HOW WE WERE TRIED AND CONVICTED FOR TELEPATHY
There followed a delightfully busy fortnight for Hill and myself. We
made a minute study of a large book on mental diseases, purloined from
the Doctor’s library, and improved our minds with other medical lore
anent an illness to which the Commandant was subject. Under a specious
plea we borrowed from Spink an Armenian-French dictionary—a treasured
possession which he kept hidden under a movable plank in the floor of
his room. Spink was an industrious and painstaking youth. With a view to
a possible escape, and with the aid of George Borrow’s _Lavengro_, he
had transliterated the Armenian alphabet. This was to prove most useful.
He had also drawn up an Armenian phrase-book, which I studied with such
diligence and profit that later on the Spook of the murdered owner of
the treasure appeared and spoke to us in the Armenian tongue! But for
the present the use of the dictionary was to enable Hill to manufacture
two brief but extremely interesting Armenian documents. These we
enclosed, along with some ashes from our charcoal brazier and two
Turkish gold sovereigns, in two small tin cases. The cases were buried
by Hill, three miles apart, while he was out ski-ing. As the Ski-Club
was also due to Spink’s initiative, we owe that ornament of the Indian
Public Works Department a deep debt of gratitude.
While Hill was busy with his document-making and his burying, it was my
duty to inculcate a proper respect for telepathy in the chosen witnesses
of the forthcoming trial. Doc. O’Farrell was already converted. He would
do “as he was” for one witness at our trial; but we threw in a private
exhibition to make all secure. Almost any of the juniors would do for a
second. We also required at least two field officers, preferably with
Red Tabs, and one of the two ought to have an official position in the
camp. A couple of days of the Socratic method convinced Peel. A
“practical experiment” in which Hill conveyed to me “by telepathy” that
he had been shown a black-handled knife when two miles away from the
camp, satisfied the Adjutant, Gilchrist, who owned and had shown the
knife. We had our four “witnesses” for the trial ready, and knew they
would all swear to the possibility of telepathy in all genuineness. _En
passant_, it is worthy of remark that one witness who _believes_ that
what he says is true (though it may be as false as Ananias’s best
effort) is worth ten of a conscious liar in any Court of Law.
Then, in case the Turks saw fit to test the accuracy of the Spook’s
assertion concerning the telepathic receipt of the message about the
movement of troops from the Caucasus, it became necessary to receive
such a message at a séance. Mundey and Edmonds, both true believers,
were victimized. We received the message in their presence, and _at the
bidding of the Spook_ gave our words of honour to keep its source a
secret. This “word of honour” came in most usefully later on.
Lastly, there were two men in the camp—Barton and Nightingale—who knew
the secret of our telepathic code. It was quite possible that if the
Turks arrested us for telepathy these two men would expose the code in
order to obtain our release. We could easily have trusted them with the
whole story, but on our principle to implicate nobody and tell
nobody—until it became absolutely necessary—we decided to keep quiet. A
hint to say nothing, whatever happened, was sufficient for these two
loyal friends.
We were now ready for anything the Commandant might care to do—the worse
the better, within limits. But the Commandant was by no means ready to
begin. Up to a point our plotting and lying had been completely
successful. He accepted without question the truth of the information
contained in the magic letter, but he was doubtful about the future and
he wanted to make himself perfectly safe with his own War Office. It
took three more séances to satisfy him, for he had piles of questions to
ask the Spook. Must he report the trial to Constantinople, and if so
what should he say? What would the camp think? What would Colonel Maule
say in his monthly sealed letter to Headquarters? What if the War Office
wanted to punish the mediums more severely? What was the sentence to be?
How many days, or weeks, or months? How severe the conditions of
imprisonment? Supposing the War Office asked where the letter was found,
or who found it? Supposing the prisoners should write home about the
matter, was he to destroy their letters? What was the best day of the
week to begin on? And so forth and so on. The Spook solved each and all
of these problems in a most satisfactory way. It dictated his report to
Constantinople.[16] It promised to reveal within a month of the trial
the secret of how the treasure was buried. It promised to safeguard the
Commandant from any possible punishment by his superiors. And It
threatened in most bloodthirsty terms to be avenged if we did not adopt
the plan over which It had spent so much thought and care.
At the beginning of each month our Senior Officer was permitted to send
to Turkish Headquarters at Constantinople a sealed letter. This the
local Yozgad authorities were not allowed to censor. The object was to
give prisoners the opportunity of criticizing the conduct of the
Commandant direct to the Turkish War Office. The Commandant was anxious
that this letter should be sent off before we began operations. With any
luck, we might have found the treasure before the month was out and the
next letter sent. Hill and I would then be back in camp and Colonel
Maule would have no cause to grouse about our treatment. So the
Commandant argued. Hill and I were fairly confident that so long as our
imprisonment did not affect the comfort of the rest of the camp in
general, nothing much would be said about it, however absurd the charge
against us might be. We would be allowed to “dree oor ain weird.” But we
did not say so to the Commandant. We agreed with him that, in view of
the “solidarity of the British Empire,” and the curious habit British
Senior Officers have of interesting themselves in the welfare of their
juniors, this was a bit of a problem. So we left it to the Spook to
answer. The Spook decided that the best date to begin operations was
that immediately following the day on which Colonel Maule posted his
monthly letter.
On Saturday, March 2nd, 1918, Colonel Maule sent his sealed letter up to
the Commandant’s office. On March 3rd Hill and I asked for and received
from the Interpreter the full “score” of the forthcoming trial—a
lengthy, written document embodying all the instructions of the Spook.
We were asked to make certain we had our parts pat, and to reply if we
agreed to the programme. I saw the Pimple that evening in the lane, and
told him we agreed, but did not return his written instructions. These
we intended to keep, for they would be valuable and irrefutable evidence
of the complicity of the Turks in our designs. But Johnny Turk was
risking nothing. The wily Oriental is thoroughly well aware of the fact
that _litera scripta manet_. On March 4th the Cook came to our room and
began fiddling with our stove. He made unintelligible demands for a
“tinniké.” Then when no one was looking he slipped into my hands the
following note, the original of which I still possess—
“DEAR JONES,
I send you the Cook under pretext of inspecting the stove and demanding
a tobacco flat tin. Will you give him the Instructions I gave you
yesterday to which you have agreed?
Yours,
MOÏSE.”
To refuse would be to arouse suspicion and possibly upset all our plans.
There was nothing for it but to hand over the evidence.
On the same day—March 4th—the Pimple reported that Colonel Maule’s
letter had been consigned to the mercies of the Turkish Post Office.
Hill and I went over our arrangements for the last time, and made
certain we had left nothing undone. According to programme we were to be
arrested next day.
But March 5th came and went. All day long Hill and I waited and longed
for our arrest. It did not come. In the evening the Pimple arrived and
informed us that the Commandant had been too busy taking part in the
celebrations of the Russian Peace. We knew it for a lie. We knew that he
was “ratting” at the last moment, that once more he was funking a
possible reprimand from Constantinople. But it would never do to say so.
Instead, we simulated joy at our reprieve. We said that with luck this
would be the last of the unhappy affair, and that we were glad to be
relieved of the burden. Then we expressed our earnest hope that the
Spook would visit no punishment on the Commandant or the Pimple for
their failure to obey. But after the Pimple had gone we raged together,
up and down the lane and round and round the Hospital garden, till the
sentries drove us indoors at dark. We both spent a miserable night. For
it looked as if the War might last another twenty years—and our plan had
failed.
On the morning of March 6th, about 10.30 a.m., Moïse came to us and
complained that he had been “spooked,” that the Commandant had been very
angry with him; and that while pretending to be too unwell to carry out
the programme, he really intended to postpone it for good and all,
because of his fear of Constantinople.
“I am certain,” said the unhappy Pimple, “that the Spook has put into
his head ideas against me. Otherwise he could not have known. It is the
beginning of our punishment for yesterday’s delay. I know it. I am sure.
And his turn will come!” Then he begged for one last séance to consult
the Spook.
“But what have you been up to, to make him angry?” I asked, as we walked
together towards the Dispensary.
The Pimple refused to admit that he had been up to anything, and called
the Commandant “a jealous pig.” Hill immediately winked at me. We let
well alone, and stopped our pumping.
We sat down to the spook-board. There had been no time for a special
consultation, but this was likely to be our last chance and we must use
it.
Moïse wrote down a question without uttering it, and slipped it under
the board for the Spook to answer. This was awkward. At previous séances
the Spook had shown its power of answering questions in this way.
To-day, however, we were not prepared for the test. But I had managed to
get a glimpse of one word as he wrote, and that word was suggestive. It
was “pardon.”
“No use begging pardon,” said the Spook; “obey and BEWARE!”
Then came a long pause, the glass remaining quite motionless. Moïse grew
more and more impatient.
“Please answer what to do,” he said at last.
For at least ten minutes there was no movement in the glass, for I was
thinking hard what to say, and could see no light. We told the Pimple
that the glass felt “dead,” as if there was no one there. He got more
and more highly strung and excited, and kept begging the Control to
return. He threw a sheet of paper on to the board and asked the Control
to write on it if he would not use the glass. As soon as the paper
touched the board, the Control “manifested,” and both Hill and I had our
hands simultaneously dragged away from the glass by some invisible
force. For some time we tried to get our fingers on the glass again, but
were prevented by the invisible agent. The Pimple’s excitement rose to
fever pitch as he watched the struggle. We became more and more
exhausted, and finally had to rest.
“This is terrible,” said Hill, mopping his brow. “I think we had better
chuck it. The Control is poisonously angry, and Heaven knows what he may
not do.”
The Pimple begged us to try once more. We did, and got our fingers on
the glass without much difficulty. The Spook gave proof of his presence
by moving the glass about. The necessary idea had come to us.
“What will you do?” Moïse asked.
“I can but bring on the old pains,” said the Spook.
“What do you mean, please?”
(This is where our study of the Commandant’s disease, biliary colic,
first came in useful.)
“Vomiting,” the Spook answered. “Vomiting! Shivers! Such agony that he
will roll about and scream for mercy! He knows well, but I shall choose
my own time. Unless orders are obeyed _today_ I forbid my mediums to
grant further sittings under penalty of madness to themselves.
Good-bye.”
“How can I make the Commandant do it?” Moïse asked.
Before a reply was possible both mediums had their fingers again thrown
from the glass and appeared to experience a sensation which the sitter
in his notes describes briefly as “electric shock.” The Control was
obviously angry. Hill and I refused to venture any further, and we asked
Moïse to say so to the Commandant. Moïse suggested that we should put
our views in writing. We therefore wrote the Commandant a joint letter,
in which we expressed our regret that he was unwell, and hoped he would
be sufficiently recovered by the afternoon to begin the experiment. We
ended by saying that in view of the Control’s threats we could not (for
our own sakes as well as for the sake of the Commandant) go any further
in the matter unless it was put in hand that day.
The Pimple hurried off with the letter and the record of the séance.
“There goes our last chance, old chap,” I said to Hill as soon as we
were left alone. “If that doesn’t fetch him, we’ve failed.”
“Oh no,” said Hill, “we can always smash up a sentry a bit. They’ll lock
us up quick enough for that. We can tell the Commandant privately we
were spooked into doing it!”
“Right-o!” I agreed. “We’ll try that next. I want to biff that little
beast with the top boots, anyway.”
“Mine’s the Mulazim,” said Hill. “He needs a thick ear. Do him good.”
Alone, I believe I would have thrown up the sponge, and resigned myself
to growing grey in what looked like indefinite captivity. Hill’s
determination renewed my waning hopes. We began plotting again.
We might have spared ourselves the trouble. The force of example proved
a powerful incentive to obedience. The Commandant must have remembered
how the Spook’s threat of doom had brought Hill and myself to our knees
when we wished to withdraw from the treasure-hunt, and how we had
preferred to risk punishment from the Turk rather than the wrath of the
Unknown. The prospect of a recurrence of his malady frightened him into
action. At 2 p.m. the following note was brought to me by a sentry—(I
again quote the original)—
“LIEUTENANT JONES,
The Commandant should like to talk a little with you about
thought-reading and telepathy. Will you ask a few officers to come up
with you to the office in order to have a little show?
(_Signed_) for the Commandant,
THE INTERPRETER—MOÏSE.”
We invited to accompany us the four officers whom we had long since
marked down as suitable for this purpose. They all accepted. Three of
the four wrote down that same evening their recollections of what
occurred. The following account is composed of an extract from each of
the three independent reports. It shows how exactly “the little show”
followed the instructions of the Spook. (The fourth witness, being
mightier with the sword than with the pen, refrained from committing his
impressions to paper.)
(_I begin with an extract from Major Peel’s account_):
“About 2.30 p.m. Lieut. Jones and Hill were sent for to the Commandant’s
office ‘to talk about thought-reading,’ and asked to bring with them one
or two other officers. Jones asked me, Gilchrist, W. Smith and
O’Farrell, who are all interested in the subject, to accompany him.
Arrived at the Commandant’s office, the Commandant shook hands with us
and asked us to sit down. He then, through the Interpreter, asked Jones,
‘What is telepathy?’ Jones explained, giving the Greek derivation, etc.
”COMMANDANT. ‘How is it done?’
“JONES. ‘It is not known how it is done any more than it is known how
electricity works, but it is similar to electricity in that there is a
sender and a receiver, and thought-waves can be sent by one and picked
up by another.’
”COMMANDANT (to O’Farrell). ‘Is this a medical fact?’
“O’FARRELL. ‘It is a well-known fact like mesmerism.’
”JONES. ‘You can ask Major Gilchrist if it is possible.’
(_I now quote from the Doctor_):
“Major Gilchrist then said that he sent a (telepathic) message down
through Lieut. Hill from the top of South hill while out ski-ing, and
when he returned Lieut. Jones told him the thought that Lieut. Hill
sent.
“The Commandant asked what the object (thought of) was, and Major
Gilchrist said it was a black knife.
“The Commandant now became uneasy. He had the drawer of his desk a
quarter open, and kept on putting his hand inside and fingering
something.
“I then said that another instance of thought transference was one he
must have done himself. Say, for instance, you are in a room and you
want to attract someone’s attention; if you look at him hard, he will
look round at you.
“The Commandant now put his hand in the desk, drew out a half sheet of
paper (I think quarto, such as is used in a Turkish Government Office)
and handed it to Jones.
“Lieut. Jones showed marked agitation while reading the note. He bit his
lip, clenched his hands, and appeared as if he was suffering from
extreme excitement, from a medical point of view, and as if he was going
into a trance from a psycho-physical point of view.”
(_The conclusion is taken from Major Gilchrist’s narrative_):
“The Commandant ... asked Lieut. Jones what he had to say. Jones said he
did not deny that he had received and sent telepathic messages, and had
received war news by these means. The Commandant then asked him who his
correspondent was. Jones refused to state. The Commandant then
threatened Lieut. Jones with solitary confinement, without his orderly,
and on bread and water, unless he told him who his correspondent was. He
was given 24 hours to decide whether he would answer or not. Further, he
was asked to give his word of honour not to communicate telepathically
with anyone. This he said he could not do as he could not control his
thoughts. When again informed that he must give the name of his
correspondent or be court-martialled, and must give his word of honour,
Lieut. Jones replied, ‘I have given my word of honour not to disclose my
correspondent. If I break this word, what is the use of my word not to
communicate?’ The Commandant then said he would not put Lieut. Jones on
bread and water until he had news from Constantinople, and again the
Commandant said that his duty to his country made him insist on
demanding the name of the correspondent. Lieut. Jones said that the
Power his gift gave him also made it his duty to assist _his_ country.
Lieut. Jones demanded of the Commandant what charge he would be tried
on, and asked, ‘Am I to be tried on a charge of communicating
telepathically with outsiders and not divulging the name when asked for
it?’ The Commandant assured him it was so. Lieut. Jones then stated that
24 or 48 hours would not make any difference. He would not divulge the
name....”
We left the office for our 24 hours’ grace, Hill and I secretly
triumphant but outwardly indignant, and our four witnesses in a mood
very different from that in which they had entered the sacred precincts.
They were now much chastened. They had expected to see the Turk betray
an intelligent interest in the mysterious phenomena of telepathy, which
they themselves had found so engrossing. They had willingly imparted to
him their own knowledge of the difficult problem: but they had never
dreamed that their belief in telepathy would be turned to practical use
against two of their fellow-officers, and they felt that, while in
common with our two selves they had been very neatly trapped, their
ingenuous little confession of faith had gone not a little way towards
hanging us.
“I never thought the Commandant had it in him to work out such a trap,”
said the Doc.
“Yes,” said Gilchrist, “it was typically Oriental—and confoundedly
clever.”
Their respect for the Commandant’s ability had suddenly risen to
boiling-point. They could talk of little else as we walked back to camp.
There is one point on which these three good fellows are silent in their
written reports. I had committed what was in their eyes the unpardonable
sin. I had given away my accomplice—Hill. When to all appearance there
was no need for it, I inculpated him with myself, and indeed went rather
out of my way to mention his name. To them it was inexplicable. It was
conduct utterly unworthy of a British officer. They taxed me with it as
soon as we reached camp, and asked why I had done such a thing. I looked
as ashamed as possible. The trap, I said, had taken me unawares. I had
lost my temper—and my head—and blurted out my confession, which involved
Hill, before I knew where I was. Of their charity (I forget if Charity
also is blind, but she ought to be), they accepted this explanation, and
tried to forgive me in their hearts. The truth, of course, was that it
was the Commandant who had lost his head. He had confined his attention
and his questions entirely to me. Hill was not asked anything. It was
essential that the Commandant should have some ostensible reason for
“jugging” us both together, and on the spur of the moment I had supplied
his omission in the best way I could—by dragging in Hill’s name and
implicating him with myself.