The Case of Summerfield | Page 2

achieved the
successful combination of audacity of theme with a fitting incisiveness of style. It alone
rises above the level of the merely ingenious and clever; it alone of his work was worth
preserving.
Scattered through the ranks of writers, part of whose profession is a continuous,
unflagging output, are these "one story men," who, in some propitious moment, when the
powers of brain and heart are intensified by a rare and happy alchemy, produce a single
masterpiece. The vision and the dream have once been theirs, and, though they may never

again return, the product of the glowing moment is ours to rejoice in and wonder at.
Unfortunately the value of these accidental triumphs is not always seen. They go their
way and are submerged in the flood of fiction that the presses pour upon a defenseless
country. Now and then one unexpectedly hears of them, their unfamiliar titles rise to the
surface when writers gather round the table. An investigator in the forgotten files of
magazinedom has found one, and tells of his treasure trove as the diver of his newly
discovered pearl. Then comes a publisher, who, diligent and patient, draws them from
their hiding-places, shakes off the dust, and gives them to a public which once applauded
and has since forgotten.
Such has been the fate of The Case of Summerfield. Thirty-five years ago, in the town
that clustered along the edge of San Francisco Bay, it had its brief award of attention. But
the San Francisco of that day was very distant - a gleam on the horizon against the blue
line of the Pacific. It took a mighty impetus to carry its decisions and opinions across the
wall of the Sierra and over the desert to the East. Fame and reputation, unless the greatest,
had not vitality for so long a flight. So the strange and fantastic story should come as a
discovery, the one remarkable achievement of an unknown author, who, unfortunately, is
no longer here to enjoy an Indian summer of popularity.
Geraldine Bonner.

The Case of Summerfield

The following manuscript was found among the effects of the late Leonidas Parker, in
relation to one Gregory Summerfield, or, as he was called at the time those singular
events first attracted public notice, "The Man with a Secret." Parker was an eminent
lawyer, a man of firm will, fond of dabbling in the occult sciences, but never allowing
this tendency to interfere with the earnest practice of his profession. This astounding
narrative is prefaced by the annexed clipping from the Auburn Messenger of November 1,
1870:
A few days since, we called public attention to the singular conduct of James G. Wilkins,
justice of the peace for the "Cape Horn" district, in this county, in discharging without
trial a man named Parker, who was, as we still think, seriously implicated in the
mysterious death of an old man named Summerfield, who, our readers will probably
remember, met so tragical an end on the line of the Central Pacific Railroad, in the month
of October last. We have now to record another bold outrage on public justice, in
connection with the same affair. The grand jury of Placer County has just adjourned,
without finding any bill against the person named above. Not only did they refuse to find
a true bill, or to make any presentment, but they went one step further toward the
exoneration of the offender; they specially ignored the indictment which our district
attorney deemed it his duty to present. The main facts in relation to the arrest and
subsequent discharge of Parker may be summed up in few words:
It appears that, about the last of October, one Gregory Summerfield, an old man nearly
seventy years of age, in company with Parker, took passage for Chicago, via the Pacific
Railroad, and about the middle of the afternoon reached the neighborhood of Cape Horn,
in this county. Nothing of any special importance seems to have attracted the attention of
any of the passengers toward these persons until a few moments before passing the
dangerous curve in the track, overlooking the North Fork of the American River, at the

place called Cape Horn. As our readers are aware, the road at this point skirts a precipice,
with rocky perpendicular sides, extending to the bed of the stream, nearly seventeen
hundred feet below. Before passing the curve, Parker was heard to comment upon the
sublimity of the scenery they were approaching, and finally requested the old man to
leave the car and stand upon the open platform, in order to obtain a better view of the
tremendous chasm and the mountains just beyond. The two men left the car, and a
moment afterward a cry of horror was heard by all the passengers,