The Vanished Gold of Gippsland

Martin Weiberg, 1880

Every now and then during my wanderings through the historical weeds, I come across a story where I think, “What a movie this would make!”  The following tale of devious thefts, daring escapes, and hidden treasure is a prime example.

In 1877, the Australian ship “Avoca” had among its cargo 5,000 gold sovereigns.  The ship’s carpenter, a Norwegian named Martin Weiberg, learned of the enticing proximity of this small fortune, and began to dream a dream.  His plan was ridiculously simple:  he had a duplicate key made for the chest where the gold was kept, and when nobody was watching, he opened the box and replaced the loot with metal bolts.  He then resealed the chest so expertly that it appeared untouched.  

Of course, once the chest arrived at its destination in Ceylon, it became instantly obvious that someone had been up to no good.  The police, naturally, centered their investigations around the crew of the “Avoca,” but were unable to find anything that would lead them to the culprit.  Weiberg continued quietly performing his duties aboard the ship as if he was as innocent as a babe in the cradle.  Fortunately for him, it was right at this time that the legendary Aussie bad guy Ned Kelly shot dead three policemen.  The hunt for the desperado naturally distracted authorities from the relatively minor crime of missing gold.  Five months after the theft, Weiberg--who had by now married--left his ship to settle on the Tarwin River, South Gippsland, for what he hoped would be a long and gold-filled future.

Weiberg must have been a bit too careless about how he spent his ill-gotten wealth, because some unknown person evidently suggested to the police that they pay the Norwegian a visit.  When detectives headed for Weiberg’s home, they bumped into their quarry on a nearby road.  When he was searched, a number of gold sovereigns were found in his pockets, thus causing Weiberg one of life’s embarrassing moments.  After throwing the carpenter in jail, officers conducted a search of his home.  They eventually found over 1300 coins, all cleverly hidden in various places.

While Weiberg was in custody, he was interrogated about his accomplices.  It was assumed that one man could not have carried off such a large stash of gold.  He eventually named the first officer of the “Avoca” as his confederate, but an investigation managed to clear the man.  Weiberg then volunteered to show police where he had buried a container full of gold, but while leading them to the alleged spot, he managed to escape.  Weiberg hid out in the bush for five months, after which he acquired an accomplice to help him move enough gold to Melbourne to buy a boat, which he hoped to use to flee Australia for good.  However, before this plan could come to fruition, he was recaptured in May 1879, and sentenced to five years hard labor.  Meanwhile, the police had no success in finding the remaining sovereigns.  Only one man knew where the gold was hidden, and he wasn’t talking.

After Weiberg was released from prison, he and his brother bought a yacht, which he moored in Gippsland’s Waratah Bay.  While there, he went ashore in a skiff to visit his family, who lived in the area.  More importantly, it was assumed that he went to get his hands on some of his hidden gold.  While returning to his yacht, Weiberg was caught in a sudden squall which capsized his little boat.  

Although it was presumed that Weiberg had drowned, his body was never recovered, which led to some highly entertaining speculation about what might have really happened to our elusive carpenter.  Did he fake his own death in order to get the authorities off his back once and for all?  Mysterious lights were seen on the normally uninhabited Glennie Group islands, causing locals to speculate that Weiberg was hiding out there.  Some reports claimed that he had been spotted in various European cities.  Or was he the proprietor of a hotel in Sweden?  Did he, against all odds, manage to get away with a fortune in gold?

Sometime around 1890, a skeleton was found at Waratah Bay, with part of the skull missing.  Was this the missing Weiberg?  Did he let the world think he had drowned, only to be murdered by some accomplice?  Nobody knows.

Twenty years after this unidentified skeleton turned up, a stash of 75 gold coins was found in an old tree.  All in all, despite the diligent efforts of treasure-hunters, to date, only about 1800 of the stolen sovereigns have been recovered.  Most people believe the rest are still concealed somewhere in the Gippsland area, just waiting to be uncovered by some lucky person with a metal detector.

Or--if you want to take the more romantic view--did Martin Weiberg’s crime pay big for him, in the end?

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to the Link Dump!  Our host for this week is "Jimmy on the veranda," 1890.

I don't know anything more about Jimmy, but I like him.

The graffiti of Pompeii.

The woman who tried to assassinate George III.

In which we learn that South American chickens are weird.

The possible secret tunnels under the Giza pyramids.

The oldest known pieces of sewn clothing.

The evolving meanings of the word "cool."

Some skin care tips for your next trip to Antarctica.

The plot to kill Trotsky.

Don't look now, but scientists are sniffing mummies.  To each their own.

The Case of the Missing Megaflood.

Why you might not want to attend a Neolithic party.

"Death" is a more complex process than we thought.

The birth of an 18th century ghost.

The restoration of a gunboat.

Some heroic cats from the past.

Fashionable tombstones on the cheap!

A wealthy Iron Age woman's burial.

The Parliament of Bats.

The murky origins of "Yankee Doodle."

The Regency elite sure liked snuff.

A teenager's unsolved disappearance.  Officially "unsolved," at least.  It seems pretty clear what happened to the poor girl.

Thomas Jefferson, fossil hunter.

A murderous end to an ice skating party.

Unusual love stories from old newspapers.

The life of Geoffrey Chaucer's granddaughter.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll hunt for some missing gold.  In the meantime, I don't recall ever playing the Beach Boys on this blog, so here you go.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

It’s not every day that you encounter a ghost who is headless and has “remarkable eyes.”  The “Richmond [Indiana] Item,” December 12, 1912:

A ghost which has appeared frequently is striking terror into the hearts of the girls and women and the more timid of the men working nights at the Starr Piano factory. The phantom has made his appearance for the past week between the hours of 6 and 8 when the employees are going about their work.

The spirit has been seen several times in the lighter parts of the shop and on approach of any one it flees to some darker parts of the factory which are then idle. There are several descriptions as to the dress and size of the spirit. Those most alarmed credited the ghost with being very tall, without arms and having an unusually small head, in which are two remarkable eyes, which throw off a light comparable to that given by pocket-flash lights. Another employee, who has seen the spirit on different nights, says that the phantom each time was dressed in white and is without arms or head and his description of the eyes tallies with that given by others. On one of his visits the ghost met a reception from one of the watchmen.  The watchman saw his white form in the doorway leading to a covered bridge between two of the buildings. Drawing his revolver, he proceeded to the door, only to see the ghost moving at an astonishing rate of speed across the bridge. The watchman fired twice at the retreating figure and then went forward to see if any damage had been done. The ghost was not to be found but the bullets were found embedded in the side of the bridge. 

The ghost has been seen in various parts of the shop but mostly in the vicinity of the covered bridge leading across the street from one building to the other and in the door of the engine room.

The employees have leagued together and are determined to get the phantom.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any follow-up stories about this unusual spook.

The Church of Evil

Joan Forman was a member of the Society for Psychical Research who spent much of her life researching and writing about the stranger side of life.  (Her best-known book is probably “The Mask of Time,” an examination of the “time-slip” phenomenon.)  Her 1974 book “Haunted East Anglia” included her personal story of the time she and a friend encountered a force that was undefinable, yet clearly malevolent.

In January 1971, Forman moved from Lincolnshire to Norfolk.  Her busy schedule had left her little time to explore her new surroundings, so when her friend Mary came by for a visit that October, the two women decided to go on a brief road trip, with no particular destination in mind.  They drove the quiet roads west of Norwich until they encountered what appeared to be a perfectly charming village.  (Forman discreetly left the place unnamed in her book.)  It was like something from a picture postcard: quaint cottages, a pretty village green, and a fine old church.  They parked near the green and set out on foot to examine the place.

On closer inspection, both women soon sensed something “off” about the village.  The cottages which had looked so appealing from a distance proved to be oddly empty and seemingly neglected.  The streets were deserted.  They sought to escape the brooding atmosphere by entering the church.

As soon as they entered the church, the pair began to feel that things were going from bad to worse.  Forman wrote, “At first, all I felt was a sense of dampness and cold, then I recognised it as something more.  There was an oppressive quality in the atmosphere, and whatever the oppression was, grew as the seconds ticked by.

“I glanced at Mary.  She had ceased looking at pews and floor inscriptions and was standing stock still in the middle of the nave, a frown of concentration on her face.  Our eyes caught and flicked away.

“She said:  ‘It’s not very pleasant in here, is it?’  It was far from pleasant, and was getting less so every minute.”

The women walked towards the chancel, hoping the ominous atmosphere would dissipate.  Instead, standing in the chancel changed the “sensation of oppression” to “one of active and evil hostility.”

Mary couldn’t take it any longer.  She ran down the aisle and out of the church.  However, Forman’s curiosity managed to overcome her fear.  She continued to stand there, wondering what might happen next.  She sensed that with Mary gone, “the full force of the concentration seemed focused on me.  It was quite impossible to stay in the place, and I hurried out after my friend.”

When they were both outside the church, Mary asked her if she had any idea about what had just happened, but, not knowing anything about the history of the village or the church, Forman could not offer any explanation.  “All we knew was that we had experienced some malevolent force.  The fact that it was a church apparently made no difference to its power.”

The badly-rattled women just wanted to get away from the village as quickly as possible.  However, when they reached their car, they got a new shock: the automobile was covered with “a rash of green spots or dropping, the liquid being of a sticky, glutinous substance.

“Had it been red, one would have concluded it was blood.  The drops ran down the windscreen and windows and were fairly resistant to my attempts to wipe them off.”  They had never seen a substance at all like it.

Although Forman’s research into the village failed to give her any insight into what they had encountered, Mary had a simple, if disquieting, answer. 

“I think it’s witchcraft,” she told Forman.  “The county has a reputation for it.”

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

The Strange Company team wishes you a happy Valentine's Day!

The use of drugs in ancient Egypt.

The diary of an 1870s Manhattan schoolboy.

An intercontinental junk.

The original meaning of "spinster."

How the British Empire changed food consumption.

A new theory about how the Great Pyramid was built.

A 5,300 year old drill.

A look at "Vinegar Valentines."

Hannibal Lecter, antihero.   (Some years ago, while idly channel-surfing, I came across the middle of "Silence of the Lambs."  Within about two minutes, I saw something--I thankfully forget what--that caused me to shriek and quickly change the station.  If there is a Hell, it probably plays that film 24/7.)

When coffee was illegal.

Yet another marriage ends in murder.

Ancient Roman medicine may have included...things you wouldn't expect to pick up at the Walmart pharmacy.

A poisonous bakery.

Some fatal Valentines.

A possible link between space weather and earthquakes.

Chinese civilization may be older than we thought.

Paging Graham Hancock!

Some mysterious deaths in Bulgaria.

The Red Lipstick Murder.

A reworked portrait of Anne Boleyn.

Reconstructing the faces of famous composers.

The mystery of an abandoned Welsh village.

The hidden tunnels of Venus.

What (might) have inspired "Wuthering Heights."

The presidents who had notable non-presidential careers.

The little that we know about Shakespeare's wife.

Tragedy at Wolf Creek.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll visit a very sinister village.  In the meantime, here's a bit of '60s pop.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

As proof that some actors never know when to go off stage, I present this story from the “Hamilton County Times,” July 12, 1906:

Los Angeles--A more uncanny visitor than death, whose silent entrance of its portals there is not a day that fails to record, has appeared at the county hospital, according to inmates. 

This weird apparition is not the rider of the pale horse, who is welcome, but a ghost, which is terrible--the ghost of a man who died there months ago--Lawrence Hanley, the actor; Lawrence Hanley in the wraith-garb of the spirit world enacting the role of Hamlet at midnight in the darkness of the corridor upon which opened the room where he died August 28 last; Lawrence Hanley smoking a cigarette and leaning with one arm raised upon thin air and with his feet crossed, saying, "Yes, I'll have another, thanks!" 

The doctors and the nurses laugh or pooh-pooh when they hear these reports, but doctors and nurses are of unsuperstitious fiber; they believe in scalpels and saws and such obviously material things, and if a ghost should appear to one he might call it a wreath of smoke, a shaft of moonlight or some other easily explicable thing.

The nurse who was with Lawrence Hanley when he died, H.S. Rea Don, when interviewed, refused to discuss the alleged spectral manifestation. Mr. Rea Don glared when he was asked if he had not chased the luminous phantom up and down the hall with a club to drive it from the building.

Those to whom the specter is said to have appeared are Willis H. Hoes, Frank Hartwell and Charles C. Morell. They tell substantially the same story, which was related by each without collaboration with the other. It seems especially strange that such a story should be told of Lawrence Hanley.

He knew more about ghosts, perhaps, than any other patient who ever died there, for his long and brilliant stage career acquainted him intimately with Shakespeare's ghostly company. As "Hamlet" and "Macbeth" he had held communion with avenging spirits; in the first year of his acting he had even impersonated Banquo's ghost and that of the Danish king. But the persons  mentioned gave him a part more ghastly than any of these, the eighth act in the human drama. Lawrence Hanley's death was itself as tragic as that of any character he portrayed, for he died miserably, the wreck of a man once fired with genius. 

Hanley's ghost is said to have appeared a month after his death.  A luminous, pearly vapor having the form of a man emerged from the southwest room on the lower floor. It was an opalescent apparition; it wore a stiff straw hat set jauntily, a light suit and carried a cane. It floated down the long corridor with the semblance of a stride--the tread of the actor upon the boards--and wailed in a voice itself the ghost of the vocal: "To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day," and so on to the end. He was Hamlet mournfully reciting "To die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream." All of the great characters of his past he enacted. 

He strode quickly forward, they say, made as if to draw a sword, leaned his chin upon his hand and mused, beetling his brows until his eyes glowed with greater intensity, threw back his head and laughed, and then bowed and disappeared. The last time these men saw the spirit it was in a bibulous vein. It stood long at a bar of its fancy and tossed down unseen glasses of nothing until its wraith form began to stagger. It sang a song of revelry, then stopped short, straightened up and said: "I must go home." 

Hospital authorities do not attempt to account for the weird stories which have circulated, except to say that they must have emanated from the distorted fancy of some insane patients. 

The Abduction of Nefertiri Trader

I don’t usually write about recent crimes--it feels like prying, somehow.  I also rarely cover cases where it seems indisputable that the victim was kidnapped, simply because there’s usually not much to say about it.  However, the following mystery is so peculiar--not to mention creepy as all hell--that I have made an exception to both those rules.  Besides, it’s a case that hasn’t gotten nearly as much attention as it deserves.

33-year-old Nefertiri Trader lived with her three children in New Castle, Delaware, where she worked in the housekeeping department at Christiana Hospital.  From the little that was reported, she was an outgoing, energetic person who was generally liked.  Around 3:30 a.m. on June 30, 2014, Trader, who was on medical leave from her job (the nature of her illness was not made public) went to a nearby 7-11.  The clerk knew Trader by sight, as she often visited the store, although he didn’t recall her ever coming by at such an odd hour.  She bought a pack of cigarettes, a loaf of bread, and two cups of coffee.

She never made it into her home.  At 4 a.m., a neighbor of hers heard some sort of commotion outside.  When he looked out a window, he saw a man dragging a woman he later identified as Trader to a car, where she was placed in the back seat.  The neighbor assumed she was merely being taken to the hospital, so he shrugged off the incident and went back to sleep.  The car is believed to be Trader’s own vehicle, (a 2000 silver Acura RL with the license plate 404893) as it disappeared with her.  Nefertiri’s 17-year-old son also heard noises, but by the time he went out to the front porch, he saw nothing.  

It was not until about 4:30 on the following afternoon that Nefertiri’s family, concerned that they were unable to contact her, phoned police.  When officers arrived some two hours later, they found in the front yard a loaf of bread that had been stepped on.  On the front porch were the rest of Trader’s purchases from the night before.  There was also an unopened condom.  Trader’s flip-flops were by the front door. 

Unfortunately, that appears to be all anyone knows about Trader’s disappearance.  The police investigation failed to find any suspects, or any indication where the unfortunate woman was taken.  Her car was also never seen again.

There is one possible clue regarding Trader’s abduction.  In February 2014, Trader was drinking at a bar called Club Rebel with a man named Radee Prince.  The two were sitting in her car outside the club when five or six men pulled Prince out of the car and beat him up.  Trader later told police that she didn’t see much of the attack, and could not identify the men responsible.  Prince believed that one Jason Baul hired these men to assault him. 

Although Prince told police he “had no idea” if Trader played any role in his beating, the fact that an unknown man kidnapped her a few months after the incident is, to say the least, intriguing.  However, I have found no indication that police pursued that angle.  If Prince--who was convicted in 2020 of gunning down five people, including Baul, killing three of them--had any notion about what had happened to Nefertiri, he kept that to himself.

As usually happens in unsolved crime cases, there are a lot of unanswered questions.  Why did Trader go to 7-11 at such an unusual hour?  Why did she buy two cups of coffee?  Was she expecting to meet someone?

This was probably not a random abduction.  Trader was most likely kidnapped by someone who knew when she left the house, and when she would return.  But who could that have been?  And considering that her assailant used Trader’s car to take her away, how did this person arrive at her home?  (No strange cars were found in her neighborhood.)

There is yet another thing that puzzles me:  If I approached my front door, only to have someone suddenly appear and drag me back to the car, I would shriek loud enough to wake the dead.  I bet you would, too. But although Trader’s neighbor and her son heard noises, neither mentioned hearing any screams.  This suggests that Trader’s abductor was someone she knew, and someone she did not initially see as any serious threat.

The abduction of Nefertiri Trader is one of those crimes that, given dogged police work and a bit of luck, should have been solved.  Perhaps, it still can be.