Hours with the Ghosts or, Nineteenth Century Witchcraft. Henry Ridgely Evans

from the proper course, the subject, whose hand or wrist he clasps, involuntarily indicates the fact by the usual slight muscular tremor. This, of course, is done involuntarily; but if he is fulfilling the conditions demanded of all subjects, absolute concentration of attention and absence of muscular control—he unconsciously obeys his impulse. A billiard player does the same when he follows the driven ball with his cue, as if by sheer force of will he could induce it to alter its course. The ivory is uninfluenced; the human ball obeys.”

III. PHYSICAL PHENOMENA.

       Table of Contents

      1. Psychography, or Slate-Writing.

      One of the most interesting phases of modern mediumship, on the physical side, is psychography, or slate-writing. After an investigation extending over ten years, I am of the opinion that the majority of slate-writing feats are the results of conjuring. The process generally used is the following.

      The medium takes two slates, binds them together, after first having deposited a small bit of chalk or slate pencil between their surfaces, and either holds them in his hands, or lays them on the table. Soon the scratching of the pencil is heard, and when the cords are removed a spirit message is found upon the surface of one of the slates. I will endeavor to explain the “modus operandi” of these startling experiments.

      Some years ago, the most famous of the slate-writing mediums was Dr. Henry Slade, of New York, with whom I had several sittings. I was unable to penetrate the mystery of his performance, until the summer of 1889, when light was thrown upon the subject by the conjurer C— whom I met in Baltimore.

      FIG. 2. DR. HENRY SLADE.

      “Do you know the medium Slade?” I asked him.

      “Yes,” said he, “and he is a conjurer like myself. I’ve had sittings with him. Come to my rooms to-night, and I will explain the secret workings of the medium’s slate-writing. But first I will treat you to a regular séance.”

      On my way to C’s home I tried to put myself in the frame of mind of a genuine seeker after transcendental knowledge. I recalled all the stories of mysterious rappings and ghostly visitations I had read or heard of. It was just the night for such eerie musings. Black clouds were scurrying across the face of the moon like so many mediaeval witches mounted on the proverbial broomsticks en route for a mad sabbat in some lonely churchyard. The prestidigitateur’s pension was a great, lumbering, gloomy old house, in an old quarter of Baltimore. The windows were tightly closed and only the feeble glimmer of gaslight was emitted through the cracks of the shutters. I rang the bell and Mr. C’s stage-assistant, a pale-faced young man, came to the door, relieved me of my light overcoat and hat, and ushered me upstairs into the conjurer’s sitting-room.

      A large, baize-covered table stood in the centre of the apartment, and a cabinet with a black curtain drawn across it occupied a position in a deep alcove. Suspended from the roof of the cabinet was a large guitar. I took a chair and waited patiently for the appearance of the anti-Spiritualist, after having first examined everything in the room—table, cabinet, and musical instruments—but I discovered no evidence of trickery anywhere. I waited and waited, but no C—. “Can he have forgotten me?” I said to myself. Suddenly a loud rap resounded on the table top, followed by a succession of raps from the cabinet; and the guitar began to play. I was quite startled. When the music ceased the door opened, and C— entered.

      “The spirits are in force to-night,” he remarked with a meaning smile, as he slightly diminished the light in the apartment.

      “Yes,” I replied. “How did you do it?”

      “All in good time, my dear ghost-seer,” was the answer. “Let us try first a few of Dr. Slade’s best slate tests.”

      So saying he handed me a slate and directed me to wash it carefully on both sides with a damp cloth. I did so and passed it back to him. Scattering some tiny fragments of pencil upon it, he held the slate pressed against the under surface of the table leaf, the fingers of his right hand holding the slate, his thumb grasping the leaf. C— then requested me to hold the other end of the slate in a similar fashion, and took my right hand in his left. Heavy raps were heard on the table-top, and I felt the fingers of a spirit hand plucking at my garments from beneath the table. C—’s body seemed possessed with some strange convulsion, his hands quivered, and his eyes had a glassy look. Listening attentively, I heard the sound of a pencil writing on the slate.

      “Take care!” gasped the conjurer, breathlessly.

      The slate was jerked violently out of our hands by some powerful agency, but the medium regained it, and again pressed it against the table as before. In a little while he brought the slate up and there upon its upper surface was a spirit message, addressed to me—“Are you convinced now?—D. D. Home.”

      At this juncture there came a knock at the door, and C—, with the slate in his hand, went to see who it was. It proved to be the pale-faced assistant. A few words in a low-tone of voice were exchanged between them, and the conjurer returned to the table, excusing the interruption by remarking, “Some one to see me, that is all, but don’t hurry, for I have another test to show you.” After thoroughly washing both sides of the slate he placed it, with a slate pencil, under a chafing-dish cover in the center of the table. We joined hands and awaited developments.

      Being tolerably well acquainted with conjuring devices, I manifested but little surprise in the first test when the spirit message was written, because the magician had his fingers on the slate. But in this test the slate was not in his possession; how then could the writing be accomplished?

      FIG. 3. THE HOLDING OF THE SLATE.

      “Hush!” said C—, “is there a spirit present?” A responsive rap resounded on the table, and after a few minutes’ silence, the mysterious scratching of the slate-pencil began. I was nonplussed.

      “Turn over the slate,” said the juggler.

      I complied with his request and found a long message to me, covering the entire side of the slate. It was signed “Cagliostro.”

      “What do you think of Dr. Slade’s slate tests?” inquired C—.

      “Splendid!” I replied, “but how are they done?”

      His explanations made the seeming marvel perfectly plain. While the slate is being examined in the first test, the medium slips on a thimble with a piece of slate pencil attached or else has a tiny bit of pencil under his finger nail. In the act of holding the slate under the table, he writes the short message backwards on its under side. It becomes necessary, however, to turn the slate over before exhibiting it to the sitter, so that the writing may appear to have been written on its upper surface—the side that has been pressed to the table. To accomplish this the medium pretends to go into a sort of neurotic convulsion, during which state the slate is jerked away from the sitter, presumably by spirit power, and is turned over in the required position. It is not immediately brought up for examination but is held for a few seconds underneath the table top, and then produced with a certain amount of deliberation.