“Wee One is our little girl guide,” said Bolsover. “You’ll hear her presently.”
“I do hope she will come,” said Enid.
“Well, she never failed us yet, except when that man Meadows clawed hold of the trumpet and put it outside the circle.”
“Who is the medium?” asked Malone.
“Well, we don’t know ourselves. We all help, I think. Maybe, I give as much as anyone. And mother, she is a help.”
“Our family is a co-operative store,” said his wife, and everyone laughed.
“I thought one medium was necessary.”
“It is usual but not necessary,” said Mailey in his deep, authoritative voice. “Crawford showed that pretty clearly in the Gallagher seances when he proved, by weighing chairs, that everyone in the circle lost from half to two pounds at a sitting, though the medium, Miss Kathleen, lost as many as ten or twelve. Here the long series of sittings — How long, Mr. Bolsover?”
“Four years unbroken.”
“The long series has developed everyone to some extent, so that there is a high average output from each, instead of an extraordinary amount from one.”
“Output of what?”
“Animal magnetism, ectoplasm — in fact, power. That is the most comprehensive word. The Christ used that word. ‘Much power has gone out of me’. It is ‘dunamis’ in the Greek, but the translators missed the point and translated it ‘virtue’. If a good Greek scholar who was also a profound occult student was to re-translate the New Testament we should get some eye-openers. Dear old Ellis Powell did a little in that direction. His death was a loss to the world.”
“Aye, indeed,” said Bolsover in a reverent voice. “But now, before we get to work, Mr. Malone, I want you just to note one or two things. You see the white spots on the trumpet and the tambourine? Those are luminous points so that we can see where they are. The table is just our dining-table, good British oak. You can examine it if you like. But you’ll see things that won’t depend upon the table. Now, Mr. Smiley, out goes the light and we’ll ask you for ‘The Rock of Ages’.”
The harmonium droned in the darkness and the circle sang. They sang very tunefully, too, for the girls had fresh voices and true ears. Low and vibrant, the solemn rhythm became most impressive when no sense but that of hearing was free to act. Their hands, according to instructions, were laid lightly upon the table, and they were warned not to cross their legs. Malone, with his hand touching Enid’s, could feel the little quiverings which showed that her nerves were highly strung. The homely, jovial voice of Bolsover relieved the tension.
“That should do it,” he said. “I feel as if the conditions were good to-night. Just a touch of frost in the air, too. I’ll ask you now to join with me in prayer.”
It was effective, that simple, earnest prayer in the darkness — an inky darkness which was only broken by the last red glow of a dying fire.
“Oh, great Father of us all,” said the voice. “You who are beyond our thoughts and who yet pervade our lives, grant that all evil may be kept from us this night and that we may be privileged to get in touch, if only for an hour, with those who dwell upon a higher plane than ours. You are our Father as well as theirs. Permit us, for a short space, to meet in brotherhood, that we may have an added knowledge of that eternal life which awaits us, and so be helped during our years of waiting in this lower world.” He ended with the “Our Father”, in which we all joined. Then they all sat in expectant silence Outside was the dull roar of traffic and the occasional ill-tempered squawk of a passing car. Inside there was absolute stillness. Enid and Malone felt every sense upon the alert and every nerve on edge as they gazed out into the gloom.
“Nothing doing, mother,” said Bolsover at last. “It’s the strange company. New vibrations. They have to tune them in to get harmony. Give us another tune, Mr. Smiley.” Again the harmonium droned. It was still playing when a woman’s voice cried: “Stop! Stop! They are here!”
Again they waited without result.
“Yes! Yes! I heard Wee One. She is here, right enough. I’m sure of it.”
Silence again, and then it came — such a marvel to the visitors, such a matter of course to the circle.
“Gooda evenin’!” cried a voice.
There was a burst of greeting and of welcoming laughter from the circle. They were all speaking at once. “Good evening, Wee One!” “There you are, dear!” “I knew you would come!” “Well done, little girl guide!”
“Gooda evenin’, all!” replied the voice. “Wee One so glad see Daddy and Mummy and the rest. Oh, what big man with beard! Mailey, Mister Mailey, I meet him before. He big Mailey, I little femaley. Glad to see you, Mr. Big Man.”
Enid and Malone listened with amazement, but it was impossible to be nervous in face of the perfectly natural way in which the company accepted it. The voice was very thin and high — more so than any artificial falsetto could produce. It was the voice of a female child. That was certain. Also that there was no female child in the room unless one had been smuggled in after the light went out. That was possible. But the voice seemed to be in the middle of the table. How could a child get there?
“Easy get there, Mr. Gentleman,” said the voice, answering his unspoken thought. “Daddy strong man. Daddy lift Wee One on to table. Now I show what Daddy not able to do.”
“The trumpet’s up!” cried Bolsover.
The little circle of luminous paint rose noiselessly into the air. Now it was swaying above their heads.
“Go up and hit the ceiling!” cried Bolsover. Up it went and they heard the metallic tapping above them. Then the high voice came from above:
“Clever Daddy! Daddy got fishing-rod and put trumpet up to ceiling. But how Daddy make the voice, eh? What you say, pretty English Missy? Here is a present from Wee One.”
Something soft dropped on Enid’s lap. She put her hand down and felt it.
“It’s a flower — a chrysanthemum. Thank you, Wee One!”
“An apport?” asked Mailey.
“No, no, Mr. Mailey,” said Bolsover. “They were in the vase on the harmonium. Speak to her, Miss Challenger. Keep the vibrations going.”
“Who are you, Wee One?” asked Enid, looking up at the moving spot above her.
“I am little black girl. Eight-year-old little black girl.”
“Oh, come, dear,” said mother in her rich, coaxing voice. “You were eight when you came to us first, and that was years ago.”
“Years ago to you. All one time to me. I to do my job as eight-year child. When job done then Wee One become Big One all in one day. No time here, same as you have. I always eight-year-old.”
“In the ordinary way they grow up exactly as we do here,” said Mailey. “But if they have a special bit of work for which a child is needed, then as a child they remain It’s a sort of arrested development.”
“That’s me. ‘Rested envelopment’,” said the voice proudly. “I learn good England when big man here.”
They all laughed. It was the most genial, free-and-easy association possible. Malone heard Enid’s voice whispering in his ear.
“Pinch me from time to time, Edward — just to make me sure that I am not in a dream.”
“I have to pinch myself, too.”
“What about your song, Wee One?” asked Bolsover.
“Oh, yes, indeeda! Wee One sing to you.” She began some simple song, but faded away in a squeak, while the trumpet clattered on to the table.
“Ah, power run down!” said Mailey. “I think a little more music will set us right. ‘Lead, Kindly Light’”
They sang the beautiful hymn together. As the verse closed an amazing thing happened — amazing, at least, to the novices, though it called for no remark from the circle. The trumpet still shone upon the table, but two voices, those apparently of a man and a woman, broke out in the air above them and joined very tunefully in the singing. The hymn died away and all was silence and tense expectancy once more.
It was
broken by a deep male voice from the darkness. It was an educated English voice, well modulated, a voice which spoke in a fashion to which the good Bolsover could never attain.
“Good evening, friends. The power seems good tonight.”
“Good evening, Luke. Good evening!” cried everyone.
“It is our teaching guide,” Bolsover explained. “He is a high spirit from the sixth sphere who gives us instruction.”
“I may seem high to you,” said the voice. “But what am I to those in turn who instruct me! It is not my wisdom. Give me no credit. I do but pass it on.”
“Always like that,” said Bolsover. “No swank. It’s a sign of his height.”
“I see you have two inquirers present. Good evening, young lady! You know nothing of your own powers or destiny. You will find them out. Good evening, sir, you are on the threshold of great knowledge. Is there any subject upon which you would wish me to say a few words? I see that you are making notes.”
Malone had, as a fact, disengaged his hand in the darkness and was jotting down in shorthand the sequence of events.
“What shall I speak of?”
“Of love and marriage,” suggested Mrs. Bolsover, nudging her husband.
“Well, I will say a few words on that. I will not take long, for others are waiting. The room is crowded with spirit people. I wish you to understand that there is one man, and only one, for each woman, and one woman only for each man. When those two meet they fly together and are one through all the endless chain of existence. Until they meet all unions are mere accidents which have no meaning. Sooner or later each couple becomes complete. It may not be here. It may be in the next sphere where the sexes meet as they do on earth. Or it may be further delayed. But every man and every woman has his or her affinity, and will find it. Of earthly marriages perhaps one in five is permanent. The others are accidental. Real marriage is of the soul and spirit. Sex actions are a mere external symbol which mean nothing and are foolish, or even pernicious, when the thing which they should symbolize is wanting. Am I clear?”
“Very clear,” said Mailey.
“Some have the wrong mate here. Some have no mate, which is more fortunate. But all will sooner or later get the right mate. That is certain. Do not think that you will not necessarily have your present husband when you pass over.”
“Gawd be praised! Gawd be thanked!” cried a voice.
“No. Mrs. Melder, it is love — real love — which unites us here. He goes his way. You go yours. You are on separate planes, perhaps. Some day you will each find your own, when your youth has come back as it will over here.”
“You speak of love. Do you mean sexual love?” asked Mailey.
“Where are we gettin’ to?” murmured Mrs. Bolsover.
“Children are not born here. That is only on the earth plane. It was this aspect of marriage to which the great Teacher referred when he said: ‘There will be neither marriage nor giving in marriage’. No! It is purer, deeper, more wonderful, a unity of souls, a complete merging of interests and knowledge without a loss of individuality. The nearest you ever get to it is the first high passion, too beautiful for physical expression when two high-souled lovers meet upon your plane. They find lower expression afterwards, but they will always in their hearts know that the first delicate, exquisite soul-union was the more lovely. So it is with us. Any question?”
“If a woman loves two men equally, what then?” asked Malone.
“It seldom happens. She nearly always knows which is really nearest to her. If she really did so, then it would be a proof that neither was the real affinity, for he is bound to stand high above all. Of course, if she . . .”
The voice trailed off and the trumpet fell.
“Sing ‘Angels are hoverin’ around’!” cried Bolsover. “Smiley, hit that old harmonium. The vibrations are at zero.”
Another bout of music, another silence, and then a most dismal voice. Never had Enid heard so sad a voice. It was like clods on a coffin. At first it was a deep mutter. Then it was a prayer — a Latin prayer apparently — for twice the word Domine sounded and once the word peccavimus. There was an indescribable air of depression and desolation in the room. “For God’s sake what is it?” cried Malone.
The circle was equally puzzled.
“Some poor chap out of the lower spheres, I think,” said Bolsover. “Orthodox folk say we should avoid them. I say we should hurry up and help them.”
“Right, Bolsover!” said Mailey, with hearty approval. “Get on with it, quick!”
“Can we do anything for you, friend?”
There was silence.
“He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand the conditions. Where is Luke? He’ll know what to do.”
“What is it, friend?” asked the pleasant voice of the guide.
“There is some poor fellow here. We want to help him.”
“Ah! yes, yes, he has come from the outer darkness,” said Luke in a sympathetic voice. “He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand. They come over here with a fixed idea, and when they find the real thing is quite different from anything they have been taught by the Churches, they are helpless. Some adapt themselves and they go on. Others don’t, and they just wander on unchanging, like this man. He was a cleric, and a very narrow, bigoted one. This is the growth of his own mental seed sown upon earth — sown in ignorance and reaped in misery.”
“What is amiss with him?”
“He does not know he is dead. He walks in the mist. It is all an evil dream to him. He has been years so. To him it seems an eternity.”
“Why do you not tell him — instruct him?”
“We cannot. We—”
The trumpet crashed.
“Music, Smiley, music! Now the vibrations should be better.”
“The higher spirits cannot reach earth-bound folk,” said Mailey. “They are in very different zones of vibration. It is we who are near them and can help them.”
“Yes, you! you!” cried the voice of Luke.
“Mr. Mailey, speak to him. You know him!” The low mutter had broken out again in the same weary monotone.
“Friend, I would have a word with you,” said Mailey in a firm, loud voice. The mutter ceased and one felt that the invisible presence was straining its attention. “ Friend, we are sorry at your condition. You have passed on. You see us and you wonder why we do not see you. You are in the other world. But you do not know it, because it is not as you expected. You have not been received as you imagined. It is because you imagined wrong. Understand that all is well, and that God is good, and that all happiness is awaiting you if you will but raise your mind and pray for help, and above all think less of your own condition and more of those other poor souls who are round you.”
There was a silence and Luke spoke again.
“He has heard you. He wants to thank you. He has some glimmer now of his condition. It will grow within him. He wants to know if he may come again.”
“Yes! yes!” cried Bolsover. “We have quite a number who report progress from time to time. God bless you, friend. Come as often as you can.” The mutter had ceased and there seemed to be a new feeling of peace in the air. The high voice of Wee One was heard.
“Plenty power still left. Red Cloud here. Show what he can do, if Daddy likes.”
“Red Cloud is our Indian control. He is usually busy when any purely physical phenomena have to be done. You there, Red Cloud?”“
Three loud thuds, like a hammer on wood, sounded from the darkness.
“Good evening, Red Cloud!”
A new voice, slow, staccato, laboured, sounded above them.
“Good day, Chief! How the squaw? How the papooses? Strange faces in wigwam to-night.”
“Seeking knowledge, Red Cloud. Can you show what you can do?”
“I try. Wait a little. Do all I can.”
Again there was a long hush of expectancy. Then the novices were faced once more with the miraculous.
There came a dull glow
in the darkness. It was apparently a wisp of luminous vapour. It whisked across from one side to the other and then circled in the air. By degrees it condensed into a circular disc of radiance about the size of a bull’s-eye lantern. It cast no reflection round it and was simply a clean-cut circle in the gloom. Once it approached Enid’s face and Malone saw it clearly from the side.
“Why, there is a hand holding it!” he cried, with sudden suspicion.
“Yes, there is a materialised hand,” said Mailey. “I can see it clearly.”
“Would you like it to touch you” Mr. Malone?”
“Yes, if it will.”
The light vanished and an instant afterwards Malone felt pressure upon his own hand. He turned it palm upwards and clearly felt three fingers laid across it, smooth, warm fingers of adult size. He closed his own fingers and the hand seemed to melt away in his grasp.
“It has gone!” he gasped.
“Yes! Red Cloud is not very good at materialisations. Perhaps we don’t give him the proper sort of power. But his lights are excellent.”
Several more had broken out. They were of different types, slow-moving clouds and little dancing sparks like glow-worms. At the same time both visitors were conscious of a cold wind which blew upon their faces. It was no delusion, for Enid felt her hair stream across her forehead.
“You fed the rushing wind,” said Mailey. “Some of these lights would pass for tongues of fire, would they not? Pentecost does not seem such a very remote or impossible thing, does it?”
The tambourine had risen in the air, and the dot of luminous paint showed that it was circling round. Presently it descended and touched their heads each in turn. Then with a jingle it quivered down upon the table.
“Why a tambourine? It seems always to be a tambourine,” remarked Malone.
“It is a convenient little instrument,” Mailey explained. “The only one which shows automatically by its noise where it is flying. I don’t know what other I could suggest except a musical-box.”
“Our box here flies round somethin’ amazin’ “ said Mrs. Bolsover. “It thinks nothing of winding itself up in the air as it flies. It’s a heavy box too.”
Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) Page 232