HIS PSYCHIC CAN.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 21264, 19 February 1931, Page 13

HIS PSYCHIC CAN.

The editor of the Spectator recently offered a prize for the most interesting instance of premonition. Captain Donald Anderson sent the following most amusing account of a coincidence which occurred in the wilds of Australia:—

It was in Northern Queensland, where land holdings are very big. With two companions I had ridden out from the homestead in search of a mob of cattle. Having established a central camp at about a week’s ride from home, wo set out with a packhorse, carrying enough “ tucker ” for the few’ days we expected to be aw'ay on a more detailed search.

Unfortunately the cattle were not where ive expected them to be, and some days before w’e could return to the camp our supplies of everything, except salt beef, flour and tea, were exhausted. There was no danger of starvation, for the beef and flour were enough to keep us going for a considerable time; and, even if that had not been so, w r e could easily have got back to camp before hunger got the better of us. What upset ns was the absence from our bill of fare of sugar and jam. Without sugar in some form our bodies were listless, and the food we ate, though filling and nourishing, tasted like sawdust. On the third day of this misery ive were sitting in a row on a fallen treetrunk having our mid-day meal. The conversation was confined to speculation upon the whereabouts of the “ perishing ” cattle, and to grousing about our physical condition. Thinking to lighten the tone by a little facetiousness, I remarked casually:— “ I wonder if there is any jam in this trunk.”

For the trunk we were sitting on w-as old, and therefore, of necessity, hollow. My remark was greeted with the derision it was designed to provoke. “Poor Donald’s going mad! ” was the opinion of my companions. Having started my little joke I determined to go through with it. I rose from where I was sitting, knelt down at the end of the trunk, pushed my arm into its hollow centre, and pulled out — an unopened tin of Tasmanian jam. The expression on my friends’ faces when they saw the treasure trove was not, as it should have been, one of gratitude towards an all-providing Diety. They were absolutely scared, and looked at me as if I were a sorcerer—for few things could be more unusual than that happy find in the depths of the unsurveved bush.

I myself have often since wondered whether my little joke was not the coincidence which I thought it at the time, but was directed by some at present unexplained force,