Morgan Robertson

“ If He made man, He made whisky."
"He's right, Mr. Parmlee," said Clarkson. "Of course he can get drunk if he drinks enough; but it takes an amount that would kill an ordinary man. And what would paralyze an ordinary man—say a quart—is just Finnegan's load. It wakes him up, and he's at his best."
"But isn't it funny," ventured young Mr. Felton, "that it should work so differently on Finnegan? Even granting his superior capacity, at no stage of intoxication is the ordinary man roused to his fullest mental activity."
"Yes, he is," quickly rejoined the surgeon. "Only he doesn't realize it. ”

“ The sublieutenant's language, though intelligible enough to a wakened brain, meant nothing to the subconscious. Your command to 'wake up' did the business. It was a suggestion."
"But," said Mr. Clarkson, "admitting this, what put him into this subjective and clairvoyant state? Was it whisky or long gazing at the compass?"
The surgeon reached for a cigar, lit it, and puffed vigorously before replying.
"I do not know," he said. "Neither, I believe, does any man on earth. The captain, as you know, says that there is the index of an inscrutable Providence in all of Finnegan's actions. ”

“ The simplest is to induce the subject to look steadily at some bright object—such as a brass ball or button, a dancing spot of sunlight reflected from a mirror, a star in the sky, or anything that will fix the attention and slowly distract the objective mind—the brain—from the world. ”

“ Try and imagine yourself stone blind from birth—you never felt the sensation of light; stone deaf—you never heard a sound in your life; your sense of taste and smell entirely dead; also, your sensory nerves dead—so that you never felt anything that touched you—never felt heat and cold. ”

“ Clarkson.
"Because such an effort would require more will power than Finnegan possesses. With will power to suggest it to himself he would not need his subconscious help. He would simply quit. But Finnegan needs outside suggestion."
"Has this suggestion anything to do with mesmerism?" asked the chaplain.
"Yes and no. A mesmerist is always a hypnotist, but a hypnotist need not be a mesmerist. Mesmerism is still a mystery. A mesmerist is one possessing strong projective power, who exercises this power mainly by making passes before the face of the subject. ”

“ And the strange part of all this is that in spite of its wonderful powers it will believe what is told it, no matter how absurd."
"Is that why a hypnotist can make such a fool of a fellow?" asked Mr. Felton.
"Exactly. The subconscious, or subjective, mind believes itself a dog, and proceeds to bark—or a cat, horse, scrubwoman, or whatever is suggested to it. It lacks the power of criticism, and is innocent of suspicion."
"Do you think," said the executive, "that if Finnegan's subconscious mind were told that he didn't like whisky, it would believe it? " ”

“ Clarkson, doing work that I don't get pay for. I'm not rated quartermaster, sir."
Mr. Felton was scanning the bridge compass, and apparently took no further interest in the case; but the sublieutenant, still younger, was much excited.
"There were fully two thousand human lives at stake," he said, excitedly. "And this man goes to sleep at the wheel. Oh, my God, what an escape. Hundreds would have been drowned."
"Yes," answered Mr. Clarkson. "If we had continued on our course, we would have rammed that steamship squarely amidships. And Finnegan goes to sleep at the wheel. ”

“ THE SUBCONSCIOUS FINNEGAN THEY were on the after part of the superstructure-deck—the loafing-place of officers off duty—and they were discussing poor old Finnegan. Mr. Clarkson, the executive, was there; Mr. Felton, Mr. Parmlee, the chaplain; Dr. Bryce, the surgeon; and the chief engineer—a man skeptical of all things unproved by mathematics. Finnegan was down in the "brig"—the slatted ship's prison on the berth-deck—sleeping off the effects of the drink that had undone him ”

“ The experiment has failed because of contrary auto-suggestion, and because of the presence of skepticism. An incredulous engineer, whose soul never rises above grate-surface and coal supply, will spoil any psychic investigation. Clarkson, does Finnegan ever take the wheel? ”

“ They travel for miles and days over country never cognized by any of the five senses, but—better sneak in now, Mr. Parmlee. Don't speak for half an hour."
The chaplain entered the pilot-house, where, in the dim light from the binnacle, the watchers saw him take a position on the other side of the small steering-wheel. Finnegan made no sign of recognition, and those without conversed awhile, then relapsed into silence. The minutes passed; the sublieutenant performed his duty of occasionally peeping at the bridge compass; Mr. ”