The Missing Link in Modern Spiritualism. A. Leah Underhill
we have been, chose us for their purpose, and imposed upon us the burden of what they called “the duty,” against which we thus so long and hard, but vainly, struggled.
My parents were both native-born Americans. My father’s ancestors were German; the name having been originally Voss, which passed through Foss into Fox. In my mother’s family, French, English, and Dutch mingled. Her paternal grandfather, John C. Smith, was of English ancestry. He married Elizabeth Blauvelt, of descent from Holland. Her maternal grandfather was French, Rutan by name, and her maternal grandmother, whose maiden name was Margaret Ackerman, was also a descendant from Holland, and resided on Long Island with her parents until her marriage, after which she removed to New York City, where her only child, my grandmother, was born. She (Margaret Rutan), my mother’s maternal grandmother, had, from childhood, evinced the power of foretelling events. She frequently followed phantom funerals, and entering the grave-yard, would stand and look on until the last rites had been performed, after which she would turn away sorrowing. She never felt timid until the ceremony was ended. Then she would find herself alone, in her normal condition, and remembering all she had seen, and knowing also what would inevitably follow, she would be sadly depressed.
On two occasions she was prevailed upon to tell whose funeral she had attended the previous night, which caused her such intense distress of mind, she besought them to never again urge her to reveal that which was made known to her during her somnambulic walks. The moment the person ceased to breathe, she would say, “Mr. or Mrs. (whoever it might be) is dead.”
If the death had taken place in a distant part of the country it would make no difference, so long as the burial place was there. She felt relieved as soon as the event transpired. She always visited the grave-yard between the hours of twelve and two o’clock at night. My grandfather frequently walked slowly after her to accompany her home on her return.
Another remarkable feature used to attend these nocturnal excursions of my great-grandmother, in the somnambulic condition, when she would thus witness the celebration of funerals of persons who were at the time still alive and well. She would see and recognize all the persons in attendance on the funeral, from the officiating minister down, and afterward remember and relate their names, which used always to correspond with the fact as it afterward came about. She would even tell by whose horses the body was brought to the grave (in the country at that time there were no regular hearses, and this service was performed by some friend or neighbor). When the crowded phantom funeral was over she would awake to find herself alone in the graveyard; sometimes with my grandfather (her son-in-law) awaiting at a little distance to accompany her return home. But frequently she had no such watching attendant, and I remember to have heard it said how distressing it would be for her to awake entirely alone and make her solitary way homeward, from what she knew to be the foreshadowed interment of some one near and dear.
MY AUNT ELIZABETH’S VISION OF HER OWN TOMBSTONE.
My mother’s sister, Mrs. Elizabeth Higgins, had much the same faculty. She never left her bed at night to visit scenes about to transpire, but nearly everything of importance was foreshadowed in her dreams. She would frequently relate them on the morning following. One morning, she gave us a relation of her dream. She said, laughingly, to her brother: “I dreamed I had a fall, last night. You and I were riding on horseback, when suddenly my horse stumbled and fell in front of Judge Perry’s door. I rolled down the little embankment, and Tom Foot came and helped me up.” Grandmother said, “That can’t come true, for Tom is, by this time, far away.” They thought no more of it.
Some time after, her brother said to her, “Bessie, would you like to take a ride with me this morning?” She replied that she would, and they soon started off, each on a spirited horse, never thinking of her dream, until the horse stumbled and she fell and rolled down the bank, exactly in front of Judge Perry’s door. Tom came out and helped her up. He had not gone away, as he had contemplated doing.
Mr. Robert Dale Owen, in his “Foot-falls on the Boundary of Another World,” has given a more detailed account of her remarkable dreams. I will only add the last sad fulfilment of a dream which she had some years previously to its fulfilment. She was then in her nineteenth year. She said, “I dreamed I was in a new country, walking alone, when suddenly I came to a small cemetery, and, walking up to one of the most prominent head-stones, read the inscription, which was this:
IN MEMORY
OF
ELIZABETH SMITH,
Wife of H——,
Who departed this life
In the year of our Lord 18—,
Aged 27 years, 8 months and 26 days.”[6]
She was deeply impressed by this dream, and could not rest. She left her bed, and went into her mother’s sleeping-room, sobbing, and related the dream. Her father and mother both endeavored to disabuse her mind of any belief in this unhappy dream. He tenderly folded her in his arms and quoted from Scripture many beautiful sayings, such as: “Of that day and hour knoweth no man: no, not even the angels in Heaven.” She was comforted and seldom referred to her dream. The gentleman to whom she was affianced died. Her father purchased a home, and moved to Sodus, Wayne County, N. Y., where she became acquainted with Mr. C. Higgins. They were married, and enjoyed five years of uninterrupted happiness. The time was drawing near when she expected to become a mother. Uncle Charles was a devoted husband, and regretted that duty called him from home at this time. (He was engaged in Albany on public business.) He could not rest; he must return to his darling little wife, and spend a few days with her, and arrange with his brother, Dr. Higgins, to remain as a protector and physician in his house, until all danger had passed. He came (to her) unexpected, and she was delighted to see him.
The doctor came to remain as long as it was necessary. Her husband had already overstaid his time; and, as it was important for him to be in Albany, he was obliged to leave. There were many anxious hearts that feared, and silently prayed that their hopes of happiness might be realized. (I really do think that she had been reasoned out of belief in that dream.) She rejoiced and was happy when he promised her he would never again accept an office which would take him from home.
It was a bright, lovely morning. The team stood waiting at the gate, to take him to Newark (ten miles), the nearest point from which he could reach the canal packet boat, for Albany. Bessie walked with him to the gate (about two hundred feet from the door), where he tenderly embraced her and kissed her again and again, promising that he would refrain from leaving home on business in the future. He alluded in glowing terms to their prospects of happiness, in the birth of their expected child, and warned her of the danger of yielding to superstition. He begged her not to repeat her dreams, as they were the result of a disordered condition of health. Then, taking her in his arms, he carried her back to the house, saying: “My darling, I cannot part with you here at the gate; permit me to remember you as seated in your pleasant room, surrounded by loving friends, and happy again.” He held her in a long, fond embrace, kissing her with tears and sobs, and gently seating her in her easy-chair, bade her farewell, and rushed to the conveyance, fearing to look back, lest he should see her weeping at the door.
She wept some time after he was gone, but soon felt more cheerful, and frequently repeated what he had promised—that he would never leave home again after that season.
A week had passed, and a little voice was heard. She fondly clasped her babe to her breast and called it “My little Charles, my darling baby! Oh! how happy I am.” They were both doing well. Letters were sent to her husband by every mail, which were duly received by him. She wished the child would resemble his father, who was a splendid man in every sense. She too was perfect in form and feature.
It was the day on which she had attained her age of twenty-seven years, eight months, and twenty-six days, the age marked on the tombstone she had seen in her dream of about nine years before. All the family knew of it, though she gave