HOW WE FELL INTO A TRANCE AND SAW THE FUTURE
Our next séance, held on the 24th March, purported to be an explanation
of and an introduction to that special species of _trance talk_ which
appeals to all superstitious minds—the reading of the future. The real
lesson which we wished the Turk unconsciously to assimilate was the fact
that a “ray” exists—called by the Spook the “telechronistic ray”—which
preserves both the past and the future in the present for anyone who can
get into touch with it, and that Jones and Hill were developing the
power to get into touch with it. At the time, the Turks paid very little
attention to the telechronistic ray. Their interest was centred in the
trance-talk description of the future finding of the treasure. But later
on, when the Spook offered to disclose, _under proper conditions_, the
whereabouts of _all_ hidden treasures, the Turks remembered their lesson
and themselves quoted the “telechronistic ray” séance as an argument in
favour of the Spook being able to fulfil its offer.
Further, the trance-talk picture of the future was intended to be a very
gentle introduction of the idea that when the treasure was discovered
the mediums would be away from Yozgad, because they would send news of
its whereabouts by letter.
The séance is no doubt poor stuff from a metaphysical point of view, but
it was good enough for the Turks, and I quote it in full as an example
of the way in which we entangled our victims in a labyrinth of confused
reasoning. For it must always be borne in mind that a medium can have no
more valuable asset in his sitter than a _theory_ of spooking, and the
more ill-defined, tortuous and confused that “theory” may be, the easier
it becomes to hoodwink its exponent. The really dangerous man to a
medium is not at all the gentleman possessed of a vast knowledge of
spooks and their ways, and consequently prepared to explain phenomena in
the light of that knowledge, but the ordinary everyday man, without any
theories of the supernatural and preferably with a good knowledge of
conjuring, of logic, and of the tricks of the cross-examiner, who will
apply to what he sees and hears the tests of his everyday experience.
Confusion, in one form or another, is the alpha and omega of the
medium’s stock in trade.
The séance opened with a little speech by Moïse. We encouraged him—or
rather, the Spook did—to make these speeches, and gradually he formed
the habit of writing them beforehand so as to make sure of omitting
nothing of importance. In time, they amounted to a report of everything
that had happened in connection with ourselves or with the rest of the
camp since the last séance. In this way our knowledge was kept up to
date, and we gained much important information. The speeches were
delivered—not to us, but to the piece of tin which was our spook-board,
and which Moïse always addressed as “Sir.” It contained for him as real
a personality as the idol does for the savage, and he treated it with
similar reverence. He lied to us, in our capacity as ordinary mortals,
with a face of brass, but he never lied to his sacred piece of tin.
Picture him, then, leaning over the board with paper and pencil ready to
take down the Spook’s answer while we set our fingers on the glass, and
as wooden as possible an expression on our faces, and listened to his
oration.
_Seance in Colonels’ House, 24th March, 5 p.m. to 7.45 p.m._
MOÏSE. “Good evening, Sir. Before starting the treasure business, let me
first thank you for the speech you made for the Commandant to say at the
Ski Club dinner. I think everybody was pleased. I did not come before to
thank you because you gave us the order not to trouble you before five
days; but I do it now. Second, I beg your pardon again for having so
_étourdiment_ ejaculated in the last séance, and I am ready, if
possible, in order to correct the wrong I may have done, to share the
hardships and restrictions you have inflicted on the mediums, if you
think it convenient.”
SPOOK. “Thank you. Later on I may require your help. Not now.”
MOÏSE. “I am ready at any time.”
SPOOK. “I am going to prepare you for trance-talk. I am going to explain
a very difficult thing. First, what time is it?”
MOÏSE. “It is ten minutes past five, according to camp time, ten minutes
past ten by Turkish time.”
SPOOK. “When eleven o’clock comes will the present time be dead and
gone?”
MOÏSE. “Will you explain, please?”
SPOOK. “Is yesterday still here or not? Is to-morrow here yet?”
MOÏSE. “We think that to-morrow is not here yet. We don’t quite
understand.”
SPOOK. “It is difficult. Is last year here now?”
MOÏSE. “No, it is not. We are in 1918 now.”
SPOOK. “Is next year here now?”
MOÏSE. “No, we think it is not here.”
SPOOK. “Quite so. You think the past is one thing, and the future is
another, and the present a third. Is it not so?”
MOÏSE. “I will say there are three things altogether.”
SPOOK. “I will try and show that you are wrong—that both the future and
the past exist together now. But it is hard to explain because all human
languages are deficient in the words I require. For instance, the phrase
‘in tune’ does not express exactly what I mean by it, nor does the
French phrase ‘_en rapport,_’ nor the Greek ‘συμπά θεια’; nor any phrase
in any human language. Well, you know sound can be trapped, for you have
a clumsy method of doing it. Do you understand?“
MOÏSE. “The phonograph method?”
SPOOK. “Quite so. A past sound existing in the present. Is it not so?”
(Moïse consulted the mediums, and after a discussion, went on.)
MOÏSE. “Jones says that the phonograph is only a _record_ of a sound, it
is not a sound existing at the present.”
SPOOK. “Stupid, the sound _is_ there. All that is required is the proper
instruments and conditions to bring it out. Do you understand?”
MOÏSE. “Yes, we understand that.”
SPOOK. “Now, look at the fire.”
MOÏSE. “Yes, I am looking.”
SPOOK. “Would you say it is burning _now_, or would you not?”
MOÏSE. “Yes, we would.”
SPOOK. “Why do you say it is blazing now—at present?”
MOÏSE. “Because we see it.”
SPOOK. “Quite so. Again, say something, Moïse.” (Moïse spoke.) “You are
talking _now_, _now_, _now_, are you not?”
MOÏSE. “Yes, I am.”
SPOOK. “How do the mediums know?”
MOÏSE. “Because they hear me.”
SPOOK. “Because you see and hear a thing you say it is happening in the
present. Is it not so?”
MOÏSE. “Yes. It is so.”
SPOOK. “If you saw one star collide with another star you would say,
‘Look, that star is at present colliding with that other star’; is that
so?”
MOÏSE. “Yes, I would.”
SPOOK. “Then do you think you would be talking sense?”
MOÏSE. “We think we are.”
SPOOK. “Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!! Listen! It takes what you call a
hundred years for the light of some of the stars to reach the sphere you
live in. So when you see a collision you may be watching a thing which
really happened what you call a hundred years ago. For you it is the
present time, because the rays of light have preserved it for you for
all those things you call years. But you are looking at the past. Do you
understand?”
MOÏSE. “I shall say, ‘I see the present,’ but if I know astronomy, by
thinking a little I will be persuaded that I am not looking at a present
thing but a past thing, because the rays have taken a long time to reach
my eyes.”
SPOOK. “What I am trying to prove is this: even to your imperfect
senses, the past can exist in the present, also the future can exist in
the present.”
MOÏSE. “How? An example about the future, please, Sir.”
SPOOK. “Bless you! Your mathematicians, as you call them, can fix the
next eclipse of the sun to the nearest second. Because they happen to
have discovered the laws ruling that little portion of the field of
knowledge, that portion of the future is known and is laid bare _in the
present_. So, in a sense, past, present, and future co-exist.”
MOÏSE. “No, the knowledge of them co-exists.”
SPOOK. “Silly. Is the fire existing now, or merely your knowledge of
it?”
MOÏSE. “The fire is existing now.”
SPOOK. “Because you see it?”
MOÏSE. “Yes.”
SPOOK. “Silly. What about the stars?”
MOÏSE. “You are right! I understand now!”
SPOOK. “Time is an artificial division. All time is one. Do you
understand?”
MOÏSE. “I _know_.”
SPOOK. “Past, present, and future all co-exist.”
MOÏSE. “Yes.”
SPOOK. “You do not know all the past—why? Because you have not yet
discovered the—there is no word for it—call it the ‘telechronistic ray.’
You do not know all the future, for the same reason. Do you understand?”
MOÏSE. “Give further explanation, please.”
SPOOK. “As you have seen, light rays and sound rays can preserve the
past for your ears and eyes. The mathematical sense can know the future.
In the same way the telechronistic rays preserve both the past and the
future, for those who can develop the faculty to get into touch with the
rays. This is what I am aiming at with the mediums. To-night I shall
test them. They will trance-talk if I am successful, and the simple food
and solitude have had the desired effect. It must be done after dark.
You must not interrupt or touch the mediums. The unfortunate thing is
that as regards the past it is always possible for what you call a
spirit to interpose between the mediums and the ray, like a man standing
between you and a candle; but as regards the future, it is harder to
interfere because the future ray is strong, and single, and distant like
the sun. Do you understand?”
MOÏSE. “Not understood.”
SPOOK. “The future is a complete whole, a single blaze. It is all
existing now, but it exists for you as an undivided entity. The past,
however, exists for you as a series of small telechronistic rays. If I
tried to show you a particular event in the past, it being a small event
like the candle, it would be easy for OOO to interpose between you and
the beam, especially if he knows the particular candle I want to show.
_Now_, do you understand?”
MOÏSE. “Yes.”
SPOOK. “Do not touch the mediums or interrupt.”
MOÏSE. “No, I will not.”
SPOOK. “Be in the dark. Take down carefully everything they say. Then
come back to me after they have recovered. Also note: it will not be
_me_ talking through the mediums; it will be the mediums themselves
interpreting the ray. _Au revoir_, until after dark.”
MOÏSE. “May we have a lamp?”
SPOOK (angrily). “No!”
MOÏSE. “How can I write?”
SPOOK. “Make a small beam of light—a—small—beam—of—light.”
MOÏSE. “Yes. How?”
SPOOK (angrily). “_Do_ it! Or I will not help. Blow your own nose! Don’t
worry me with trifles!”
MOÏSE. “A candle covered with paper?”
SPOOK (interrupting angrily). “In a tin, in a tin!”
Lest he should make any mistake over the “beam of light” Moïse decided
to write in the dark. He sat at a table at one side of the room, while
Hill and I sat at the other side. For some time there was dead silence.
Then Hill and I began to grunt, and make strange noises in unison. The
noises changed gradually from grunts to groans, and from groans to
guttural sounds, thence to some unknown tongue, and finally into
English. When we had practised together in private (it took a lot of
practice to get grunt-and-groan perfect) we had never been able to
proceed very far without laughing. Indeed it was the most ridiculous
farmyard concert that mortal man ever listened to, and Hill had objected
that we ran a great risk of laughing or being laughed at and spoiling
everything. But what is ridiculous in daylight may be intensely eerie in
the dark. And so it proved. The unhappy Pimple nearly fainted with
fright, but he stuck to his post and his note-taking with a courage that
roused our unwilling admiration. He showed us his notes afterwards—the
paper was wet from the clamminess of his hands, and the writing showed
clear traces of his jumpiness.
We pretended to be describing a scene before our eyes. We were following
a man who carried a letter. We described how the messenger passed
through a door into a garden. He had great difficulty in closing the
door, for something was wrong with the latch. We followed him through
the garden—past the trees and flowers and well, all of which we
described—into a house with a curious window that stood out four-square
to the right of the door. Thence up the steps, inside, through a small
hall, up a staircase and into a bedroom, detailing the furniture and the
pictures as we passed each article. We gave a minute description of the
bedroom, the red carpet, the two ottomans, the position of the bed and
the cupboard, and we were much struck by the enormous footstool on the
right of the door, the wicker bag on the floor near the bed, and the
sword on the wall between two pictures. The messenger gave the letter to
someone on the bed, whom we could not see clearly. We heard him call,
and a lady came in—a lady with very beautiful hands. They went out
together, carrying a lantern. Another man joined them, with pick and
shovel. Then everything turned black. There was a pause in the
trance-talk for perhaps a minute. Then we cried out that we saw the
group again. They had been digging. We could see the hole by the
lamplight. They were pulling things out of the hole—boxes they looked
like! Yes, boxes! The man with the pick raised it above his head and
smashed open a box, and—“Gold! Gold! Gold!” (so loud and so suddenly did
we shout together that the Pimple leapt to his feet). Then blackness
again, and a reversal of the opening proceedings—we lapsed first into
the unknown tongue, and thence through the guttural sounds to the groans
and the little farmyard grunts with which we had begun. A few minutes’
silence, and Hill spoke in his natural voice:—
“I am afraid it’s no good!” he said, “nothing is going to happen.”
The Pimple struck a match with shaking fingers, and lit the lamp.
“Something _has_ happened,” he said, “you’ve both been in a trance. It
was terrible!”
“Have we?” said I, and looked as dazed as I could. (It is easy to look
dazed in a sudden glare of light.) “I feel just as usual, only very,
very tired.”
At the Pimple’s request we got out the spook-board and he read over the
record to the Spook.
“That was the future,” the glass explained; “did you recognize the
picture, Moïse?”
MOÏSE. “No, Sir.”
SPOOK. “Stupid! What did they find? Who were they? What was the house?
Don’t be silly! You know it well. Read it again!”
(Moïse re-read the record.)
MOÏSE (in excitement). “Yes, Sir! I recognize it now. May I tell the
mediums what the picture was?”
SPOOK. “Yes. Then no more to-night. Mediums are much improved, but this
strains them.”
MOÏSE. “Good-night, Sir. And many thanks.”
Turning to Hill and myself, Moïse explained that in our trance-talk _we
had given a perfect description of the Commandant’s house_. He was half
crazed with excitement and nervous strain. It was “wonderful,”
“marvellous,” “undoubted clairvoyance.” He congratulated us “from the
base of his heart.” It was a “beautiful word-picture.” It was more—a
“word-photograph”—and of a house we had never seen! It beat the
photograph incident in _Raymond_ (Moïse, by the Spook’s orders, had just
finished translating _Raymond_ to the Commandant), “for it was much more
detailed.” He believed we were greater spiritualists than Sir Oliver
Lodge. “Was it so?” “Was it not so?”
“Oh no, Moïse,” said Hill. “We are only mediums. _He_ is in your
position, you know—an investigator and recorder. But I suppose it is not
unlike the photograph incident, as you say.”
“It is better—far better,” said the Pimple.
I believe it _was_ better. Only it spoils a conjuring trick or a
psychical phenomenon to explain how it is done, and unfortunately I have
already told the reader how Doc. O’Farrell described Kiazim’s house to
me. So the photograph incident in _Raymond_ will remain a “marvel” while
our word-picture is simply a fraud.