Tracks of a Rolling Stone

by Henry J. Coke

Well, recognising my friend of the Egyptian Hall, I reminded him of the incident. He remembered it perfectly; and we fell to chatting about the wonderful success of the ‘mystery,’ and about his and the lady’s professional career. He had begun life when a boy as a street acrobat, had become a street conjuror, had married the ‘mysterious lady’ out of the ‘saw-dust,’ as he expressed it—meaning out of a travelling circus. After that, ‘things had gone ’ard’ with them. They had exhausted their resources in every sense. One night, lying awake, and straining their brains to devise some means of subsistence, his wife suddenly exclaimed, ‘How would it be if we were to try so and so?’ explaining the trick just described. His answer was: ‘Oh! that’s too silly. They’d see through it directly.’ This was all I could get out of him: this, and the fact that the trick, first and last, had made them fairly comfortable for the rest of their days.

Now mark what follows, for it is the gist and moral of my little story about this conjuror, and about two other miracle workers whom I have to speak of presently.

Once upon a time, I was discussing with an acquaintance the not unfamiliar question of Immortality. I professed Agnosticism—strongly impregnated with incredulity. My friend had no misgivings, no doubts on the subject whatever. Absolute certainty is the prerogative of the orthodox. He had taken University honours, and was a man of high position at the Bar. I was curious to learn upon what grounds such an one based his belief. His answer was: ‘Upon the phenomena of electro-biology, and the psychic phenomena of mesmerism.’ His ‘first convictions were established by the manifestations of the soul as displayed through a woman called “The Mysterious Lady,” who, &c., &c.’

When we have done with our thaumaturgist on board the Isabel, I will give another instance, precisely similar to this, of the simple origin of religious beliefs.

The steamer was pretty full; and the conjuror begged me to obtain the patronage of my noble friend and the rest of our party for an entertainment he proposed to give that evening. This was easily secured, and a goodly sum was raised by dollar tickets. The sleight-of-hand was excellent. But the special performance of the evening deserves description in full. It was that of a whist-playing dog. Three passengers—one of us taking a hand—played as in dummy whist, dummy’s hand being spread in a long row upon the deck of the saloon cabin. The conjuror, as did the other passengers, walked about behind the players, and saw all the players’ hands, but not a word was spoken. The dog played dummy’s hand. When it came to his turn he trotted backwards and forwards, smelling each card that had been dealt to him. He sometimes hesitated, then comically shaking his head, would leave it to smell another. The conjuror stood behind the dog’s partner, and never went near the animal. There was no table—the cards were thrown on the deck. They were dealt by the players; the conjuror never touched them. When the dog’s mind was made up, he took his card in his mouth and laid it on the others. His play was infallible. He and his partner won the rubber with ease.

Now, to those ignorant of the solution, this must, I think, seem inexplicable. How was collusion managed between the animal and its master? One of the conditions insisted upon by the master himself was silence. He certainly never broke it. I bought the trick—must I confess it? for twenty dollars. How transparent most things are when—seen through! When the dog smelt at the right card, the conjuror, who saw all four hands, and had his own in his pocket, clicked his thumb-nail against a finger-nail. The dog alone could hear it, and played the card accordingly.

The other story: A few years after my return to England, a great friend called upon me, and, in an excited state, described a séance he had had with a woman who possessed the power of ‘invoking’ spirits. These spirits had correctly replied to questions, the answers to which were only known to himself. The woman was an American. I am sorry to say I have forgotten her name, but I think she was the first of her tribe to visit this country. As in the case spoken of, my friend was much affected by the results of the séance. He was a well-educated and intelligent man. Born to wealth, he had led a somewhat wildish life in his youth. Henceforth he became more serious, and eventually turned Roman Catholic. He entreated me to see the woman, which I did.

I wrote to ask for an appointment. She lived in Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square; but on the day after the morrow she was to change her lodgings to Queen Anne Street, where she would receive me at 11 A.M. I was punctual to a minute, and was shown into an ordinary furnished room. The maid informed me that Mrs. — had not yet arrived from Charlotte Street, but she was sure to come before long, as she had an engagement (so she said) with a gentleman.

Nothing could have suited me better. I immediately set to work to examine the room and the furniture with the greatest care. I looked under and moved the sofa, tables, and armchairs. I looked behind the curtains, under the rug, and up the chimney. I could discover nothing. There was not the vestige of a spirit anywhere. At last the medium entered—a plain, middle-aged matron with nothing the least spiritual about her. She seated herself opposite to me at the round table in the centre of the room, and demurely asked what I wanted. ‘To communicate with the spirits,’ I replied. She did not know whether that was possible. It depended upon the person who sought them. She would ask the spirits whether they would confer with me. Whereupon she put the question: ‘Will the spirits converse with this gentleman?’ At all events, thought I, the term ‘gentleman’ applies to the next world, which is a comfort. She listened for the answer. Presently three distinct raps on the table signified assent. She then took from her reticule a card whereon were printed the alphabet, and numerals up to 10. The letters were separated by transverse lines. She gave me a pencil with these instructions: I was to think, not utter, my question, and then put the pencil on each of the letters in succession. When the letters were touched which spelt the answer, the spirits would rap, and the words could be written down.

My friend had told me this much, so I came prepared. I began by politely begging the lady to move away from the table at which we were seated, and take a chair in the furthest corner of the room. She indignantly complied, asking if I suspected her. I replied that ‘all ladies were dangerous, when they were charming,’ which put us on the best of terms. I placed my hat so as to intercept her view of my operations, and thus pursued them.