Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This odd little maybe-it-was-a-poltergeist-maybe-it-wasn't story appeared in the "Greenville (South Carolina) News," May 15, 1960:

GAFFNEY (AP) - It's a little spooky when a milk-filled glass suddenly shatters in the hand. 

Or when the best glass ash tray cracks with a loud noise. 

Equally ghostly is the noticeable break in a sea shell that adorns a living room end table. 

A vase and serving tray also are victims of the silent menace that has plagued the fragile contents of the Brian Eppley home in Gaffney for the past several weeks. 

Mr. Eppley, a former Charlotte resident who recently moved to Gaffney, believes these breakages are caused by frequency waves emitting from his television receiver. 

"You can't hear anything," he states, "but I can feel it...like pressure, beyond the area of hearing, from these waves." 

He says he develops a headache while watching TV.

Mrs. Eppley says that objects break only after the set has been on for a long period. "And the breaks occur only while the TV is on," she adds. 

Mr. and Mrs. Eppley were sitting in front of their TV set a few days ago. Suddenly, they heard a loud report. Their ash tray had split in the center. 

Later, other objects fell under the mysterious spell. 

Then the chain of events was climaxed when a glass broke into pieces while Mrs. Eppley held it and watched TV.

I couldn't find any follow-ups to this mystery, although three months after this story was published, South Carolina papers carried a small news item informing us that Brian D. Eppley, a former Charlotte resident who had recently moved to Gaffney, was arrested on charges of armed robbery.  Maybe he needed to pay for a new television.

A Halloween Mystery: The Disappearance of Pamela Hobley and Patricia Spencer

Halloween is a day of ghosts, witches, goblin cats…and occasionally, as the case below will demonstrate, an eerie real-life mystery.

16-year old Pamela Hobley and Patricia Spencer, who was a year younger, were high school students in Oscoda, Michigan.   The public learned relatively little about the girls, but they appeared to be normal, unremarkable middle-class teenagers.  Pamela was engaged to be married, but I presume the wedding was intended to be in the distant future.  There were rumors that the girls liked to party and did a bit of experimenting with drugs and alcohol, but if so, that does not seem to have had any major negative impact on their lives.

Pamela Hobley

On October 31, 1969, some anonymous idiot decided to celebrate the holiday by phoning a bomb threat to the girls’ high school.  It was believed to be a mere hoax, but Pamela and Patricia signed out of school early.  They were seen walking away from the building at around 2 p.m.  The fact that they left together was considered odd.  The girls knew each other, but were not considered friends.  Neither of them had their purses or any other belongings with them.  

Both the girls had plans to attend a homecoming game that evening, followed by a Halloween party, so when Pamela’s mother, Lois, and younger siblings returned home from trick-or-treating, they were not surprised that she was not at home.  They only started to worry when Pamela’s boyfriend phoned, asking why she was not at the party.  Lois began phoning the families of other students, but none of them had seen Pamela.  When she reached the Spencer home, and learned that Patricia was missing as well, Lois contacted police.

Patricia Spencer

This was one of those missing-persons cases where investigators had almost nothing to work with.  At first, police assumed the girls had simply run away, but if such was the case, why did neither of them take even the basics like money or ID?  Also, both the girls seemed happy enough with their lives, with no discernible reason to disappear.  Police believed that after leaving the high school, Pamela and Patricia hitched a ride to Oscoda’s downtown area, but after that, it was as if they simply walked into oblivion.  We have no reliable clues for what subsequently became of either girl.

There is one odd footnote to this disturbingly vague case:  Shortly before the girls disappeared, an old boyfriend of Patricia’s named Francis Tebo got into some sort of trouble with the law, which caused him to be sent to Whitmore Lake Boys’ Training School.  In November 1969, he underwent an appendectomy in a Detroit hospital.  Soon after the operation, Francis ran away from the hospital and vanished.  At first, there was speculation that Francis’ disappearance was somehow linked to the Hobley/Spencer mystery, but it appears that the boy was subsequently traced, and police were able to satisfy themselves that he knew nothing about the two girls.  

Police learned that in 1968, one of the girls had, without her knowledge, been given a drugged drink by an airman at nearby Wurtsmith Air Force Base, after which she was found “in the woods having hallucinations.”  (The airman was subsequently convicted of the crime.)  However, no one could find any connection between this incident and the girls’ disappearance.

Despite the long passage of time, police are still hoping to solve the case.  Over the years, they have pursued various leads, but without any success.  The girls’ remaining family members are also actively searching for answers, but at least some of their relatives are convinced Pamela and Patricia were murdered soon after they vanished.  Pamela’s sister Mary Buehrle, who was eight when her sibling vanished, told a reporter in 2023 that "We watched my mom on her deathbed and she saw Pam.”

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

As an aside, I suspect that everyone who's lived with cats is used to being awakened in this way.

What the hell was Trunko?

A marshal's unsolved murder.

Why "W" is sometimes silent.

How "snake oil" became a term for fraud.

Elizabethan witchcraft and the legal system.

The people obsessed with Find-a-Grave.

A submerged 2,000-year-old temple.

When election ballots were works of art.

One freaking big geoglyph.

A tiny, but elaborate, house in Pompeii.

A haunted lighthouse.

The latest in the search for Noah's Ark.

A brief history of gremlins.

The fine art of being a British villain.

A look at the Qatar Digital Library.

The rediscovery of the graves of four Continental soldiers.

The mystery of "Syndrome X."

A mysterious mathematical genius.

The last chapter of the Vietnam War.

When your dead relatives come to tell you, "You're next."

Easter Island and the Earth's mantle.

The history of two prominent 18th century families.

The moon-eyed people of Appalachia.

Vintage London fogs and smogs.

Some really weird plants.

Captain Elton, who just couldn't stay buried.

Why you never want to cross paths with a mega-meteorite.  Unless, of course, you like boiled oceans.

London's haunted pubs.

The man who may have been Britain's first black voter.

A lament for the lost art of letter-writing.

Artifacts of medieval women.

The first dedicated attack chopper.

The spider that changed astronomy.

The inn that's the seventh-most haunted place in the world. I had no idea there was a competitive ranking for such things.

The notorious Hammersmith Ghost.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a Halloween mystery.  In the meantime, here's a cute little instrument that I'd never heard of until the other day.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

Everyone loves a good death omen account (unless you’re the unfortunate one to see it, of course,) and this is something of a doozy.  The “Moncton Transcript,” August 20, 1896:

WILKESBARRE, Aug. 20.--Robert Montgomery, of Wanamie, near here, died today under very peculiar circumstances, and evidently from fright or a belief that he had been warned of his approaching death by a wraith, and that he had a premonition that he could not live.

For years Montgomery has been employed as pump runner in No. 18 colliery of the Lehigh and Wilkesbarre Coal Company at Wanamie. He was a brave soldier in the late war, and was not easily frightened. Two weeks ago he said that while he was attending to his work he heard a peculiar noise in the mine. He paid no attention to it at the time.

A few moments later a peculiar feeling came over him as though there was an awful draught circulating through the mine and he became chilly. He looked up from his work, as he had just started to oil the machinery, at the repetition of the strange noise. He claimed he felt as though there was some one else about besides himself. He could not see any one, and strained his eyes far into the dark recess. Then he beheld a white object about the size of a man.

It moved about as though floating in the air and kept a certain distance from him. He spoke to the strange apparition several times, but not a sound came from it, and it soon disappeared from view, keeping its face toward him all the time. Montgomery at once made a search, but failed to find anyone lurking or hiding about, and he was in a quandary to the matter. He was very much affected, and told his friends he regarded the wraith as an omen of death. He at once gave up his position and, a couple of days later, took to his bed although he had no specific sickness which the doctors could discover.

He continued to talk of the wraith and said it was of no avail to take medicine or care for himself, that he was doomed, and might as well reconcile himself to death. Some of his friends tried to dispel his thoughts about death, by saying it was a man sent in by the company to see if he performed his duty. But the deceased would never believe anything else but that it was the omen of death, and grew gradually weaker until the death he had looked for came early this morning.

The Mystery of Flight 23

The Boeing 247 was the first modern passenger airline.  It was considered a wonder in its day.  For the first time, a passenger plane was soundproof, air-conditioned, and so quiet that those onboard could speak to each other without having to yell.  However, what the plane is perhaps best known for was its involvement with an enigmatic tragedy.

At 6:57 p.m. on October 10, 1933, United Flight 23 took off from Cleveland, Ohio for a Chicago-bound flight with seven people on board, including the crew.  It seemed a perfectly routine journey.  The plane carried the pilot, Harold Tarrant, his co-pilot A.T. Ruby, stewardess Alice Scribner, and passengers Dorothy Dwyer, Emil Smith, Warren Burris, and Frederick Schoendorff.  They were average, decent people going about their normal lives.  Tarrant, Scribner, and Dwyer were all engaged to be married.  At 8:46 p.m., Tarrant radioed from North Liberty, Indiana, that the plane was on-track to land in Chicago at 9:47.

This was the last word from anyone on Flight 23.  At around 9:15, when the plane was five miles southeast of Chesterton, Indiana, it exploded so violently it sent shock waves through the normally peaceful farmland below.  The tail end, containing two of the passengers, plummeted straight downwards.  The other half of the plane, in the words of one witness, “shot to earth like a blazing comet” near Jackson Center Township.  Seven souls had just suffered a sudden and horrifying death.

"Vidette-Messenger," October 11, 1933, via Newspapers.com

At first, investigators assumed the explosion had been caused by some tragic, unforeseen accident.  Perhaps a motor or a gas tank ruptured.  Or maybe a passenger’s cigarette ignited gas from a broken fuel line.  Was the plane hit by lightning?  A meteorite?  Some predicted that, considering there were no survivors to explain what had happened, the cause of the catastrophe was fated to remain unknown.

However, Melvin S. Purvis, the head of the FBI’s Chicago office, believed that Flight 23 had been brought down by a bomb, and FBI agents were sent to secure the wreckage.  Dr. Clarence W. Muehlberger, a crime detection expert for Chicago’s coroner’s office, studied the debris.  The shrapnel holes he found on many of the remains caused him to conclude that the plane had been brought down by some sort of very powerful explosive.  (The FBI eventually determined that nitroglycerin had been used.) It became accepted that they were not dealing with a simple freak accident, but the first act of airline terrorism in American history.

But what was the motive?  Did someone on the plane commit an act of suicide/mass murder?  Did unions or gangsters sabotage Flight 23 for some as-yet unknown reason?  Did one of the passengers or crew have a very, very deadly enemy?  Did a passenger, unwittingly or not, carry the bomb aboard, or was it secretly placed in the plane when it made a routine refueling stop in Cleveland?

The FBI first turned their attention to Emil Smith, who had boarded the flight when it made a stop in Newark.  Their suspicions were aroused by the fact that the day before, Smith had purchased life insurance promising a payout of $10,000 if his plane should crash.  Witnesses said Smith had brought on to the plane a handgun and a brown paper sack, which they thought was odd.  However, Smith, a WWI veteran who lived with his aunt, appeared to be a quiet, prosperous man completely incapable of any sort of evil.  Eventually, the paper sack was located, and although its contents were never made public, the FBI announced that Smith was clearly an innocent victim.

The investigation dragged on until September 20, 1935, when J. Edgar Hoover announced that “all undeveloped leads in this case have been exhausted,” and therefore, the Bureau was closing the books on the crime.  Since that day, no new information in the case has surfaced.  It is likely we will never know who planted a bomb on Flight 23, let alone why they did so.

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

This week's Link Dump is on the march!

Remembering the victims of a long-ago mining disaster.

A perverted patrolman's revenge.

A dog climbed the Great Pyramid, and everyone is hoping he got down just as safely.

A coded tombstone.

A clandestine marriage minister.

Vintage photos show how much Los Angeles has changed over the years.  And not for the better.

Photographs of a vanished London.

Plants to banish evil.

Margery Kempe, history's weepiest mystic.

The mysterious "Red Deer Cave People."

Rediscovering ancient technology.

Why is the world filled with witches?

Why we can't seem to escape karaoke.

What New Zealanders once thought of Americans.  Maybe this is how they still think of Americans. Don't ask me.

The Great Misery Island.

A visit from the Death Angel.

A tale of a "single man."

The ghosts of Waterloo.

WWI's Attack of the Dead Men.

A swashbuckling soldier's mysterious death.

Mapping the Pacific Northwest.

The discovery of one of the world's oldest Christian churches.

Clairvoyance and the Cottingley fairies.

A lost grave, Ouija boards, and John Waters, all in the same post.

The confessions of a murderer.

The most haunted pubs in York, England.

Harry the life-saving horse.

The long history of the "vanishing hitchhiker."

In which Zelda reviews F. Scott.

A murder case where the butler really did it.

That's a wrap for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at an airline flight that ended in mysterious tragedy.  In the meantime, here's Johnny!

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This is one of those odd news items that is difficult to place in any of the usual categories.  The “Lancaster (Pennsylvania) Examiner,” August 25, 1875:

The Reading Eagle, of Wednesday, contains the following queer and quaint details of a strange affair, to which, it says, Mr. Jacob S. Peters, of Millersville, was an eyewitness. We give the article entire, and let it go for what it is worth, viz : 

For the past eight or ten days, the cries of a child have been heard night after night, near the road leading from Morgantown to Waynesburg. A few nights since, a party crossing the mountain saw a child near the top of a large tree, in a basket.

They heard it cry, and then the basket, in which the supposed child was, disappeared. There is a great mystery connected with the affair. Quite a number of persons have visited the place.

An Eagle correspondent writing from Morgantown sends the following strange account of the affair, which reads like a weird story of legerdemain, or like a romance of hobgoblins or witches.

The letter reads as follows: Last evening I read in the Eagle an account of a singular noise at the Ringing Rocks, near Pottstown, but we have a something on the summit of the Welsh Mountain, midway between Morgantown and Waynesburg, and about one-fourth of a mile in from the main road connecting the above places. For the past two weeks, the cries of a child could be heard by persons passing along the road, and at first nothing was thought of it, but on Sunday night last, as Robert Gorman, residing north of Downingtown, in company with another gentleman and two ladies were passing the point, the cries became heartrending, and they thought someone was treating a child shamefully. Mr. Gorman proposed to his friend to walk into the woods and ascertain the cause, the ladies to remain in the carriage. As Mr. G. thought it only a short distance to the house the child was thought to be in, the ladies concluded to go with the gentlemen, and the horses were secured to a tree, and the party started, the cries still increasing. After walking a short distance, one of the ladies, a Miss Ellie Parker, who resides near Paoli, slopped suddenly, and told the party to look up near the top of a large tree just in front of them, and there was seen a baby seated in a small basket, swinging back and forth, with but faint cries. The ladies became frightened at the sight, and begged one of the gentlemen to try and get up in the tree and bring the child down. The distance up to the first limb was some twenty feet, and the gentlemen found it impossible to get up.

While the conversation was going on as to how the child could be brought down, the child gave one scream, and as if by magic, the basket fell half the distance to the ground, causing the ladies to scream, and the entire party to be more or less frightened. In less time than it takes to write this, the basket and its contents were back in its place again, the child crying all the time. This movement struck terror into the party. They watched the movements of the basket and saw the baby plainly for five minutes afterwards, and all at once, the basket with its contents disappeared. The party states that the whole affair is one of the greatest mysteries they have ever met with.

Mr. Gorman says it was child's play, but it was nevertheless a reality. The ladies state that the child was alive, for they saw it plainly move when it fell down toward them. On Monday evening a party numbering some twenty repaired to the place, and all saw the same thing. What it is is a grand mystery, as too many reliable persons saw it to be a hoax.

Mr. J. S. Peters, residing south of Lancaster city, was one of the party, on Monday night, and he says he saw the baby in the basket, saw it move, and saw the falling and the disappearance. How long this will continue I am unable to say.

A number from Churchtown are going over on Thursday night to witness the mystery. If the affair can be explained I will write you again.

It was later “explained” that the strange phenomenon was an elaborate prank executed by a “young lady in the neighborhood” who happened to be a ventriloquist, but, frankly, that reminds me of all the poltergeist cases that wind up being blamed on the nearest available adolescent or maidservant.

Mr. A.F. Dreams a Dream

Accounts of prophetic dreams are almost tediously common, but the following narrative is quirky enough to deserve attention.  It was published in that classic supernatural smorgasbord, Catherine Crowe’s “The Night-Side of Nature.”

A very remarkable instance of this kind of dreaming occurred a few years since to Mr. A⁠—— F⁠——, an eminent Scotch advocate, while staying in the neighborhood of Loch Fyne, who dreamed one night that he saw a number of people in the street following a man to the scaffold. He discovered the features of the criminal in the cart distinctly; and, for some reason or other, which he could not account for, felt an extraordinary interest in his fate—insomuch that he joined the throng, and accompanied him to the place that was to terminate his earthly career. This interest was the more unaccountable, that the man had an exceedingly unprepossessing countenance, but it was nevertheless so vivid as to induce the dreamer to ascend the scaffold, and address him, with a view to enable him to escape the impending catastrophe. Suddenly, however, while he was talking to him, the whole scene dissolved away, and the sleeper awoke. Being a good deal struck with the lifelike reality of the vision, and the impression made on his mind by the features of this man, he related the circumstance to his friends at breakfast, adding that he should know him anywhere, if he saw him. A few jests being made on the subject, the thing was forgotten.

On the afternoon of the same day, the advocate was informed that two men wanted to speak to him, and, on going into the hall, he was struck with amazement at perceiving that one of them was the hero of his dream!

“We are accused of a murder,” said they, “and we wish to consult you. Three of us went out last night, in a boat; an accident has happened; our comrade is drowned, and they want to make us accountable for him.” The advocate then put some interrogations to them, and the result produced in his mind by their answers was a conviction of their guilt. Probably the recollection of his dream rendered the effects of this conviction more palpable; for one addressing the other, said in Gaelic, “We have come to the wrong man; he is against us.”

“There is a higher power than I against you,” returned the gentleman; “and the only advice I can give you is, if you are guilty, fly immediately.” Upon this, they went away; and the next thing he heard was, that they were taken into custody on suspicion of the murder.

The account of the affair was, that, as they said, the three had gone out together on the preceding evening, and that in the morning the body of one of them had been found on the shore, with a cut across his forehead. The father and friend of the victim had waited on the banks of the lake till the boat came in, and then demanded their companion; of whom, however, they professed themselves unable to give any account. Upon this, the old man led them to his cottage for the purpose of showing them the body of his son. One entered, and, at the sight of it, burst into a passion of tears; the other refused to do so, saying his business called him immediately home, and went sulkily away. This last was the man seen in the dream.

After a fortnight’s incarceration, the former of these was liberated; and he then declared to the advocate his intention of bringing an action of damages for false imprisonment. He was advised not to do it. “Leave well alone,” said the lawyer; “and if you’ll take my advice, make off while you can.” The man, however, refused to fly: he declared that he really did not know what had occasioned the death of his comrade. The latter had been at one end of the boat, and he at the other; when he looked round, he was gone; but whether he had fallen overboard, and cut his head as he fell, or whether he had been struck and pushed into the water, he did not know. The advocate became finally satisfied of this man’s innocence; but the authorities, thinking it absurd to try one and not the other, again laid hands on him: and it fell to Mr. A⁠—— F⁠—— to be the defender of both. The difficulty was, not to separate their cases in his pleading; for, however morally convinced of the different ground on which they stood, his duty, professionally, was to obtain the acquittal of both, in which he finally succeeded, as regarded the charge of murder. They were, therefore, sentenced to two years’ imprisonment; and, so far as the dream is concerned, here ends the story. There remains, however, a curious sequel to it.

A few years afterward, the same gentleman being in a boat on Loch Fyne, in company with Sir T⁠—— D⁠—— L⁠——, happened to be mentioning these curious circumstances, when one of the boatmen said that he “knew well about those two men; and that a very strange thing had occurred in regard to one of them.” This one, on inquiry, proved to be the subject of the dream; and the strange thing was this: On being liberated, he had quitted that part of the country, and in process of time had gone to Greenock, and thence embarked in a vessel for Cork. But the vessel seemed fated never to reach its destination; one misfortune happened after another, till at length the sailors said: “This won’t do; there must be a murderer on board with us!” As is usual, when such a persuasion exists, they drew lots three times, and each time it fell on that man! He was consequently put on shore, and the vessel went on its way without him. What had become of him afterward was not known.

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

And afterwards, join us for afternoon tea on the Strange Company HQ grounds.

The adventures of a corpse.

A particularly clumsy fraud.

The Lawson Family Murders.

A doctor murders his wife.  (Personally, I doubt this case inspired "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."  Chantrelle was no split personality--he was just an amoral bastard.)

Images of late 19th century London.

When death appears as a dog.

When death appears as a pigeon.

In case you were wondering, people are still wasting their time trying to identify Jack the Ripper.

UFOs and a musician's disappearance.

So, who's in the market for some morbid real estate?

Some superstitions from Britain and Ireland.

A look at "Wuthering Heights," one of the worst novels ever written.  (The author of this piece doesn't say that; I do.)

A look at mourning rings.

The hatter and the harpist.

Solving the mystery of the sculpture intended for JFK's grave.

The papers of two British families in India.

A face on Mars.

Night in ancient times.

The site that may be the world's oldest observatory.

The various meanings of the word "pecker."

The midwife of death.

A New England ghost hunter.

An ancient Egyptian tomb has just been discovered.

The dangers of bedsheet ghosts.

People have been worried about fake photos for quite a long time.

People have been taking cocaine for quite a long time.

Psychedelics and medieval witchcraft.

An unsolved Tennessee murder.

The monsters of Indigenous folklore.

Murder at The Swamp.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a prophetic dream story with a couple of odd twists.  In the meantime, RIP John David Souther.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Ludgvan Parish Church, final resting place of our Mystery Bones. Photo: Sheila Russell

I always say, it’s unsettling to find human remains where they shouldn’t be.  The “West Briton,” May 4, 1871 (via Newspapers.com):

Mr. F. Hosking, of Tregender, Ludgvan, purchased recently some land and a cot not far from his house, called Garter's Gravelane. Rather more than 20 years ago Mr. and Mrs. Curnow occupied the cot. Before he married Mr. Curnow had to contribute towards the maintenance of an illegitimate daughter. After his marriage the child was brought to his home, and brought up there.

Rumor said that this child, in girlhood and early womanhood, led an unhappy life, and that more especially was this the case as between her stepmother and herself. Twenty or twenty-one years ago the daughter suddenly disappeared. Mr. and Mrs. Curnow said she had gone off with a tramp, and, gradually, the remembrance of the unhappy step-daughter faded away in the neighbourhood.

Mr. and Mrs. Curnow are both dead, and leave children, Mr. Hosking having resolved to build a hedge on his newly acquired property, his men were digging across the "town-place," or farmyard of the house at Garter's Grave, and were engaged on a spot over which, time out of mind, a rick of furze stood, when, at from 18 inches to two feet beneath the soil, they came on a skull and bones. Proceeding carefully with their excavation, they disclosed a well-formed shallow grave, about 5ft. 6in. long. The skeleton of a short person was disinterred, but not a shred of clothing or aught else gave a clue to the age, sex, or identification of the body buried in so strange a piece. A boxful of bones and dust has been deposited in Ludgvan churchyard. 

Of course, the disappearance of young Mary Green is now the subject of mysterious speculation, as well as all that is known of her and the deceased Curnows; in justice to whose memory it should be said that two or three of their near relations assert that, 15 or 16 years since, and again nine years ago, she was seen by them in the company of the tramp with whom she suddenly left home.

The curiosity of hundreds has stimulated them to inspect the remains, and the theme at as many hundreds of places is--If not the remains of Green, whose are they?

The “West Briton” had a brief follow-up story on May 11:

The relatives of Mr and Mrs Curnow, who once lived in the cot in Ludgvan, in the townplace of which human bones were recently found state that this singularly-named place was at one time known as Clark’s Croft but that a tenant (so runs the village story) hung himself by his garters and was buried in the Three Lanes’ End 20 yards from his house. They ask whether it is possible that the remains recently found were those of the unfortunate suicide? Of one thing they express themselves perfectly satisfied—that Mary Green, the late Mr. Curnow’s daughter and his wife’s step-daughter was alive two years ago. It is true that Mary Green was the illegitimate child of Mr. Curnow, but they say it is untrue that she was ever treated differently from her step-brothers and sisters. Her father “never gave her the weight of his hand.'’ 

This young woman, say her step-brothers, came to Penzance in service, did not conduct herself creditably, and finally started off with a tramp. 13 years ago she was seen at Hayle, nine years since in Lelant, and only two years back at Wendron by a neighbour who knew her very well. Therefore, state her step-brothers, whose bones soever be ones may be found at Garter's Grave, they cannot be those of their wandering step-sister. Of this they are most positive as well as of the perfect innocence of their father and mother of hurting her by word or deed. Satisfactory as this may be, we have still the unsolved mystery—whose were the bones found under the turf-rick in the townplace?

That question was apparently never answered.

Fatal Circumstances: The Shaw Tragedy

The former site for executions at Leith Walk, as it looked in the 1960s

Circumstantial evidence is defined as “indirect evidence that does not, on its face, prove a fact in issue but gives rise to a logical inference that the fact exists.”  It can be extraordinarily convincing to a jury.  After all, so-called “direct evidence,” such as eyewitness testimony, is often incorrect.  But a series of facts which all appear to lead to just one conclusion can be very hard to argue against.  However, a once-notorious murder case taught a valuable lesson: the most obvious solution to a crime is not always the correct one.

In 1721, an upholsterer named William Shaw and his daughter Catherine lived in a tenement flat in Edinburgh, Scotland.  Unfortunately, their little household was far from happy.  Catherine wished to marry a jeweler named John Lawson.  However, William was vehemently opposed to the match.  He believed Lawson was a dissipated wretch who would inevitably make his daughter’s life miserable.  His chosen suitor for Catherine was a young man named Alexander Robertson, the son of a close friend of William’s.  When Catherine stubbornly continued to see Lawson, William confined her to their flat.  Neighbors in their crowded apartment building often heard the two bitterly quarreling over the matter.

One evening, a man named James Morrison, who lived next to the Shaws, heard father and daughter having one of their rows.  Although he could not hear the entire conversation (despite his obvious best efforts to eavesdrop) Morrison heard Catherine spitting out the words, “barbarity,” “cruelty,” and “death.”  Some time later, William stalked out, locking the door after him.  For a while, a welcome silence reigned.  Then, Morrison thought he heard groans coming from the Shaw flat.  Frightened by the thought of what might be going on, Morrison gathered together some neighbors, and they all cautiously approached the Shaw door.  They heard Catherine moan, “Cruel father, thou art the cause of my death.”

The crowd instantly broke the door down.  They found Catherine lying in a pool of blood, with a knife by her side.  The young woman was dying and unable to speak, but when asked if her father had truly been responsible for her injuries, it was thought that she nodded her head.  And then she died.

William arrived home right at this very inopportune moment.  When he saw his daughter lying lifeless, surrounded by the group of neighbors (as well as a constable who had just joined the scene,) he nearly fainted.  The officer instantly placed him under arrest.  Everyone present was interested to note that William’s shirt bore some blood stains, which he lamely explained were from wounds he had recently suffered.

William’s trial for murder was a mere formality.  All the circumstances stated above, including what appeared to be a deathbed accusation from the victim, made his guilty verdict a foregone conclusion.  He was hanged in November 1721.  William’s last words before being dispatched into eternity were, “I am innocent of my daughter’s murder.”  His body was left hanging in chains in Leith Walk.

Edinburghers shrugged.  They all say they didn’t do it, don’t they?

Life went on, and the regrettable matter was soon forgotten.  But not for long.  In August 1722, the man living in what had been the Shaw apartment was doing some light repair work in the room where Catherine had died.  While doing so, he discovered a folded paper that had become wedged into a small cavity on the side of the chimney.  It was a letter reading:  

“Barbarous father, your cruelty in having put it out of my power ever to join my fate to that of the only man I could love, and tyrannically insisting upon my marrying one whom I always hated, has made me form a resolution to put an end to my existence which has now become a burden to me.  I doubt not I shall find mercy in another world; for sure no benevolent being can require that I should any longer live in torment to myself in this!  My death I lay to your charge; when you read this consider yourself as the inhuman wretch that plunged the knife into the bosom of the unhappy--Catherine Shaw.”

Well.  

Friends and relatives of Catherine’s confirmed the handwriting was hers.  The magistrates of Edinburgh, having satisfied themselves of the letter’s authenticity, did what little they could to remedy their embarrassing situation.  William’s body--or whatever was left of it by this time--was removed from the gibbet and given to his family for a proper burial.  Over his grave was placed a banner proclaiming his innocence.  And for many years afterward, criminal defense attorneys recited the Shaw case to juries, as an example of the dangers of placing implicit trust in circumstantial evidence.

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!  Our host this week is a celebrity from 1915, Ecklin's Famous Fat Cat, Miikku!

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find out more about our friend here.  And, anyway, I think he's just a bit chubby.

Europe's oldest known battlefield.

A brief history of money.

The wild world of hummingbirds.

19th century Parisian fashion styles.

So, you want to be a spy?

Some spirits you definitely don't want to meet.

Some mighty strange creatures live in the deep sea.

When Ray Bradbury met Moby Dick, and things did not go at all well.

The first man to walk around the world.

If you've been longing to pay good money for some aged mold, I have good news!

The life of George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham.

19th century Britain really liked to unwrap mummies.

The end of the world's longest treasure hunt.

Lady Elizabeth Russell, Keeper of the Castle.

Why we stare at "Girl With the Pearl Earring."  Although, to be honest, I've never liked that painting.  Go figure.

The Great Potato Duel.

Washington Irving's wildly successful literary hoax.

The "Brides in the Bath" murders.

The Tower of London as seen by Cruikshank.

The life of a British naval hero.

Cavalry vs. cavalry in WWII.

The 1780 invasion of the British Parliament.

Cannibalism and the Franklin Expedition.

The world's first submarine.

Lake Michigan is full of giant craters, and scientists are puzzled.

The world is full of skyquakes, and scientists are still puzzled.

That time San Francisco evicted a bunch of dead people.

Six haunted libraries.

The man who had an...unusual musical talent.

The difficulties of dealing with a white elephant from Mandalay.

The dog who saved Warner Brothers.

A brief history of water filtration.

In search of Baba Yaga.

The making of a death mask.

The Celtic origins of Halloween.

The earliest known evidence of humans in the Arctic.

WWII prisoners of war stage a "great escape."

The 19th century King of Poachers.

How the Anglo-Saxon language influenced modern English.

The unreliability of eyewitness identification.

An eccentric treasure hunter.

A mysterious shooting.

The original symbolism of swastikas.

It's not always a good idea to listen to Ouija boards.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a murder case that turned out to not be what it seemed.  In the meantime, here's some Haydn.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This account of a ghost who really resented sharing its apartment with roommates appeared in the “New York Times,” March 25, 1900:

Within a stone's throw of the headquarters of the Square-Back Rangers, in Cherry Street, is a three-room front flat, which has come near enough to being haunted, so that no tenant has remained more than a few hours within its walls for the goodly space of nineteen years. Tenants have presumed to move in only to hustle out, after finding their furniture turned upside down and their handsome framed chromos turned to the wall by occult influences. 

The “bravest guy" on Cherry Hill five years ago ventured to go into the hallway several hours after twilight.  He could see nothing there, but he got a thump in the eye and also managed to get a swollen cheek. He said it was the nastiest scrap he ever ran up against. 

An old French woman nineteen years ago became agonized with grief over the loss of her husband, who had sickened and died in this fat. One night she took a blanket and a stout clothes line, and with their help hanged herself on the bedroom door. She was found dead in the morning and her body was taken down by the neighbors.

Since that tragedy the flat has been uninhabitable. Cherry Hill lights hesitate to say that it is haunted, because they do not believe that the ghost of the unfortunate French woman ever comes back to the scene of death. But, everybody in the old Fourth Ward knows that there is something the matter with that flat. There were the Ryans, who were just as respectable a family as ever lived in the hill, and they had no skeletons in their family closet to excite the sinister ill-will of a ghost. They moved into the flat--husband and wife and three children. About an hour after they had all gone to bed there was one of the greatest rackets that ever took place in a genuinely haunted house.

The family woke up to see their furniture being thrown all over the flat by some invisible agency. The husband was punched in the face and the wife had her left eye blackened and the children came down with the whooping cough. All this happened in about ten minutes time. Six hours had been used to move into the flat, but it took that family just fifty minutes to get out with all their belongings.

Four or five other families tried their luck, but the hoodoo was too alert and strong. Old Mike Finnegan could not stand it when his stove, which had been securely set up in position, dropped over on its side. Every kind of tenant has tried it except the Italians, and front flats on the hill are not accessible to them. Nobody has ever seen anything in that flat which could cause a rumpus. No ghost has ever been detected.

The flat is known on the hill as the “stable alley," and any spirit, investigator who really wants to see the place can find it by asking the first longshoreman he meets on the hill for directions to the house where Jackie Haggerty lost the last shred of his reputation by letting himself get a black eye from the evil influence in the hallway. Jackie used to cut a good deal of ice in the social firmament of Cherry Hill before he queered himself in the haunted flat. 

Psychical students can get more real information in five minutes spent in that flat after dark about the spirit business than they get now in a whole series of Winter lectures at a lyceum on the way brain molecules have of wagging on St. Patrick's eve and other great spirit occasions of the year. 

There is a man on the hill who has never been out of the Fourth Ward.  He was born in the haunted flat before the evil days came upon that habitation, but he has not crossed the threshold of his birthplace for twenty years, and all the profits of the Gambling Commission could not induce him to visit the scenes of his childhood. He says, though, that he does not believe the flat is haunted.

I have to admit, a ghost that can give kids an instant case of whooping cough is a new one for me.