735 A. In a case published in Proceedings S.P.R., vol. iii. p. 90, Mr. Wambey heard a phantasmal voice as though in colloquy with his own thought. He was planning a congratulatory letter to a friend, when the words "What! write to a dead man? write to a dead man?" sounded clearly in his ears. The friend had been dead for some days. I add here a case where a message seemed to be given by the decedent's voice in a dream. (From Proceedings S.P.R., vol. v. p. 455).

Mr. George King, of 12 Sunderland Terrace, Westbourne Park, W., writes:-

November 8th, 1885.

The following is a brief account of an occurrence that took place eleven years ago. I repeat the facts exactly as they happened, and make no attempt at comment or explanation. It is necessary to give a few words of prefatory narrative.

My brother D., a few years my junior, was a handsome, powerful young man, twenty-one years of age at the time of his death, and he was an unusually vigorous swimmer. He had greatly distinguished himself at school and college, and he was enthusiastically devoted to scientific pursuits. On leaving the Scottish University where he had studied, he adopted telegraphic engineering for a profession, and as all his tastes were in that direction his progress was rapid. His more especial department was the construction and laying of deep-sea cables, and when only twenty years of age he was appointed to the responsible post of superintendent of the scientific department in laying a cable for the Brazilian Government. In the performance of his duties on the stormy Atlantic coast of South America he had to encounter many perils; and finally the steamer Gornos, on which he was, was totally wrecked, and the cable was lost. All lives were saved, though for many hours the danger had been extreme. My brother returned immediately by mail to London, and throughout the summer months of 1874 was engaged in superintending the manufacture of fresh cable to replace that which had become lost in the Gornos. During these few months D. and I had much affectionate intercourse, and the bonds between us (he was my only brother) were drawn even closer than before.

In November 1874 the cable was finished and shipped on board the La Plata, a magnificent steamship, carrying with her every appliance that could be required to render the expedition safe. By the wreck of the Gornos much valuable time had been lost, and for six months a huge sum of capital had been lying idle. Only a small section of cable was required to complete the line, and the contractors, Siemens Brothers, spared no expense to make certain of success on the second attempt. While, therefore, we might fear for my brother the unhealthy climate of some parts of the coast of Brazil, we had no anxiety as regards the perils of the sea.

I bid D. farewell on Wednesday, November 2nd [evidently meaning 25th, see below], 1874. I had a lecture to deliver that afternoon, and I could not go to see him off, and we parted at the door of my office. He was the picture of health and strength, and we spoke cheerfully of meeting again in a few months' time, when his work should be completed. The next morning I had a line from him, written at the docks, and on Saturday a happy little letter, which was posted by the pilot when he landed at the Isle of Wight. Everything tended to reassure me, and I had no sense of impending calamity.

Next Wednesday evening, December 2nd, I attended a conversazione at King's College, given by Sir W. Thomson, President of the Society of Telegraphic Engineers, and, taking myself a keen interest in science, my mind was intensely occupied with all that I saw and heard. While examining the beautiful instruments exhibited, I often wished that my brother had been there to explain them to me, and the many friends that I met spoke to me of him. He was thus pleasantly in my thoughts, but my mind was not brooding or concentrated on him. On the contrary, it was disturbed by the multitude of objects, and only casual glances were cast towards D. Rather excited, I went home to my solitary chambers, and retired to bed shortly after midnight. I was soon asleep, but how long I remained so I know not. So far as recollection goes, I had not been dreaming, but Suddenly I found myself in the midst of a brilliant assembly, such as that I had recently left at King's College. I stood in evening dress on the steps at the entrance to a great and crowded hall. I was looking towards the garden, brightly lighted with a multitude of lamps. Illuminated fountains were playing in front of me, and groups of gentlemen and ladies sauntered up and down the paths.

The cool night air was blowing on my face, and I had a delicious feeling of pleasure and peace. Two gentlemen, strangers to me, stood talking on the gravel a few paces from me. I heard their voices, and could almost catch their conversation. Suddenly my brother stepped out from behind them, and advanced towards me. He was in evening dress, like all the rest, and was the very image of buoyant health. I was much surprised to see him, and, going forward to meet him, I said: "Hallo! D., how are you here?" He shook me warmly by the hand, and replied: "Did you not know I have been wrecked again?" At these words a deadly faintness came over me. I seemed to swim away and sink to the ground. After momentary unconsciousness I awoke, and found myself in my bed. I was in a cold perspiration, and had paroxysms of trembling, which would not be controlled. I argued with myself on the absurdity of getting into a panic over a dream, but all to no purpose, and for long I could not sleep. Towards morning I again slumbered, and the fear passed off from me.

On Thursday, December 3rd, I was to breakfast with a friend, at his hotel, before he started for Scotland, and I went to Euston by the Metropolitan Railway. The bookstalls on my side of the station were not yet opened, but across the line the boys were arranging the papers, and they spread out the placard of the Daily Telegraph. In large letters on it were the words: "Terrible disaster at sea. Loss of a steamship and sixty lives." I felt as if iced water had been poured over me, and the dread of the night before returned; but my train glided up to the platform, and I could not get a paper. The gentleman next me in the carriage was reading the Daily Telegraph, and I looked over his shoulder, and saw, under a sensational heading, the words: "By the arrival in the Thames, yesterday, of the Antenor, &c"; but the motion of the train prevented me from reading properly, and 1 thought the sentence ran: "By the arrival of the Thames, news of the Antenor, etc &c" I therefore gathered that the Antenor had been lost. On arriving at my destination I got the Times, and looked it over from the beginning to the end, but it contained no mention of the shipwreck.

Later on I went to my office and began my work, but presently one of the messengers, with a strange look in his face, came to me and said: "Is it true, sir, that your brother has been lost in the La Plata?" I started up and ran to the Marine Company next door, and there the very worst fears were confirmed. The La Plata foundered in the Bay of Biscay at about noon on Sunday, November 24th [evidently a slip for 29th, see below], 1874 after being exposed for only a few hours to a terrific gale. No satisfactory reason for the catastrophe was ever forthcoming. Why a well-found and powerful steamer should have gone down in open sea, when a common rowing-boat should have survived, is a mystery which remains unsolved. The event created a great sensation at the time, and a long Board of Trade inquiry was held, but the riddle was never answered.

I saw some of the survivors of the crew, and learned from them about my brother. Although the weather had been rough, danger was not feared until Sunday morning, when water began to rush into the engine-room, and quickly put out the fires. My brother toiled with the sailors to get steam up in the donkey-engine on deck so as to work the pumps, and he nobly encouraged the men. This, however, proved useless, and when the boat pushed off from the ship, the last seen of my brother was that he was helping to launch the life-raft.

The La Plata foundered at about noon on Sunday, November 29th, and possibly D. perished then and there. But he may possibly have survived for several days. He was of strong constitution; he was a powerful swimmer; he had on an air-belt, and he was beside the life-raft when the ship went down. On December 2nd, two sailors were picked up alive. Half-immersed in the ice-cold water, they had clung to the life-raft and drifted about the Atlantic for three whole days. I add this last note to show that it is just possible that I had the vision of my brother near the morning of his death, although more probably he died three days before.

In conclusion, I must say that I speak of a "vision" because the whole of my sensations while the scene was passing before me, and subsequently, were quite different from those that accompany an ordinary dream. Also I can see everything now in my mind as clearly as at the moment when I awoke, whereas with me even the most vivid dreams always gradually fade away.

In answer to inquiries, Mr. King says:-

November 15th, 1885.

The vision of my brother was quite unique. I never before or since had a vision of a person whom I believed to be in the flesh, and never had an external event such as the shipwreck thus conveyed to me. Much less have I ever had a vision which was falsified by the event. Also never before or since have I had sensations similar to those that accompanied the vision of my brother.

George King.

The first announcement of the wreck of the La Plata appeared in the Daily Telegraph, December 3rd, 1874, and in the same issue an account appears of a conversazione given the night before at King's College, Strand, by Sir Wm. Thomson, President of the Society of Telegraph Engineers.

On December 10th, in the same paper, a telegram is printed giving an account of the rescue of the boatswain and quartermaster of the La Plata, who were found clinging to some wreckage by a Dutch cutter. It is stated that the steamer foundered on November 29th, and that those two men clung to the wreckage until picked up at 10 a.m. on December 2nd.

The La Plata left Gravesend for Rio Janeiro on November 26th, 1874, and foundered in the Bay of Biscay, as we learn from the Marine Department, Board of Trade, on the 29th. The survivors were picked up by the Gare Loch, and transferred to the homeward-bound ss. Anterior, which arrived with them and the first news in the Thames on December 2nd.