But I should have but few instances to tell of personal impertinence ever having been addressed to me, though thus living a life which constantly afforded to promiscuous strangers the free admission to the presence of myself and my young sisters, protected only by their dignity and their noble mother’s presence. I will mention but one, which occurred in an Eastern city, in 1857, the hero of which was an important man who had inherited from a far nobler father one of the greatest names known to our history. The incident occurred neither in New York nor in Washington, but to name the city would go far to identify the person. Five gentlemen were announced at one of my public hours, of whom one was evidently the most prominent man, and a sort of leader of the company. A glance sufficed to show that he was considerably intoxicated, and that some of his companions had had more or less share in the conviviality which had preceded their visits to the “Spirits” of a different kind. He is no longer in this life, but some of the rest doubtless survive, and are not likely to have forgotten the occasion when they had to retire ignominiously from my rooms at a hotel.
Naturally during the years thus spent in the exercise of my mediumship in New York, I became acquainted with no small number of domestic and family affairs of the most delicate—sometimes the most painful—character. In the private séances so often solicited by visitors there would arise, in their communication with Spirits, revelations of secrets the existence of which was little suspected by the outside world, and which, with me, were under no less absolute and sacred a sanction of secresy than in the Catholic confessional, or the confidential relations of the medical man. And it is a happiness for me to know that, apart from the communications received by visitors from their Spirit friends, I have many a time and oft had the opportunity of exerting useful influences on the minds of some whose inmost hearts and lives have thus been laid open before a sympathetic and sisterly eye.
DISCOMFITURE OF ANDERSON, “THE WIZARD OF THE NORTH.”
I am tempted to relate one occurrence of this period, though I do not remember its exact date. The newspapers will supply it to anybody desirous of chronological accuracy (it must have been about the middle of 1853). The famous conjurer Anderson, “The Wizard of the North,” was exhibiting in New York, I believe in the large building called Tripler Hall, in the rear of a hotel on Broadway, near Bond Street. He had advertised a challenge to any “poverty-stricken medium” to come to his hall and attempt to produce their “knockings” if they could, with the offer of a thousand dollars if they should do so. Possibly he had expected to crowd his hall for several evenings by this clap-trap, as he was himself a conjuring trickster by trade, he supposed that we were of the same kidney, or class, and that we would not venture to accept such a challenge from him. It happened that we (Katy and I) arrived one evening at home from a week’s absence in Rochester, and were told at the door by Susie that Judge Edmonds, Dr. Gray, and one or two friends more were waiting in the parlor to see us. They had known of our expected arrival at that hour.
Now, the object of our visit to Rochester had been this: I had conveyed there for burial the body of a beloved member of my family. After that interment, I was further detained by the death of a nephew, and the same undertaker remained to conduct this second ceremony. The friends who were awaiting us at home hastily explained the situation, Anderson’s challenge, etc., and said that we ought to be already at Tripler Hall, and urged our instant starting. I pleaded the impossibility (physical and moral), but they insisted that we must not leave that triumph to our adversaries—for the sake of our cause as well as for our own or that of our friends. They said that a cup of tea could be prepared and swallowed in fifteen minutes, and the upshot was that Judge Edmonds drafted a short note to Mr. Anderson, which I copied and signed, announcing our acceptance of his challenge and our speedy following after our missive, with the sole variation from his terms that the one thousand dollars were to go to some public charity (I forget which), as we would not accept it. A reliable messenger rushed off to place it in Anderson’s hands. We reached the hall with all possible speed and found it crowded to its utmost capacity. I had the arm of Judge Edmonds, and Kate that of Dr. Gray. We arrived in time to hear Anderson reading aloud, at the front of his stage, the concluding lines of the letter he had received. He was in a perfect rage, gesticulating in the most violent manner, denouncing the suddenness with which this had been sprung upon him, etc., etc., and refusing us admission to his stage. All know that conjurers usually extend forward a long bridge from their stage over the pit of the theatre, along which they travel to and fro in the course of their dealings, and “patter” with the audience. We and our respective escorts (we, of course, in deepest of crapes, and dropping with fatigue[11]) ascended the outer steps of this bridge, and moved forward toward the stage, to which we came very near. But the violence of speech and action by Anderson, who barred the way at the other end, held us back. Mr. Partridge spoke from the stage, and Judge Edmonds and Dr. Gray from their places, relating the facts, how we had that moment returned from burying our dead, exhausted with fatigue and hunger, and heart-broken with grief, but had yielded to their appeals to us to come instantly to meet the challenge which had been addressed to us and to Spiritualism, with the simple condition that the money staked by Anderson should go not to us but to a public charity. It may be imagined what effect all this produced upon the audience. “Fair play to the Rochester knockings!” “Fair play to the sisters!” etc., etc., mingled with hisses, seemed to come from every throat. A very little more, and I believe the “Wizard of the North” would have been mobbed on his own stage. But finding that we could not gain admission to it while he thus barred the way, and it being plain and patent to everybody that he had backed down, and that we and Spiritualism were incontestably triumphant, the crape-draped figures, with their highly honorable escort, withdrew as they had come, and glad were we to get back home and to disrobe ourselves of our travelling dresses. The next day the papers told how Anderson had backed down, and for a week following redoubled crowds flocked to our receptions with their congratulations.
The conjurer might, of course, have been sued by us for his $1,000, for the benefit of a charity; but we were satisfied, and cared no further for that or for him. He never renewed the challenge, or if he ever did, in any distant place when we were not there to respond (as is likely enough, for such is a conjurer’s trick), we never heard of it.
The “Wizard” had met with about as bad a fate as the Buffalo doctors, with their knee theory, the Rev. C. C. Burr, with his toe-ology, and the Harvard professors, with their unknown theory—promised, but never put forth. Anderson had, no doubt, never examined the numerous “investigations” through which we had passed triumphant, and had taken for granted that we were tricksters, like himself, who needed our own stage, machinery, etc., and was probably the most astonished of men and conjurers when he received my unostentatious acceptance of his challenge, followed up by the de facto appearance of two black-draped and travel-worn young ladies with their escorts, bearding the lion in his den, and vainly applying for impromptu admission to his own stage.