While most of us picture the glamorous, purpose‑built mummies of ancient Egypt, the archetypal King Tut, we often overlook the accidental preservations that dot the globe. From the deserts of Egypt to the jungles of South America and the far‑east of China, the classic mummy image dominates, but the bog‑preserved bodies of Iron Age Europe tell a very different, equally fascinating story.

10 They Were Vain About Their Hair

Whether we admire the jaunty Suebian knot worn by the Osterby Man, the meticulously braided, one‑meter‑long (3.3 ft) mane of Elling Woman, or the pine‑resin‑gelled pompadour of Clonycavan Man, it’s clear that Iron Age folks weren’t shy about styling their locks.

We can’t say for sure whether these hair‑dos were everyday wear or reserved for special rites—perhaps even the very rituals that consigned them to the bogs. One thing’s certain: they weren’t the wild‑haired savages we sometimes picture.

9 They Rocked Plaids

Popular media loves to paint the ancient world in drab, earthy tones, assuming nobody bathed, brushed, or dressed in anything beyond gray, black, or brown.

That’s a myth when it comes to the Iron Age. Most bog bodies were found with little to no clothing—Tollund Man had only a belt, Elling Woman a cloak and belt, and Yde Girl just a cape.

Huldremose Woman breaks the mold. The bog preserved her patterned woolen skirt, scarf, and two leather capes, all dyed in vivid reds and blues. Microscopic traces show she also wore flax undergarments. Strontium isotope analysis indicates her garments originated beyond her local area, hinting at travel or imported fashion.

8 They Didn’t Eat A Low‑Carb Diet

The impeccably preserved visage of Tollund Man, discovered in May 1950, sparked a murder investigation. Thanks to his superb preservation, scientists examined his stomach contents and uncovered his final feast.

He’d been feasting on a porridge packed with over forty different grains and seeds. So the next time you brag about your wholesome seven‑grain cereal, remember Tollund Man was already out‑doing you around 300 BC.

7 They Weren’t Eating A Low‑Fat Diet, Either

The Iron Age inhabitants of what is now Ireland were serious butter enthusiasts. How serious? Picture a private stash of ten kilograms (22 lb) of butter, just in case.

In 2016, Jack Conway uncovered a ten‑kilogram lump of butter preserved in the Emlagh peat bog, County Meath. This wasn’t an isolated find—bogs regularly yield butter and rendered animal fats. Before modern, mass‑produced oils, such fats were valuable commodities, even used to pay taxes. This explains the 35‑kilogram chunk from County Kildare and the astonishing 45‑kilogram piece from County Offaly, dating back 5,000 years.

Ben Reade, the self‑styled mad scientist heading Culinary Research and Development at Nordic Food Lab, recreated bog butter for a 2012 taste test. The verdict? Mixed feelings.

6 Some Suffered From Malnutrition

Despite the grain‑filled porridge and massive butter hoards, not everyone was well‑fed. Moora, the girl from Uchter Moor, displayed clear signs of chronic malnutrition in her bone growth lines.

While Clonycavan Man flaunted imported hair gel and Huldremose Woman sported colorful garb, Moora was a 17‑ to 19‑year‑old who endured starvation, heavy labor, and at least two skull fractures during her short life.

5 Their Heights Varied As Greatly As Ours

Don’t let the modest statures of Tollund Man (160 cm, 5′3″) or Clonycavan Man (157 cm, 5′2″) fool you into thinking Iron Age men were dwarfs.

Partial remains of Old Croghan Man, discovered just 40 km (25 mi) from Clonycavan Man, suggest he would have stood around 198 cm (6′6″) tall—an impressive height even by today’s standards.

4 They Performed Brain Surgery (And Lived Through It)

The skull of Gadevang Man, who died circa 480 BC, bears a circular opening about 1.2 cm (0.5 in) wide, alongside an elongated scar likely caused by an axe strike.

These marks indicate he survived a serious head wound and underwent emergency cranial surgery—a remarkable feat thousands of years before microscopes, CT scans, or antibiotics existed.

3 They Would Have Probably Won Most Of The Events At Your Local Rodeo

Modern Westerners often view equestrian pursuits as a pricey hobby, relegated to bleacher‑filled stadiums under scorching sun. Yet the Iron Age rider Red Franz would have trounced any contemporary cowboy.

Constant horseback riding left him with distinctive “rider’s facets”—bony protrusions on his thigh—by the time of his death, indicating a lifetime of skilled horsemanship.

2 They Tripped On Shrooms

Humans have dabbled with psychoactive plants since the dawn of civilization—opium poppies were domesticated by the sixth millennium BC, and black henbane and cannabis likely followed suit.

In ancient Europe, potent fungi seemed to be the drug of choice. Ötzi, the Copper‑Age iceman, carried two mushroom strains, and some Bronze‑Age art may hint at fungal reverence.

By the time Grauballe Man met his fate, he had slurped a soup infused with hallucinogenic mushrooms before his throat was slit. Whether the fungi served medicinal, recreational, or ritual purposes remains debated, but he was certainly high as a kite when he died.

1 They Were Absolutely Brutal

Even though the rope still hanging from Tollund Man’s neck is startling, he likely got off relatively easy. Lindow Man suffered a blow to the head, strangulation, and a throat slit. Clonycavan Man endured an axe strike to the chest, three blows to the head, and was subsequently disemboweled.

But the Iron Age didn’t stop at overkill. Old Croghan Man bore arm‑piercing holes for trussing ropes, sliced nipples, stab wounds, and finally a torso‑splitting cut—clear evidence of extreme torture.

They set sail across the Caribbean in pursuit of treasure, each driven by a different motive—some were idle soldiers, others privileged thrill‑seekers, and one was a penniless sailor hoping to win his beloved’s hand. Yet, of the world’s most infamous pirates featured below, every single one met a grim fate—hanging, drowning, or a blade’s cruel kiss—except for a lone survivor.

10 The Pirate King And The Flying Gang

Benjamin Hornigold, an English privateer, kept fighting the Spanish even after the 1713 war ended. Until then, the Crown had granted him permission to seize enemy vessels and off‑load their loot in Port Royal, Jamaica.

In 1715, he launched a daring raid on Spanish divers trying to salvage a treasure galleon. Though the raid succeeded, the Jamaican governor rebuffed his attempt to sell the plunder. After the war, Britain’s new access to Spanish sugar, rum, and the slave trade made privateering less welcome; the Crown demanded that all privateers either cease their raids or be branded pirates.

Left without a commission, a market, or a fleet to sustain, Hornigold turned to the black market, establishing a base in Nassau, a modest Bahamian port.

Once Hornigold’s crew arrived, the local governor could do nothing as they bullied residents and seized control, calling themselves the “Flying Gang.” Word of their riches spread, drawing sailors and cutthroats from far and wide. Hornigold earned the title of “king” of this fledgling pirate republic.

9 The Gentleman Pirate

Stede Bonnet, a wealthy Barbadian landowner, grew weary of his complacent life and, irritated by his nagging spouse, dreamed of piracy. He spared no expense in commissioning a vessel he christened The Revenge, a popular ship name of the era, recruited a crew, abandoned his wife, and set course for Nassau to join the Flying Gang.

Bonnet’s lack of nautical skill quickly cost him the crew’s respect; he knew nothing of navigation. After a severe wound in a disastrous clash with a Spanish warship, he feared mutiny and loss of control.

In Nassau, Bonnet met pirate king Hornigold and his fiery apprentice Edward Teach. Teach agreed to mentor Bonnet on the condition that Bonnet surrender command of his splendid new ship to Teach. Bonnet obliged, taking over Teach’s former vessel.

Teach, later infamous as Blackbeard, used terror tactics—lighting fuses in his hat to appear demonic—to seize ships with minimal bloodshed. Though Bonnet never achieved the same reverence, after a botched merchant capture, his crew deserted him for Blackbeard, who, out of pity, let Bonnet remain aboard The Revenge as a guest.

8 The Prince Of Pirates

In 1715, Sam Bellamy, a destitute sailor, fell for Mary Hallett, the daughter of a prosperous farmer, during a night of revelry in a Massachusetts tavern. Their whirlwind romance ended when Mary’s parents rejected his proposal, deeming him too poor.

Determined to win Mary’s hand, Bellamy quit his job, crossed the Atlantic, and attempted treasure hunting without success. He eventually joined the Flying Gang, where his natural aptitude for piracy caught the eye of Hornigold, who was scouting a successor after Blackbeard’s departure.

Under Hornigold’s tutelage, Bellamy honed his pirate craft, yet still lacked the funds to marry Mary and grew impatient. Hornigold’s reluctance to attack British and Dutch ships left treasure unclaimed, prompting the crew’s frustration.

In July 1716, the crew voted to depose Hornigold and install Bellamy as captain. Hornigold received a smaller vessel to return to Nassau, retaining his status as pirate king among the locals.

7 Robin Hood Of The Seas

Sam Bellamy quickly rose to become one of history’s most successful pirates, dubbing himself the “Robin Hood of the Seas” for plundering affluent merchants and redistributing wealth to impoverished sailors.

He sported a satin bow to tie back his dark hair—an unusual fashion choice at a time of powdered wigs—wore a velvet coat, a cutlass at his waist, and four pistols tucked into his sash. His charismatic presence earned him the moniker “Black Sam Bellamy,” and his fleet swelled to nearly two hundred men.

In 1717, Bellamy seized the massive, opulent Whydah Galley, the Caribbean’s most valuable ship, making him the wealthiest pirate ever. He set sail for Massachusetts to reunite with Mary, but a fierce hurricane wrecked the Whydah, drowning Bellamy and all but ten of his crew.

6 The Royal Pardon

While Hornigold lingered in Nassau, news arrived that the Crown dispatched a new governor, Woodes Rogers—a former privateer—to eradicate piracy. Backed by the British Navy, Rogers blockaded Nassau’s harbor, preventing any departure.

Representing the pirates, Hornigold negotiated with Rogers, who extended a universal offer: surrender by September 5 1718 and receive a full pardon for all piratical crimes; refuse, and face the gallows. Hornigold seized the chance to re‑enter Crown service as a pirate hunter.

Hornigold not only accepted the pardon but persuaded many comrades to do the same. Meanwhile, Blackbeard grounded his ship and secured a pardon in the Carolinas, leaving Stede Bonnet abandoned because he refused to renounce piracy.

Opposition to the pardon grew among pirates like Charles Vane and his quartermaster Calico Jack, who fled Nassau by igniting a flaming, exploding vessel to breach the blockade. Governor Rogers tasked Hornigold with tracking down Vane.

5 Pirate Hunters

Hornigold pursued Vane for months, but Vane’s formidable fleet proved too strong for a direct assault, despite Hornigold’s capture of several pirates trading with Vane. Ultimately, Hornigold returned ten pirates to Governor Rogers for execution.

Rogers praised Hornigold’s efforts but sent him out again to capture Vane. During this final mission, a violent storm sank Hornigold’s ship, and he vanished at sea, never to be seen again.

Later, Hornigold sailed to North Carolina to rendezvous with Blackbeard. Vane proposed a joint attack to retake Nassau, but Blackbeard preferred to continue his operations in the Carolinas, where authorities turned a blind eye. Their revelry attracted the attention of the Virginia governor, who grew uneasy about nearby piracy.

One night, while Blackbeard’s crew was heavily intoxicated, the governor dispatched the Royal Navy to annihilate them. After a fierce clash, Blackbeard boarded the British vessel, only to find troops concealed below deck. They killed him, severed his head, and displayed it on the mast.

4 Mutiny

Charles Vane proved nearly untouchable by the British Navy, eluding capture while other pirate hunters secured Stede Bonnet, who ultimately faced execution.

Vane’s reputation for cruelty toward prisoners and crew members sowed discontent. After refusing to attack an intimidating French vessel, his quartermaster Calico Jack Rackham demanded Vane’s removal for cowardice. The crew agreed, sending Vane away on a modest sloop.

Months later, while rebuilding his fleet, Vane’s ship ran aground during a hurricane off Honduras. Stranded on an island, he survived months before a passing vessel rescued him. However, a former prisoner recognized him, leading to Vane’s arrest in Port Royal, trial, and hanging in November 1720.

3 A Bonny Lass

Anne Bonny, a spirited Irishwoman, grew up under a wealthy father’s roof in the Carolinas. Legend claims she once stabbed a servant in a fit of rage. She married sailor‑turned‑pirate James Bonny, and together they sailed to the Bahamas seeking fame and fortune.

Upon arrival, James abandoned the pirate life, accepted the king’s pardon, and entered Governor Rogers’ service. Bored and resentful, Anne frequented taverns, where she encountered the flamboyant, inebriated pirate Calico Jack Rackham.

Jack, having secured his own pardon to avoid capture, found himself stuck in Nassau, restless. Anne captivated him, sparking a passionate affair. When Jack offered James a sum to release Anne from marriage, James reported the betrayal to Governor Woodes Rogers.

Rogers ordered Anne’s return to her husband, to be stripped and publicly flogged. Defying the decree, Anne and Jack seized a vessel, fled Nassau, and resumed their piratical pursuits.

2 Lover’s Key

Anne Bonny, a fierce pirate, and Jack Rackham captured numerous ships during their honeymoon, selling the spoils. When a Spanish sloop crippled their mainmast, the wind drove them toward an island later known as Lover’s Key.

The crew ventured inland to harvest timber for repairs, while Jack and Anne stayed ashore, sheltering in a makeshift hut of sticks and palm leaves. By the time the ship was fixed, Anne was pregnant. Unwilling to abandon piracy for motherhood, she left her newborn son with a retired pirate couple in Cuba.

Subsequently, the duo seized a Dutch vessel, compelling many Dutch sailors to join their ranks. Among the new recruits was Mary Read, a tomboy who wielded a cutlass as deftly as Anne, forging a strong camaraderie that sparked a tinge of jealousy in Jack.

1 Calico Coward

While hiding in Nassau, Calico Jack, Anne Bonny, and Mary Read absconded with the fastest Bahamian sloop. Governor Rogers, exasperated by their mischief, dispatched renowned pirate hunter Captain Barnet to chase them.

Celebrating a recent capture, Jack and his male crew became heavily intoxicated, while Anne and Mary, wary of Barnet’s pursuit, fought the hunters on deck. When Barnet boarded, the drunken men concealed themselves in the cargo hold, leaving Anne and Mary to confront the attackers.

Enraged by Jack’s cowardice, Anne fired a shot into the cargo hold, shouting, “If there’s a man among ye, ye’ll come out and fight like the men you are thought to be!” Yet the men remained hidden, and the women were overwhelmed.

Ultimately, Jack and the rest of the crew surrendered after the pirate hunters discovered them concealed in the hold.

+ The Gallows

Calico Jack and his crew were tried and sentenced to hang on 16 November 1720. While imprisoned, Anne saw Jack one last time and lamented, “I am sorry to see you here, Jack, but if you had fought like a man, you needn’t hang like a dog.” Jack’s corpse was displayed in a gibbet near Port Royal on Dead Man’s Cay.

Anne and Mary faced separate trials; both were convicted but claimed pregnancy, which forced the courts to stay their executions, as the law prohibited executing a pregnant woman.

In April 1721, Mary succumbed to fever in her cell. Anne’s fate remains a mystery—no records of her execution, death, or release exist. Some speculate her affluent father bribed officials to secure her freedom, allowing her to return to Charles Town, South Carolina, remarry, and raise a family.

For more of Matt’s narrative history lists, explore “10 Steps In The Rise Of The Aztec Empire” and “10 Fateful Moments In The Fall Of The Han Dynasty.” Visit his blog for all his compilations.

When you think of 10 folklore monsters, you probably picture ancient tales whispered around campfires. Yet these uncanny creatures aren’t confined to dusty manuscripts; they still surface in news reports, internet forums, and the occasional midnight trek. Below, we count down the most persistent legends that refuse to fade, each with its own eerie backstory and recent sightings.

11 The Billiwhack Monster

The derelict Billiwhack Dairy complex near Santa Paula, California, has long been a hotspot for shady dealings and unsettling rumors. Rumor has it that a towering, “hairy man” roams its rust‑caked corridors, sporting ram‑like horns and razor‑sharp talons. Locals describe the creature as a bizarre hybrid – half sheep, half human – and insist that any close encounter would be terrifying.

Peak reports of the Billiwhack Monster clustered in the 1950s and ’60s, but the legend never truly died out. Thrill‑seeking teenagers still slip through broken doors hoping to catch a glimpse, and sporadic sightings continue to pepper local folklore.

Speculation about the beast’s origins runs wild. One of the most daring theories suggests it could be the product of secret World War II or Cold‑War experiments aimed at forging a super‑soldier. Whether fact or fiction, the Billiwhack Monster remains an unsettling presence in California’s abandoned industrial landscape.

10 Wendigo/Windigo

The terms “Wendigo” and “Windigo” are often used interchangeably, yet some scholars draw a distinction: the former evokes a “Bigfoot‑like” creature, while the latter denotes a cannibalistic spirit that possesses humans, compelling them to indulge in flesh‑eating urges.

This dual nature explains why many accounts portray the Wendigo as a blend of both beast and malevolent specter. Traditionally, it is said to haunt the frigid plains of the northern United States and neighboring Canada, stalking the snow‑covered forests.

Although sightings have dwindled since the early 20th century, the legend persists. A notorious case involves a Native American named Swift Runner, who allegedly murdered and devoured his family in 1879. Before his execution, Swift Runner claimed he had been overtaken by the “Windigo,” a spirit that forced his gruesome deeds.

9 The Florida Skunk Ape

While reports of a similar creature have surfaced as far away as Texas and Kentucky, the Florida Skunk Ape is most closely associated with the murky wetlands of the Everglades. Unlike the upright stance of the classic “Bigfoot,” this beast appears more apelike, moving with a low, sinuous gait.

True to its name, witnesses often describe a potent, skunk‑like odor accompanying the creature’s appearance. Its agility is legendary; sightings recount the ape navigating the swamp’s tangled waterways with astonishing speed and grace.

Numerous encounters have been documented, especially in the Myakka area during the early 2000s, complete with blurry photographs and shaky video footage. Some locals argue the creature is a previously unknown hominid, while skeptics suggest a rogue troop of escaped chimpanzees might be responsible for the legends.

8 The Altamaha‑ha Monster

Dubbed the American counterpart to Scotland’s famed Nessie, the Altamaha‑ha prowls the waters of Georgia’s Altamaha River near the town of Darien. The region’s settlement by Scottish immigrants from Inverness offers a plausible conduit for the transatlantic transfer of the legendary water‑serpent myth.

Eyewitnesses consistently report a long, serpentine creature with two humps on its back, leaving a distinct wake as it slices through the water at a surprising pace. Some claim the monster’s head resembles that of a massive snake, so large that passing vessels feel the water’s churn as if something massive glides beneath.

While skeptics argue that most sightings are simply rogue logs drifting downstream, a notable surge in reports occurred in 1981 when two fishermen claimed a close encounter, describing the creature’s impressive size and distinctive silhouette.

7 The Rougarou (The Louisiana Werewolf)

Louisiana’s rougarou legend intertwines French colonial folklore with classic European werewolf tales. The name itself—derived from the French “loup‑garou”—reflects the region’s deep French‑Canadian roots dating back to the 18th and 19th centuries.

Stories describe a creature capable of transforming into a wolf, yet some accounts paint a more terrifying picture: a man‑sized body topped with a wolf’s snarling head. The lore surrounding how one becomes a rougarou varies, ranging from curses to voluntary blood‑sucking rituals.

One particularly chilling version holds that a cursed individual must endure a 101‑day transformation, only breaking the spell by draining a human’s blood. The afflicted is then bound by a vow of silence; should they speak, the person whose blood they consumed returns to exact a lethal revenge.

6 The Momo (The Missouri Monster)

Deep within Missouri’s rolling plains roams a creature locals dub “Momo.” While bearing a resemblance to the classic Bigfoot silhouette, Momo distinguishes itself with a pumpkin‑shaped cranium and glowing orange eyes that pierce the night. Its hands end in three distinct fingers, and it leaves unmistakable three‑toed prints wherever it wanders.

The first flurry of sightings erupted in the early 1970s, and reports have persisted ever since. Many of the region’s animal disappearances—often culminating in the discovery of mutilated carcasses—are attributed to Momo’s nocturnal predations.

Theories abound: some suggest rapid urban expansion forced the creature from its original habitat, while others hypothesize clandestine government experiments, reminiscent of the Billiwhack narrative, could be responsible for its emergence.

5 Elizabeth Lake Monster

Legend tells that the Elizabeth Lake Monster—also known as the Elizabeth Lake Devil—dates back centuries. Folklore claims the lake in California was forged by the Devil himself as a sanctuary for his most feared beasts.

Deep beneath the lake, an alleged gateway to Hell supposedly lies, awaiting any unwary soul unlucky enough to encounter the monster first. Some historians link this infernal imagery to the San Andreas Fault, which runs directly beneath the lake, perhaps inspiring the “entrance to Hell” motif.

Although the tale remains entrenched in local culture, documented sightings have not surfaced since the late 1800s. The legend’s grip was strong enough that many ranchers sold their properties at a steep discount to escape the perceived menace.

4 The Arkansas Gowrow

In January 1897, a string of brutal cattle killings spurred a group of Arkansas landowners into action. Their desperate hunt, chronicled by the Arkansas Gazette, led them to a cavern where both animal and human bones littered the floor.

When the creature finally burst from its lair, the determined hunters unleashed a torrent of ammunition, ultimately believing they had vanquished the menace. Yet the story’s veracity remains debated, and subsequent sightings continued well into the mid‑20th century.

The most recent documented encounter occurred in 1951. Folklorist Vance Randolph argued that the frequency of sightings suggested the Gowrow was not a solitary oddity, but rather an undiscovered species lurking in the Ozark wilderness.

3 The Proctor Valley Monster

Near San Diego, California, the Proctor Valley Monster stalks the hills, standing a towering 213 centimeters (about seven feet) tall. This upright, hairy behemoth has been reported for decades, with numerous eyewitness accounts corroborating its presence.

A curious footprint attributed to the creature resides in the nearby Bonita Museum, though the provenance of the cast remains mysterious. Local lore ties the monster to a series of cattle disappearances and killings, further cementing its reputation.

One chilling tale from the 1960s or ’70s recounts a young couple whose car stalled in the desert night. The boyfriend ventured for help, never to return. Throughout the night, the woman heard a scraping sound on the car’s roof; by dawn, police discovered her boyfriend’s mutilated body hanging from a nearby tree, his fingernails scraping the vehicle’s roof as it swayed in the wind.

2 Teke Teke and Kuchisake‑Onna

Japan’s urban legends boast two terrifying figures: Teke Teke and Kuchisake‑Onna. Teke Teke, translating roughly to “the sound of her walking on her hands,” tells of a woman sliced in half at the waist, forced to scuttle across the ground on her hands and elbows. She moves with astonishing speed, and anyone she catches meets a grisly fate.

The origin story ties back to a post‑World II tragedy: an office worker raped by an American soldier who later leapt from a bridge onto a railway, only to be bisected by an oncoming train. The internet’s rise has amplified the legend, keeping Teke Teke alive in modern folklore.

Kuchisake‑Onna, or the “Slit‑Mouth Woman,” emerged as a genuine terror in the 1970s, though its roots stretch back a millennium to the Heian period. Legend recounts a samurai discovering his wife’s infidelity and cruelly slicing the sides of her mouth. The vengeful spirit now dons a surgical mask, confronting solitary wanderers with the chilling question, “Watashi kirei?” (“Am I pretty?”).
If the victim answers “no,” she slashes their mouth; if “yes,” she removes the mask to ask “Kore demo?” (“How about now?”) before attacking. The legend was so feared that teachers escorted children home, and a 1970s incident involving a woman whose mouth was slit at both sides after a car accident cemented the story’s place in Japanese culture. Sightings have dwindled but persist in hushed whispers.

1 The Dark Watchers of California

High in the Santa Lucia Mountains of California, the enigmatic Dark Watchers have haunted hikers for centuries. While they never display hostile intent, their eerie silhouettes—tall, shadowy figures perched on ridgelines—continue to be reported by modern trekkers.

Both early European settlers and Indigenous peoples recorded sightings, suggesting the phenomenon predates contemporary folklore. Today, hikers frequently claim brief glimpses of these ominous beings, who seem to vanish the moment a weapon is drawn or an approach is attempted.

According to legend, the Watchers will not reveal themselves to those bearing arms; any attempt to get closer causes them to fade back into the mist, leaving only the lingering feeling of being observed by unseen eyes.

From abandoned dairy plants to mist‑shrouded mountain peaks, these ten folklore monsters continue to captivate the imagination, proving that some legends refuse to be relegated to dusty archives. Whether rooted in truth or pure myth, each tale adds a layer to the rich tapestry of modern cryptid lore.

Opium dens, the oblivion of laudanum, the relief of morphine, and the illicit activities of a drug culture so captivated that they didn’t even know how much danger they were in—the Victorian era is forever linked with the idea of opium. It was important enough for nations to go to war over it, and it started the idea of drug laws, something that we still fall back on today in hopes of keeping the same thing from happening again.

10 The London Myth

When it comes to opium dens in the Victorian era, surely there was nowhere that had more of these seedy places than London. We read about them in the works of Dickens and in Sherlock Holmes, and it’s one of the quintessential images of the darker side of Victorian life. Only, it’s not exactly true.

While there were opium dens in London, there were nowhere near as many as we tend to think. They were confined to the dock areas, where they were run by Chinese immigrants and their often English wives. Even at the height of opium use in London, the Chinese community only numbered a few hundred people, but it was their presence, and their association with opium, that made the idea of the opium den grow to larger-than-life proportions.

When opium dens first opened in London, they were mainly meant to serve sailors. Aside from opium, the sailors were looking for one other thing—women. As such, the dens developed into even more scandalous locales, where local women either became prostitutes or married into the Chinese community. And that, in turn, made the community a threat to the established way of British life despite its small size. By the 1920s, there were rumors of a global Chinese empire fueled by opium. Race riots and hatred were encouraged by less than reputable newspapers.

We’ve heard the opium dens of London described in scores of different books, but every description that we have of what went on in these dens of sin comes only two real-life opium dens. They were located in New Court Shadwell, and visiting them became the thing to do. Gradually, smoking opium was handed off from sailors and the lower class to the upper class, which was looking to add some spice to their life. The allure of crossing cultural and class boundaries elevated the idea into the exotic, often-talked-about opium den, immortalized in literature and pop culture as something much larger than it actually was.

9 Pennsylvania Avenue’s Opium Den

Not surprisingly, there were opium dens in port cities all over the world, even one on Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, DC. It was located at 325 Pennsylvania Avenue Northwest, to be exact, about where Constitution Avenue intersects with Pennsylvania. On July 22, 1907, The Washington Post ran an article about a police raid of Moy’s Store, a front for a so-called “hop room.” The article, which is laden with every sort of racial slur and offensive stereotype you can possibly imagine, tells a pretty sordid story.

According to Lee On, who ran the hop room, a man named Harry Puryear burst into the room armed with a revolver and demanded opium. When On ran, the police showed up to find the armed man, tables of drug paraphernalia, and a major problem—Puryear was the nephew of a former police chief. According to Puryear, he was only there to try to borrow some money, and when he saw all the opium pipes, he was so clueless as to what they were that he had to ask.

Opium dens had been around in Washington, DC, for some time. Another Washington Post article talks about a September 1894 raid on one at 425 10th Street Northwest, where police were greeted by the sight of nine opium smokers “almost completely under the influence of the subtle drug.” Edward Williams, who gave his occupation as “gambling,” faced charges for keeping the place. The club was officially called the Excelsior Pleasure Club, a legitimate club that was incorporated as a front for the well-dressed patrons who visited regularly. Police had been looking for two “notorious opium fiends” named Matinee Charley and Gypsy Joe, but all they found were several government employees.

8 The Terminology We Still Use

Many of our words have their roots in Victorian England, and if you talk about your friend’s “bachelor pad,” you might not realize what you would have once been implying. “Pad” is arguably a weird term for a residence. According to Jesse Sheidlower (who is a lexicographer, former president of the American Dialect Society, Random House editor, and one of New York Magazine’s 100 smartest people in New York), the terminology goes back to opium use.

“Pad” originally popped up in the 17th century, when it was used to refer to a rag or straw bed. Such things were usually used by transients or criminals, and while we’re not sure where that started, we do know that by the time that the early 20th century rolled around, “pad” had morphed into meaning something else. Now, a pad was a different kind of bed, and it was in the rooms used by opium smokers. Users would crash on their pad while the drugs worked their magic, and it wasn’t long before it was associated with all sorts of criminal activity. A pad became a place not necessarily for opium, but for any kind of shady dealing.

By the 1960s, the hippie movement had commandeered the use of the word, and it started to become more associated with the idea of an apartment. It’s still kept a bit of its original meaning, as “pad” generally doesn’t refer to any dwelling larger than an apartment. That’s because most of the criminal activity with which “pad” was originally associated was small-scale.

7 The Opium Vampires

While opium was first associated with docks and sailors who’d become addicted to the drug while overseas, by the end of the Victorian era, opium was firmly entrenched as the drug of the exotic and the decadent. Not everyone was so enthralled with the idea of opium, and in the 1920s, female addicts of a certain standing became known as “opium vampires.”

Opium vampires were largely upper-class women who had little else to do with their time and the money to afford whatever pastime they set their minds to. In 1926, Sara Graham-Mulhall wrote an expose on the opium culture called Opium: The Demon Flower. She wrote of women who were so addicted to the drug that nothing, not even pregnancy, could stop them from taking it. By that time, it was too late, and they were so filled with the drug even on a cellular level that they had no hope of bearing a healthy child.

The opium vampires were a Victorian-era version of heroin mothers and crack moms, and they were seen as something of a polar opposite to the good, respectable sort of woman that was the ideal. They were also seen as more than just self-destructing; they were vampires in almost every sense of the word. They were seen as preying on men, relying on their allure and their exotic charm to entice. They were seen as incapable of caring for themselves or their children, and Graham-Mulhall called for the unconditional removal of any child born to one of these fashionable, well-off, and cursed addicts.

Graham-Mulhall also went on to warn about how these opium vampires spread their habit like a disease. They went away on exotic vacations and returned to colleges with a new habit. They targeted younger men, and they were called “actresses in the great drama of opium.” They dazzled with their high-society ways and lured the unsuspecting into addiction and ultimately downfall.

6 Godfrey’s Cordial

It’s well known that opiates were a frequent ingredient in medications of all sorts, but there’s one in particular that stands out from the crowd. Godfrey’s Cordial was also known as “comfort,” and is mind-blowingly common. One version, made by the Loewy Drug Company in Baltimore, Maryland, lists its ingredients as 1.6 grams of opium per fluid ounce, 5 percent alcohol, potassium carbonate, and sassafras oil. At the time, a single adult (or young teenager) would often be responsible for caring for a whole flock of children when parents and other family members went to work. It could be a little overwhelming when the kiddos were, you know, conscious. Godfrey’s Cordial was nothing less than a godsend.

One anonymous statement to the benefits of the deadly mixture was this glowing review: “The young’uns all lay about on the floor like dead’uns, and there’s no bother with ’em. When they cry, we gives ’em a little of it—p’raps half a spoonful, and that quiets ’em.” Another testimony came from a 14-year-old girl who was often tasked with watching a whole pack of kids. She was grateful “that they leave me plenty of stuff, ’cause then, when they begins to cry or get troublesome, I shoves some of it in their mouths, and that stops ’em”.

As barbaric and dangerous as it was effective, this practice was so normal that it’s amazing anyone survived past infancy. In 1862, a survey in Coventry found that 12,000 doses were given to kids every week, and chemists in the 1840s would often measure their sales not in ounces or bottles, but in gallons. In 1871, a Lincolnshire chemist (one of several in the area) who served around 6,000 people reported that he sold about 25.5 gallons every year, while one of his competitors dispensed about six pints a week.

It wasn’t just child care workers who resorted to Godfrey’s to keep their charges quiet, either. Women who worked from the home in domestic industries like lace-making often doped their children up so they could work uninterrupted, like the sad case of Nottingham lace maker Mary Colton. She relied so heavily on Godfrey’s Cordial that her baby grew thin and sickly enough for neighbors and friends to feel it necessary to intervene and suggest that she start the baby on a regimen of another substance that was bound to bring back the child’s color and appetite.

What was the substance that they all prescribed? Laudanum.

5 The Roosevelts And Opium

The US has its share of old money and pseudo-royalty, and not all of them made it in ways that their descendants are proud of.

Warren Delano, grandfather of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, was part of a massively successful seafaring family. When he came of age and entered the family business, he journeyed from South America through the Pacific Islands and finally into China, where his experience as a merchant and trader allowed him to become the head of Russell and Company. At the time, the company was one of the major players in the tea business, overseeing the export of Chinese tea to the rest of the world. While tea was certainly in demand and certainly profitable, Delano found something even more profitable during his nine years there—opium.

At the time, it was technically illegal to trade in opium, but illegality only occasionally stopped people when there was a literal boatload of money to be made. In letters home, Delano wrote of the effects that he knew opium had on those who became addicted and talked about the corpse-like addicts he’d met. He then went on to justify it and liken it to the trade of wine and spirits that the US was already engaged in.

Operations proved more than a bit tricky, however, and in 1836, the Russell and Company facility was stormed by 8,000 men, up in arms over the trafficking of a substance that had created millions of addicts. Delano got out of the business and headed back to the US, where he attracted a wife with his newfound wealth. They moved to China for three years but eventually settled in New York.

A financial panic in 1857 caused Delano’s wealth to evaporate even more quickly than it had come, causing him to return to China for five more years. Since opium was still popular, he went back to the business. He eventually scored a huge client—the Medical Bureau of the US War Department. The Civil War was in full swing by then, and Delano contracted with the US government to be their opium supplier. He spent the duration of the war in China and shipped medical opium back to the States. He was joined by his family, including his daughter Sara, who would become the mother of a president.

4 The First Morphine Murder

In 1823, France was host to the first trial of a man accused of using the opium-based drug morphine as a tool for murder. The accused was 27-year-old doctor Edme Castaing, and his story was a bizarre one of desperate measures taken to secure a lavish lifestyle.

He was already living beyond his means by the time that he began caring for the unlikely named Hippolyte Ballet. Hippolyte was dying a rather slow death from tuberculosis, which gave him enough time to rewrite his will to exclude his brother, Auguste, and keep him from inheriting any of the fortune that was going to be up for grabs upon his death. Castaing and Auguste not only destroyed the new will, but hurried Hippolyte’s death along with a fatal dose of morphine.

Castaing, now in good with his new friend Auguste, convinced him to rewrite his own will to include the doctor. Once the will was safely in the hands of legal counsel, Castaing took Auguste for a ride to a farm in the country. While they were there, Castaing slipped a lethal dose of morphine into Auguste’s wine. Suspicions mounted, and the doctor went on trial.

The idea of morphine as a deadly substance was so new that it was tough to prove. There were a couple telling pieces of evidence against Castaing, though, including his recent purchases of a relatively large quantity of morphine, his known experimentation with different poisons, and a series of inquiries he’d made trying to find out what poisons were likely to go undetected during an autopsy.

Of course, there was also the massive amount of money that he suddenly came into after the deaths of the two brothers. Castaing was found guilty. He continued to insist that he was innocent, all the way to the guillotine.

3 Alchemy And Opium

Alchemy has given birth to a wide range of modern ideas, and even though laudanum is most often associated with the Victorian era, it had a long, strange history before that.

Credit for its discovery is usually given to Paracelsus, who started the process by mixing opium with alcohol and finding out that it was much more soluble in this form than it was when it was added to water. The simplified version of the history is that he added opium to wine, threw in some spices to make it more palatable, and went on to claim that it was a miracle concoction which even allowed him to raise the dead. (The one thing that it couldn’t do, however was cure leprosy.) Although the basics of the drug were the same as the one that would change the face of the Victorian era, Paracelsus’s laudanum had a few extra ingredients: He included powders of pearls and gold and gave it its notorious name, based on the Latin word laudare, meaning “to praise.”

By the 17th century, there was a new version of laudanum on the market. English doctor Thomas Sydenham claimed to have reinvented laudanum and made a new tincture based on the work of Paracelsus. His version was made from opium, cinnamon, cloves, saffron, and high-quality sherry. He claimed that his version could cure just as many diseases, ills, and illnesses as Paracelsus’s tincture, and a key part of its popularity seems to have been saffron. Sydenham’s version became the drug whose popularity lasted for centuries, hailed as a miracle cure and initially a legitimate medicine. It was only later that it became known for its widespread recreational abuse. In areas where saffron wasn’t widely available, it was left out of the recipe, and laudanum failed to take hold in those areas like it did in other parts of Europe.

2 Branwell Bronte

The Bronte sisters are well-known for their depictions of contemporary life and love, and part of that society was the impact of opium. In The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Bronte wrote of the fictional Lord Lowborough. He was a down-on-his-luck member of her main character’s inner circle, beleaguered by his wife and plagued with an addiction that countless people of the era would find familiar.

His melancholy misery had a very real-life inspiration—Anne’s brother, Branwell. Addicted to both laudanum and gin, he was her source for getting inside the head of a man so desperate to escape the realities of life that nothingness was preferable. Letters between the sisters talk about his descent into the “full oblivion” of his addiction. He didn’t notice when his family spoke to him most of the time, and when he did, he described “such strange and wandering images [that] filled the room.” Sinking farther and farther into debt, any money that he did get went to feed his addiction, and it all stemmed from an affair that was worthy of a Bronte novel in itself.

At 25 years old, Branwell was hired by Reverend Edmund Robinson to tutor one of his children. He went to live with Robinson’s family at Thorp Green Hall, where he promptly fell in love with the lady of the house. Just what happened next is a complete mystery.

According to Branwell, he began a torrid love affair with the 43-year-old mother of five. The feelings were absolutely mutual, and the affair lasted for two and a half years before it was discovered by the reverend, who immediately fired Branwell. He’s the only one who said that there was any kind of mutual affair, though, and according to The Bronte Society, one of the only things he was probably guilty of was overestimating the lady’s opinion of him.

Regardless, he was still fired in 1845 and would later sink into a deep depression and drug addiction from which he would never recover. He wrote poetry dedicated to the lady of Thorp Green Hall while drowning reality in a cloud of alcohol, opium, and laudanum. It was made even worse when Reverend Robinson died. Branwell couldn’t return to his lady-love because she told him there was a stipulation in the reverend’s will that she would lose her children and her estate if she ever continued contact with him.

In truth, there was no such stipulation, and she went on to marry a wealthy widower almost 30 years her senior. Branwell died three years after he was fired.

1 Experimentation And Morphine

By 1815, morphine was the go-to remedy for pain and for those who were trying to get off opium and laudanum. It was discovered in 1805 by a German scientist named Friedrich Serturner, and he went to some terrifying lengths to prove that his findings were the real thing.

He’d started his research about two years earlier, and it was all based on his observations that some samples had a clear pain-numbing effect, while other samples didn’t. He figured that opium must contain something that could counteract pain, but it wouldn’t work unless the dose was high enough. Using ammonia to separate opium into its base components, he isolated what he called morphine.

No scientific find is given any kind of attention whatsoever without some solid proof, so he started down the horrific path of dosing mice that lived in his basement and then dogs that wandered around his neighborhood. The mice and the dogs died, but Serturner wasn’t dissuaded. Still convinced that he was on to something, he decided that he needed to test his drug on living creatures that could tell him exactly what was going on and what they were feeling. He did what any enterprising 20-year-old would do: He recruited three teenage friends and handed out his morphine and alcohol mix.

By the end of the experiment, he and his friends each consumed around 10 times what’s now recommended for a single dose of morphine. They started to experience nausea, fever, and dizziness. Serturner, who was taking the same stuff, thought they were poisoned. He handed out 8 ounces of vinegar to induce violent vomiting, followed by carbonate of magnesia and a long sleep. The aftereffects of the morphine, headaches, stomachaches, and extreme fatigue, lasted for a few days after their experiment, but it gave Serturner the data that he needed. By 1831, he had received a massive cash prize from the Institute of France for his work in medicine, but there’s no record on whether or not he shared the 2,000 francs with his friends.

When we talk about the ten punishments royal sailors faced in the Age of Sail, we’re diving into a world where a captain could enforce his will with an iron fist and the crew lived under a strict regime that would shock modern sensibilities. Back in the days of old—before such trivial matters as health and safety regulations, child welfare, or human rights became things to worry about—a captain of one of His Majesty’s finest ships in the British Royal Navy could rule the poop deck (or any part of the ship) with an iron fist.

Why 10 Punishments Royal Matter

Understanding these ten punishments royal helps us grasp how discipline, fear, and spectacle kept a wooden vessel moving across oceans. Below we break down each penalty, from the everyday “starting” to the terrifying keelhauling, preserving the vivid details that made them unforgettable.

10 Starting

Many punishments were formal, as in ordered by the captain with a record kept in the ship’s log. The discipline delivered by the boatswain or bosun’s mate (a foreman of sorts) was an on‑the‑spot thing with no need of a written account. Thus, it could happen for any reason at any time.

The bosun’s mate always carried a small weapon to beat the unfortunate offender. This weapon was usually a knotted rope, small whip, or cane called a “rattan.” Sometimes, three canes were tied together and called the “three sisters.”

These beatings were known as “starting,” as in starting to beat. A bosun’s mate could be ordered to start a man until told to stop. If his arm became tired, another mate would be called to continue the abuse. These bashings were an everyday occurrence aboard a ship.

At any time, a mate could hit an unruly sailor. Unchecked, a sadistic bosun’s mate could and did cause serious harm on many occasions. Ultimately, this led to the beginning of their suppression in 1811.

9 Gagging

This punishment was used when a sailor became a little too lippy or committed other minor offenses. To teach him a lesson, his hands and legs were bound. An iron bolt would be put in his mouth, tied in place from behind his head, and left for whatever time the officer felt fit the crime. If you’ve ever seen the film Pulp Fiction, think of the pool‑balls‑in‑the‑mouth scene (shown above).

This was another punitive action not recorded in the logs because it could have dire repercussions. As it was frowned upon by the Admiralty, gagging was never an official punishment. Nevertheless, it was used on numerous occasions.

In 1867, George Addison, a crew member of the HMS Favorite, was gagged for drunkenness and violence. He died from asphyxiation within two hours.

8 Flogging

Although we have all heard of flogging, you may not be aware of just how brutal it could be. This was one of the most common punishments in the Royal Navy. Almost any crime could end with this torture.

The condemned would be whipped with a cat‑o‑nine‑tails, a whip with nine (sometimes) waxed knotted tails. When a sailor was to be flogged, he would be kept in leg irons on the upper deck for a day. This was to give him time to make the cat.

Yup, that’s right. The poor guy would have to make his own instrument of pain. If he chose not to make it or it wasn’t finished in time, the punishment could be increased. Twenty‑four hours later, the fun began.

The whole crew would assemble on deck to witness the punishment. Whichever rule the offender had broken would be read aloud from the Articles of War (a list of rules for a ship to follow). The sailor would then be asked if he had anything to say against his sentence.

His shirt would be removed, and he was tied standing to a part of the ship, usually the rigging or the opening of the gangway. The bosun’s mate had the pleasure of inflicting the punishment. He would stand at an arm’s length and lash the man with the strength of a full swing.

By 1750, floggings were restricted to 12 lashes. According to a ship’s doctor, this still left a man’s back “swollen like a pillow, looking black‑and‑blue.” Sometimes, a captain could get round the 12‑lash rule by charging a man with multiple offenses, incurring 12 lashes each. Before this, a sentence could have been issued with hundreds of strikes.

Once a dozen lashes had been carried out, a fresh mate could be called so that the hits wouldn’t lighten up. As the cat began to tear into the skin with each strike, a man’s back could end up looking like a slab of meat from a butcher’s table.

After each lash, the bosun’s mate would run his fingers through the tails to wipe off the blood. Sometimes, when changing to a fresh mate, the next one would be left‑handed so as to cross the cuts on the back and tear it up even more.

The pain didn’t end there. Afterward, the man was taken to the ship’s doctor to have his back covered in vinegar‑soaked paper or to have salt rubbed into his wounds. This treatment was to stop infection, but it could cause more pain than the actual flogging.

7 Flogging Around The Fleet

This was much the same as a normal flogging with the cat‑o‑nine‑tails, but it was more of a show for others to witness—usually when there was a collection of ships nearby in a harbor. The crew member would be tied to a small boat’s mast and lashed by the bosun’s mate.

The boat was then taken to the next ship where that vessel’s mate took his turn lashing the prisoner. This continued through all the ships, hence the term “flogging around the fleet.” For added effect, the boat was sometimes tailed by another small vessel containing a drummer boy to make the whole thing feel even more somber than it already was.

Flogging continued in the Royal Navy until 1881.

6 Cobbed And Firked

You might think that the job of a cook aboard a ship would enable a man to escape punishment for his small mistakes. Not quite. He had his own special medicine to take.

While not as serious as some of the other punishments, a cook could expect to be “cobbed and firked” for misplacing food or allowing it to spoil. This was an unofficial type of flogging done by beating the cook with sand‑filled stockings or bung staves of a cask (the wooden panels that make up a barrel).

This was not so much of a pain type of punishment as a humiliation. The culinary criminal was more likely to be stuck “as a boy”—hit on the buttocks instead of anywhere else. No one wanted to hurt the cook so much that it stopped their grub from being served up on time.

5 Child Punishment

Speaking of “as a boy,” a ship’s crew did not consist only of adult men. Young boys were often employed, usually beginning at the ages of 11 or 12. Unfortunately for them, age was no barrier to corporal punishment. We can see from surviving ships’ logs that roughly one‑third of all floggings were perpetrated against children.

At any point in time, all boys under age 19 could receive a caning for minor offenses. Much the same as for the adults, these minor punishments for children went unrecorded. This could lead to daily bullying. In one recorded instance, a captain was noted as having his boys caned every morning. When one boy had the audacity to whimper, “Please, sir,” his punishment was increased.

If the offense required a more serious punishment, a boy would be made to “kiss the gunner’s daughter.” He would be bent over a cannon in front of the rest of the crew, have his trousers dropped, and be struck on the bare behind. Other than it being a more childlike punishment, one reason for this is that the boys usually worked the rigging. Whipping their hands would impair them in this job.

By the mid‑19th century, this was done with a “cane or birch.” But before then, a reduced cat (aka “the boys’ pussy”) would be used. This was like a cat‑o‑nine‑tails but with five whip ends.

On the rare occasions when a boy was sentenced through a court‑martial, an adult cat could be used. This happened to poor Valentine Woods in 1813. The 17‑year‑old lad was sentenced to 60 lashes on his bare posterior for stabbing a crewmate. Come to think of it, maybe Valentine did deserve that one.

4 Running The Gauntlet

One of the worst things you could do in the navy was steal from your shipmates. The punishment shows that it was a hated crime by almost all. To run the gauntlet, an offender would be stripped to the waist and flogged as usual with the “thieves’ cat.” This was a cat‑o‑nine‑tails with extra knots for bonus hit points.

The offender would then be forced at sword point to walk between two rows of men who all had lengths of knotted rope. Each man had to bash the criminal as hard as possible while he slowly walked past. To stop him from walking too fast, there was also an officer in front of him with a cutlass at his chest. After that, the criminal was flogged some more for good measure.

Although mainly used for thieves, this form of punishment was also used for other crimes such as fraud and sodomy. This resulted in many casualties. After a few noted deaths, running the gauntlet was banned by 1806.

3 Falling Asleep On Watch

This was an extremely serious offense as being on watch was to guard all the lives aboard a ship. However, life at sea was boring, so falling asleep did happen a lot. If a grave punishment was meted out for the first offense, a ship would have no crew left. As a result, the consequences would escalate for sleepy sailors.

As listed in the Black Book of the Admiralty, the punishments for falling asleep were as follows. For a first offense, something as simple as a bucket of cold seawater would be poured over the offender while others laughed. Not so bad.

The next time, his hands would be tied up and cold water tipped into his shirt. Still nothing to cry about so far.

For taking a third nap on duty, a sailor would be tied to a ship’s mast and be made to hold up heavy objects with his arms stretched out wide. Most often, these objects were cannon chambers. This became quite painful after a while. In addition, the officer in charge was allowed to inflict whatever extra pain he wished.

The fourth punishment put an end to Mr. Sleepybones’s slumbering adventures—mainly because he was dead when it was over. He was put in a basket which was hung from the bowsprit (the pointy mast that sticks out at the front of a ship). He was guarded by an armed sentry who was instructed to kill the offender if he tried to escape. Then he was left to starve to death.

However, the prisoner did have a couple of options. He would be allowed a knife, so there was always the choice to cut his own wrists. Alternatively, he could slice the basket’s rope and drown in the open sea.

2 Hanging From The Yardarm

The hanging basket method was not the only means of execution. In the 18th century, such grievous crimes as striking an officer, desertion, or being guilty of “indecent practices” could result in an execution.

By the 1800s, this was more for serious things like mutiny or murder. Whatever the crime, a court‑martial could end with the order of a hanging from the yardarm. Unlike the more modern usage of drop hanging in which a prisoner will die instantaneously, a yardarm death was slow and painful.

The condemned man would have his hands and feet tied, and a noose was placed around his neck. The crew stood on deck to watch. A gunshot was the signal for a group of men holding the rope to begin pulling. The prisoner would be “run up the yardarm” and left there to die from strangulation. After an hour, his body was taken down.

This type of execution was last carried out in 1860 after Royal Marine John Dalliger murdered a lieutenant and the commanding officer of the HMS Leven. He had been caught stealing brandy.

1 Keelhauling

This was possibly the worst punishment during the Age of Sail. Never officially sanctioned by the Royal Navy due to its barbaric cruelty to the condemned, keelhauling was still carried out on numerous occasions before being banned around the year 1720.

The victim would be stripped naked on the deck of a ship in full sight of the rest of the crew. He would have two ropes tied to him. One of them ran underneath the bottom of the ship (the “keel”).

The man would then be hung over the side of the ship, pulled underwater, and hauled along the keel by the second rope until he emerged on the other side. This could be carried out as slowly as the officers in charge wanted or repeated as many times as ordered.

A weight was tied to the man’s legs to make sure that his body was properly in line with the hull. This resulted in many drownings. But if that didn’t kill him, the man had other things to deal with.

Underwater, a ship’s hull (especially a wooden ship) was covered in barnacles. As any child who has slipped on a barnacle‑covered rock at the seaside will tell you, they are sharp. Very sharp. Like being dragged along a giant, razor‑sharp, cheese grater, the barnacles tore the flesh of the man. If he managed to survive this awful event, he would certainly be scarred for life.

When you think of unforgettable practical jokes, the first names that spring to mind are usually modern TV personalities or internet meme‑lords. But the world of mischief stretches back centuries, long before cameras rolled and streams went live. In this roundup we celebrate the 10 legendary pranksters whose most famous shenanigans unfolded in an era when the only screens were theater marquees and newspaper columns.

Meet the 10 Legendary Pranksters

10 Harry Reichenbach

Harry Reichenbach cut his teeth as a press agent and publicist, quickly earning a reputation for staging outlandish publicity stunts to drum up buzz for motion pictures. One of his most audacious tricks involved slipping a full‑grown lion into a Broadway hotel lobby to generate free press for the release of Tarzan of the Apes. In another scheme, he hired eight actors to proclaim a $20,000 bounty for the “lost daughter of a sheik,” a ruse designed to promote The Virgin of Stamboul.

Perhaps his most enduring anecdote sees Reichenbach paying a down‑on‑his‑luck actor to scatter coins on a busy sidewalk. By the time the actor arrived at a top agent’s office, a crowd of curious onlookers had formed, creating the illusion of a rising star with a legion of fans. The stunt cemented Reichenbach’s legacy as a master of engineered hype.

9 Hugh Troy

Hugh Troy wore many hats – painter, inventor, and, most famously, prankster. Though he attended Cornell University, he was expelled without a diploma, yet his mischievous exploits have endured in legend. Among his many capers, Troy once fashioned a garbage basket from a rhinoceros foot and dragged it across a snow‑blanketed campus, leaving bewildered students to wonder about the mysterious beast.

His imagination didn’t stop there. He painted the galoshes of a visiting lecturer with actual human feet, concocted the fictional sprinter “Johnny Tsal” who spectacularly finished last in every race, and even seized a park bench in Central Park, producing a receipt to prove he owned the piece of furniture when police tried to charge him with theft.

Other antics include slapping a “Jesus Saves” sign on a bank’s façade, disguising a slab of corned beef as a human ear, and drafting a mock military memo that required reports to be written on flypaper. Today, his most lasting tribute is the globe perched before the Daily News Building in New York, whimsically labeling Ithaca as a world capital.

8 Princess Caraboo

Mary Baker, a humble servant from Bristol, England, pulled off one of the most elaborate impostures of the 19th century by masquerading as the exotic Princess Caraboo. In April 1817, a cobbler in Gloucestershire encountered the “princess,” who appeared disoriented and in need of protection, prompting the local magistrate to take her into custody.

She was escorted to a nearby inn where she identified a portrait’s mysterious object as a pineapple and demanded to sleep on the floor. Despite her flamboyant claims, the magistrate pressed charges of vagrancy. Rumors swirled that a Portuguese sailor had heard her speak a foreign tongue, and even local royalty seemed enchanted by her tale.

In truth, Baker fabricated a fictional language and backstory to masquerade as royalty. Scars on her head were later traced to a botched operation in a London poorhouse. Near the end of her life, she sold leeches at the Bristol Infirmary. Her legend proved so magnetic that a 1994 film dramatized her extraordinary deception.

7 Jim Moran

Born in 1908, James “Jim” Moran carved a niche as a flamboyant publicist, representing film studios, retailers, automobile makers, and even political figures. One of his earliest hoaxes involved selling a General Electric refrigerator to an Eskimo, a tongue‑in‑cheek commentary on the absurdity of marketing.

His repertoire of legendary stunts grew ever more outlandish: he marched a full‑grown bull through a delicate china shop, embarked on a futile quest for a needle in a haystack, perched on an ostrich egg for a publicity photo, and even rode in a taxi driven by a chimpanzee. Moran once plotted to launch a diminutive performer across Central Park on a kite, only to be thwarted by law enforcement.

6 Henry ‘Box’ Brown

Henry Brown, born into bondage in Virginia, toiled in a tobacco factory while his wife was held by a slave owner. When his pregnant wife and children were sold to a North Carolina plantation, Brown’s heart broke, prompting a daring escape plan that would become the stuff of legend.

He arranged to be shipped as a parcel of “dry goods,” concealed inside a wooden crate that measured roughly 0.9 m long, 0.6 m wide, and 0.8 m deep. A sympathetic white abolitionist in Philadelphia helped coordinate the journey by rail from Richmond to Philadelphia. Inside, Brown survived with a single jug of water, a few biscuits, and a cloth‑lined interior, enduring upside‑down turns and even the weight of two men who sat on the box during transit.

Brown’s successful flight turned him into an icon of the Underground Railroad, and he later produced a moving panorama of his experience, financed by proceeds from a drawing depicting his harrowing voyage.

5 Jonathan Swift

Jonathan Swift, author of the satirical masterpiece Gulliver’s Travels, wielded humor as a weapon against the foibles of English society and human nature. Beyond his literary achievements, Swift delighted in public pranks that blurred the line between satire and reality.

In 1708, he lampooned the well‑known astrologer John Partridge by predicting that Partridge would meet his demise on March 29. The following day, Swift publicly announced Partridge’s death, prompting many to accept the claim despite the astrologer’s protests that he was, in fact, very much alive.

Swift’s other works, such as the infamous “A Modest Proposal,” further demonstrate his talent for using shock and wit to force society to confront uncomfortable truths.

4 Lewis Gorin Junior And Urban Rushton

In 1936, Princeton juniors Lewis Gorin Jr. and Urban Rushton concocted the “Veterans of Future Wars,” a satirical organization parodying veteran‑benefit groups that had secured early compensation for World War I soldiers. Their manifesto demanded a $1,000 bonus for “future veterans” while they were still young enough to enjoy the money, and even advocated a $50 monthly stipend for every mother expecting a male child.

The movement exploded nationally, amassing roughly 60,000 members across American college campuses. Many took the hoax seriously, prompting Gorin to rent an office, hire a secretary, and field a flood of correspondence. He even received invitations to speak publicly, underscoring how convincingly the parody masqueraded as a genuine cause.

After graduation, Gorin pursued a legal career. As key members drifted toward other organizations, the “Veterans of Future Wars” gradually dissolved, leaving behind a legacy of youthful irreverence.

3 William Horace de Vere Cole

William Horace de Vere Cole, an Irish poet and self‑styled prankster from County Cork, delighted in elaborate hoaxes that blended literary flair with theatrical spectacle. While studying at Cambridge, he once masqueraded as the uncle of the Sultan of Zanzibar, bewildering his peers.

Another notorious stunt saw him host a dinner where every guest’s surname contained the word “bottom,” turning a simple gathering into a linguistic joke. Cole even strutted the streets with a cow’s udder protruding from his trousers, a sight that bewildered passersby and cemented his reputation for absurdity.

Among his most famous escapades is the Dreadnought hoax, in which he and a group of friends—including novelist Virginia Woolf—disguised themselves as royalty and persuaded the Royal Navy to grant them a tour of the nation’s prized battleship. Some scholars also suspect his involvement in the infamous Piltdown Man deception.

2 Tristan Tzara

Romanian-born Tristan Tzara, a founding figure of the Dada movement, reveled in avant‑garde chaos and deliberate absurdity. After World I, Dada spread from Zürich to major cultural hubs such as New York, Paris, Cologne, and Berlin, with Tzara at its mischievous core.

He orchestrated a series of hoaxes designed to mock the press and the public’s appetite for sensational news. One ruse announced that Charlie Chaplin would appear in a show that never existed, while another fabricated a duel between Tzara and fellow Dadaist Hans Arp, complete with bogus newspaper reports that fooled readers across Switzerland.

These pranks underscored Dada’s disdain for conventional art and its embrace of the ridiculous, cementing Tzara’s place as a master of cultural misdirection.

1 Urmuz

Urmuz, the pen name of Romanian writer and lawyer Demetru Dem, pre‑dated the Dada movement with his brand of black comedy, nonsense verse, and relentless parody. Though only a handful of his works survive, copious notes document a life devoted to absurdist experimentation.

Among his most memorable tricks, Urmuz once convinced unsuspecting pedestrians to present their identification papers for a nonexistent inspection, creating a chaotic tableau of bewildered citizens. In another episode, he and his companions stormed the Caldarusani Monastery, demanding that the monks extend the hospitality normally reserved for guests, thereby testing the clergy’s patience to its limits.

Urmuz also infiltrated military training grounds, engaging soldiers in heated discussions about nationalist policy before abruptly breaking into nonsensical lyrics, leaving his audience both amused and perplexed. His legacy endures as a precursor to Dada, influencing generations of surreal and absurdist artists.

Welcome to a deep‑dive into ten rocking facts that showcase the wild, wacky, and wonderful side of the bands that shaped the golden era of music. From backstage dramas to mystical rituals, each story proves that rock history is as electrifying as the riffs that defined it.

10 Cetera Has No Time For Chicago

The Chicago Transit Authority burst onto the scene in 1967, rebranding themselves simply as Chicago two years later. Over the decades they have moved more than 40 million albums in the United States, racked up five straight No. 1 albums, and in 1974 their entire catalog of seven releases was simultaneously charting on the Billboard 200.

Peter Cetera co‑founded the group and fronted it until 1984, stepping away after the smash‑hit Chicago 17. He later carved out a successful solo career, but his name resurfaced dramatically in 2016 when he declined to appear at the band’s Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction. Cetera explained that he refused because the Hall wouldn’t lower the key of the classic “25 or 6 to 4,” and that the whole event felt anything but fun.

Co‑founder Robert Lamm later reacted, saying Cetera could have at least stood beside his former bandmates, even if he didn’t want to perform. The saga adds another layer to Chicago’s storied legacy.

9 The Amp, The Amp, The Amp Is On Fire

When you think of AC/DC, the image of Brian Johnson’s raspy shout on “Thunderstruck” instantly pops up. The band’s name itself came from a chance sight: Malcolm and Angus Young’s sister spotted the initials AC/DC on a sewing machine and suggested they adopt it.

She also helped craft Angus’s early stage look, nudging him away from a rotating lineup of superhero and animal costumes toward the now‑iconic school‑uniform style that fans recognize worldwide.

In a 1977 studio session for “Let There Be Rock,” Angus’s amp burst into flames. Malcolm urged him to keep playing, and Angus obliged. The fire drama repeated during the “Rock or Bust” era, with Angus later admitting he initially thought the glow was just a cigarette ember. Though many dismissed it as myth, Angus confirmed the story in a 2014 interview, cementing the tale as a bona fide rock legend.

8 Led Zeppelin And Aleister Crowley

Think of Thor: Ragnarok and you’ll hear Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” roaring in the background, its lyrics evoking Valhalla and Norse myth. Yet behind the thunderous riffs lies a darker fascination: guitarist Jimmy Page’s obsession with occultist Aleister Crowley.

Page bought Crowley’s former Scottish manor in 1971, and even etched the sorcerer’s mottos “Do what thou wilt” and “So mote it be” into the run‑out groove of the Led Zeppelin III vinyl. Rumors swirled that Page summoned his bandmates for a “magick” ritual inspired by Crowley’s writings—only bassist/keyboardist John Paul Jones declined to join.

In 1972 Page was tapped to score Kenneth Anger’s film “Lucifer Rising,” a collaboration that reportedly grew intense before parting ways in 1975. Some claim Anger placed a curse on Page and the band, a curse blamed for a spate of mishaps: Robert Plant’s car crash, mysterious illnesses, fan riots, and internal fights that plagued Zeppelin’s later years.

7 Heart & Van Halen

Formed in 1970, Heart was driven by sisters Ann and Nancy Wilson, who fronted a lineup that included Steve Fossen, Roger Fisher, David Belzer, and Jeff Johnson. After a rocky start, the band staged a major comeback in 1985, disbanded in 1998, and re‑emerged in 2002, continuing to tour well into the 2020s.

In their 2012 memoir “Kicking & Dreaming: A Story of Heart, Soul, and Rock and Roll,” the Wilsons recount a night they performed “Stairway to Heaven” in a tiny club when members of Led Zeppelin wandered in—only for Jimmy Page to pass out from exhaustion.

The sisters also reveal a 1979 encounter with Eddie and Alex Van Halen. When Eddie confessed he didn’t own an acoustic guitar, Nancy gifted him one of her own. Overcome with gratitude, Eddie called her the next morning at 7 a.m. to serenade her over the phone with a song he’d written in her honor.

6 Airplay Thanks To Student

Swedish duo Roxette, formed in 1986, amassed 19 UK Top 40 hits, a string of US Hot 100 entries, and four number‑one singles, selling over 75 million records worldwide—making them Sweden’s second‑best‑selling act after ABBA.

Their breakthrough global hit “The Look” owes its fame to an American exchange student named Dean Cushman. After hearing the track, Cushman passed it to his local radio station, sparking massive airplay that vaulted the song to the top of the US charts.

Contrary to popular belief, Roxette’s signature ballad “It Must Have Been Love” wasn’t written for the film “Pretty Woman.” When Touchstone Pictures approached the duo for a soundtrack, there wasn’t time to craft a new song, so they submitted a two‑year‑old track instead.

Top 10 True Rock Music Stories

5 The Band Who Outsold The Beatles

The Monkees—Micky Dolenz, Michael Nesmith, Peter Tork, and Davy Jones—originated as a made‑for‑TV ensemble for the sitcom “The Monkees” (1966‑1968). After the show’s cancellation, they recorded until 1971, delivering hits like “I’m a Believer,” “Daydream Believer,” and “Last Train to Clarksville.”

Despite their TV‑born origins, the group was denied entry to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame after co‑founder Jann Wenner argued they were actors, not musicians. Ironically, in 1967 the Monkees outsold both The Beatles and The Rolling Stones combined, topping the two British legends’ album sales that year.

4 The Animals’ Influence

The Animals burst onto the scene with their haunting 1964 number‑one hit “The House of the Rising Sun,” featuring vocalist Eric Burdon, keyboardist Alan Price, bassist Chas Chandler, guitarist Hilton Valentine, and drummer John Steel. Their gritty sound even inspired Bob Dylan to experiment with electric instrumentation.

In 2012, Bruce Springsteen paid tribute at SXSW, declaring that no other band resonated with him as deeply as The Animals, whose work echoed throughout his own catalog.

After the group split, bassist Chas Chandler discovered a young guitarist named Jimi Hendrix, helped finance his first single, and suggested the flamboyant idea of setting his guitar ablaze—an image that would become iconic.

3 A Band Of Trouble

Oasis emerged from a precursor called The Rain, initially featuring five members, including brothers Liam and Noel Gallagher. The band sold over 75 million records, securing its place among the best‑selling acts of all time.

The Gallagher brothers’ feud eclipsed many of their songs. In 1994 Noel quit after Liam flung a tambourine at him; the following year Noel struck Liam with a cricket bat. Their animosity continued in 1996 when Liam abandoned an MTV Unplugged performance to heckle his own band from the audience.

Beyond sibling drama, Oasis faced lawsuits for allegedly copying a Beatles‑parody group’s material and a Coca‑Cola jingle. The rivalry intensified with a full‑blown “battle of Britpop” against Blur, culminating in Noel’s infamous comment wishing Damon Albarn and Alex James to “catch AIDS and die.”

2 First Choice For Friends’ Opening Song

R.E.M. will forever be linked to the near‑miss of having their upbeat anthem “Shiny Happy People” serve as the opening theme for the sitcom “Friends.” While the track became a massive hit, lead singer Michael Stipe later grew to despise it, calling it “a fruity pop song written for children” and insisting he’d never want it representing the band in space.

Another R.E.M. gem, “Monty Got a Raw Deal,” was inspired not by game‑show host Monty Hall but by tragic actor Montgomery Clift. The song’s genesis came after a photographer who had worked on Clift’s final film, “The Misfits,” visited the studio, prompting Stipe to pen a tribute.

Top 10 Musicians Who Were Ahead Of Their Time

1 Cobain And Vedder Slow Dancing

Pearl Jam, originally known as Mookie Blaylock, welcomed Eddie Vedder as its final member in 1990. By 2018 the band had sold more than 85 million albums worldwide, cementing its status as one of the most influential groups of the 1990s.

Drawing inspiration from legends like Led Zeppelin, The Ramones, and The Who, Pearl Jam faced criticism from Nirvana, who labeled them sell‑outs after the massive success of their debut “Ten.” Rumors of a feud swirled, fueling public trash‑talk between the two camps.

At the 1992 MTV Video Music Awards, an unexpected moment unfolded: while Eric Clapton played “Tears of Heaven” overhead, Vedder and Kurt Cobain stepped onto the stage, shared a slow dance, and momentarily set aside their rivalry.

10 rocking facts That Keep Music History Electrifying