It is an explanation that
I would fain avoid giving; but it must come some time, and so may as well
be given now. You may perhaps have noticed that when during our voyage you
all joined in scoffing at dreams, portents and visions, I invariably
avoided giving any opinion on the subject. I did so because, while I had
no desire to court ridicule or provoke discussion, I was unable to agree
with you, knowing only too well from my own dread experience that the
world which men agree to call that of the supernatural is just as real
as--nay, perhaps even more real than--this world we see about us. In other
words, I, like many of my countrymen, am cursed with the gift of
second-sight--that awful faculty which foretells in vision calamities
that are shortly to occur.
"'Such a vision I had just now, and its exceptional horror moved me as you
have seen. I saw before me a corpse--not that of one who has died a
peaceful, natural death, but that of the victim of some terrible accident;
a ghastly, shapeless mass, with a face swollen, crushed, unrecognizable. I
saw this dreadful object placed in a coffin, and the funeral service
performed over it. I saw the burial-ground, I saw the clergyman: and
though I had never seen either before, I can picture both perfectly in my
mind's eye now; I saw you, myself, Beauchamp, all of us and many more,
standing round as mourners; I saw the soldiers raise their muskets after
the service was over; I heard the volley they fired--and then I knew no
more.
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