About a month before old Isaac’s death a certain man whom I will call Chimer came to stay at the hotel. He had been sent as the representative of a firm of Port Elizabeth merchants to assist in winding up the affairs of a local trader who had come to financial grief. Chimer’s room was next to mine; thus we got into the habit of finishing our evenings together.
Nearly every man has a fad, and this man’s fad was spiritualism. He was a firm believer in ghosts and astral bodies, and the prophets of his cult were A.P. Sinnett and Madame Blavatski. He did his best to make a convert of me, but in spite of a close perusal of some very striking literature on the subject from the pens of men of splendid ability and great scientific attainments, I remained conscientiously unconvinced. Like the late George Augustus Sala, although I could conceive the possibility of the ghost of a man revisiting the scenes of his lifetime, I found it impossible to believe in the ghost of his garments, and who ever heard of an undraped apparition? The detailed account given by one eminent scientist as to how he was in the habit of materialising an attractive young female spirit named “Katie King,” with whom he was on terms of striking intimacy, seemed not alone an insult to the human understanding but a melancholy instance of the weaknesses of the strong, of which history is full. Chimer was said to be a most successful medium, but he failed signally to produce any “manifestations” on the occasions when he attempted to convince me by means of demonstration. In discussing spiritualism he never used the first person singular, but always spoke of what “we” believe, what “we” have done, etc.
On the second evening after old Isaac’s death I dined at the house of a friend; it was about half-past ten o’clock when I returned to the hotel. I was surprised to find the usual habitués of the billiard-room sitting in the dining-room. The only one who looked cheerful was Chimer; all the others appeared to be absolutely terror-stricken, their faces gleaming pallid under the sickly rays of a debilitated paraffin lamp. From time to time they glanced uneasily over their shuddering shoulders, and they all puffed with nervous fury at their respective pipes.
It was a queer collection of specimens of the genus Homo that I saw. There was Woods, who had not missed an evening in the billiard-room (excepting Sundays, when he invariably went to church) for many years. He was in the habit of beating his wife and starving his children; no one had the least idea as to what the source of his income was, but he always had money for liquor, for billiards and for putting in the plate. There was Shawe, champion liar of the town; he apparently lived on Cape and tobacco-smoke, and he played a fair game of billiards except when sober. There was Loots, the Dutchman, who never drank at his own expense or played a game of billiards that there was the slightest chance of his losing. Dan Menzies, the Scotch tailor, who had all the instincts of a gentleman, as well as many of the potential elements of greatness, in spite of the fact of his being an almost hopeless sot. Brooke Crofton, who had been dismissed from his regiment during the Soudan campaign for disobedience of orders given during an action, or, as others put it, for cowardice. He was now, and had been for several years, trying to drink himself to death on an allowance made him for that purpose by his wife, who lived in England and had money of her own. Most of the others were young clerks and assistants in stores. Chimer looked up and caught my eye. In his there was a triumphant gleam.
The proprietor, whose face was the palest of the lot, soon revealed the gruesome cause of the terror which brooded over the gathering. A few hours previously they had all been sitting in the billiard-room, watching the course of a game, the first played on the table since the fixing of the new cloth and cushions, which had only been completed during the afternoon. On the top of a little cupboard which stood in the corner, and in which spare balls, chalk, sandpaper and other billiard requisites were kept, had been placed the mahogany triangle-frame which is used for fixing the balls in position in the game of pyramid pool. Lying in the triangle were the fifteen pyramid balls. Woods and Crofton were the players. It was noticed that the lamps were in very bad trim and gave a most wretched light. (Shawe declared fervently that he had noticed a distinctly blue tinge in the flame; two of the clerks present corroborated this when appealed to).
All at once the triangle was seen to fly violently from the top of the cupboard, whilst the fifteen ivory balls crashed down on the floor and rolled with loud clatterings in different directions. The triangle-frame, out of which the balls had dropped, seemed as if propelled by an unseen power almost out of the window, close to which it, too, fell to the floor with an appalling noise. The effect on the spectators was terrific; Woods, Crofton and one of the clerks fainted dead away, and the others rushed from the room with wild yells.
As the moving incident was being related to me, Scarren, who happened not to have witnessed it, was engaged in quenching the lights and generally putting the room in order. The Fingo waiter was in unwilling attendance; for Scarren had, naturally enough, demurred at entering the room alone, and none of those who had been present when the fearsome occurrence took place would consent to accompany him.
After some very straight hints from the proprietor the haggard band departed in a body to see each other home. The last man was not to be envied.