Fifty Years a Medium – Chapter 8, 8/10 by Estelle Roberts
The circle comprised ten people and no sooner had I been entranced than Red Cloud delivered a lecture to those present. His subject, abstruse and involved, was the passage of matter through matter but its purport, several members of the circle later confessed, passed largely over their heads. Doubtless Red Cloud became quickly aware of this, for he said: “I will demonstrate the meaning of the words I have used.
Here we sit within four walls, in an upstairs room, with its windows shuttered to exclude all light, and beyond is the medium’s garden. What is there in the garden that you would like me to bring here?” Charles said afterwards that his mind flashed to the garden roller but was deterred from asking for it by the knowledge that some of those present would accuse him levity. Shaw Desmond answered Red Cloud’s question.
“May we have a budgerigar from the aviary at the bottom of the garden?” he asked quietly.
“The little Desmond man” – this is a typical Red Cloud epithet – “has asked for a budgerigar,” the guide said. “It shall be so.”
As he finished speaking, one of the two luminous plaques on the floor took flight and darted quickly around the room. Then it returned to the center of the circle, where it remained poised in mid-air, its glowing phosphorus background showing the clear-cut silhouette of budgerigar.
“Come forward each of you and touch it.” Red Cloud requested. “The bird has no fear; it is entranced.”
One by one the sitters responded and felt the bird, amazed to find it warm to the touch, and equally amazed that it did not fly away. The last sitter to come forward was Mrs. Treloar. As she put out her hand to feel the bird, Red Cloud said: “Pluck a feather from its breast.
It will feel no pain. Do this so that the little doctor- man may not think I have hypnotized you into believing you have seen this bird. Pluck the feather and give it to him as proof of the bird’s presence here tonight.”
She did as she was instructed, returning to her seat with three little feathers held between her fingers. As she sat down the bird disappeared from sight.
The sceptical doctor was naturally interested in the feathers at the end of the sitting, examining them with great care. I watched as his eyes roved around the room, taking in every detail, but finding nothing that could even begin to explain the phenomenon he had just witnessed. He offered no explanations – how could he? – But he returned many times to learn more of Red Cloud’s philosophy.