THROUGH CLAIRVOYANT VISION
And now, as the exhibitor of a panorama might say, it becomes necessary
to introduce our readers or audience to new scenes and stranger people.
But these strangers being near and dear to the heart of the writer, if
not yet to the reader, become in their lives so intermingled and
interwoven in the lives and histories of the persons first introduced
that we can no longer allow them to remain behind the scenes.
We must also go back in time several years to a period when the prairies
of the West were in some portions less thickly populated than at
present, and the mushroom growth of the towns was still a marvel to the
slower growing East. To a time, also, when the so-called modern
spiritualism was of a newer growth and when esoteric philosophy,
occultism, and the many other _isms_ dealing with the life beyond the
grave were less talked of.
The place, a small town in western Iowa, and a country farm-house,
nestles down in one of the horse-shoe coves formed by the bluffs above
the eastern border of the Missouri River.
There are no neighboring dwellings in sight, though but a few rods away
are other houses situated also in coves in the bluffs, forming quite a
large community, living near but out of sight of each other.
Large herds of horses and cattle are seen grazing upon the unfenced
pasture land, and a small schoolhouse standing out like a beacon from a
ridge of highland is the only building visible, except the barns and
corn-cribs belonging to the farms.
The house itself is low and long, with several additions or lean-tos,
but has an air of comfort and hospitality, looking out as it does upon
the many acres of rolling plateau, where far away is seen the dark line
of the country road winding about the base of the bluffs or climbing
steeply up the sides of them. A long lane branches from the main road
and leads up to the house, and affords a view of any coming visitor for
some distance away, and lines of cowpaths thread the steep hills at the
back of the dwelling.
Thus sequestered and hill-environed lived Squire Bartram with his wife
and two sons, enjoying the peace and plenty of the average well-to-do
farmer, with none of the business care and excitements which a life in
town might bring.
Squire Bartram was one of those who had the good fortune to have been
born in that most coveted birth-place, Massachusetts, and perhaps,
better than all, he first opened his eyes upon the renowned and
beautiful Berkshire Hills. In early childhood he had been taught the
religion and creed of those Puritan fathers who founded the first homes
there, and had been brought up to a most strict observance of all moral
and evangelical law. His life had been frugally and honestly spent upon
a farm up to the time when, listening to the preaching of the early
apostles of Mormonism, he felt himself called to a priesthood among the
Saints.
Later, when he had endured martyrdom and privations for the sake of this
belief, he found himself face to face with the till-then concealed
doctrine of plural marriage. From this his Puritan instincts revolted
and he quitted the church with many others who located near Council
Bluffs. But, cast out from a church he had loved, his faith shattered,
his illusions destroyed, he was ready to turn to any creed or _ism_
which came his way.
As he learned more of the newly taught creed of modern spiritism, he
began to give it credence, the more so as he believed he could
understand, from such a standpoint, the life of the prophet Joseph
Smith. Was not Smith a spirit-medium and were not the trances and
visions which he claimed to have had similar or identical with those
mediumistic exhibitions which he now witnessed? Might not the prophet
himself have been deceived and the revelation which he supposed to have
come from God been but the communication of a false and dangerous
spirit? In this way, only, could he find an apology for the prophet,
whom he had loved and believed in as little less than a god.
Squire Bartram’s sons had grown up stalwart, brainy lads, ambitious and
capable. Nathan, the elder, who had lately brought to his father’s home
a bright little sixteen-year-old wife, with black eyes, shining ringlets
and bird-like movements, had prepared a home on the Nebraskan prairies,
to which he was soon to take his bride. He had preempted a homestead,
bought another one hundred and sixty acres, and thus secured a nice farm
on the plain some distance north of the Platte River. He had, after the
manner of the pioneers of the country, built himself an adobe house, and
was now ready to begin life in earnest.
His wife, Lissa, whose sister lived in that locality, was possessed of
the delighted eagerness of a child to see and occupy the new home and
was almost impatient of the delay which Nathan insisted upon, namely,
the visit of a few weeks at his father’s house.
The sun had already been hidden from view by the huge bluff behind the
house, though it was still broad daylight at the homestead, and good
Mrs. Bartram had dallied in her supper work to talk with Nathan’s wife,
when the Squire put his head in at the door to announce that Professor
Russell, the noted seer, medium, and clairvoyant, would honor them with
a visit and give them proof of his supernatural powers.
“For the land’s sake,” exclaimed Mrs. Bartram, “why didn’t you tell us
before! Here I hain’t got my work done up yet. How long before he’ll be
here, I wonder?”
“O, not for a half hour or so; he stopped down to Job Atkins to help
find them that colt that was lost,” replied the Squire.
“And how can he help them, unless he’s the one that took it? Them that
hides can find, I take it,” continued the good lady, with a sniff. “I
haven’t much use for these folks that knows _too_ much and whose ways
are dark.”
“Wait until after you see the Professor, before you judge,” said the
Squire.
“And so we are to be entertained to-night by one who is in league with
the powers of darkness,” said Donald, a young man of eighteen years, as
he entered the family room and seated himself by the side of his new
sister-in-law. “Lissa, don’t you tremble at the thought of the evil
wraiths that are to fill this room?”
“I fear more the evil spirit that shall animate your Professor, Donald,”
replied Melissa, who in her Eastern home had imbibed a deep prejudice
against the so-called spiritualists.
“His spirit? Mne, let me see. I believe a big Injun, Stuck-in-the-mud,
or some such high-sounding name, is his especial _Control_; but he is
not confined to one familiar. His demons are many.”
“How absurd,” laughed Lissa.
“You won’t say so after to-night. I’ll wager the best pony on the ranch
you’ll be a firm convert before the evening is over. Maybe I’ll add a
side-saddle, too. Eh, Lissa?”
“I’m afraid I can’t gratify you by accepting any such foolishness as
that, even for the sake of the saddle, or permit you to wager upon a
certainty of losing.”
“Did I ever tell you how the Professor found his wife?” Donald asked.
“No, but I suppose you’ll tell me through some celestial matrimonial
agency,” she replied.
“Sure! His wife was a strongly developed medium living in London,
England. One day, while in a trance, the Professor, here in the United
States, was made cognizant of the existence of this lady by spirit
agency, and instructed to write to her, which he did. It seems she had
received a communication concerning him at about the same time and in
the same manner, with the same instructions, which she also followed.
The two letters reached their destinations simultaneously, and each
person, with the other’s letter in hand, could summon the writer’s
materialized spirit before him. In this way they communicated with each
other at will, and finally the lady embarked for this country at his
request. He was kept daily informed as to her whereabouts, and when she
arrived at New York he was there to meet her, and they were married
speedily, only one letter from each having passed between them, and yet
each was well acquainted with the past history of the other.”
“Impossible! You must be very credulous, Donald, to believe such a story
as that.”
“Quite convenient, wasn’t it? If the black powers would deal as kindly
with me I should not long remain a bachelor. This knowing to a certainty
all about the lady of one’s choice would remove the fear of flying into
the dangers we know not of. One could be certain then if she did up her
hair on curl-papers.” And Donald glanced significantly at Lissa’s
shining ringlets.
“Surely, you don’t pretend to believe such a preposterous story,
Donald,” she said, laughing.
“We have the Professor and his wife to testify to it, neither one ever
known to l—prevaricate; and in the mouths of two witnesses the truth
shall be affirmed,” misquoted Donald. “At any rate one story is good
until another is told.”
“They must be a pair of charlatans, and I don’t think I care to make
their acquaintance.”
“I suspect you begin to fear them. There is no telling what they may
discover,” Donald said with mock gravity. “But here comes the
redoubtable hero himself. All hail, ye Prince of Darkness, hail!” he
continued in a sepulchral voice, as a step was heard outside the door.
A moment later the Professor entered the apartment. Melissa had time,
while he greeted the head of the family, to note that he was a
medium-sized, wiry-looking man, of about forty, with very long red hair
hanging to his shoulders, and bristling whiskers of the same color. His
lower jaw was prominent and his ears were flattened very close to his
head. But his most remarkable feature was a pair of keen gray eyes,
which gleamed restlessly from under rather overhanging brows.
When presented to Lissa he fixed his eyes upon her in a way that caused
her to suppress a shudder, and regarded her steadily for a moment, then,
still holding her by the hand, which she would gladly have withdrawn, he
said:
“You look like your mother, Mrs. Bartram, except that she has blue eyes.
She has a scar on her left wrist, made in a peculiar manner.”
Lissa blushed painfully, and followed his eyes to her own wrist as she
drew away her hand. She knew the history of the scar alluded to, though
she believed it unknown to any one outside her own immediate family. She
felt the inquiring eyes of her husband’s relatives upon her, and sat
down ill at ease.
Presently the company were seated about a table in the center of the
room, and the clairvoyant announced himself in readiness to afford proof
of his wonderful powers.
Accordingly, two or three lines cut from a letter from a sister of the
bride were placed in his hand, so rolled that no words written there
could give any clue to the writer.
Professor Russell gazed passively at the rolled scrap for a time, then
the muscles of his face began to twitch slightly, his eyes became vacant
and partly closed; there was a convulsive movement of his shoulders, a
long-drawn sigh, and he began to speak.
“I can see a wilder scene than this, a country as far as the eye can
reach, a vast table-land, dotted here and there with adobe houses and
their contiguous cotton-wood groves of one or two years’ growth. One of
these houses stands facing south, and in the doorway I can see a woman.
She is looking anxiously westward, shading her face with her hand. She
has on a dress of some dark material, partly covered with a kitchen
apron. She has dark hair and—ah, now she has removed her hand; she looks
like a lady in this room, except that she is taller, and her hair, a
shade lighter, is worn in braids instead of curls. Her gray eyes have an
anxious look in them. A number of ponies are corralled near the house.
What is she looking at?”
The Professor spoke slowly, as if studying the scene of his clairvoyant
vision. Nathan and Lissa exchanged glances, while Donald rolled up his
eyes with a concealed affectation of awe. Squire Bartram appeared
interested, and glanced toward Lissa inquiringly, while his wife, good
soul, gazed sternly and forbiddingly at the Professor as though she
believed him in league with his Satanic majesty, and the ghosts of her
Puritan forefathers were warning her against him.
Meanwhile the face of the man was working strangely.
“The house has disappeared from my vision,” he cried, “and I can see a
still wilder country, through which runs a placid, shining river. A
large party of Indians are cantering across the prairie, mounted on
round, sleek-looking mustangs. With them is a white man, young and
handsome, with light, flowing hair, and fearless blue eyes. He is
dressed in hunting costume, with wide-brimmed hat, and he rides a white
pony with an army saddle and large stirrups. There is a coil of rope at
his saddle bow and a couple of pistols and a hatchet in his belt. He
carries also a rifle.
“The ground over which they are traveling is torn and trampled as if an
army had lately traversed it, and—ah, yes, I see, away in the west, a
herd of buffalo looking like a great black cloud against the sky, and
showing distinctly against the red of the setting sun behind it. But,
look, they have turned their course toward the south and are running
their horses at full speed! They turn in their saddles and look
northward. I see! There is another party coming from that direction.”
The Professor looked fixedly a moment and continued:
“They are Indians, also; a larger band, and hideously painted. The
others are spurring their horses toward the river to escape this hostile
band, who have seen them, and like the wind are rushing down upon them.
Their horses are more fleet, they are gaining upon them—they lift their
rifles and shoot! Good! Their shots do not reach them. The white man
rises in his stirrups and returns the fire. The Indians of his party
follow his example. Their rifles have longer range and their shots tell.
Several saddles of the pursuing party are empty.”
The man spoke eagerly now. His restless gray eyes kindled, and his face
glowed with animation. His story had produced a like effect upon his
listeners, all of whom showed more or less excitement.
Lissa was pale, her large, dark eyes fixed intently upon the speaker,
while her small hands gripped each other tightly in her lap. Squire
Bartram peered over his spectacles and rubbed one palm upon the other, a
habit he had when deeply moved. Donald looked from one to another
quizzingly, but said nothing.
“The fleeing party have reached the river and taken refuge behind the
protecting bank—yes, their shots speak now. One, two, three of the
painted devils reel from their ponies. More fall! Half of them are down!
On come the rest, swinging their hatchets! They are at the bank! They
fight hand to hand with their tomahawks. Great Scott! There he is
struck, he is down!—the white man is hurt!—he topples over and falls
backward down the bank!—he sinks into the river and disappears!”
A shriek from Lissa interrupted the further description of the scene.
Nathan sprang to her side, and in the confusion that followed the
Professor seemed to lose sight of his vision, nor could he be persuaded
to again enter the clairvoyant state.
Poor Lissa was greatly excited. The man had so accurately described her
brother-in-law, then living in Nebraska, and knowing as she did that he
was in command of a party of Pawnee scouts she could not free herself
from the idea that the scene depicted was a true one, notwithstanding
her former scepticism.