by Clay, Jeremy
Fearful Scene – Women Torn to Pieces by Cats
A report of a dreadful scene has reached us from Javat. It appears that a lady who is as rich as she is eccentric has for the last three or four years become a sort of cat fancier, she not only breeds these domestic pets, but has been accustomed to purchase any choice specimen of the feline race that might take her fancy.
A few weeks ago a fire broke out at the house of the cat fancier. Two maid servants were dispatched to a sort of shed or cage on the basement of the premises to unlock the door of the same, and release the cats. The devouring element was by this time in the ascendant, and the cats were in a state bordering on madness.
The moment the door was unlocked, they flew at the unfortunate young women, whom they bit and tore most unmercifully. The injuries were of such a nature that both have died there from.
The Illustrated Police News, July 22, 1876
A School Teacher’s Suicide
Miss Cora Brummer, teacher in a public school at Napoleon, in Cincinnati, committed suicide yesterday in an extraordinary fashion.
She asked her pupils for a pocket knife, and having obtained one, stood on the platform in the class-room, and in the presence of them all deliberately cut her throat, inflicting two frightful gashes, death ensuing shortly afterwards.
The reason assigned is that the summer vacation was about to begin, and that she saw no means of living after her salary was exhausted.
The Nottingham Evening Post, June 10, 1895
Killed by a Drunken Bear
A strange and terrible accident has just occurred in the neighbourhood of Vilna, in Russia. A few days ago, a large tame bear, which had been trained by the servants of a country gentleman to drink votky (whiskey), entered a village tavern, and killed the tavern keeper and three members of his family in a fit of intoxication.
The tragedy was brought about by the owner of the tavern, Isaack Rabbanovitch, attempting to snatch from the bear a keg of votky, which it had commenced to drink, after staving it in with its paws. In the conflict that ensued the infuriated animal hugged to death the tavern keeper, his two sons, and daughter.
When the peasants arrived on the scene with guns they found the intoxicated animal asleep on the floor in a pool of blood and votky, surrounded by its four victims. The bear was immediately shot.
The Nottingham Evening Post, August 27, 1891
SUPERSTITION, BELIEF
and the SUPERNATURAL
Preface
Bear-Bind Cottage was a lonely spot. An isolated house on a lane that slunk away from the village of Bow to the huddle of homes at Old Ford and the marshland beyond. The sort of track you might take as a shortcut on a bitter winter’s night, then swiftly change your mind and double back.
It was here, at this solitary stretch of nothing in particular, long since swallowed by the East End of London, that eighteen-year-old Jane Alsop was disturbed by the urgent ringing of a bell at the gate on a February evening in 1838.
Outside in the gloom stood a cloaked figure who said he was a policeman and demanded she bring a light. The instant she obliged, he threw off his cape, breathed a fireball of blue and white flame and mauled her with metallic claws until her sister came to the rescue.
Her hair was torn; her dress was ripped: poor Jane had joined a small but growing band of victims of the demon who lurked in the dark corners of the Victorian imagination to the end of the century.
At first the papers had called him Steel Jack, dismissing him as nothing more than an upper-class prankster with particularly bouncy shoes and a wager to settle.
But sightings spread, rumours grew and descriptions became ever more outlandish. His eyes were balls of fire, they said. And he could leap higher than a hedgerow. No! A mail coach. By the time of the attack in Bear-Binder Lane, the press had settled on the name that parents would invoke to disobedient children for decades to come: Spring-Heeled Jack, a devilish mix of Freddy Krueger, Zebedee and Batman gone bad.
Scratch the surface of the age of science and Victorian Britain was riddled with superstition. A century that perfected the art of the ghost story saw parlours resounding with the moans of mediums and the rat-a-tat-tats of the dead. Far from the cities, a lingering belief in witchcraft saw a succession of blameless old ladies being blooded to break a spell. And every now and again there were one-off flare-ups of the heebie-jeebies. In 1842, to the withering scorn of journalists, Londoners abandoned their city in droves, fearing the onset of an earthquake prophesied by the astrologer John Dee in 1598. Almost four decades later, a girl worried herself to death at the fabricated predictions of sixteenth-century soothsayer Mother Shipton, which said the world would end in 1881.
Yet these were mere sideshows compared to the supernatural belief that dominated the Victorian era, even in the face of a rising tide of secularism. It went something like this: 1. There is a God. 2. He’s probably British. 3. On the whole, it’s not seemly to get too excitable about such matters.
Lynching a Ghost
A remarkable instance of superstition is, the St Petersburg correspondent of the Daily Graphic says, reported from Orenburg.
During the funeral of a wealthy peasant the lid of the coffin was seen to rise, and the corpse proceed to get out. The priest and mourners were so alarmed that they ran back to their village, and locked themselves up in their huts.
The corpse, who was feeling cold (as corpses should), ran after them, and succeeded in getting into the hut of an aged peasant woman, who had not been quite so agile as the rest in fastening the door.
The peasants, when they had recovered from their panic and learned where the corpse was, proceeded with guns and stakes of pine to ‘exorcise’ the ‘ghost,’ and killed him.
When the priest had sufficiently collected his senses to explain the phenomenon of the ghost by the hypothesis of a prolonged stated of coma, and came out of his hut to rescue him, he found that the peasants, having ‘laid’ the ghost, had thrown him into a marshy field.
The Citizen, Gloucester, March 12, 1890
A Strange Story
A Press Association despatch says: Adelaide Amy Terry, servant to Dr Williams, of Brentford, was sent to a neighbour with a message on Sunday evening, and as she did not return and was known to be short-sighted, it was feared she had fallen into the canal, which was dragged, but without success.
On Tuesday an old barge-woman suggested that a loaf of bread in which some quicksilver had been placed should be floated in the water. This was done, and the loaf became stationary at a certain spot. The dragging was resumed there, and the body was discovered.
The Tamworth Herald, October 27, 1883
A Ghost at Wrexham
For some time the inhabitants of Wrexham have been kept in a state of excitement by rumours that ‘a ghost’ was to be seen in the neighbourhood of Salisbury Park. Most determined efforts have been made to capture the nocturnal visitor, but he or she has hitherto managed to escape.
A strict watch has, however, been kept, and the assemblage of idlers and roughs congregated to wait for the ghost have of late become a serious nuisance, as, in default of having a ghost to look after, they have amused themselves by insulting casual passers by.
On Saturday night the crowd discovered a ‘something’ which they were pleased to call the ghost in Salisbury Park. A rush was made at once for the supposed apparition, stones were thrown and dogs were slipped at the unfortunate ‘ghost,’ who ultimately turned out to be an inebriated workman who had, in his drunken confusion wandered through the park.
He was handed over to the police, by whom he was brought before the magistrates yesterday, and was discharged.
The Manchester Evening News, September 22, 1874
A Headless Ghost
Superstition rarely stands in the way of the extension of postal accommodation or convenience; but a case of the kind which recently occurred in the west of Ireland is mentioned by the Postmaster-General in his report issued yesterday.
Appli
cation was made for the erection of a wall letter-box, and authority had been granted for setting it up; but when arrangements came to be made for providing for the collection of letters, no one could be found to undertake the duty, in consequence of a general belief among the poorer people in the neighbourhood that, at that particular spot, ‘a ghost went out nightly on parade.’
The ghost was stated to be a large white turkey without a head.
The Edinburgh Evening News, September 7, 1876
Remarkable Dereliction of Duty
There are some very wicked people in the commune of Châtre-Langlin, in the canton of Saint-Benoit-du-Sault.
At the end of last July a terrible hailstorm occurred there, which did a vast deal of damage. The inhabitants, having arrived at the conviction that their curé, if he were good for anything, might have caused the storm to cease by performing certain religious rites, and being very angry with him for not doing so, went in a body to the church and fell upon him. He fled into the sacristy.
They went to his house, pitched his clothes over the window, beat the domestics who tried to interfere, and declared that they meant to ‘kill the curé because he had let them be hailed upon.’ Nothing more irreverent could occur to the African who thrashes his wooden god if it does not bring him rain.
Moreover, the peasants allowed their vengeance to attack persons who could not possibly have anything to do with a hailstorm.
A municipal councillor, we should imagine, would be the last man in the world to trifle with a thunder-cloud, like Benjamin Franklin; but so blind was the wrath of the villagers that they caught and smote severely an official of that description, who had merely endeavoured to rescue the curé.
For this offence fourteen persons were last week summoned to appear before a Correctional Tribunal.
The Hampshire Telegraph and Sussex Chronicle, September 28, 1872
Weird Tragedy in Paris
One of the weirdest tragedies that has occurred for a long time has just taken place in a house in the Rue de Chezy at Neuilly, Paris.
The house was occupied by a widow named Devezins, with her son Frederick and her niece Mlle. Marthe Contresty, who were engaged to be married, and were deeply in love with each other.
Affianced last November they were to be married in the second week of February, but in the middle of January M. Frederick Devezins fell suddenly ill. He died on January 23 at eleven o’clock at night. His fiancée was at his bedside until the end.
Madame Devezins cared for her niece’s reason, and sent her to stay with some friends, but to all attempts to raise her spirits she replied: ‘Before leaving me my fiancé promised not to abandon me. A few minutes before dying, while he still had all his reason, he said: “Do not cry, darling. We will be united in spite of all. I will come for you in a month. Wait on me in your bed-room at the same hour at which I die. I will carry you away, and we will be united in eternity.”’
In order not to grieve Madame Devezins the friends did not tell her of her niece’s conviction, to which, moreover, little importance was attached.
On Monday, the 19th, Mlle. Contresty, who seemed to have recovered her self-possession, returned to live with her aunt. On Friday, the 23rd, one month after the death of her fiancé, she was more dejected than usual, and hardly left her room all day.
After going to bed about eleven o’clock at night Madame Devezins went to see how her niece was. She stopped in amazement at the bed-room door, which was open. Her niece had not heard her approach, and was sitting in an armchair gazing fixedly at the clock. She was wearing the dress in which she was affianced and also her engagement ring. It was almost eleven o’clock. Suddenly the wind blew open the badly-closed window and extinguished the lamp.
Madame Devezins approached her niece, and touched her lightly on the shoulder. Before she could speak there was a scream, and Mlle. Contresty fell to the floor. When help arrived she was found to be dead, a physician who was called explaining that she had died of terror.
The Morning Post, March 1, 1900
An Extraordinary Superstition
At the Bootle Police Court on Monday, before Alderman E. Neep and J. Howard, Mary Ann Proudly, of 10, Aber Street, Bootle, was charged with cruelly treating a cat by cutting off its tail.
Inspector Herniman, of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, supported the prosecution. Mrs Fletcher, of 10, Aber Street, said that on New Year’s Day, about five o’clock, the defendant borrowed a hatchet from her. The witness saw her go into her room and deliberately chop the cat’s tail off. Next morning the defendant told her that she had cut the cat’s tail off to prevent the cat from going mad.
Alderman Howard: And is that the way to cure anybody going mad? (Laughter.) Defendant: Yes, sir, it was going mad with its tail. Alderman Neep: Why didn’t you cut the head off instead of the tail, and cure the madness? Defendant: There is a worm in a cat’s tail that goes up into its brain and drives it mad. (Laughter.) Alderman Neep: That is something new to me. (Laughter.) Defendant: It never ran after its tail after that. (Loud laughter.) It was quite quiet after that, and I used to give it bread and milk. I only tried to cure the cat from going mad.
Alderman Neep: The sooner it is known that cutting off a cat’s tail will not cure madness the better. It is simply nonsense to raise a defence like that. It will be a warning to you, and you will have to pay a fine of 40s. and costs, or go to gaol for a month.
The Lancaster Gazette, January 16, 1889
A Strange Story
An extraordinary story is reported from Prussian Poland. It appears that among the Poles and Hungarians the myth of vampires still finds credence.
A country squire at Roslasin, in Posen, died some months ago, his death being speedily followed by that of his eldest son and the dangerous illness of several of his relatives, all which cases occurred as suddenly as they seemed unaccountable.
The deceased was at once suspected of being a vampire, rising from his grave, and sucking the blood of his surviving friends.
To prevent further mischief his second son determined to chop off the corpse’s head, for which enterprise he obtained the assistance of some equally superstitious peasants at a very high price.
The head was to be laid with the feet, while an assistant collected the blood dropping from the neck in a vessel to give to the relatives to drink. The deed was delayed by the interference of the parish priest, but was in the end effected at night, not, however, without an unasked witness.
The case is now before the Prussian Court of Appeals. The local court had sentenced the desecrators of the churchyard to three months imprisonment, and it seems likely that they will still have to pay that penalty for their superstition.
The Manchester Evening News, May 23, 1871
Superstition in Hungary
A strange story of superstition is reported from Homolitz, in Hungary. Several bodies of men had recently been found there with their heads cut off.
An investigation was made by the police, and it turned out that these mutilations had in every instance been committed by young men who were betrothed to the widows of the decapitated persons.
The husbands had died a natural death, and their widows believed that in case they married a second time their husbands would reappear and destroy their wedded happiness. Hence they had persuaded their new bridegrooms to decapitate their deceased partners.
The Huddersfield Daily Chronicle, April 20, 1892
The Ancient Druids.
Attempt to Burn a Child’s Body
The Press Association’s Pontypridd correspondent telegraphs that an extraordinary sensation has been caused in Pontypridd and district by the arrest of Dr Price, a surgeon of some considerable celebrity in Glamorganshire and other Welsh counties.
It is stated that an infant child of his housekeeper died in Dr Price’s house, and he was seen last night to carry the child’s body towards an adjacent hill top, with the apparent intention of burning it according to the rites of the
Ancient Druids, in which he is a believer, and for the purpose he had obtained an empty tar barrel.
He was followed, however, by a crowd, who, but for the intervention of the police, would have severely dealt with the doctor. An investigation is now being held into the circumstances attending the child’s death. Dr Price was brought before the Pontypridd magistrates this morning, and admitted to bail until Wednesday next.
The Sunderland Daily Echo and Shipping Gazette, January 15, 1884
Superstition in England
In the recent case at Hedingham – that Mecca of Eastern Counties Toryism – the people have advanced a step even beyond pig-roasting.
There has been a deaf and dumb man there for years, believed, we suppose on some sort of evidence, to be a Frenchman. He does not seem to have been peculiarly obnoxious, for, in spite of his infirmity, he was just before his death dancing with the villagers in the tap-room of the local public house.
Emma Smith, however, grade unknown, but well to do in the world, fell ill, had pains which she could not account for, felt unearthly aches, and, in short, had a touch of the nervous fever, not uncommon in half-drained villages. She attributed it to ‘Dummy,’ the only name borne by her unfortunate victim.
Accordingly she sought him in the tap-room, and offered him three sovereigns to unbewitch her. The poor wretch, understanding nothing of the matter declined the money, and then two men, Samuel Stammers, builder, and George Gibson, bricklayer, tried to compel him to kiss her, judging, apparently, with a quaint confusion between Christianity and Paganism, that the ‘kiss of peace’ would undo the evil wrought by witchcraft.
The poor dumb wretch still did not understand, whereupon he was seized by Mrs Smith, dragged to the brook, and ducked repeatedly. Emerging, he was again offered the £3, but, ‘dazed’ with the assault and the cold water, he only sat himself down on a heap of stones.
