Gatherer went, and the Spook began to write again. It might well do so, for It had begun to establish its “Authority.”
Now, for successful spooking, “Authority” is all-important. The utterances of a medium “under control” must be, and are for the believer, the object of an unquestioning reverence.
I have two small mites of children. They usually demand a “story” of an evening. Since my return they have gradually established a precedent, and it has become a condition for their going to bed. I take them on my knees, their silky hair against my cheeks, and look into the fire for inspiration about “elephants” or “tigers” or “princesses,” or whatever may be the subject of immediate interest and then I begin. I don’t go very far without a question, and when that is successfully negotiated there are two more questions on the ends of their restless tongues. The linked answers comprise the story. Nobody makes any bones about the credibility of it, because “father tells it.” Thousands of other fathers are doing the same every day. Parents yet to be will continue the good work for the generations unborn.
What the parent is for the child, the medium is for “believers.” The gentle art, as Hill (my ultimate partner in the game) and I know it, is merely a matter of shifting the authorship of the answers from yourself to some Unknown Third, whose authority has become as unquestionable to the “sitter” as the father’s is to the child. Once that is achieved the problem in each case is precisely the same. It consists in answering questions in a manner satisfactory to the audience. I also find there is no fundamental difference in the material required for the “links.” Granted the “authority,” the same sort of stuff pleases them all alike, children and grown-up “sitters.” If you have ever watched a true believer at a sitting you will know exactly what I mean; and if you can describe the palace of an imaginary princess, you can also describe the sixth, or seventh, or the eighth “sphere.” But of course you must always be careful to call it a “palace” in the one instance, and a “sphere” in the other.
I did not realize this all at once. I did not set out with any scheme of building up the Spook’s authority. I laid out for myself no definite line of action against my friends. My policy, in fact, was that by which our own British Empire has grown. I determined to do the job nearest to hand as well as I could, and to tackle each problem as it arose. I would “rag around a bit” and then withdraw as soon as circumstances permitted me to do so gracefully. But circumstances never permitted. One thing led to another, and my “commitments” in the spook-world grew steadily, as those of our Empire have done in this.
Nor, needless to say, did I see at this time the faintest resemblance between Alec calling for “Sally” and my small boy demanding a “story” at my knee. To me, Alec and Doc. and Price (not to mention the rest of the camp) were grown men, thewed and sinewed, with the varied store of wisdom that grown men acquire in their wanderings up and down the wide seas and the broad lands of this old Empire of ours. They were “enquirers”—not “true believers” as yet—and as I was to find out in due course, they were “no mugs” at enquiring. I could only hug myself at the idea of the poshing I would get when the rag was discovered, and fight my hardest to ward off the evil day.
Soon after Gatherer left the room my career as a medium almost came to an inglorious end. The trap into which I nearly fell was not consciously set, so far as I am aware, for in those early days when everything was fresh the interest of the audience was centred more in the substance of the communications than in the manner in which they were produced.
The situation arose in this way: being a medium was a tiring game. An hour on end of pushing the glass about at arm’s length required considerable muscular effort. Your arm became as heavy as lead; until we got into training Doc. and I had to take frequent rests. This fatigue was natural enough, and everybody knew of it, but nobody knew that practically the whole of my body was subjected to a physical strain. At this period of my mediumship I used to close my eyes quite honestly; I was therefore obliged to remember the exact position of each letter, not only in its relation to other letters but also to myself, so as to be able to steer the glass to it. The slightest movement of the spook-board, caused, for example, by my sleeve or the Doc.’s catching on the edge of it, as sometimes happened, was sufficient to upset all my calculations until I had had an opportunity of glancing at it again. I used to try to guard against this by resting my left hand lightly on the edge of the board. I could then feel any movement, and at the same time my left hand formed a guide to my right, for, before closing my eyes, I used to note what letter my little finger was resting on. I had two other guides—my right and my left foot under the table gave me the angles of two other known letters. If the reader will try and sit for an hour, moving his right hand freely, but with both feet and the left hand absolutely still, he will understand why indefinite sittings were impossible. Add to this the concentration of mind necessary to remember the letters, to invent suitable answers to questions, and to spell them out.
“I am fagged out,” I said wearily. “Don’t you feel the strain, Doc.?”
“Only my arm.” He rubbed the numbness out of it. “Come on, Bones, let’s get some more; this is interesting.”