“A name quite unknown to me then—SARGON, and then KING OF KINGS. We asked: was the spirit that was communicating with us Sargon? The answer came No. Was Sargon present? Yes. Then who was our communicant? OUJAH. Who was Oujah? WISE MAN. It was a very slow process spelling out the words in this way, and by the time we had got so far we were all very tired. Mr. Fenton in particular was very tired. He yawned and seemed greatly exhausted, and said at last he felt so weary and muzzy that he must go to bed. That was really very natural, because though none of us realized it at the time he was the actual medium under Oujah’s control. He went to bed and we tried to go on without him, but the magic had departed and we could not get so much as a rap. So we sat for a time talking all this over. Mr. Hockleby in particular was greatly flabbergasted, and then the rest of us went to bed.”
“Evidently Mr. Fenton made the raps,” said Christina Alberta.
“Evidently his presence was necessary for the raps to be made,” corrected Mr. Preemby. “Quite unconsciously he was a Mejum.”
There was a pause.
“Go on with the story,” said Christina Alberta.
§ 3
“The next evening was wet again, and as his Spare Part hadn’t come Mr. Fenton was able to join us once more. He made some little objection at first because he said he and his people were all Particular Baptists, and he was doubtful whether this sort of thing was not Necromancy and forbidden in the Bible. But I persuaded him out of that. And this time we spelt out a quite singular message. It was AWAKE, SARGON! ARISE OR BE FOREVER FALLEN!
“Even from the first I had had a feeling that those messages from Sargon had something to do with me. Now suddenly conviction came upon me. I asked ‘Is Sargon present?’ ‘Yes.’ I knew it would be so. ‘Is it anyone in the circle?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Is it this gentleman?’—pointing to Mr. Hockleby. A very loud No. ‘Is it me?’ ‘Yes.’
“Mr. Hockleby I noted at the time looked annoyed—as though he felt it was he who ought to be Sargon.
“Then young Mr. Fenton stood up suddenly. ‘Oh! I can’t stand any more of this,’ he said. ‘My head feels quite muzzy. I’m sure this sort of thing is harmful.’ He walked across the room and sat down suddenly with his hands hanging over the arms of the chair—it was one of the big arm-chairs covered in cretonne. We all felt very much concerned, but as for myself I was all in a daze at the thought of being this Sargon and being called upon so openly to rouse myself to action. I did not understand fully as yet all that it meant to me, but I did realize that it meant a very great deal.”