Seen and Unseen Part 8

Of course, I mentioned my strange experience and all the details connected with it--_except_ the exact hour of the occurrence. It was by a pure oversight (as I supposed) that this fact was omitted. I have had reason since to believe that I was unconsciously impressed to leave out this special detail, in order that I might receive far better evidence than would have been possible under other circ.u.mstances. Had I mentioned the hour of the vision, the imagination of my young friends in Melbourne might have been at work as regards the hour of _their_ experience, which was as follows:--

Several weeks after leaving Dunback I reached Auckland, and received amongst other letters one from Lizzie Maynard in answer to mine. Mr Kitchener had also written, saying what nice girls my friends the Maynards must be, and how kindly they had written to his excellent little housekeeper, sending her welcome gifts, and saying that her place had never been filled in their hearts, and so forth. Lizzie's letter to me began also about the excellences of "Jane," and the curious coincidence through which she had been once more put in touch with her; then she went on to say:

"It is indeed very remarkable about your experience, dear Miss Bates, but I think you will consider it much more remarkable when I tell you what _we_ were doing that night. I was spending the week-end with our mutual friends Captain and Mrs Boyle" (in whose house she and I had encountered Mrs Burroughes), "and Lily Boyle and I were sleeping in the same room, as the house was full.

"On the evening of 31st December there was a little dance arranged, to 'dance the old year out and the new year in,' and at midnight we dispersed, the visitors going home, and those in the house retiring to bed. Lily and I were too much excited to get into bed at once, so I suggested that we should try to compose a letter to Miss Pearl" (this being the lady whose writings they greatly admired. I had allowed them to use my name as an introduction, should they wish to communicate with her at any time).

Lizzie went on to say how nervous they were about writing the letter, fearing that so popular an author might not take any notice of the badly expressed letter of two young colonial girls. However, she did her best, and Lily Boyle did _her_ best, and the result was a hopeless failure!

"Then," continued Lizzie, "a happy thought struck me--George Eliot had used my hand to convey her message to you last October; might we not, remembering this, appeal to her to help us in our difficulty? So we gave up trying to write the letter ourselves, took down planchette from its shelf, and started again. In a few moments an excellent letter was written, giving your name as an introduction, with all the little points you had specially begged us to remember in connection with Miss Pearl's probable prejudices. It was so splendidly written, and so quickly, that you can imagine our delight! We could not bear to give up planchette even after both our names had been signed, and I said pleadingly: '_Oh, don't go away! Do stop and tell us something more._'

"In large letters, as you see" (Lizzie enclosed the script), "was written very decidedly:

"NO, I CANNOT STAY WITH YOU NOW--I HAVE PROMISED TO GO AND SEE STELLA'S DAUGHTER.

"I remembered, dear Miss Bates, that G. Eliot had said your mother's name in spirit life was _Stella_, so, of course, we knew that she meant us to understand that she was going to see _you_.

"Unfortunately, you did not mention the hour of her visit, but we took the time when enclosed message was written--very accurately--in order to tell you about it, and the hour was just twelve-thirty A.M. Do write and tell us that was the time when she appeared to you--we feel sure it must have been--but are longing to have our idea confirmed, etc. etc."

Now my young friends had evidently entirely forgotten the difference in time between Dunedin and Melbourne, and I must confess to my own amazement when I found that it was considerably over the sixty minutes, which I should have vaguely supposed it to be.

In fact, I was rather disappointed to think there was so wide a margin between the two occurrences, until I casually asked a gentleman, who was staying in my hotel, if he could tell me the difference in time between the two cities.

"Not exactly, I'm afraid, but it is considerably over an hour. Ah, there is a good atlas! I can easily calculate it for you." He remained silent for a moment, and then raising his head, said: "As nearly an hour and three quarters as possible." This was pretty good evidence of the practically simultaneous experience of my friends in Melbourne at twelve-thirty A.M., with my own at two-fifteen A.M. in the neighbourhood of Dunedin.

When I first became acquainted with Mr Myers, shortly after my return from Australia and New Zealand, I told him this story. He was greatly interested, but pointed out that it was useless from the evidential point of view unless I would take the trouble to write one or two letters to the Colonies.

So I wrote to Mr Kitchener for confirmation of the fact that I was staying in his house on the night of 31st December 1887, and had told him of my experience next morning, exactly as here related. Then I had to get Miss Lizzie Maynard's testimony with regard to her letter to me, and finally, I think, the testimony of Lily Boyle and her father that Miss Maynard was their guest in Melbourne on the occasion of the New Year's Eve dance. These letters are presumably still amongst the archives of the Society of Psychical Research, and the story was printed by them in their Proceedings some years ago.

I may add a last evidential touch by saying that when I met Miss Pearl for the first time after my travels, she referred to the letter she had received--under favour of my introduction--and quite spontaneously remarked upon its excellence, adding:

"I could scarcely believe that two young Australian girls, as they described themselves to me, could have written such an admirable letter."

I did not disclose the real source of the composition, as the popular author thinks that she has no belief in spiritualism.

CHAPTER IV

HONG KONG, ALASKA, AND NEW YORK

The spring months of 1888 found me at Brisbane, _en route_ for China, after spending a pleasant month with old friends on a well-known station belonging to the late Sir Arthur Hodgson, named Eton Vale, and situated on the beautiful and healthy Darling Downs of Queensland.

Before returning to Sydney from New Zealand, my female "Dr Livingstone" had reappeared upon the scene in the most unexpected manner. Our "historical meeting" took place in an Auckland hotel, where she suddenly turned up one day, driven back from Samoa by the intense heat. So after some gentle recriminations, she "having supposed the delay on my part might mean an entire change of plan,"

and I having supposed--from her letters--that Sydney was such a Paradise that she could hardly be dragged from it even by a flaming sword, we agreed to cry "quits," and continue our travels together. So Miss Greenlow spent the month of March in Sydney, whilst I paid my visit to Queensland, and we met once more at Brisbane to take steamer for Thursday Island, Cape Darwin, and eventually Hong Kong. Only one small matter of psychic interest occurred during this voyage.

I have mentioned in a previous chapter the little "swallows," which I first saw in San Francisco in the year 1886. I had been accustomed to seeing them ever since that date, and had been frequently commiserated for incipient eye trouble in consequence, by more than one sceptical friend.

On the very day we went on board the Hong Kong steamer at Brisbane, a new sign appeared: a single bird, holding in its beak a ring with half hoop of five stones, presumably diamonds. I told my friend about this, but neither she nor I could imagine any significance in it. At that time we had not even met any of our fellow-pa.s.sengers to speak to, for we were all taken up with settling into our cabins and trying to make ourselves as comfortable as circ.u.mstances would permit.

For a whole week the same little bird and the same ring were persistently held up before me. Then an inkling of the possible meaning broke upon me suddenly. Within a fortnight of our sailing this suspicion was confirmed, and the little bird's warning or suggestion amply justified. But "that is another story!" Curiously enough, the new "sign in the heavens" was withdrawn as soon as I had grasped its meaning.

I must hasten over our delightful stay in j.a.pan, because amongst much of extreme interest from artistic, social, and various other points of view, nothing occurred which has any special bearing on my present subject.

Leaving j.a.pan eventually by sailing from Yokohama to Vancouver (Washington territory), the old threads were once more put into my hands.

We made the acquaintance on board the old P. & O. _Abyssinia_ of the late Captain MacArthur, a kindly and genial naval man. He was an Australian by birth, but belonged to our English navy, and was just returning home on his promotion as commander.

He became rather interested in my "queer ideas," and ended by suggesting some experiments with "the table," so he persuaded the ship's carpenter to put together a small rough wooden table. The sittings were held, generally after dinner, in either my cabin or that of my "stable companion" Miss Greenlow. So far as I remember, we three were the only sitters, and I am bound to confess the sittings were sometimes very monotonous, even viewed from the indulgent perspective of a sea voyage.

In fact, I can now recall only one incident of any real value.

The dear old nurse, spoken of in my opening chapter, had now been for three or four years on the other side of the veil, but had never given me the slightest sign of her presence. But she came several times during this voyage, and always with the same object--namely, to entreat, and finally _implore me_, to give up a projected tour in Alaska.

Miss Greenlow and I had been prevented from undertaking this, two years earlier, when visiting Victoria (Vancouver), and she was very keen to go there from Washington territory on this occasion. I was _not_ keen for the expedition, but had made no strong objection to it, and it was understood that we should go together.

This was the tour which my old nurse now pleaded so anxiously should be given up, so far as _I_ was concerned.

"_It will ruin your health, my darling_," she said more than once.

"_Don't go there; take my advice._" And on one occasion, just before landing, she added: "_You will find letters awaiting you which will enable you to make other plans._"

This proved true--in a certain way. The first letter opened in the budget which fell to my share, told me of the sudden death of our family solicitor, which would have been a good excuse for a hasty return to England had any such pretext been necessary.

But this was not the case, for my companion, although quite determined to go to Alaska herself, was not in the least inclined to over-persuade me to accompany her. She was a very independent woman, quite accustomed to travelling alone, and I knew that neither her enjoyment nor her convenience would be affected by my decision one way or the other. I had no wish to go myself, and, moreover, thought it quite probable that my dear old nurse's warnings might be amply justified. But there were other grave considerations to be taken into account, and I still feel that I adopted the right, although not the pleasanter course, when I allowed my fellow-pa.s.sengers to depart East, joking me on my want of faith in the warnings from the spirits, and accompanied my friend, very unwillingly, to Alaska.

My nurse's earnest entreaties were only too fully justified on the physical plane, to say nothing of the miserable discomfort of the trip (which in those days had to be made in an overcrowded cargo boat.) I took a chill in those Arctic regions, which later developed into the longest and most serious illness of my life. It took months to make even a partial recovery, and the effects will remain during my life. Yet I have never regretted my decision.

This little episode seems to throw some light upon the way such warnings should be treated. To give no heed to them on the one hand, or to follow them blindly, _in spite of every other consideration_, on the other; these seem to me the Scylla and Charybdis of our lives. It shows that we _must_ judge for ourselves; we cannot shift the burden of responsibility on any other shoulders. How could we gain the real education of life were it otherwise?

Had I turned my back on Alaska I should have gained enormously, physically speaking, and yet failed in a moral test. But my dear old nurse, who considered only--probably _saw_ only--the physical evils to be avoided, was entirely in the right, _from her standpoint_. The faithful soul was doing her best to shield her nursling from danger.

A severe illness was entailed by my Alaska experiences. "Livingstone and Stanley" were once more separated. In other words, Miss Greenlow was obliged to return to England alone, leaving me to be nursed through a long and painful illness by kind friends and connections in Toronto. One of my doctors--the brother of my hostess--kindly made time to take me and my nurse to New York, in order that he might put me under the special care of the ship's doctor, and also be able to certify, as required, that I was in a fit condition to undertake the voyage.

It was during the day or two spent in New York before sailing, that I induced this gentleman to accompany me one evening to a _seance_ held by Mrs Stoddart Gray, who has been previously mentioned in this narrative.

Dr Theodore Covernton had all the ordinary doctor's prejudices against anything unseen or unknown. He had read my book on America, and considered the chapter on "Spiritualism" a lamentable lapse "from the good sense shown in the rest of the book!" I represented to him that for a physician to deny all possibilities of Hypnotism or Mesmerism, Thought Transmission, etc., meant losing some very valuable aids in his profession, and would probably soon mean being left pretty badly behind in the race.

Knowing of no specially good hypnotist in New York, and as there was no time to find one out, I boldly suggested that he should plunge into still deeper depths of "folly," and accompany me to the house of Mrs Stoddart Gray.

The usual performances went on, but whether owing to Dr Covernton's att.i.tude of mind or other causes, nothing of any special interest to him or to me occurred.

One incident impressed him, I think; certainly he could suggest no possible explanation of it, for it happened in a very fair amount of light and close to our feet. A gentleman and lady were sitting in the circle who had brought with them their little boy, a child of seven years old. I had asked the lady if she considered it wise to bring so young a child into such a _milieu_, several hours after an English child would have been put to bed, and her answer was cheery and characteristic:

"Well, I guess we shouldn't have much peace at home if we didn't bring Charlie along with us to see his Granny. We took him once, and since then he always insists upon coming. He loves talking to his Granny, and he is not a bit afraid of her."

At this moment a small frail woman stepped out from the cabinet, and came right up towards us, motioning to the little grandson that she wished him to go into the cabinet with her. This he did without a moment's hesitation, and the curtain fell, and concealed them both from view. The interview lasted for some minutes, and when the little boy reappeared, he was holding his Granny by the hand, and was evidently on the best of terms with her. I do not expect my readers to believe me, but this is exactly what happened next:

The child had brought some toys--a little train and some building blocks--"to get Granny to play with him as usual," and the fragile old lady knelt down on the floor, and played with him just as any ordinary Granny might have done, only with far more agility.