_"In the brainy that wondrous world with one inhabitant, there are
recesses dim and dark, treacherous sands and dangerous shores, where
seeming sirens tempt and fade; streams that rise in unknown lands from
hidden springs, strange seas with ebb and flow of tides, resistless
billows urged by storms of flame, profound and awful depths hidden
by mist of dreams, obscure and phantom realms where vague and fearful
things are half revealed, jungles where passion's tigers crouch, and
skies of cloud and hue where fancies fly with painted wings that dazzle
and mislead; and the poor sovereign of this pictured world is led by old
desires and ancient hates, and stained by crimes of many vanished years,
and pushed by hands that long ago were dust, until he feels like some
bewildered slave that Mockery has throned and crowned."_
Ingersoll.
When I called, last Sunday afternoon, as was my habit, upon my old
college friend--now a distinguished physician--I found him sitting in
his office holding in his hand a letter. His manner was unusually grave
and, I thought, troubled. I asked him, laughingly, if he had had bad
news from beyond the seas--from his Castle in Spain.
"No, it is worse than that, I fear," he said gravely. "It looks to
me very much like bad news from beyond the grave--from the Castle of
Heredity in the realm of an Ancestor."
"I hope, doctor, that you have not had,--that my little jest was not a
cruel touch upon a real hurt."
"Not at all, not at all, old fellow," he said, smiling a little.
"It is not my own trouble at all; but--well, it set me to thinking
strange thoughts. Shall I tell you about it? I should really like
to know just how it would impress you--an intelligent man out of the
profession."
He placed the letter on the table beside him, looked at me steadily for
a moment, and then began:
"It may be as well to say that I have never before ventured to tell the
story of George Wetherell's curious experience, simply because I have
always felt certain that to a really intelligent and well-in-formed
physician it would be a comparatively familiar, and not specially
startling (although a wholly uncomprehended) phase of human disorder;
while to many, not of the profession, it would appear to involve such
fearful and far-reaching results, that they would either refuse to
believe it possible at all, or else jump to the conclusion that numerous
cases which have only some slight point of similarity are to be classed
with it and explained upon the same basis.
"In regard to these latter persons, I do not intend to convey
the impression that I am either ambitious to shield them from the
consequences of their own nimble and unguarded reckonings, or that by my
silence in this particular instance I suppose that I have prevented them
from forming quite as erroneous opinions founded upon some other equally
misunderstood and ill-digested scrap of psychological and medical
information.
"But it has sometimes seemed to me that there were certain features
connected with the case of George Wetherell which, in the hands of the
ignorant or unscrupulous, might easily be used to the disadvantage of
their fellow-beings, and I have therefore hesitated to lay it before any
one who was not, in my opinion, both intelligent and honorable enough
to accept it as one of the strange manifestations in an individual
experience; and to understand, because of the innumerable conditions of
mental and physical heredity--which were not likely ever to occur again
in the same proportions--that therefore the same manifestations were,
not to be looked for in a sufficient number of persons to ever make this
case in any sense a type or a guide.
"Notwithstanding this, there are, as I said in the first place, certain
features connected with it which many members of the medical profession
will recognize; but they are none the less puzzling symptoms.
"The matter has been brought back with unusual force to my mind at this
time, by a circumstance connected with one of Wetherell's children,
which is detailed in this letter. It lends a new touch of interest
to the malady of the father. To enable you to obtain even a fairly
comprehensive idea of the strange development, it will be necessary for
me to tell you, first, something about the man and his surroundings.
"To be as brief as I may, then, he was the son of a merry, whole-souled,
stout, and, withal, mentally alert, Southern gentleman, who had taken
the law into his own hands and duly scandalized the reputable part of
the community in which he lived by giving his slaves (all of whom he or
his wife had inherited) their freedom at a time and under circumstances
which made it necessary for him to betake himself with some considerable
alacrity to a part of the country where it was looked upon as
respectable to pay for the voluntary services of one's fellowmen, rather
than to pay for the man himself with the expectation that the services
were to be thrown in.
"Of course it was imperative--not only for the peace, but for the safety
of all parties concerned--for him to transport both his family and his
freed-men to a place where it was at once honorable for a white man
to do such a deed and for a black man to own himself. This he did; and
while a number of the negroes remained in the service of the family, the
son (on whose account, and to prevent whom from believing in and being
enervated by the possession of slaves the step had, in great measure,
been taken) had grown to manhood with a curious mingling of Southern
sympathies and Northern reasoning and convictions.
"The outbreak of the war found the young fellow struggling bravely, with
all the fire and energy of a peculiarly gifted nature, to establish
a newspaper in a border State, and to convince his readers that the
extension of slavery would be a grave calamity, not only for the owned
but for the owner.
"His two associates were Eastern college-bred men, and it was therefore
deemed wisest to push young Wetherell forward as the special champion
of free soil, under the illusion that his Southern birth and sympathies
would win for him a more ready and kindly hearing on a subject which
at that time was a dangerous one to handle freely, especially in the
border-land then under dispute.
"But the three young enthusiasts had reckoned, as young people will,
upon a certain degree of reason about, and calm discussion of, a
question which at that time they still recognized as having two very
strong and serious sides; for they had not taken the stand of the
Abolition party at all. They called themselves free-soil Democrats, and
were simply arguing against the extension of an institution which they
were not yet prepared to believe it wise to attempt to abolish where
it was already established, and where there was seemingly no other
peaceable or fair solution than the one of limitation and gradual
emancipation, through the process of mental and moral development of the
ruling race. This position was not an unnatural one, surely, for young
Wetherell, and was only what might have been expected from the son of
a man who had given practical demonstration of the possibility of such
evolution in the slave-holding and slave-dependent class.
"But, as I have intimated, the confidence and reasonableness of youth
had led to a complete misconception as to the temper of the opposition.
It is quite possible that the frank, passionate, free-soil editorials,
if they had come from either of the Eastern men, might have been
accepted as the delusions of youth, the prejudice of section, or,
at worst, as the arguments of partisans; but from a man of Southern
birth--the son of a law-breaker (you must remember that the
enfranchisement of the slaves had been a serious infraction of the law,
strange as that sounds to the ears of the present generation)--from the
son of such a man they could mean only a malicious desire to stir up
strife and cause bloodshed by making restless slaves dangerous and
dangerous slaves desperate. The result was that one night, after the
issue of a paper containing an article of unusual force and power, young
Wetherell found himself startled from a sound sleep, in the back room of
his office, by the smell of smoke and gleam of flame.
"He understood their significance at a glance, and knew that escape by
the front door meant a reception by masked men, five minutes for prayer,
and--a rope.
"Springing from the back window into the river, he swam to the other
shore, and within a few days raised the first regiment of volunteers
that the State sent in response to the call of the President, and cut
adrift at once and forever from all effort to argue the case from an
ethical or a financial outlook.
"It is more than likely that anger may have had something to do with
his sudden conversion from a 'peace and argument,' to first a 'war
Democrat,' and shortly thereafter to a Republican; but be that as it
may, it is certain that at such crises as these, mental activity is
spurred and radical changes are made with a rapidity and decision
astonishing to contemplate in periods of quiet and peace.
"So it came about that this lad of twenty-three suddenly found himself
at the head of a regiment of somewhat desperate border men, most of whom
were more than twice his own age, wildly charging a battery in one of
the first battles of the war.
"He received three wounds, one of which was a slight abrasion of the
scalp, not looked upon as more than a scratch by either the surgeon or
himself; indeed, it would hardly be worth mentioning but for the strange
events which followed. Whether this wound had anything to do with the
condition of which I am about to tell, you will have to decide for
yourself; but I must warn you, in the beginning, that there was nothing
like a fracture of the skull, and the little path made by the bullet
through the scalp healed without trouble, almost without attention, and
never afterward gave the slightest pain.
"The hair, it is true, did not grow again over the parting, and, as
it was nearly in the middle of his head, it made him an involuntary
follower of the fashion of a certain effeminate type of youths for whom
he had an overwhelming contempt. Neither of the other two wounds was
serious, and after a very short period in the hospital he reported for
duty, was promoted, and given sole charge of a post of considerable
importance.
"Shortly thereafter his father received a some what discomposing
telegram. He had previously had several more or less lucid despatches
from his son while the patient was still in the hospital; but any
lack of clearness in their wording had been attributed to haste or
to carelessness in the transmission, and as they all indicated rapid
recovery, no undue anxiety had been felt. But the message in question
now produced the impression that there was something wrong. It read:
'Send me one thousand swords immediately.'
"After a few moments' consultation with the boy's mother, Mr. Wetherell
packed his hand-bag, and, armed with a letter from President Lincoln,
whose personal friend he was, started for the seat of war.
"Upon arriving at his destination, the son expressed no surprise
whatever, but much pleasure, at seeing his father. He asked, in the most
natural and affectionate way, about each member of the family, and then
suddenly put his hand to his head and appeared to be in deep thought.
"His eyes contracted in the manner peculiar to some persons when
attempting to recall a long-forgotten event; but in a moment this had
passed away and he appeared to be perfectly clear and natural.
"He attended to the affairs of his office in a manner which not only
escaped criticism, but won praise from his superiors, and conversed with
great freedom and marked intelligence on the stirring subjects of the
time.
"He had had some little fever while his wounds were fresh, but in no
degree to cause alarm, and even this had now almost entirely left
him. In short, he appeared to be in nearly perfect mental and physical
health. There was, however, one peculiarity which the father noticed as
unfamiliar in his son; but as it was not at all strange that so young a
man--or any man, indeed, who had suddenly been given control of matters
of such grave importance--should at times be very quiet and appear to be
struggling to recall some matter of moment, the habit was not given more
than passing attention, and it was not sufficiently marked to be noticed
at all by any one except a near relation. At these times young Wetherell
would contract his eyebrows, look steadily at some object near him,--as
the toe of his boot or the palm of his hand,--raise his head suddenly,
gaze at the distant horizon, bite his lip, and then appear to either
give it up or be satisfied with some mental solution of his puzzle.
"One day his father said: 'What is it, George?'
"The young fellow turned his eyes quickly upon his father and asked:
"'Have I forgotten anything? It seems to me there is something I just
fail to recall. I am on the edge of it constantly, but it slips. I can't
get quite enough hold on it to be sure what it is--or to be certain,
indeed, that it is anything. Can you think of anything I ought to do
that I have overlooked?'
"This all sounded natural enough, and was, seemingly, a condition not
unfamiliar to his father, so they began together going over the duties
pertaining to the son's office to see if, by a mischance, something had
been neglected. Everything was complete and in perfect order; but still
the look returned from time to time, until it became almost habitual.
"This was ten days after his father had reached camp, and his plan was
to leave for home that afternoon; for, as I said, the boy's wounds
were almost entirely healed, and he appeared to be in need of nothing
whatever. More and more his superior officers called him into their
councils, and more and more his clear judgment was commended by them.
"He was to walk to the train with his father. The moment they were
outside the limits of the camp George remarked, casually, 'I must stop
on the way and order those swords.'
"The remark recalled the queer telegram which had caused Mr. Wetherell
to come to his son, the wording of which had been wholly obliterated
from his mind by their meeting.
"'What swords?' inquired his father, now on the alert again.
"The young fellow turned and looked at his father for a moment, and then
said: 'I don't know. It is a secret order. Don't mention it. The general
told me to order them. They are to be sent to me.'
"This all seemed probable enough to Mr. Wetherell, and yet he somehow
felt, rather than saw, a queer change in his son's eyes, which he
thought he had noticed once or twice before.
"He decided not to return home for the present.
"When he told his son this, the boy took it quite as a matter of course,
and made no comment whatever on the sudden alteration of purpose.
"On the way back to camp George stepped into a military supply station
and ordered fourteen hundred swords to be delivered to him immediately.
"By this time his father had made up his mind that there were short
intervals in which the young colonel did not know exactly what he was
doing--or, rather, that while he did know and act intelligently--from
the outlook of the moment--it was a time wholly disconnected from
the rest of his life, and when the moment was past he had no farther
recollection of it.
"However, Mr. Wetherell was not sure enough of this to risk compromising
a probably brilliant future by a premature or unnecessarily public
announcement, and he therefore allowed the order to be made, and taken
in good faith, and walked back to camp with his son, who immediately
went about his duties in the most intelligent and scrupulously careful
manner.
"Mr. Wetherell, however, made a call upon the officer in command the
moment he could do so without attracting attention; and after a long
talk (in which the secret sword order was discovered to be a delusion),
it was decided that the recently recovered invalid should retire
from the field on the sick leave, which he had previously refused to
consider.
"When he was told of this arrangement, he agreed to it without a murmur,
and began, for the first time for many days, to have his wounds (which
were now past the need of it) dressed with much care. This he continued
every morning, but by the time they reached home he had become possessed
with the belief that his chief wound was in his side, where there had
not been a scratch.
"To humor him, the family physician applied bandages to the imaginary
injury every day regularly.
"All this time there was no clearer talker, no more acute reasoner, no
more simple, earnest, gentlemanly fellow to be found than Col. George
Wetherell, whom his townsmen were honoring and inducing to make public
speeches and write clear, firm, inspiring editorials for one of the
leading papers. No one except his own family and physician suspected for
a moment that he was not mentally as bright as he always had been, and
even the younger members of the family were without the least hint of
it.
"Indeed, his father and the doctor both thought that his only illusion
now was a belief in the wound in his side. Several weeks passed, and
even this indication was losing its force, for he no longer required
medical attention, and was as well and as rational as ever in his life,
so far as any one could perceive, when one day a stranger appeared and
asked for him. Mr. Wetherell requested the gentleman (who was evidently
laboring under great excitement) to be seated, and at the same time made
up his own mind to be present during the interview.
"Colonel Wetherell was summoned, and, on entering the room, looked in
a startled way at the stranger, smiled vaguely, extended his hand,
contracted his eyes into a long, narrow line, turned white, and throwing
both arms suddenly above his head, exclaimed: 'My God! my God! what have
I done? Where am I? How long has it been? Is she dead? Is she dead?' and
staggered back into his father's arms.
"His distress was so manifest, that the visitor lost his severity at
once, and said quite gently: 'No, she is not dead; but she is almost
insane with fright, and has been so exhausted with anxiety and tears,
that we had lost all hope for her reason, or even for her life, unless
I could find you. I have been through the lines, was delayed by the loss
of my passport, and it is now five weeks since I saw her. She is alive,
but--'
"Young Wetherell sprang to his feet, and turned on his father like
a madman. 'How dared you?' he demanded; 'how dared you keep back my
letters? You have killed her. You have murdered her, poor, delicate
girl, with anxiety and doubt of me.' And then with set teeth and white
lips he advanced upon his father, his arm uplifted, as if he held a
sword, and with a sweep which would have severed chords of steel, if the
weapon had really been within his grasp, he brought his arm across his
father's breast and sank upon the floor, senseless and still.
"Afterward, when he revived, he had no recollection of what had
occurred, except alone the fact that for many weeks previous he had
forgotten utterly the girl who was to be his wife, whose life and
love were all his world. While he had remembered everything else, had
carefully attended to the smallest details of daily life, the link of
memory that held the fact of her existence had been coated with a rust
of absolute oblivion. The single link in all the chain of memory that
had failed him had been the one the nearest to his heart--the dearest
one of all!
"They were married two months later, and he resumed command of his
regiment. Through an honorable and eventful life no sign of mental lapse
ever returned; but every day he dreaded it, and watched his wife and
children as a man might do who saw a creeping monster back of those he
loved while he stood paralyzed and dumb. He never seemed to fear that
other things might lose their hold upon his consciousness; but the
apprehension that his mind would slip the link which held his wife, and
leave her sick and faint with anxious fears, which he alone could still,
constantly haunted him.
"His wounds never troubled him again. He died not long ago. His career
was an exceptionally brilliant one. You would know him if I had given
his real name, for it was in the public ear for years.
"There were but six persons who ever knew the history of his case, and
they are still unable to explain it--its cause, its direction, its cure.
Or is it cured? Will his children be subject to it? Will it take the
same form? Was it caused by the wound? by the fever? Or were hereditary
conditions so grouped as to produce this mental effect, even if there
had been no wound--no illness? If the latter, will it be transmitted?
These questions come to me with renewed force, to-day, as I hold in my
hand this letter, asking me to give the family history of Col. George
Wetherell for the use of physicians in a distant city who are now
treating his son. This son has reached the precise age at which his
father had the strange experience of which I have just told you.
"There is a hint in the letter which, in the light of the father's
malady, appears to a physician to be of peculiar importance from a
medical outlook.
"We shall see, we shall see."
There was a long pause; then he asked: "Should you, a layman, look
to the wound to explain the condition? Or to the Castle of Heredity?
Suppose the son's malady is quite similar--as now appears--what then?"