Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This cautionary tale about the hazards of not showing proper filial piety comes from the “Chicago Tribune,” January 27, 1906:

Because he cursed his mother for her supposed injustice to him previous to her death a year ago, Frank Swulius, 1596 West Thirty-ninth street. believes he and his family are haunted by her spirit.

When the mother of Swulius died last February she left most of her property to her daughter. The son thought he had been treated unjustly, and his anger over the matter caused him to utter violent execrations against the dead woman. Shortly afterward the strange apparitions, accompanied by uncommon noises, took possession of the Swulius residence.

At first the son and his wife treated the visitations as imaginary and tried to forget the "spirit " because they do not believe in what are termed "ghosts," but as the apparitions increased the number of their visits, Swulius’s conscience smote him and he became convinced that he was haunted because of the unkind words he had spoken against his mother.

One night recently a shadow passed between Swulius and the lamp in his room. He looked up and saw what he declares was the form of his mother. Mrs. Swulius also saw the apparition. Since then tables and chairs have been moved to and fro and the water was turned on and off at the sink when nobody was near.

Until two weeks ago Swulius was night watchman in one of the warehouses of Swift & Co. at the stockyards. But the avenging spirit haunted him there, too, so he sought a day position on the killing floor of the Swift plant.

"I am convinced that there is more to these apparitions than I first thought." Swulius said last evening. "I know I haven't imagined the things that have happened recently." Mrs. Swulius corroborated her husband's story.

The mother of the haunted man was Mrs. F. Kujaweki. She lived with her daughter. Dr. F. Reenstrom, at 1003 West Thirty-first place.

"My mother was always kind to all of us," said Dr. Reenstrom, "and if Frank is followed by a specter it is because his conscience troubles him. He sees her in his own conscience and then he believes that he is being pursued."

Always say nice things to your mother, kids. Even when she’s dead.

Especially when she’s dead.

The Monster of London

Rhynwick Williams

In March 1788, a London woman named Maria Smythe was standing on a friend's doorstep when a stranger suddenly accosted her, muttered some unrecorded but evidently horribly vile comments, stabbed her with a knife, and fled, leaving her slightly wounded.

Although she had no way of knowing it at the time, she was the first victim of a bizarre crime spree that would not be eclipsed in notoriety until Jack the Ripper stalked the land a century later. Over the next two years, some fifty other women--mostly young and attractive ones--would be attacked in a similar fashion.

The attacks were simple, and rarely varied. The "Annual Register" neatly summed up this peculiar reign of terror: "During the course of the two last and the present months, the streets of the metropolis were infested by a villain of a species that has hitherto been nondescript. It was his practice to follow some well-dressed lady, whom he found unaccompanied by a man, and sometimes after using gross language, sometimes without saying a word, to give her a cut with a sharp instrument he held concealed in his hand, either through her stays or through her petticoats behind. Several ladies were attacked by him in this manner, and several wounded; and the wretch had always the address to escape undetected."

Nowadays, our psychoanalytically-inclined society would have all manner of elaborate clinical terms to describe and explain such a warped miscreant, but Londoners of the time had an exquisitely expressive, straightforward name for him: He became famous as "The Monster."

The women of London became understandably panicky. A male contemporary recorded peevishly that when he walked the streets, "Every woman we meet regards us with distrust, shrinks sidling from our touch." On one occasion, a gentleman presented a young lady of his acquaintance with a bouquet. When she took it from him, a wire binding the flowers pricked her hand. She immediately became hysterical, thinking her suitor was The Monster in disguise. The befuddled man was arrested and hauled off to the watch-house before she realized her error. The crimes became so notorious that many women--perhaps insulted at being ignored by the Monster--claimed falsely to have been among his victims.

Contemporary depiction of "The Monster" in action

In April 1790, a reward of one hundred pounds was raised for anyone who could apprehend the villain, or give information which would lead to his capture. The suspect was described as about 30 years old, medium height, thin, "a little pock-marked," with light brown hair, pale skin, and a large nose. Servants were told to report any suspicious activity by their employers, washerwomen were advised to be on guard for any men's clothing with unexplained bloodstains, and cutlers were asked to take note if any customer matching the Monster's description wanted his knives sharpened.

As always, the entertainment industry was not slow to capitalize on the uproar. One theater put on a musical piece, "The Monster." We are told that the songs were "well adapted, and produced unbounded applause."

More traditional criminals also found the Monster useful. In May, a man was robbed by some pickpockets. As a diversion, the thieves pointed at their victim and yelled, "That is the Monster!" Within seconds, an angry crowd had gathered, and the poor man was forced to flee for his life, while his muggers made a clean getaway. It was only with great difficulty that Good Samaritans managed to help him escape to the police office, where he was safely hidden until the would-be lynch mob finally disbanded. A variation on this scam was utilized by a young woman whom a man found lying on the ground with blood on her dress. The distressed lady explained that she had just been the victim of the Monster, and would he be kind enough to fetch her a coach? After she had driven off, her rescuer realized that she had managed to rob him of his watch.

Monsters come in many different forms.

On the evening of January 18, 1790, a girl named Ann Porter was climbing the steps of her house when a man she knew by sight suddenly dashed over and stabbed her in the hip. Five months later, she saw her assailant in St. James Park. A male acquaintance walking with her managed to chase the man down, and the suspect was taken into custody. At long last, it seemed they had finally caged the Monster.

Ann Porter

Four days later, the man--a 23-year-old dancer turned artificial-flower maker by the name of Rhynwick (or Renwick) Williams--was formally charged in Bow Street. He was described as a well-dressed young man "of genteel appearance." Ann Porter and five other women identified him as the man who had stabbed them or used vile language to them in the street. In his defense, Williams asserted that he could prove that he was at work at all the times these women were assaulted. He was sent to the New Prison at Clerkenwell to await trial.

It was not an easy task to transfer him to his prison cell. News of his capture had spread, with the result that, according to the "Edinburgh Herald," the streets were "very much crowded...the mob were so exasperated that they would have destroyed him, could they have got at him." Later, more of the Monster's victims came forward and unhesitatingly identified Williams as their attacker.

Williams went through two trials (the first quickly collapsed on a technicality) at the Old Bailey, in a courtroom that was "uncommonly crowded." He pleaded "Not Guilty." The arguments put forward by the prosecution and the defense were uncomplicated. A troop of women took turns taking the stand to tell of the verbal and physical abuse they had suffered at the hands of the Monster, and to declare that the defendant was their attacker.

When it was Williams' turn to speak, he denied all the charges against him, in a long, impassioned speech largely devoted to complaining about the "scandalous paragraphs" the "Public Prints" carried about him. He made the not unreasonable point that the "malicious exaggerations" made about the case had so prejudiced public opinion against him that it was impossible for him to receive a fair hearing. He closed by saying that he appealed to "the Great Author of Truth that I have the strongest affection for the happiness and comfort of the superior part of His creation--the fair sex, to whom I have in every circumstance that occurred in my life endeavored to render assistance and protection."

On paper, at least, the case against Williams does not seem very impressive. A search of his room found no weapons or bloodstained clothing. His employer and six of Williams' co-workers gave him an alibi for the time of the attack on the principal prosecution witness, Ann Porter, and gave the accused "the best character a man can have." (In his summing-up, the judge pointed out that the testimony of these alibi witnesses showed various contradictions and discrepancies, but this would hardly be unusual. After all, they were trying to recollect details of a then-inconsequential January night six months after the fact.) Other character witnesses--many of them female--testified to Williams' "humanity and good nature." He had no known previous history of violent behavior.

The sole evidence against Williams was the parade of victims identifying him as the Monster. Although the testimony of the victims contained their own share of inconsistencies, the women all asserted unwaveringly that he was their attacker. On the other hand, I would certainly hate to put my life in the hands of eyewitnesses.

Just ask Charles Warner.

Were these women so certain Williams had attacked them because he was, in fact, the Monster, or did their vehemence stem from everyone's understandable anxiety to bring closure to the terrifying crime spree?

A further complication is that Williams and Ann Porter, the woman most responsible for his arrest, had met before, under unpleasant circumstances. He reportedly once made a pass at her in a pub, and insulted her when she rejected his advances. Could this have caused him to harbor a grudge serious enough to later attack her with a knife? Or, as Williams claimed, was Porter out to frame him as revenge for having verbally disparaged her?

Williams had said he was content to leave his fate "to the decision of a British Jury." He probably regretted those words when the verdict of "Guilty" was immediately delivered.

After his conviction, Williams remained in Newgate until his sentencing at the December assizes. He whiled away the time in classic Georgian-era fashion: he threw a thumping good party. In August, he sent out invitations to about 20 couples to call on him in his cell. Tea was served, after which they had dancing, with music provided by two violins and a flute. (A contemporary account stated sardonically that "the cuts and entrechats of the Monster were much admired.”) The "merry dance" was followed by "a cold supper and a variety of wines, such as would not discredit the most sumptuous gala." The party broke up at 9 p.m., "that being the usual hour for locking the doors of the prison."

In early December, Williams received his sentence for assault with intent to kill. In one of British legal history's quirkier moments, it was very fortunate for him that this was the crime for which he was found guilty. The physical attacks were considered mere misdemeanors. If he had been sentenced for deliberately slashing the women's clothing--a far more serious offense--he would have been hanged. He was given six years.

Fortunately for Williams, the Monster quickly faded from public memory. Modern-day researcher Jan Bondeson believed he changed his name to "Henry Williams" and returned to his old career of flower-making as if nothing had happened. Williams had fathered a child during his imprisonment, and upon gaining his freedom, he married the mother and disappeared from history.

This is one of those naggingly uncertain cases that leaves me feeling vaguely annoyed. Was this nondescript, flower-making Mr. Hyde concealing an inner Jekyll which for a brief period was unleashed upon the women of London? Or did the real Monster--no doubt amazed at his unbelievable good luck--take Williams' arrest as his golden opportunity to take his dark urges to other places, perhaps to take other, but equally ugly forms?

Or, as Bondeson suggested, was there never really "a Monster" at all? Were the attacks unconnected "copycat"crimes that became seen as the work of one frightening, overpowering figure, thanks to the power of a sensationalist media building up mass hysteria?

Who knows?

Weekend Link Dump

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

This week's Link Dump is sponsored by Strange Company HQ's official mouser!

Watch out for those killer cow moos!

The first woman to be hanged in the USA.

How a toddler's death triggered a lethal wave of antisemitism.

Some non-UK crop circles, with a tip of the hat to this week's Russian Weird.

Australians, you've got something unidentifiable circling over you.  Have a nice weekend.

A 19th century domestic tragedy.

A thousand-year-old pet cat on the Silk Road.

An overlooked serial killer?

The Cerne Abbas Giant is younger than we thought.

A weird bladder stone operation, which tells you that Thomas Morris is blogging again.

The mysterious Indus Valley civilization.

Dogs who are archaeologists.

The life of the Yorkshire Little Man.

A particularly barbaric murder of a child.

Burma's forgotten prince.

Tesla and the earthquake machine.

A look at lucky numbers.

Polynesians and Native Americans met some 800 years ago.

The controversial execution of Christopher Slaughterford.  (I covered this enigmatic case here.)

Take a virtual tour of a Pharaoh's tomb.

Nevada's Extraterrestrial Highway.

The world's loneliest plant.

Britain's ghostly Bigfoot.

Honoring the first pardoned turkey.

How a Victorian undertaker became a weight-loss guru.

A 12,000 year old mine.

Mysterious Stone Age artifacts.

Investigating the "third eye."

Thomas Jefferson's ice cream recipe.

The horror of Victorian skinny-dippers.

The girls who turned green.

A bicyclist's strange disappearance.

The strange disappearance of Dennis Martin.

An unpleasant incident in Wimbledon.

Rough Rider the goat takes on Sheepshead Bay.

In search of ancient Japan.

So let's talk Victorian shaving patents.

The collapse of the Vajont Dam.

The saga of the Jacob orphans.

Why Edwin Bush had cause to regret police technology.

What's in a name?  Plenty, it turns out.

Did Mallory and Irvine reach the top of Mount Everest?

The pubs of Old London.

A disappearance and a room full of crazy.

The Dr. Strange of the Founding Fathers.

The friendship of Madame de Staël and Madame Récamier.

The earliest underwater Aboriginal sites.

The world's worst soap maker.

The pigeons of wartime.

Mass hysteria and the Dancing Plague.

Why a Mayan city was abandoned.

A 32,000 year old plant.

The last years of Michelangelo.

A mysterious Big Kaboom.

That concludes this week's WLD.  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a strange 18th century crime spree.  In the meantime, here's an oldie from Doug Sahm.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

Who doesn’t love a good Demon Cat story? The “Harrisburg Telegraph,” July 30, 1902:

Lancaster, July 30. Mrs. Augustus Stiffel, wife of an ironworker, says she is bewitched and lays the blame for her condition on a big black cat.

According to her story, the cat, which is as large as a good-sized dog, with eyes like balls of fire, visits her house nearly every night, and after it has gone a note in the handwriting of a woman is found, the writer starting she is jealous of Mrs. Stiffel and will have her husband at any cost.

Last Friday night Mrs. Stiffel threw a cushion at her visitor, and suddenly a ball of fire shot from the cat's hide and burned her in the arm. Mrs. Stiffel is prostrated over the affair and her friends say that unless the spell is removed it will kill her.

But wait, there’s more! From the August 28 “Leon Indicator.”

Lancaster (Penn.) Cor. Phila. Times.--According to the story of Mrs. Augustus Stiffel, her husband and her neighbors saw a witch in the form of a great, black cat with huge, shining eyes, who had "put a spell upon her."

Until short time ago Mrs. Stiffel was in good health. Now she lies in her bed wasted with illness. For this unfortunate condition the witch is blamed.

Two weeks ago, Mrs. Stiffel declares, an immense black cat made its appearance by her bedside, with a note in its paw. This note contained dire threats against her. Almost nightly, thereafter, the feline returned, each time bringing a note. Once, she says she threw a cushion at the animal, when a ball of fire struck her, badly burning her dress and the flesh of her arm. The burned garment and scarred flesh are shown in proof of her story. The cushion, she explains, was entirely consumed.

The woman's husband, who is employed at night, stayed from his work to watch for the cat and he, too, declares, he has seen it.

Efforts have been made to shoot the cat with ordinary bullets, but they have had no effect. Silver bullets will now be tried, as they are said to insure a witch's undoing.

Unfortunately, I was unable to find anything further about our little tale. Perhaps Mrs. Stiffel managed to rid herself of this pesky feline visitor.

But from what I know of cats, I doubt it.

The Two Disappearances of Frederick Brosseau

Kennewick Courier, September 5, 1913, via Newspapers.com

Whenever children unaccountably disappeared in the 19th and early 20th centuries, it was common for people to instantly suspect they were kidnapped by "gypsies." These suppositions were generally proven false, to the extent that stories about such alleged abductions are now thought of as vintage "urban myths."

However, on at least one occasion, this conjecture was apparently proven to be correct. And the case only got weirder from there.

Our story opens on October 21, 1896, in the small northern New York town of Sissonville. At around six p.m., a seven-year-old boy named Frederick Brosseau was seen playing on a bridge near the lumber mill where his father John Brosseau worked. The boy often waited there in the evenings to meet his dad and walk home with him. That was the last time anyone saw Frederick. Almost immediately, the entire community turned out to look for the child. The mill was shut down and carefully examined. The local river was dragged and the surrounding countryside diligently searched. Not a trace of little Frederick could be found anywhere. The frustrated townspeople could only assume that the boy had drowned, and his body had become lodged on the river bottom.

The years passed by, with the tragic mystery becoming nearly forgotten by everyone except the Brosseau family. Then, in August 1913, the puzzle of Frederick's disappearance appeared to be resolved, and in an entirely startling way. On a boat traveling along the Ottawa River, a young man approached one of his fellow passengers, a Catholic priest. He explained that many years before, when he was a small child, he had been abducted by gypsies, who had treated him with great brutality. He stated that the gypsy caravan had taken him through a number of foreign countries, as they spent each winter abroad. Worse still, the gypsies had stolen a number of other children. The boys were used as virtual slaves, and the girls were sold for large amounts of cash. He had just now managed to escape from his captors. The caravan was still in Canada, with one kidnapped child, a girl, still in their possession. All the youth could remember about himself was that although the gypsies insisted on calling him "Patrick," he knew his real name was Frederick, and he had come from someplace in northern New York. The priest, convinced the young man was telling the truth, brought him to a Trappist monastery in Oka, a village in Quebec.

In an effort to discover the stranger's true identity, the little information he was able to provide about himself was broadcast in the local news media, along with his photo. The monks contacted a Father Marron, who lived in northern New York. Perhaps he would have some clues suggesting who the young man really was. By a remarkable coincidence, one Kate Perry, a sister of Frederick Brosseau's mother, lived in Montreal, and saw the newspaper articles about the mystery man. She was intrigued enough to visit the Oka monastery, carrying with her a photograph of Frederick taken shortly before he disappeared. When she compared the photo to the as-yet-unidentified young man, she became convinced he was her long-missing nephew. She immediately shared her astonishing news with the Brosseaus. Mr. and Mrs. Brosseau, along with one of their other sons, Frank, and Father Marron, immediately headed for Oka. Upon their arrival, the parents immediately recognized the stranger as their son. It was established that the young man had the same distinctive birthmark on his arm that Frederick had had. Plus, he so resembled Frank Brosseau that the two could have passed as twins.

The Canadian police immediately went in search of this caravan of kidnappers. The authorities were forced to instruct the newly-discovered Frederick Brosseau to remain on the monastery grounds, as he would be a crucial material witness when the gypsies were caught and put on trial. His parents had no choice but to return home without their long-lost son, but at least they now had the assurance that before long, they would be reunited for good.

Mr. and Mrs. Brosseau, and the man who claimed to be their son Frederick. Pittsburgh Press, September 21, 1913.

Unfortunately, a new danger soon emerged. The widespread publicity given to the return of the long-missing boy ensured that his former captors also learned where he was. It was reported that the gypsies made a number of attempts to steal the young man from the monastery, but the monks managed to foil all their evil plans.

Or so they initially thought. Just days after his joyful meeting with his family, the newly-identified Frederick Brosseau vanished from sight once more. On August 22, 1913, he was seen in the monastery's courtyard, talking to a stranger. Frederick seemed worried and upset. A few minutes later, he was gone.

What had happened? It was presumed that the gypsies had somehow threatened or coerced him into returning to their custody, but no one could say for certain why the young man made a second disappearance. Soon after "Frederick" vanished from the monastery, someone matching his description was seen boarding a train from New York, in the company of a woman claiming to be his mother. Was this the missing man? No one could say.

Was this enigmatic youth even the real Frederick? The Montreal Chief of Police for one, was skeptical. He had information suggesting that the mysterious young man had, in reality, one "Patrick Saileure," a barber who had been living in Montreal for years. The Police Chief was convinced the man identified as Frederick was either delusional or a sick practical joker.

Who really was this man? Why did he vanish so suddenly and oddly? Was any of his bizarre story true? And if he was an impostor, what happened to the real Brosseau boy?

We'll never know the answers to any of those questions. Because this time, Frederick Brosseau never did come back.

Weekend Link Dump

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

It's a Star-Spangled Link Dump!

Spaniards should just get out of the art restoration business.

A mysterious ancient fossil.

Maine's oldest unsolved disappearance.

Colma, the city of the dead.

Some heroic dogs and cats.

A Victorian wizard in Liverpool.

A particularly deadly lightning storm.

The Vere Street Coterie.

Weird goings-on in Texas.

A shipwreck and the revival of a long-lost perfume.

The bottom of the ocean is weirder than you can even imagine.

The Mystery of the Disappearing Star.

The multinational life of Vickers Jacob.

Researching the history of an "average" 19th century London family.

Ireland's Roswell.

A memorial park to an exploded whale.  I don't want to even think about the souvenirs.

When Britain had radium spas.

The superstar of Brazilian folklore.

The birth of Disneyland.

The first Lutheran martyrs.

Joseph Longchamp and the Jockey Club.

The long history of chain letters.

The long history of "abracadabra."

The gamins of Paris.

The famed 19th century actress Charlotte Cushman.

If you've been wondering what it was like to be an Aztec midwife, here you go.

So, who's up for spending Fourth of July with a psychic pig?

The Georgian era stank.  Literally.

In this week in Russian Weird, we talk DIY pyramids.

The most famous of the self-confessed witches.

The colorful life of George Nyleve.

Dissolving UFOs.

A jail for polar bears.

A ship's turbulent history.

The face of an 8,000 year old man.

Personally, I wish men would start wearing hats again.  And three-piece suits.  And spats.

A century of Fourth of July celebrations.

Colorful 99-million-year-old bugs.

The diary of a sickly 16th century preacher.

Whatever happened to merry widows?

The woman with the blue glow.

Murder in the belfry.

A brief history of wedding rings.

The life of a Tudor courtier.

The life of a Mohawk saint.

The life of a medieval king.

And that's a wrap for this week.  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a child's puzzling disappearance...and even more puzzling reappearance.  In the meantime, happy Fourth to all my fellow Americans!

With a tip of the hat to June's Accordion Awareness Month.

Newspaper Clipping of the Independence Day

Via Newspapers.com

Yes, indeed, it’s time for the annual post celebrating the holiday in which America becomes the land of the free, and the home of blowing yourself up with homemade fireworks. Appropriately enough for this blog, the following story combines both the usual red-white-and-blue carnage with an atypical Fortean element.

Elyria Independent Democrat, July 12, 1871

St. Paul Globe, July 6, 1889

The eerie connection between the above news items was explained in the Madison, Wisconsin “Capital Times” for July 3, 2006:

John Betz died in Madison on July 5, 1871, a day after the cannon he was firing on the Capitol lawn to celebrate Independence Day went off prematurely. A 34-year-old German with five children, he had served in the 31st Wisconsin from August 1862 until 1864. Subsequently he had worked in the agricultural rooms at the Capitol for five years.

The Wisconsin State Journal graphically described the accident:

“Captain A.R. McDonald and John Betz were engaged in firing a salute when a premature discharge of the cannon took place just as Mr. Betz was ramming a cartridge home. The terrible force of the explosion tore both his arms off, the left one above the elbow and the right one below (carrying part of the rammer over to Mr. Ogdens house across Carroll Street, taking his hand down to the Park gate), driving some splinters into his side, splitting his nose and badly burning his chest and face. He was taken to his house near the UW, where he died at noon on July 5. A considerable sum was raised for his family by the crowd as the 4th celebration continued.”

An inquest was demanded, since rumors were circulated that one of the men involved in firing the cannon was intoxicated at the time.

Twenty-eight years to the day later, William J. Melvin, who had moved to Madison only six weeks earlier from Shawano, was killed firing a cannon on the Capitol grounds to mark the 4th of July. The flesh was ripped from his right hand and arm to the elbow, and his forearm was broken in four places. Forty-five years old, he left a wife and three children between the ages of 10 and 20.

He had served for three years in the 3rd Wisconsin battery during the Civil War. Governor Hoard attended his funeral at Forest Hill Cemetery. N.B. Hood, the man in charge of the firing, was later found negligent in his death.

In what had to be one of the strangest coincidences in Madison history, Betz and Melvin lived in the same house, at 1036 University Avenue.

I have no idea if Madison ever incorporated cannons into their Fourth of July celebrations again, but if they did, I hope whoever was then living at 1036 University had the wisdom to stay home.