In his notes, the translator quotes the Chinese historian, Matwanlin, who corroborates the same. “During the passage of this wilderness you hear sounds,” says Matwanlin, “sometimes of singing, sometimes of wailing; and it has often happened that travellers going aside to see what those sounds might be, have strayed from their course and been entirely lost; for they were voices of spirits and goblins.”[899] “These goblins are not peculiar to the Gobi,” adds the editor, “though that appears to have been their most favored haunt. The awe of the vast and solitary desert raises them in all similar localities.”
Colonel Yule would have done well to consider the possibility of serious consequences arising from the acceptance of his theory. If we admit that the weird cries of the Gobi are due to the awe inspired “by the vast and solitary desert,” why should the goblins of the Gadarenes (Luke viii. 29) be entitled to any better consideration? and why may not Jesus have been self-deceived as to his objective tempter during the forty days’ trial in the “wilderness?” We are quite ready to receive or reject the theory enunciated by Colonel Yule, but shall insist upon its impartial application to all cases. Pliny speaks of the phantoms that appear and vanish in the deserts of Africa;[900] Æthicus, the early Christian cosmographer, mentions, though incredulous, the stories that were told of the voices of singers and revellers in the desert; and “Mas’udi tells of the ghûls, which in the deserts appear to travellers by night and in lonely hours;” and also of “Apollonius of Tyana and his companions, who, in a desert near the Indus by moonlight, saw an empusa or ghûl taking many forms.... They revile it, and it goes off uttering shrill cries.”[901] And Ibn Batuta relates a like legend of the Western Sahara: “If the messenger be solitary, the demons sport with him and fascinate him, so that he strays from his course and perishes.”[902] Now if all these matters are capable of a “rational explanation;” and we do not doubt it as regards most of these cases, then, the Bible-devils of the wilderness deserve no more consideration, but should have the same rule applied to them. They, too, are creatures of terror, imagination, and superstition; hence, the narratives of the Bible must be false; and if one single verse is false, then a cloud is thrown upon the title of all the rest, to be considered divine revelation. Once admit this, and this collection of canonical documents is at least as amenable to criticism as any other book of stories.[903]
There are many spots in the world where the strangest phenomena have resulted from what was later ascertained to be natural physical causes. In Southern California there are certain places on the sea-shore where the sand when disturbed produces a loud musical ring. It is known as the “musical sand,” and the phenomenon is supposed to be of an electrical nature. “The sound of musical instruments, chiefly of drums, is a phenomenon of another class, and is really produced in certain situations among sandhills when the sand is disturbed,” says the editor of Marco Polo. “A very striking account of a phenomenon of this kind, regarded as supernatural, is given by Friar Odoric, whose experience I have traced to the Reg Ruwán or flowing sand north of Kabul. Besides this celebrated example ... I have noted that equally well-known one of the Jibal Nakics, or ‘Hill of the Bell’ in the Sinai desert; ... Gibal-ul-Thabúl, or hill of the drums.... A Chinese narrative of the tenth century mentions the phenomenon as known near Kwachau, on the eastern border of the Lop desert, under the name of “the singing sands.”[904]
That all these are natural phenomena, no one can doubt. But what of the questions and answers, plainly and audibly given and received? What of conversations held between certain travellers and the invisible spirits, or unknown beings, that sometimes appear to whole caravans in tangible form? If so many millions believe in the possibility that spirits may clothe themselves with material bodies, behind the curtain of a “medium,” and appear to the circle, why should they reject the same possibility for the elemental spirits of the deserts? This is the “to be, or not to be” of Hamlet. If “spirits” can do all that Spiritualists claim for them, why can they not appear equally to the traveller in the wildernesses and solitudes? A recent scientific article in a Russian journal attributes such “spirit-voices,” in the great Gobi desert, to the echo. A very reasonable explanation, if it can only be demonstrated that these voices simply repeat what has been previously uttered by a living person. But when the “superstitious” traveller gets intelligent answers to his questions, this Gobi echo at once shows a very near relationship with the famous echo of the Théâtre Porte St. Martin at Paris. “How do you do, sir?” shouts one of the actors in the play. “Very poorly, my son; thank you. I am getting old, very ... very old!” politely answers the echo!
What incredulous merriment must the superstitious and absurd narratives of Marco Polo, concerning the “supernatural” gifts of certain shark and wild-beast charmers of India, whom he terms Abraiaman, have excited for long centuries. Describing the pearl-fishery of Ceylon, as it was in his time, he says that the merchants are “obliged also to pay those men who charm the great fishes—to prevent them from injuring the divers whilst engaged in seeking pearls under water—one-twentieth part of all that they take. These fish-charmers are termed Abraiaman (Brahman?), and their charm holds good for that day only, for at night they dissolve the charm, so that the fishes can work mischief at their will. These Abraiaman know also how to charm beasts and birds, and every living thing.”
And this is what we find in the explanatory notes of Colonel Yule, in relation to this degrading Asiatic “superstition:” “Marco’s account of the pearl-fishery is still substantially correct.... At the diamond mines of the northern Circars, Brahmans are employed in the analogous office of propitiating the tutelary genii. The shark-charmers are called in Tamil, Kadal-Katti, “sea-binders,” and in Hindustani, Hai-banda, or “shark-binders.” At Aripo they belong to one family, supposed to have the monopoly of the charm.[905] The chief operator is (or was, not many years ago) paid by the government, and he also received ten oysters from each boat daily during the fishery. Tennent, on his visit, found the incumbent of the office to be a Roman Catholic Christian (?), but that did not seem to affect the exercise of the validity of his functions. It is remarkable that not more than one authenticated accident from sharks had taken place during the whole period of the British occupation.”[906]
Two items of fact in the above paragraph are worthy of being placed in juxtaposition. 1. The British authorities pay professional shark-charmers a stipend to exercise their art; and, 2, only one life has been lost since the execution of the contract. (We have yet to learn whether the loss of this one life did not occur under the Roman Catholic sorcerer.) Is it pretended that the salary is paid as a concession to a degrading native superstition? Very well; but how about the sharks? Are they receiving salaries, also, from the British authorities out of the Secret Service Fund? Every person who has visited Ceylon must know that the waters of the pearl coast swarm with sharks of the most voracious kind, and that it is even dangerous to bathe, let alone to dive for oysters. We might go further, if we chose, and give the names of British officials of the highest rank in the Indian service, who, after resorting to native “magicians” and “sorcerers,” to assist them in recovering things lost, or in unravelling vexatious mysteries of one kind or another, and being successful, and at the time secretly expressing their gratitude, have gone away, and shown their innate cowardice before the world’s Areopagus, by publicly denying the truth of magic, and leading the jest against Hindu “superstition.”
Not many years ago, one of the worst of superstitions scientists held to be that of believing that the murderer’s portrait remained impressed on the eye of the murdered person, and that the former could be easily recognized by examining carefully the retina. The “superstition” asserted that the likeness could be made still more striking by subjecting the murdered man to certain old women’s fumigations, and the like gossip. And now an American newspaper, of March 26, 1877, says: “A number of years ago attention was attracted to a theory which insisted that the last effort of vision materialized itself and remained as an object imprinted on the retina of the eye after death. This has been proved a fact by an experiment tried in the presence of Dr. Gamgee, F.R.S., of Birmingham, England, and Prof. Bunsen, the subject being a living rabbit. The means taken to prove the merits of the question were most simple, the eyes being placed near an opening in a shutter, and retaining the shape of the same after the animal had been deprived of life.”
If, from the regions of idolatry, ignorance, and superstition, as India is termed by some missionaries, we turn to the so-called centre of civilization—Paris, we find the same principles of magic exemplified there under the name of occult Spiritualism. The Honorable John L. O’Sullivan, Ex-Minister Plenipotentiary of the United States to Portugal, has kindly furnished us with the strange particulars of a semi-magical séance which he recently attended with several other eminent men, at Paris. Having his permission to that effect, we print his letter in full.
“New York, Feb. 7, 1877.