The Poltergeist of Cambridge Castle

Cambridge Castle, 1730

Simon Ockley was Professor of Arabic at the University of Cambridge from 1711 until his death in 1720.  In 1718, he was briefly imprisoned in Cambridge Castle for debt, where his enforced stay was enlivened by the company of what we would today call a poltergeist.   Our sole source for Ockley’s brush with The Weird are from a series of letters he wrote to a “Dr. Keith” about the experience:

CAMBRIDGE, MAY 6th, 1718.

Sir,

I do not remember myself to have been worse in my whole lifetime than I was on Sunday last when to mend the matter I was plagued all night with a Caccodæmon that infests our castle after a very strange manner. He did not suffer me to get one wink of rest till after broad daylight, and not much then, for he is verily as troublesome in the day as the night at certain times.

I know these things are exploded as mere Chimeras in this (si Dus placet) discerning age; but they must give me leave to trust to my own experience rather than to their Cui bonos.

I felt him moving under the bed and heaving it up. I waited the event, whilst he entertained me with variety of sounds and capricious troublesome motions in different parts of the room. At last he gave such an explosion under the bed as seem'd to sound in my ears as loud as the largest cannon, and rais'd both me and the bed with the force of it.

I soon after heard him tapping at the top of my bed's head. I asked him what we were to have next? Immediately he flew through the boards that separate my bed chamber from the next room, and returned again with such violence that you would have imagined that he had shivered them all to pieces. Then giving a slight tap in the midst of a great boarded wooden chair that stands close by my bed's head, he seem'd to make such a noise as when a great cat leaps down upon the boards, but withall so hollow as if all his body except his feet had been made of copper. I look'd for him instantly, the moon shining very bright, but there was no appearance; then moving a little while at a distance he returned to his old tricks again.

Once he was whisking about in the corner of the room and made such a noise suppose as a cat would do playing with a piece of paper. I snatched the curtain immediately to see him, which he took so ill that I thought my great wooden chair had been coming directly at me; such a suddain terrible jarring noise did he make with it.

So civil he is that tho' the parlour where I live all the daytime is a good bow's shot distance from the chamber where I lodge, yet he now and then makes me a visit here; and not long since I was talking to an honest man about him, who is not over credulous in such cases, he made a proselyte of him at once by giving such a bounce as seem’d to shake the whole room and almost to blow me and my chair quite away, tho’ I could never perceive anything stir.

Yesterday about one o'clock he entertain'd us with a multitude of hollow thumps exactly resembling the fire of cannon at a distance. In the afternoon it was more like thunder.

The last night I design'd to entertain him by candle light, but perceiving that some people in the street had got a notion that I was going to conjure down a spirit, and besides that he was not so active as in the dark; to humour him in his own way I put out my candle and put myself in a posture for his reception. The first I heard of him was a leap from the windows like a cat; then the noise of two able threshers upon a boarded floor. Afterwards he twisted a long line making the same noise that the ropemakers do. He whistles admirably well and drives a cart or a gang of packhorses. I have heard the sound of the bells as distinctly as ever I did in my life. After he had entertained me thus for a while, I having rebuked him after such a manner as I thought most proper, I was resolved to endeavour to compose myself to sleep in spite of him which I did, but he would not let me rest long.

I fancy there is a gang of them, or else he is like the Old Man in Scarron's comical Romance, that used to act three parts at once viz.: the King. the Queen and the ambasadour.

But, after all it is no laughing matter. I am sure I do not find it so. It is exceedingly troublesome and terrible. There is something in the nature of those separated beings so different from flesh and blood as make their too near approach almost insupportable. God preserve us all from the Malignant influences of infernal powers for the sake of our blessed Lord the Saviour Jesus Christ.

Yesterday my daughter was here, and having confess'd that there were unaccountable sounds, she wished they were louder. The spirit did not stay a great while before he gratified her request, and gave us a peal like thunder.

If anyone doubts the truth of this I am ready to resign my chamber to him with all my heart.

S. OCKLEY.

Ockley wrote to Keith again on May 23rd: 

Dear Sir,

I perceive you are under a mistake. You are not aware how much I converse in my thoughts with the invisible world. I never make any ostentation of it, for if I ever mention anything that goes any farther than Mathematical demonstration our people know just as much of it as I do about the situation of the cities in the moon. But you are a Gentleman to whom I have such obligations that it is not, nor ought to be, in my power to refuse you anything; but notwithstanding all those obligations were they ten times greater, they should not induce me to communicate anything of this kind, unless I had that same assurance that I have of your being thoroughly qualified to judge of things of this nature.

Whether or no the spirit haunts the castle I am not certain. I believ'd so at first, but this I am fully assured of, that his last visit was a particular Dispensation of Providence to me.

I have heard him make noises at a distance some months ago. I am not so acquainted with things of that nature as not to be able to distinguish those sounds from any other. I oftentimes said there was a spirit and was of course as often laughed at.

But once (I believe about 3 weeks ago) I had sent the keeper on an errand, it was about 9 o'clock at night, and my candle stood burning by my bedside, I heard upon the wall distinct rappings as if they had been upon wainscot; I anticipated your good advice. I recollected my spirits and resigned myself into the hands of the Father of Spirits under the protection of his blessed Son our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

I knew very well that that was but the beginning, and lived in constant expectation to hear more of it, which I did frequently; and the reason why I gave you a particular account of Sunday night was because it was the most remarkable.

I was indeed of your opinion first. I took it to be an uneasy departed spirit, and thought it an act of charity to assist it; but all my labour was lost; I had no remedy left but fervent prayer, in which I spent the greater part of the night.

Not that I was scared, for I defye anyone to convict me of anything that ever looked like cowardice,* if I have any fault with relation to such matters it lyes in the other extreme.

N. B. So far as the asterisk was written as soon as I received your letter, since which time I have been under such a feaverish indisposition as has made me incapable of anything and perfectly listless. I slept well for two or three nights and began to recover my strength and spirits but they must of necessity decay again unless my troublesome guest, as you very properly call him, either leave this habitation, or I be removed to another. He is come back again as it were with double force; for these two last nights he has exercised me incessantly from ten till after four in the morning. Last night he gave near I believe an hundred strokes in the next room to me as loud as men make when they are rendering timber or breaking down wainscot! besides variety of rappings, hideous, hollow, inarticulate voices, besides several other inimitable sounds. This morning between three and four a'clock he was very busy in rubbing down a long table that stands in my room, and as he was whisking about, he now and then stumpt like one that has a wooden leg. You seem, Sir, to think that he is a ludicrous spirit, and that therefore he is never to be entertain'd or subdued in that way. I never did entertain him in that way, nor did he ever give me any reason.

I cannot yet be persuaded that he is a ludicrous spirit, nor the Soul of any person deceased. At present I take him to be a malignant evil Genius, of the same sort that I met with in Hand Alley, for the sounds and his manner are very much the same.

Nobody heard him but myself last night, and let me have been in never so great distress, I could neither have awakened any of them, nor have been able to gone out of my room.

I believe he would speak but cannot. I have thought sometimes to lay hold of some of his hollow tones but never could to any certainty. Whatsoever he is I do not desire to be farther informed by such conversation. If he is in any distress, nobody more ready than myself to serve him; but I do not desire he should distress me, which he do's exceedingly by robbing me of my rest, and exercising and debilitating my spirits. I have spoken to him several times, but he never returned a syllable of answer--a week's more such exercise would reduce me to a very bad condition.

S. OCKLEY.

Soon after this letter was written, Ockley was released and returned to his home at Swavesey.  However his supernatural troubles were not over.  On July 6th, he wrote to Keith from Swavesey:

Dear Sir,

You ask me, Sir, whether my spirit has left me or not. I cannot say that he has. About an hour ago my second daughter and I sitting in the kitchen, I heard a very great noise above stairs. Now you are to understand that I am a man the most impatient of noise of any man breathing. I took it for granted that the maid had been cleaning the rooms or making a bed, and had flung something about by accident, but having occasion to go upstairs I found the coast clear, and upon enquiry was inform'd that the maid was sent on an errand; all the rooms were immediately search'd, no cat, no dog, nothing visible.

I cannot close my letter before I acquaint you with one memoir relating to the spirit in Cambridge Castle. One night when all the prisoners were lock'd up in their rooms except two or three innocents, I had occasion to go to the house of office. As soon as I sat down and placed my candle on my left hand, the spirit came down with such force as you would have imagined would have dashed the whole partition to pieces. Such things are so far from diminishing my courage that they encrease it, for immediately I summon up all my spirits, and make the most regular Christian opposition that I am able, but as I have told you before I am not able to bear the influence of their vehicles, and I owe my present indisposition to that malignant power (so much by way of parenthesis). I immediately snatch'd up my candle in one hand, and opened the door with the other, but nothing appeared.

I knew very well that there was none of the prisoners could or would impose on me, for tho' I do not design to make going to Jayl a habit, yet common sense taught me to secure the friendship of the most impudent fellow in the crew. I hate mortally to have a piss-pot emptied upon my head, and then be answered that nobody did it. He would not I'm sure play any tricks with me because I was his best friend; besides if he would he could not, for I defye all mortal powers to impose upon me in such a case.

The sounds that those spirits make are inimitable, and their accursed Influence is supportable. However, I went up and ask'd him why he made such a noise (tho' I knew it was not he, but I was resolved to be thoroughly satisfied). The poor man was asleep, but upon my awaking him he answered that he had made no noise but had been composing himself to rest ever since he came to bed. I then took more particular notice of the building and observed that it was impossible for any of the prisoners (considering the situation of their lodgings) to have made any such noise in that place. I wrapt myself up in my gown and went thither again on purpose to see whether he would return. As soon as I was sat down he came with the same force, and gave such a jar to the door as if a man had kick'd at it with the utmost force. I saw the door jarr, as I did the first time, and opened it as quick as I could, but finding nothing went to bed. S. OCKLEY.

Dr. Keith replied on July 12th:

Rev. and Dear Sir,

I received your very acceptable letter of the 6th and rejoyced to see it dated from Swavesey. I am sorry first of all to hear of your indisposition and listlessness and especially of the weakness and tremor of your nerves. I shall set down a prescription or two at the end of this, which I desire you would use for about ten days or a fortnight. You may send for the powders mentioned in the first in two little vials, and weigh out 15 grains of each in the morning and evening when you take them. They will be the more effectual if you will add 5 grains of the Sal Succini to them, and therefore you may get one dram of this in a vial too. When you have weighed out of the powders mix them in a little conserve of Rosemary flowers, and take it by way of Bolus, drinking a cupfull of sage or sassafras tea after it. Tho' you don't mention any disorder in your stomach yet I think it fit to order a general litter for you in order to help your digestion, which I reckon to be one-half of the cure. If you hav't an honest Apothecary that's your friend your daughter may get the ingredients and boil them at home, and also the two waters to add to the liquor when it is strained out and cold. I pray God to give his blessing that they may be a means of your recovery. When you are in any tolerable condition to use it, I would recommend to you gentle exercise, and especially riding on horse-back.

In the next place I cannot but lament the negligence and imprudence of your friends both at Oxford and Cambridge, and indeed am at a loss how to account for either. In the meantime, you must take a good heart and do the best you can. And I hope you will especially since now you will be easier at home than ever. For I reckon the noise and disturbance that may come from the other spirit will be in all respects less sensible. cribed the whole of your three letters on the subject of the spirit in Cambridge Castle, and have here enclos'd them to be communicated to his Lordship at your leisure. I have not heard the least syllable of that of Hand Alley a great while. I often pass by the house and see it is still inhabited.

I remain very heartily, 

 Rev. Sir, 

Your sincere humble servant, JAMES KEΙΤΗ. 

We know nothing more about Ockley’s spectral visitor.  The professor died at Swavesey on August 9th, 1720.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Enjoy this week's Link Dump!

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That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when it'll be poltergeists a-go-go!  In the meantime, here's a brief visit to medieval Paris.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

Family banshees can come in different forms, I suppose, but a piano is a new one for me.  The “Richmond Independent,” May 1, 1933:

The Wetherill family of Continental, O., desire to get rid of their piano, which isn't of the player type. For the third time in less than 12 years, the omen of death has been sounded on the piano. The other night, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Wetherill and their two daughters were awakened by the piano as two keys, one of high pitch and the other of a bass key, played for several minutes--so the Wetherills say.

A week later. Mrs. Wetherill's sister-in-law died. Ten years ago, a week before Wetherill's mother died, Mrs. Wetherill declared part of a hymn was played on the piano by an invisible hand.

Seven years ago the family was awakened by the piano, apparently playing itself, and a week later Wetherill's sister-in-law died. Wetherill is shown beside the piano.

An article in the “Alexander City Outlook,” on December 14th gives a few more details:

CONTINENTAL, O.-The Wetherills want to get rid of their piano. They are afraid to have it in the house any longer. It is not a player piano, but it plays itself as a sign of death. That's what Charles E. Wetherill, head of that house, maintains.

And the neighbors shake their heads and say, "If Charlie Wetherill says it, there's something to it." They are wondering now who is going to die. The terrible message came again a few days ago. Wetherill says. This is the fourth time, he tells his neighbors, in 12 years. The Wetherills were proud of the piano when they got it, something like 12 years ago.

It is a handsome big upright. They put a copy of "Perfect Day" and "Poet and Peasant Overture" on its elaborate music rack. Before the excitement of the novelty was worn off, the first message came, the Wetherills say. In the dead of the night, one note kept drumming over and over, until everybody was awake and wondering what on earth was happening. A few days later Charlie Wetherill's mother died.

"It's a coincidence," the Wetherills decided. "There was a mouse or something in the piano." And they forgot all about it. For six years. Then Wetherill told his neighbors one morning that he had been roused out of his sleep by the drumming of that one note again. "It makes a person feel mighty funny," he said.

"I don't believe in spooks, but there's something funny about this." A few days later his sister-in-law died. They talked then about getting rid of the piano. But they didn't. They didn't even sell it when the message came again and another sister-in-law died. But now they're talking about it.

Because this time it was even more weird than before. When they heard it this time they got up and rushed down to the parlor and turned on the light. They could see that one key still moving lightly up and down--not quite hard enough to make a sound. That is what they told their neighbors. The Wetherills look at each other with frightened eyes.

They are saying in their hearts. "Did it call for you, or did it call for me?"

I was unable to find out what became of this Instrument of Doom, but if you happen to have an early 20th century piano in your home, and one of the keys starts moving on its own, it might be wise to get rid of it.

The Poisonous Mr. Drescher

Most poisoning cases--particularly serial poisonings--can be unusually murky and confusing crimes, particularly if no obvious motive is found.  A particularly stellar example is the following case, which, while nearly forgotten today, was a justifiably famous mystery in its time.

Our toxic little tale opens in the fall of 1914, in the ostensibly peaceful area of Owen County, Indiana.  Charles Surber, who was running for the job of Owen County recorder, received in the mail a sample of a substance labeled as quinine.  There was no name on the typewritten return address, just a location in Indianapolis.  Surber took some of the “quinine,” and instantly regretted it.  He fell horribly ill, but, fortunately, managed to pull through.  Tests showed strychnine in his system.  When his anonymous gift was analyzed, it was found that the quinine had been heavily doctored with the poison.  Although the poisoner was never identified, Surber believed the culprit was the same anonymous person who had been circulating typewritten letters accusing him of being unfit to serve as county recorder.  When the election for recorder was held a month later, Surber beat out his opponent--48-year-old Francis Drescher, the acting coroner for Owen County--and went on with his life.

Other county residents were not so fortunate.  Over the next seven months, a number of other Owen County residents received similar anonymous samples of “quinine” sent from Indianapolis.  Those unlucky enough to partake of these samples all felt the dreadful effects of strychnine poisoning.  Several of them died.  Owen County had a serial poisoner on their hands.  But who was sending these seemingly random packets of death, and why?

On the evening of June 2, 1915, Francis Drescher sent his two children, 15-year-old Mary and Francis Jr., 12, to the movies.  That left him temporarily alone in the house, as his wife Estella was visiting relatives.  When Estella returned home around 8 p.m., she found Francis lying face-down in the library, quite dead.  On an end table was a note in Francis’ handwriting which began, “I ate a radish and my heart has broken.  It hurts me today.  Pocketbook.  Goodbye, mom and children.”  

Although trace amounts of strychnine were found in Francis’ blood, the cause of his death remained uncertain.  The autopsy found no strychnine in his stomach, which led to the theory that Francis had injected himself with the poison.  However, no needle was found near his body.  Public opinion remained convinced that he had somehow committed suicide, particularly after it was revealed that the coroner had secretly been the prime suspect in the “poison by mail” crimes.  In fact, just before Francis died, a post office inspector had arrived in Owen County in order to question him about the matter.  The general assumption was that Francis had somehow learned of this, and resolved to “cheat the hangman.”  Drescher’s family, however, noted that he had suffered a bad bout of food poisoning shortly before his death, which they believed brought on heart failure.

"Indianapolis Star," June 4, 1915, via Newspapers.com

The accusation that Drescher had been a human viper was strengthened when it came out that there was a long history of people unaccountably dropping dead around the genial coroner.  In September 1906, a young woman named Maude Clark, who worked as a nanny and maid for the Drescher family, suddenly went into convulsions and died in front of Francis--in fact, she expired with one hand clutching the hem of his pants.  Although O.F. Grey, the doctor who was summoned to the scene, immediately suspected poisoning, Francis convinced the coroner at the time, Dr. O.G. Richards, that an autopsy was unnecessary.  He explained that the girl was often depressed, and undoubtedly committed suicide.  Why publicize such sad details?

Soon after Maude’s mysterious death, Dr. Grey and his family ate their usual breakfast, after which they all became dangerously, although not fatally, sick.  A large amount of strychnine was later found in their sugar bowl.  Although Grey hired private investigators to find the person who tried to wipe out his entire family, the culprit was never identified.

In 1911, R.H. Richards, the Owen County treasurer, sent a deputy to collect some money Drescher owed the city.  Soon after that, Richards collapsed.  He had a very bad couple of days, but eventually recovered.  Doctors confirmed he had been poisoned, but, again, the would-be murderer remained unknown.

In June 1912, one Frank Mason became ill, and was placed in the local Odd Fellows Lodge.  Among the people who helped treat him was Francis Drescher, who was by then the acting coroner.  When Mason’s condition took a sudden, dramatic turn for the worse, Dr. Grey was called in.  Although Mason was having trouble speaking, he managed to gasp out to Grey, “I’m poisoned, Doc, quick, get it out of me.”  And then he died.

A small packet of strychnine was found in Mason’s room.  Drescher ruled that the man had obviously committed suicide, and that was that.

Six months later, a young Owen County woman named Alice McHenry came down with a headache, and took some quinine which she had recently received in the mail from some anonymous benefactor.  Soon afterwards, Alice went into convulsions, and died within the hour.  When Coroner Drescher arrived on the scene, he stated that Alice had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage.   Nothing to see here, move on.

One day in 1913, a traveling salesman named D.H. Johnson staggered into an Owen County hardware story asking for help.  He then fell to the floor and died in convulsions.  Francis, who happened to be nearby at the time--how convenient!--said the poor man died of heart failure.

After Francis’ death, an Owen County widow, Mrs. Strouse, went to the police with an unsettling story.  After her husband had suddenly and mysteriously died in 1914, Francis--who had conducted the man’s funeral--asked her if she lived alone.  A few days later, she received in the mail a sample of quinine.  After the “medicine” made her dreadfully ill, she brought the rest of the quinine to authorities, who found that it contained strychnine.

Owen County’s impressive body count continued.  In June 1914, one Thomas Karns died suddenly in his home.  Although he had been in perfect health and had no history of heart trouble, Coroner Drescher ruled he died of “mitral valve insufficiency.”  Within that same period of time, at least seven other county residents inexplicably dropped dead.  Drescher ruled all of these deaths were due to “heart failure.”  He took to immediately embalming the bodies before anyone had time to request an autopsy.

All of this made the late Mr. Drescher look like quite the busy Death Angel.  However, no solid evidence was ever found tying him to all these bizarre and quite untimely deaths.  The only possible motive anyone had come up with for him to turn mass poisoner was that, as an undertaker, he wished to drum up business!  And for those convinced of Drescher’s guilt, there was the inconvenient fact that well after he died, at least three more Owen County residents were mysteriously poisoned with strychnine.  Additionally, at least some of the poisoned quinine had been sent from Indianapolis at times when Drescher was indisputably at home.

Despite all these lingering questions, after Drescher’s highly suspicious death, local authorities found it convenient to just let their investigations quietly fizzle, leaving a remarkable true-crime muddle behind them.

Weekend Link Dump

 

The Strange Company staffers wishes all our fellow Americans a happy Independence Day!

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That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a mysterious serial poisoner.  In the meantime, here's a rendition of the national anthem I remember from '77.

Newspaper Clipping of the Independence Day

Via Newspapers.com

For this year’s Fourth of July, I’m bringing you something a bit different: A patriotic mystery!  The “Bonner County Daily Bee,” August 26, 2014:

KELLOGG - Old Glory is flying high atop a large ponderosa pine on Fourth of July Pass. 

How the flag got there, on national forest land, is a mystery.

At night the American flag, which is on the north side of the highway around mile marker 27, is illuminated by a light which makes it clearly visible from Interstate 90.  Jay Kirchner, a spokesperson for the Idaho Panhandle National Forest, told The Press Monday that they first got a call about the flag a month ago.

“We have no idea how it got up there,” Kirchner said.  "It's on the tip-top of the tree and I can't imagine it would hold the weight of the person holding onto it.”  

The Idaho Panhandle National Forest sent its professional tree climbers to assess the tree the flag flies from in order to possibly remove the flag.  However, Kirchner said even professionals were reluctant to make the climb.

“It’s just too dangerous for them,” Kirchner said.  “To get up on that skinny part of the tree that high up would be too risky.  Since it’s not hurting anything, we’re just going to leave it up there for now.  It’s not worth the risk.”

But Kirchner added that they would like the flag and light to come down eventually.

“We applaud and respect this individual’s display of patriotism,” Kirchner said.  “But they did this on public land and we don’t want more people putting up displays on public land.”

As far as I know, it was never discovered who put the flag up, and, more importantly, how the devil they did it.

Malekin of Dagworth Hall

Dagworth Hall as it looks today

As I believe I’ve mentioned before, medieval chronicles are a gold mine for those of us who like our history to be laced with a bit of the bizarre.  In between descriptions of wars, plagues, and other notable events, you are apt to suddenly find deadpan accounts of events that can be best described as barking mad.  

Ralph of Coggeshall was a monk in the Cistercian Abbey of (surprise!) Coggeshall, England.  From 1187 to 1224, he was the author of the Abbey’s “Chronicon Anglicanum.”  What earns our scribe a place in the hallowed halls of Strange Company is his description of an unusually weird…ghost?  Poltergeist?  Changeling?!

According to Ralph, during the reign of Richard I (1189-99) the residence of Sir Osberni de Bradewell at Daghewurthe [Dagworth Hall,] in Suffolk, was frequently visited by a “certain fantastical spirit,” who would converse with the family, always using the voice of a very small child.  The spirit called himself “Malekin.”  He said that his mother and brother lived in a nearby house, and they often scolded him for leaving them in order to speak to other people.

Malekin did and said many things that were “both wonderful and very funny,” although he had the disconcerting habit of revealing people’s secrets.  The knight and his family were initially terrified by their uninvited guest, but they gradually got used to his “words and silly actions,” and wound up casually conversing with him as they would any other member of the household.  Malekin sometimes spoke English, sometimes Latin, and would have learned discussions about the Scriptures with the family chaplain.

Malekin could be heard and felt, but he was only seen once.  “A certain maiden” of the family asked him to show himself to her, but he refused until she made a solemn vow not to touch him.  After this promise was made, he appeared briefly in her chamber, in the form of a small boy clothed in a white tunic.  Malekin told her that he was born in Lavenham, and that his mother had left him in a field where she was harvesting, after which he was “taken away” by unspecified entities.  He added that he had been in his “present position” for the past seven years, and that after another seven years he would be free to live with people again.  

Malekin claimed that he and “the others” had a hat which made them invisible.  He would often ask for food and drink, which, when it was placed on a certain chest, instantly disappeared.

So.  Ralph says no more about the elusive Malekin, but I think we can all agree that he told us plenty.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Don't be a dunce!  Read this week's Link Dump!

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The London Monument.

The magical sea coconuts.

When you want a pension so badly you'll marry a corpse.

A cab driver's unsolved disappearance.

Seagulls may be getting drunk on ants.  Now, there's a sentence I never thought I'd write.

A Renaissance villa in the Bronx.

Yet another "rejected suitor" murder.

The man who invented modern zoos.  For animals and humans.

A 19th century Indian novelist.

The importance of garnets.

In search of Madagascar's man-eating tree.

The world's largest jewelry robbery.

A farewell letter from 1796.

The long history of the slop bowl.

The long history of zombies.

The time Boston had a red snowstorm.

The life of Margaret Tudor.

A brief history of Marseille.

The significance of some 23,000 year old footprints.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll meet a very strange being from medieval England.  In the meantime, here's a bit of modern Celtic folk.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This odd little story appeared in the “Saint Paul Globe,” October 17, 1903:

COLUMBUS GROVE, Ohio, Oct. 15. Is the farm residence of George Arnold, a leading prohibition politician of the county, located about two and half miles north of here on the Ottawa pike. haunted, and what causes the strange sounds that emanate therefrom? This is the question which not only Mr. Arnold's folks are trying to solve, but neighbors and citizens of Columbus Grove as well. 

One week ago Saturday night the residence was entered and $35 and a revolver were taken from the bookcase in the living room. Mr. Arnold's pension voucher, which was with the money, was found lying on the floor.

Every night since the Arnolds have been troubled by intruders. When they heard strange sounds night after night an investigation was ordered.  Upon appearing at the front door they saw what appeared to be a man and a woman in a strange little cart in the lane which leads to the house from the road. They had no more than left the shelter of the house when the strange beings threw sticks and rocks at the family. It is said that as soon as members of the family leave the house, even though for but a short time, furniture is turned topsy-turvy and everything is strewn about. 

Becoming tired of the strange happenings and perplexed by the embarrassment which his family is compelled to suffer on account of the trouble, Mr. Arnold came to town and engaged a number of guards to watch the house.  One of these guards is ex-Night Watchman Jacob Sheets. Faithfully has he stood for the past several nights, but as yet not able to locate the mysterious sounds nor find any clew to the rock throwers. 

Arnold's first wife and several children died within short periods of one another of consumption. He married again and the children born of the second union assist him in taking care of his farm.

The children of the first union who are still living have gone out to make a way in the world. Most of the strange happenings are said to occur at the house during the absence of the wife. A year or so ago the Arnolds were bothered by mysterious visitors, but after a while, they ceased to come.

This all sounds very much like a poltergeist account, except the family’s attackers appear to have been corporeal--although this reporter seems to suggest that there was something not-quite-human about the mysterious rock-throwers.  In any case, I have been unable to find any resolution to the story.

The Curious Mr. Jacob

A photo that may be of A.M. Jacob, although the attribution seems dubious.

On January 17, 1921, the normally staid pages of the “London Times” carried a surprisingly colorful obituary:

The wonderfully diversified stage of India has seen no more romantic and arresting figure in our time than that of Mr. A.M. Jacob, the “Lurgan Sahib” of Mr. Kipling's “Kim" and the hero of the late Marion Crawford's most successful novel “Isaacs.”  He won his way from slavery to fame and immense wealth. but has now died in obscurity and poverty at Bombay at the age of 71.

Mystery surrounds the origin, as well as many features of the career, of a man generally believed to be either a Polish or Armenian Jew. but who claimed to be a Turk, and was born near Constantinople. At any rate, he was of the humblest origin, and when 10 years old was sold as a slave to a rich pasha, who, discovering that the boy had uncommon abilities, made a student of him.

It was thus that he acquired the foundation of that wide knowledge of Eastern life, language, art, literature, philosophy, and occultism which made him in later years a great influence at Simla and a most valuable helper of the political secret service. Gaining manumission on the death of his master in early manhood, he made the pilgrimage to Mecca disguised as a Mahomedan, and from Jeddah worked a passage to Bombay, where he landed friendless and with scarcely enough in his pocket for the next meal. Through his intimate knowledge of Arabic he soon obtained a clerkship to a great nobleman in the Nizam Court in Hyderabad. A year or two later a successful deal with a precious stone led him to go to Delhi and to set up in business in this line.

He rapidly made money.  His ideas and interests were too expansive to find scope in the Chandi Chowk, and he removed his business to Simla, the social and administrative capital of India for the greater part of the year.

Mr. Jacob's unrivalled knowledge of precious stones gave him a remarkable clientele of the highest in the land. such as British satraps and Indian princes; but he was much more than a keen man of business. He was endowed by nature with a wonderfully handsome face and form, and there was about him a compelling magnetism, a power and mystery, which led to his being sought for conversation and advice by Viceroys and princes, as well as men only less exalted. Belvedere, his Simla home. furnished in the most lavish Oriental style and filled with priceless ornaments. was thronged by a succession of notable visitors. Yet his own habits of life were ascetic almost to the verge of sternness.

So far from using his immense wealth for the gratification of luxurious tastes, he was a vegetarian. a teetotaller, and a non-smoker, and with good horses in his stables he rode only a shaggy hill pony. A Viceroy is reported to have said of him that “he lived like a skeleton in a jewel room.” The fact was that his deepest interests were in philosophy, astrology, and the occult. At dinner parties he astonished his guests by his “miracles,” and even the late Mme. Blavatsky had to admit his superiority in providing at will supernormal phenomena.  

But the day came when this bright star suffered eclipse. Hearing that the "Imperial diamond” was for sale in this country, he went to the late Nizam of Hyderabad, Sir Mahbub Ali Khan, and obtained an offer of 46 lakhs, then the equivalent of over £300,000. He obtained Rs.20 lakhs on account, and finding by cable that he could obtain the stone for £150,000, he at once paid the amount.  Mr. Jacob always alleged that it was owing to a personal intrigue against him that a high dignitary in Hyderabad, acting for the Government of India, brought pressure to bear on the Nizam, whose finances were at that time in an unsatisfactory state, to renounce the transaction.  Mr. Jacob was sued for the return of the Rs.20 lakhs, and was criminally indicted on a charge of cheating. After a trial at the Calcutta High Court lasting 57 days he was acquitted, but he had incurred enormous legal expenses. He claimed that ultimately the Nizam agreed to pay Rs.17 lakhs for the diamond, but this, as well as some other large liabilities by Indian Durbars, could not be obtained by legal process in British Courts, since they have no jurisdiction over the ruling Princes.

This, in brief, is the version of the collapse of his fortune which Mr. Jacob gave. At the age of 55 he went to Bombay a ruined man, and earned a scanty living for some years as a dealer in old china. But he remained cheerful and alert, sustained by a philosophy of life which gave him unshaken faith in immortality.

During all his prosperous years, he kept a full diary day by day, and it is to be hoped that this record of a fascinating career, believed to be very frank, will one day be published.

It appears that, if anything, the “Times” downplayed Jacob’s capacity for weirdness.  (A side note: His modern biographer, John Zubrzycki, believes "Jacob" was born in 1849 in what is now Turkey, and that his real name was "Iskandar Meliki bin Ya'qub al-Birri."  Perhaps he was, perhaps he wasn't.  Jacob was very good at creating a dense fog around his life.)  The Indian publication “The Pioneer,” gave a contemporary report about this remarkable enigma.  Jacob, we are told, could make himself invisible any time he chose.  At dinner parties, the other guests were entertained by the spectacle of Jacob seeming to vanish into ether, with only the movements of his knife and fork being visible.  At one gathering, a general asked Jacob to show some of his “tricks.”  Jacob, offended by this demeaning word, ordered a servant to bring him the general’s walking stick, made of thick grapevine, and a glass bowl full of water.  He then thrust the stick into the bowl.  “After a time,” the Pioneer’s correspondent wrote, “they saw numbers of shoots, like rootlets, begin issuing from the handle until they filled the bowl and held the stick steady, Jacob standing over it, muttering all the time.”  Then the stick began making crackling sounds, and twigs began sprouting from the stick, which soon turned into leaves and buds, the latter of which turned into bunches of black grapes.  All of this took place within some ten minutes.

Jacob was not through with his little show.  He told one of the guests to close his eyes and picture himself in the bedroom of his bungalow, which was about a mile away.  The guest obeyed.  “Now open your eyes,” Jacob said.  When the man did so, he was understandably flummoxed to find that he and Jacob were standing in the bungalow.  Jacob then told him to close his eyes again, so they could rejoin the dinner party.  However, the man, apparently having enough of being teleported here and there, refused.  “Oh, well,” said Jacob, “since you won’t come, I must go alone.  Goodbye.”  And then he vanished.  What the other dinner guests thought of this Fortean floor show is unfortunately not recorded.

In 1896, the Spiritualist publication “Borderland” carried a report about Jacob.  Their correspondent said he had spoken to Jacob about the “Pioneer” account.  Jacob essentially confirmed it all, except that he denied having performed the “miracle” of the grapes with a guest’s stick.  Rather, he had used a pre-prepared stick, which made his little stunt an easy one.  “In fact, he asserted that I or any one else could do the trick as soon as we were shown how.  Further, he admitted the truth of the fact that he had thrust your contributor through with a naked sword, but while he admitted it, he explained it away, for he said it was a mere trick, which was frequently performed by the natives.”

And what of the reports that Jacob could walk on water?  “Ah,” he replied, “I cannot do that now.”  Jacob explained, “I did not walk on the water, as the article says, although I appeared to do so, but I was supported in the air by my friend, who was invisible to the others.”  He added that this “friend” was someone who died 150 years previously, “and had been kind enough to act as his guardian through life.”  Alas, this “spirit guardian” had deserted him four months ago, leaving Jacob unable to repeat that particular stunt.  The “Borderland” correspondent also informed us that Jacob always wore a certain charm around his neck.  When he would wave it around, “a storm of butterflies, so dense, that no object in the room or its walls or ceiling could be seen through; and again with another word the storm disappeared.”  On another occasion, he showed his drawing-room “to be on fire, filled with large flames, but without warmth.”

As if Jacob’s life wasn’t peculiar enough, he also appears to have been some sort of intelligence asset.  Edward Buck, who had been a correspondent for Reuters in Simla for many years, and who knew Jacob well, wrote, “From papers which Mr. Jacob showed me there is no doubt in my mind that he was at one time treated as a secret agent of Government in certain matters.”  Buck did not say what these “certain matters” were, but he implied that the answers to many of the questions surrounding Jacob could be found in the files of “the mysterious Secret Department” of the Indian government.  

A.M. Jacob--or whoever and whatever he really was--died in Bombay on January 9, 1921.  He is buried in that city’s Sewri cemetery, but the exact location of his grave is now lost.  He would probably prefer it that way.

There is one rather charming footnote to our story.  The “Imperial Diamond” which led to Jacob’s financial ruin is now known as the “Jacob Diamond,” thus giving him a certain immortality.

[Note:  Many thanks to John Bellen for introducing me to this unusual character.]

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump, where we've got the blues!

The eternal mystery of the Lost Colony of Roanoke.

An ultra-penal colony.

The Boston Bread Riot.

When the CIA tried to turn animals into assassins.  Because, CIA.

There's an "underwater staircase" in the Baltic Sea, and scientists are a bit freaked out.

A lot of strange things go on in Dulce, New Mexico.

It turns out that ChatGPT is a lousy therapist.  Golly, there's a shocker.

The Enlightenment's philosophical gravediggers.

A Kansas UFO incident.

Why "Jack" became a nickname for "John."

Convicts take a brutal journey to Australia.

The slow death of the semicolon.

Why Tokyo has "third-party toilet consultants."

We now have an idea of what Denisovans looked like.

A British MP's museum.

The tribe that doesn't dance, sing, or make fire.

A column wondering why birds haven't developed a complex culture.  I dunno, maybe it's because they have more sense than we do.

The "most coveted and desirable book in the world."

The magic of feathers.

"Jaws" turns 50.

The science behind near-death experiences.

A brief history of Americans being abducted by aliens.

The very weird murder of "God's banker."

Panic in Mattoon: A Mad Gasser or mass hysteria?

A famed rat-catcher.

A famed bookbinder.

The birth of "Mark Twain."

The Case of the Murdered Coachman.

The war dead of St. Paul's Cathedral.

The "General Slocum" disaster.

A "sea devil incarnate."

The Jumping Frenchmen of Maine.

A philosopher's "repugnant conclusion."

The theory that we're not the first advanced civilization.

Nothing to see here, just mysterious radio pulses coming from beneath Antarctica's ice. 

The "Holy Grail" of shipwrecks.

More Thundercrows!

Why Mars is currently confusing scientists.

A forgotten Founding Father.

Ancient treasure that's really out-of-this-world.

The discovery of an ancient underwater settlement.

A very weird ghost story from ancient Greece.

The cattiest countries in Europe.

A club for bores.

A brief history of pizza.

When you think you're getting a marriage proposal, and it turns out to be a book deal instead.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a strange figure from Indian history.  In the meantime, here's Stevie:

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This poltergeist case is sadly lacking in detail (I could not find any more informative reports,) but I thought the final line of the story made it worth sharing.  “Truth,” December 1, 1946:

The people of County Clare, Ireland, are agog with anxiety and perplexity at reports of the impish activities of a Poltergeist, which this week showed up in their midst! So strange is the situation which the poltergeist is stirring up, that profound interest is registered throughout the United Kingdom this week-end. A poltergeist is described as "a ghost which causes noises and gets up to all sorts of impish pranks." Many citizens of County Clare are inclined to believe that a Walt Disney creation has got loose and is causing all kinds of trouble.

A "Truth" correspondent in London got in touch with Ireland when the news was first received of the poltergeist. The correspondent says there appears to be some jealousy over Walt Disney visiting Dublin before County Clare. From the Ballymakea district of Mullagh there comes the story of a poltergeist which takes pride in throwing butter in the face of a farmer's wife and in scaring children out of their wits, in broad daylight. By way of repaying the hospitality, this poltergeist causes chairs to be smashed, windows and china broken, bread finger-printed and ash thrown in the stew. This, of course, does not include the unseemly behavior with the bedclothes.

A policeman at Quilty, in County Clare, told "Truth's" correspondent that the poltergeist disturbance was being investigated. They claim that the reports are true, believe in the occurrence, and are seriously investigating the "mischievous phenomena.” If the phenomena continues, there will be a "clerical investigation," the policeman added. 

People in Eire do not dismiss the affair as an "old wives' tale." 

It is pointed out that these poltergeists must not be confused with the benevolent little men called Leprechauns. Poltergeists are reputed "to be able to cause real damage and sometimes physical pain.” 

Spiritualists believe poltergeists to be the spirits of vicious monkeys.

Where Are James and Nancy Robinson?

The following is yet another case where a husband and wife disappear simultaneously, but in this instance the circumstances were particularly inexplicable, not to mention sinister.

Up until the day their lives took a sudden dark turn, we know very little about 39-year-old James Robinson and his 25-year-old wife Nancy, other than that they had been married a relatively short time and were, as far as anyone can tell, happy with each other.  When our story opens, they had spent the last seven months as caretakers for the Winter’s Creek Equestrian Ranch in Washoe Valley, Nevada, with no apparent problems on or off the job.

Winters Creek Ranch

On Saturday, March 8, 1982, a Reno family came by the ranch to rent horses for the day.  Unfortunately, the weather took a sudden turn for the worse, forcing them to cut their ride short.  James and Nancy assured them that they could come by the next day to finish their excursion, at no extra charge.  However, when the family returned the following morning, they found the ranch locked up, and seemingly deserted.  The only signs of life were the horses roaming free in the yard.  The group apparently just shrugged and left.

On the morning of Monday, March 10th, a man who had been hired to do some construction work on the ranch became concerned when he saw that the Robinson’s living quarters had a broken window and blood on the front steps, and contacted police.

When the police entered the house, it was immediately obvious that something terrible had happened.  The place was in disarray, and pools of blood were found on the floor.  Several saddles and a few pieces of jewelry were gone, but many other items of at least equal value remained.  Several guns were found inside the house, but none of them had been recently used.  Later that day, the Robinson pickup truck was found on the side of the road on Highway 50, near Lake Tahoe, with a flat tire.  More blood was found inside the truck, along with the missing saddles and jewelry, and another gun which had also not been fired.  (Oddly, tests performed on all these blood stains were reported as being “inconclusive” about the blood types.  In 2000, it was reported that the blood samples would be resubmitted for DNA testing, but I’ve been unable to find what the results may have been.)  The last known person to talk to James and Nancy was the owner of the ranch, who phoned them on the evening of March 6th to talk about a horse show they had attended that afternoon.  He stated that everything seemed perfectly normal.

Although it’s assumed that some sort of foul play was involved, to date, we still have no idea what happened to the Robinsons.  The only possible clue to their disappearance was the fact that three months before the couple vanished, the main house on the ranch burned down in what was believed to be an act of arson.  The Robinsons had agreed to take a polygraph test as part of the investigation, but they went missing before this could be done.  It was never determined who set the fire, or if it had any connection to James and Nancy’s disquieting exit.  Eighteen years after the couple vanished, Larry Canfield, the lead detective in the mystery, could only say, “Everybody loves a mystery, and this is a good one.”

Not the sort of epitaph anyone wants to leave behind.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Before beginning this week's Link Dump, we have a first for this blog:  a public proposal!

Watch out for Thundercrows!

An alleged UFO abduction at a state park.

A glimpse of a young widow and her child.

Don't look now, but the timeline of civilization just blew up in everyone's faces.

The Roman woman of Spitalfields.

The wreck of the ship Squantum, 1860.

The sort of face you make after spending two and a half years in a Greenland hut.

The Red Cross Murders.

In which we learn that palaeoanthropologists are a bunch of psychos.

The controversial Marguerite of Anjou.

Lydia Sherman, poison fiend.

The world's oldest known synthetic pigment turns out to have some odd properties.

Some largely-forgotten pie flavors.  To be honest, I can fully understand why some of them are forgotten.  In particular, "water pie" needs to be tied to an anvil and thrown in the Mariana Trench.

Related: some vintage dessert salads.

From Romanov princess to fashion icon.

New England, land of hermit tourism.

If you don't have time to read this whole piece, I can sum it up in four words:  Patricia Highsmith was weird.

Edinburgh's South Bridge Vaults.

Newly discovered Byzantine tombs in Syria.

The link between Bovril and science fiction.

Ancient human remains with weird DNA.

Human language probably emerged much earlier than we thought.

The birth of the Brooklyn Museum.

Murder at Sugar Valley Narrows.

Meanwhile, scientists are harassing cicadas into performing classical music.  Even though everyone knows they favor blues-rock.

A balloon expedition ends tragically.

A restaurant owner's mysterious disappearance.

A Gilded Age house that defied the developers.

Some honest-to-goodness zombies.

The tragic end of America's first game warden.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a couple's unsolved disappearance.  In the meantime, here's a bit of vintage rock.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This quirky little story appeared in the “Boston Globe,” June 19, 1883:

Mr. J. J. Bell of No. 32 South William street received a long, narrow box by express to-day. He had the box opened and there was disclosed an immense sword, which is supposed to have been used in ancient warfare. The sword was found embedded in the muddy soil at the side of the creek that passes through the farm of Mr. Daniel D. Bell, a brother of Mr. J. J. Bell, near the village of Accord, Ulster county, N. Y.  The weapon is five feet ten inches long, and the blade is from two to three inches broad. The hilt and a portion of the blade are covered with curious characters and hieroglyphics, the deciphering or which the owner has thus far been unable to have accomplished. The characters and hieroglyphics are composed of rows of little indentations evidently made with the point of some very sharp and hard instrument. 

Mr. J.J. Bell said to a Telegram reporter: "There are people in Ulster county who believe that this sword dropped down from the sky in a flaming ball of fire, but I do not credit any such theory. Other persons think that the weapon must have belonged to a prehistoric race of men. Still others are sceptical enough to affirm that the sword was made by a modern blacksmith for the purpose of hoaxing the public.

As far as I am concerned, I have no theory to advance. The sword was found on my brother's farm, as described. It was covered with a thick coating of rust, but has been scoured bright." 

Judging from the length and weight of the sword, a man who could use it successfully in battle would have to be 8 or 10 feet in height and strong in proportion. It is provided with a heavy hilt and guard, and was evidently intended to be wielded with both hands. Hundreds of downtown businessmen called at Mr. J. J. Bell's office today to see the wonderful weapon.

[Note:  Regarding the "flaming ball of fire," other newspaper reports state that what appeared to be a meteor crashed on the site where the sword was subsequently discovered.]