
glass, looked almost too lifelike for pleasurable contemplation. But
what added to the uncanny effect of the lidless blue orbs was the fact
that they moved, being evidently set on some sort of bearing. So weirdly
fascinating was the strange object that the sun was high before we could
compose ourselves sufficiently to sit down to our morning meal; and
even then our conversation was entirely of the skull and of the strange
visitor who had come and gone so mysteriously. In comparing notes we
found that our remembrance of that visitor’s dress and appearance agreed
to the minutest details. Consequently if there had been any delusion
it was one in which both had shared. But if the experience had been
a delusion, how account for the skull? From time to time we glanced
toward the spot where we had placed the uncanny object, half expecting
that, too, would vanish. But no. It remained just where we had left it,
its top glistening in the sun, its lidless blue eyes gleaming with an
almost human expression. As I looked, for perhaps the twentieth time,
at the grewsome thing I observed that the eyes were turned toward the
left, and seemed gazing fixedly at the hillside above our camp. Seized
by a strange idea I arose and turned the skull in the direction of the
hill towards which the eyes looked. They stared straight ahead. Then I
turned it in the other direction, and, to my astonishment, they looked
towards the right. To make sure, I slowly turned it from one side to the
other, and all the while the eyes kept their gaze riveted on the same
spot. I had called Mitchell to observe the experiment, and he laughingly
suggested that the skull was looking for the man who brought it there
and then deserted it. But I was more serious. I had an idea concerning
this strange phenomenon and was resolved to test the matter to the end.
Holding the skull in one hand, I walked forward, every now and then
turning the skull, whose eyes always turned in the same direction, as
the needle of a compass points toward the north. I had in this manner
gradually approached the hill, when it seemed as if the eyes had actually
taken on a more intense gaze, and that that gaze was directed to a
particular portion of the rocks which seemed to form a small recess. I
moved forward more rapidly, the eyes continuing to stare at this place
until I had reached the recess itself. The next moment I found myself
within a natural enclosure, surrounded on three sides by precipitous
rock, so steep as to be almost barren of vegetation, save here and there
a clinging vine. Again I looked at the skull. Beyond a doubt its deep
blue eyes were directed towards a particular portion of the rocky wall
marked by a small depression, shaped like a diamond. Setting the grewsome
thing upon a flat rock, I purposely turned the side of the jaw toward
the point where the eye had been directed, and breathlessly awaited the
result. Slowly, steadily, those lidless eyes turned until they rested
again on the diamond-shaped depression.”
“And Mitchell?” said his hearer, “did this convince him?”
“Not at first, for he remained near our fire, watching my movements still
with an incredulous smile. The smile faded, however, when a moment later
I called him to my side and saying, ‘Watch the eyes and tell me what
you think,’ began turning the skull slowly around on the flat rock. The
eyes held their focus on the diamond-shaped incision, and I stood up and
confronted my friend.
“‘Well,’ said he, and this time his accent indicated great agitation,
‘I believe you are right, and there’s some mystery here; let’s get to
the bottom of it. I’ll go to the camp for an axe.’ Ten minutes later he
returned with the only available tool we possessed, and I began hacking
feverishly at the rocky wall, keeping the mark upon which the eyes were
riveted as our guide. Before long we had a big slice of the rocky soil
cut away, and Mitchell had just taken his turn at the work, when his axe
suddenly buried itself in what seemed to be a soft shell of rock, the
momentum throwing him flat on his face. The next moment a section of the
earth, quite six feet each way, gave way, revealing to our astonished
eyes a deep excavation. In the bright light of the morning sun which
shone full upon it, lighting up its interior to the rear wall, it seemed
about fifty feet inward.”
“A sort of cave?” said Leighton.
“Yes, but one made by human hands, as we discovered as soon as we crossed
the threshold. The walls were cut and carved in many curious devices,
while around the three sides ran a shelf cut in the rock, on which
reposed many bones piled in regular heaps. A glance revealed the fact
that they were human bones,—we were in some prehistoric sarcophagus.
Presently, as our eyes became accustomed to the subdued light, we began
to look about us more closely. I was examining a pile of bones at the
end farthest from the opening, comparing them with the skull in our
possession, when, finding them apparently of the usual size, I tossed a
thigh bone carelessly back on the shelf. It struck the pile with more
force than I had intended, and they all came tumbling to the floor; but
as they fell they revealed what appeared then, and subsequently proved to
be, a crystal casket. It was about eighteen inches long by six high, and
a foot wide; and, as I took hold of it, it moved with my hand. Carrying
it to the opening I set it down in the light. Then, for the first time,
I saw that it was filled with a blue substance, whose nature I could not
clearly make out, owing to the dust and dirt covering the case. Upon
examining the lid I found that it was not hinged but simply set on over
the top. A quick jerk brought it away, and there before our staring eyes
lay a huge heap of blue stones, all cut, and polished to a dazzling
brilliancy.
“‘Sapphires!’ cried Mitchell, and his eyes bulged from his head.
“‘Are you certain?’ I asked, almost breathless from amazement.
“‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘Look at them,’ and he took a handful of the
beautiful stones. ‘You never saw glass like that.’
“I thought as he did, but, being no judge of such things, was not too
ready to let my hopes soar, only to be dashed to earth again. There must
have been at least two pecks of them, ranging in size from a small pea to
stones as big as the end of my thumb,—and all perfectly cut. Suddenly, as
we stood gazing incredulously at the gleaming stones, my thoughts flew
to the skull, and I ran to fetch it. As I brought it into the light I
saw that its gaze was now riveted on the casket, the lidless blue orbs
seeming actually to gloat over the piles of blue stones. A new thought
flashed through my mind. Could it be—? Yes—undoubtedly—the eyes that we
had thought only bits of blue glass were themselves sapphires, but larger
and finer than any in the casket.
“Well, Mitchell and I were practical, first of all. As soon as we had
recovered from our amazement we made a thorough search of the cave.
Finding nothing more, however, we took ourselves and our precious burdens
to the camp, and that very night we started for San Francisco.”
“And the stones proved really sapphires?” said Leighton.
“Sapphires! I should say so. The leading jewelers to whom we showed a few
specimens upon our arrival in San Francisco, two days later, pronounced
them gems of the first water, and gladly paid us twenty thousand dollars
for sixty of the smaller stones. Upon parting company we divided the
sapphires equally between us, and since then I have visited every capital
of Europe, in each of which the stones have been pronounced flawless.”
“And that’s how you struck it rich?”
“Yes, but so far I have converted less than half of them into money. The
remainder I have placed in the casket in a New York safe deposit vault,
but the skull—”
As he spoke he gestured toward an ebony cabinet just above his head.
There, behind a glass door, stood a huge skull, whose lidless blue eyes,
looking out toward the distant city, seemed to pierce every obstacle
between itself and the casket of sapphires over which it still kept watch
and ward.
[Illustration]
A Surgical Love-Cure.
BY JAMES BUCKHAM.
One dull, gray afternoon in November I was sitting in my office
in Raymond Square, deeply absorbed in an article in my _Medical
Journal_,—the description of an experiment conducted by a famous French
surgeon for the purpose of determining whether sight could be restored
to a blind person by engrafting the live nerve of a dog’s eye upon the
shriveled and atrophied nerve of the patient’s eye. So engrossed was I in
the fascinating details of the experiment that I did not hear the door of
my office open, nor was I aware of the presence of a second person until
a peculiarly deep-toned, rich, and musical voice broke upon my ear.
“Have I the honor of addressing Doctor Marston?”
I looked up, and saw before me a tall and graceful young man,
smooth-shaven, and dressed in the characteristic clerical garb of the
Church of England. His face was singularly handsome, of the clear-cut
Grecian type, and was lighted by a pair of large, thoughtful brown eyes.
With the exception of the mouth, the whole face was both intellectual and
spiritual; but there was a certain fulness and sensuous curve of the lips
which suggested a strongly emotive and possibly passionate nature under
this calm and priestly exterior.
“Yes, I am Doctor Marston,” I said, replying to the young clergyman’s
question. “Can I be of any service to you?”
“On one condition—possibly,” replied the young man, taking the seat which
I indicated, and fixing his thoughtful brown eyes searchingly upon mine.
For a moment we sat gazing intently at each other, and then I said,
somewhat abruptly:—
“I beg to know the condition, sir.”
“It is this,” he replied; “that if I entrust my case to you, you will
promise to keep it entirely secret, scientifically or otherwise, until
after my death, should that occur before your own. And, in any case, you
must agree never to reveal my name in connection with the affair.”
For some moments I sat turning over this peculiar proposition in my mind,
conscious all the while that the brown eyes were fixed patiently, but
anxiously, upon my face. At length I replied:—
“I have never as yet been called upon to undertake a case guarded by such
secrecy as you seem desirous to throw about your own, and, to be frank,
I dislike to commit myself to any transaction of the sort,—at least,
until I know something of the nature of the trouble and the reasons for
suppressing any mention of it. This much, however, I will agree to do. If
you will describe the nature of your disease, I will then decide whether
I ought to accept the case on the conditions imposed. Whether I accept or
refuse it, I will agree to keep the matter a total secret, except so far
as your own proposition gives me liberty to speak.”
A slight smile flitted over the young clergyman’s face. “Very well,”
he said; “I accept your word of honor, as a gentleman should, and will
proceed at once to describe the malady which has, perhaps justly,
awakened your suspicions. To come at once to the point, then, know that,
impelled by your well-deserved reputation as an anatomist, I have applied
to you to perform a surgical operation _for the cure of love-sickness_!”
I started, the suspicion that flitted through my mind mirroring itself
unconsciously in my dilated eyes.
“Ah, no!” exclaimed my companion seriously, reading the tell-tale
revelation of my face. “I am not insane. My mind is as clear and logical
at this moment as it ever was in my life, and the request which I make,
a little reflection will prove to you, is not only reasonable, but
scientific.
“First, however, let me state to you the circumstances which make me
desirous to rid myself of the passion which I have confessed, thereby
anticipating the question which is sure to rise to your lips. You are
aware, of course, that the High Church movement in this country, as well
as in England, has resulted in the formation of certain brotherhoods
of the clergy, bound together by vows more or less approaching in
strictness those which govern the clergy of the Church of Rome?”
“I was not aware of the fact,” I replied, as the young clergyman paused
for an answer.
“It is indeed so,” he continued. “You will not be surprised, then, to
know that by the vows of the Brotherhood of St. Michael, to which I
consecrated myself soon after the days of my novitiate, celibacy is as
strictly enjoined as upon the priesthood of the Church of Rome.”
“Indeed!” I exclaimed, carried away by some sudden feeling, which I
cannot even now defend. “The more fools—”
But here I stopped, the great brown eyes with something like a flash of
Olympic lightning piercing and enchaining mine. In another instant the
deep, rich voice proceeded:—
“For ten years I have kept every vow of the brotherhood referring to
woman, without a single spiritual struggle—wearing these restraints as
Samson wore his chains. But something less than six months ago I met a
woman—”
The young clergyman paused, throwing his head back against the green
baize of the easy-chair in which he sat. For a moment I thought he had
fainted, and sprang for a cordial; but, without taking his slowly opening
eyes from the ceiling, he motioned me back, and continued, while an
indescribably sweet and almost transfiguring smile lit his pale face:—
“A woman, said I? An angel! A vision of transcendent loveliness! She
came into my life as a new star comes across the disk of an astronomer’s
telescope, shedding its undiscovered light from eternity for him alone.
O my Ethel! My angel! My lips yearn toward yours, my arms grope out to
clasp you!—My God! What am I saying?”
The young priest sprang from his chair and stood trembling before me.
His face was livid with the exercise of some tremendous mental effort,
and I could see that the white nails of his clenched hands were driven
deep into the flesh. For a full minute he stood thus, and then his strong
frame relaxed, and he sank back into his chair, white as the paper on
which I write, and weak as a babe. This time I pressed the cordial to
his lips, and he did not refuse it. Presently he looked up with a faint
smile, and said, “Now, sir, you see what my malady is. I have no need to
describe it any farther.”
I stepped to the window and gazed up into the gray sky, as if looking for
a solution of my perplexity. But my mind remained as blank as the dull
expanse above the city roofs. Was this man insane, or was he really, as
he said, in his right mind? Could the force of a mere amorous passion for
a beautiful woman so carry away one of his character unless the man’s
mental integrity was impaired? I turned suddenly, in response to the
young clergyman’s voice. He had risen, and was advancing towards me.
“Do you believe in phrenology, Doctor Marston?”
“Most assuredly I do not.”
“Will you perform an experiment upon me to test the reasonableness of
your doubt?”
“Do you mean by that, will I assume your case surgically?”
“Exactly.”
I turned to the window again. Here was certainly an opportunity to
contribute something to the discussion of a vexed scientific question.
Are the functions of the brain localized in its structure? So say Gall,
and Spurzheim, and not a few other eminent anatomists. Well, every
practical experiment looking towards the solution of this question has
its value. Here was a strong, vigorous man, evidently possessed by the
amative mania. It would be an operation of little difficulty and no great
degree of danger to uncover the occipital protuberance at the base of the
brain, where phrenologists claim that the organ of love is situated, and
then—
“Well, will you take the case?”
The clergyman’s hand was on my shoulder. I turned and looked him squarely
in the face. “Is it understood that you assume all the risk, and that you
do not hold me responsible for the psychological result of an experiment
which, so far as I am concerned, is purely physical in its character?”
“Certainly. We will have it so understood.”
“Then you may call at my office to-morrow morning at eleven. Eat a light
breakfast, and, as far as possible, avoid excitement of every kind.”
It seemed strange instruction to be giving a clergyman; but the young man
understood and nodded approval. In a few minutes he took his departure,
and I returned to my _Medical Journal_—but not to read.
Precisely at eleven o’clock the next morning my singular patient walked
into the office. I at once remarked upon his changed appearance. His
face looked haggard, and there were heavy, dark rings under his eyes,
appearing almost black at the inner corners of the lids.
“I have seen _her_,” he explained heavily. “She was at All Saints Chapel
this morning. It was impossible for me to retire, or I should have done
so. I had to fight my desire to look at her, to speak to her. I had to
fight like a wild lion, and it has told on me, as you can see. But, thank
God, it is over now!”
“I hardly think you are in a fit condition to endure a surgical
operation,” I objected.
“For God’s sake, do not put it off any longer, doctor!” exclaimed the
young clergyman, clutching my hand. “I would rather die than endure
another day of such moral agony.”
“Very well,” I said; “I do not consider the experiment a dangerous one in
any case—only exhausting.”
Five minutes later my patient, divested of coat, vest, and collar, lay
stretched on the operating table. In five minutes more he was under the
influence of ether.
My first procedure was to shave the dark, soft, silken hair from the
lower part of the young man’s head. I then made two V-shaped incisions
with a lancet at the base of the skull, where phrenologists locate the
organ of amativeness, and raised the flap of skin from the skull. The
next thing was to get at the brain itself, and this I accomplished by
boring two fine holes through the skull with the smallest trephine known
in surgery. The portion of the brain thus exposed, I was amazed to find,
was in a highly inflamed condition. Instead of attempting to relieve
the surcharged brain with any instrument, I now placed a leech at each
orifice, and allowed a considerable amount of blood to be thus withdrawn.
I then dressed the wound antiseptically, and closed it with sutures.
My patient soon came out from under the influence of the anesthetic,
but appeared very weak. I lifted him in my arms and carried him to the
couch in my private room. Enjoining strict quiet, and, if possible,
sleep, I left him alone for a couple of hours. At the end of that time,
considering it safe to permit him to talk, I reentered the room with
considerable curiosity, not to say agitation, and asked him how he was
feeling. To my astonishment, he grasped my hand warmly, exclaiming that
he would consider me his greatest benefactor as long as he lived. “For,”
he cried, “you have saved my soul from its otherwise certain ruin. Thank
God! I feel now no more emotion at the thought of that woman than of any
other of her sex.”
I brought my patient some refreshment, and at three o’clock he left my
office in high spirits, promising to return again the next day to report
upon his condition.
For three weeks the Rev. Alexander Maeck—as I will call my clerical
patient—haunted my office every day, and we became fast friends. During
all this time he was entirely free from disturbing sentiments. The flames
of love, he declared, were quenched, and he was supremely happy.
So favorably, I must confess, did this experiment dispose me towards the
neglected science of phrenology that I at once began to direct my studies
in that direction, and soon accumulated a large number of expensive books
on the subject. I also began to write up the details of my experiment, so
as to get the matter into permanent shape while it was still fresh in my
mind.
About six weeks after the occurrences above related, and just after I
had posted an order for several hundred dollars’ worth of phrenological
works, the letter-carrier came into my office and presented me with a
large, square, cream-colored envelope. I tore it open carelessly, removed
the enclosure from the inner envelope, and bent over two beautifully
engraved cards which fell upon the table. They bore the names of Rev.
Alexander Maeck and Miss Ethel Plympton.
The wedding was a strictly private affair: and perhaps the most
remarkable thing connected with it was the fact that the would-be
annihilator of Cupid was permitted to kiss the bride.
The Williamson Safe Mystery.
BY F. S. HESSELTINE.
One morning in the spring of 1894, the attention of persons walking along
Sudbury Street, Boston, was attracted to a huge iron safe that was being
put out from the warerooms of a well-known safe company, which for many
years had done business on that street.
The way was blocked, and all passage by cars and teams prevented while
a number of men, with great effort, by the aid of blocks, rollers, and
windlass, drew the huge mass of iron onto the platform of a stout dray by
which it was to be transported to its destination.
Of course passers-by wondered and queried as to the purpose and possible
use of a safe of such unusual form and dimension. But the curiosity of
the questioners remained unsatisfied; no one standing by knew, and the
merchant with his employees was too busy to answer those who ventured to
interrupt with their inquiries.
This much, however, was evident: the safe was not new; indeed, the style
and appearance of it indicated that it had been built many years ago
for some special purpose, in which it had doubtless seen long service.
Altogether the appearance of this strange object so excited my curiosity
that, although I was in a hurry to reach my office, I waited until the
thing was finally loaded and moved slowly off up the street. Then I
entered the store of the safe company, and, being well acquainted with
the manager, I asked if he could give me the old safe’s history.
He replied that there was a strange story connected with it, known now
only to himself. For certain reasons it never had been known except to
two people, and they had been sacredly bound, one by personal interest
and the other by a solemn vow, never to divulge the secret. “This
promise,” he said, “has been faithfully and sacredly kept; but now all
those in any way connected with or affected by it have passed beyond the
dark river. The safe, which has stood here for many years like a specter,
reminding me of the dead past, has now, to my great relief, vanished
forever, and I know no good reason why the strange story should not be
told. While I may withhold or change names in the recital, that which I
am about to relate is true, and is capable to some extent of verification.
“More than fifty years ago a stranger of good appearance, whose speech
and manner indicated that he was of English birth, entered the shop of
one Kershaw, a manufacturer on the corner of Chardon and Green Streets,
in this city, inquired for the proprietor, and stated that he wanted
constructed a strong, fire-proof safe, giving the description and
dimensions desired. By his conversation he appeared familiar with such
work, and stated plainly how he wanted this constructed and the kind of
lock required,—the keyless combination not having then been invented. In
answer to inquiries he said that he was about to open a jewelry store in
Hanover Street, that he did not intend to do a retail business, but would
carry a considerable stock for wholesale, visiting for trade dealers in
neighboring cities. He added, also, that as he would be absent from his
store from time to time, he desired a safe of large dimensions where his
stock could be safely stored during his absence, as well as at night. He
required no shelving in the safe, and wanted it of unusual depth, that he
might put directly into it the cases and trunks in which he would keep or
carry his stock.
“Being convinced of the stranger’s responsibility by a large advance
deposit, and by the promise of full payment on completion and delivery,
Mr. Kershaw accepted his order, and in due time the safe was completed
and delivered. Soon after a sign was put up on the store,—‘J. Williamson,
Wholesale Dealer in Watches and Jewelry.’ No great display was made in
the window. Goods were received and shipped by the rear entrance opening
on an alley-way. Apparently, but little business was done at the store,
and frequently Mr. Williamson was absent visiting his customers or buying
additional stock in New York City. He contracted no indebtedness, paying
cash for everything. He expressed a lack of confidence in banks and
bankers, saying that he had once lost a large sum by the failure of a
bank in which he deposited, and for the future should be his own banker.
“Shortly after he began business he took up his residence on Sheafe
Street in the North End of the city, and attended regularly the Baldwin
Place Baptist Church. No subscription paper or contribution box ever
passed him without a fairly liberal donation.
“In disposition he was quiet and retiring, and rarely spoke except in
response to some inquiry. His earlier life he never referred to except in
reply to one or two persons who ventured the question, when he briefly
stated that he was the second son of a well-to-do English squire, that
at an early age he found that there was no future for him in the old
country, and that when little more than a boy he came to New York where
he acquired a knowledge of business, and by diligence and economy saved
enough to start in business.
“Within a year after his arrival in Boston Mr. Williamson sought the hand
of the eldest daughter of a respectable merchant, a deacon in the church
which he attended, producing at the same time letters from New York
indorsing his worth and character. Having thus satisfied her parents,
he was accepted and with little delay married. Very soon after he was
received, on profession of his faith, into the church, and by his quiet,
correct life, liberality, and honest dealing, secured the confidence and
respect of all who knew him.