Friday, August 30, 2024

This is just one of those pleasantly odd little historical footnotes from days gone by, concerning the town of Oundle, England. The “Peterborough Standard,” November 21, 1930 (via Newspapers.com):

The history of Oundle, whose name, we are told, was spelt Undala or Undela in the tenth century, but not that it was Undalum in Bede's day, begins with the death of St. Wilfrid in 709. From that date it appears to have led the normal life of a medieval manor, usually peaceful, but with occasional disturbances, as in 1297, when the Bishop of Durham's men were assaulted and deprived of the goods which they had just purchased in the market. In the seventeenth century, that heyday of the supernatural, Oundle was remarkable for its drumming well, which was thus described:
"Here is much discourse of a strange well at Oundle in Northamptonshire: wherein has bene heard by many a kind of Druming in maner of a March for ye most part; and is said to be very Ominous, haveing bene heard heretofore, and always precedes some great accident. I wrote to the towne for an account of it, from whence I was informd of ye certaine truth of it, that it beat for about a fortnigh the ktter end of the last month and the begining of this, and in the very same maner was heard before the King's death, the Death of Crumwell, the King's coming in, the fire of London; this I had from a good hand, an inhabitant there: ye well is in the yard of one Dobbs. ..."

I was pleased to learn that Oundle still boasts a Drumming Well Lane, which I assume is around the now-lost site of “one Dobbs” and his well.

Monday, August 26, 2024

It seems ironic that a group of colonists who emigrated to free themselves from tyranny promptly started holding witchcraft trials, but that’s human nature for you. This week, we look at the woman who had the extremely dubious honor of being the first person in Massachusetts to be executed for sorcery.

Margaret Jones lived with her husband, Thomas, in Charlestown, Mass. We know little about her other than that she was a midwife and “healer” who prescribed various homemade herbal medicines for her ailing neighbors.

Margaret’s path to the gallows began in the spring of 1648, when, for reasons unrecorded, she quarreled with several of her neighbors. After this, “some mischief befell such Neighbors in their Creatures, or the like.” People who took her herbal potions began reporting that the medicines only made them feel much worse. Margaret unwisely replied to these complaints with warnings that if her customers stopped taking her “remedies,” they would die.

The Charlestown settlers continued to experience a rash of accidents and ailments among both the human residents and their livestock. Margaret and her mysterious concoctions made for an obvious scapegoat, and she soon became extremely unpopular. To counter her assumed “witchcraft,” some neighbors gathered together “some things supposed to be bewitched,” and burned them. Margaret was seen looking at the fire with great concern, which was interpreted as fear of her “black arts” being countered.

Word soon spread as far as Boston that Charlestown had a dangerous witch in their midst. The general panic reached such a level that the general court of the Massachusetts Bay Colony ordered that Margaret and her husband be put under arrest. The couple was seized, forced into a boat, and brought to Boston for imprisonment and trial.

On May 18, 1648, the “witch test” known as “watching” was performed on Margaret. Guards came to her jail cell with ropes, and she was hauled to the center of the room, where they had placed a stool. She was told she had a choice: either sit on the floor with her legs crossed or be bound in that position. Unsurprisingly, she chose the former. For the next 24 hours, she was forced to sit in that position, without being allowed food or sleep. There was a small opening made in the wall, where, it was assumed, her “familiar” would enter. Then, spies settled down to peer into her cell and await events.

To everyone’s horror, the “familiar” indeed materialized. According to colony leader John Winthrop, a little child--obviously an imp or demon of some sort--was seen in Margaret’s arms. The apparition ran into another room, and vanished. A subsequent search of Margaret’s body found the tell-tale “witch’s teat” in her "secret parts."

Whatever it was Margaret’s guards saw--or thought they saw--in her cell, her fate was now sealed. However, it is good to know that at least some people stood by her. It is recorded that a woman named Alice Stratton continued to assert her friend’s innocence. Alice regularly visited Margaret with a Bible, where the two women could be seen sobbing over the tragedy they both knew was coming.

Margaret’s trial was held in Boston’s First Church in early June 1648. Winthrop summarized the case presented against her:

June 15, 1648: At this court, one Margaret Jones, of Charlestown, was indicted and found guilty of witchcraft, and hanged for it. The evidence against her was:
1. That she was found to have such a malignant touch, as many persons, men, women, and children, whom she stroked or touched with any affection or displeasure, or etc., were taken with deafness, or vomiting, or other violent pains or sickness.
2. She practising physic, and her medicines being such things as, by her own confession, were harmless, – as anise-seed, liquors, etc., – yet had extraordinary violent effects.
3. She would use to tell such as would not make use of her physic, that they would never be healed; and accordingly their diseases and hurts continued, with relapse against the ordinary course, and beyond the apprehension of all physicians and surgeons.
4. Some things which she foretold came to pass accordingly; other things she would tell of, as secret speeches, etc., which she had no ordinary means to come to the knowledge of.
5. She had, upon search, an apparent teat...as fresh as if it had been newly sucked; and after it had been scanned, upon a forced search, that was withered, and another began on the opposite side.
6. In the prison, in the clear day-light, there was seen in her arms, she sitting on the floor, and her clothes up, etc., a little child, which ran from her into another room, and the officer following it, it was vanished. The like child was seen in two other places to which she had relation; and one maid that saw it, fell sick upon it, and was cured by the said Margaret, who used means to be employed to that end. Her behavior at her trial was very intemperate, lying notoriously, and railing upon the jury and witnesses, etc., and in the like distemper she died. The same day and hour she was executed, there was a very great tempest at Connecticut, which blew down many trees, etc.

In the face of what everyone present saw as overwhelming evidence that Margaret was a witch, the “guilty” verdict was a foregone conclusion. She was hanged on June 15. Although many pleaded with Margaret to repent and confess her guilt, thus at least saving herself from an eternity in Hell, she refused. One neighbor, John Hale, later recorded, “But she constantly professed herself innocent of that crime. Then one prayed her to consider if God did not bring this punishment upon her for some other crime and asked if she had not been guilty of stealing many years ago; she answered, she had stolen something, but it was long since and she had repented of it, and there was grace enough in Christ to pardon that long ago; but as for witchcraft she was wholly free from it, and so she said unto her death.”

Although Thomas Jones had been arrested along with his wife, no formal charges were ever brought against him. After Margaret’s execution, he was released, and sensibly decided to seek a change of scene. Upon being freed, he immediately boarded the “Welcome,” a ship riding anchor off Charlestown. However, the minute Thomas came on to the ship, it began to founder. The alarmed captain, knowing that his new passenger’s wife was a recently-executed witch, ordered that he be removed from the vessel. After this little misadventure, Thomas’ subsequent fate is unknown.

As for Margaret’s friend Alice Stratton, even after the execution, she continued to insist that Margaret had “died wrongfully” and that the colony’s magistrates were nothing better than a pack of murderers. Such talk naturally caused the authorities to suspect that she too was a witch. However, they were unable to find any evidence of this, so evidently Alice was allowed to live in peace. Her courage certainly deserved to be rewarded.

One can only say that some accused witches were luckier than others.

Friday, August 23, 2024

Weekend Link Dump

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

This week's Link Dump is open for business!

I'm sorry, but you latecomers will have to stand in the back.

We're still wondering: What the hell was Oumuamua?

A $20,000 beard.

The days of summer beanos.

A jealous woman murders her stepdaughter.

Tomb robbing was a big business in ancient Egypt.

Jerry Fox, Brooklyn's hero cat.

The still-mysterious murder of Olof Palme.

Los Angeles once had a Nazi bookstore.

The Wenlock Olympian Games, 1850.

The gruesome murder of a brutal husband.

No-bake cake recipes from the Great Depression.

Some memorable old newspaper typos.

New insights into the first Australians.

The geometric livestock of 19th century Britain.

A list of the most annoying words. Eh, whatever.

The latest about the Shroud of Turin.

The end of the tradition of putting mourning crape on the door.

Some new information about Viking monetary systems.

A wonderful "Supermoon" photo.

The "Brits Abroad" stereotype.

When Earth turned into a giant snowball.

America's first WWII flying hero.

Ancient paintings of supernatural figures.

The link between wine and the dinosaurs.

Will the real Holy Grail please stand up?

A possible urban legend: the woman who survived being buried alive.

Cheese goes a very long way back.

The evolution of the word, "weird."

The martyrdom of Anne Askew.

A forgotten amusement park in the Bronx.

A brief history of ticker tape parades.

The cats of John F. Kennedy Park.

Hitler's "most dangerous man in Europe."

That's it for this week! See you on Monday, when we'll meet a Colonial witch. In the meantime, here's some rock from back in the day.

Wednesday, August 21, 2024

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

It's "Mini Mysteries" time again, where I present an intriguing crime case from the past that doesn't provide enough information for a full blog post. The "Richmond Palladium-Item," April 21, 1910:

Hagerstown, Ind., April 21. Interest has been revived in an unsolved murder mystery by the discovery of a sign nailed to a telephone post near the place where the body of an unidentified man was found six years ago.

The sign reads: "The man who was found dead in these woods six years ago was murdered in the Hindman Hotel." Another sign has been added, reading: "It won't do any good to tear this sign down, as it will be put back as often as it is torn down." Six years ago a body was found in a woods west of town and near the German Baptist church. It was so badly decomposed that identification was impossible. It was presumed by the coroner that death had resulted from a bullet wound in the head. The Hindman hotel was operated by Mr. and Mrs. Arch Hindman at the time the murder is alleged to have occurred there and the citizens of Hagerstown think they do not know anything about the case and that the posting of the signs is a hoax. The authorities are investigating.
The signs found on the telephone post near the German-Baptist church, west of Hagerstown, recalls one of the most mysterious murder cases in the criminal history of Indiana. The authorities have never been able to identify the victim, learn who his slayer was, or why the crime was committed.
The man, so the records of former coroner, Dr. S. C. Markley show, had been dead at least five months before the body was accidentally discovered by a young farmer's boy. Before the grewsome discovery people in the neighborhood had complained of an offensive odor.
It is thought that the man was shot, but the authorities were never able to substantiate this theory. The man's body, at his back near the spine, showed a puncture the size of a bean, but probes made for the bullet were fruitless. The outer shirt and the undershirt worn by the man were also punctured, but his coat had no hole in it.
When the body was found the flesh on the skull had nearly all dropped off. There was one small patch of black hair remaining. The man apparently weighed about 135 pounds but owing to the badly decomposed condition of the body, his color or nationality could not be ascertained. He wore a dark suit of clothes.
Deputy Prosecutor Sells at Hagerstown this morning stated he had inspected the signs and would make an investigation of the case but that he had no hopes of unraveling the mystery. He said that in his opinion the signs had been posted by some enemies of Mr. Hindman, one of the most respected citizens of Hagerstown and who, for years, managed the Hindman house. He said that Mr. Hindman was positive that no murder had ever been committed in his hotel. Mr. Hindman has also inspected the signs.
From the coroner's report it is learned that the only papers found on the murdered man's person were some lottery tickets on a hotel in Florence, Italy, and a couple of letters which offered no clue as to the identity of the man on whom they were found.

As far as I can tell, that was the last word on the mystery.

Monday, August 19, 2024

The Vanishing Indian Camp: A Canadian Time-Slip

“Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.“

~T.S. Eliot

In 1905, Sir Cecil Edward Denny, a former Inspector of the North West Mounted Police, published memoirs titled “The Riders of the Plains: A Reminiscence of the Early and Exciting Days in the North West.” Of relevance to this blog is one chapter titled “A Strange Adventure,” where Denny describes an experience he had in the summer of 1875 that we today would call a “time-slip.” He was traveling along the Oldman River near Lethbridge, Alberta, Canada, to the foothills of nearby mountains in order to do some fishing and deer hunting.

While camped about noon the weather began to look threatening, heavy banks of clouds gathering in the north, and now and then the growl of thunder in the distance could be heard. As I was not more than half way, I started again on my downward journey as soon as possible, but the farther I went the darker it grew, and I soon saw that I was in for a heavy storm, which, to say the least, was by no means pleasant. The thunderstorms along the mountains, although seldom of long duration, were often very severe while they lasted, and by the look of things, I was in for one of the worst. I however made my way steadily down the river, and after a while the storm came down with a vengeance. There was a heavy wind, with hail, rain, and perpetual lightning, followed by deafening peals of thunder, seemingly right overhead. I found it difficult with such a light boat to make any progress, as the heavy wind would drive me from one shore to the other, and the river was lashed into quite heavy waves, so that, although the boat could not sink, I was sitting in water up to my waist, and sometimes sheets of water would be blown right over me. As it was getting quite dark, although not more than four o’clock in the afternoon, I found it impossible to make my way, and I determined to land and wait until the storm was over.
In rounding a bend in the river I saw on the south ban a good clump of timber, and determined to take shelter in it. I made for that shore, and as I approached the fury of the storm for a moment lulled, and in the stillness I could plainly hear the drums beating in an Indian camp, and the sound of the Indian “Hi-ya” mingling with it.
The sounds came from beyond the clump of trees, and I congratulated myself upon meeting with an Indian camp where I could take shelter from such a storm. I concluded that this was the camp I had been told had gone up the river. I therefore landed and drew up the boat into the brush, tying it securely, and, taking my gun, made as quickly as possible through the wood towards the point from which the sounds could now be plainly heard. The storm had now come down worse than ever, and the lightning was almost blinding. I made my way through the timber as fast as possible, it not being any too safe in such close proximity to the trees, and coming out into an open glade of quite an extent, I saw before me the Indian camp not more than two hundred yards away. I could see men and women, and even children, moving about among the lodges, and what struck me as strange was the fact that the fires in the centre of many of the tents shone through the entrances, which were open. This surprised me, as you do not often find the Indians moving about in the wet if they can help it. They generally keep their lodges well closed during a thunder storm, of which they are very much afraid. They look upon thunder as being the noise made by one of their deities called the “Old Man,” while throwing great boulders from the mountains. There were, I should consider, about twenty lodges in the camp, and a band of horses could be seen grazing not far off on the other side of the camp.
I stood for a few seconds watching and considering which lodge to make for, and had taken a few steps towards the one nearest me, when I seemed to be surrounded by a blaze of lightning, and at the same time a crash of thunder followed that fairly stunned me for nearly a minute, and sent me on my back. A large tree not far off was struck. I could hear the rending of the wood, and it was afterwards found nearly riven in half. Some of the electric fluid had partly stunned and thrown me down. I was fortunate to have escaped with my life, and, as it was, it was a few minutes before I was able to rise and look around. I looked towards the place where the camp stood, but to my unutterable astonishment as well as terror, it was not there.
It was quite light, although still storming heavily, and was not much after four o’clock. A few minutes before not only a large Indian camp had stood there, and the voices of the Indians could be distinctly heard, but now all had suddenly disappeared, even to the band of horses that were quietly grazing there only a few minutes before.
I stood for a moment almost dumb with astonishment, seeing and hearing nothing, when suddenly an overwhelming sense of terror seemed to seize me, and almost without knowing what I did, I ran towards the bank overlooking the river, which was about a quarter of a mile away, dropping my gun as I ran. I did not stop until I reached the top of the bank, and there I had to rest for want of breath. Here I managed to gather my wits together, and to think of what had taken place.
The open place where the camp had stood was in plain sight from where I was, with the clump of trees behind towards the river, but it was empty, and not a tent or human being in sight. There was nothing but the trees tossed by the storm and the driving rain, and now and then a flash of lightning. I could even then hardly believe my eyes, but there was no doubt about it, and I did not remain long in sight of that spot, and being afraid to go down to my boat, I determined to walk down the river bank to the fort, which must have been a good fifteen miles away. It was one of the hardest journeys I ever undertook. What with the shock from being thrown down, and then the most astonishing and inexplicable disappearance of the camp, and also being soaked to the skin, I was in a most uncomfortable condition. The storm continued until night, when it cleared up, and I made my way into the fort at about midnight, completely fagged out, turning into bed at once, with no explanation to anyone.
In the morning I told my story at breakfast to my three brother officers. I was not much the worse for my experience of the previous day, but the more I thought over the matter, the more bewildered and astonished I became. As I expected, I was only laughed at by my companion, who called it imagination. But this I am firmly convinced it was not.
I was not unduly excited when I first heard the Indian drums. I did not expect to find a camp there, but when I emerged from the wood and saw the camp before me, everything seemed perfectly natural, and in no way out of the ordinary. But the sudden and complete vanishing of the camp I could in no wise explain. I however determined to again proceed to the spot that morning, and bring down my boat and gun.
I therefore took an Indian and our Blackfoot interpreter with me. We found the place without trouble, but it was vacant, and look as we could no sign of any recent camp was to be seen. A few rings of stone partly overgrown with grass showed where an old camp had been many years ago, and on questioning the Indian, he stated that the Blackfeet had surprised and slaughtered a camp of Cree Indians at that place many years ago, and in fact we came across two bleached skulls lying in the grass.
The Indian did not seem to have any superstitions regarding that place. We found where a tree had been struck by lightning, and the boat and gun we brought away.
I have, until now, but seldom mentioned this circumstance, but I am to-day as firmly convinced as ever that the Indian camp, together with the men, women, and the horses, was most certainly there, and that I suffered under no hallucination whatever, but account for it I cannot, and look upon it as one of those inexplicable riddles which cannot be solved.

Friday, August 16, 2024

Weekend Link Dump

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

Although the Strange Company HQ staffers are already nagging me about next week's post.

The woes of ancient Egyptian scribes.

Benjamin Franklin and the scandalous printer.

A brief history of UFO sightings.

A possible origin of the Atlantis legend.

A possible sign of "intelligent design."

Bog bodies and bog butter.

Cats grieve when other pets die. I've noticed that they do with humans, as well.

An anti-rheumatic ring.

The scents of ancient Cyprus.

A particularly ghoulish murderer.

Foods that were created by Big Government.

Earth has many Gates of Hell, and I for one am not a bit surprised.

The East End and hopping season.

Stonehenge turns out to be part Scottish.

The mystery of "terminal lucidity."

The writings of Victorian governesses.

Death by lizard.

How do breakdancers avoid breaking themselves?

The Great Depression birthed a movement to create a new state.

This week in Russian Weird looks at when tax collectors carried battle axes.

What might be the earliest plant artifact ever found.

The cost of goods, then and now.

A temple associated with Jesus may have been found.

The man who didn't sleep.

Indian warrior women vs. the East India Company.

The rise of the British holidaymaker.

Horses have...horse sense.

In Athens, modern buildings house ancient ruins.

DNA has established the identity of a WWI soldier.

DNA has debunked one theory about Kaspar Hauser.

The graffiti of Pompeii.

The Titanic and a secret warehouse.

A haunted tunnel in London.

The historic wallpapers of Spitalfields.

The secret New York love nest of Marion Davies and William Randolph Hearst.

How North America fell out of love with cricket.

The death of Joseph P. Kennedy Jr.

Grim graffiti from an ancient Roman prison.

Yet another unhappy marriage ends in poison.

The Darwin Awards go a long way back.

The janitor and the UFO.

The legends of the Smithsonian Museum.

The Shadwell Shams.

New theories about the Battle of Hastings.

That's it for this week! See you on Monday, when we'll talk time-slips. In the meantime, here's a bit of Spanish music.

Wednesday, August 14, 2024

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This curious little tale--slightly reminiscent of the famed Kaspar Hauser--appeared in the “Alabama Beacon,” April 5, 1879:

The "Offenbach lady," who has for so many years been a riddle to Germans, has just died in her house at Offenbach, leaving the problem of her name and origin still unsolved.

The London Globe says of her: Nearly all she knew of herself was that she was a Hungarian by birth. On the 9th of November, 1853, a splendid equipage was driven to the border of a large wood near Frankfort. An old lady descended from the carriage, the servants handed out a beautiful little girl to her, and the two wandered some distance into the forest. The old lady, having given the child some meat and bread wrapped in a fine linen napkin, said: "Wait here a few minutes. I must go back to the carriage and will bring mamma to you.”

She never returned. The child wandered, as she said, three days and three nights in the forest, crying for "Mamma" and “Bertha." On the morning of the fourth day she was found by a peasant girl, who took her to a house in a neighboring village, where she slept for one night, but on the next morning she was stripped of her handsome clothes, her ear-rings and a gold medallion, was dressed in poor rags and turned out upon the road. She wandered to the village of Weinkirchen, crying out in Hungarian: "Where is mamma?" The people could not understand her. She was taken before a judge at Offenbach, but, as he knew no Hungarian, he could not get at her story.

She was supposed to be a beggar who had been taught to feign dumbness, for her questioner imagined that her Magyar explanations did not belong to any human language. She was condemned to a month's imprisonment, but her remarkable beauty and the refinement of her manners made such an impression that the sentence was not carried out. The town officials of Offenbach decreed that she should be taught to read and write German, and she remained for a long time the favored ward of the corporation. When she knew sufficient German she certainly unfolded a most extraordinary story. She could only remember two names: "Temeser" (Temesvar?) and "Bertha." She and her brother had been kept for some months in a cellar, where there were geese. Bertha fetched her from the cellar.

Frederick Eck published the story, as taken from her own lips, and it caused a great sensation both in Germany and Austria-Hungary. The Vienna papers demanded that stringent inquiries should be made at all the great houses in the neighborhood of Temesvar, but the proposal was never carried out. Professor Hermann Weber, of Kasmark, visited Offenbach, spoke Hungarian with her, and communicated her tale to the Pesti Napto; and other Hungarian scholars interested themselves in the attempt to unravel the mystery. She married an Offenbach, and had two children; but, although her marriage was a singularly happy and prosperous one, she was never able to shake off a certain melancholy, and she has died without any discovery as to who and what she originally was.

Monday, August 12, 2024

A Road Trip Into Oblivion: The Disappearance of David Lovely

Missing-persons cases can be tough to solve, but investigators usually have at least an approximate idea of when and where the person vanished. However, when no one can even guess at the time and place, you’re probably dealing with a mystery that could be solved only by a miracle. That is what makes the following disappearance particularly haunting.

David Vernon Lovely was born in Massachusetts in 1965. Although he grew into a very tall, seemingly fit youth, he had underlying health problems. He was born with an oversized kidney, which required major surgery when he was three years old. He was left with a permanently scarred, vulnerable abdomen. As a result, he was unable to play sports or drink more than very small amounts of alcohol. Despite that, he was able to lead a happy, essentially normal life.

When David was a teenager, his parents divorced, and he and his father moved to California. In 1985, his mother, Jackie, moved there as well. However, the Golden State evidently did not suit her, for in the summer of 1985, Jackie, David, and David’s 18-year-old sister Alison all decided to go back to Massachusetts.

The move would be a complicated cross-country road trip. Jackie drove a Ryder moving truck towing a pickup driven by Alison. David rode his newly-purchased 1978 maroon Yamaha motorcycle. As David’s bike was much speedier than the truck, they worked out a plan where every 30 miles or so they would stop to touch base.

On August 4, the little caravan left Salt Lake City, with the agreement that they would meet again at a gas station in Evanston, Wyoming. Before they parted, David told Jackie and Alison that his motorcycle was acting up a bit, so he hoped to find a mechanic along the way.

Unfortunately, before David could find anyone to look at his bike, the machine broke down, forcing him to spend the night along the side of the I-80 highway. On the morning of August 5, he pushed the bike three miles to a truck stop in the tiny town of Fort Bridger, Wyoming. He used the pay phone there to call his aunt, Barbara Janiak, in Massachusetts. He told her about his problems with the bike, adding that a “rough-looking” man on a Harley Davidson had managed to fix it. David said that although the man had initially seemed “scary,” he now felt at ease around him. David told Barbara that he would reunite with Jackie and Alison at Rock Springs, a city about 70 miles away, and call her again once he got there.

That phone call turned out to be the last time anyone has heard from David Lovely. When Jackie and Alison arrived at the next rest stop, David failed to appear. On the morning of August 6, Jackie phoned Barbara, where she learned of David’s plan to meet them at Rock Springs. However, when they reached that city, they were unable to find him. Not knowing what else to do, the two women pushed on to Lincoln, Nebraska, where they spent several days waiting for him. Finally, working on the assumption that David had tired of this stop-and-start travel and just went straight to Massachusetts, they left. At every rest stop, they asked state troopers if they had seen David. No one had.

When the women reached home, David was not there, and nobody had heard from him. Realizing that something was very wrong, the family immediately contacted police.

Law enforcement was initially reluctant to take David’s failure to show up seriously. They pointed out that he was 19 years old, an adult. He had probably just decided to go away somewhere without telling anyone. And, of course, there was the question of which jurisdiction should investigate his disappearance: David was a Massachusetts resident who had last been seen in Wyoming, and he was riding a bike registered in California. Police in all three states were inclined to shrug and say, “It’s not our problem.”

Authorities were finally forced to take the matter seriously when on August 14, a couple who had been camping in a remote area outside of Rock Springs reported finding an abandoned motorcycle that was soon proved to be David’s. It had been left in a dirt path off Middle Baxter Road, surrounded by nothing but empty desert. It was about 70 miles away from David’s last known location. The keys were in the ignition, the tank was half-full of gas, and it was in perfect working condition. Resting against the bike was David’s helmet and backpack containing his possessions and $150 in cash.

The couple who had found the bike told police that a few days earlier, they had seen a person (they could not tell if the figure was male or female) with long dark hair riding a large turquoise motorbike away from the area where they would later find David’s bike. That person has never been identified, and it’s anyone’s guess if he/she had any involvement with David’s disappearance. Authorities searched the area, without finding any clues to David’s whereabouts. It was a remarkably desolate, inhospitable place, with many ravines, cliffs, and gullies. The search was further hampered by several thunderstorms, which could have potentially washed away any evidence.

That was essentially the end of any official investigation into David’s disappearance. In November 2023, a hunter found a human skull in the general area where David’s bike had been found. It was unknown if the skull belonged to David, or any of the other (frighteningly numerous) other people who had vanished from the Rock Springs vicinity in recent years. I have been unable to find if the skull was ever identified.

This is a missing-persons case where virtually anything could have happened. It’s possible that foul play was not involved--perhaps David himself rode his bike to the Baxter Road area, intending to camp overnight there, only to come across some mishap--or a dangerous wild animal--in the rough terrain. If he was killed elsewhere, why did the murderer bother to abandon the bike and David’s other belongings in this remote location? Or, as some have suggested, did David camp out where his bike was found, only to run into some wandering serial killer?

Who knows?

Friday, August 9, 2024

Weekend Link Dump

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

We're all just one big happy family here.

The mystery of the "screaming mummy."

Just so you know that the London Museum is all about the glittery pigeon poop.

The life of Diane de Poitiers, royal mistress.

That time scientists argued about whether or not there's a volcano on the Moon.

The man who went from Titanic survivor to Olympic gold medal winner.

Humans have probably been wearing underwear for a very long time.

Restoring the first Air Force One.

The princesses of Early Modern Malay.

The birth of the British picnic.

The 1917 "Miracle of the Sun."

When diamonds were discovered in Arkansas.

How the Vikings depicted the afterlife.

The strange case of a woman found chained to a tree in India. And the sequel's even weirder.

In this week's Russian Weird, we meet some Siberian unicorns.

An ancient bone needle factory.

Skull moss: one of the more unsettling "medical cures."

T. Rex may have been even bigger than we thought.

Regency pig-faced ladies.

A brief history of the "beach read."

A brief history of American dating.

More evidence that ancient humans really got around.

When political conventions were all about the good whisky. Now needed more than ever, I'd say.

Jack the Baboon, railway operator.

The Stonehenge of Lake Michigan.

The mystery of "Vatican Girl."

A colorful member of the British Royal Navy.

Sharks are capable of having virgin births.

Sporty mourning costumes from 1901.

Early accounts of out-of-body experiences.

What may be the world's earliest known solar calendar.

Pro tip: If you die while performing a black magic ritual, that's probably not a good sign.

A look at the Harley Manuscripts.

The man who went from alchemist to counterfeiter.

The family who went from administrators to peers.

Why we need vultures.

The building of the United States Navy.

A rediscovered photographer.

How a French gymnast came to represent Algeria at the Olympics.

A strange 12,000 year old burial.

Personally, I'm always ready to talk medieval pigs.

The fugitive who inspired "Uncle Tom's Cabin."

The two meanings of "accommodate."

The theory that thunderstorms spoil milk.

The development of American humor.

That's it for this week! See you on Monday, when we'll look at the mysterious end to a young man's road trip. In the meantime, here's some bagpipes, Spanish style.

Wednesday, August 7, 2024

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

The following tale, which appeared in the "North Nebraska Eagle," August 1, 1895, may well be one of those old newspapers stories that are colorful, but probably having only the barest acquaintance with reality. Still, it's a nifty little sea mystery, so let's go for it:

One of the strangest stories about an abandoned ship comes from the Indian Ocean. In 1822 the British corvette Lizard was cruising off Ceylon. A ship came in sight with all sail set, and making good speed through the water. The officers took a long look and one said: "There is something wrong about that vessel. Her crojack is loose and flapping and there is no man at the wheel. We had better run down to her."
This was done, and when near it was seen that the ship had no crew, as there was no answer to the hail. When boarded there were no marks of trouble until on raising a nail that was spread over the main hatch the body of a man was found. He had been ironed to the lock-bars of the hatch-cover and had apparently been dead a week.

On going into the cabin, the body of an elderly man was found. He had been stabbed to death. On examining the log-book it was on record that the ship was Spanish, from the Philippines, and named El Frey Antonio, but, strangely, the last entry was six weeks past and spoke of abandoning the ship at a point 1,000 miles away, bound for Malaga, Spain. She was left on the road to China. A pitcher of water on the table was intact. Could the vessel hare come this long journey without meeting a storm, and how had the dead men got here? They had not been dead six weeks and both were Lascars.
The Frey Antonio was taken into Madras, the Spanish government notified, and their answer only made tho mystery deeper. The ship had sailed from Celebes more than a year before with six Roman Catholic priests as passengers, bound for Spain, and had no Lascars among her crew. And this was all. And from that faraway time until now the story of El Frey Antonio is one of the secrets of the deep.

Monday, August 5, 2024

The Poltergeist of Hafod Uchtryd

Hafod Uchtryd, circa 1795

As I have mentioned a number of times before, Wales is a wonderful source for ghost tales, folklore, accounts of strange creatures, and basic High Strangeness of all sorts, so it’s no surprise that the land has spawned some first-class poltergeists, as well. In 1759, lexicographer Lewis Morris wrote a letter to his brother Richard describing the lively spectral doings which were then happening at the estate of Hafod Uchtryd in Ceredigion:

Great numbers of honest people agree, and those of no mean understanding, that an invisible power performed extraordinary feats at Havod in the year 1751, and that the same kind or the like feats are now performed there after an intermission of 8 years. A sensible man told me he had seen in the kitchen there by daylight the potatoes in a basket made ready to be boiled jump out one after another towards the top of the room, and were no more seen till they soon returned into the basket, as you have seen maggots jump out of cheese in hot weather.
Several others that were in company at that house in 1751 told me there was about 15 of them one night in the same room, who had met there out of curiosity. The room was shut close. The hearth was soon full of stones--some as large as one’s hand, all laid gently down there by an invisible power without hurting anybody. One of the company took the largest of the stones and put it under his foot that he might keep it secure as he thought, but while they were in full talk about the surprising effects of the spirit, all the stones were instantly removed to the other end of the room, and that on which the man had his foot along with the rest; and at the same time they could hear a tinkling in a brass pan which was in the room, and nobody near it.
At other times this invisible power would lift up a large hall table as much as 4 men could lift and turn it feet uppermost, and knock it against the top of the room, and in an instant put it in its place.
Once the mistress called her maid to bring a certain tub with oatmeal on the table to make the bread, and in an instant this officious fellow heaped up the tub with oatmeal and threw it on the table without spilling a grain, which would have been impossible for any human being to do.
He broke a parson’s head till the blood ran for pretending to control him, and a son of John Rowlands, then tenant, that was in bed with the parson, had a cut on his nose, and he’ll carry the scar to his grave. You see what it is to keep bad company.
Evan Williams, who you know, saw a piece of window glass fall from the air on a table there, without breaking, which no man could have done, and a piece of painted delft ware come gently on a person’s plate that eat there.
This intruder would take John Rowlands’ great coat and button it about a chair, and place 2 or 3 peats on the top of the chair for a neck and a hat atop of that, which no man could possibly balance to stand there, and when the old man would hit them down with his hand in a passion, and cry what is this foolish fancy, all the buttons of the great coat would open instantly and the coat thrown after him. This strange gentleman was more free and paid more pranks with the old man than with any of the family. He would sometimes raise a great coffer with oatmeal, and put it athwart the bed over the old man’s legs. He would often open the curtains and pull the clothes off his bed; it grew so busy at last till all the servants were tired with his company, and chose to leave him in possession of the house. How he’ll behave with his friend Brych time will show.
I had forgot to tell you that when the stones as above were removing about the room, a person in thin pumps was heard to walk very gently and slide on the boards above them, while at the same time there was knocking in the brass pan, so it seems there is more than one of them, perhaps he may have his female as well as Brych, if bwganod [ghosts or goblins] do propagate their species.
Now upon all this what can we say? The evidence of his being there is of the strongest kind, but why should he play those monkey tricks, and why not play more of them as it is in his power to play some of them? He is no good being, for he might be at home doing something if he was. Is he a devil, one of the inhabitants of hell? He is a simple one if he is, otherwise he would have put on the shape of an angel of light, and cunningly have infused pernicious doctrines into the head of Brych, who was so well qualified to receive them.

Other sources say that the “bwganod” liked to laugh and shout and “kiss women in the dark.” At other times, it would appear as “a beautiful woman wanting to be kissed” and a pig that would rub against the master and mistress of the estate.

The Hafod poltergeist was not only versatile, but unusually persistent. In 1879, one Charles Wilkins noted that the bwganod had moved its main base of operations to the stables: “If Mr. Johnes wanted a horse saddled quickly, the moment it was done, everything would be taken off by invisible hands. Busy stablemen would get lumps of turf thrown at them, and they would be obliged to run away in fear and trembling, and when they returned it was to find everything in disorder--combs and brushes lying about in all sorts of places, harnesses piled in a heap, and, in fact, just such a condition of things as one might expect from the hands of a practical joker.”

Hafod Uchtryd was eventually destroyed by a fire that was widely suspected to have been caused by the resident bwganod. Whether this was the case or not, the spirit continued to make its usual mischief around the ruins. The owner, Thomas Johnes, had no desire to rebuild his home around a trouble-making sprite, so he engaged a conjurer to perform an exorcism. This expert summoned the bwganod and turned it into a fly, which he snapped up in his book of spells. The spirit was then ordered to “betake himself to Devil’s Bridge, and there with an ounce hammer and a tin tack cut off a fathom of the rock.”

Although this sounds like a spectral success story, Hafod--considered one of Europe’s finest 18th century picturesque landscapes--is still considered to be haunted. It is a justly popular hiking area, if you don’t mind the possibility that you will be sharing your walk with a vintage hobgoblin.