Eva Hatch,
Medium Eva Hatch
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Eva Hatch Medium
There is NO Death by Florence Marryat
CHAPTER XXIII - Mrs. Eva Hatch
I was so disappointed at being hurried off to Boston before I had seen any more of the New York media, that I took the earliest opportunity of attending a seance there. A few words I had heard dropped about Eva Hatch made me resolve to visit her first. She was one of the Shaker sect, and I heard her spoken of as a remarkably pure and honest woman, and most reliable medium. Her first appearance quite gave me that impression. She had a fair, placid countenance, full of sweetness and serenity, and a plump matronly figure. I went incognita, as I had done to Mrs. Williams, and mingled unnoticed with the crowd. Mrs. Hatch's cabinet was quite different from Mrs. Williams'. It was built of planks like a little cottage, and the roof was pierced with numerous round holes for ventilation, like a pepper-box. There was a door in the centre with a window on either side, all three of which were shaded by dark curtains. The windows, I was told, were for the accommodation of those spirits who had not the power to materialize more than a face, or head and bust. Mrs. Hatch's conductor was a woman, who sat near the cabinet, as in the other case.
Mrs. Eva Hatch had not entered the cabinet five minutes before she came out again, under trance, with a very old lady with silver hair clinging to her arm, and walked round the circle. As they did so, the old lady extended her withered hand, and blessed the sitters. She came quite close to each one and was distinctly visible to all. I was told that this was the spirit of Mrs. Hatch's mother, and that it was her regular custom to come first and give her blessing to the seance. I had never seen the spirit of an aged person before, and it was a
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beautiful sight. She was the sweetest old lady, too, very small and fragile-looking, and half rechning on her daughter's bosom, but smiling serenely upon every one there. When they had made the tour of the room, Mrs. Hatch re-entered the cabinet, and did not leave it again until the sitting was concluded.
There were a great many sitters present, most of whom were old patrons of Mrs. Hatch, and so, naturally, their friends came for them first. It is surprising though, when once familiarized with materialization, how little one grows to care to see the spirits who come for one's next-door neighbour. They are like a lot of prisoners let out, one by one, to see their friends and relations. The few moments they have to spare are entirely devoted to home matters of no possible interest to the bystander. The first wonder and possible shock at seeing the supposed dead return in their old likeness to greet those they left on earth over, one listens with languid indifference, and perhaps a little impatience for one's own turn to come, to the whispered utterances of strangers. Mrs. Hatch's cabinet spirits or controls, however, were very interesting. One, who called herself the Spirit of Prayer, came and knelt down in the middle of the circle, and prayed with us. She had asked for the gas to be extinguished first, and as she prayed she became illuminated with flashes of light, in the shape of stars and crosses, until she was visible from head to foot, and we could see her features and dress as if she had been surrounded by electricity.
Two more cabinet spirits were a negro and negress, who appeared together, chanting some of their native hymns and melodies. When I saw these apparitions, I thought to myself, Here is a good opportunity to discover trickery, if trickery there is. The pair were undoubtedly of the negro race. There was no mistaking their thick lips and noses and yellowwhite eyes, nor their polished brown skins, which no charcoal can properly imitate. They were negroes without doubt; but
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how about the negro bouquet? Everyone who has mixed with coloured people in the East or the West knows what that is, though it is very difficult to describe, being something like warm rancid oil mingled with the fumes of charcoal, with a little worse thrown in. Now, I thought, if these forms are human, there will be some odour attached to them, and that I am determined to find out. I caught, therefore, at the dress of the young woman as she passed, and asked her if she would kiss me. She left her companion directly, and put her arms (which were bare) round my neck, and embraced me several times; and I can declare, on my oath, that she was as completely free from anything like the smell of a coloured woman as it was possible for her to be. She felt as fresh and sweet and pure as a little child.
Many other forms appeared and were recognized by the circle, notably a very handsome one who called herself 'the Empress Josephine'; but as they could not add a grain's weight to my testimony I pass them over. I had begun to think that Florence was not going to visit me that evening, when the conductor of the seance asked if there was anybody in the room who answered to the name of Bluebell. I must indulge in a little retrospect here, and tell my readers that ten years previous to the time I am writing of, I had lost my brother-in-law, Edward Church, under very painful circumstances. He had been left an orphan and in control of his fortune at a very early age, and had lived with my husband, Colonel RossChurch, and myself but poor Ted had been his own worst enemy. He had possessed a most generous heart and affectionate disposition, but these had led him into extravagances that swallowed up his fortune, and then he had taken to drinking and killed himself by it. I and my children had loved him dearly, but all our prayers and entreaties had had no avail, and in the end he had become so bad that the doctors had insisted upon our separation. Poor Ted had consequently died in exile, and this had been a further aggravation of our grief
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For ten years I had been trying to procure communication with him in vain, and I had quite given up expecting to see him again. Only once had I heard Bluebell (his pet name for me) gasped out by an entranced clairvoyant, but nothing further had come of it. Now, as I heard it for the second time, from a stranger's lips, in a foreign country, it naturally roused my expectations, but I thought it might be only a message for me from Ted.
Is there anyone here who recognizes the name of 'Bluebell'? repeated the conductor. I was once called so by a friend, I said. Someone is asking for that name. You had better come up to the cabinet, she replied. I rose at once and did as she told me, but when I reached the curtain I encountered Florence. My darling child, I said, as I embraced her, why did you ask for 'Bluebell'? She did not answer me, except by shaking her head, placing her finger on her lips, and pointing downwards to the carpet. I did not know what to make of it. I had never known her unable to articulate before. What is the matter, dear? I said; can't you speak to me tonight Still she shook her head, and tapped my arm with her hand, to attract my attention to the fact that she was pointing vigorously downwards. I looked down, too, when, to my astonishment, I saw rise through the carpet what looked to me like the bald head of a baby or an old man, and a little figure, not more than three feet in height, with Edward Church's features, but no hair on its head, came gradually into view, and looked up in my face with a pitiful, deprecating expression, as if he were afraid I should strike him. The face, however, was so unmistakably Ted's, though the figure was so ludicrously insignificant, that I could not fail to recognize him. Why, Ted! I exclaimed, have you come back to see me at last'' and held out my hand. The little figure seized it, tried to convey it to his lips, burst into tears, and sank down through the carpet much more rapidly than he had come up.
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I began to cry too. It was so pitiful. With her uncle's disappearance Florence found her tongue. Don't cry, Mother, she said; poor Uncle Ted is overcome at seeing you. That's why he couldn't materialize better. He was in such a terrible hurry. He'll look more like himself next time. I was trying so hard to help him, I didn't dare to use up any of the power by speaking. He'll be so much better, now he's seen you. You'll come here again, won't you?'' I told her I certainly would, if I could; and, indeed, I was all anxiety to see my poor brother-in-law again. To prove how difficult it would have been to deceive me on this subject, I should like to say a little about Edward Church's personal appearance. He was a very remarkable looking man-indeed, I have never seen anyone a bit like him before or after. He was very small; not short only, but small altogether, with tiny hands and feet, and a little head. His hair and eyes were of the deepest black-the former parted in the middle, with a curl on either side, and was naturally waved. His complexion was very dark, his features delicate, and he wore a small pointed moustache. As a child he had suffered from an attack of confluent small-pox, which had deeply pitted his face, and almost eaten away the tip of his nose. Such a man was not to be easily imitated, even if anyone in Boston had ever heard of his inconsequential existence. To me, though, he had been a dear friend and brother, before the curse of Drink had seemed to change his nature, and I had always been anxious to hear how he fared in that strange country whither he had been forced to journey, like all of us, alone. I was very pleased then to find that business would not interfere with my second visit to Mrs. Eva Hatch, which took place two nights afterward. On this occasion Florence was one of the first to appear, and Ted came with her, rather weak and trembling on his second introduction to this mundane sphere, but no longer bald-headed or under-sized. He was his full height now, about five feet seven; his head was covered with his black,
crisp hair, parted just as he used to wear it while on earth; in every particular he resembled what he used to be, even down to his clothes. I could have sworn I had seen that very suit of clothes; the little cut-away coat he always wore, with the natty tie and collar, and a dark blue velvet smoking cap upon his head, exactly like one I remembered being in his possession. Florence still seemed to be acting as his interpreter and guide. When I said to him, Why! Ted, you look quite like your old self to-day, she answered, He can't talk to you, Mamma, he is weak still, and he is so thankful to meet you again. He wants me to tell you that he has been trying to communicate with you often, but he never could manage it in England. He will be so glad when he can talk freely to you. Whilst she was speaking, Ted kept on looking from her to me like a deaf and dumb animal trying to understand what was going on in a manner that was truly pitiful. I stooped down and kissed his forehead. The touch seemed to break the spell that hung over him. Forgive, he uttered in a choked voice. There is nothing to forgive, dear, I replied, except as we all have need to forgive each other. You know how we all loved you, Ted, and we loved you to the last and grieved for you deeply. You remember the children, and how fond you were of them and they of you. They often speak to this day of their poor Uncle Ted.
Eva-Ethel, he gasped out, naming my two elder children. At this juncture he seemed suddenly to fail, and became so weak that Florence took him back into the cabinet again.
No more spirits came for me that evening, but towards the close of the seance Florence and Ted appeared again together and embraced me fondly. Florence said, He's so happy now, Mother; he says he shall rest in peace now that he knows that you have forgiven him. And he won't come without his hair again, she added, laughing. I hope he won't, I answered for he frightened me. And then they both kissed me good night, and retreated to the cabinet, and I looked after them longingly and wished I could go there too.