Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (top ten books of all time .TXT) 📕

Happened At The Taking Of Canton.  The Whole Of The Naval

Brigade Was Commanded By Sir Thomas Bouchier.  Our Men Were 

Lying Under The Ridge Of A Hill Protected From The Guns On

The City Walls.  Fully Exposed To The Fire,  Which Was Pretty

Hot,  'Old Tommy' As We Called Him,  Paced To And Fro With

Contemptuous Indifference,  Stopping Occasionally To Spy The

Enemy With His Long Ship's Telescope.  A Number Of

Bluejackets,  In Reserve,  Were Stationed About Half A Mile

Further Off At The Bottom Of The Protecting Hill.  They Were

Completely Screened From The Fire By Some Buildings Of The

Suburbs Abutting Upon The Slope.  Those In Front Were

Watching The Cannon-Balls Which Had Struck The Crest And Were

Rolling As It Were By Mere Force Of Gravitation Down The

Hillside.  Some Jokes Were Made About Football,  When Suddenly

A Smart And Popular Young Officer - Fox,  First Lieutenant Of

One Of The Brigs - Jumped Out At One Of These Spent Balls, 

Which Looked As Though It Might Have Been Picked Up By The

Hands,  And Gave It A Kick.  It Took His Foot Off Just Above

The Ankle.  There Was No Surgeon At Hand,  And He Was Bleeding

To Death Before One Could Be Found.  Sir Thomas Had Come Down

The Hill,  And Seeing The Wounded Officer On The Ground With A

Group Around Him,  Said In Passing,  'Well,  Fox,  This Is A Bad

Job,  But It Will Make Up The Pair Of Epaulets,  Which Is

Something.'

'Yes Sir,' Said The Dying Man Feebly,  'But Without A Pair Of

Legs.'  Half An Hour Later He Was Dead.

I Have Spoken Lightly Of Courage,  As If,  By Implication,  I

Myself Possessed It.  Let Me Make A Confession.  From My Soul

I Pity The Man Who Is Or Has Been Such A Miserable Coward As

I Was In My Infancy,  And Up To This Youthful Period Of My

Life.  No Fear Of Bullets Or Bayonets Could Ever Equal Mine. 

It Was The Fear Of Ghosts.  As A Child,  I Think That At Times

When Shut Up For Punishment,  In A Dark Cellar For Instance,  I

Must Have Nearly Gone Out Of My Mind With This Appalling

Terror.

Once When We Were Lying Just Below Whampo,  The Captain Took

Nearly Every Officer And Nearly The Whole Ship's Crew On A

Punitive Expedition Up The Canton River.  They Were Away

About A Week.  I Was Left Behind,  Dangerously Ill With Fever

And Ague.  In His Absence,  Sir Thomas Had Had Me Put Into His

Cabin,  Where I Lay Quite Alone Day And Night,  Seeing Hardly

Anyone Save The Surgeon And The Captain's Steward,  Who Was

Himself A Shadow,  Pretty Nigh.  Never Shall I Forget My

Mental Sufferings At Night.  In Vain May One Attempt To

Describe What One Then Goes Through; Only The Victims Know

What That Is.  My Ghost - The Ghost Of The Whampo Reach - The

Ghost Of Those Sultry And Miasmal Nights,  Had No Shape,  No

Vaporous Form; It Was Nothing But A Presence,  A Vague

Amorphous Dread.  It May Have Floated With The Swollen And

Putrid Corpses Which Hourly Came Bobbing Down The Stream,  But

It Never Appeared; For There Was Nothing To Appear.  Still It

Might Appear.  I Expected Every Instant Through The Night To

See It In Some Inconceivable Form.  I Expected It To Touch 

Me.  It Neither Stalked Upon The Deck,  Nor Hovered In The

Dark,  Nor Moved,  Nor Rested Anywhere.  And Yet It Was There

About Me,  - Where,  I Knew Not.  On Every Side I Was

Threatened.  I Feared It Most Behind The Head Of My Cot, 

Because I Could Not See It If It Were So.

This,  It Will Be Said,  Is The Description Of A Nightmare. 

Exactly So.  My Agony Of Fright Was A Nightmare; But A

Nightmare When Every Sense Was Strained With Wakefulness, 

When All The Powers Of Imagination Were Concentrated To

Paralyse My Shattered Reason.

The Experience Here Spoken Of Is So Common In Some Form Or

Other That We May Well Pause To Consider It.  What Is The

Meaning Of This Fear Of Ghosts? - How Do We Come By It?  It

May Be Thought That Its Cradle Is Our Own,  That We Are

Purposely Frightened In Early Childhood To Keep Us Calm And

Quiet.  But I Do Not Believe That Nurses' Stories Would

Excite Dread Of The Unknown If The Unknown Were Not Already

Known.  The Susceptibility To This Particular Terror Is There

Before The Terror Is Created.  A Little Reflection Will

Convince Us That We Must Look Far Deeper For The Solution Of

A Mystery Inseparable From Another,  Which Is Of The Last

Importance To All Of Us.

The Belief In Phantoms,  Ghosts,  Or Spirits,  Has Frequently

Been Discussed In Connection With Speculations On The Origin

Of Religion.  According To Mr. Spencer ('Principles Of

Sociology') 'The First Traceable Conception Of A Supernatural

Being Is The Conception Of A Ghost.'  Even Fetichism Is 'An

Extension Of The Ghost Theory.'  The Soul Of The Fetich 'In

Common With Supernatural Agents At Large,  Is Originally The

Double Of A Dead Man.'  How Do We Get This Notion - 'The

Double Of A Dead Man?'  Through Dreams.  In The Old Testament

We Are Told:  'God Came To' Abimelech,  Laban,  Solomon,  And

Others 'In A Dream'; Also That 'The Angel Of The Lord'

Appeared To Joseph 'In A Dream.'  That Is To Say,  These Men

Dreamed That God Came To Them.  So The Savage,  Who Dreams Of

His Dead Acquaintance,  Believes He Has Been Visited By The

Dead Man's Spirit.  This Belief In Ghosts Is Confirmed,  Mr.

Spencer Argues,  By Other Phenomena.  The Savage Who Faints

From The Effect Of A Wound Sustained In Fight Looks Just Like 

The Dead Man Beside Him.  The Spirit Of The Wounded Man

Returns After A Long Or Short Period Of Absence:  Why Should

The Spirit Of The Other Not Do Likewise?  If Reanimation

Follows Comatose States,  Why Should It Not Follow Death? 

Insensibility Is But An Affair Of Time.  All The Modes Of

Preserving The Dead,  In The Remotest Ages,  Evince The Belief

In Casual Separation Of Body And Soul,  And Of Their Possible

Reunion.

Take Another Theory.  Comte Tells Us There Is A Primary

Tendency In Man 'To Transfer The Sense Of His Own Nature,  In

The Radical Explanation Of All Phenomena Whatever.'  Writing

In The Same Key,  Schopenhauer Calls Man 'A Metaphysical

Animal.'  He Is Speaking Of The Need Man Feels Of A Theory, 

In Regard To The Riddle Of Existence,  Which Forces Itself

Upon His Notice; 'A Need Arising From The Consciousness That

Behind The Physical In The World,  There Is A Metaphysical

Something Permanent As The Foundation Of Constant Change.' 

Though Not Here Alluding To The Ghost Theory,  This Bears

Indirectly On The Conception,  As I Shall Proceed To Show.

We Need Not Entangle Ourselves In The Vexed Question Of

Innate Ideas,  Nor Inquire Whether The Principle Of Casuality

Is,  As Kant Supposed,  Like Space And Time,  A Form Of

Intuition Given A Priori.  That Every Change Has A Cause Must

Necessarily (Without Being Thus Formulated) Be One Of The

Initial Beliefs Of Conscious Beings Far Lower In The Scale

Than Man,  Whether Derived Solely From Experience Or

Otherwise.  The Reed That Shakes Is Obviously Shaken By The

Wind.  But The Riddle Of The Wind Also Forces Itself Into

Notice; And Man Explains This By Transferring To The Wind

'The Sense Of His Own Nature.'  Thunderstorms,  Volcanic

Disturbances,  Ocean Waves,  Running Streams,  The Motions Of

The Heavenly Bodies,  Had To Be Accounted For As Involving

Change.  And The Natural - The Primitive - Explanation Was By

Reference To Life,  Analogous,  If Not Similar,  To Our Own. 

Here Then,  It Seems To Me,  We Have The True Origin Of The

Belief In Ghosts.

Take An Illustration Which Supports This View.  While Sitting

In My Garden The Other Day A Puff Of Wind Blew A Lady's

Parasol Across The Lawn.  It Rolled Away Close To A Dog Lying

Quietly In The Sun.  The Dog Looked At It For A Moment,  But

Seeing Nothing To Account For Its Movements,  Barked

Nervously,  Put Its Tail Between Its Legs,  And Ran Away, 

Turning Occasionally To Watch And Again Bark,  With Every Sign

Of Fear.

This Was Animism.  The Dog Must Have Accounted For The

Eccentric Behaviour Of The Parasol By Endowing It With An

Uncanny Spirit.  The Horse That Shies At Inanimate Objects By

The Roadside,  And Will Sometimes Dash Itself Against A Tree

Or A Wall,  Is Actuated By A Similar Superstition.  Is There

Any Essential Difference Between This Belief Of The Dog Or 

Horse And The Belief Of Primitive Man?  I Maintain That An

Intuitive Animistic Tendency (Which Mr. Spencer Repudiates), 

And Not Dreams,  Lies At The Root Of All Spiritualism.  Would

Mr. Spencer Have Had Us Believe That The Dog's Fear Of The

Rolling Parasol Was A Logical Deduction From Its Canine

Dreams?  This Would Scarcely Elucidate The Problem.  The Dog

And The Horse Share Apparently