I jumped out of my seat, passed
between the two tables, when of a sudden the large table
moved in the direction of the smaller one, and did not stop
till it had pushed the little one over.
I make no comments.
No explanation to me is conceivable. I simply narrate what
happened as accurately as I am able.
One other case deserves to be added to the above. I have
connected both of the foregoing with religious persuasions.
The SEANCE I am about to speak of was for the express purpose
of bringing a brokenhearted and widowed mother into
communication with the soul of her only son - a young artist
of genius whom I had known, and who had died about a year
before. The occasion was, of course, a solemn one. The
interest of it was enhanced by the presence of the great
apostle of Spiritualism - Sir William Crookes. The medium
was Miss Kate Fox, again an American. The SEANCE took place
in the house of a very old friend of mine, the late Dr.
George Bird. He had spiritualistic tendencies, but was
supremely honest and single-minded; utterly incapable of
connivance with deception of any kind. As far as I know, the
medium had never been in the room before. The company
present were Dr. Bird's intimate friend Sir William Crookes -
future President of the Royal Society - Miss Bird, Dr. Bird's
daughter, and her husband - Mr. Ionides - and Mrs. -, the
mother of the young artist. The room, a large one, was
darkened; the last light being extinguished after we had
taken our places round the dining-table. We were strenuously
enjoined to hold one another's hands. Unless we did so the
SEANCE would fail.
Before entering the room, I secretly arranged with Mr.
Ionides, who shared my scepticism, that we should sit side by
side; and so each have one hand free. It is not necessary to
relate what passed between the unhappy mother and the medium,
suffice it to say that she put questions to her son; and the
medium interpreted the rappings which came in reply. These,
I believe, were all the poor lady could wish for. To the
rest of us, the astounding events of the SEANCE were the dim
lights, accompanied by faint sounds of an accordion, which
floated about the room over our heads. And now comes, to me,
the strangest part of the whole performance. All the while I
kept my right arm extended under the table, moving my hand to
and fro. Presently it touched something. I make a grab, and
caught, but could not hold for an instant, another hand. It
was on the side away from Mr. Ionides. I said nothing,
except to him, and the SEANCE was immediately broken up.
It may be thought by some that this narration is a biassed
one. But those acquainted with the charlatanry in these days
of what is called 'Christian Science,' and know the extent to
which crass ignorance and predisposed credulity can be duped
by childish delusions, may have some 'idea how acute was the
spirit-rapping epidemic some forty or fifty years ago. 'At
this moment,' writes Froude, in 'Fraser's Magazine,' 1863,
'we are beset with reports of conversations with spirits, of
tables miraculously lifted, of hands projecting out of the
world of shadows into this mortal life. An unusually able,
accomplished person, accustomed to deal with common-sense
facts, a celebrated political economist, and notorious for
business-like habits, assured this writer that a certain
mesmerist, who was my informer's intimate friend, had raised
a dead girl to life.' Can we wonder that miracles are still
believed in? Ah! no. The need, the dire need, of them
remains, and will remain with us for ever.
CHAPTER XX
WE must move on; we have a long and rough journey before us.
Durham had old friends in New York, Fred Calthorpe had
letters to Colonel Fremont, who was then a candidate for the
Presidency, and who had discovered the South Pass; and Mr.
Ellice had given me a letter to John Jacob Astor - THE
American millionaire of that day. We were thus well provided
with introductions; and nothing could exceed the kindness and
hospitality of our American friends.
But time was precious. It was already mid May, and we had
everything to get - wagons, horses, men, mules, and
provisions. So that we were anxious not to waste a day, but
hurry on to St. Louis as fast as we could. Durham was too
ill to go with us. Phoca had never intended to do so. Fred,
Samson, and I, took leave of our companions, and travelling
via the Hudson to Albany, Buffalo, down Lake Erie, and across
to Chicago, we reached St. Louis in about eight days. As a
single illustration of what this meant before railroads,
Samson and I, having to stop a day at Chicago, hired a buggy
and drove into the neighbouring woods, or wilderness, to hunt
for wild turkeys.
Our outfit, the whole of which we got at St. Louis, consisted
of two heavy wagons, nine mules, and eight horses. We hired
eight men, on the nominal understanding that they were to go
with us as far as the Rocky Mountains on a hunting
expedition. In reality all seven of them, before joining us,
had separately decided to go to California.
Having published in 1852 an account of our journey, entitled
'A Ride over the Rocky Mountains,' I shall not repeat the
story, but merely give a summary of the undertaking, with a
few of the more striking incidents to show what travelling
across unknown America entailed fifty or sixty years ago.
A steamer took us up the Missouri to Omaha. Here we
disembarked on the confines of occupied territory. From near
this point, where the Platte river empties into the Missouri,
to the mouth of the Columbia, on the Pacific - which we
ultimately reached - is at least 1,500 miles as the crow
flies; for us (as we had to follow watercourses and avoid
impassable ridges) it was very much more.
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