"...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

Monday, November 30, 2015

The Witches of Island Magee

Follower of Jan Mandijn, "The Witches Cove," 16th century

Earlier on this blog, I looked at the case of Jane Wenham, who is often (albeit erroneously) called the last person to be tried for witchcraft in England. Coincidentally, Ireland's final witch trial took place at around the same time. It was the unfortunate climax to what we would today call a particularly bizarre poltergeist case.

Our story opened in September 1710. A widow named Anne Haltridge, while staying in the Island Magee home of her son, James Haltridge, began to be the victim of some strange and frightening occurrences. Every night, an invisible force would violently throw stones and pieces of turf at her bed. Her pillow would be snatched from under her head, and the blankets torn away. A careful search was made of the room, but nothing could be found that would explain these attacks. Mrs. Haltridge, understandably unnerved by it all, moved to another bedroom, hoping that would be the end of her troubles.

It wasn't. One evening in early December, as she sat alone by the kitchen fire, a little boy suddenly materialized and sat beside her. His appearance was odd: he wore an old black bonnet, a torn vest, and was wrapped in a blanket that he used to cover his face. Mrs. Haltridge plied him with the obvious questions--Who was he? What was he doing there?--but the weird visitor merely danced around the kitchen for a moment, then ran outside. The servants chased after the boy, but he had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.

After this, life returned to normal until February 11, 1711. That afternoon, Mrs. Haltridge was again alone, this time reading a book of sermons. She momentarily placed the book on a table. A few moments later, the book was gone. She had not left the room, nor had anyone else entered. She could not find it anywhere. The next day, the mysterious little boy reappeared outside the house. He broke one of the windows and thrust the missing book inside the hole. He told one of the servants, Margaret Spear, that he had stolen the book and that Mrs. Haltridge would never get it back. Spear asked if he had read the book. Oh, yes, the boy replied. The Devil had taught him how to read. "The Lord bless me from thee!" Spear gasped. "Thou hast got ill learning!"

The boy sneered that she might bless herself as often as she liked. It would do her no good. He then brandished a sword, announcing that he would kill everyone in the house. Spear ran into the parlor and locked the door behind her. The boy laughed at this, stating that he could come inside by the smallest hole in the house. The Devil could turn him into anything he liked. This sinister apparition then threw a large rock through the parlor window. Shortly after that, Spear saw the boy catching a turkey, which he threw over his shoulder. The bird's struggles loosened the book, which the boy was carrying inside his blanket, and it fell to the ground. The boy tried to kill the turkey with his sword, but it escaped. Spear then saw him using the sword to dig a hole in the ground. The girl asked him what he was doing. "Making a grave for a corpse which will come out of this house very soon," he replied. Then, obviously realizing he had delivered one hell of an exit line, he flew over a hedge and disappeared.

All was quiet for a few days. Then, on February 15, the blankets on Mrs. Haltridge's bed were mysteriously removed and placed in a bundle on the floor. The family replaced them on the bed, only to have them again yanked off and placed under a table. The Haltridges made another effort to put them back on the bed. For a third time, some unseen force removed the bedclothes, this time forming them into the shape of a corpse.

That night, the family's minister, Robert Sinclair, stayed with the now deeply shaken family, offering what comfort and prayers he could. Mrs. Haltridge retired to bed, but, understandably enough, did not sleep well. Around midnight, she gave a sudden yell of pain. She said it felt as if she had been stabbed through the back. The sharp pain never left her until the moment she died a week later. While she was on her deathbed, the blankets on her bed were periodically again removed and placed in that eerie corpselike shape.

These were not subtle spirits.

Inevitably, talk spread that Mrs. Haltridge had been bewitched to death. The surviving Haltridges found themselves wondering if the ordeal was over, or if a curse had been placed on the entire family. They got their answer at the end of February. A houseguest, a teenaged friend of the family named Mary Dunbar, found that some of her clothes had been removed from her trunk and scattered around the house. While gathering up the items, she found on the parlor floor an apron. It was rolled up in a tight ball, and bound with a string which was tied in a number of strange knots. When the apron was undone, a flannel cap that had belonged to Mrs. Haltridge was found inside. Miss Dunbar and the Haltridges were terrified. They took this as a sign that the malevolent spirits were about to claim another victim.

That night, Dunbar went into a violent fit. She cried that someone had run a knife through her leg. She claimed that she was being tormented by three women, whom she described in great detail. A few hours later, she had a second fit, during which she claimed to see visions of seven or eight women. When she recovered, she identified them as some local women: Janet Liston, Elizabeth Sellar, Catherine McCalmont, Janet Carson, Janet Mean, Jane Latimer, and one who was called only "Mrs. Ann." If Mary Dunbar could be believed, the Island Magee area was home to a vicious coven of witches, and after all that had happened at the Haltridge home, no one was inclined to doubt her.

The alleged witchcraft now became a serious legal issue. The Mayor issued a warrant for the arrest of all those suspected of belonging to the witch cult. Taken into custody were all the women Mary Dunbar had named, as well as one Margaret Mitchell, whom she identified as "Mrs. Ann."

Depositions dealing with the various strange events were taken. A typical witness was a James Hill, who told of an occasion when he was at the house of a William Sellar. A woman named Mary Twmain "came to the said house and called out Janet Liston to speak to her, and that after the said Janet came in again she fell a-trembling, and told this Deponent that the said Mary had been desiring her to go to Mr. Haltridge's to see Mary Dunbar, but she declared she would not go for all Island Magee, except Mr. Sinclair would come for her, and said: If the plague of God was on her [Mary Dunbar] the plague of God be on them altogether; the Devil be with them if he was amongst them. If God had taken her health from her, God give her health: if the Devil had taken it from her, the Devil give it her. And then added: O misbelieving ones, eating and drinking damnation to themselves, crucifying Christ afresh, and taking all out of the hands of the Devil!"

Island Magee was quite the neighborhood.

On March 31, 1711, the accused were put on trial in Carrigfergus. Our main account of the tribunal comes from the Vicar of Belfast, Dr. Tisdall, an eyewitness who compiled the closest thing we have to a transcript of the proceedings. He wrote,
"It was sworn to by most of the evidences that in some of [Mary Dunbar's] fits three strong men were scarce able to hold her down, that she would mutter to herself, and speak some words distinctly, and tell everything she had said in her conversation with the witches, and how she came to say such things, which she spoke when in her fits.

"In her fits she often had her tongue thrust into her windpipe in such a manner that she was like to choak, and the root seemed pulled up into her mouth. Upon her recovery she complained extremely of one Mean, who had twisted her tongue; and told the Court that she had tore her throat, and tortured her violently by reason of her crooked fingers and swelled knuckles. The woman was called to the Bar upon this evidence, and ordered
to show her hand; it was really amazing to see the exact agreement betwixt the description of the Afflicted and the hand of the supposed tormentor; all the joints were distorted and the tendons shrivelled up, as she had described.

"One of the men who had held her in a fit swore she had nothing visible on her arms when he took hold of them, and that all in the room saw some worsted yarn tied round her wrist, which was put on invisibly; there were upon this string seven double knots and one single one. In another fit she cried out that she was grievously tormented with a pain about her knee; upon which the women in the room looked at her knee, and found a fillet tied fast about it; her mother swore to the fillet, that it was the same she had given her that morning, and had seen it about her head; this had also seven double knots and one single one.

"Her mother was advised by a Roman Catholic priest to use a counter-charm, which was to write some words out of the first chapter of St. John's Gospel in a paper, and to tie the paper with an incle three times round her neck, knotted each time. This charm the girl herself declined; but the mother, in one of the times of her being afflicted, used it. She was in a violent fit upon the bed held down by a man, and, recovering a little, complained grievously of a pain in her back and about her middle; immediately the company discovered the said incle tied round her middle with seven double knots and one single one: this was sworn to by several. The man who held the Afflicted was asked by the Judge if it were possible she could reach the incle about her neck while he held her; he said it was not, by the virtue of his oath, he having her hands fast down.

"The Afflicted, during one of her fits, was observed by several persons to slide off the bed in an unaccountable manner, and to be laid gently on the ground as if supported and drawn invisibly. Upon her recovery she told them the several persons who had drawn her in that manner, with the intention, as they told her, of bearing her out of the window; but that she reflecting at that time, and calling upon God in her mind, they let her drop on the floor.

"The Afflicted, recovering from a fit, told the persons present that her tormentors had declared that she should not have power to go over the threshold of the chamber-door; the evidence declared that they had several times attempted to lead her out of the door, and that she was as often thrown into fits as they had brought her to the said threshold; that to pursue the experiment further they had the said threshold taken up, upon which they were immediately struck with so strong a smell of brimstone that they were scarce able to bear it; that the stench spread through the whole house, and afflicted several to that degree that they fell sick in their stomachs, and were much disordered.

"There was a great quantity of things produced in Court, and sworn to be what she vomited out of her throat. I had them all in my hand, and found there was a great quantity of feathers, cotton, yarn, pins, and two large waistcoat buttons, at least as much as would fill my hand. They gave evidence to the Court they had seen those very things coming out of her mouth, and had received them into their hands as she threw them up."

[Mary Dunbar warned that the "witches" had vowed that they would leave her unable to testify against them in court.] "She was accordingly that day before the trial struck dumb, and so continued in Court during the whole trial, but had no violent fit. I saw her in Court cast her eyes about in a wild distracted manner, and it was then thought she was recovering from her fit, and it was hoped she would give her own evidence. I observed, as they were raising her up, she sank into the arms of a person who held her, closed her eyes, and seemed perfectly senseless and motionless. I went to see her after the trial; she told me she knew not where she was when in Court; that she had been afflicted all that time by three persons, of whom she gave a particular description both of their proportion, habits, hair, features, and complexion, and said she had never seen them till the day before the trial."
The prisoners--who had no legal counsel--could only counter all this by fervently denying their guilt. Tisdall recorded that "It was made appear on oath that most of them had received the Communion, some of them very lately, that several of them had been laborious, industrious people, and had frequently been known to pray with their families, both publickly and privately; most of them could say the Lord's Prayer, which it is generally said they learnt in prison, they being every one Presbyterians...Judge Upton summed up the whole evidence with great exactness and perspicuity, notwithstanding the confused manner in which it was offered. He seemed entirely of opinion that the jury could not bring them in guilty upon the sole testimony of the afflicted person's visionary images. He said he could not doubt but that the whole matter was preternatural and diabolical, but he conceived that, had the persons accused been really witches and in compact with the Devil, it could hardly be presumed that they should be such constant attenders upon Divine Service, both in public and private."

Unfortunately for the defendants, Judge Upton's common-sensical opinion was in the minority. The other judge, James Macartney, held the opposite view. He saw no reason to doubt the accused were all in league with the Devil, and virtually instructed the jury to bring in a verdict of "guilty."

The jurors complied. The defendants were sentenced to a year in prison, during which they were to stand in the public pillory four different times. It is said that during one of these ordeals in the pillory, the crowd pelted them with garbage so violently that one of the prisoners lost an eye.

Thus ended the Haunting of Island Magee.

[Note:  Unfortunately, there are no surviving records of what became of Mary Dunbar and the "witches."  If they all remained in the area, the social encounters between them must have been more than a bit awkward.]

Friday, November 27, 2015

Weekend Link Dump

This week's Link Dump is sponsored by one of our very favorite organizations, the Coalition of Japanese Witch Cats.

What the hell are the Nomoli Figures?

What the hell happened to all these prehistoric Americans?

What the hell is this Romanian cave?

Watch out for the Wild Woman of Wales!

Watch out for swallowing thunder!

Watch out for food!

The mystery of the locked Chinese tomb.

The legal ramifications of kissing a greyhound.

Hard times for an early 20th century British diplomat in Iran.

Mount Vernon vs. the Starlings.

Out: Run for the Roses.  In: Run for the Corpses!

The Nazi-fighting Night Witches.

The execution of a "fiddling pirate."

George Washington's craft beer recipe.

Uncovering a 7th century tavern.

The cats of the Hermitage.

Rebellious Victorian teenagers.

Premonitions of a mine disaster.

Georgian rules for long life.

More accounts of bizarre disappearances.

Here, too.

The faith of Georgian England.

Fanny Fern didn't think much of 19th century marriage.

A Regency Christmas.

The Texas killing fields.

A pit of ghosts.

Mob violence in Georgian London.

The women of the East India Company.

Well, this is weird:  Did the Freemasons sink the Titanic inquiry?

A guide to Georgian hair styles.

Ghost-hunting in a New Jersey library.

A death in the pillory, 1732.

A Byzantine underground city.

A 1995 poltergeist case.

The nights of Old London.

The alchemical life of a glassmaker.

Harriet Skelton, reluctant counterfeiter.

The remarkable story of a teenage girl who became a deadly Russian sniper.

The "water-cure" craze.

And we're done! See you on Monday, when we'll be visited by some Irish witches. In the meantime, here's Anonymous 4:

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Newspaper Clipping of the Day, Thanksgiving Edition

Christmas ghost stories are a dime a dozen, but Thanksgiving hauntings--if you don't count the ghosts of turkeys who resent becoming a holiday entree--seem to be rare.

One of those unique spook stories comes from the "San Francisco Call," November 27, 1896:
There is a haunted vessel in Oakland Creek. The watchman asserts that the ghost is harmless, but those who have been on the vessel for several trips say that the "spook" comes along as regularly as Thanksgiving.  Some years ago the vessel was in Honolulu, and at that time the Hawaiian Star said: "The men in the forecastle see the ghost of Captain Williams frequently. Off Molokai the night before the Occidental was towed to the Pacific Mail dock there was a great commotion forward. The man on watch and two other men who hurried above when he called declare they saw Captain Williams on deck. They give a perfect description of the dead man. They say he looked ahead intently for several seconds, turned as if to give orders, uttered a short agonizing groan, staggered amidships and disappeared. Every man forward corroborates this account."
Contemporary sketch of the Occidental

Captain Williams is the restless spirit and he was murdered on the forward deck of the Occidental nearly nine years ago. The vessel was on her way from Liverpool to a South American port with a mixed crew. There was trouble almost from the start and the captain had to be constantly on the watch. One moonlight night when everybody was below, or supposed to be, Captain Williams went forward to see if everything was snug for the night. One of his men who thought he had been abused thrust a knife into his back as the captain turned to go forward. The blade pierced his heart, and Williams, after casting an agonizing glance around, dropped dead. His murderer is now serving a life sentence in San Quentin. He and some of his accomplices were turned over to the American Consul at Callao and sent to San Francisco. Their trial resulted in the acquittal of all except the man who is now in the State prison. In spite of the ghost the Occidental has been one of the most successful vessels trading in and out of the Golden Gate. Latterly there have been no charters in sight and she has been tied up in Oakland Creek.

Watchmen pooh-pooh the idea of a ghost, but, nevertheless, those who know assert that about Thanksgiving time the ghost of Captain Williams appears on the forward deck and the scene of the killing is again enacted. The Occidental is one of the staunchest vessels in the American marine. She has been for years on the coast. Many of the old pilots and sea captains remember Captain Williams as one of the brightest and best of the old-time skippers.

I was able to confirm that in 1887, Captain John Williams was indeed murdered on the Occidental, but I have found no more about his alleged unhappy--and very punctual--spirit.

Monday, November 23, 2015

Gaston Means: Portrait of an American Snake

"I'm very well acquainted with the seven deadly sins
I keep a busy schedule trying to fit them in
I'm proud to be a glutton, and I don't have time for sloth
I'm greedy and I'm angry and I don't care who I cross
I'm Mr. Bad Example
Intruder in the dirt
I like to have a good time
And I don't care who gets hurt.
I'm Mr. Bad Example
Take a look at me
I'll live to be 100 and go down in infamy."
~"Mr. Bad Example," Warren Zevon

Anyone who pursues my particular line of blogging learns about any number of sleazeballs, criminals, and random psychopaths. However, it's hard to think of many people whose evil was more prolific and versatile than that of Gaston B. Means, con man, secret agent, and murderer. This relatively little-known figure has a fair claim to be the most well-rounded creep in early 20th century American history.  An early biographer named Francis Russell described Means as "In appearance a wastrel cherub with round face, dimpled smile, sharp chin, and beaming eyes that flickered from time to time with madness...a swindler for the joy of swindling, a liar proud of the credibility of his lies, a confidence man able to make his cheats and deceptions works of art."  If there is no record of him pulling the wings off flies and kicking puppies, that was only because he saw no money in it.

Means was born in Concord, North Carolina in 1879. His childhood, as far as we know, was an ordinary one, but he demonstrated his flair for larceny early on. As a young man, he suffered a head injury when he fell from the upper berth of a Pullman car. As he had prudently taken out several accident policies just before boarding the train, this mishap proved quite profitable for him.

If it was a mishap at all, of course. There was talk that Means had engineered his "accident" by sawing through one of the chains that had held up the berth.

In 1902, he moved to New York and became a salesman for Cannon mills. The glib, outwardly charming, and cheerfully conscience-free Means was a natural for the job. He was soon earning more than $5000 a year--a small fortune in those days.

No matter how profitable it may have been, such legitimate, respectable work was deeply dissatisfying to our hero. He saw it as a waste of his special gifts. In 1914, he quit his job (or, if you prefer to believe his employers, he was fired for dishonesty.) In any case, he went to work for noted private detective William J. Burns. Means eagerly and skillfully took on the more sordid aspects of detective work, such as burglary, bribery, and spying. Around the time of his career switch, Means made the acquaintance of Maude King, an alcoholic widow who was both extremely wealthy and not very bright. Those last two characteristics in particular marked her out in Means' eyes as a very useful person to know. Within a few weeks of their first meeting, he had sweet-talked Mrs. King into making him her business manager. She trusted him with all her financial affairs.

1914 saw Means take on yet another role. The British government secretly hired Burns' agency to investigate the activities of Germans in New York. At the same time, the Germans tried to hire Burns to investigate the British. He tactfully declined the job by passing the contract on to Means. The two detectives profited nicely from this setup, with Burns ratting to Means about the British, while Means tattled to Burns about the Germans. Both men dreamed up all sorts of colorful foreign plots, complete with forged documents and fictitious spies. Naturally, the detectives required extra money from their employers to investigate this self-invented espionage.

By 1917, Means had secretly drained dry Mrs. King's bank accounts. Unbeknownst to her, she had practically no available money. The only asset she had left was $3 million her late husband had willed to the Northern Trust Company of Chicago to endow a rest home for old men. Means wanted to get his hands on these millions, and he was naturally also very anxious to prevent Mrs. King from discovering how he had swindled her.

Something clearly had to be done.

Means' first step was to forge another will of Mr. King's, this one leaving Maude the money previously intended for the rest home. Means had little trouble persuading Mrs. King of its authenticity, and he submitted the document for probate. Then, he and his family took Mrs. King on a vacation to Asheville, North Carolina. On August 29, 1917, Means took his friend Maude out into the woods for a little rabbit hunting.

Mrs. King never came out of those woods alive. Very soon after they had set out, a sorrowful Means returned carrying her dead body. The poor woman, he sighed, had had a terrible accident. She had inadvertently shot herself.

In the back of the head.

No powder marks were found on Mrs. King's head, indicating that she had not been shot at close range. It was also known that she was terrified of guns. The local prosecutor was intelligent enough to immediately indict Means for murder. Unfortunately, he was also unwise enough to allow the Northern Trust Company to hire lawyers from New York to assist in the case against Means. The jury didn't take kindly to these outsiders, and the defense played on this prejudice to the hilt, depicting the trial as that of a local boy being persecuted by slick shysters from the wicked big city. Sadly, it worked. Means was acquitted.

He was then tried for forging the King will. Means, it was clear, was a forger of more energy than skill. The prosecution had no trouble proving that the will's "witnesses" were out of town the day the document was supposedly signed. The typewriter used had not been invented when the will was supposedly written. Handwriting experts easily established that the signatures on the will were all forged.

Realizing that any sort of legitimate defense was hopeless, Means resorted to attempting to make a bargain. He claimed he knew of a trunk filled with documents from German spies. He told the U.S. Army that if the military gave the judge in his case a letter attesting to his good character [?!] he would give them the trunk. He indeed led an intelligence officer to a trunk, which was sent to Washington. Surely, now, such service to his country deserved some reward? The forgery charges against Means were dropped--even though when the trunk was eventually opened, it was found to be empty.

In later life, Means liked to boast that he had been accused of every felony on the books, and had escaped punishment for all of them.

Means returned to New York and resumed working for Burns. Then, on March 4, 1921, an event happened that would have a great effect on Means' career: Warren G. Harding was inaugurated President of the United States.

Harding's campaign manager, Harry M. Daugherty, was appointed Attorney General. He could think of no better man than William J. Burns to head the Bureau of Investigation, thus expanding the singular tactics of the Burns detective agency to a national scale. In November, the Department of Justice hired Gaston Means. This greedy grifter was given the run of the Bureau. He used this new-found power and influence in just the ways you might expect. He made a tidy little fortune running his own personal protection racket, promising mobsters, bootleggers, and other miscreants immunity from prosecution--if they were willing to pay for it. Before long, he and his family were living like Washington royalty: a luxurious townhouse staffed with servants, and a chauffeured limousine so he could do his dirty deeds in style.

By February 1922, Means had pushed his luck too far, and he was suspended from his job. Inevitably, he was not content with stealing from crooks, and had progressed to stealing from the government, as well. It was discovered that he had stolen a huge number of blank government licenses and permits, forged the names of various government officials on them, and sold the documents on his personal black market for tens of thousands of dollars. This was a bit too much fun even for Washington, D.C. Daugherty had no choice but to appoint a special counsel to investigate the ways of Means.

At that point, all hell began to break loose for the White House. President Harding had ordered Daugherty's closest friend, a small-time political crook named Jess Smith, to go back to his Ohio home. (This directive seems to have stemmed more from Smith's dissolute personal life than his professional crimes.) On Memorial Day 1923, Smith committed suicide in the apartment he had shared with Daugherty. This private tragedy catapulted all the assorted wrongdoings of the administration into public view.

One of the first people to suffer from this new scrutiny was Harry Daugherty. He found himself the target of a Senate investigation. His protegee, Gaston Means, was indicted for larceny, conspiracy, and no less than 100 violations of the Prohibition Act.

Means decided that his best hope for escaping punishment was to turn super-grass. In March 1924, he appeared before the Senate committee and told all--or, at least, all the story he wanted his listeners to hear. Means described how millions of dollars in kickbacks on government contracts, war claims settlements, and illegal permits passed through his hands, with all of it going to Daugherty and other Cabinet officials. Although there was nothing but Means' extremely dubious word to support these stories (he claimed his files had been stolen,) all this was more than enough for the new President Coolidge (Harding had died suddenly on August 2, 1923,) to demand that Daugherty resign.

Happily, Means' back-stabbing did him little good. In June 1924, he was tried and convicted for perjury and income tax fraud. He was given four years in the Atlanta federal penitentiary. While in prison, he became friendly with a minor hack writer named May Dixon Thacker. (A sidenote: Her brother was Thomas Dixon, author of "The Klansman," the novel that was later turned into the notorious film "The Birth of a Nation.") After Means served his sentence, he and Thacker arranged that she should ghostwrite a book giving his side of his political career. He took great private amusement from Thacker's willingness to believe his increasingly outlandish and slanderous tales.

The result of this unholy collaboration was 1930's "The Strange Death of President Harding."  Means falsely claimed to have been Florence Harding's personal private investigator. He stated that Mrs. Harding, jealous of her husband's infidelities and concerned about his good name should the criminal behavior of his officials become public, poisoned the president.

Means' bombshell "revelations" turned the book into a massive best-seller. Although historians now recognize that "Strange Death" is largely so much lurid fantasy, its memory still lingers today. During her lifetime, Florence Harding was a popular and admirable First Lady. She was a highly intelligent woman who was widely praised as a loyal wife and an effective public figure with forward-looking political ideas. Thanks to Means, she is still often regarded as a sinister harridan at best, and a murderer at worst. It is one of the great libels in American political history.

Despite his financial windfall from the book (augmented when he managed to bilk Thacker of her share of the royalties,) men like Means never have enough money, and he soon began to plan new schemes. He approached some rich New Yorkers who were known to be concerned about possible Soviet subversive activities. Means told them he knew of two Russian agents intent on bringing down the country. One would think that by this point, Means' infragrant reputation would have preceded him, but he somehow talked these men into hiring him--for $100 a day--to investigate these phantom agents. He managed to drag out his "investigation" for three years, as he supposedly chased these Soviets across the country. Finally, when he sensed the patience of his latest marks was running out, he announced that--wouldn't you know?--one of the Soviets had killed the other and escaped back to Russia.

In March 1932, the infant son of Charles Lindbergh disappeared. It was soon announced that the boy had been kidnapped. This harrowing crime perpetrated against the helpless child of an American idol caused grief and shock for everyone in the country.

Well, everyone except Gaston Means, of course. He saw it as an enticing business opportunity.

During his time in Washington, he had made the acquaintance of the very wealthy and eccentric socialite Evalyn Walsh "Hope Diamond" McLean. Means was able to con her into believing that he was in contact with the Lindbergh kidnappers. He assured her that if she put up the $100,000 ransom, he could return little Charles Jr. to his parents. McLean unhesitatingly gave Means the cash.

And just as unhesitatingly, Means skipped town with the loot.

When Mrs. McLean--after giving Means still more money for the "ransom"-- finally realized she had been had, she called in the police, who managed to track Means down and arrest him in May 1932. He still maintained that he was in contact with the kidnappers, and insisted the Lindbergh child was still alive. He kept this story up even after the corpse of a small child was discovered in the woods near the Lindbergh estate, and Charles Lindbergh identified it as the remains of his son.

Means was finally given the long prison sentence he so richly deserved. The McLean scam earned him 15 years in prison for grand larceny, and he was soon forgotten by the world. He died in his cell of a massive heart attack on December 12, 1938.

If there is such a place as Hell, Gaston Bullock Means is surely keeping very busy swindling all the devils.

Friday, November 20, 2015

Weekend Link Dump

This week's Link Dump is proudly sponsored by the International Society of Feline Photographers.

What the hell is falling over Spain?

What the hell happened to Dr. Leichhardt?

What the hell is inside the pyramids?

Watch out for those poisonous perfumes!

Watch out for those Australian magpies!

Watch out for those cursed Australian rivers!

Watch out for that otherworldly food!

Watch out for Big and Little Harpe!

The--perhaps unjustified--execution of Patrick Ogilvie.  (My take on this enigmatic case is here.)

How to investigate a seance.

German sausages and flying ambulances.

Stories of particularly strange disappearances.

Speaking of strange disappearances...

This week in Russian Weird features Neolithic smoked fish.

Oh, and Siberia is still sinking.

More lurid medieval cat stories.

Paying tribute to an unknown mapmaker.

Photographs of life in London, 1904.

The link between the Pied Piper and Dracula.  [Side note:  Someone should start a series on "Six Degrees of Fortean Separation."]

The link between pirates and parrots.

Meet Henry, the Magical Skunk.  One of the joys of putting this weekly link collection together is that it enables me to write sentences like that.

The memoirs of Madame Roland.

The liberating effects of bicycles.

In which we learn about 18th century feet.

A Victorian actress falls on hard times.

The role of Southern women in the Civil War.

A gruesome tale of poltergeists and body-snatching in Greyfriars churchyard.

To be honest, I've always thought old Will is the most overrated writer in history.

Robert Odlum, who should have looked--and thought twice--before he leaped.

The Paranormal Pic of Portsmouth.  Go on, try saying that one three times fast.

This week's "Oops" moment.

Eyewitnesses talk of Hitler's final days.

Was Oak Island just a big tar pit?

The Curse of Tupton Hall:  Separating fact from fiction.

The pioneering balloon flight of the Robert brothers.

Those scandalous Penny Dreadfuls.

How to make medieval bread.

Mrs. Beeton, the 19th century Martha Stewart.

The animals who fought in WWI.

A mystical Italian "blue room."

The strange case of the "sunken city of Cuba."

An ancient cave library.

A 17th century Dead Letter Office.

A visit to a 19th century dissection room.

An early 20th century Cat Lady tragedy.

Curing a Georgian headache.

"I be dead people."

The man who weighed souls.

Napoleon's superstitions.

The case of the missing mustache.

Emily Bronte's dog.

And that's a wrap for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at one of the worst people in early 20th century America.  In the meantime, here's some Handel:

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Newspaper Clipping(s) of the Day

Back in February, I did a post showcasing those fearless, irrepressible Ladies of the Illustrated Police News.  I had fun putting it together, and it seemed to go over well--I had no idea there was such a market for Victorian women with horsewhips--so I couldn't resist presenting a sequel.  As I have said before, the Illustrated Police News is the lazy blogger's gift that keeps on giving.  It's time to overturn some more stereotypes of the meek, helpless, strait-laced Victorian female!

The ladies of the IPN didn't pull any punches!

The ladies of the IPN had pioneering child-care methods!

The ladies of the IPN were career women going into business for themselves!

The ladies of the IPN were brave!

The ladies of the IPN were plucky!

The ladies of the IPN were heroic!

The ladies of the IPN were incorrigible!

The ladies of the IPN were scandalous!

The ladies of the IPN were lively!

The ladies of the IPN were powerful!

The ladies of the IPN were troublesome!

The ladies of the IPN were life-savers!

It never paid to cross the ladies of the IPN!

The ladies of the IPN scoffed at mere prison walls!

The ladies of the IPN stared Death right in the face!

The ladies of the IPN knew how to travel in style!

The ladies of the IPN knew what was important in life!

The ladies of the IPN knew how to stay cool!

And, of course, the ladies of the IPN had an unbeatable way with words.

The ladies of the IPN:  Not even the bears could resist them.

[Note:  All images via the invaluable British Newspaper Archive.]