Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (free e reader txt) 📖

Them.

 

Thinking The Matter Over Beforehand,  I Concluded That When

The Questioner,  Of Either Sex,  Was Young,  Love Would Very

Probably Be The Topic; The Flesh,  Not The Spirit,  Would Be

The Predominant Interest.  Being An Ingenuous Young Man Of

The Average Sort,  And Desperately In Love With Susan,  Let Us

Say,  I Should Naturally Assist The Supernatural Being,  If At

A Loss,  To Understand That The One Thing Wanted Was

Information About Susan.  I Therefore Mentally Asked The

Question:  'Who Is The Most Lovely Angel Without Wings,  And

With The Means Of Sitting Down?' And Proceeded To Pass The

Pencil Over The Letters,  Pausing Nowhere.  I Now And Then Got

A Doubtful Rap On Or Under The Table,  - How Delivered I Know 

Chapter 19 Pg 103

Not - But Signifying Nothing.  It Was Clear The Spirits

Needed A Cue.  I Put The Pencil On The Letter S,  And Kept It

There.  I Got A Tentative Rap.  I Passed At Once To U.  I Got

A More Confident Rap.  Then To S. Rap,  Rap,  Without

Hesitation.  A And N Were Assented To Almost Before I Touched

Them.  Susan Was An Angel - The Angel.  What More Logical

Proof Could I Have Of The Immortality Of The Soul?

 

Mrs. - Asked Me Whether I Was Satisfied.  I Said It Was

Miraculous; So Much So Indeed,  That I Could Hardly Believe

The Miracle,  Until Corroborated By Another.  Would The

Spirits Be Kind Enough To Suspend This Pencil In The Air? 

'Oh! That Was Nonsense.  The Spirits Never Lent Themselves To

Mere Frivolity.'  'I Beg The Spirits' Pardon,  I Am Sure,'

Said I.  'I Have Heard That They Often Move Heavy Tables.  I

Thought Perhaps The Pencil Would Save Them Trouble.  Will

They Move This Round Table Up To This Little One?'  I Had,  Be

It Observed,  When Alone,  Moved And Changed The Relative

Positions Of Both Tables; And Had Determined To Make This My

Crucial Test.  To My Astonishment,  Mrs. - Replied That She

Could Not Say Whether They Would Or Not.  She Would Ask Them. 

She Did So,  And The Spirits Rapped 'Yes.'

 

I Drew My Chair Aside.  The Woman Remained Seated In The

Corner.  I Watched Everything.  Nothing Happened.  After A

While,  I Took Out My Watch,  And Said:  'I Fear The Spirits Do

Not Intend To Keep Their Word.  I Have An Appointment Twenty

Minutes Hence,  And Can Only Give Them Ten Minutes More.'  She

Calmly Replied She Had Nothing To Do With It.  I Had Heard

What The Spirits Said.  I Had Better Wait A Little Longer. 

Scarcely Were The Words Out Of Her Mouth,  When The Table Gave

A Distinct Crack,  As If About To Start.  The Medium Instantly

Called My Attention To It.  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 

Chapter 19 Pg 104

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 20 Pg 105

 

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.  Some Five-And-

Forty Miles From Our Starting-Place We Passed A Small Village

Called Savannah.  Between It And Vancouver There Was Not A

Single White Man's Abode,  With The Exception Of Three Trading

Stations - Mere Mud Buildings - Fort Laramie,  Fort Hall,  And

Fort Boise.

 

The Vast Prairies On This Side Of The Rocky Mountains Were

Grazed By Herds Of Countless Bison,  Wapiti,  Antelope,  And

Deer Of Various Species.  These Were Hunted By Moving Tribes

Of Indians - Pawnees,  Omahaws,  Cheyennes,  Ponkaws,  Sioux,  &C.  

Chapter 20 Pg 106

On The Pacific Side Of The Great Range,  A Due West Course -

Which Ours Was As Near As We Could Keep It - Lay Across A

Huge Rocky Desert Of Volcanic Debris,  Where Hardly Any

Vegetation Was To Be Met With,  Save Artemisia - A Species Of

Wormwood - Scanty Blades Of Gramma Grass,  And Occasional

Osiers By River-Banks.  The Rivers Themselves Often Ran

Through Canons Or Gulches,  So Deep That One Might Travel For

Days Within A Hundred Feet Of Water Yet Perish (Some Of Our

Animals Did