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SPIRITS DO RETURN
by
IDA BELLE WHITE
Inspired by
Samuel L. Clemens
(“Mark Twain”)
The White Publishing Co.,
3411 East 27th Street, Kansas City, Missouri.
1915
Copyrighted 1915
by
Ida Belle White
Kansas City, Mo.:
Franklin Hudson Publishing Co.
1915
TO HIM
WHO HAS BEEN MY GUIDE AND INSPIRATION;
WHOSE EXPERIENCE AND TALENT HAVE
ENABLED ME TO BE OF ASSISTANCE
TO THOSE WHO ARE SEEKING
THE LIGHT,
“MARK TWAIN,”
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
The Place of Trouble.—The Convict’s Story 9
CHAPTER II.
Prison Life.—Mysterious Influences 25
CHAPTER III.
The Ghost of a Woman 37
CHAPTER IV.
Accused of Murder 50
CHAPTER V.
Official Excitement 57
CHAPTER VI.
Discharged from the Hospital 62
CHAPTER VII.
“My Brother a Convict!” 72
CHAPTER VIII.
The Brother Sentenced to Hard Labor 80
CHAPTER IX.
The Superintendent Tries to Solve the Mystery 87
CHAPTER X.
Pat Allows the Prisoner to Escape 97
CHAPTER XI.
The Mystery Deepens 104
CHAPTER XII.
Another Dead Man 119
CHAPTER XIII.
An Attempt to Bribe the Prisoner 129
CHAPTER XIV.
The Convict’s Prayer 143
CHAPTER XV.
“Thank God, He Is Innocent!” 152
CHAPTER XVI.
A New Prisoner in Cell No. 78 159
CHAPTER XVII.
Deserted 170
CHAPTER XVIII.
Pat’s Temptation 185
CHAPTER XIX.
A Clear Conscience Better than Money 196
CHAPTER XX.
The Murderer Arrives 215
CHAPTER XXI.
Remorse 223
CHAPTER XXII.
Pat’s Testimony 234
CHAPTER XXIII.
Prayer-Meeting in Prison 244
INTRODUCTION.
This book was written through the inspirational spirit of the well-known
writer, Samuel L. Clemens—“Mark Twain.” As I have never before written a
book, the reader will see that I have had help from an unseen force—from
the Spirit World.
I was told through a trumpet seance meeting, in the spirit voice of “Mark
Twain,” to get the materials and he would write me a book—or, rather,
that he would inspire me and I could write it, but he would give me the
words to write, which he has done.
I was not in an unconscious condition. I can turn from my writing and
converse as if I had not been at work through the power of my guide. I
can give abundance of proof of this statement, also for the statement
made in the seance meeting by the spirit from Heaven.
“Mark Twain” has given me encouragement from time to time in regard to my
book, and he has promised to write many more for me.
IDA BELLE WHITE.
(_Mrs. J. L. White._)
SPIRITS DO RETURN
CHAPTER I.
THE PLACE OF TROUBLE.—THE CONVICT’S STORY.
I passed by the house and within I heard a noise. I stopped and listened,
and I heard screams. The voice sounded like that of a lady whom I once
knew. I was puzzled to know what to do, but finally decided to enter.
To my surprise, I did know the lady. I apologized for intruding, saying
that I was attracted by the terrible screams and thought I recognized the
voice.
The lady replied: “You are very kind, but I think I shall be able to
settle my trouble without your help.”
“I am very sorry, dear madam; I meant well,” I said.
I took my departure, yet I felt that I should not have done so under the
circumstances, for I knew that the talk the dear lady made was through
fear, as the master over her was standing near.
I was greatly depressed, because of the way in which I had left the place
of trouble. I had gone only a short distance when I decided to return. I
did so, and, to my surprise, I found the dear lady dead, as it is called.
I was horrified. The brute had fled. What was I to do? Go also and leave
the poor dead woman? I decided to do so. When at some distance from the
scene, I was hailed and confronted by the real murderer and an officer,
who accused me of the terrible crime.
What could I do? I knew that I was not guilty, but I failed to make the
officer believe it.
I was taken to jail because of the crime committed by the one who had me
arrested. But I had been seen coming from the house and I had dropped my
handkerchief while wiping the tears from my eyes.
[Illustration: I WAS HAILED AND CONFRONTED BY THE REAL MURDERER AND
OFFICER.]
It was thought to be a plain case with convincing proof—of circumstantial
evidence. Thrown in jail, I was at a loss to know what to do. I was not
guilty, but to prove it was the next thing, and the most important thing
to do. I hailed the turnkey as he passed, and asked for an attorney. I
was favored with the services of one. I did some good thinking as to how
I should prove my innocence.
“Well, my friend,” said the attorney, “I have come to see what I can do
for you. I see you need help. You do not look like a very bad man or a
criminal.”
“I thank you, sir,” I replied. “I am not either, but why am I accused of
murder?”
“Murder! You a murderer? Oh, no, I hope not!”
“I am not, but how shall I make the court understand that I am innocent?”
“Well, my friend, explain your case.”
I explained matters, and he remarked: “I do not see how the court could
find an innocent man like you guilty. I am going to show the court
without trouble that you are not guilty. Have courage; I shall get you
out of here as soon as possible.”
The day of the trial was at hand. I had become haggard and worn from the
terrible strain, from the uncomfortable cell which I had occupied. My
case was called. All ready, I was told to take my oath, and then I was
sworn to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. If I could make the
court understand that I was innocent, I would soon be a free man.
“Will you tell the court all about this case?” said my attorney.
I proceeded to do so, but, to my horror, I was proved guilty to the jury
and sentenced by the judge.
What was I to do? I went back to jail to wait for a new trial. If that
failed, it meant ten years in prison at hard work. I had been convicted
on circumstantial evidence, my handkerchief being found in the house of
the murdered woman. I tried to console myself with the belief that in
some way I would be helped out.
I had remained in jail three months when one night I was thinking of the
advice my poor old mother had given me, and that was: “When in trouble,
pray, pray, pray!” I began to pray, and as I prayed I felt encouraged.
After that, I prayed often, hoping that my prayers would be answered. At
last I could see that I was fortunate to know within that I was not the
real murderer; then I thought that I should pray for the murderer, and I
did pray as I never prayed before.
Oh, what a terrible thing it is to be accused of a crime so great as that
and be innocent!
A new trial was denied me. What was I to do? God knows I was innocent,
but I could not make men believe so here on this earth. The day for the
journey to the penitentiary was at hand, and I must go for another’s
crime.
As the turnkey called us from our little, dark cells he said: “Please get
ready, for we will have to take the morning train to your home—for some
of you a home for some time to come.”
That included me; that meant a home for ten years—and innocent! I had no
appetite that morning, for I was thinking of the injustice done to many
innocent men, and I was one of them.
We were locked together—shackled—and started away to prison. On arrival
we were listed for different crimes. A murderer, numbered 78! And the
worst, I thought, was when they cut and shaved my head of hair. Then I
was told to don my new suit of stripes and checks. That alone was enough
to make any man falter.
“This way,” I heard a gruff voice say.
I looked for someone to look and in a second I felt the strong arm.
“To you I am speaking. I want to show you your cell.”
I had not recovered from the shock of my garments. I was shoved headlong
into my cell, dark, and oh, so dreary! Anyone who could experience my
feelings at that moment would never commit a crime.
I can not say that I rested well on my new bed that night. I thought that
morning would never come. Yet I do not know why I should have longed for
day, as I had so long a time to stay. At last breakfast was served—or,
rather, thrown at us. I was feverish and excited. All the time I wondered
what my work would be. I did not have to wonder long. I was unlocked from
my cell and told to step out and fall in line. I did so and onward we
marched. A halt was called and I was told to step aside.
A very important man, called guard, said: “You are wanted here, sir!”
I stepped aside and was shown my work, which was hard, even harder than
anything I had ever done. I was told to pick up the sledge and was shown
in what shape to hammer the iron.
I hesitated, and finally said: “My God! man, I never did such hard work,
and I don’t think I can do this.”
All the sympathy I received was: “You do the work or you will be thrown
into a dark dungeon to decide if you can, and you will get bread and
water until you do decide.”
I thought that I would as soon go into a dungeon as to work myself to
death. However, I changed my mind and picked up the sledge, but I had not
strength to wield it.
I fell upon my knees and prayed that God would give me help. While I was
praying the guard came up and with his monstrous club gave me one blow,
knocking me senseless.
I cried out as I came to my senses: “Man alive, do not strike me again!
Can you not see I am not strong enough to do that work?”
“Oh! you fellows all have the same old gag to tell. Not strong enough!
Ha, ha! But you are strong enough to strangle a poor woman to death.”
I rose to my feet, and shouted: “I am an innocent man! I will be proven
so before I leave this prison.”
“All who are sent here are innocent. Some of you surely get justice in
trials.”
“I did not, for I was sentenced on circumstantial evidence, and I know
and my God knows that I am innocent! The dear woman who was murdered
knows who killed her.”
“Well, the woman is dead, and you can not prove by her that you did not
kill her.”
“My friend, she is not dead. Her body is, but her spirit is not, and she
can and will come and let it be known who the real murderer is.”
“Here, if you are crazy, we will put you in the mad-house. I know when
you are dead you are dead.”
“I hope to be able to convince you before I leave here that the body
dies, but the spirit lives on and returns and will and can talk.”
“Here, are you going to work? I have heard enough of your foolish talk.”
“I will try, sir.”
[Illustration: “MY GOD, MAN, I NEVER DID SUCH HARD WORK.”]
No one can realize how I suffered. I was not able to work, yet I was
forced to do so. I worried through that day. I could not eat the poor
food that was given us. Another morning came. During the restless night
I had prayed for help from the Spirit World, and I felt that my prayers
were answered.
The guard called: “You, I say, that never dies, get out here and get your
breakfast and go to work.”
I stood up, and said: “I am ready, sir, but this morning I am so sick.”
“You eat what you get, and in a hurry too, for we want to see you at
work.”
I obeyed, and was soon on the road to work.
The prison laws were that we were not allowed to speak to our fellow-men.
I watched my chance to speak, and when opportunity presented, I said:
“Friend, how long are you here for?”
He did not answer. I thought perhaps he was hard of hearing, and repeated
the words. He finally looked up and moved his lips. I knew he had served
some time, as he had learned the sight movement of the lips, and I did
not and could not understand that. I saw that I was lost, not knowing how
to talk in that way.
The guard said roughly: “You are not doing much. Here, are you watching
for opportunity to lay down on me when I am not looking?”
“I am not, guard. I am doing all I am able to.”
“I think if you had a day or two rest in the rest-room it would help you.
Come along here with me.”
The rest-room was a dungeon, dark as night. When I heard the heavy iron
door close after me, I fell upon my knees and prayed God to take me from
the place of darkness. I was hungry and cold. All the time I could hear
the words:
“_We know you are innocent and will help you, and you shall be out of
this place of unjust punishment._”
That night—oh, so long! Cold and hungry I was—I had no bed. The following
morning I was given water and was told to drink and be merry; yes, to
be _merry_! I wonder if the outside world could and does believe the
stories of the unfortunate ones who, guilty or not guilty, have to endure
tortures behind prison walls.
I remained there three days and grew weaker all the time. Why should I
not grow weak, living on water and darkness and standing up to sleep?
I was put to work at the same hard labor which I had performed before.
I grew faint and fell at my post. I lay there when the guard came upon
me. How he did swear! He clubbed me to my feet and reached out for me.
One jerk from him raised me from my feet. He had subsisted upon good,
substantial food. I was weak, hungry, and sick.
I was taken to the office for a talk on “the carpet,” as we called it in
prison. As the Power over all men seemed to look down on me, I raised my
eyes to Heaven and asked for proof to convince the official that I was an
innocent man. I was hoping against hope for proof, and I heard a voice
say: “Take him out. I will see what this lady wants.” The official saw
one whom neither the guard nor I saw. I was led away, back to the dungeon.
Some hours afterwards I was again taken to “the carpet.” I was praying
silently for proof of my innocence. Again I was told: “Step aside, for
the ladies come first.” Later I was told of a very mysterious lady who
showed herself unannounced and when she was spoken to, vanished.
Who could it be? When I was a child, I often sat with my dear father and
mother around the fireplace and listened with the cold chills running
down my back to stories of ghosts, as they called them, and how the
ghosts would come and go. No, not where I sat in my dark dungeon and
wondered if that lady could talk, and, if so, why could she not come to
me and talk to me, as I was all alone. And I again thought perhaps I
would not care to have her come to me—not as long as I was in the dark
and all alone. But what and who could the mysterious lady be? I was so
interested in our ghost woman that I forgot my own troubles.
That night, as I was wishing and praying for morning, and wondering what
would be done with me on “the carpet,” I felt that I could hardly wait.
At last the sun shone on the prison walls once more, and I was heartily
glad. One more day less of my ten years served. But there were still
years to serve, and with such treatment and hard labor there was not much
encouragement for a poor convict.
I heard my cell door open. A gruff voice called to me to step out. I was
glad to do so, and was told to come along.