[Sam Davis, Converting a Skeptic, San Francisco Call, December 25, 1895]

 

Converting a Skeptic.

_____

            Something regarding ghosts?

            To tell you the truth I never took much stock in supernatural things, but now that you suggest it to me I remember an incident wherein I made a friend of mine believe that all the spirits and ghosts of the other land had been turned loose on him in one night.

            Naturally he was a most pronounced skeptic and for this reason alone I argued against his beliefs. We had many long conversations regarding spiritualism and I always argued that there was something in it, while he scoffed the idea and jeered my beliefs. His sneers and jibes so annoyed me that I finally concluded to put up a job on him, which if successful would not only turn his ideas to my way of thinking, but simply scare him out of his head.

            I lived in Virginia City at that time and he lived in Gold Hill. Our association in newspaper work brought us together several times a month, so I concluded to fix things up a bit and invite him to spend a night with me. First of all I tied a pair of dumbbells under my bed on an inclined-plane, so arranged that I could release them at any time. Next I fastened a piece of black thread to the gas-jet and ran it around to my side of the bed. After that I stretched a long but light rubber hose across the other end of the room and ran it up to the side of the mirror. Then I wrote on the glass in phosphorus the name Alice so that a breath through the tube would blow across it. After these preliminaries had been gone through with and all the strings and tubes were properly collected at the head of the bed I placed one of these circus squawkers under my pillow, and turning off the gas at the meter in the hall sauntered down to the train to meet him, as I had agreed.

            From the train we went to the residence of some friends, and remained there until 11 o'clock, partaking of copious refreshments, but constantly preserving our Nevada dignity, which is above price in the Sagebrush State. After we left and were on our way home, I turned the conversation upon spiritualism and told the most terrible tales I could conjure up, all of which caused him to laugh uproariously.

            Finally, we arrived at my room, and the instant I turned the key in the latch I struck a parlor match and ignited a small tallow candle which I had placed on a bracket for the occasion, explaining to him in the meantime that the gas pipes were being repaired and would not be fixed until the following night. The candle flame threw a dim light over the room, but not sufficiently bright to enable him to discern my paraphernalia.

            Well, we turned in, and just as I was about to blow the candle out I explained that a man had been murdered there by his sister a few months before and that the place was a little peculiar at times. "That'll be all right, Sam. I guess I can stand anything that occurs here. Blow out that candle. Blast your dead men." I did as he instructed me and for a few moments we lay on our backs chatting and telling stories. All of a sudden he grabbed me by the arm and hoarsely whispered: "Sam, look at that gas-jet. See, see, see it swinging. Look, look, Sam. What in ——'s the matter with it? Look, look."

            I told him it was nothing unusual and that it did that every night. "Turn over and go to sleep. Don't let that bother you," I answered him. Just then the phosphorus began to glow and the word Alice stood out like a far-off light. Again I felt his grip on my arm. "Sam, Sam. There it is. Her name, Sam. My sweetheart. Great heavens, Sam, what does it mean?" His voice sank to a breath, and just then I blew a soft puff into the rubber tube and the phosphorus was wafted away for a second. I felt the skeptic shudder, and he grabbed me again like a maniac. "See, see, it's gone. There it is again. My God, what shall I do, Sam? Alice. Her name, Sam.  Alice. Alice."

            I advised him to get up and talk to the name, telling him that it would disappear once for yes and twice for no. Every once in a while he would break out again, and it took me some moments to get him in conversation with the phosphorus. Finally he crawled out of bed, but the gas-jet cut up a few capers at that juncture and he slid back like a frightened child. The poor fellow was in a cold sweat. After several attempts to face the music he managed to gasp out :

            "Alice, do you love me?"

            I blew once on the tube for yes, and as the name disappeared and reappeared again, he picked up courage and ventured to ask if she would always love him. Again I blew once on the tube and his joy was apparent. Urged on by his first success he stood up boldly and said, with all the dignity he could command:

            "Alice, will you be my wife?"

            That was my chance, and I blew twice. He threw up his hands and stepped back toward the bed, exclaiming: "Sam, she is not for me. This is terrible. Look, Sam, look. See the gas-jet and her name. It comes and goes. It's gone. There it is again. Horrors, Sam! My God, what have I done to deserve this terrible ——?"

            While he was in the midst of this distress I turned the dumbbells loose, and with a rumble and a roar they smashed him in the calves of his legs and sent him sprawling all over the floor. He bounded up again, and, with his eyes starting out, made for the door, which he burst open just as I blew the squawker. In three good long steps he had traversed the hall and was downstairs on the front porch in his nightgown howling like a crazy man.

            Arthur McEwen happened along at this juncture, and the skeptic fell upon his neck delirious with joy at finding a human being whom he knew.

            "Arthur," he gasped, "Sam is up there in a haunted room, and he lives there and enjoys it and pays his rent, and the imps of hell have full charge."

            McEwen gently put the frightened man aside and replied:

            "I know he lives there, but I'll be —— if I think he pays his rent."