I.
In the course of my work last year I had occasion to go over a file ofold Liverpool newspapers, and thus came upon a remarkable paragraph inthe ship news. Translated out of the language of commerce, it was to theeffect that the good ship _Empress_, just arrived from Australia,reported that while rounding the Cape of Good Hope she had been drivensouthward far out of her course by a storm; and that away down in theSouthern Atlantic had sighted a vessel drifting aimlessly about. Thefirst mate boarded her, and, returning, reported that the derelict wasthe ship _Albatross_. That she had been abandoned was plain, for all theboats were gone, and so were the log and the ship's instruments. On thedeck, close by the companion hatch, lay two bodies, or rather skeletons,clad in weather-rotted garments, that showed them to have been man andwoman. These bodies were headless, but the heads were nowhere to befound on the deserted deck. The mate found on the cabin table an openbook, with writing on its pages. A pen lay on the table, and a smallinkstand, in which the ink had evidently long since dried. The book wasevidently a journal or diary, so the mate reported, and he put it in hispocket, meaning to carry it aboard the _Empress_; but when he wasgetting down into his small boat the book slipped from his pocket,dropped into the water and sunk. The _Albatross_ was badly water-logged,and, he thought, could not have floated much longer. To this report theeditor of the paper added a note saying that the readers would alldoubtless remember that the _Albatross_ had sailed from Liverpoolseveral years before, bound for Australia, and it was thought to havegone down with all on board, as no news of her had since been received.
That was the substance of the remarkable paragraph. What was almost asremarkable to me, a newspaper man, was that the Liverpool paper hadevidently made no effort to learn the owners of the _Albatross_, thename of her captain and crew, or whether or not she carried anypassengers. I carefully searched files to see if there was any furtherreference to the case. There was none. After the manner of his kind, theeditor of the paper had, so it seemed, taken it for granted that hisintelligent readers "would remember" all the particulars that theywanted to know.
I was much impressed by the paragraph. My professional instinct told methat there was a good newspaper story there, and I was disgusted thatany editor could let it go untold. I also experienced more than usualcuriosity to know how those headless bodies came there, or rather, whythey should lie there on the deck headless. Then there was that journalthat had been found lying open on the cabin table, as though the writerhad been interrupted in the writing which had never been finished. Whatlight might that little book not throw on the mystery? And now it waslying fathoms deep in the Southern Atlantic. Of what use to speculateover the matter. Thanks to the careless mate and the stupid editor, thatmystery would remain forever unsolved. But in spite of reason I didspeculate considerably over the matter, and, try as I did, could notbanish the story from my mind.
A few weeks after that I went into Northern Vermont to report the Bentonmurder trial, which was attracting much more than local attention. I waspleased to find that the prosecuting attorney was an old classmate ofmine, George Judson. I had known him pretty well as a hard-working andremarkably bright man, with a curious streak in his mental make-up thatled him to investigate every new "ism" that appeared. We used to callhim a Spiritualist, and, had the word been in use, I am sure would havecalled him a crank. He was five years older than I, had marriedimmediately after graduating, had prospered as a lawyer, and now had agood home for his wife and two children. He seemed much pleased to renewthe acquaintance of college days, and insisted that I should make hishouse my home during my stay in the town.
One Saturday evening as we sat in his comfortable library smoking afterdinner, Judson said, with some apparent hesitation:
"There's going to be a show here this evening that may interest you."
"Yes?"
"Yes. There's a woman living here who does some remarkable things whenin a trance. There are a few of us who are curious about such things,and I've asked her and them here to my house this evening."
"What is it?" I asked lightly; "the cabinet act?"
Judson looked a trifle hurt. "Yes," he answered, slowly, "she's amedium, and you newspaper men have said that she's a fraud. But I'veseen manifestations that I can't explain on any theory other than thatthey were the work of higher powers, and I'm going to look into itfurther."
The same old Judson, I thought. He was evidently more in earnest thanhis assumed indifference indicated. I marveled that the shrewd,successful lawyer could be so easily deluded, for I was sure that he wasdeluded. I had attended many a seance, and had helped to expose morethan one medium, and knew that the whole matter of manifestations wasnothing but a more or less clumsy juggle. But I kept my thoughts tomyself--experience had taught me that when it was known that there waspresent at a seance a pronounced unbeliever in that phase ofSpiritualism, the "conditions" were usually "unfavorable" for a"manifestation." So I said that I should be glad to see the "show," ashe called it. Then I encouraged Judson to talk, and he talked well. Frommediums and cabinets, and manifestations and the ways of spiritsgenerally, our conversation drifted to the marvelous and the mysterious,and finally I told the story of the _Albatross_ and the headlessskeletons. Judson was much impressed by the story. He joined me inanathematizing the careless mate of the _Empress_ and the stupid editorof the Liverpool paper. His lifelong habit of seeking to know theunknowable, re-enforced by the detective instinct that is developed inevery good lawyer as well as newspaper man, made him unnaturally anxiousto solve the mystery. The thought came to me just then that ifSpiritualism was good for anything it would be in such a case. What Isaid was, "I have often wondered whether the peculiar power of thetrance medium might not be employed in such cases. Now, is it impossiblethat that journal found on the _Albatross_, and which I believe containsthe solution of our mystery, should be materialized for us here?"
Judson jumped at the idea. "Yes, yes," he said hurriedly, "it shallbe--it must be. How fortunate!" He spoke with such earnestness andconfidence that I showed my surprise in my face. I also voiced it.
"You talk as though the thing were already accomplished. My experiencewith mediums has led me to consider them a trifle unreliable, but youseem to be sure of this one."
"Not of the medium but of myself. I had better tell you now what but oneother living person knows--that I have a very peculiar power. I don'tattempt to explain it, but it is no less a fact. I seem to be able, bymere force of will, to control certain persons. This medium is one ofthem. I have never been able to produce any results unaided, but morethan once have I thought into visible form those who had long beforedied."
The same old story you see. Judson was apparently an out-and-outSpiritualist, ready to be humbugged by the first shrewd trickster thatcame along. He went on:
"Now, this evening you will see a remarkable woman; I have been able tocontrol her in a remarkable way. I confess that I had never thought ofseeking the materialization of an inanimate object. But I believe thatit can be done. It shall be done. We shall have that journal thisnight."
I was almost convinced by my friend's absolute confidence; then saddenedby the thought that this usually hard-headed, keen young lawyer had sucha weak spot in his brain. He was the last man you would expect to bedeluded by the tricks of the medium. At the same time I found myself, inspite of my skepticism, wondering what would come of it all. Thatevening I was seated in Judson's large parlor, one of about twentypersons of the sort usually seen at such seances; the Spiritualists ofthe place, I thought. The room had been arranged after the fashioncustomary. There was an improvised cabinet in one corner, chairs in asemi-circle in front of it, not too near. Judson seemed a sort of masterof ceremonies, passing in and out, greeting newcomers, whispering a wordhere and there. He was pale, I thought, and seemed rather pre-occupied.We waited perhaps a quarter of an hour, and then Judson ushered into theroom a tall, slender woman, middle-aged, gray-haired, with ratherstrongly marked features and dark eyes that had a tired
look. She seemeda person of nerves. A trifle above the average medium in appearance ofintelligence and refinement, and with rather less of the self-assertiveboldness usually displayed by the women who make a business of communingwith spirits. There was no preliminary nonsense. She entered the cabinetin a business-like way. Judson turned the gas down low, so that we werein the dimmest sort of a dim religious light--just the light, I havealways observed, that seemed most congenial to spirits, or, rather, thataided most effectually in the tricks played by the mediums. Then he satdown by my side and said: "Let us all clasp hands."
I grasped with my left the fat hand of a large woman next to me, andJudson seized my right with his left hand. It was quite cold, and Ithought trembled a little. He leaned over me and whispered in my ear: "Iam determined to see that journal to-night. If will can do it, it shallbe done. Join your will with mine. You are a man of will. Let us forcethe powers to yield to our combined wills."
I was startled by the intensity of his manner more than by the words. Inspite of my half disgust at the whole proceedings, that were such anexact repetition of more than one humbugging seance, I was forced into arespectful attitude of mind, and at once became an interested assistant,where a moment before I had been an unbelieving, critical observer. Inodded my head, and Judson's grasp of my hand became firm.
Then there was complete silence for many moments. I bent all my mind tothe one thought that I would see that journal wherever in the largeworld it might be. At first my thoughts would wander, but then it seemedto me that Judson's grasp tightened and drew the desultory thought backto the one subject of his own thoughts. I have considered this a gooddeal since and conclude that Judson did, for the time at least, possesssome extraordinary power, possibly pure force of will. At all events, Igrew more and more determined to have my will done. Then there came acalm voice from behind the curtain of the cabinet.
"What is your wish?"
No one spoke for a moment, and then a weak voice at my left saidsomething about a desire to see a child that had died, and another voiceexpressed the wish to look upon the form of a departed husband. I wastoo much occupied with my own thoughts to notice then that this was thesame old scene, enacted as at all the other seances. Again there wasperfect silence; it seemed interminable. I could hear the breathing ofthe fat woman on my left. I could hear my watch ticking in my pocket. Ithought that I could hear my heart beat, but all the time there was thefirm pressure of the cold hand of my friend, and the constant thought,now shaped into words and the words into a sentence, and that sentencecontinually repeating itself until I seemed to hear that too: "I willsee that journal to-night."
And still that strange silence. The air in the room became close. Everydoor and window had been carefully closed, and the breathing of twentyor more persons had made large drafts on the oxygen. Suddenly a breathfanned my cheek, then a stronger draught, and then a steady current ofair set against my face. I felt it move my hair, and it smelled of thesea. It was salty. Yes, undoubtedly a strong, steady sea breeze was inthat room, and it brought with it the smell of a ship, tar and oakum andpitch--the odor that arises when the sun beats hotly down upon theunprotected deck and the boards shrink and the great pine masts feel thefierce heat. But there was no heat; only at first that cool sea breezeand then the patter of rain, seemingly on the floor of the room in whichwe sat.
Then a low moan came from behind the curtains of the cabinet, and thenthe sound of a heavy fall. At this some of the women shrieked weakly.There was a general letting go of hands, and Judson sprang to thecabinet and disappeared behind its folds. After an instant of silence weheard his voice: "More light." I hastened to turn on the gas. Judsonpulled aside the curtains, and we saw that the woman was lyingoutstretched on the floor.
"She has fainted," said Judson, calmly. "That is all. I believe that sheis subject to such attacks. I doubt, my friends, if we shall have anymanifestations to-night. May I ask you all to consider the meetingadjourned? I will give our friend here all medical attention."
He spoke so calmly and with such authority that without a word thelittle company passed out of the room and out of the house. Judson and Iraised the woman to a couch, and he brought water and bathed her face.She opened her eyes, sighed deeply, and then sat up. There was a strangescared look on her face.
"Where is it?" she asked faintly.
"Here," said Judson, and he drew from beneath his coat a small book andhanded it to her. She turned away with a shudder.
"No, no. Take it away. Take it away."
Judson handed it to me. "Will you kindly take this book to the library,"said he; "I will join you in a moment."
I obeyed mechanically. Before going into the library I stepped to thebroad piazza and looked out into the night. The snow lay white on theground, stars twinkled in the frosty sky, it was very cold, and I couldhear the snow creak under the feet of passers-by, and yet I had feltthat sea breeze and heard the patter of rain. What did it mean? Ishivered, entered the warm house, turned the light high in the library,shut the door, and not till then looked at the book in my hand. It was asmall blankbook about six inches long and four inches wide, well boundin leather and thoroughly water-soaked. I opened it. The leaves were wetand discolored, and I could see that the pages were covered withwriting. I turned to the fly-leaf and there read these words:
"Arthur Hartley's journal. Begun on board the ship _Albatross_, March 7,1851."
I stood in a daze, glaring at the written words, utterly confounded. Thedoor opened and Judson entered hurriedly. His cheeks were now flushed,his eyes fairly blazed with light, his face was bright with a smile oftriumph. "I knew it! I knew it!" he said loudly. "What a victory! What avictory! Even Nature yields to the power of Will!"
He paced back and forth rapidly, showing no desire to see the book thathad come to us so strangely. Then he threw himself into a big chair,lighted a cigar, puffed at it vigorously a moment, then became quiet,looked intently at the glowing coals in the grate, and said calmly:
"Well, let's see what Mr. Hartley has to say for himself. Read thejournal, please."
I had been standing all this time by the table, with the little dampbook in my hand, and watching Judson curiously. I drew up a chair,opened to the first page and began to read.
Eleven Possible Cases Page 17
