There is No Death

by Florence Marryat

One day Mrs. Showers invited me to assist at a séance to be given expressly for friends living at a distance. When I reached the house, however, I found the friends were unable to be present, and the meeting was adjourned. Mrs. Showers apologized for the alteration of plan, but I was glad of it. I had often sat with "Rosie" in company with others, and I wanted to sit with her quite alone, or rather to sit with her in a room quite alone, and see what would spontaneously occur, without any solicitation on our parts. We accordingly annexed the drawing-room for our sole use—locked the door, extinguished the lights, and sat down on a sofa side by side, with our arms round each other. The manifestations that followed were not all nice ones. They formed an experience to be passed through once, but not willingly repeated, and I should not relate them here, excepting that they afford so strong a proof that they were produced by a power outside and entirely distinct from our own—a power, which having once called into action, we had no means of repressing. We had sat in the dark for some minutes, without hearing or seeing anything, when I thoughtlessly called out, "Now, Peter, do your worst," and extending my arms, singing, "Come! for my arms are empty." In a moment a large, heavy figure fell with such force into my outstretched arms as to bruise my shoulder—it seemed like a form made of wood or iron, rather than flesh and blood—and the rough treatment that ensued for both of us is almost beyond description. It seemed as if the room were filled with materialized creatures, who were determined to let us know they were not to be trifled with. Our faces and hands were slapped, our hair pulled down, and our clothes nearly torn off our backs. My silk skirt being separate from the bodice was torn off at the waistband, and the trimming ripped from it, and Miss Showers' muslin dress was also much damaged. We were both thoroughly frightened, but no expostulations or entreaties had any effect with our tormentors. At the same time we heard the sound as of a multitude of large birds or bats swooping about the room. The fluttering of wings was incessant, and we could hear them "scrooping" up and down the walls. In the midst of the confusion, "Rosie" was whisked out of my arms (for fright had made us cling tighter than ever together) and planted on the top of a table at some distance from me, at which she was so frightened she began to cry, and I called out, "Powles, where are you? Can't you stop them?" My appeal was heard. Peter's voice exclaimed, "Hullo! here's Powles coming!" and all the noise ceased. We heard the advent of my friend, and in another moment he was smoothing down the ruffled hair and arranging the disordered dresses and telling me to light the gas and not be frightened. As soon as I could I obeyed his directions and found Rosie sitting doubled up in the centre of the table, but the rest of the room and furniture in its usual condition. "Peter" and his noisy crowd had vanished—so had "Powles," and there was nothing but our torn skirts and untidy appearance to prove that we had not been having an unholy dream. "Peter" is not a wicked spirit—far from it—but he is a very earthly and frivolous one. But when we consider that nine-tenths of the spirits freed from the flesh are both earthly and frivolous (if not worse), I know not what right we have to expect to receive back angels in their stead.

At one time when my sister Blanche (who was very sceptical as to the possibility of the occurrences I related having taken place before me) was staying in my house at Bayswater, I asked Miss Showers if she would give us a séance in my own home, to which she kindly assented. This was an unusual concession on her part, because, in consequence of several accidents and scandals that had occurred from media being forcibly detained (as I have just alluded to), her mother was naturally averse to her sitting anywhere but in their own circle. However, on my promising to invite no strangers, Mrs. Showers herself brought her daughter to my house. We had made no preparation for the séance except by opening part of the folding doors between the dining-room and study, and hanging a curtain over the aperture. But I had carefully locked the door of the study, so that there should be no egress from it excepting through the dining-room, and had placed against the locked door a heavy writing-table laden with books and ornaments to make "assurance doubly sure." We sat first in the drawing-room above, where there was a piano. The lights were extinguished, and Miss Showers sat down to the instrument and played the accompaniment to a very simple melody, "Under the willow she's sleeping." Four voices, sometimes alone and sometimes all together, accompanied her own. One was a baritone, supposed to proceed from "Peter," the second, a soprano, from "Lenore." The third was a rumbling bass, from an influence who called himself "The Vicar of Croydon," and sung in a fat, unctuous, and conceited voice; and the fourth was a cracked and quavering treble, from another spirit called "The Abbess." These were the voices, Mrs. Showers told me, that first followed her daughter about the house in Devonshire, and gained her such an unenviable notoriety there. The four voices were perfectly distinct from one another, and sometimes blended most ludicrously and tripped each other up in a way which made the song a medley—upon which each one would declare it was the fault of the other. "The Vicar of Croydon" always required a great deal of solicitation before he could be induced to exhibit his powers, but having once commenced, it was difficult to make him leave off again, whereas "The Abbess" was always complaining that they would not allow her to sing the solos. An infant's voice also sung some baby songs in a sweet childish treble, but she was also very shy and seldom was heard, in comparison with the rest. "All ventriloquism!" I hear some reader cry. If so, Miss Showers ought to have made a fortune in exhibiting her talent in public. I have heard the best ventriloquists in the world, but I never heard one who could produce four voices at the same time.

After the musical portion of the séance was over, we descended to the dining-room, where the gas was burning, and the medium passed through it to the secured study, where a mattress was laid upon the floor for her accommodation. "Florence" was the first to appear, tall and beautiful in appearance, and with upraised eyes like a nun. She measured her height against the wall with me, and we found she was the taller of the two by a couple of inches,—my height being five feet six, the medium's five feet, and the spirit's five feet eight, an abnormal height for a woman. "Lenore" came next, very short indeed, looking like a child of four or six, but she grew before our eyes, until her head was on a level with mine. She begged us all to observe that she had not got on "Rosie's" petticoat body. She said she had borrowed it on one occasion, and Mrs. Showers had recognized it, and slipped upstairs in the middle of the séance and found it missing from her daughter's chest of drawers, and that she had been so angry in consequence (fearing Rosie's honor might be impeached) that she said if "Lenore" did not promise never to do so again, she should not be allowed to assist at the séances at all. So Miss "Lenore," in rather a pert and defiant mood, begged Mrs. Showers to see that what she wore was her own property, and not that of the medium. She was succeeded on that occasion by a strange being, totally different from the other two, who called herself "Sally," and said she had been a cook. She was one of those extraordinary influences for whose return to earth one can hardly account; quick, and clever, and amusing as she could be, but with an unrefined wit and manner, and to all appearance, more earthly-minded than ourselves. But do we not often ask the same question with respect to those still existent here below? What were they born for? What good do they do? Why were they ever permitted to come? God, without whose permission nothing happens, alone can answer it.

We had often to tease "Peter" to materialize and show himself, but he invariably refused, or postponed the work to another occasion. His excuse was that the medium being so small, he could not obtain sufficient power from her to make himself appear as a big man, and he didn't like to come, "looking like a girl in a billycock hat." "I came once to Mrs. Showers," he said, "and she declared I was 'Rosie' dressed up, and so I have resolved never to show myself again." At the close of that séance, however, "Peter" asked me to go into the study and see him wake the medium. When I entered it and made my way up to the mattress, I found Miss Showers extended on it in a deep sleep, whilst "Peter," materialized, sat at her feet. He made me sit down next to him and take his hand and feel his features with my own hand. Then he proceeded to rouse "Rosie" by shaking her and calling her by name, holding me by one hand, as he did so. As Miss Showers yawned and woke up from her trance, the hand slipped from mine, and "Peter" evaporated. When she sat up I said to her gently, "I am here! Peter brought me in and was sitting on the mattress by my side till just this moment." "Ha, ha!" laughed his voice close to my ear, "and I'm here still, my dears, though you can't see me."

Who can account for such things? I have witnessed them over and over again, yet I am unable, even to this day, to do more than believe and wonder.

[CHAPTER XIII.]

THE MEDIUMSHIP OF WILLIAM EGLINTON.

In the stones I have related of "Emily" and "The Monk" I have alluded freely to the wonderful powers exhibited by William Eglinton, but the marvels there spoken of were by no means the only ones I have witnessed through his mediumship. At the séance which produced the apparition of my sister Emily, Mr. Eglinton's control "Joey" made himself very familiar. "Joey" is a remarkably small man—perhaps two-thirds lighter in weight than the medium—and looks more like a little jockey than anything else, though he says he was a clown whilst in this world, and claims to be the spirit of the immortal Joe Grimaldi. He has always appeared to us clothed in a tight-fitting white dress like a woven jersey suit, which makes him look still smaller than he is. He usually keeps up a continuous chatter, whether visible or invisible, and is one of the cleverest and kindest controls I know. He is also very devotional, for which the public will perhaps give him as little credit now as they did whilst he was on earth. On the first occasion of our meeting in the Russell Street Rooms he did not show himself until quite the last, but he talked incessantly of and for the other spirits that appeared. My sister was, as I have said, the first to show herself—then came an extraordinary apparition. On the floor, about three feet from the cabinet, appeared a head—only the head and throat of a dark man, with black beard and moustaches, surmounted by the white turban usually worn by natives. It did not speak, but the eyes rolled and the lips moved, as if it tried to articulate, but without success. "Joey" said the spirit came for Colonel Lean, and was that of a foreigner who had been decapitated. Colonel Lean could not recognize the features; but, strange to say, he had been present at the beheading of two natives in Japan who had been found guilty of murdering some English officers, and we concluded from "Joey's" description that this must be the head of one of them. I knelt down on the floor and put my face on a level with that of the spirit, that I might assure myself there was no body attached to it and concealed by the curtain of the cabinet, and I can affirm that it was a head only, resting on the neck—that its eyes moved and its features worked, but that there was nothing further on the floor. I questioned it, and it evidently tried hard to speak in return. The mouth opened and the tongue was thrust out, and made a sort of dumb sound, but was unable to form any words, and after a while the head sunk through the floor and disappeared. If this was not one of the pleasantest apparitions I have seen, it was one of the most remarkable. There was no possibility of trickery or deception. The decapitated head rested in full sight of the audience, and had all the peculiarities of the native appearance and expression. After this the figures of two or three Englishmen came, friends of others of the audience—then "Joey" said he would teach us how to "make muslin." He walked right outside the cabinet, a quaint little figure, not much bigger than a boy of twelve or thirteen, with a young, old face, and dressed in the white suit I have described. He sat down by me and commenced to toss his hands in the air, as though he were juggling with balls, saying the while, "This is the way we make ladies' dresses." As he did so, a small quantity of muslin appeared in his hands, which he kept on moving in the same manner, whilst the flimsy fabric increased and increased before our eyes, until it rose in billows of muslin above "Joey's" head and fell over his body to his feet, and enveloped him until he was completely hidden from view. He kept on chattering till the last moment from under the heap of snowy muslin, telling us to be sure and "remember how he made ladies' dresses"—when, all of a sudden, in the twinkling of an eye, the heap of muslin rose into the air, and before us stood the tall figure of "Abdullah," Mr. Eglinton's Eastern guide. There had been no darkness, no pause to effect this change. The muslin had remained on the spot where it was fabricated until "Joey" evaporated, and "Abdullah" rose up from beneath it. Now "Abdullah" is not a spirit to be concealed easily. He is six foot two—a great height for a native—and his high turban adds to his stature. He is a very handsome man, with an aquiline nose and bright black eyes—a Persian, I believe, by birth, and naturally dark in complexion. He does not speak English, but "salaams" continually, and will approach the sitters when requested, and let them examine the jewels, of which he wears a large quantity in his turban and ears and round his throat, or to show them and let them feel that he has lost one arm, the stump being plainly discernible through his thin clothing. "Abdullah" possesses all the characteristics of the Eastern nation, which are unmistakable to one who, like myself, has been familiar with them in the flesh. His features are without doubt those of a Persian; so is his complexion. His figure is long and lithe and supple, as that of a cat, and he can bend to the ground and rise again with the utmost ease and grace. Anybody who could pretend for a moment to suppose that Mr. Eglinton by "making up" could personate "Abdullah" must be a fool. It would be an impossibility, even were he given unlimited time and assistance, to dress for the character. There is a peculiar boneless elasticity in the movements of a native which those who have lived in the East know that no Englishmen can imitate successfully. "Abdullah's" hand and feet also possess all the characteristics of his nationality, being narrow, long and nerveless, although I have heard that he can give rather too good a grip with his one hand when he chooses to exert his power or to show his dislike to any particular sitter. He has always, however, shown the utmost urbanity towards us, but he is not a particularly friendly or familiar spirit. When "Abdullah" had retired on this occasion, "Joey" drew back the curtain that shaded the cabinet, and showed us his medium and himself. There sat Mr. Eglinton attired in evening dress, with the front of his shirt as smooth and spotless as when it left the laundress' hands, lying back in his chair in a deep sleep, whilst little Joey sat astride his knee, his white suit contrasting strangely with his medium's black trousers. Whilst in this position he kissed Mr. Eglinton several times, telling him to wake up, and not look so sulky; then, having asked if we all saw him distinctly, and were satisfied he was not the medium, he bade God bless us, and the curtains closed once more upon this incomprehensible scene. Mr. Eglinton subsequently became an intimate friend of ours, and we often had the pleasure of sitting with him, but we never saw anything more wonderful (to my mind) than we did on our first acquaintance. When he accompanied us to Bruges (as told in the history of the "Monk"), "Joey" took great trouble to prove to us incontrovertibly that he is not an "emanation," or double, of his medium, but a creature completely separate and wholly distinct. My sister's house being built on a very old-fashioned principle, had all the bedrooms communicating with each other. The entresol in which we usually assembled formed the connecting link to a series of six chambers, all of which opened into each other, and the entrance to the first and last of which was from the entresol.

We put Mr. Eglinton into No. 1, locking the connecting door with No. 2, so that he had no exit except into our circle as we sat round the curtain, behind which we placed his chair. "Joey" having shown himself outside the curtain, informed us he was going through the locked door at the back into our bedrooms, Nos. 2, 3 and 4, and would bring us something from each room.

Accordingly, in another minute we heard his voice in No. 2, commenting on all he saw there; then he passed into No. 3, and so on, making a tour of the rooms, until he appeared at the communicating door of No. 5, and threw an article taken from each room into the entresol. He then told us to lift the curtain and inspect the medium, which we did, finding him fast asleep in his chair, with the door behind him locked. "Joey" then returned by the way he had gone, and presented himself once more outside the cabinet, the key of the locked door being all the time in our possession.