"...we should pass over all biographies of 'the good and the great,' while we search carefully the slight records of wretches who died in prison, in Bedlam, or upon the gallows."
~Edgar Allan Poe

Friday, August 3, 2018

Weekend Link Dump



This week's Link Dump is proud to be sponsored by Harry Pointer's Brighton Cats!







What the hell happened to Charlotte Corday's head?

How the hell was the Coral Castle built?

That classic true-crime question: Who the hell murdered Julia Wallace?

That classic Fortean question:  What the hell is the Bermuda Triangle?

Watch out for those Morris-dancing fairies!

Thomas Jefferson and the shapeshifting UFO.

The link between James Cook and Adam Smith.

The Domino's Pizza delivery boys of early 20th century Japan.

Oscar Wilde's American book tour.

One of my favorite topics: shenanigans involving wills.

Purple started off as royal, and extremely disgusting.

Da Vinci's to-do list.  It's a bit more ambitious than mine, which generally consists of, "1. Drink coffee. 2. Feed cats. 3. Post stupid crap on Twitter. 4. Write blog posts about talking cats. 4. Gin!"

The Grand Jubilee of 1814.

An archaeological discovery relating to Europe's "lost people."

A side note: let us ponder the symbolism of being married among the ruins of the Titanic.

The haunted house in the Black Forest.

Honoring the first Space Cat.

This little essay struck a chord with me.  I'm generally a complete lazy slob where housekeeping is concerned, but I'm a fanatic about making beds.  I can't stand the idea of lounging around in nightclothes, either.  The rest of my house may look like a train wreck, but by god, the minute I get up in the morning, I'm completely dressed and my bed is tidy.  So I have that much of civilization going for me.

Care to hear an Aztec Death Whistle?  Yes, of course you do.

I'm sure you're eager to talk stomach snails, as well.

It seems that the Great Pyramid focuses electromagnetic energy.

The man behind Fultonhistory.com, one of the best free online newspaper archives.

Some of the earliest photos of London.

Poisoned beer leads to one angry ghost.

A 19th century case of manslaughter.

Shorter version: Sedona is a very weird place.

The Battle of the Crater.

In which Davy Crockett meets Bigfoot.

A famed drummer boy.

The importance of the Hoover Dam.

Amelia Earhart may have sent distress calls.

New York's "spite triangle."

This week in Russian Weird: they had day turning into night.

Committing a crime of passion, and getting away with it.

England's first execution for witchcraft.

When corpses solved their own murders.

Child-stealing in the Regency era.

Anyone care to loan me $150 K so I can buy a haunted island?

Thomas Morris, go-to guy for stories about men sticking the damnedest things where the sun don't shine.

Bellevue's Great Cat Hunt.  (Sadly, it did not end well for the cats.)

And there you have it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a baker's suspicious disappearance.  In the meantime, here's the Waverly Consort.




Wednesday, August 1, 2018

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

via Newspapers.com


This Fortean mystery comes from the "Great Falls Tribune," August 4, 1957:
Tulsa, Okla--Mr. and Mrs. C. V. Wilkinson and their 12-year-old daughter packed their belongings and moved out of the house they claim is "haunted" by an electrical phenomenon.

"I'm about to crack up," Mrs. Wilkinson said. "I wish someone would come forward and tell us what's causing all this."

The family thought their troubles had ended after Wilkinson, an oil company employee, dug up water pipes around the house and removed a new metal fence he believed responsible for creating a magnetic field.

The family slept in their car after tables and chairs went on a weird "dance" and overturned. They are puzzled as to what's causing electrical plugs to blow up without being connected, a sweeper to go on an aimless course through the house, and various household articles to start hopping around.

The "mystery" has damaged their $1,300 electrical organ, caused the refrigerator motor to blow out twice and knocked the clock from its shelf six times.

Wilkinson said be had lived on the property for 23 years without prior incident, until this month. "We don't know if the thing is a magnetic field, uranium, an old gas pocket under the ground, or what," said Wilkinson, "but it has us completely unnerved and so upset we can't live a normal life here. We're moving."
An August 4 article in the "Springfield Daily Leader" added a particularly creepy detail:  One night, the Wilkinson daughter came into her mother's room complaining that the sweeper was "crawling over her stomach."  When Mrs. Wilkinson went into the girl's bedroom, she saw that the sweeper's extension cord had been wrapped around the bed several times, and the vacuum itself was sitting on the bed, apparently waiting for someone to tuck it in for the night.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any more about the Wilkinsons, so I'm unable to say if the "electrical phenomenon" was ever explained.

Monday, July 30, 2018

The Adventures of "Indian Peter"



Edinburgh, Scotland is a city with a long history of colorful characters. Among the most famous was Peter Williamson, better known to history as "Indian Peter." It is no small tribute to the man that being kidnapped by Indians was arguably the most normal thing about him.

Our main source of information about him comes from his autobiography, which was first published in 1758. This "accurate and faithful Account of a Series of Misfortunes" was enormously successful, going through several editions, the last of which appeared in 1812.



Peter was born in 1730 near Aberdeen, "if not of rich, yet of reputable Parents." In January 1743, he was playing "near the Key" with some friends. Being of "a stout robust Constitution," he caught the eye of two press-gangers, who lured him aboard their ship. Before he knew what was happening, he was sailing for America, destined to be sold as an indentured servant.

Before the ship could reach its destination, it wrecked off Cape May. The crew and its human cargo were rescued by a passing vessel bound for Philadelphia, where the captain sold his "villainous Loading." Peter was bought by a fellow Scot named Hugh Wilson. Being a former indentured servant himself, Wilson treated his "property" with unusual decency. He provided Williamson with an education and when he died a few years later, he left the 17-year-old with a horse, a wardrobe, and £120.

Williamson did well in his new life. He married the daughter of a prosperous planter, and his new father-in-law gave him 200 acres to farm in Berks County. All was well until the night of October 2, 1754. Peter was alone in his house when it was attacked by local Indians. They plundered the farm, set it on fire, and carried Williamson back to their village. One night, he managed to make his escape. Although his captors gave chase ("The bellowing of Lyons, the Shrieks of Hyenas, or the roaring of Tygers, would have been Music to my Ears in Comparison to the Sounds that then saluted them") he managed, after many misadventures, to return safely to his father-in-law's farm on January 4, 1755. Sadly, he was greeted by news of the recent death of his wife, which "greatly lessen'd the Joy and Rapture he otherwise felt at his Deliverance."

Feeling the need to get a bit of his own back against his tormentors, Peter enlisted in a regiment assembled to fight against the French and their allies, the local Indian tribes. In 1756, he was among the men taken prisoner at the siege of Oswego. He and his fellow soldiers were sent to England in a prisoner-of-war swap. Peter had been too badly wounded during the siege to be considered of any further use as a soldier, so the English discharged him with nothing to show for his army service but "the sum of Six Shillings paid."

Williamson attempted to go back to his hometown of Aberdeen, but could only make it as far as York. In that city, certain gentlemen took enough interest in him and his troubles to arrange to have his sole remaining possession--a manuscript detailing his adventures--printed. The pamphlet earned him enough money to continue his journey to his old home, which he finally reached in June 1758.

He did not exactly receive a hero's welcome. His memoirs had caused offense among certain of his former townspeople. No sooner had he arrived in Aberdeen that he was hauled before the town officers, charged with "publishing and dispersing this scurrilous and infamous libel, reflecting greatly upon the characters and reputations of the merchants in Aberdeen and on the town in general, without any ground or reason." He was found guilty, with the result that all available copies of his book were burnt in the town square by the public hangman. Williamson himself was ordered to make written apology for his offensive tome, fined ten shillings sterling, and banished from the city.

Peter was not the man to take such treatment quietly. He marched off to Edinburgh, where "A Gentleman versant in the Law" helped him to file a lawsuit against the Aberdeen magistrates. In their defense, the magistrates said that when Williamson arrived in Aberdeen, he appeared to be merely "an idle stroller," who sought to "draw money from the credulous vulgar" with an obviously fictitious pamphlet. Williamson countered this charge of dishonesty by producing numerous witnesses attesting to all the details of his early kidnapping. The root of the trouble was that the magistrates and town officers of Aberdeen had for many years been actively complicit in this human trafficking, and they resented Williamson's publicizing of that fact. It emerged during the trial that between the years of 1740-46, some six hundred boys and young men had been kidnapped to be indentured servants in the colonies--some of them sold by their own relatives.

After nearly two years of legal wrangling, the Court of Sessions ruled in Peter's favor, ordering the defendants to pay one hundred pounds sterling, plus costs. "It is the peculiar happiness of this land of liberty," Peter gloated afterward, "to be blessed with a Supreme Court wherein justice is dispensed with an equal hand to the poor and rich." (A quaint literary footnote: Sir Walter Scott's father was part of the legal team assisting the defendants.)

Williamson followed up his legal triumph with an action of damages against the particular bailies he believed were responsible for his kidnapping. The judge who was to arbitrate the matter was notoriously fond of drink, which led to both parties in the suit taking turns carrying off this estimable justice for rounds at the local pubs. Unfortunately, both sides carried their attempts at bribery a bit too far. After several days of the defendants and the plaintiff plying him with wine, punch, claret, rum, and other potent spirits, the judge, "very merry and jocose," took to his bed, and never got up again.

The suit was transferred to the Court of Session, where in December 1768, Williamson was awarded £200 damages, plus one hundred guineas costs.

Having finally won some measure of justice for his early trials, Williamson capitalized on his experiences by taking to the lecture circuit. "For several years," records one of his early biographers, "he used to exhibit himself in the dress of an American Indian, performing the war-whoop, etc., and by this, I believe, he obtained a very good livelihood." He appeared as far afield as London.

Williamson invested his new-found gains by turning vintner, opening a successful tavern near the courthouses, which became commonly known as "Indian Peter's coffee-room." His establishment was immortalized by poet Robert Fergusson with these lines:

"This vacance [vacation] is a heavy doom
  On Indian Peter's coffee-room
For a' his china pigs are toom [bottles are empty]
  Nor do we see
In wine the soukar biskets soom [sugar biscuits swim]
  As light's a flee."

I guess you had to have been there.

Williamson continued his career as an author, publishing an expanded version of his memoirs, along with political tracts and details of a device he had invented for reaping corn.

In 1769, his literary endeavors caused him to take the natural next step of becoming a printer. When announcing his new venture, he commented dryly on his qualifications for the job: "I was born in Aberdeenshire, where it is thought a crime to be honest; and I think such precepts the best lesson a Printer can get." In 1773, he had the proud achievement of publishing the first directory of Edinburgh.

He became so successful as a printer that he abandoned tavern-keeping altogether to devote himself to the congenial world of literature. In 1776, he set up Edinburgh's first penny-post system, which he managed until 1793, when it was taken over by the Government. It was the first continuous postal service in all of Britain.

Alas, Williamson's personal affairs were not as happy and prosperous as his professional endeavors. In 1770, he married a mantua-maker named Jean Wilson. The pair had nine children, of whom four lived to adulthood. For sixteen years, all apparently went well. However, then Mrs. Williamson seems to have gone through what we today would call a "mid-life crisis." As the subsequent divorce suit tells us, "the said Jean Wilson, casting off all fear of God and forgetting her conjugal vows and engagements, has for these several years bygone followed a tract of keeping fellowship, company, and society with godless, lewd, and abandoned men, known not to be the pursuer, one of more; treating, entertaining, and conversing with them privately...and other ways unseemly." Worse still, "the said Jean Wilson has been in the practice of frequenting different houses of bad fame both in this city and neighbourhood, where she used to meet with lewd and wicked men...in which houses she has often got herself intoxicated with liquor."

In short, Jean was having herself far too much fun.

Her husband--never averse to turning personal woes into profitable copy--edited, printed, and published a report on their divorce. To his wife's charge that he himself was not averse "to tippling and intoxication with mean and low people," he merely wrote haughtily that "These are reflections which in prudence she ought not to have made." He complained that when he insisted on a separation, his wife stripped their house of everything not nailed down, and removed herself and their children to her father's house. This despoliation forced Williamson to "leave his house, which he had possessed for thirty-three years with honour and credit, and betake himself to strange lodgings." Not content with robbing him blind, he asserted that his estranged wife and father-in-law spread slanderous reports about him and set up a rival penny-post office.

The divorce suit was heard in December 1788. Although Mrs. Williamson asserted that she had never been involved in anything other than innocent dress-making, her husband produced a plethora of witness testifying that her mantua-making shop was little more than a cover for her older, far less respectable, real profession. Tellingly, the defendant produced no witnesses in her behalf.

Peter's luck in courts of law continued to hold. His divorce was granted, along with custody of his children. Thereafter, his life was uncharacteristically quiet until his death in January 1799. His obituary described him as "well known for his various adventures." It has been theorized that he has gained a more lasting fame as the model for David Balfour in Robert Louis Stevenson's "Kidnapped."

Friday, July 27, 2018

Weekend Link Dump



Note: this week's Link Dump has been compiled by one of Strange Company's crack team of assistant bloggers.

(via Providence Public Library)





This week's edition of, "What the hell is the Shroud of Turin?"

This week's edition of "What the hell was the Tunguska Event?"

My favorite historical rabbit hole:  What the hell happened to the sons of Edward IV?  (Incidentally, if you're at all interested in the topic, read Lewis' "The Survival of the Princes in the Tower."  It's terrific; one of the best books I've read on the mystery.)

The Duchesses of Devonshire did a lot to enliven the 18th century.

Beowulf and the Great Flame Dragon.

"Undine," you tell me.  "You know what this stupid blog of yours badly needs?  More icky cockroach stories."  Consider it done.

As I have repeatedly said, we don't know jack about our history.

A soldier's wife reports on the Crimean War.

There might be a lake on Mars.

Let's talk bodies in the cellar.

A lavish 14th century wedding.

Why you wouldn't want to be related to anyone who got on the bad side of a Chinese Emperor.

Why sailors in the British Royal Navy used to set rum on fire.

This week's Advice From Thomas Morris: men, this is what not to do with a locket.

This week in Russian Weird: in complete disregard for every horror movie that's ever been made, they're reviving 42,000 year old worms.

Was King James I murdered?

Trade cards of 18th century businesswomen.

The Robin Hood of El Dorado.

The mystery of a Jamestown skeleton.

Viking skeletons in Italy.

The enigmatic George Nyleve.

Ancient texts and nuclear war.

Some myths about James Cook.

The only three humans to die in space.

A hanging in West Virginia.

The mystery of the La Salle Street murders.

Kittens, you magnificent bastards:



The "Shark Arm" murder.

The first morphine murder.

A selection of Victorian humor.  Includes, of course, cholera jokes!

Cries of London, 1803.

It seems that being shot in the head at point-blank range does wonders for the digestion.

"You don't want the skeleton juice to go to waste!"

I've noticed that archaeologists spend a lot of time discussing ancient toilets.

The bishop who was also a pirate and general scourge.

Jupiter's beautiful cloud formations.

The disappearance of the Salomon family.

Mourning tat.

Yes, this was a bad neighbor, but at least he didn't practice the trumpet like one of mine does.

And that's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at the remarkable life of an "Indian" Scotsman.  In the meantime, let's dance!

Wednesday, July 25, 2018

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

via Newspapers.com


On March 2, 1931, the (Bridgewater, New Jersey) "Courier-News" reported on an elderly woman's disappearance:
Bernardsville--Searching parties went over fields and woods on several local and nearby roads over the week-end, seeking Mrs. Anna Christopher, 80, who has been missing from the Order of the Eastern Star Home in the Mountain Colony since an early hour Thursday morning, but no trace of the woman was found.

Several Boy Scouts, under the leadership of the Rev. Vincent C. Bonnlander and Orrin E. Runyon, together with Police Captain Cavanaugh, were in charge of the search Saturday.

Yesterday, State Troopers Wallace and Carmody of the Morristown Barracks, with Captain Cavanaugh, Police Commissioner Joseph Dobbs and Fire Commissioner Edward S. Spinning, and 10 members of Congdon Lodge, F. and A. M., did the searching work, but without success.

Mrs. Christopher had expressed fears of "being killed" and had done considerable worrying about insurance papers supposed to be kept in Hoboken. She had left the home Wednesday afternoon, but was subsequently found along a road leading from the home into Bernardsville.

Mrs. Christopher was for some time a guest in the Isabella Home in New York up until about six months ago, having left that institution upon several occasions. She was sent to the nearby O.E.S. Home by Loyal Chapter, 77, O.E.S., Hoboken, for a probationary period.

No trace of Mrs. Christopher was found. Many years went by, and then...

"Courier News," March 6, 1947, via Newspapers.com


A mystery of 16 years was apparently solved yesterday with the identification of the body of Mrs. Anna Christopher, missing inmate of the Order of Eastern Star home for the aged, which was found in a closed space over a dormer window in the organization's former quarters in Mt. Airy Rd.

Workmen tearing away the ceiling of a second floor bedroom for the present owners, Dr. and Mrs. John Currence, observed a scrap of rag wafted down from between the laths. Probing further they made the gruesome discovery, finding the fragments of bones, clothing and other articles lying in a small space between two rafters over since 1931.

Police and Somerset County officials who were summoned, succeeded in establishing identification through a $3 check, a wedding ring and Mrs. Christopher's false teeth. Mrs. Christopher, who was believed to have come originally from Hoboken, entered the home for a three-months probationary period, after having been in similar Eastern Star institutions in New York. She was 78 years old at that time.

On Feb. 27, 1931, she was reported missing from the Bernardsville home, and a widespread search throughout the area ensued. Police, Boy Scouts and volunteers organized parties and combed the fields, woods and roads. Anxiety was heightened by Mrs. Christopher's frequently expressed fear of "being killed," and she had also openly worried over insurance papers she was supposed to have in Hoboken.

Considerable conjecture was expressed as to how the woman entered the cramped space, and why the entrance she had apparently used was later sealed. One theory was voiced that Mrs. Christopher had found the opening which workmen had temporarily left, and after she had crept inside, her means of escape was cut off.

There appeared to be some possibility that on entering the small area she had suddenly taken a drop of about two and a half feet to a second floor sub-ceiling, which knocked her unconscious, and prevented her leaving before her route was sealed off.

The case is under investigation by Prosecutor T. Girard Wharton and his assistants, with the skeleton--all that remained--in the possession of Dr. Edgar T. Flint of Raritan, county physician, for examination and reconstruction. Prosecutor Wharton said last night no evidence of foul play has been unearthed.

Information as to the woman and the circumstances of her disappearance are being sought through old records of the Order of the Eastern Star. The house stands in Nichols Rd. about three miles from the center of Bernardsville. It was given up by the Order of the Eastern Star in 1940 and recently was purchased by Dr. Currence. Considerable remodeling is being done by V. G. Hughes, contractor. Working on the ceiling when the discovery was made were Jack Ike of Gladstone. John Zovodny or Bernardsville, Henry Skinner of Bernardsville and Harry Sutton of Fairmount. They reported their discovery to Police Chief Clarence Pope of Bernardsville and the prosecutor's office was notified.

Detective Joseph Navatto and Assistant Prosecutor Leon Gerofsky reporting to Prosecutor Wharton on the finding of the remains, said that in the entry way to a bathroom on the second floor are two side panels about three feet high and 14 inches wide leading into attic spaces under a sloping roof. There is some flooring and then only 3 x 10 rafters. At the far end is an opening nine inches wide and three feet high, which runs along for a distance of six feet into a space over the dormer window. In this space there is no flooring, only rafters.

In this space, the remains were found--just the bones, some of which were broken away, and pieces of clothing. To the left lay a small purse and near it a wedding ring, inscribed "A. P. to L. P. May 21, 1887," which apparently had fallen from the woman's finger. In the small purse were three one-dollar bills of the small size and a check for $3, dated Feb. 13, 1931, payable to Mrs. Anna Christopher at the Hoboken Trust Company and signed "Loyal Chapter, 77, Order of the Eastern Star, Edwin G. Irwin, treasurer."

Prosecutor Wharton said that Loyal chapter made a report to the state convention of the Order of the Eastern Star in September, 1931, that the woman had been reported missing, which sets the date of her disappearance between February and September in that year. Dr. Flint has reported to the prosecutor that the bones are those of a small woman, also indicated that she passed into the space over the dormer window through passage only nine inches wide, the only means of ingress. Prosecutor Wharton said the woman was more than 70 years old at the time of her disappearance.
I couldn't find any later information about the mystery, which leads me to assume authorities concluded the poor woman was the victim of a tragic accident. Reading between the lines, it seems quite possible that Mrs. Christopher suffered from dementia, which might have led her to do something as inexplicable as crawling into the tiny space where her remains were found.

Still, I would like to know if Anna's fears of "being killed" were merely an pitiful delusion, or a clue to something more sinister.

[Cf. The disappearance of Carrie Selvage.]

Monday, July 23, 2018

A Tale of Two Murders

Herbert Bennett



In 1897, Herbert John Bennett, a poor but enterprising youth of seventeen, married his pregnant girlfriend, twenty-year-old Mary Jane Clarke. Not long after the wedding, the child which undoubtedly precipitated the wedding was stillborn, although they later had a daughter who survived.

The Bennetts, somewhat unusually for married couples of that era, went into business together. What made them even more uncommon was the nature of this business. To be blunt, Herbert and Mary Jane were grifters of a lowly, if energetic, variety. As Mrs. Bennett was a moderately talented musician, their favorite game involved violins. They would buy the cheapest variety of those instruments and sell them to the unwary for many times their value as "Excellent Strad models." They would also watch the want ads for people wishing to buy secondhand violins. Mary Jane would pick up a cheap violin and visit these people, posing as a young widow, or a clergyman's daughter, or something of that sort. She would explain plaintively that she was desperately in need of money, otherwise she wouldn't dream of selling this precious family heirloom, but...

Mary Jane Bennett


The young couple did so well from these swindles that Herbert was able to expand his larcenous horizons. He bought a small grocer's shop, which, just a week later, was mysteriously destroyed by fire. The insurance company obviously had its suspicions, because it refused to pay as much as the Bennetts were expecting. However, as Herbert had bought all his stock on credit, for which he never paid, the pair still made a tidy profit from the enterprise.

Immediately after collecting the insurance money, the Bennetts left their baby with relatives and traveled to Cape Town, South Africa under the names of "Mr. and Mrs. Hood." They stayed in South Africa only four days before returning to England. The purpose of this trip--surely a long one for such a brief visit--remains a mystery.

Back in London, the pair resumed their career of various petty con jobs, performed under different names. Their personal relationship, however, violently deteriorated. One landlady of theirs, a Mrs. Ellison, later described frequent bitter quarrels between the pair. During one fight, Mrs. Ellison heard Mary Jane warning her husband that if he was not careful, "I can get you fifteen years." Herbert responded with even more ominous words: "I wish you were dead. And if you are not careful you soon will be."

Before long, the Bennetts were living in separate residences, with Herbert taking up an uncharacteristically legitimate job with Woolwich Arsenal. In July 1900, Herbert met a parlormaid named Alice Meadows, and a romance sprang up between them. Miss Meadows had no idea her suitor was married--in fact, nothing he told her about himself was anything near the truth. She believed he had inherited some money from his late mother, which he supplemented with a perfectly honorable trade in used violins.

Alice Meadows


In August, Bennett and Alice took a holiday to Yarmouth. They traveled first-class, and engaged separate rooms at a fine hotel, the Crown and Anchor. The pair took several more brief trips around the country together. Later that month, Alice agreed to marry Herbert the following June. She, along with her family, did not see him as anything other than a kind, courteous, thoroughly decent young man who was always, she later insisted, a "perfect gentleman" to her.

Herbert Bennett was apparently genuinely in love with Alice Meadows, and had every intention of marrying her. This raises the obvious question: what did he intend to do about the current Mrs. Bennett?

On Saturday, September 15, Mary Jane left her lodgings, telling her landlady that "my old man" was taking her to Yorkshire. She took her little daughter with her. However, she traveled not to Yorkshire, but to Yarmouth. She found lodgings in the home of a Mrs. Rudrum. Mary Jane told her new landlady that she was a widow named "Mrs. Hood," and that she had been brought to Yarmouth by her brother-in-law. She went out nearly every evening, but where she went and what she did is unknown. On Thursday, September 20, Herbert told Alice that he had to travel to Gravesend to see his dying grandfather. Of course this story, like practically everything that ever came out of Bennett's mouth, was a lie. However, his exact movements are not definitely accounted for until the following Sunday.

On the evening of the 21st, "Mrs. Hood" stayed out later than usual. Mrs. Rudrum's daughter overheard her talking with a man, who said, "You understand, don't you? I am placed in an awkward position just now." This was followed by the sound of a kiss. Was Mary Jane's companion that night Herbert Bennett? Or some other man? No one knows.

When Mary Jane entered the house, Mrs. Rudrum gave her a letter that had come for her earlier. Accounts vary about what this letter said. Some say Mrs. Bennett told her landlady that it asked her to meet the sender at 9 p.m. the following evening. Other reports say that its contents remain a mystery. It is also unknown who sent it.

On Saturday, September 22, Mary Jane went out at around 6:30 p.m. She was wearing a long gold chain, along with other jewelry and a fine silver watch. She was also carrying a considerable amount of money in her purse. We know little of her movements until 10 p.m., when the owner of a Yarmouth pub saw her in the company of a man, whom he later identified as her estranged husband.

About an hour later, a man named Alfred Mason and his girlfriend, Blanche Smith, were sitting on a Yarmouth beach. Their tryst was interrupted by the arrival of another couple who settled near them. A few minutes later, they heard a woman moaning, "Mercy, mercy." About ten minutes later, Mason and Smith left, assuming the other couple was merely "skylarking." They saw the woman lying on her back. The man with her looked at them, but they were unable to see his face clearly.

It is a great pity the moonlight had not been stronger, because what Mason and Smith saw were a murderer and his victim. Early the next morning, a woman's body was found at that spot. She had been strangled with a bootlace tied in a distinctive knot. Her clothes were disarranged, but it was unclear if sexual assault had taken place. The woman was soon identified as the "Mrs. Hood" who had been lodging with Mrs. Rudrum. Among her belongings was a picture a beach photographer had recently taken of her and her baby, showing her long gold chain--a chain which was now missing. However, a search of her room found nothing to show who she really was, or where she came from. The coroner's jury could only rule that this unknown woman had been murdered by an equally mysterious man.

In the meantime, Herbert visited Alice Meadows on the afternoon of the 23rd. He later went to Mary Jane's lodgings in London, where he collected her belongings. He told a neighbor that his wife was in Yorkshire. He wrote to Mary Jane's landlord terminating her lease, explaining that she was going to America. He gave Alice Meadows jewelry and clothes which had belonged to Mary Jane, stating they had been given to him by a cousin who moved to South Africa. He got Alice to agree to move up their wedding date to December. Alice heard news of the shocking murder at Yarmouth, without giving it much thought. After all, tragic as the event was, it certainly was no concern of hers.

The true identity of the Yarmouth victim finally began to emerge on November 5th, when someone reported that Mary Jane Bennett was missing from her home. The laundry mark on some of "Mrs. Hood's" clothing was linked to her. From there, a Scotland Yard inspector sought out Mrs. Bennett's husband. He talked to a co-worker of Herbert's, who identified Mary Jane as the woman in the beach photo. This was enough to make the officer arrest Herbert for murder.

This arrest was a gamble, but it worked. When police searched Bennett's lodgings, they found their suspect had obligingly retained a wealth of evidence against himself. They found a woman's silver watch and gold chain, a receipt from the Crown and Anchor from when he had stayed there with Alice Meadows, a wig and false mustache, and a bundle of love letters from Alice. When Mrs. Rudrum was shown the watch and chain, she was certain they were identical to the ones worn by "Mrs. Hood." When Bennett was shown the chain, he paused, and then exclaimed that his wife had not worn that for over a year. He also claimed he had never been in Yarmouth in his entire life. (For such an experienced liar, he generally made a remarkably poor job of it.)

"Illustrated Police News," November 17, 1900


During Bennett's trial, the revelations of the sordid nature of his entire life, as well as his suspicious behavior after Mary Jane's death, was enough to convince most observers of his guilt. However, his lawyer, the legendary barrister Edward Marshall Hall, put up a surprisingly strong fight. In short, he managed to make a plausible case that all the prosecution witnesses were either half-witted or corrupt. He dealt with the gold chain found in Bennett's belongings by flatly stating that it was not the same one Mary Jane had worn in the beach photograph. Herbert's had a link chain, and Hall argued that Mary Jane's had been of a rope design. Witnesses for the defense and prosecution, unsurprisingly, gave differing opinions about what sort of chain Mrs. Bennett had worn, or what the type in the photograph may have been. Unfortunately, the photograph itself was not distinct enough for this crucial point to be definitively decided either way. He also introduced a surprise witness, a man who claimed to have talked to Bennett in a London pub on the night Mary Jane was murdered. Unfortunately for Bennett, this last-minute alibi witness was extremely unconvincing, and if he was telling the truth, it was, to say the least, highly curious that Bennett himself never mentioned him before. The prosecution produced other witnesses who claimed to have seen Bennett in Yarmouth on the night of his wife's death, and it is a fact that he was away from his London lodgings on the night of September 22nd.

Bennett himself did not take the stand. Hall later wrote that he had told his client, "If you will only go into the box and admit everything except the actual murder, I can get a verdict, but of course you must admit that when you saw the papers on the day after the murder you knew it was your wife, but that you were afraid to communicate for fear of losing Alice Meadows." Bennett replied, "I cannot say that, because I was not in Yarmouth on the 22nd, and I never knew that the murdered woman was my wife till I was arrested." Hall added, "I pointed out that this was hopeless, and he declined to give evidence at all." (Hall agreed that his client was "a worthless man," but "honestly and solemnly, I do not and cannot believe he murdered his wife.") Bennett's refusal to testify in his own behalf was seen as yet another damning, if indirect, piece of evidence against him.

The jury had little difficulty in finding this immensely unpopular defendant "Guilty." On March 21, 1901, Bennett was hanged, protesting his innocence of murder to the end. His orphaned daughter Ruby was taken in by her paternal grandfather.

Ruby Bennett


At the time, few people believed Bennett, and it does seem most likely that he did indeed kill his wife in a particularly stupid and bungling manner. However, in the years since his execution, some true crime writers have made earnest, if not entirely convincing, efforts to throw doubt upon Bennett's guilt. They point out that it was never proven that Herbert was the "brother-in-law" who had been with Mary Jane in Yarmouth, or that he was the man Mrs. Rudrum's daughter had heard her kissing. Could not this mystery man have been the real killer? Bennett may have wished to be rid of his wife, they argue, but would he have been likely to sexually assault her? Considering that he had recently made himself very well known at Yarmouth, and in the company of another woman to boot, would he really have been stupid enough to pick that town as the site for his wife's murder? Would he have been idiot enough to go to a pub with Mary Jane, in the presence of who knows how many witnesses, on the very night he planned to kill her?

The mystery novelist Julian Symons went so far as to present a possible alternative scenario for Mary Jane's murder. Symons hypothesized that Bennett brought his wife to Yarmouth with the intention of pulling one of their habitual swindles on some mark. He suggested that Mary Jane had spent the week making the acquaintance of this man, with the idea of luring him into some compromising position, after which Bennett would show up, play the outraged husband, and demand money from the victim. Instead, the man somehow caught on to the scheme, and in a fit of anger murdered Mary Jane. Bennett later came upon his wife's dead body on the beach, and decided the only way to save himself was to keep his mouth shut and deny everything.

Although one cannot prove that Symons' theory is wrong, it does smack rather too much of crime fiction than real life. However, there is one postscript to this case that does raise disturbing doubts about the Bennett murder. In July 1912, the body of a young woman named Dora Gray was found on a Yarmouth beach, very near the site where Mary Jane had died. She too had been strangled with a shoelace--a shoelace tied with the same unusual knot used in the previous killing. Also like Mary Jane Bennett, her clothing was disarranged without there being any definite sign of rape. Although some suspicion focused on a local man, no one was ever charged with Gray's murder.

Was this a "copycat" killing? A chilling coincidence? Or, perhaps, a sign that someone had gotten away with murder not once...but twice?

Friday, July 20, 2018

Weekend Link Dump



This week's Link Dump is sponsored by Marcus, a certain actor's Rebel With All the Claws.








What the hell happened to the marble corpse of G.W. Davis?

What the hell is in that ancient black sarcophagus?  

Watch out for those haunted bridges!

Watch out for those flying stones!

Watch out for those summer ghosts!

A real-life Dickens character.

A woman who was much more than Ernest Hemingway's third wife.

The World Cup war.

The rise and fall of the Tasmanian Nightingale.

Conjugal bliss leads to free bacon.

Not only can't we figure out who Jack the Ripper was, we don't even know for sure how many murders he committed.

Foxes and Japanese folklore.

17th century infertility remedies.

Hugh Astley and the doppelganger.

A newly-discovered shipwreck that may have carried gold.

A death by "brain fever," 1801.

The Nessie of Sweden.

A baby for each day in the year.  And yes, a curse is involved.

The "digester of bones."  No 17th century cook should be without one!

Annotations found in used books.

Two instances of Devonshire witchcraft.

The cow that inspired riots.

Long before Blondie and the Ramones, CBGB hosted canaries.

The long history of Sudeley Castle.

Physics is enabling us to read scrolls from Pompeii.

Remembering the "Bevin Boys."

Captain Anderson: did he fall or was he pushed?

Recidivists provide a busy day at Tyburn.

The Irish woman who was nanny to the Romanovs.

The murders at the lake: a Texas mystery.

A recently discovered "Irish Stonehenge."

The world's oldest sandwich.

The loudest sound ever heard.

Mary Todd Lincoln, spiritualist.

The British heatwave of 1808.

The palmist and the Czar.

2,000 year-old writing has finally been decoded.

An arsonist in 1907 Hollywood.

So humans are the real bird-brains.  As if you didn't already know that.

Jacopo Bonfadio, who died of indiscretion.

BREAKING:  The Romanovs are still dead.

An accidental amputation.

The first female member of Britain's Parliament.

Mysterious underwater stone structures.

The last of the Stuyvesants.

19th century afternoon tea etiquette.

Joan, Queen of Scots.

Bastille Day, 1792.

How to build a mountain range.

Ghosts and the Lord of Cool.

The oldest film footage of Paris:





And that's a wrap for this week.  See you on Monday, when we'll be talking Edwardian Murder.  In the meantime, here's a song from back in the day that I remember very fondly.  They just don't make cheesy pop hits the way they used to.