In today’s hyper‑connected world, fact‑checking is a click‑away affair. Yet, before the internet era, rumors spread at a snail’s pace, giving clever con‑artists plenty of time to weave elaborate deceptions. This list of the top 10 old hoaxes showcases how a single sensational story could capture imaginations, stir panic, or even influence politics for months or years before the truth finally emerged.
Why the Top 10 Old Hoaxes Still Captivate Us
Even now, these antiquated scams remind us that human curiosity and the desire for wonder can override scepticism. By examining each case, we glimpse the cultural contexts that made such fabrications believable, and we learn why the allure of the extraordinary never truly fades.
10 The Patagonian Giants
First surfacing in the 1520s, the legend of a tribe of twelve‑foot giants roaming Patagonia persisted for more than two centuries, amplified by a parade of explorers eager to dazzle European audiences. The tale reached a fever pitch in 1766 when Commodore John Byron returned to London after his circumnavigation aboard HMS Dolphin. Crew members recounted encounters with towering natives, and on May 9, 1766 the story debuted in the Gentlemen’s Magazine. Subsequent newspapers echoed the claim, some describing the natives as nine‑foot giants. Skeptics eventually demanded proof, and seven years later Byron’s full journal was published, revealing that the tallest individual measured a mere 6 ft 6 in—impressive by 18th‑century European standards, yet far short of the mythic stature previously reported.
9 Solar Armor
In 1874 the Nevada paper Territorial Enterprise ran a sensational account of inventor Jonathan Newhouse, who purportedly fashioned a “Solar Armor” to conquer the desert heat. According to the story, Newhouse trekked from Virginia City to Death Valley wearing a sponge‑like suit that employed a “frigorific mixture” to keep him cool. Ironically, the cooling worked too well: a day later his frozen corpse was discovered, an icicle dangling from his nose. The tale was reprinted worldwide before being debunked as a satirical piece by Dan De Quille, a colleague of Mark Twain who contributed to the paper. The hoax highlighted the era’s fascination with speculative science and the ease with which a vivid narrative could travel across continents.
8 The Native of Formosa
At the dawn of the 18th century, European audiences knew little of East Asian cultures, making them vulnerable to exotic fabrications. Enter George Psalmanazar, a flamboyant impostor who claimed to hail from Formosa (modern‑day Taiwan). With strikingly blonde hair, pale skin, and a Dutch‑tinged accent, he bewildered onlookers with bizarre customs: speaking an incomprehensible tongue, devouring raw meat, sleeping upright in a chair, and worshipping the sun and moon. Baptized in Scotland, he adopted the name George Psalmanazar and toured England, publishing a fabricated “History of Formosa” that captivated the curious elite. Despite mounting criticism, he maintained the charade until 1706, when he finally confessed his deception, exposing the gullibility of a Europe hungry for the exotic.
7 Princess Caraboo
Almost a century after Psalmanazar’s scandal, the English were duped again by a mysterious woman who arrived in Almondsbury on April 3, 1817. Clad in a shawl twisted into a pseudo‑turban and speaking an unintelligible language, she was taken in by a local magistrate and his wife. The lady repeatedly pointed to herself, uttering “Caraboo,” which they interpreted as her name. Soon a sailor claimed fluency in her tongue and announced she was a princess from the distant island of Javasu, rescued after pirates abducted her and she escaped by leaping overboard into the English Channel. The community celebrated their guest of honor, publicizing the story in newspapers. However, a former servant named Mary Baker recognized the woman and exposed her true identity, ending the brief reign of Princess Caraboo.
6 The Shakespeare Forgeries
When a neglected teenage son sought his father’s attention, he chose a daring route: forging documents tied to the Bard himself. In 1794, eighteen‑year‑old William Ireland presented his father, bookseller Samuel Ireland—a devoted Shakespeare collector—with a purported mortgage bearing Shakespeare’s signature, allegedly sourced from an estate’s archives. Elated, Samuel added the find to his treasured collection, and William continued the ruse, later producing a love letter to Anne Hathaway and, most audaciously, a full play titled “Vortigern,” claimed to be a lost Shakespeare work. The play was even staged once before actors sensed the fraud. Despite mounting suspicion, the Ireland duo persisted until the forgeries were exposed, illustrating how yearning for literary relics could blind even the most scholarly minds.
10 Obvious Lies That Changed The World
5 Scalps By Mail
Not every hoax aimed solely at mischief; some served strategic purposes. In 1782, amid the American Revolution, Benjamin Franklin orchestrated a deceptive campaign to sway European sentiment against Britain. He fabricated a newspaper supplement titled “Supplement to the Boston Independent Chronicle,” alleging that American Indian warriors were sending hundreds of scalps—purportedly those of women and children—to British royalty and members of Parliament as trophies. The lurid report shocked readers, painting the British as the target of barbaric retaliation and bolstering anti‑British feeling abroad. Though later disproved, the story illustrates how propaganda could harness sensationalism to manipulate public opinion during wartime.
4 Vrain Lucas
In 1851, French forger Vrain Lucas met mathematician Michel Chasles, who was eager to acquire alleged ancient letters. Lucas claimed to have discovered correspondence from figures such as Joan of Arc, Charlemagne, Julius Caesar, Aristotle, Shakespeare, Mary Magdalene, and Alexander the Great—all praising France. The letters, however, bore glaring anachronisms: they were written in French, printed on identical water‑marked paper, and some appeared on material predating the invention of paper itself. Over eighteen years, Lucas sold thousands of such spurious documents, earning a reputation as one of history’s most audacious counterfeiters. Eventually, Chasles grew suspicious, and Lucas was sentenced to two years in prison. His most daring forgery—a letter from Jesus, also penned in French—never saw the light of day.
3 The Turk
Automata fascinated 18th‑century audiences, but none captured imaginations like the “Great Chess Automaton,” better known as the Turk. Constructed in 1769 by Hungarian nobleman Wolfgang von Kempelen, the device featured a life‑size wooden figure dressed in Turkish garb emerging from a large cabinet. Billed as a genuine thinking machine, the Turk would accept a chessboard, appear to contemplate, then move pieces with seemingly autonomous precision. Hidden mechanisms—sliding panels and cleverly arranged gears—were displayed to assure onlookers of its mechanical nature. In reality, a concealed human chess master was tucked inside the cabinet, skillfully manipulating magnetic pieces while remaining unseen. The secret remained a mystery for decades, fueling early debates about artificial intelligence.
2 The Great Stock Exchange Hoax
In 1814, a man masquerading as a British officer arrived at an inn, proclaiming that the war with Napoleon had ended, the emperor was dead, and the government restored. Elated locals dispatched swift couriers to London with the news, causing a frenzy of celebration and a sudden surge in stock prices. The jubilation proved short‑lived when authorities uncovered the ruse: Napoleon was very much alive, and the proclamation was a calculated ploy to manipulate the London Stock Exchange. An investigation led to the arrest of a scapegoat, Lord Thomas Cochrane, who faced imprisonment based largely on circumstantial evidence. Though later pardoned by the king, the mastermind behind the scheme was never conclusively identified.
1 Manhattan Is Sinking
Perhaps the most baffling of all, a rumor began circulating in 1824 that Manhattan’s rapid construction boom had caused the island to tilt, gradually sinking into the Atlantic. The story gained traction until a retired carpenter, identifying himself only as Lozier, proposed a daring remedy: saw the island in half, tow each segment out to sea, flip them to correct the weight distribution, then rejoin the halves. Advertisements for the massive undertaking attracted scores of laborers eager for employment, and a date was set for the operation. When the appointed day arrived, Lozier had vanished, leaving the hired workers disgruntled, unemployed, and forever wondering how a city could be “sawed” in half.