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The Wrath of Rampjaar: The Death and Destruction of Johan De Witt
The 1600s was a difficult chapter for human life. All over the world wars tore at the seams of land and families, and those that did not fall in battle found themselves vulnerable to falling from disease and plague brought on by forces that could not yet be understood. Many things that could not be explained resulted in further violence, fanaticism, death, and destruction dealt from one hand only to be horrifically felt by the other. Breakthroughs in science, exploration, and the arts collided with religious extremism and prejudice as humanity as a whole spun on, seemingly with chaos in every corner.
The Netherlands were one part of the world with turmoils erupting within their borders. In 1672 the country formerly known as the Dutch Republic was seeing the end of the “Dutch Golden Age” with simultaneous wars with England, France, and two German cities. The year 1672 would enter the history books as the Rampjaar, The Disaster Year. The Dutch people coined a phrase to describe this most unfortunate time: “The people were irrational, the government helpless, and the country beyond salvation.”
Allegory of the Disaster Year by Jan van Wijckersloot (1673). Image via Wikipedia.
Although it was obvious there were multiple problems facing the Dutch Republic in the 1672, some believed the problems took root decades earlier. William II Prince of Orange died of smallpox in 1650 leaving the Dutch with no official leader (referred to as a Stadholder.) It was this same year that Johan De Witt began to make his mark in the politics of the region. Johan’s family were bitter rivals of the Oranges and as De Witt began to move up the political ladder he allegedly (with the help of his powerful father who spent time in prison for his involvement in a coup d'etat of William II) quietly made moves and had words written into political documents to keep the young William III or any member of the Orange family from ruling. This allowed wheels to be set in motion to form a fully Republican regime with De Witt at the helm. After holding a number of high-standing positions he was elected to the role of Grand Pensionary of Holland in 1653, essentially making him the ruler of all Dutch provinces.
By the time the 1672 Year of Disaster loomed over the Dutch Republic the people had already endured enough war and horror to last a lifetime under the eye of Johan De Witt. There were the Anglo-Dutch Wars which threatened the land, but De Witt remained focused on the sea, taking every step possible to protect the economic interests in shipping and trading that filled his pockets while paying little mind to the forces surrounding the Dutch at their front doors. He also made it a point to delay the appointment of William III as captain general. The stubbornness of De Witt would have deep consequences when in May 1672 Louis XIV invaded the Dutch Republic, thus beginning the third Anglo-Dutch War.
Portrait of Johan De Witt by Adriaen Hanneman (1652). Image via Wikipedia.
As troops moved straight into the heart of their homeland the exhausted Dutch people felt betrayed by their leadership and all eyes turned to Johan De Witt. Some were content to simply, but loudly, voice their opinions that the House of Orange should take back their power by any means necessary. Others showed their feelings of anger and betrayal in much more aggressive ways. On June 21st 1672 Johan De Witt was attacked by a man who was armed with a knife and an intent to kill. The assailant did succeed in brutally stabbing him, but he survived. Johan’s brother Cornelis was also feeling the pressure of the simmering public and on July 24th he was arrested under charges of treason against the House of Orange. He was brought to prison in The Hauge where he was tortured in order to obtain a confession. While his brother was recovering from being nearly assassinated, Cornelis was refusing to confess to any wrongdoing and was eventually sentenced to exile.
Being attacked with a malicious blade changed De Witt and after a lengthy recovery he resigned from his position on August 4th 1672. At the time of his resignation his brother Cornelis was still wallowing in prison with his exile looming. On August 20th Johan visited his brother at the prison to assist him and see him off on what was supposed to be his date of forever departure from his homeland. It is unknown what the pair discussed that day, but it is almost certain they had no clue what was about to happen. Yes, Johan resigned and Cornelis was exiled, but the Dutch people were not ready to let the brothers walk peacefully away into a new chapter while they were left with suffering and debt that could follow them for generations. As the brothers talked in the prison they were attacked by a mob that were set on tearing them limb from limb.
The Murder of the de Witt Brothers by Pieter Fris. Image via Wikipedia.
What unfolded was a scene that was feral, ferocious, and that has gone down in history through eyewitness accounts and multiple pieces of art. The mob ravaged the De Witt brothers. They were dragged into the street, shot, stripped of their clothing, and taken to the public gallows. If the brothers thought their end would be found in a broken neck at the end of a hangman’s noose they were terribly wrong. Once strung up the mob began to take souvenirs. Some accounts report that their eyes were stolen, others say they were later cut into pieces and distributed to the masses, and while that is up for debate one thing that is certain is that their bodies were sliced open, their livers stolen, and the organs were then roasted and consumed by those in attendance. After a lifetime of prestige and twenty years in power, Johan De Witt departed life alongside his brother after being mutilated and cannibalized by his own countrymen.
The Corpses of the De Witt Brothers by Jan de Baen. Image via Wikipedia.
With De Witt gone power went to William III of Orange, the same man who had his appointment as captain general stalled by De Witt and the son of William II whose death was used by De Witt and his father to make the turn to the Republican force that they hoped would keep the House of Orange out of power for good.
Whether William III had a hand in planning the attack and death of the De Witt brothers is debated to this day with answers unknown.
Today the prison where the De Witt brothers spent their last moments on earth still stands and has been repurposed as a history and art museum.
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Sources:
That Time the Dutch ate their Prime Minister by Vlad Moca-Grama. DutchReview.com, March 3rd 2023. https://dutchreview.com/culture/dutch-history-crowds-ate-prime-minister/
A Dark and Stormy Bite: That Time a Bunch of Dutch People ate Their Prime Minister by Lillian Stone. TheTakeout.com, January 15th 2021. https://thetakeout.com/a-dark-and-stormy-bite-that-time-a-bunch-of-dutch-peop-1846044366
Johan De Witt. Encyclopedia.com.https://www.encyclopedia.com/history/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/johan-de-witt
#husheduphistory#featuredarticles#history#forgottenhistory#strangehistory#weirdhistory#tragichistory#historyclass#truestory#truth is stranger than fiction#DutchHistory#NetherlandsHistory#JohanDeWitt#ShockingHistory#horrorhistory#sadstory#HollandHistory
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The Devil Went Down to Devon
Take a little trip with me for a moment...
The year is 1855, on the cold morning of February 9th you wake up, stoke the fire, perhaps cook some breakfast. Then you dress yourself and prepare to leave to take care of some business of some irrelevant sort or another. And as you step outside, you find a series of horse tracks leading directly through your snow covered front yard.
At first you might assume that perhaps you’ve been the victim of some sick joke, or even some poor idiots misfortune as his horse ran him awry.
But you would quickly realize that neither of these were possible. Especially considering every house in town had been visited by these strange tracks, and that it would be impossible for these tracks to have been made by a four legged creature. So people did the natural thing.
They blamed the supernatural.
Most modern scholars would attribute it to some hoax, or perhaps an animal. But no troublesome teen can walk on top of houses without leaving some sign of having scaled the wall or leapt down from the other side. And no rabbit, badger, or escaped kangaroo can cover 40 miles of country in six hours. Nor would it be likely for an animal to pass through every yard or across every roof top without breaking pace.
So who was this mysterious visitor?? Was this Satan himself??
Or was it all a hoax??
The world may never know the truth. And the tracks never appeared again, aside from a few obvious pranks. What do you think?
Source: @husheduphistory
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Strange in Chains: Two Prisoners with Stories that go much Deeper that the Surface
The Pakistani town of Charsadda has witnessed first-hand how quickly war and time can transform a place. Originally called Dheri, the town is said to have been originally settled by Pashtun tribes from Afghanistan who were fleeing persecution. The location of Dheri attracted a great deal of attention and over time it became heavily populated by the Sikhs who established a monopoly of businesses there. In the 1830s aggressive hands brought a time of change to the town and its inhabitants. Some endured the shifts, some succumbed, and in one case there are some responsible entities that are still standing outside in their chains nearly two centuries later.
In 1835 the town of Dheri’s name was changed to Sikho Dheri and in the same year Maharaja Ranjit Singh laid the foundation to Fort Shankar Gah, which would also undergo a name change in 1876 and then become known as Shabqadar. The Maharajah built a formidable Sikh army, trained by European generals with experience in major battles like the Battle of Waterloo, and they helped keep an eye on some of the many factions that were looking to take power in the region surrounding Shabqadar. By 1840 the Maharaja had passed away but his son Maharaja Sher Singh was in power, and he was there when the fort was attacked by a large number of Mohmand warriors. It was a bloody battle that lasted until the morning sun rose, and in the end the Sikhs were victorious in pushing the opposing forces out of the fort. They may have come out the victors, but it came with a high human cost. Infuriated, Maharajah Sardar Sher Singh demanded to know who was responsible for the warriors getting into the fort and he demanded an investigation be carried out to determine who was behind the breech in security.
One of the Europeans that trained the Sikh army as part of Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s court was General Ventura Jean Baptiste, and he just happened to be in the area. After being recruited to conduct the investigation as to how the warriors were able to gain access inside the fort General Baptiste poured over the incident gathering evidence and examining the facts. Finally, after two days, he had his culprit.
When General Baptiste announced his verdict it was shocking, but the accused had nothing to say. He formally declared that the doors, the twelve-foot tall wooden doors to the fort, the doors that failed to hold back the invasion, were the guilty party. A jury of two men agreed and the two doors were sentenced to be imprisoned by chains for one hundred years.
The fort doors under arrest at Shabqadar. Image via travelpangs.com.
It is unknown exactly why the blame was officially placed on the doors as opposed to any of the people involved in the altercation. Each door was chained to a tower, and although their sentence ended in 1940, they still remain there to this day. A plaque tells visitors of their alleged crime and sentence, reading:
“The weeping willows: In the winter of 1840, a Mohmand Lashkar (War party) succeeded in breaking down these gates. The then Sikh Maharaja Sher Singh (Ranjit Singh son) had them court martialed for treason. The French General Jean Ventura headed the proceedings which lasted two days, having found them guilty as charged, the gates were sentenced to 100 years’ imprisonment. They are languishing enchained ever since.”
Approximately two hours west of Shabqadar is another unfortunate prisoner. In 1898 a British Army officer named James Squid was stumbling through the town of Landi Kotal after having a few too many drinks and he saw a threatening figure, a Banyan tree. Convinced that the tree was moving, and even following him, he ordered the mess sergeant to place the tree under arrest. The sergeant obliged, placing the tree in multiple heavy chains extending from the branches to the ground.
The Banyan tree under arrest. Image via amusingplanet.com.
Visitors today can still visit the tree, which tells its story through a sign that plainly states:
“I am under arrest. One evening a British officer heavily drunk thought that I was moving from my original location and ordered mess sergeant to arrest me since then I am under arrest.”
Though originating as what some might see as a humorous story, the tree is seen by many as a solemn reminder of the chapters of Pakistan’s past that are deeply intertwined with the British. Pakistan gained their independence from England in 1947 but when the Banyan tree was arrested it was in the midst of British colonialism. Today the image of the tree in chains represents that oppressiveness and how the people of Pakistan were treated during that time and represents the Frontier Crimes Regulation (FCR), laws drafted specifically in opposition to British Raj and their rule. As expressed by a local photojournalist, the tree “shows the oppression of British rule in the subcontinent and just imagine if a British officer could put a tree in chains then how were they treating the locals of that era?"
Today both Shabqadar and the Banyan tree are visited by thousands of people each year as tourist attractions but their stories go far deeper than just inanimate objects officially placed under arrest. The failed fort doors and the innocent tree tell stories of both individual incidents and whole timeframes that are written deeply into the complex and rich history of Pakistan and how it is still imprinted on the country today.
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Sources:
The Weeping Willows of Shabqadar, Pakistan. Travelpangs.com. August 10 2020. https://www.travelpangs.com/post/the-weeping-willows-of-shabqadar
The Doors that won't Open by Syed Rizwan Mahboob. September 13 2015. https://www.thenews.com.pk/tns/detail/559381-doors-sentenced-100-years-shabqadar-fort
The Doors of Shabqadar Fort by Sadaf Shahzad. June 24 2021. https://www.youlinmagazine.com/article/the-doors-of-shabqadar-fort/MjAyOA
Colonial rustlings: Under the shade of the chained banyan tree. Published in The Express Tribune, January 6th, 2013. https://tribune.com.pk/story/489734/colonial-rustlings-under-the-shade-of-the-chained-banyan-tree/
This chained, century-old tree in Pakistan is a perfect metaphor for colonialism by Ishaan Tharoor. September 3 2016.https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/worldviews/wp/2016/09/03/this-chained-century-old-tree-in-pakistan-is-a-perfect-metaphor-for-colonialism/
The Tree That Was Arrested by Kaushik Patowary. September 6 2016. https://www.amusingplanet.com/2016/09/the-tree-that-was-arrested.html
Tree in Pakistan remains ‘under arrest’ for 120 years by By Islamuddin Sajid. February 5 2018. https://www.aa.com.tr/en/asia-pacific/tree-in-pakistan-remains-under-arrest-for-120-years/1132523
#husheduphistory#featuredarticles#truestory#historyclass#truth is stranger than fiction#pakistan#PakistanHistory#LegalHistory#oddlandmarks#strange history#oddhistory#quiethistory#lesserknownhistory#more than meets the eye
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Dealt a Hand of Death: The Terrible Table of the Delta Saloon
When gold was discovered in California on January 24th 1848 it changed the landscape of the country with approximately 300,000 people swarming to the state from all over dreaming of striking it rich and finding fortune in the ground. Undoubtedly, the California Gold Rush was familiar to Henry T. “Pancake” Comstock, a Canadian miner and acquaintance with brothers Ethan Allen and Hoesa Ballou Grosh. The Grosh brothers were veterans of the California gold fields and in the fall of 1857 they discovered a promising ore deposit in Virginia City, Nevada. But, before they could claim the land both brothers tragically died. Hearing of their deaths, Comstock took it upon himself to take over their cabin, open their belongings, find the documentation connected to their find, and essentially claim it as his own. In the spring of 1859, two miners named Peter O’Riley and Patrick McLaughlin began to work the area around Six-Mile Canyon when they made a huge discovery, a deposit of silver ore, but their elation was short lived. Comstock claimed the men were working on land he had already claimed for “grazing purposes” and he proceeded to threaten them to the point that in order to avoid issues the miners made him a partial owner in the claim, later named the Comstock Lode.
Mining on the Comstock. Image via wikipedia.com.
The men had no idea what they had discovered. The Comstock Lode was a massive deposit of silver ore, the first of its kind in the United States, and news about new riches found under the earth brought back the excitement of the California Gold Rush from less than ten years earlier. From its discovery in 1859 to 1882 the Comstock Lode yielded what would today amount to over ten billion dollars worth of ore. However, none of the men who discovered the claim never saw that level of wealth. Patrick McLaughlin sold his 1/6 interest in the claim for $3,000 but the money was quickly lost and he died after working multiple odd jobs to scrape by. Peter O'Riley held on to his interests at first but eventually sold them for approximately $40,000. He used the money to invest in other endeavors including a hotel and another venture into mining but his attempts were unsuccessful. He lost everything, was declared insane, and his life came to a close in a California asylum.
Henry Comstock sold his interests and went on to open various shops in Carson City and Silver City. He too lost everything in bad business decisions and in September 1870 he died in Montana after shooting himself in the head.
Henry T. "Pancake" Comstock. Image via legendsofamerica.com.
When the Comstock Lode was discovered it completely transformed Virginia City, Nevada. Once a small mining town it was quickly filled with hundreds of thousands of prospectors, driven by the re-ignited dreams of fortune just waiting to be dug up. The influx of people brought everyone imaginable to Virginia City, and it quickly transformed into a place where law dared not tread. Filled to the brim with bordellos, saloons, and opium dens, the city became the darkest definition of the wild west. In 1872 Mark Twain published his semi-autobiographical novel Roughing It where he wrote about his travels by stagecoach through the American West and later the islands of the Pacific. In the book he writes about his trip to Virginia City stating that “Two days before I lectured in Virginia City, two stagecoaches were robbed within two miles of the town.” Twain himself was later robbed at gunpoint once he arrived in the city, losing his money and a gold watch.
Dreams, greed, and human beings all swept through the west and Virginia City, but there was one more thing that was keeping all of their minds occupied, a card game called Faro. Played using one deck of cards and being fairly easy to learn, gamblers quickly made Faro the dominant card game of every gambling hall in the west from 1825 to approximately 1915. One man who was well versed in the game was a Virginia City gambler named “Black Jake” who decided he was going to capitalize on its popularity, buy himself a Faro game table, and make himself rich taking cash out of every pocket he could. He was known for being a greedy man, but one night in 1861 karma came back strong and the table turned on its owner with Black Jake losing multiple rounds and $70,000 in one night. With absolutely no way to pay out that amount of money, the equivalent of two million dollars today, the disgraced gambler grabbed his pistol and took his own life at the table. With Black Jake gone the table needed a new home, and a few years later it found a new owner whose name has been lost to time. This new owner operated the table for exactly one night where he too lost everything, including his life. It is unknown if he chose to take it himself, or if it was taken from him.
Playing Faro in a saloon circa 1895. Image via wikipedia.com.
Having claimed two lives, the table was stored in the back room of where it was last used, The Delta Saloon, where it would sit undisturbed for decades. It wasn’t until the late 1890s that wealthy businessman Charles Fosgard laid eyes on the table, and he was happy to buy it. Fosgard had a lot of money, but he was looking to reinvest it and in Virginia City with its thrill-seeking gamblers looking to strike it rich in the saloons when they couldn’t in the mines, it made perfect sense to Fosgard to bring the notorious table out of retirement. After converting it into a blackjack table, Fosgard went into business.
One night a drunk miner sauntered into The Delta Saloon and made his way to the blackjack table. To Fosgard’s delight the miner lost hand after hand until he only had one thing left to offer the businessman, his gold ring. He bet the ring against a five dollar coin and finally, he won a hand. Then he won another….and then he won another. The miner and Fosgard went face to face over and over again and a crowd grew to watch as the businessman was forced to hand over everything. By the end of the game the miner was the new owner of Fosgard’s stagecoach, his share in a local gold mine, and $85,000 (over 2.5 million dollars in today’s money.) Fosgard’s fortune was decimated and he did the only thing he could think of, he pulled out his gun and took his life at the same table as the previous two owners (and in the same way as not only them, but also the less-than-legit founder of the Comstock Lode that brought them all there.)
The table was soaked in enough tragedy and it was put out of commission with a new dubious nickname of The Suicide Table. Year after year, and as the population of Virginia City depleted, the story of the table only grew and it was eventually made a feature of The Delta Saloon. People came from all over to see the table, guided by a sign that cheerfully read “See the Suicide Table” in bright paint as you approach the building that had been restored as faithfully as possible to how it was in its heyday in the 1800s. The table itself was also restored, brought back to its original state as a Faro table. It stayed a Delta Saloon attraction for decades, saw in new centuries, and lived quietly with its tragic past and infamy.
Vintage postcard showing The Suicide Table on display at The Delta Saloon. Image via ebay.com.
Then, on March 11th 2019, Virginia City was shaken when a gas explosion occurred at The Delta Saloon. Amid the damage sat The Suicide Table, unscathed other than receiving a coating of dust. Movers were brought in and the table was relocated to the Delta’s sister saloon, The Bonanza Saloon, right across the street where it remains on display under protective plastic housing.
The Suicide Table is still a major attraction in Virginia City, attracting the gaze of thousands of people lured in by its horrific past. In a time and place that encompassed the lawless American West like Virginia City, there are many shocking tales to tell. But standing out in the crowd is a simple Faro table, created as a game of chance, and tied to at least four lives suddenly lost in the bloody name of greed.
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Sources:
Step Back in Time Virginia City Nevada by The Virginia City Tourist Commission. 2022. https://visitvirginiacitynv.com/history/
Comstock Lode – Creating Nevada History by Legends of America. 2023. https://www.legendsofamerica.com/nv-comstocklode/
The History and Nostalgia of The Delta Saloon by The Delta Saloon. 2023.
The Old West Card Table With a Deadly Past by Danielle Hyman & Adam Aronson. The Daily Beast. September 3, 2018. https://www.thedailybeast.com/the-old-west-card-table-with-a-deadly-past
Men’s luck ran out at gaming table by Dave Maxwell. Boulder City Review. June 17, 2020. https://bouldercityreview.com/community/mens-luck-ran-out-at-gaming-table-61432/
#husheduphistory#featuredarticles#truestory#forgottenhistory#strangehistory#weirdhistory#tragichistory#history#historyclass#NevadaHistory#mininghistory#goldrush#AmericanWest#WildWest#cursedobjects#gaminghistory#comstocklode#cardgame#VirginiaCityHistory#DeltaSaloon
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Unknown and Carved in Stone: The Murky Mystery of the Moon-Eyed People
History and folklore live in the same neighborhood. They are spoken, documented, passed down, and sometimes they cross paths and give each other a knowing nod, the weight of which only they fully understand. Fort Mountain State Park in Chatsworth, Georgia is one of those places where history and folklore meet. The story is a strange one and it covers a lot of miles, stretching from Alabama all the way up to Delaware. But in Murphy, North Carolina the words are allegedly given a shape. Enclosed in a case inside the Cherokee County Historical Museum they rest, standing upright, with their eyes gazing out and inviting visitors to stare back just as intently. They look unlike any other ancient form of art found in the Southeast and their story is just as unusual as their appearance. They are an alleged stone representation of the ancient Appalachian Moon-Eyed People.
The Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina. Image via Wikipedia Commons.
The Cherokee people have a vibrant culture that is filled with deeply cherished myths, legends, and histories of their people and their ancestral home in the mountains of Southern Appalachia. According to the Cherokee, the Smokey Mountains were formed by a giant buzzard after the giant flood. The exhausted bird fell to the earth and the mountains erupted up from where the massive wings impacted the ground. In the years since the creation of the mountains the Cherokee interacted with many spirits, many creatures, and according to their oral tradition, a civilizations of people that was there before them with extremely pale white skin, fine hair, and eyes that were so sensitive to the sun that they spent the daylight hours living underground.
The first written account of these people comes from European botanist Benjamin Smith Burton (sometimes written as Barton) who wrote in 1797 that he learned about these people from the firsthand account of Colonel Leonard Marbury, an intermediary between the American government and the Cherokee tribe. Burton writes:
“…the Cheerake tell us, that when they first arrived in the country which they inhabit, they found it possessed by certain 'moon-eyed-people,'who could not see in the day-time.”
The Cherokee people had a strong belief in things most people today would consider supernatural, but in their stories of the Moon-Eyed People they were never referred to as something otherworldly. They were considered and spoken about as another culture of human beings, ones that were living in Appalachia before the Cherokee arrived. John Haywood was one of America’s earliest historians and he collected the stories that were passed down through generations of the Cherokee people. Among the stories he documented, some were similar to accounts reported by Burton, that the Cherokee arrived at the mountains and along the Tennessee River they encountered “white people” and fortifications that contained “hoes, axes, guns, and other metallic utensils.” Then there were the fortifications themselves, made of precisely arranged stone, and stretching all the way from the Tennessee River down to the Chickamauga Creek. Were these fortifications created for protection from nature or people?
The Cherokee stories do not mention finding any other civilizations of people along their travels and when these two groups met, they clashed. The text from Burton states “These wretches they expelled” and in his 1823 book Natural And Aboriginal History of Tennessee Haywood writes of “white people, who were extirpated in part, and in part were driven from Kentucky, and probably also from West Tennessee.” Writer James Mooney was familiar with the works of Burton and Hayward as well as the Cherokee oral traditions having collected stories from two Cherokee elders who told that when they first came to the region they encountered people who were “very small and perfectly white” that were then driven from the area and fled west. The story continues that the conflict took both groups of people to Big Chickamauga where an agreement was made that these “very small and perfectly white” people were not permitted back to their land and fortifications, but they were permitted to flee in peace.
The fortifications of Fort Mountain as they appear in modern day. Image via Wikimedia Commons user Thomsonmg2000.
Descriptions of the “Moon-Eyed People” continue to appear in multiple accounts collected from the Cherokee with slight variations. Some describe them as being extremely small, others say they could only see during certain phases of the moon and that they lived underground, another version describes them as tall with light-colored hair and speaking a strange language. While many historians question if these people even existed, those who believe they did have another question to answer. Who were these people? Where did they come from? A popular theory says that that answer can be found by tracing a line that stretches from Georgia across the Atlantic Ocean to Wales.
When the governor of Tennessee John Sevier visited Fort Mountain, Georgia in 1782 he met with the Cherokee’s Chief Ocotosota. At the time of their meeting Chief Ocotosota was ninety years old and when discussing the large stone fortifications standing at Fort Mountain he told the governor that his forefathers "told of the fort being built by white men from across the great water." The accounts from Chief Ocotosota were enough to convince Sevier. There was another story that claimed to tell the origin of those in the Appalachia before the Cherokee and based on the accounts of Chief Ocotosota he believed the tale to be the truth. According to this version of events the mysterious Moon-Eyed People were the descendants of a Welsh prince.
Oconostota, Cherokee chief from a painting entitled "The Great Warrior, Chief Oconostota-Cunne Shote" by Francis Parsons, 1762.
Image and caption credit: Tennessee State Library and Archives
The story of Prince Madoc ab Owain Gwynedd is intriguing, but also murky. The story tells of the prince and his brother Riryd fleeing violence in his homeland and landing in North America in approximately 1170, over 300 years before the voyage of Columbus. Allegedly, they landed in what is now Mobile Bay, Alabama and made their way up the Alabama River and into the mainland where they decided to make their new home. Riryd stayed behind while Madoc returned to Wales where he amassed a fleet of ten ships filled with Welsh people who sailed away from their home and were never heard from again. When speaking about the fortifications with Chief Ocotosota, Governor Sevier was told these stone fortresses were built by those Welsh immigrants and they were all that remained of them after the Cherokee took control of the land.
There was a reason that Governor Sevier was familiar with the story of Prince Madoc and the theory of the Welsh in Appalachia, and that is because Chief Ocotosota was not the only person to speak about these early and mysterious fair-skinned inhabitants. In 1608 a crew member sailing under Captain Christopher Newport wrote a letter describing their interactions with a group of people who spoke a language that was so like his native Welsh that he served as an interpreter between the crew and tribe. Also noted was how different the customs and appearances were of these people compared to other Native Americans. Years later in 1699 the Reverend Morgan Jones reported that while he was traveling through the Carolinas he encountered and spent several months with a tribe called the Doeg who spoke and understood a variation of Welsh. Tennessee governor John Sevier took the “proof” far beyond spoken language and claimed that in 1799 a discovery was made far inland of six skeletons buried in brass armor containing the Welsh coat of arms. This claim was referenced years later by author and historian Thomas Hinde who wrote in an 1824 letter that six skeletons had “been dug up near Jeffersonville, Indiana, on the Ohio River with breastplates that contained Welsh coats-of-arms.” In another part of the country, closer to present-day North Dakota than the mountains of Appalachia, it was reported that instead of canoes the Mandan people used an ancient type of boat that originated in Wales called coracles.
The claim of a prince fleeing Wales, arriving in Alabama, and ushering in generations of Native Americans with Welsh backgrounds persisted but there was also evidence to disprove this theory. Welsh explorer John Evans spent the winter of 1796-97 living with the Mandan people who allegedly spoke Welsh and followed customs passed down through the generations after the Welsh arrived in Alabama. But, in July of 1797 he wrote to Dr. Samuel Jones “Thus having explored and charted the Missurie for 1,800 miles and by my Communications with the Indians this side of the Pacific Ocean from 35 to 49 degrees of Latitude, I am able to inform you that there is no such People as the Welsh Indians.” The argument for or against the existence of Native Americans with Welsh roots had far reaching repercussions. During territorial struggles this idea of Welsh inhabitants in the new world was proposed as a reason that England should have claim to it instead of Spain.
The problem that England had with this claim is the same problem faced today in that proving Prince Madoc arrived in Alabama all those years ago and began a Welsh settlement is a very difficult task. There is a large amount of spoken word and secondhand accounts, but the whereabouts of the skeletons encased in Welsh armor is unknown and the coracles of the Mandan people have disappeared. Tragically, the waves of disease that swept through the land with the arrival of the Europeans took a countless number of accounts with them. In 1837 alone the Mandan people were almost completely wiped out by smallpox brought in by traders.
If the theory of Welsh travelers arriving in North America and living in the Appalachian mountains before the Cherokee is false, than who were these “very small and perfectly white” people with fair hair that could not see in sunlight that were spoken of by so many different people? Another theory is that these people were not new to the land, that they were actually Native Americans with albinism. Albinism appeared among the Hopi people of the Southwest and can be seen in photographs from the 1800s showing children with light skin and hair.
Image of a Hopi child with albinism.
Image originally via The Huntington Library Museum and Botanical Gardens. Hopi Indians, Arizona. Albino in center. Hopi girls, Oraibi, Arizona. There are many Albinos among the Hopi Indians,
photCL 312 (172), The Frederick Monsen Ethnographic Indian Photographs, The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.
Although the Hopi lived in an entirely different region than the people spoken about by the Cherokee, some believe that the mysterious Moon-Eyed People may have been another community of people that also lived with albinism at that time. In 1699 Welsh explorer Lionel Wafer wrote about his experience with a tribe of people living in Panama:
“There is one Complexion so singular, among a sort of People in this Country, I never saw nor heard of any like them in any part of the World. [...] They are White, and there are of them of both Sexes; They differ from the other Indians chiefly in respect of Colour, tho' not in that only. Their Skins are not of such a White as those of fair People among Europeans, [...] but 'tis rather a Milk-white, lighter than the Colour of any Europeans, and much like that of a white Horse. For there is this further remarkable in them, that their Bodies are beset all over, more or less, with a fine short Milk-white Down, which adds to the whiteness of their Skins. The Men would probably have white Bristles for Beards, did they not prevent them by their Custom of plucking the young Beard up by the Roots continually. Their Eye-brows are Milk-white also, and so is the Hair of their Heads, and very fine withal, about the length of six or eight inches, and inclining to a Curl. And what is yet more strange, their Eye-lids bend and open in an oblong Figure, pointing downward at the Corners, and forming an Arch or Figure of a Crescent with the Points downwards. From hence, and from seeing so clear as they do in a Moon-shiny night, we us'd to call them Moon-ey'd. For they see not very well in the Sun, poring in the clearest Day; their Eyes being but weak, and running with Water if the Sun shine towards them; so that in the Day-time they care not to go abroad, unless it be a cloudy dark Day. But notwithstanding their being thus sluggish and dull and restive in the Day-time, yet when Moon-shiny nights come, they are all Life and Activity, running abroad, and into the Woods, skipping about like Wild-Bucks; and running as fast as Moon-light, even in the Gloom and Shade of the Woods, as the other Indians by Day, being as nimble as they, tho' not so strong and lusty. The Copper-colour'd Indians seem not to respect these so much as those of their own Complexion, looking on them as somewhat monstrous.”
Although there may never be solid proof of Prince Madoc’s involvement in the early days of North America there are locations that firmly believe this version of events. At Fort Mountain there are multiple markers that tell the story of the Moon-Eyed People and the arrival of the prince. This is the very place where Chief Ocotosota and Governor John Sevier discussed “the fort being built by white men from across the great water” and it is one of few places that can claim to have a physical remnant of this tale. The forts and wall spoken of by Chief Ocotosota are still standing here, stretching for 855 feet and varying between two and six feet tall at different points. Archaeological estimates state that the wall was constructed between 500 –1500 BCE and those who steadfastly believe the Prince Madoc theory quickly point out that the construction of one of the fortifications located in Alabama resembles those built in Wales during the same timeframe.
Marker in Fort Mountain State Park that tells the legend of the Moon-Eyed People. Image via Wikimedia Commons.
Although Fort Mountain claims to have the fortifications left behind by the Moon-Eyed People, the Cherokee County Historical Museum claims to have a representation of the Moon-Eyed People themselves. Standing together inside a glass case are two figures, standing three feet tall and carved from soapstone, with no hair and eyes gazing. In 1838 North Carolina Senator Archibald Murphy began selling off parcels of land in the place that would become the town of Murphy, North Carolina. A man named Felix Ashley bought a piece of land and while digging in 1841 he discovered the incredibly strange statue that now sits inside the museum. The road from dirt to display was not a fast one though, Ashley took the statue home and leaned it up against one of his buildings until it eventually made its way to the museum where it sat in storage up until 2015 when it finally saw the light of day.
The figures of the alleged Moon-Eyed People. Image via Strange Carolinas.
Like so many aspects of the story, the statue of the two figures are said to represent the Moon-Eyed People, but there is no absolute proof of this. And, like the Moon-Eyed People themselves, there are multiple stories circulating about the origin of the statue with theories ranging from it being a simple sculpture of two people to some believing the Moon-Eyed People were extraterrestrials and this statue was carved as a tribute to them. Museum Director Wanda Stalcup acknowledges the theory of the Moon-Eyed People and the statue’s alleged connection, stating “They were a legend of the Cherokee…The Moon-Eyed People were supposed to be people who only came out at night. They were light-skinned and had big blue eyes." However, Stalcup keeps the door open to all ideas, saying simply that everyone is entitled to their opinion because no one knows what they are.
The Moon-Eyed People have been appearing in spoken word accounts and theories for hundreds of years and despite centuries of speculation as to who they are and where they came from they remain a mystery, unable to be proven or disproven. Perhaps they were Native Americans living with albinism. Perhaps they were descendants of a Welsh prince whose legitimacy has disappeared along with the many years since his arrival. Many people and locations stand strongly by their opinion, but over all the years there is one thing we can say for certain about the Moon-Eyed People.
No one knows who or what they are.
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Sources:
David Tibbs. Legends of Fort Mountain The Moon-Eyed People / Prince Madoc of Wales. The Historical Marker Database, 2008. https://www.hmdb.org/m.asp?m=11590
The Moon-Eyed People. North Carolina Ghosts. https://northcarolinaghosts.com/mountains/moon-eyed-people/
Exploring the Mysterious North American Moon-Eyed People. Ancient Origins Reconstructing the Story of Humanity’s Past. 2022. https://www.ancient-origins.net/myths-legends-americas/moon-eyed-people-0016334
Vicky Verma. Moon-Eyed People From Ancient America With Pale Skin Were Afraid Of Daylight, Why? Journal News Online. 2022. https://journalnews.com.ph/moon-eyed-people-from-ancient-america-with-pale-skin-were-afraid-of-daylight-why/
Beth Lawrence. Appalachia’s Lost Colony The mystery of the Moon Eyed settlers. The Sylva Herald and Ruralite. 2020. http://www.thesylvaherald.com/news/article_63be7a46-193a-11eb-bcb1-9b6452791b80.html
Ben Johnson. The discovery of America… by a Welsh Prince? Historic UK. https://www.historic-uk.com/HistoryUK/HistoryofWales/The-discovery-of-America-by-Welsh-Prince/
The Moon-Eyed People. Roadside America. https://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/51476
#husheduphistory#featuredarticles#history#Appalachia#AppalachianHistory#Cherokee#CherokeeHistory#NativeAmericanHistory#GeorgiaHistory#Alabama#AlabamaHistory#Unknown#UnsolvedMysteries#MoonEyedPeople#WelshHistory#weirdhistory#forgottenhistory#strangehistory#oddhistory#historyclass#truth is stranger than fiction#historymystery#historicmystery#myths#legends
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Fightin' Words: Abe, the Armstrongs, and the Life Changing Almanac
It’s a fun fact, the kind that comes out during parties, trivia games, or just in casual conversation. “Hey, did you know Abraham Lincoln is in the National Wrestling Hall of Fame?” As odd as it may sound, it is partially true. Before he became one of the most important figures in American history young Lincoln was many things, a self-taught student, rail-splitter, and a boatman to name a few. But, one of the biggest turning points of his life came to him as a young clerk where a simple show of athletic prowess would tie him to a murder trial decades later.
By 1831 Lincoln was living in New Salem, Illinois and working as a clerk in a grocery store owned by Denton Offutt while studying law. He was only twenty-two years old but the six-foot-four-inch tall Lincoln had developed a reputation for being a formidable wrestler with an undefeated string of wins in the catch-as-catch-can style of hand-to-hand wrestling. This type of reputation spread quickly in the rough and tumble town of New Salem, and it caught the ears of The Clary's Grove Boys, a nearby gang of men who spent their days drinking, fighting, pranking people, and spreading a general storm of rowdiness wherever they traveled. Offutt was continually impressed by his new employee, openly bragging about how Lincoln was mentally and physically superior to any of The Clary’s Grove Boys and that he could easily take any of them down in a fight. The Clary’s Grove Boys heard the claim loud and clear and their “champion” Jack Armstrong was up for the challenge.
The accounts of the fight between Abraham Lincoln and Jack Armstrong vary depending on the source. Some accounts say that the battle lines were drawn clearly between Lincoln and Armstrong while others say that Lincoln bet Armstrong ten dollars that he could find a man who could beat him and on the day of the fight no one showed leading to Lincoln calmly stating “Look here, Jack, my man isn’t here yet, but rather than lose that ten dollars I will wrestle with you myself.” Armstrong was no small opponent, but he had no idea who he was tangling with when he locked arms with Lincoln. Given his reputation as being a bully the entire town came out to see the brawl and the two men exchanged blows and grappled with each other, each unable to pin the other to the ground but with Lincoln clearly having the upper hand. Accounts say that at one point Lincoln grabbed Armstrong by the neck and held him at arm’s length while shaking him, laughing as other members of The Clary’s Grove Boys struck his legs with zero effect. There is an unclear picture as to who even won this fight, but what is known is that at the end of it a battered and bruised Armstrong shook Lincoln’s hand and declared "Boys, Abe Lincoln is the best fellow that ever broke into this settlement. He shall be one of us."
Print "There was a Man: Abe Lincoln Licks Jack Armstrong" by Harold von Schmidt for the July 1949 issue of Esquire Magazine. Image via www.lincolncollection.org.
The fight with Armstrong changed Lincoln’s entire persona in New Salem, making him a beloved and well-respected figure in the town. He became a voice of reason to the hijinks of The Clary’s Grove Boys, sometimes stepping in as mediator and diffusing disagreements before they came to blows. He also got his first taste of leadership, later being appointed as captain of the local militia unit and moving on to serve in the Black Hawk War. Perhaps the most surprising outcome was the bond between Lincoln and Armstrong who became extremely close friends after their brawl. As years went on Lincoln was welcomed into the Armstrong family home of Jack and his wife Hannah and he would often stay there both for friendly visits and when he found himself without work. When Jack and Hannah welcomed their son William into the world in 1833, Lincoln would often rock the baby to sleep during his visits. No one in the room could have predicted how their paths would cross one day.
Jack Armstrong. Image via http://www.mrlincolnandfriends.org/
Lincoln’s career in politics and law continued to grow steadily over the next decades but while Lincoln was building his fabled career in law the twenty-four year old William “Duff” Armstrong found himself on the other side of it. In August of 1857 a religious camp meeting held in Mason county Illinois was winding down after multiple days of congregating. On August 29th 1857, the night before the meeting was to officially conclude, Duff and some others were spending time around the whiskey wagons and they decided to sample the goods. After drinking heavily Duff lay down on a bench to sleep off the effects of the alcohol and he was left alone until approximately 8pm when a local farmer by the name of James P. Metzker rode his horse into the vicinity. Metzker was also intoxicated and he made the fateful decision to grab the sleeping man’s leg, spit in his face, and drag him to the ground waking the sleeping beast of Armstrong and causing the two of them to get into a heated brawl. According to Duff’s brother, A.P. Armstrong, the two men eventually stopped throwing fists and decided to have some more drinks together. He goes on to state that after this friendly exchange Metzker proceeded to get into another fight with another man that was drinking with them named J.H. Norris. Eventually Metzker left the scene on his horse, falling off several times in the process but eventually making it home. The only three that truly know what happened that night are Armstrong, Norris, and Metzker, but two days later Metzker was dead, having succumbed to two fractures to his skull that doctors concluded could not have come from him falling off his horse. The Mason County Sheriff arrested both Norris and Armstrong for the murder of James P. Metzker.
William "Duff" Armstrong. Image via hd.housedivided.dickinson.edu.
Armstrong was facing certain peril. Accused of cold-blooded murder alongside Norris, who had already escaped jail for a murder charge once before, the outlook was bleak. While awaiting trial in jail his father Jack Armstrong died but the man had a deathbed wish, he wanted to call in a favor from his old friend, the young attorney Abraham Lincoln, and ask that he defend his son in court. Hannah Armstrong wrote to Lincoln and his response was swift:
“I have just heard of your deep affliction and your son's arrest for murder. I can hardly believe that he can be capable of the crime alleged against him. It does not seem possible. I am anxious that he should be given a fair trial at any rate, and the gratitude for your long-continued kindness to me in adverse circumstances prompts me to offer my humble service gratuitously on his behalf.”
Lincoln packed his bags and traveled to Beardstown, Illinois ready to defend the man he once rocked to sleep as a baby in the battle for his life.
The Beardstown Courthouse where the Almanac Trial took place still standing today. Image via abrahamlincolnonline.org
The trial began on May 8th 1858 and the charges against Armstrong and Norris were grim, the indictment stating the Norris struck Metzker in the back of the head with a large piece of wood before Armstrong struck him in and around the right eye with a “slung-shot”, a metal weight held in a long strip of leather, causing “mortal bruises” that lead to his death. The prosecution greatly rested on the words of Charles Allen, a man who claimed he witnessed the assault and knew it was Armstrong and Norris because he could clearly see them by the light of the full moon overhead. It may have seemed like and open and shut case, Norris had a criminal past and Allen clearly saw the men attack Metzker. But then it was Lincoln’s turn to speak.
Up until this point Lincoln sat quietly in the courtroom, “with his head thrown back, his steady gaze apparently fixed upon one spot of the blank ceiling, entirely oblivious to what was happening about him, and without a single variation of feature or noticeable movement.…” When the time came for him to cross examine Allen, Lincoln had very specific questions for the star witness. When asked for details about that night Allen repeatedly insisted he saw it all happen from approximately 150 feet away, the brutal scene being lit by the full moon overhead “about where the sun would be at one o’clock in the afternoon.” Lincoln asked more questions, pressing him about the location and time of the crime over and over again. The camp meeting was taking place in a very densely wooded area that was quite dark at night. Lincoln joked, did Allen have a candle with him in order to see? But the witness persisted that he saw it all happen clearly in front of him and that his certainty was fully placed in what he saw under the light of the bright full moon. He was given every opportunity to change his words.
When Lincoln was satisfied that Allen was given a proper chance and that he had made himself clear about the moon lighting his view of the crime, he submitted into evidence an almanac that contained information about the night the assault occurred. The defense was swift and crushing. The pages of the almanac contained a wealth of information, including the position and phase of the moon the night of August 29th 1857 and it simply did not match the account of the witness. The volume was inspected by the court, the attorneys, and by Judge Harriott all of which confirmed the information on the page, at the time of the assault the moon was no where near a position to be illuminating the scene. Rather than being directly overhead as Allen stated, Lincoln said the moon was in fact setting, which would have left the scene amid the heavy forest in significant darkness, certainly not illuminated brightly enough to see the distinct faces of Armstrong and Norris.
Lincoln for the Defense painted by Norman Rockwell in 1962 depicting Lincoln during the Duff Armstrong trail. Image via https://www.lincolnshrine.org/
Everything the prosecution had deflated within moments as members of the jury and some in the courtroom burst into laughing. Judge Harriott commented that Lincoln was wrong about one thing, that according to the almanac the moon would have been coming up at the alleged time instead of going down as he stated. Lincoln’s response was simple, “It serves my purpose just as well, just coming up or just going down, as you admit it was not over head as Mr. Allen swore it was.”
With a simple turn of a page all credibility of the prosecution was destroyed. Lincoln had other evidence including a doctor stating the injuries to the front of Metzker’s face were the result of the blow to the back of his head, but it did not matter. The almanac sealed the deal in the minds of many present in the courtroom. As the jury went into the jury room Lincoln approached Hannah Armstrong and told her that her son would be “cleared before sundown”, a prediction that quickly came true. Within an hour the jury unanimously voted to clear Duff Armstrong of all charges.
After being reunited with his mother and getting a talk from Lincoln about how he needs to care for his mother and become the man his father was Duff Armstrong went on to live a long life, dying on May 5th 1899 at sixty-six years old. Norris, the man who allegedly inflicted the blow to the back of Metzker’s head, was convicted and this time he was unable to avoid jail. He was sentenced to eight years in a state penitentiary.
“The Almanac Case” became on of the most well know chapters in the law career of Abraham Lincoln and was even used in campaigns against him during his senatorial race and his later run for the presidency where opponents alleged that he used an altered almanac to keep his old family friends safe. Lincoln became the sixteenth President of the United States just two years later in 1860. He was honored by the National Wresting Hall of Fame with the Outstanding American Award in 1992. Today, visitors to the National Wrestling Hall of Fame can visit the Lincoln Lobby with a mural showing the famous brawl between Lincoln and Jack Armstrong that would lead to a lifelong friendship and save Armstrong’s son only two years before Lincoln became President of the United States.
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Sources:
Lincoln's Defense of Duff Armstrong by J. N. Gridley.
Journal of the Illinois State Historical Society (1908-1984), Vol. 3, No. 1 (Apr., 1910). https://www.jstor.org/stable/40194333
True Story of the Almanac Used by Abraham Lincoln in the Famous Trial of Duff Armstrong by Duncan Ferguson.
Journal of the Illinois State Historical Society (1908-1984), Vol. 15, No. 3/4 (Oct., 1922 - Jan., 1923). https://www.jstor.org/stable/40186950
Abraham Lincoln and the Case of the Altered Almanac by Mel Maurer
The Cleveland Civil War Roundtable, 2006.
“Duff” Armstrong Trial: 1858 Encyclopedia.com.
By the Light of the Moon: Abraham Lincoln's Adventure in Forensic Meteorology (Part 1) By Matt Soniak. Mental Floss.com Sep 13, 2011.
Is Abraham Lincoln in the Wrestling Hall of Fame? By Dan Evon. Snopes.com May 3, 2018. https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/lincoln-wrestling-hall-of-fame/
#husheduphistory#featured articles#history#AbrahamLincoln#LincolnHistory#legalhistory#famouscrimes#famouscourtcase#IllinoisHistory#weirdhistory#forgottenhistory#strangehistory#thefarmersalmanac#themoon#JackArmstrong#Getbywithalittlehelpfrommyfriends#historyclass
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Light and Dark: The Tragic Times of the Big Bay Point Lighthouse
The waters of Lake Superior have a notorious history with those who have tried to interact with it. Responsible for over 500 shipwrecks and allegedly taking the lives of nearly 10,000 people, it has earned the nickname “Graveyard of the Great Lakes” through the most accurate and unfortunate means. Rising up over these infamous waters on the edge of a rocky cliff is the sixty-four foot tall Big Bay Point Lighthouse, a structure that seems cheery despite the unfortunate tales churning under the surface of the lake below it. This lighthouse has seen many things during its 127-year history but the water is not the only place that has seen its share of tragedy.
Map showing the number of shipwrecks in Lake Superior and calling it the Graveyard of the Great Lakes. Image via https://lakesuperiorstore.com/ShipwreckMaps
The lighthouse at Big Bay Point opened on October 20th 1896 with its white light blazing 150 feet above the water every twenty seconds to warn ships traveling nearby. The lighthouse keeper was provided with a two-story brick structure on site that could house him and his family on one side of the building and his assistant and his family on the other side. On the thirty-three acres of land there was also two cisterns, an oil house, a garage, two brick outhouses, a dock, a well house, and a brick fog signal building all situated outside a forest. It takes a certain kind of person to live the life of a lighthouse keeper, and they sometimes have very strict requirements for their crew.
The first lighthouse keeper of Big Bay Point was H. (Harry) William Prior (sometimes written as Pryor). William was the eldest of three brothers who all had experience tending to lighthouses, but it was William who became notorious for his impossibly high standards and a temper that matched his gruff red hair. William was the ruler of his domain and his extremely detailed logbooks paint the picture of a belligerent man who felt his crew was lazy and untrustworthy no matter what they did. On November 11th 1897 William left the lighthouse in order to attend the funeral of his only sister, a six-mile journey that he did on foot. When he arrived back on November 18th 1897 and saw how his assistant Ralph Heater ran the lighthouse in his absence he made his extreme disappointment known. In his logbook he wrote:
“I can not [sic] see that the assistant has done any work around the station since I left. He has not the energy to carry him down the hill and if I speak to him about it he makes no answer but goes on just as if he did not hear me; he is so much under the control of his wife he has not the hart [sic] to do anything. She has annoyed me during the season by hanging around him and hindering him from working, and she is altogether a person totally unfit to be in a place like this as she is discontented and jealous and has succeeded in making life miserable for everyone at this station.”
The sheer disdain for Heater and his wife became a theme in the logbooks. On January 1st 1898 Prior wrote about how Heater “claimed” he hurt his back, but any thought that Prior might be concerned for his coworker is quickly dispelled by the entries in February where he writes: “Mr. Heater arrived from Marquette at 6 p.m. and walked the entire distance of 33 miles in 12 hours, including two rest stops over an hour each … pretty good gait for a lame man.” This was followed by an entry on February 27th reading “Mr. Heater came across the ice to the other side of Big Bay with his wife. It is Sunday and his back is not lame today.”
Perhaps it was best for both men that Heater ended up leaving the lighthouse and his role was taken on by George Beamer, but soon after his new post began he left to serve in the Spanish American War. Upon his departure he left his wife Jennie to take his place at the lighthouse making her the only woman to ever serve at the Big Bay Point Lighthouse. Once returned though, Prior and Beamer were constantly fighting, Beamer kept insisting he could not work because he hurt his back, and by October Prior was writing:
“Asst. Beamer complains of being sick and talks of leaving the station to go home to Detroit. He is too high strung for a light keeper’s asst, between himself and his wife this season I imagine that I am keeping a Home for the Helpless Poor instead of a U.S. Lighthouse. I and my family having to do the greater part of the work while they receive the pay.”
Michigan Lighthouse Keeper crew and families. Image via mynorth.com.
On November 1st 1898 Prior dismissed Beamer, his last written thoughts on him being “this Beamer…is without exception the most ungrateful and the meanest man I have ever met.” The two problematic assistants were gone, but this meant Prior needed a new assistant and his reputation was making it difficult to find a suitable replacement. Since no outsider seemed to meet his high standards, he decided to look within the lighthouse grounds and he soon made his nineteen-year-old son George his new assistant.
Perhaps the two had an understanding or they simply knew each other well enough to work together, but for over a year George and William tended to the lighthouse side by side. Then, in April of 1901 tragedy struck the Prior family. While working one day George slipped and sliced his leg down to the bone. There are differing accounts if William was there and they sought immediate treatment or if George, fearing his father’s temper, waited until he simply could not wait anymore. The nearest hospital was located in Marquette, Michigan and the thirty-mile journey by boat and then on foot had to be nothing short of agony. Young George was checked into the fifty-bed facility on April 18th and that night William, the ever-meticulous record keeper, noted in his logbook “he will have to remain in hospital for treatment.”
The injury and any delay in treatment would prove to be catastrophic to the young assistant. The wound was too severe to simply stitch up and it became infected. Eventually gangrene set in and quickly took over the tissue in his leg. Treatment and medication stopped working and almost two months later on June 13th George Prior died in the hospital. On that day his father wrote in his logbook, “1:30 p.m. Keeper summoned to Marquette to bury his son who died this morning.”
William Prior had a reputation for being the most difficult, the most demanding, and the hardest of iron fists but everything fell apart on that June morning. The death of his son completely shattered him and he spiraled into a deep state of depression. The work fell to the side and the entries in the logbook became less frequent and shorter until June 27th when the entry simply reads “General work.” That was the last entry written by the lighthouse keeper. On June 28th 1901William Prior disappeared. He was last seen walking into the woods on the grounds of the lighthouse and despite an extensive search he simply could not be found. The following fall his widow and four children piled onto a boat and headed for Marquette never to return to the lighthouse.
The following November 1902 a man named Fred Babcock was walking through the woods around the Big Bay Point Lighthouse when he made the horrible discovery. Hanging from a tree approximately half a mile from the lighthouse was a skeleton with some tufts of red hair still visible. An entry was made into the logbook that day and it read:
“Mr. Fred Babcock came to the station 12:30 pm. While hunting in the woods one and a half mile south of the station this noon he found a skeleton of a man hanging to a tree. We went to the place with him and found that the clothing and everything tally with the former keeper of this station who has been missing for seventeen months.”
Newspapers reported the finding in cold detail, writing about how the rope was tied “around the fleshless neck” and without mentioning the death of George, only reported that “…a few months over a year ago, Mr. Pryor wandered off in a fit of temporary insanity, and was never seen again…”
Unfortunately, another tragedy would be tied to the Big Bay Point Lighthouse almost fifty years after the body of William Prior was found in the woods. In 1941 the lighthouse was automated and like many other lighthouses it became a training location for the United States Army and the National Guard. In the 1950s large guns were installed on the cliff to use during practice shooting over Lake Superior and the soldiers camped out in the surrounding fields and woods. One of the men stationed at Big Bay Point was Korean War veteran and member of the 768th anti-aircraft battalion at Camp McCoy in Wisconsin, 38-year-old Lieutenant Coleman Peterson who was there with his wife Charlotte. Lt. Peterson was known to be a very jealous man and on at least one occasion he and Charlotte had gotten into a fight outside the nearby Lumberjack Tavern because he accused her of flirting with another soldier stationed near the Big Bay Lighthouse.
Aerial photo of the Big Bay Point Lighthouse circa 1947. Image via https://www.lighthousefriends.com.
The Lumberjack Tavern was less than five miles from the lighthouse and it was frequented by those stationed there. On the night of July 31st 1952 Charlotte was out drinking at the tavern and she returned back home with a black eye. When her husband confronted her about it, she told him that the owner of the tavern raped her. Peterson left for the tavern and when he arrived just before 12:30 a.m. he walked through the screen door, went straight up to the bar where owner Maurice (Mike) Chenoweth was standing, and shot him six times at point blank range with a 9 mm German Luger automatic pistol. With Chenoweth dead behind the bar he calmly turned around and walked back out into the night as if the entire scene never happened.
Peterson was arrested and when he was brought into court on September 15th 1952 he was represented by John D. Voelker. Voelker used a defense called “irresistible impulse”, stating that Peterson killed Chenoweth due to a bout of temporary insanity. It was a defense that had not been used since 1886 but after only a few hours Peterson was found not guilty by reason of insanity on September 23, 1952. But, as stated in the court, this insanity was only temporary. He was examined days later, declared sane, and released to resume a normal life. Some accounts state that he fled the region, never paying Voelker and soon divorcing Charlotte. No evidence was ever found pointing to Chenoweth being guilty of the crime.
Peterson was free but John D. Voelker was not done with this case. Under the pen name Robert Traver he wrote the book Anatomy of a Murder based on the Peterson murder case. The book was on the bestseller list for sixty-five consecutive weeks and has sold more than four million copies in twenty languages. In 1959 the book was adapted into a film starring Jimmy Stewart. A rare occurrence at the time, parts of the film were shot on location at the Lumberjack Tavern where the original murder took place and in 2012 the film was selected for preservation by the Library of Congress for being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant".
The Lumerjack Tavern with sign advertising Anatomy of a Murder outside. Image via remax.com.
Today, the Lumberjack Tavern is still standing, its walls filled with newspaper clippings and with signs out front proclaiming it as the actual place where the crimes of Anatomy of a Murder unfolded. The Big Bay Point Lighthouse also still stands in the same place where tragedy unfolded in 1901. Today, it operates as a bed and breakfast and its current owners are well aware of its history, partially because there are reports that its past is still very much present at the lighthouse. As told by the current owner to NorthernExpress.com in 2021, “It was haunted when I acquired it…” and there have been reports of footsteps, things moving in other rooms, faucets turning on, lights turning on and off, and some report seeing split-second glimpses of the red-haired William Prior in mirrors, still watching over the lighthouse he lived for and that eventually took the lives of both him and his son.
When the Big Bay Point Lighthouse was officially opened it was meant to be a literal beacon, guiding those away from danger. Its light could not save everyone though, and within its first fifty-two years both William Prior and Lieutenant Coleman Peterson succumbed to “temporary insanity” and became tied to some of the darkest chapters of the lighthouse’s history.
Big Bay Point Lighthouse circa 2019. Image via Rossograph on Wikipedia.com
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Sources:
The Tragedy and Haunting at The Big Bay Lighthouse by Mike Sonnenburg. June 6th 2016. lostinmichigan.net/tragedy-haunting-big-bay-lighthouse/.
Do You Dare Stay the Night at Michigan’s Most Haunted Lighthouse? by Dianna Stampfler. October 16th 2019. https://mynorth.com/2019/10/michigans-most-haunted-lighthouse-big-bay-point-lighthouse/
The Haunting of Big Bay Point Light of the Souls by Brighid Driscoll. Northern Express October 23rd 2021. https://www.northernexpress.com/news/feature/the-haunting-of-big-bay-point/
Big Bay Point Lighthouse https://www.lighthousefriends.com/light.asp?ID=574
Memories of a Murder by Lisa Didier. The Chicago Tribune August 20th 1989.
https://www.chicagotribune.com/news/ct-xpm-1989-08-20-8901060128-story.html
Seen on Screen: Anatomy of a Murder in Big Bay by Talia Salem. June 30th 2014.
#husheduphistory#featuredarticles#michiganhistory#michigan#BigBayPointLighthouse#LighthouseHistory#HauntedHistory#AnatomyofaMurder#famouscrime#truecrime#tragicstory#tragictale#tragichistory#sadhistory#scaryhistory#famouscourtcases#famousbooks#lighthouse#historyclass#truth is stranger than fiction#truestory#forgottenhistory#strangehistory#weirdhistory
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Forgotten for Football: The Horrific Thanksgiving Day Disaster of 1900
Since the late 1800s Thanksgiving and football have gone hand in hand with the fevered fanbase and anticipation staying strong over the centuries. The first college football game was played on Thanksgiving Day 1876 as part of the Intercollegiate Football Association Championship, and it did not take long for fans to choose their sides. By the time 1900 appeared on calendar pages the University of California Berkeley and Stanford University were already fierce rivals, playing against each other every Thanksgiving since 1892 in a clash that became affectionately known as simply “The Big Game.” People always had high expectations for the game, but no one walking into the event ever expected to encounter tragedy.
The Stanford University football team circa 1900. Image via Wikimedia Commons.
No one can say the warning signs were not there. In the early days of the game there were no stadiums and it was played in any large field or industrial area that could fit them. The last few Big Game events between University of California Berkeley and Stanford were played at Recreation Field in San Francisco and in 1897 grandstands were built to accommodate the crowds. These seats were not meant to last, they were built quickly to fit 10,000 people with meager roofs that were only put there to keep spectators dry and definitely not to be used for extra seating. But, that is exactly what happened in 1897. While over 15,000 people scrambled and squeezed into the stands to see the game many others looked for alternative means to watch. Contractor J.C. Weir saw the danger and tried to warn those in charge, but his words were ignored while waves of young boys climbed up the stands and crowded the roofs to set their eyes on the teams below. They almost made it through the entire game, but in the final moments the roofs began to buckle, and then they broke. Hundreds of children came crashing down onto those seated below them, intermingled with the wood and metal that was never meant to hold their weight. Some people were knocked unconscious, some were left bleeding but remarkably only one 10-year-old-boy was injured enough to seek medical care and everyone else was, for the most part, left unscathed. One witness to the collapse remarked that the fact that no one was killed or left with permanent injuries was “miraculous”, and indeed it was, but not enough for anyone to learn from it.
The collapse of the grandstands was the last thing on the minds of the attendees of the Big Game taking place on November 29th 1900. The games were always exciting and even though the tradition was fairly new, by 1900 the crowds were massive and the tempers hot despite the teams only having a history of nine Big Game encounters. Of the nine games, Stanford had won seven despite their football team only being founded the same year as their first game and tens of thousands of people couldn’t wait to see if University of California Berkeley would come roaring back. Like previous years, the game was to take place in San Francisco, and once again no one could have anticipated the sheer size of the crowd. It had rained earlier that morning, but when the weather passed the doors of the surrounding neighborhoods and the incoming train cars were swinging open leading to 19,000 people swarming Recreation Field by 10:30am. A ticket for the game cost one dollar, an amount that wasn’t an easy price for many younger fans that desperately wanted to watch the biggest event of their year. So, just as they did several years earlier, the fans got inventive. Some climbed water towers, others tried to dig under fences to get in, but there was one thing that seemed to be an obvious solution for those needing a bird's eye view of the Big Game.
Flyer for the Big Game on November 29th 1900. Image via Stanfordmag.org.
Across from Recreation Field was San Francisco and Pacific Glass Works, a brand new factory that was gearing up to open on December 3rd. Those putting up the makeshift grandstands remembered the collapse of 1897 and they told those in charge of the factory that they were required to do everything possible to prevent anyone from gathering on the roof. The Superintendent of the factory James Davis was in complete agreement with precautions being taken and he was given six tickets to the game for his compliance, but when the time came the workers that were stationed to prevent anyone from getting on the roof were simply overwhelmed. People dug under fences to get to the grounds, flung open the gates, and they poured in. According to one witness, “It was like trying to turn back the waves at the beach. The kids kept pouring through the fence anxious to see the kickoff." Factory workers who could sense the danger went into the streets, looking for police officers to help control the crowd and get the people off the roof but they could not find anyone who could assist. Soon between 500 and 1000 people were crammed onto the factory roof that was only built to withstand forty pounds per square inch. Even if someone wanted to escape it was impossible to move through the crowd to do so. They all gazed ahead, not paying any attention to the tell-tale signs around them signaling the danger they were all in.
Twenty minutes into the game the crowds in the stands were electric. Their voices were roaring and the bands for Stanford and University of California Berkeley were booming, beating the thousands into a frenzy. The atmosphere on top of the glass works building was just as ecstatic, but in a matter of seconds it shifted to chaos. A portion of the roof of the building gave way and in a scene that was unfortunately familiar the fans began to fall. But, unlike the collapse of 1897 that had relatively minor injuries, this time the spectators fell into an absolute nightmare.
This building was a glass factory, and although it was not due to officially begin production just yet, it was partially operational in preparation for the opening day. One thing that was up and functional was a furnace, filled with fires strong enough to melt glass and with an exterior temperature of approximately 500 degrees. Working in the factory that day were Ignace Jocz and Clarence Jeter, and they could undoubtedly hear the roars of the crowd before humanity started to unexpectedly rain down on them from above. The hole in the roof opened at the worst possible spot and between sixty and one hundred people fell forty-five feet into the factory with some of them landing directly on top of the glowing furnace.
Image of the roof of the factory just before the accident. Image via 30 Nov 1900, Fri The San Francisco Examiner Newspapers.com
It's impossible to imagine the scene and the sounds that filled the factory as they all hit the metal or, if they were lucky, the brick floor. Once they hit most broke enough bones to render them immobile and those that hit the furnace stuck to the sizzling top. To make things even worse the furnace was encased by binding rods surrounding the machine in what was essentially a cage, trapping anyone who fell in the spaces. Those who missed the cage were just as unlucky, some of the falling bodies struck fuel pipes on their way down, severing them and sending boiling oil through the air and dousing the already burning bodies that then exploded into flame. Adding to this already unimaginable tragedy was the fact that almost everyone who plummeted through the ceiling that day were children, some boys as young as nine years old, that were the most likely to not have the dollar to buy a ticket and the least amount of concern about climbing to the roof of a building to watch the game.
Illustration of the inside of the factory showing the furnace and binding rods. Image via 30 Nov 1900, Fri The San Francisco Examiner Newspapers.com.
Jocz, Clarence, and some other employees of the factory jumped into action doing what little could be done to attempt to save some of the victims, grabbing bodies and throwing them out of the way and using long metal hooks that were normally used to stir molten glass to hook people that landed on the furnace and drag them down. Watching the horrific scene from above were approximately twenty-seven people who also fell through the ceiling but somehow were able to cling to the rafters and the walls to avoid being roasted alive. One witness, young Thomas Curran, survived the ordeal by grasping a ceiling joist with his legs, forced to hang upside-down while chaos erupted under him. He later stated: “As I clung there, I saw the poor fellow who had been chatting with me strike the furnace. He curled up like a worm in that heat.” The sound of the bands and cheers of the game could still be heard filling the air.
Incredibly, the crowds gathered to watch the Big Game were greatly unaware of the tragedy unfolding nearby. Spectators heard the crash but some believed it was simply a planned distraction by the opposing team, with one fan yelling “It’s a job!” Others believed it was just normal sounds coming from the industrial park and within moments the focus was back on the field. Those who did know that something was amiss were the residents of the surrounding towns and they quickly began to swarm the factory, screaming the names of their sons who had gone off that morning to enjoy a football game. The masses also ran to the morgue and toward the wagons being driven by the coroner, some filled with bodies burned and disfigured beyond recognition and others filled only with what remained such as socks, shoes, neck ties, and the contents of small pockets. Every possible vehicle was summoned to help, and a frantic search began for doctors that could be pulled away from their Thanksgiving meals to help the deeply wounded masses that lay on the factory floor in sheer agony while the smell of burning flesh filled the air. As the players from Stanford were marched out onto the street for an impromptu victory parade to the nearby Palace Hotel, other streets were filled with the screams and frenzy of the tragedy that seemed to have happened in another world from the game that happened only two blocks away.
As the news spread that day as to what happened and the numbers began to rise the city was plunged into a deep state of sorrow. Hospitals became overwhelmed and the official count declared that thirteen people had died in the factory with eighty-six others critically wounded. As more recovered, others still died and soon the funerals began. On the following Sunday alone there were nine burials that had to take place back-to-back from 9am to 4pm.
Newspaper story about the accident. Image via 30 Nov 1900, Fri The San Francisco Examiner Newspapers.com.
Amazingly, reactions to what happened remained as separated in the newspaper pages as they did on the streets the day of the tragedy. The cover of the New York Times talked about the horror of the deaths at the glass factory, but the Sports section beamed of the Stanford victory as if nothing else had happened that day, calling the game the “closest and most exciting game of football ever played by the elevens of the two California universities." No players or coaches commented on the unspeakable horror that unfolded within earshot of the game that day. The college publications from both Stanford and University of California Berkeley carried on as if it never even happened with the Stanford Daily writing a 1,500-word front-page story about the victory with no mention of the tragedy other than a casual mention of a potential rematch to raise money for the affected families that never ended up happening.
Although the city of San Francisco felt the deaths deeply, it seemed they too wanted to move beyond it as quickly as possible. When a grand jury was assembled to determine who was at fault for the Big Game disaster it had an air about it that seemed like it was purely for appearances. The blame was placed on James Davis as the Superintendent of the San Francisco and Pacific Glass Works and then it shifted to the police for not assigning enough people to the game. Shockingly, with no one to blame and people wanting to simply move on, the blame shifted to the dead. Seven days after the tragedy, and with victims still succumbing to injuries, the jury declared that “[T]he deceased had no business being there...No one can be held responsible for their deaths other than themselves." No one fought them on this. In the minds of most, the story of the collapse was over.
The newspapers and courts might have decided the case was closed, but for many what happened that day never went away. On December 4th 1900 young Fred Lilly died in the City and County Hospital after suffering for months from a fractured skull he sustained in the fall. He never fully regained steady consciousness but in moments of delirium he still acted as if he was watching and enjoying the football game that was playing in front of him before everything suddenly stopped. Three years after the roof collapse twenty-eight-year-old Thomas Pedler passed away after enduring spinal surgery, paralysis, and the amputation of both legs. His demise marked the twenty-third and last death resulting from the disaster, fifteen of which being children that died before their eighteenth birthday.
To this day the tragedy, known now as the Thanksgiving Day Disaster or The Big Game, is the deadliest accident to ever happen during an American sporting event. Now the glassworks building is gone, replaced with a building belonging to the University of California. The gravestones are also gone and most of the final resting places of victims disappeared from memory and fell into ruin after San Francisco introduced regulations forbidding new burials, also in the year 1900. One small reminder of the incredible catastrophe can be found in the Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery just south of the city. Here lies a tiny stone cross that was meant to only be a temporary marker. It is inscribed with the name Cornelius McMahon, a twelve-year-old boy who died in the Thanksgiving Day Disaster and now remains as the only physical reminder of the deadliest day in American sports history.
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Sources:
“The Big Game Disaster of 1900” by Sam Scott. Stanford Magazine November/December 2015.
“Big Game was marred by tragedy in 1900 contest” by Edvins Beitiks. November 17, 1997.
“The Thanksgiving Disaster that Most People Haven’t Heard About” by Marina Manoukian. November 19, 2022.
“Sudden Death: Boys Fell to Their Doom in S.F.'s Forgotten Disaster” by SR Weekly Staff. Aug 15, 2012.
“Thanksgiving Day Tragedy” ThePigskinDispatch.com
https://pigskindispatch.com/home/Football-Fun-Facts/Random-Football-Facts/Stadium-Disasters/Stanford-Vs-Cal-1900-Tragedy
#HushedUpHistory#featuredarticles#history#CaliforniaHistory#SportsHistory#tragichistory#horriblehistory#Footballhistory#TheBigGame#ThanksgivingDayDisaster#historyclass#strangehistory#forgottenhistory#tragictale#truestory
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Hammersmith: A Haunting, A Hoax, and a Tragic Hunt
The calendar page had barely turned over to the new year and twenty-nine-year-old Francis Smith was experiencing one of the worst times of his life. He sat before the court positively morose for what he had done. On that awful night of January 3rd 1804 he immediately surrendered to the constable, deeply regretting how it all unfolded. Now all he could do was plead for mercy and understanding. After all, at that moment he truly believed he was acting on behalf of the entire borough when he shot the gun.
Over the course of twelve months the West London district of Hammersmith fell into a state of apprehension and deep fear. It all began when a man committed suicide by slashing his own throat and, in a move that went against all rule and beliefs, he was buried in the consecrated ground of the churchyard ensuring that his soul would never find peace. It was after this controversial burial that people began to report seeing a figure, draped in a white shroud, appearing throughout Hammersmith. Surely this had to be the tormented spirit of the man who committed suicide and was then committed to sacred ground. What other explanation could there be? If the incidents remained as ghostly sightings it may have never progressed beyond a simple haunted tale, but the encounters got violent, and then people allegedly began to die. A brewer’s servant named Thomas Broom later told how he was walking through the churchyard with a friend one night when he was suddenly grabbed violently by the throat. It was only when his friend turned to see what happened that he claimed the specter “gave me a twist round, and I saw nothing; I gave a bit of a push out with my fist, and felt something soft, like a great coat.” Another pair of stories alleged that an elderly woman and a pregnant woman both encountered the malevolent spirit on separate occasions near the churchyard and they were both so terrified that when they returned home they could not leave their beds, dying there a few days later.
An image of the Hammersmith Ghost attacking a woman. Image via The Newgate Calendar, Part III (1826), http://www.exclassics.com/newgate/ngconts.htm.
The people of Hammersmith were scared but some were also skeptical, believing this was not a ghost, but a cruel and devious human being. Ghost or human, either way their reign of terror had to be stopped. At this point Hammersmith did not have a formal police force so in order to protect the people some of its own citizens began patrolling the streets after dark. One of these men guarding the night was Francis Smith, armed with a shotgun, and another was night watchman William Girdler. On the night of January 3rd at approximately 10:30pm Girdler ran into Smith and told him that later that night he would meet up with him and they would look for the ghost together. Girdler knew what he was looking for after all, only a few days earlier on December 29thhe saw the ghost and chased him down but the figure disappeared into the darkness.
Engraving of the Hammersmith Ghost appearing in Kirby's Wonderful and Scientific Museum circa 1804. Image via Wikipedia.
Another man walking the streets that night was thirty-two year old bricklayer Thomas Millwood. He was visiting with his sister, mother, and father and as the clock moved closer to 11pm he stood up, said goodnight to his parents, and prepared to head back home for the evening. His sister Anne watched him walk away from the door. She wished he had listened to her and worn something over his work clothes of linen pants, a waistcoat, and an apron. They were recently washed and glowed bright white in the darkness. He had already been mistaken for the notorious Hammersmith Ghost at least twice before but he met any accusation with a scoff.
Within minutes she heard the voice, “Damn you. Who are you and what do you want? I’ll shoot you if you don’t speak.” Then she heard the gunshot.
Anne ran out into the dark and before long she made the horrifying discovery of her brother laying in the road, dead in a pool of blood, with his face mauled by a bullet. She was not alone with her brother, already with his body was nearby wine merchant John Locke, William Girdler, and Francis Smith. What happened spilled out of their mouths and fell into place quickly. Locke heard the gunshot and soon afterwards Smith rushed up to him, severely distressed, and told him he had just shot a man and asked him to go back to the scene with him. After they got back to Millwood’s body they were quickly joined by Girdler and Anne Millwood. When the constable arrived at the scene Smith accepted full responsibility for what happened. He was taken to Newgate Prison to await trial and the body of Thomas Millwood was taken to Black Lion Inn where it was examined by a surgeon who determined that the bullet went through his jaw and hit his spinal cord killing him instantly.
Smith’s trial began one week later and it might have seemed like a fairly straightforward case. He did admit to shooting Millwood, but it was not that simple. Despite taking responsibility for Millwood’s death, Smith entered a plea of Not Guilty based on his account that he felt he was not hunting an actual ghost, but a person acting as a ghost and terrorizing Hammersmith. When he saw the white figure he knew he was facing a man and he called out to him twice, telling him to name himself. When he did not stop or speak Smith said he became fearful for his life because the figure kept approaching him. He shot, but did not aim to kill, it was just an all around unfortunate accident. There were no witnesses to the crime so heavy reliance was placed on the few who arrived at the scene. Locke stated that when Smith met him and asked him to accompany him back to Millwood he was genuinely distraught and horrified at what happened. Several others testified about Smith’s honesty, integrity, and all-around good character. The only voice that spoke of any faults came from Anne Millwood who told the court that Smith shot so quickly after calling out for her brother’s name that there was no way he could have responded in time.
Illustration of the encounter between Smith and Millwood. Image via crimemagazine.com.
Smith had people vouching for him, but the judge Lord Chief Baron Macdonald was hearing none of it. He addressed his jury and plainly explained that there was no gray area here, that it was either murder or it was not. Smith went out into the night carrying a gun which spoke to his intent to harm someone. Millwood was simply walking home when he met his end. In the judge’s eyes this was not self-defense and Millwood was doing nothing to warrant Smith shooting his gun. According to him, it did not matter who Smith intended to hunt down. It also did not matter if Millwood was deliberately dressed as a ghost to scare the residents of Hammersmith, that offence did not deserve being shot. According to the judge no matter how the situation was spun, it occurred because of malice and this was why Smith must be found guilty of murder.
Surprisingly, the jury did not go along with the judge’s advice and when they returned it was with a verdict of guilty, but guilty of manslaughter. This was not accepted by Lord Chief Baron Macdonald and his fellow judges once again reminded the jury that they could not find Smith guilty of manslaughter, because it was not a possible outcome when the choices were either guilty of murder or acquitted of murder. Once again the jury consulted with each other and finding no other option, they returned with their verdict: Francis Smith was guilty of murder.
With the verdict came the sentence. Smith was sentenced to death by hanging followed by dissection the following Monday. Inconsolable, Smith had to be held up and carried from the court.
However, as hard-lined as Lord Chief Baron Macdonald was he was well aware of the public opinion that Smith did not deserve to be sentenced as a cold blooded killer. He added “The case gentlemen shall be referred to His Majesty immediately” to his judgement. This gave Smith one more chance, when a case was brought before the King he had the ultimate power to override and change the sentence. For Smith, those few words from Lord Chief Baron Macdonald saved his life. Before the sun rose the next morning his sentence was reduced to one year imprisonment with hard labor.
The Black Lion Inn, where Thomas Millwood’s body was taken and where Smith allegedly spent time before the shooting. Image via Wikipedia.
The Hammersmith Ghost, the terrifying being who attacked innocent citizens and was allegedly responsible for suffering, turmoil, and even death, was never heard from again. This is because two days after the death of Thomas Millwood the ghost came forward. A local shoemaker named John Graham admitted that he was the Hammersmith Ghost and that he had been dressing up as the specter to scare his apprentices as an act of revenge because they had been scaring his children with ghost stories. Graham surrendered to the authorities, but because there was no clear legal guidance on this situation he was set free on bail and all traces of him disappeared from record.
Francis Smith was given a full pardon on July 14th 1804.
While the haunting hoax promptly ended, the Hammersmith Ghost trial had far reaching implications when it exposed that there was very little defined in law when it came to people who acted out in a scenario where they believed action was required and carried out under good intentions or when the person acting out misread the situation. Did mistaken belief warrant a criminal charge? Smith was responsible for the death of Millwood, but he believed he was acting against someone who was bringing terror to the people of Hammersmith. The scenario would be brought up in a number of legal cases until it was finally settled in 1983 with the case of Regina v Williams during which the Court of Appeal finally clarified that:
“In a case of self-defence, where self-defence or the prevention of crime is concerned, if the jury came to the conclusion that the defendant believed, or may have believed, that he was being attacked or that a crime was being committed, and that force was necessary to protect himself or to prevent the crime, then the prosecution have not proved their case. If however the defendant’s alleged belief was mistaken and if the mistake was an unreasonable one, that may be a peaceful reason for coming to the conclusion that the belief was not honestly held and should be rejected. Even if the jury come to the conclusion that the mistake was an unreasonable one, if the defendant may genuinely have been labouring under it, he is entitled to rely upon it.”
In 1804 the people of Hammersmith were living in fear of a supernatural entity. This ghost story is still told, but not in front of campfires or on gloomy nights when the veil feels thin. The Hammersmith Ghost died in the same moment as Tom Millwood and today it is carried on not as a spine-chilling story about West London, but as a cautionary tale and a legal precedent that hung over the courts and haunted law practitioners for almost two centuries before it was finally laid to rest.
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Sources:
The Case of the Murdered Ghost
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/3364467.stm
The Hammersmith Ghost and the Strange Death of Thomas Millwood by Martin Baggoley http://www.crimemagazine.com/hammersmith-ghost-and-strange-death-thomas-millwood
The Case of a Ghost Haunted England for Over Two Hundred Years by Kelly Buchanan https://blogs.loc.gov/law/2015/10/the-case-of-a-ghost-haunted-england-for-over-two-hundred-years/
The Time Someone Shot A Ghost Dead In Hammersmith by Jane Alexander https://londonist.com/london/features/hammersmith-ghost-story-murder
#husheduphistory#featuredarticles#Britishhistory#LondonHistory#legalhistory#paranormalhistory#ghoststory#famouscourtcases#tragictale#tragichistory#weirdhistory#strangehistory#forgottenhistory#creepyhistory#historyclass#history#oddhistory#truth is stranger than fiction#truestory#hoax#tragicmistake#ghost#courtroom
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No Laughing Matter: The Clowns and the Turmoil that Changed Toronto
In the summer of 1855 the city of Toronto was a far cry from the bustling capital city that it is today. Much closer to resembling the Wild West, the city was filled to the brim with bars, liquor shops, and brothels catering to the rotating population of approximately 40,000 people. Mary Ann Armstrong ran one of Toronto’s many “clubs” on the corner of King and Jarvis Streets and the combination bar and brothel was always busy, especially when new faces were passing through town. The sights, sounds, and stories that originated there are incalculable, but on one July night Armstrong’s establishment was the setup for an incident that sounds like a joke but was unfortunately very real with a horrible punchline. “A clown and a fireman walk into a bar…”
On the morning of July 12th 1855 a large group of travelers made their way into Toronto, but these visitors were a little more unusual than the normal passers-by, this was the S.B. Howes' Star Troupe Menagerie & Circus. S.B. Howe was one of the first circus companies to bring their act on tour traveling to one city and taking up residency for a few days before packing up their tents and disappearing from the scene. The circus was only supposed to be in town for two days and after their first performance a group of clowns decided to take in the town, eventually ending up at Mary Ann Armstrong’s building.
Illustration of King Street in Toronto circa 1855. Image via Wikimedia Commons.
The image might sound funny, a group of clowns walking into a rowdy, tough, and intimidating brothel and bar, but these clowns were not to be messed with. Their jobs went far beyond entertaining and included the physical labor of building, breaking down, packing up, and moving their entire community to each city on the tour. They were strong, bold, and did not back down from a fight, which was a recipe for disaster considering the other people visiting Armstrong’s that night.
Advertisement for the circus. Image via torontodreamsproject.blogspot.com/com/.
At this point in time fire departments were not formally established and individual companies formed privately and functioned for profit, racing to fires and charging a price before putting them out. It was not uncommon for rival fire companies to clash in the streets, sometimes requiring local law enforcement to intervene. Only two weeks before the circus came to town one local company, the Hook and Ladder Firefighting Company, was involved in a violent street brawl with another fire company that became known as the Fireman’s Riot. They were an aggressive group, and tonight they were visiting Armstrong’s establishment at the same time as the clowns.
There has never been a singular cause identified for what happened next. One account says that the clowns cut the line to get into the building. Another says one of the firemen named Fraser knocked a hat off the head of a clown named Meyers and refused to pick it up when asked. Others simply say it was a case of someone getting loud with someone else who did not take kindly to their tone. The result was an all-out brawl and by the time the police arrived the firemen were all beaten to a bloody pulp with two of them requiring medical attention at a hospital. The band of clowns simply went back out into the night to continue partying.
The situation was bad enough as is, but the political climate of the area made the conflict cut deeper. Much of Toronto’s population was made up of Irish Catholics but the city government was deeply Irish Protestant and Tory elite, supported by the Orange Order, who were also firmly in the corner of the bloodied Hook and Ladder Firefighting Company. As far as the fire department was concerned the clowns had just declared war.
When the S.B. Howes' Star Troupe Menagerie & Circus came into town they pitched their tents along the waterfront at the site of Fair Green, near the St. Lawrence Market. On the day after the brothel brawl, Friday the 13th, the merchants in the market were few and far between, there was word that something bad was brewing. Slowly they began to arrive to the circus grounds, a large mob of Orangemen of the Orange Order, and before long the rocks began to fly. The circus performers were able to hold back the assault for a short amount of time but when the fire department arrived it was not to help the entertainers, it was to destroy them. The members of the Hook and Ladder Firefighting Company arrived carrying pikes, pipes, and axes. They tore apart the circus tents, beat anyone in their paths, set fires, and knocked over wagons with a bloodthirsty ferocity. Police Chief Samuel Sherwood, a former tavern owner with no formal training, arrived and brought in a handful of constables throughout the day but never put a focused effort into quelling the violence. How could he? He was a part of the Orange Order himself and when later questioned about the level of power he had in his position as Chief his answer was “A very small one indeed…I give orders and instructions to the force, but cannot get them obeyed. As soon as I am out of sight, the men do as they please.” When the Mayor arrived at the scene he took matters into his own hands, wrestling an ax from a fireman who was about to murder one of the clowns and calling in a militia to finally put a stop to the violence. The clowns and other performers took what was left of their belongings and fled the city as quickly as possible.
Painting of Toronto showing the site of Fair Green. Image via http://torontodreamsproject.blogspot.com/
The aftermath of the riot was unfortunately familiar. When the Fireman’s Riot happened only weeks beforehand the memories of the police department and the firemen involved were suddenly and inexplicably fuzzy and they could not recall a single member of the Orange Order that was on the scene. One constable said it was too dark out to see any faces and another even said that the entire ordeal was carefully planned so that only people unfamiliar to the police would be involved. The exact same scenario played out again after the attack on the circus clowns and suddenly no one who advanced on the tents could recall anything that happened. Out of the entire mob only seventeen people were ever arrested and when they went to court every single person who attacked the circus that day was acquitted.
Article about the investigation of the Toronto Circus Riot. Image via torontoist.com.
The official word on what happened may have been hazy but the public saw the corruption very clearly and while they could not create change overnight, the Toronto Clown Riot proved to be a fatal blow to the too-long accepted state of things. After the riot it became much more common to question the conveniently selective memories of the police force that was given absolute power with no form of training. The formerly iron-clad coverups for the actions of the fire departments corroded and began to lose strength. The voices against the Orange Order got louder and louder.
One of the biggest indicators that the public had had enough came with the next election when for the first time in twenty years a mayor was elected that was backed by the Irish Catholics despite the hardest efforts of the Orange Order to prevent it. Reform and organization was needed and in 1858 the first provincially approved board put a restructuring of the new city government and police force into motion. In February of 1859 the entire police force was fired (roughly half that were not part of the Toronto Clown Riot were reinstated), a new chief was brought on board, and finally Toronto had a police force that was out of private hands, nonpolitical, and under close watch by the newly established city government.
The fates of many of the S.B. Howes' Star Troupe Menagerie & Circus clowns are greatly unknown and the clown named Meyers has faded into time. Little could he or any of the clowns imagined on that July night that getting into a fist fight with a gang of firemen in a brothel would lay the foundation for the establishment of Toronto’s first formal police department.
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Sources:
“Hidden History: The Toronto Circus Riot” by Lenny Flank. August 20th 2019
https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2019/8/20/1870769/-Hidden-History-The-Toronto-Circus-Riot
“The Toronto Circus Riot of 1855 — the day the clowns picked the wrong Toronto brothel” by Adam Bunch. October 2nd 2012.
http://spacing.ca/toronto/2012/10/02/the-toronto-circus-riot-of-1855-the-day-the-clowns-picked-the-wrong-toronto-brothel/
“How a Fight With Clowns Led to the Birth of Modern Policing in Toronto “ by Patrick Metzger. September 12th 2013.
https://torontoist.com/2013/09/how-a-fight-with-clowns-led-to-the-birth-of-modern-policing-in-toronto/
“Infamous Clown Brawl in Brothel Gets Entire Toronto Police Force Fired “ by Sean Kernan. November 29th 2021.
https://medium.com/lessons-from-history/infamous-clown-fight-in-brothel-gets-entire-toronto-police-force-fired-ceca014addc6
“Clowns fighting firemen in Canada in 1855.” opposite-lock.com/topic/22965/clowns-fighting-firemen-in-canada-in-1855
“The Toronto Circus Riot of 1855 “ http://torontodreamsproject.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-circus-riot.html
#HushedUpHistory#featuredarticles#CanadianHistory#CanadaHistory#TorontoHistory#TorontoFireHistory#TorontoPoliceHistory#CircusHistory#LegalHistory#FamousRiot#CanadaRiot#Clowns#weirdhistory#strangehistory#forgottenhistory#truestory#truthisstrangerthanfiction#historyclass#weirdstory#strangestory#history#history class
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Bloodthristy Greed: The Terrible Trail of the Witch of Yorkshire
William Perigo didn’t know what to do anymore. For over a year he and his wife Rebecca trusted Mary and Miss Blythe with their entire wellbeing, but things were not going to plan. Rebecca was still not well, and William could not ask Miss Blythe directly what was going on. After all, they had never met Miss Blythe, they only communicated with her through Mary, her messenger, who took great care to make sure all of Miss Blythe’s requirements were impeccably met. The Perigos followed every order but this was no doctor advising them. Miss Blythe was a psychic and reader “of the stars.”
Most recently Mary brought distressing news from the psychic, an illness was headed to William and Rebecca. But, they had nothing to fear. Mary brought them a solution, a special powder crafted by Miss Blythe that was to be eaten with puddings and special honey. They ate with confidence they were going to be safe. They were absolutely wrong.
Mary Bateman was born to a North Yorkshire family in the 1760s. She was fortunate to be born into a comfortable family, but that comfort did not keep her from developing some unfortunate habits. When Mary was very young she discovered a love of stealing and by the time she left home at the age of twelve to embark on a life as a domestic servant she had already developed some very sticky hands. But, her hobby was risky, and she often got caught. She was caught so many times that she eventually ran out of local clients, all more than aware of her reputation. With her list of potential employers running out she moved to Leeds where a friend of her mother arranged for her to get work as a seamstress. It was honest work, but Mary wanted more so she began her own side business, claiming she was a witch who could tell the future, remove curses, and concoct love potions.
Leeds could have been a fresh start for Mary but old habits die hard and she could not stop stealing any chance she got. When she married wheelwright John Bateman he probably did not envision the life he was in for, having to pack up and move on a regular basis to avoid his wife’s crimes being discovered. Perhaps looking back and seeing how much her life was uprooted by her stealing, or seeing how this was going to become more and more difficult with John and their children in tow, Mary changed gears and began working for Mrs. Moore, the “seventh child of a seventh child” who was capable of using supernatural means to avenge anyone who wronged her clients. It was after working with Mrs. Moore that Mary began working with the illusive and powerful Miss Blythe.
Building that housed a former home of Mary Bateman in Leeds. Image via Lajmmoore - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=115947286
Working with Miss Blythe was very lucrative. People came to Mary’s home and paid her well for relaying their woes to the great and powerful Miss Blythe who would undoubtedly work her magic, consult the skies, create charms, and guide them to their best life. Miss Blythe revealed all. But one thing that Mary did not reveal was that Miss Blythe (and Mrs. Moore before her) were not real people. The sought-after psychic that Mary had a seemingly exclusive connection to was completely made up. What was entirely real was the money people willingly put into Mary’s hands, for access to Miss Blythe, again and again and again.
In 1803 Mary met three women from the Kitchin family, two Quaker sisters and their mother. The women owned a drapery shop in Leeds and they all became very friendly with Mary even helping them in their shop. Of course, before long the Kitchins began asking if they could hear their fortunes from Miss Blythe, and Mary was happy to oblige, after payment of course. At first things probably seemed fine to the members of the Kitchin family, but then they started getting sick.
First it was one sister who fell mysteriously ill. It seemed obvious to get Mary to ask the powerful Miss Blythe for help, and Mary obliged, bringing them powders and medicines from the psychic that they were assured would ease the illness. Totally unaware that there was no Miss Blythe, the sister took the “medicine”, but she died shortly after. Then, the next sister passed away, and they were both quickly followed by their mother. What caused this sudden awful loss of life? According to Mary the three women died of plague. It was a convenient answer, fear of infection kept everyone away from the women’s home while Mary stripped it bare of all of their belongings. Allegedly there was only one person who thought the entire ordeal was suspicious and brought up the possibility of poisoning. But the Kitchins had no family, so the accusation was never followed up on. Like so many times in her life, Mary quickly packed up and moved away, but this time the crimes she was running from were far more serious. This was not about the Kitchin’s stolen items, Mary had indeed poisoned them making Mary much more than a thief, she was now a cold-blooded killer.
Like every other crime committed by Mary, the deaths of the Kitchin family taught her no lessons, put zero weight onto her conscious, and she eventually fell back into her life of deception. By 1806 she had already left a trail of fraud convincing people to pay her money to resolve fabricated hardships and betrayals but now Mary came up with a new method, one that was far more inclusive and harder to disprove. Mary decided to enter into the business of apocalyptic prophecy and her assistant this time was not a non-existent psychic, it was her chickens.
According to Mary, her chickens were laying eggs inscribed with messages warning of the end of days and people flocked to her home to see it with their own eyes. Mary, who spoke openly about her “Prophet Chickens of Leeds”, would meet the people and present them with an egg clearly bearing the words “Crist is coming” on its shell. The visitors became frantic, what could they do if the apocalypse was coming? How lucky for them that Mary was well versed in magical protection and that she could guarantee their salvation…for a price. It was simple, pay Mary and her chickens a penny and she handed you a scrap of paper with “JC” written on it, a ticket to ensure passage to heaven. This latest ploy of Mary’s was comparatively short-lived. A doctor did not believe her claims and decided to spy on her to see what was really going on. His suspicions were correct, he personally witnessed Mary writing the words on the eggshells using vinegar which reacted with the shells and caused the words to “appear” on the egg. After writing the words on the shell she would take the egg and force it back into the body of her chickens to give the appearance of the prophetic eggs being freshly laid with the words already on them. The doctor exposed Mary’s fraudulent behavior but amazingly, she was never punished. She sold the chickens to a neighbor and continued with her life. It was a tragically missed opportunity. If punishment had finally come to her over her prophetic chickens, the Perigo family would have had a very different history.
Illustration of Mary Bateman and a prophetic egg. Image public domain.
In the same year as her failed apocalyptic chicken plot Mary was introduced to William and Rebecca Perigo. The couple lived in Bramley and Rebecca suffered from a “nervous” disorder that she was told was a result of an “evil wish” placed upon her. Wishing to be rid of this negativity the Perigos reached out to the familiar name of Mary Bateman who was happy to connect them with her old friend, the powerful, elusive, and completely fabricated Miss Blythe.
According to Mary the instructions from Miss Blythe were very specific and had to be followed exactly in order to remove the evil wish from Rebecca. The Perigos gave banknotes to Miss Blythe who then sewed them into silk bags, instructing them that these bags had to be sewn into the corners of Rebecca’s bed for eighteen months. This was only the start though, Rebecca’s condition was complex and Miss Blythe was going to need some time…and money…to get to the bottom of her supernatural affliction. The Perigos never once questioned Mary’s messages “from” Miss Blythe. They willingly handed over money again and again, being told by Mary that Miss Blythe needed the cash in order to purchase an exhaustive list of magical supplies that somehow grew to include silverware and a new bed. There was no proof of her demands. Mary said that Miss Blythe required every letter requesting payments to be burned so that evil spirits could not read the contents and know what she was doing for the Perigos. The pair might have thought things were going well but one day Mary’s message took a dark turn. According to Miss Blythe, an illness was headed for the Perigos “in the month of May next, either t'one or both, but I think both, but the works of God must have its course.” This was extremely distressing news, but not to worry, Miss Blythe had a cure.
William and Rebecca followed the instructions precisely as they were told. When they received the magical powder from Miss Blythe they sprinkled it on their puddings, ate them with the pot of special honey, and told no one. Only they were allowed to eat this food and no doctor could be called, involving anyone else would guarantee the illness would fall upon them with even more severity.
Illustration of Mary Bateman mixing the magical powders into food. Image public domain.
The reaction was swift. The couple fell horribly ill with William later describing that “a violent heat came out of his mouth, which was very sore, that his lips were black, and that he had a most violent pain in his head twenty times worse than a common head-ache, (and that) everything appeared green to him." He also suffered from a "violent complaint in his bowels." Depending on the point of view, he was lucky to have endured this, his wife did not. On May 24th 1807 Rebecca died after being poisoned by Mary Bateman.
Unbelievably, this huge red flag went unseen by William Perigo. Surely this was the illness predicted by the great and powerful Miss Blythe, and with Rebecca dead he needed guidance more than ever. For two years William continued to use Mary to connect to Miss Blythe, even when the psychic said she needed more money and all of his dead wife’s clothing. At some point William finally grew suspicious, why wasn’t anything going to plan? He went back to where it all started, with the silk bags in the corners of Rebecca’s bed. When he tore open the stitches he found none of the banknotes they had supplied to Miss Blythe. The bags were full of garbage. This, finally, was the last straw for William Perigo.
When William confronted Mary about the silk bags her response was simple and infuriating. Obviously the problem was that he opened the bags too early, that’s why they were full of trash and not the banknotes given to Miss Blythe. William’s response was that he was actually too late and he left Mary, returning to her the following day with Constable Driffield in tow. This encounter with Mary was markedly different from the previous day. Now, Mary confronted William loudly claiming that a bottle he gave her was full of poison and that he almost killed her and Mr. Bateman who was severely ill from it. At this accusation the Constable stepped forward and arrested Mary Bateman. A search of her house found it filled with everything Miss Blythe had demanded of the Perigos in order to save them from the “evil wish” placed on them.
On March 17th 1809 the trial of Mary Bateman began at York Castle with Mary as adamant as ever that she was totally and completely innocent of the accusations of murder. According to the newspaper Hull Packet, she appeared in court as “very plausible, of an appearance sedate and respectable and, as Shakespeare says of Richard, ‘with a tongue in her head that would weedle the devil.” Everything began to quickly unravel for Mary as more witnesses came forward and more information came to light. It was soon revealed that there was no Miss Blythe, or a Mrs. Moore before her, that the psychics were a complete fabrication that Mary used to commit her crimes for years. As it turned out, William and Rebecca were not the only people that Mary had recently attempted to sink her venomous claws into and her neighbors, the Snowden family, were subjected to a very similar scam. According to the Hull Packet, the wife of James Snowden had a premonition that one of their children would be drowned so Mary stepped in and offered the services of Miss Blythe to prevent the tragedy. Like the Perigos the Snowdens were instructed to give Miss Blythe money and also a watch that she would place in bags to be sewn into the corners of their bed. Then the family was told that to prevent their son from drowning and their daughter from being abandoned they had to pick up and move from Leeds to Bowling. The family was instructed in “taking the bed with the watch and money in it, with them, but leaving a considerable portion of their property in their house at Leeds, and giving Mary Bateman the key.” While they were away from home the family was sent “a dose” of magical powder from Miss Blythe that the family never ingested. Upon investigation the money and watch was gone from the bed and the Snowden home was looted. The trial lasted only eleven hours and a verdict came easily. Mary Bateman was found guilty and sentenced to death.
On March 20th 1809 Mary Bateman, “The Witch of Yorkshire” was marched up to the gallows at York Castle alongside two other prisoners. She had tried everything in her power to avoid this fate, clinging to her claims of innocence and even claiming she was pregnant and therefor could not be hanged. But nothing worked, her history of crime was too extensive, too definite, and a medical examination concluded that she was not pregnant meaning her sentence stood. The trial of Mary Bateman was a sensation and thousands of people attended the execution. Mary claimed her innocence until her last breath.
Modern day York Castle. Image via wikipedia.com
With Mary’s lifeless body cut down from the gallows the question now was what to do with her. There was no burial for the Witch of Yorkshire, her body was sent to the Leeds Infirmary where it was dissected and displayed in front of a paying audience over the course of three days. Tickets cost three pence each and the first day was reserved for medical students while day two and three were open first to the professional men of Leeds and then to women.
She was hanged, she was dissected as a public spectacle, and yet that was still not the end for Mary Bateman. After her dissection strips of her skin were removed, tanned into leather, and sold as magical charms to ward off evil. Other pieces of her skin were used to make purses. The governor of Ripon Prison became owner of the tip of her tongue. Two books were bound in her skin. And lastly, her skeleton was propped up and put on display for nearly two centuries, first residing at the Leeds Medical School before being moved to the Thackray Medical Museum until 2015.
The skeleton of Mary Bateman. Image via ExecutedToday.com
Currently, the skeleton of Mary Bateman is held at Leeds University, an iconic historical item and a grim reminder of the extent of fraud, deception, and cold-blooded murder carried out by The Witch of Yorkshire.
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Sources:
The Terrible Crimes and False Wonders of Mary Bateman, the Witch of Yorkshire by Catherine Curzon
https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/577601/mary-bateman-witch-yorkshire-murder
Hull Packet “Witchcraft”
https://callisto.ggsrv.com/imgsrv/FastFetch/UBER2/WO1_HLPA_1808_11_01-0004?legacy=no&crop=1539+70+1601+5601&scale=0.5&format=jpeg
Mary Bateman: The Leeds Witch by Keith Spence
https://www.on-magazine.co.uk/yorkshire/stories/the-leeds-witch/
The Yorkshire Witch: The Life & Trial of Mary Bateman by Fiona Guy
https://www.crimetraveller.org/2017/04/the-yorkshire-witch-mary-bateman/
#husheduphistory#featuredarticles#England#EnglishHistory#EnglishCrimeHistory#historiccrime#truecrime#BritishHistory#LeedsHistory#HistoryofLeeds#BritishLegalHistory#weirdhistory#scaryhistory#strangehistory#horrorstory#scarystory#weirdstory#YorkshireWitch#historyclass#spookyhistory#truehorror#historicserialkiller#serialkiller#WitchofYorkshire#truestory#historyiscool#historyisnotboring#history#truecrimestory#famoustrial
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One More Round: The Disturbing Last Drink of John Shaw
When a place has a name like Canyon Diablo you can only assume it earned that moniker for a reason, especially when it looks almost as sinister as it sounds. The Arizona chasm is large and seems to appear out of nowhere, the former site of a railroad town that boasts stories filled to the brim with every character of old west drama. Yes, its origin is unusual, a small community that came about in December 1881 when railroad crews moving west from Albuquerque had to stop laying tracks because they ran into the massive schism in the earth that they could not cross until a bridge was built. But many of the other stories of Canyon Diablo, the whiskey-and-blood-soaked streets, the air thick with violence, the graveyard that simply ran out of room, were all fabrications penned by a novelist long after the inhabitants of the fabled little town moved on.
There is one specific tale from Canyon Diablo though, that is true. And it is just as gruesome as any of the myths and rumors.
Canyon Diablo circa 1890. Image via public domain.
It was after 1am on April 8th 1905 but the Wigwam Saloon in Winslow, Arizona was still hopping and the liquor was flowing. Drinks may have been what was on the minds of John Shaw and William Evans when they first entered the building, but they soon shifted their attention. Their drinks were sitting untouched on the bar when the two walked over to a nearby dice table where the glitter of silver dollars caught their eyes. Their approach may have seemed innocent at first, by all accounts the men were young, in their twenties, and well dressed in suits as they walked up to the table. But, their intent became clear once they pulled their guns on the players and gave them a dire warning to cooperate. After robbing the players of over $200 they ran off into the night.
When Navajo County Sheriff Chet Houck and Deputy Pete Pemberton went looking for the thieves they might have expected an easy job. After all, the two men left a trail of coins behind them leading the sheriff and deputy straight to the railroad tracks. They followed the tracks twenty-five miles until they found themselves in Canyon Diablo. Once in the old town they found trading post operator Fred Volz and asked if he had seen the men, but they did not have to press him for any information. As they were talking to Volz the robbers began walking right up to them.
The men exchanged a few words but soon guns were drawn and bullet-laced smoke took over the scene. The combat was close, Shaw and Houck were only feet from each other, and it proved to be Shaw’s undoing. Twenty-one total shots were fired but at one point Shaw turned away from his opponent and that is when Sheriff Houck put the fatal bullet in his head. When the fight was over there were injuries and close calls all around, but Shaw was the only one killed in the shootout. Volz, still inside the trading post, provided a simple pine box for the body and the outlaw was quickly buried near where he fell.
Word of the encounter traveled fast and by the next night it was circulating around the Wigwam Saloon where the story was heard by members of an Arizona cattle outfit stopping along their route. Going head-to-head with law enforcement was nothing new to the men, but what was truly shocking to them was that Shaw died without ever getting to enjoy the drink he ordered at the bar.
This was unacceptable. Fifteen of the cowboys stood up, grabbed whiskey bottles, and got on the next train to Canyon Diablo.
Volz may have still been shaken from the gunfight the night before when he was suddenly woken up to the sound of banging on his door. What he found outside was a mob of cowboys armed with liquor bottles and demanding information about Shaw’s grave. Then they told Volz the purpose of their visit. Shaw never got to have his drink. They had the liquor…now they needed Shaw.
As disturbed as Volz may have been at what the mob was telling him he eventually gave in and handed over the shovels they demanded. He also handed them a camera stating that pictures would help make sure the dead man was identified correctly.
The plan was simple, dig up Shaw and share his final drink with him. As reported later on by cowboy Lucien Creswell. “We stopped at the depot and had a few more drinks and then we went and dug the grave open with the shovels…” Amazingly, despite his violent end Shaw was in remarkably good shape, “looking very natural, his head not busted open.” Once they laid eyes on Shaw laying peacefully in his makeshift grave the scene became much more serious. Wagon boss J.D. Rogers instructed his men to take him out of the ground, ordering “Let’s get him out. Let’s give him a drink and put him away proper. Somebody can say a prayer, which wasn’t done when they shoved him into that hole.”
Shaw in his casket. Image via truewestmagazine.com. Courtesy Arizona Historical Society; John Shaw Collection.
Two men jumped into the grave, lifted his body to the waiting hands, and propped him up against a fence that was situated next to another grave. His eyes were open, his lifeless face was frozen in a smile, and the men put the bottles up to his teeth pouring the whiskey down the dead man’s throat. Shaw finally got to have his last drink.
After the liquor was gone the men solemnly placed Shaw back into his coffin, rested a bottle on his chest, and removed their hats for some hasty prayers before covering his body for the final time.
Throughout the entire ceremony six photographs were taken by an unknown cowboy in attendance. When the camera was returned to Volz he unloaded the film and handed it to Creswell, instructing him to give it to Sheriff Houck upon his return to Winslow. However, cowboy Sam Case had other ideas. Case had a grudge against Sheriff Houck’s brother and along the way back to Winslow Case confronted Creswell and took the film from him stating “Houck ain’t gonna get no pictures.” From here the roll of film passed from hand to hand, carrying the story of John Shaw along with it. Finally, a month after the impromptu funeral at Canyon Diablo Case handed the roll of film to Winslow attorney “Judge” Burbidge, who then passed it along to his son Ted. The photographs would not see the light of day until years later when the film came into the possession of a man named Gladwell Richardson who wrote an article about them in a 1965 issue of Arizona Highways magazine.
Trio of photographs taken of the last drink of John Shaw. Image via truewestmagazine.com. Courtesy Arizona Historical Society; John Shaw Collection.
Today four of the photographs taken at the last drink of John Shaw belong to the Arizona Historical Society as part of their John Shaw collection. One photograph was allegedly kept by Ted Burbidge but several years after his death in 1955 the photograph went missing. Along with the Burbidge photograph, the location of the sixth image taken that bizarre morning is also unknown.
Canyon Diablo is a place filled with myths and legends of the Wild West, many of which are horrific. Although mostly debunked we have photographic proof that one of the gory stories did happen, the tale of the corpse that was dug up to have one last drink.
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Sources:
Canyon Diablo, Arizona: Why nearly all the stories about it are lies by Scott Craven for azcentral.com
https://www.azcentral.com/story/travel/arizona/road-trips/2018/10/17/canyon-diablo-arizona-shootouts-myths-legends/1533865002/
One for the grave by Leo W. Banks for TrueWestMagazine.com
https://truewestmagazine.com/one-for-the-grave/
Last Drink: The Almost Unbelievable Story of John Shaw by Julie McDonald as part of the Arizona History series. Published July 23, 2020.
#husheduphistory#featuredarticles#history#ArizonaHistory#Arizona#weirdhistory#forgottenhistory#horrorhistory#creepyhistory#strangehistory#widwest#oldwest#cowboys#gunslinger#CanyonDiablo#truth is stranger than fiction#wildwestshootout#truestory#strange stories#strangestory#weirdstory#nightmarefuel#creepystory#whiskeyhistory#tragictale#tragicstory#railroadhistory
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Consulting the Coop: Ancient Rome’s Sacred Chickens and Big Decisions
When faced with a decision there are typically two ways to proceed, you evaluate the options for yourself and choose the best avenue or you might feel the need to ask advice from a trusted source. This source can be anyone, a relative, friend, coworker, counselor, or…if you were living in one specific timeframe…you headed right for the chicken coop.
Ancient Rome can conjure majestic images of architecture, artwork, and bring to mind familiar names of great intellectuals and mighty leaders like Caesar, Cicero, Marcus Aurelius, Claudius, and Augustus. Considering how immense and powerful Rome was, it might be surprising how reliant it was on superstition and reading “signs” given to them by the gods. The Romans often took part in augury, using the outcome of various practices and rituals as predictions of the future. Some practices involved reading the entrails of animals, some may have looked at plant leaves, others may have studied storms, but one of the most common forms of this type of divination involved birds, and in ancient Rome the most vital of these birds were chickens.
After being relocated from their home near Athens, the chickens were tended to by a pullarius, a “priest of the sacred chicken”, and it was these priests that became responsible for some major decisions in Roman history. The process was straightforward, the chickens were kept in pens and were denied food for a certain amount of time. When there was an important decision to be made the pullarius fed the chickens grain. If the hungry birds ate the grain it signaled a “yes” to the question. But, if they did not eat it was a definite “no” and it was highly advised that a new avenue be considered.
But what if they did not listen to the chickens? What could possibly go wrong? The birds were presented with questions on every level, including ones that carried an immense amount of weight and heavy consequences for Rome. On more than one occasion they were not listened to and those who defied the sacred chickens were left with deep regret.
Ancient Roman mosaic of a rooster. Image commons.wikimedia.org.
At the beginning of the First Punic War (264-241 BCE) the Roman navy’s biggest obstacle was the far superior naval force of Carthage that boasted better ships and more advanced sailors. One thing that Rome did have in its favor was a gift for engineering and tactics which eventually gave them a fleet of ships that could challenge the Carthaginian ships. By 249 BCE the fleet of 123 ships had a number of impressive victories under its belt and was under the command of Publius Claudius Pulcher. When Pulcher successfully cornered the Carthaginian navy in the harbor of Drepanum he had two options, to sit in wait creating a blockade or, his preferred choice, to launch a surprise attack. He knew who he had to ask. Pulcher happened to have some sacred chickens on his ship, but their reaction to his inquiry did not please the admiral. They refused to eat the grain given to them…an ambush was not advised.
Pulcher’s next step would have appalled many in Rome. The chickens very clearly advised him not to attack the Carthaginian fleet. But, not only did he go against the chickens, he may have outright disrespected them. According to some records, when the birds refused their grain he said to his crew “If they will not eat, let them drink!” before throwing them into the sea.
The attack on the fleet of Carthage was devastating for Pulcher. Of the 123 ships he brought into battle only 30 survived and up to 20,000 men were lost, decimating the Roman navy and destroying all the headway and moral they built during their previous victories. Pulcher survived the ordeal but when he returned to Rome he was heavily fined for his actions and accused of treason.
An illustration of Pulcher consulting the sacred chickens. Image via https://www.weirduniverse.net/blog/comments/sacred_chickens_of_rome
In the year 137 BCE Gaius Hostilius Mancinus was the Roman consul during the Numantine War. Before engaging in a campaign against the Numantians in Spain Gaius went to consult the sacred chickens about his plans. There were typically two outcomes here, the chickens ate the grain or they did not. This time however, the chickens did not even consider the grain. Instead they ran straight into the surrounding woods and could not be found. This should have been a very clear answer to Gaius telling him his campaign was not looking favorable. But instead, he went on to battle. What followed was a military disaster for Gaius. They were beaten in battles several times over, they failed to build a camp, and by daybreak they were completely surrounded by the enemy. The situation could have spelled utter doom for the Romans, but among them was the son of a man named Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus, a man the Numantians were familiar with and held in high regard. To save thousands of lives Gaius had to agree to a peace deal with his opponents, sending him and his army crawling back to Rome and leaving all of their belongings behind. When Gaius appeared before the Senate, they were furious with him and the embarrassment of his dealings with the Numantians. Gaius was stripped naked, put in chains, and the new Roman consul was ordered to bring him back to the Numantians in Spain. Once there, they refused to receive him. Gaius eventually returned to Rome where he lived out the rest of his years forever marked with humiliation. Plutarchus later dubbed him “the most unfortunate of the Romans.”
The sacred chickens of Rome in their coop from an engraving of military insignia and instruments of war by Nicolas Beatrizet. The full engraving is found at Speculum Romanae Magnificentiae, [Image no. B293], Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library.
Tiberius Gracchus was a controversial Roman politician for his time. While serving as Tribune of the Plebs he proposed a land reform bill that sought to transfer land from wealthy landowners to poorer citizens, much to the chagrin of the Senate. By 133 BCE Tiberius was seeking a second term to continue his cause and on the day of the election he traveled to Campus Martius for the vote. Before leaving though he made sure to consult the family chickens to ask if he should attend at all. The chickens told him he should not go. He should have listened to them.
Things soon began to go bad for Tiberius. As he left his house he stubbed his toe badly, bloodying his shoes as he continued to the assembly. When he arrived at the Capitol he was informed of some dire news, that some opponents in the Senate had hatched a plan to kill him. Arming themselves with anything they could find, Tiberius and his followers braced themselves. In the massive crowd it is said Tiberius pointed to his head to signal he was in danger, but his enemies took the sign as him saying he wanted to be crowned king. The heated senators had had enough. They and their followers armed themselves and headed for Tiberius and his supporters. What followed was the eruption of a massive riot that resulted in the deaths of approximately 300 people. One of the dead was Tiberius, he had been beaten to death and his body thrown into the Tiber. The death of Tiberius, the blatant murder of an elected official, was shocking and it marked the beginning of the end for Rome.
As Rome transformed over time, moving from Republic to Empire, their methods and customs changed. While augury remained a presence in Roman culture the practices moved away from the sacred chickens until eventually divination as a whole became frowned upon with the onset of Christianity.
Today anyone looking for answers through divination has many methods to choose from ranging from decks of cards to reading animal bones and everything in between. Greatly missing from today’s list of options are the sacred chickens, the common birds responsible for some of the biggest moments in Ancient Roman history.
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Sources:
The Sacred Chickens of Rome by Paul Sheridan https://www.anecdotesfromantiquity.com/the-sacred-chickens-of-rome/
The Sacred Chickens of Rome https://www.weirduniverse.net/blog/comments/sacred_chickens_of_rome
The Sacred Chickens that Shaped Roman Decision-Making by Alexander Meddings https://historycollection.com/sacred-chickens-shaped-roman-policymaking/
The Disgraced Ancient Roman Admiral Who Did Not Heed The Sacred Chickens During The First Punic War https://thehistorianshut.com/2018/09/14/the-disgraced-ancient-roman-admiral-who-did-not-heed-the-sacred-chickens/
History with the Szilagyis Episode 3: The Sacred Chickens of Rome https://historywiththeszilagyis.org/hwts003
#HushedUpHistory#featuredarticles#history#historyclass#AncientRome#AncientRomanHistory#chickens#divination#augury#predictthefuture#HistoryofAncientRome#SacredChickens#AncientRomanMilitaryHistory#predictions#sacredanimals#chicken#historicchickens#historicanimals#animalsinhistory#historyisweird#weirdhistory#strangehistory#forgottenhistory#historyiswild#historyisfun#truthisstrangerthanfiction#truestory#psychicchickens#whataretheodds#goodadvice
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Off the Hook: The Bloody Secrets of Room 1046
Working in a hotel means encountering many kinds of people, but there was something very odd about Roland T. Owen. When he walked into the Hotel President of Kansas City, Missouri the year was brand new, and people may have still been celebrating the arrival of 1935 on this January 2nd afternoon. Owen walked into the hotel appearing as a normal well-dressed young man, but he had some distinguishing features, a large bald scar above his left temple and a cauliflower ear. Perhaps he was a boxer or a wrestler in town for an event, and maybe that is why he only booked one night. He didn’t have many requests, only that he needed an interior room on a high floor and as he and bellhop Randolph Propst made their way up to the tenth floor room he quietly commented how he had spent the previous night at the neighboring Hotel Muehlebach but the price of five dollars a night was too high for his liking. The pair entered Room 1046 and before heading back to the hotel lobby Propst watched as Owen unpacked all of his belongings: a comb, a hairbrush, and some toothpaste. Owen left the hotel shortly after checking in, leaving as quietly as he arrived.
A short time later when hotel maid Mary Soptic went into Owen’s room she was surprised to see him there. The night before a woman was occupying the room and she seemed unaware that she had left and Owen had now taken her place. The room was dimly lit with one lamp and Owen apologized for sitting in the dark, telling her that it was ok, she could clean the room while he was there. She obliged but they were not in each other’s company long. A few minutes after Soptic’s arrival Owen stood up, brushed his hair, and left the room, telling her it was ok for her to leave the room unlocked because he was expecting some friends to arrive shortly. Their next meeting would only be stranger. At 4pm Soptic returned to Owen’s room with fresh towels and when she entered she found Owen laying on his bed fully clothed in near darkness. There was a note sitting on the bedside table reading “Don: I will be back in fifteen minutes. Wait.”
The Hotel President circa 2012. Image via wikipedia.com.
The strange visit of Roland Owen continued into the next day with Soptic again being the main witness to the oddities unfolding. Soptic later commented about the young man that “He was either worried about something or afraid.” On the morning after Owen’s arrival Soptic went to Room 1046 for the regularly scheduled cleaning. When she arrived at the room the door was locked. This was not overly unusual, she figured Owen was probably out, but when she opened the door with her own key she found him again sitting in the dark. She went about her cleaning when the phone rang. Owen answered it but only said to the person on the other line, “No, Don, I don’t want to eat. I am not hungry. I just had breakfast. No. I am not hungry.” He hung up and made small talk with the maid, asking about her job and if the hotel was residential before she left. She would be back again at 4pm with more fresh towels for the increasingly unnerving visitor. When she returned at that hour though, something was going on. The door was again locked but this time there were two male voices coming from behind it that went silent when she knocked. A deep voice not belonging to Owen asked what she wanted and when she replied that she was bringing fresh towels he told her “We don’t need any” and sent her away. She left with the new towels knowing this was not true, she had taken all the towels from the room earlier that morning when Owen was speaking on the phone. The hotel staff did not hear from Owen directly for the rest of the night but there were still strange happenings going on on that floor. A woman staying in the room next to Owen reported that that night she heard the voices of a man and a woman arguing and cursing loudly somewhere on the 10th floor of the hotel. She thought about calling the desk to report it but decided against it and retired for the night.
Image of Roland T. Owen published at a later date. Image via Wikipedia.com.
When Roland Owen checked into the Hotel President he only signed up for one night but on January 4th he was still inside the hotel and still raising questions. At 7am that morning switchboard operator Della Ferguson noticed that the phone in room 1046 was off the hook. Bellhop Randolph Propst who escorted Owen to his room two days prior went upstairs to ask him to hang up the phone but when he got to the room he was met with a “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging on a locked door. After knocking several times a voice behind the door told him to come in, but the door was still locked. It was also still locked when the same voice told him to turn on the lights. Propst assumed Owen was drunk and he shouted at him through the door to hang up his phone before making his way back downstairs to resume his workday. But, before long someone else was making their way to room 1046. At 8:30 am the phone was still off the hook and bellhop Harold Pike was sent up to take care of it. When Pike got to the room the “Do Not Disturb” sign was still in place but he unlocked the door with his own key. What he found was Owen laying on the bed, in the dark, and completely unclothed. From what he could tell, Owen was drunk and Pike did not take the time to investigate the large dark spots on the bed. He simply picked the phone up off the floor, replaced the headset, and put the phone back on the stand near the bed before shutting the door and going back downstairs. By 10:30am the hotel staff may have been running out of patience with Owen. The phone was back off the hook and this time Propst was sent back upstairs to again hang it up. At first it all seemed to go along with the rest of the day thus far. Room locked, “Do Not Disturb” sign in place, and Propst unlocked the door expecting a similar scene described by Pike of a drunken Owen in a dark room with a knocked over phone. What he found was so, so much worse than he could have imagined.
When Propst opened the door to room 1046 he was met with Owen, seemingly kneeling on the floor two feet from the door with his arms propped up on his elbows while holding his head. In a matter of seconds Propst turned on the lights and was presented with a scene of terror. There was blood everywhere. Blood on the walls, the floors, all over the bed, in the bathtub, and on the ceiling. The centerpiece to this horrific mess was Owen, now visibly covered with vicious injuries but somehow still alive.
Propst ran downstairs for help and when he returned with the assistant manager they could barely open the door, somehow Owen had moved himself and finally fallen over right behind the door. After forcing their way in Owen was moved into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bathtub. The damage done to Owen was extensive. He had been stabbed in the chest multiple times and a lung was punctured. His skull was fractured on the right side. His neck, wrists, and ankles were all bound with cords and there was severe bruising on his neck indicating someone had tried to strangle him. The police were called and when they arrived with Dr. Harold Flanders of Kansas City General Hospital the questioning began on the barely conscious Owen. When asked who did this to him he only said “Nobody.” When asked what happened he only said he fell and hit his head on the bathtub. They only had moments to ask anything, Owen quickly fell over unconscious and had to be rushed to the local hospital. He died of his injuries just after midnight on January 5th 1935.
The investigation into the death of Roland T. Owen was destined to be difficult. Here was a young man who arrived at a hotel with almost no belongings, was only seen sitting in his room with the lights off, had only been seen leaving the hotel once, and with visitors only heard from behind a locked door. By the time he was discovered beaten in his room most of the blood was dried, which made sense with the doctor’s estimate that he sustained his injuries sometime between 4 and 5am, several hours before the front desk noticed his phone was off the hook that morning. In the room there was no clothing, no weapons, and all the complimentary hotel items like soap and towels were missing. One glass in the hotel room was missing a piece and sitting in the sink, the other was still in its place on a shelf. The only other items found in the room were a hairpin, safety pin, unsmoked cigarette, and a full bottle of diluted sulfuric acid. The only fingerprints lifted from the scene were from the knocked over telephone and they were smaller prints that could not be identified. There was nothing pointing in any one direction to explain what happened to Roland T. Owen.
Police sketch asking if anyone recognized the man called Roland T. Owen. Image is public domain.
But, who was Roland T. Owen? When he first checked into the hotel he said he was from Los Angeles but the city had no record of anyone with that name. Remembering his claim to have stayed a night in the Hotel Muehlebach their records were checked with no match to that name, but there was someone who matched his description that had checked in under the name Eugene K. Scott. When it became clear that “Roland T. Owen” did not exist the floodgates opened with people trying to identify this murdered mystery man. Newspapers printed illustrations and descriptions that sent hundreds of claims into the Kansas City Police Department, people even claiming he was various family members who had actually died years before. When the body of “Owen” was laid out at a funeral home the storm grew thicker. One man working as a wrestling promotor said he was a fighter who came to him looking for some matches. Another man employed by the city saw the body and claimed that one night he was flagged down by the now-dead man who mistook him for a taxi. At the time the man was wearing a night shirt and appeared to have just been in a fight with a large bloody scratch on his arm. The man went to the police claiming the corpse and his injured rider was the same man but there was not enough to prove it. Then there was the phone call.
On March 3rd 1935 newspapers announced that the body of the mystery man was going to be buried in a potter’s field the next day. But, this plan changed when the funeral home received a phone call from a man asking that the burial be delayed, he wanted to send money to have him properly buried in Memorial Park Cemetery in Kansas City, Kansas. He claimed this way he would be buried “near his sister.” The man would not identify himself. He was not concerned when the funeral directors told him they would have to report this phone call. He did offer up one bombshell though, he claimed the man calling himself Roland T. Owen was engaged to one woman and cheated on her which is what led to the bloody scene at the Hotel President. He said to the funeral director, “Cheaters usually get what's coming to them!" and then the line went silent. Days later the funeral home received an envelope containing five dollars, more than enough to cover burial expenses. At the same time a local flower shop received its own anonymous phone call, also asking to send money. This time it was for an arrangement of roses for the grave. The card had a message simply reading, “Love Forever – Louise.” The funeral on March 23rd 1935 was simple, with local police serving as pallbearers and no other visitors.
The burial of the unknown man did not dampen the attempts to identify him and solve who caused his bloody end, but one of these answers would not come until 1936, over a year after he was put in the ground. When Ruby Ogletree contacted the Kansas City Police Department she had some disturbing news. A friend had just recently shown her a news article about the beaten man and she instantly recognized him, it was her son, Artemus Ogletree. She explained to the police how he had gotten his scar above his ear in a household accident involving hot grease. He had left their home in Birmingham, Alabama in 1934 to hitchhike to California. Terribly, his mother revealed that when he was killed in the bloodbath of room 1046 he was only seventeen years old.
The photograph of the deceased “Roland Owen” that was recognized by his mother, Ruby Ogeltree. Image is public domain.
With this new information the Kansas City Police Department may have hoped for closure in this horrible crime, but there was still no indication as to why this seventeen-year-old was so brutally tortured and amazingly, this identification only raised more questions. According to Mrs. Ogletree, she had received letters from her son after he had already been killed. While the body of Artemus lay in a funeral home she received a typed letter allegedly from him that was postmarked from Chicago, something that surprised his mother not just because of the location but also because as far as she knew her son had no idea how to type. In May of 1935 she received another letter claiming it was from her son, this one saying he was well and heading to Europe. This was followed up by a letter, sent by special delivery and postmarked from New York City, that had Artemus saying that his ship was leaving that very day. Then came the strangest contact of all, a phone call from Memphis, Tennessee from a man claiming that he knew Artemus, that the seventeen-year-old had saved his life in a fight. The caller said he was reaching out to let his mother know that her son was currently living in Egypt with a wealthy woman who he married. According to this man on the phone, the reason Artemus did not write to her was because in the fight where he saved the caller’s life he had had both his thumbs cut off so he was unable to pen a letter. Ruby Ogletree spoke to this man, who she described as speaking “wildly and irrationally” for half an hour before hanging up and reporting him to the police. His name was never revealed and nothing ever came from the strange phone call.
Despite investigations that reached out across multiple states no one was ever arrested for the murder of seventeen-year-old Artemus Ogletree and no theory ever sufficiently panned out to offer up any more information about his tragic end. The Kansas City Police Department kept the case open for decades, routinely going back to the files until the 1950s but with no new evidence coming to light the case went cold.
Despite various theories over the years, the murder of Artemus Ogletree has never been solved. He lays at rest inside Memorial Park Cemetery and Sunset Gardens in Kansas City, Kansas, inside the grave purchased by the unknown caller who wanted him specifically placed there.
#husheduphistory#featuredarticles#KansasCity#Missouri#MissouriHistory#truecrime#truecrimehistory#historiccrime#RolandTOwen#Room1046#HotelPresident#famouscrime#unsolved#mystery#truestory#weirdhistory#strangehistory#scaryhistory#horrorstory#scarystory#creepyhistory#creepystory#whodunnit#unsovedmysteries#kansas#Ogeltree#unknown#historyclass#truth is stranger than fiction#historyisnotboring
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About Last Knight: The Famous Face-off of Josef Mencik
The townspeople all loved Josef, he was courteous, kind, and generous with all his neighbors. The children delighted in seeing him ride into town and loved hearing his stories. The only thing that could be better was visiting his home, filled with all manner of unique items with tales of their own that Josef was more than happy to tell. Josef Mencik was a historian, but he immersed himself in the past in ways that went far deeper than paper and ink. He may have been born in a more modern age but in his daily life Mencik was the last of the medieval knights.
As dedicated as Mencik was to history, he was extremely secretive of his own and there is almost nothing known about his early days. He never shared the names of any family members, his birthdate is a mystery, and there is no known record of where he was born with historians only able to narrow down that he was most likely born in the Böhmerwald region of Czechoslovakia. In approximately 1911 he ventured out into the world and set his sights on an aged castle in Dobrš. He decided to make it his own, but this was not going to be an easy task. The castle had been standing since the 14th century and when Mencik purchased it it was a ruin, severely damaged by a fire and countless rainstorms that left it a shell of its former self. But in this broken structure Mencik saw his ideal home and after purchasing it he began the long road to rebuilding it.
Böhmerwald region of Czechoslovakia via 1930s. Image via Wikipedia Commons.
Mencik’s idea of bringing his castle back to its glory days was meant in the most literal sense. He lived with no electricity, no plumbing, absolutely nothing representing the comforts available to him in the early 1900s. Where modernity was absent, it was replaced with beauty. The halls were lit with candles and torches and as time went on Mencik filled his home with rare antiques turning it into a literal living history museum, a time capsule of the days long past that he happily shared with anyone who wanted to see the collection of treasures. This full embrace of the medieval age extended far beyond a refurbished home and an extensive antique collection. Mencik lived his life as closely as he could to a knight, traveling on his beloved thoroughbred horse and wearing fine suits of armor crafted in France. Some accounts state that he even had a moat around his castle….filled with wooden alligator sculptures.
Josef Mencik in full armor. Image via DannyDutch.com.
Like so many parts of his past, it is unclear if he ruled his private kingdom alone. According to some accounts Mencik was married to a woman named Ema Mencikova and that they may have had two children, but this has not been proven. What is well known is that everyone who knew Mencik thought very highly of him. By all accounts he treated everyone with respect, was always willing to help anyone in any way he could, and he enjoyed spending time with his friends and neighbors. He was a regular patron of the local taverns where he would socialize with everyone, ending every visit with his personal ritual “to swallow a whole herringbone, which he then drank with a good glass of rum and then shouted menacingly."
Everyone who knew Mencik personally knew of his genuine character, but his actions on one particular day in 1938 would make sure his story was told for generations.
Images of Josef Mencik on his horse. Image via DannyDutch.com.
In an early act of aggression, in 1938 Nazi Germany moved to invade Czechoslovakia in order to annex the predominantly German region of Sudetenland. As the Germans crossed the border through Bučina they were not anticipating any resistance, but what they were met with was more stunning and confusing than they could have imagined. As they crossed they were met by Josef Mencik, seated high upon his horse, dressed in full armor, and holding a very large halberd. He met them standing strong, ready, and defiant, but he also met them alone. As the crushing, modern machines of war rolled closer to the knight he did not flinch and he stood taller as they became more confused as to what exactly they were all seeing. Unfortunately, there is no written account to tell us about the words exchanged between the knight and the Nazis, but what is known is that instead of engaging or attacking Mencik, they all simply hesitated for a short while before continuing to march past him. As they went by some Nazi soldiers tapped their helmets at him, a signal that said they believed that Mencik was simply a delusional man not to be bothered with. As they moved past Mencik they walked into an early chapter of a war that would tear the world apart.
There are many differing opinions about the actions of Mencik against the Nazis with some feeling it was an act of pure bravery while others feel it was foolish. Regardless of opinions, it is technically true that he did successfully defend his castle home which was never taken during the war. In 1945 though, the fortress that Mencik brought back to life and made into a home where he welcomed everyone with open arms, was removed from his hands when the structure became part of the nationalization by the new Communist government. The last medieval knight Josef Mencik died only a few days later in November 1945 and was estimated to be in his late seventies.
For all his living days Mencik sought to bring the past back to life, not just for himself but also for the present to learn from and enjoy. Although he was probably heartbroken by his home becoming nationalized, today his castle is open to the public and serves as a museum, welcoming curious visitors just as he did. Josef Mencik, the last knight, passed away nearly eight decades ago but his private kingdom, his history lessons, and his story of bravery in the face of danger have withstood the test of time far longer than he could have dreamed.
The remnants of Mencik's castle and more recent additions. Image via Michal Klajban / Wikimedia Commons CC BY-SA 3.0
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Sources:
Josef Mencik: The Last Knight Who Stood Up to the Germans In WWII by Samantha Franco. War History Online. January 11th 2023. https://www.warhistoryonline.com/world-war-ii/josef-mencik.html
Josef Mencik – History’s Last Knight Stood Against the Nazis by Travis Pike. Sandboxx.us. November 14th 2022. https://www.sandboxx.us/news/josef-mencik-the-last-knight/
Josef Mencik-the Czech Don Quixote. WWII Forums Gateway to the Second World War. November 18th 2021. http://ww2f.com/threads/josef-mencik-the-czech-don-quixote.76341/
#husheduphistory#featuredarticles#history#forgottenhistory#truestory#strangehistory#weirdhistory#historyclass#truth is stranger than fiction#medieval#medieval knight#the last knight#JosefMencik#czechoslovakia#CzechHistory#wwii
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Pieces at Peace: A Sampling of Stories and Stones for Long Lost Limbs
Tombstones are endlessly fascinating for the living. Etched in stone, decorated with their own alphabet of symbols, and telling the names (and sometimes a bit of a story) of those who walked the ground before us. We are as curious about these stone last pages in the book of life as we are about the time the body spent on earth with us. While death is promised to all, a formal burial is not. But, sometimes there are burials not for a person, but for a piece of them.
Stretching across thirty-one acres of Newport, Rhode Island are the Common Burial Ground and Island Cemeteries. The Common Burial Ground was founded in 1665 and contains 7,986 known dead from all walks of life and from multiple centuries. The number of actual inhabitants is likely higher though with hundreds more lost to the soil due to time, vandalism, and the fact that some earlier markers were simple wood planks that have long since disappeared.
By 1786 stone tombstones were heavily used and one such stone in the Common Burial Ground belongs to the Tripp family, which had to be used much earlier than anyone hoped. Wait and William Tripp were only ten and twenty-two months old when they were buried under their double headstone in 1780 and 1784. Two years later they were joined by their mother, but only part of her. Desire Tripp was the wife of William, a tanner, and they lived together in a “Large and commodious dwelling house” in Newport. On February 20th 1786 her arm was amputated by Doctor Isaac Senter who noted that the amputation took place and that the cost equated to approximately one month income, but sadly there is no record as to why her arm was amputated. On the tombstone of her children there are two carved faces of cherubs but in the center of the stone there is a carved arm to represent the arm of Desire Trapp also laid to rest at this location. Noted in an inscription along with the names and dates of she and William’s children, the epitaph reads “Also his Wifes/Arm Amputated Feb 20 1786”
The tombstone of Desire's children and her arm. Image via Hopkins vastpublicindifference.com.
While it was highly unusual for a woman to have their arm amputated and to have it memorialized on a tombstone, Desire Trapp is far from the only person to have their limb buried in its own grave.
In 1898 Richard Bertram Barrett of San Jose, California was thirteen years old and living a normal life, until one day during a hunting trip he had a most unfortunate encounter with a shotgun. The shotgun blast damaged half of his left arm beyond all repair and the decision was made to amputate. The arm was buried under a tree in Hacienda Cemetery and has its own stone marker reading solemnly, “Richard Bertram Bert Barrett His Arm Lies Here May it Rest in Peace.”
Barrett went on to lead a very successful life, eventually becoming the Chief of Sanitation for the Santa Clara County Health Department and lived to see a road named for him in the same cemetery where his arm was buried. When he passed away at the age of seventy-four he was also buried, but not with his arm. Barrett’s final resting place is Oak Hill Memorial Park, a full eleven miles away from where his arm was buried sixty-one years earlier. Today the arm has become a part of local folklore with stories saying that the arm can be seen wriggling on the ground on Halloween night.
Grave of Bert Barrett's arm. Image via Weirdca.com.
In some ways the Stanley Settlement cemetery in rural northern Georgia can double as a history book of its home of Fannin County with a church and burials dating back to the mid-1800s. Among the interred are Elisha Stanely and Elv Evan Hughes, the first people to be buried here, murdered for refusing to join the Confederate army and both thrown into a single grave. It is Elisha’s son Adolphus Buel Stanley though who has the honor of having one of the more bizarre burials inside Stanley Settlement. A flat stone simply reads “The arm of Buel Stanley 1864-1946 amputated 1915 caused by fishing with dynamite in Toccoa River below Stanley Cemetery…” it goes on to inform the reader that in 1946 Stanley did not join his arm in death. Instead “…His body is buried at Macedonia Church of Christ.”
Grave of the arm of Buel Stanley. Image via Historic Rural Churches of Georgia by Tom Reed.
Losing a limb is not typically something that anyone wants, but when Captain Samuel Jones of Washington, New Hampshire learned he was going to have to part ways with one of his legs he decided he was going to make the best of it. It was 1804 when the captain was doing some construction work and his leg somehow became trapped between a building and a fence. He was eventually freed but his leg had become so mangled that it could not be saved. Captain Jones was also the owner of a local tavern so while waiting for the doctor to arrive his friends took him to the tavern and they all drank to their heart’s content. Once the leg was removed (and Smith was sober) he decided he was not done saying goodbye and decided to throw his leg a full funeral including guests and a proper burial. The leg was interred at the local cemetery, but one day some local college kids decided they wanted to steal the tombstone. After it was located in a dorm the stone was set into the ground in concrete to ensure it would never disappear again. The rest of the life of Captain Jones gets very murky, and it is believed that he ended up in Boston or Rhode Island. He was not buried with his leg.
There have been many reasons and theories as to why someone would want to properly bury their limbs, sometimes with a full funeral. According to Captain Jones, he felt that burying the leg would prevent him from feeling something doctors were aware of but could not explain, phantom leg pain. While this might have seemed funny, this discomfort where someone can still “feel” pain in their missing limb was (and is) very real and in 1878 farmer Benjamin Waldron experienced exactly what the captain was concerned about.
Benjamin Waldron was a twenty-five year old Idaho farmer and in 1878 he was working when his leg got trapped in a thresher, completely destroying it. He also went on to give his leg a proper burial in Samaria Cemetery, complete with a tombstone engraved with the image of a leg, the date of the amputation, and his initials. But something didn’t feel right after the burial, Waldron complained of pain, feeling it radiate from the leg that was no longer there, and saying that it felt uncomfortably twisted. When Waldron could not bear it anymore the leg was exhumed and sure enough, when the leg was buried it was placed in its grave at an unusual angle. Once it was re-buried in a better position Waldron finally felt relief and never felt the phantom leg pain again. Waldron finally joined his leg in the afterlife in 1914. He was also buried in Samaria Cemetery, but in a different location than his demanding leg.
Graves of Waldron and his leg. Image via Speaking of Idaho by Rickjust.com.
Waldron is not alone in his experience of feeling his disconnected limb from beyond the grave. Located in Mesquite, Texas there is a family cemetery called the Z. Motley Cemetery, serving as a permanent place of rest for members of the Motley family who still maintain it to this day.
In 1894 John Motley caught his arm in some gin machinery and as a result the seventeen-year-old was forced to live with only one arm. The arm was buried at the family cemetery but like Waldron, the young man knew something did not feel right about the arm he no longer had. He complained of feeling like there were ants crawling all over his skin. The arm was exhumed and shockingly they found that there was a way for bugs to get in and out and at the time of the exhumation they found the arm covered with ants. The arm was taken, sealed in an air-tight box, and reburied. Motley said he never felt the crawling phantom sensations again.
As luck would have it (or not), John Motley is not the only member of his family to have a separated limb buried in their family cemetery. In 1911 G.C. Motley was riding a horse when the animal took off causing him to fall and get his foot trapped in a stirrup. The injured foot became badly infected and doctors amputated it, giving it a resting place in the same Motley family cemetery as John’s arm.
Both G.C. and John Motley were buried in separate plots from their dearly departed limbs.
Marker for the Z. Motley Cemetery. Image via Nicolas Henderson Flickr CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
The phantom pains and sensations felt by Benjamin Waldron and John Motely and feared by Captain Samuel Jones were one factor in the burials of their limbs, but for others the need for a proper sendoff was rooted in a much more spiritual belief. Judaism, Islam, and Christianity all have varying beliefs on the burial of limbs with some faiths believing it is required to bury the limbs in a grave intended for the person when they pass or in a grave specifically for limbs. Some believe that even though the limbs are to be buried, they are not entitled to the same ceremony and prayers as a whole body. According to some Christian belief systems, the limb was required for the soul to be complete in the afterlife where it would be reunited with its owner, leading to scenarios where limbs were exhumed only to be re-buried with their person.
Perhaps it is this lack of reunion that led to the legend of Richard Bertram Barrett’s arm to come crawling out every Halloween night…it’s still looking for its human buried eleven miles away because it wants to be reunited so it too can rest.
Evidence of amputations and limb burials go back tens of thousands of years. Whether carried out at a sacred burial location or marked with a professionally engraved tombstone detailing some bad timing with dynamite, this notion, this importance, this reverence in honoring all parts of the person has endured over millennia, adapting and evolving alongside the same human creatures the practice honors. Buried alone or with family members, there are stones all over the world that speak to the feeling that even the pieces deserve peace.
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Sources
You’ve GottaHhand it to Them: A Look at Limb Graves by Robyn S. Lacy. Spade and the Grave Death and Burial Through an Archaeological Lens. April 4th 2021. https://spadeandthegrave.com/2021/04/04/youve-gotta-hand-it-to-them-a-look-at-limb-graves/
There Are Centuries-Old Grave Sites Just For Amputated Limbs That You Can Still Visit by Laura Allan. Ranker. September 23rd 2021. https://www.ranker.com/list/grave-sites-for-amputated-limbs/laura-allan
Object Lesson: Desire Tripp and her Arm’s Gravestone by Nicole Belolan. Common Place the Journal of Early American Life. https://commonplace.online/article/object-lesson-desire-tripp-arms-gravestone/
History Bytes: Common Burying Ground. Newport Historical Society. February 25th 2016. https://newporthistory.org/history-bytes-common-burying-ground/
Stanley Church of Christ. Historic Rural Churches. https://www.hrcga.org/church/stanley-church/
Waldron's Leg by Rick Just. October 30th 2020. https://www.rickjust.com/blog/waldrons-leg
The Arm of Buel Stanley. Atlas Obscura. January 5th 2021. https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/the-arm-of-buel-stanley
Grave of Captain Jones's Leg. Atlas Obscura. August 16th 2017. https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/captain-jones-leg
Grave of Bert Barrett's Left Arm. Atlas Obscura. January 12th 2017. https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/grave-of-bert-barretts-left-arm
#husheduphistory#featuredarticles#history#forgottenhistory#weirdhistory#strangehistory#tragichistory#historyclass#truestory#truth is stranger than fiction#burials#limbburials#famousgraves#horrorhistory#scaryhistory#cemeteries#tombstones#gravestones#headstones#graveyards#graves
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