When you dive into 10 history 8217, you uncover a parade of audacious tricksters who turned deception into an art form. From 19th‑century street hustlers to early‑20th‑century masters of the long con, these ten figures rewrote the rulebook on how to bilk the rich, the gullible, and sometimes even the most vigilant authorities—all while flashing a smile.

10 History 8217: A Quick Overview of the Art of the Con

The confidence game, or “con,” thrives on charm, timing, and an uncanny ability to read people. Each of the characters below built a reputation by weaving elaborate ruses, employing props, fabricated identities, and even scientific‑sounding jargon to convince their marks they were making a smart investment. Their stories illuminate how a simple promise of profit can become a full‑blown theatrical production.

1 Victor Lustig

Victor Lustig earned infamy as the only criminal ever to sell the Eiffel Tower—twice. He later duped notorious gangster Al Capone and peddled a useless tin box as a miracle money‑making device. During his trial, a Secret Service agent dubbed him “the smoothest con man that ever lived.”

Born in the obscure town of Hostinne within Austria‑Hungary in 1890, Lustig claimed a pauper’s upbringing, though no records could verify his story. He began with petty scams before graduating to work on transatlantic ocean liners, where he refined the “money box” con: a deceptive device advertised as a radium‑powered copier of $100 bills, but in reality it merely dispensed a handful of genuine notes before becoming a paperweight.

In Paris, Lustig masqueraded as a government official eager to sell the Eiffel Tower for scrap. He arranged a clandestine meeting with several metal dealers, delivering a performance so convincing that the highest bidder handed over the tower’s price plus a bribe. He repeated the ruse, but the second attempt attracted police attention, prompting his hurried escape from France.

Relocating to the United States, Lustig assembled a counterfeiting ring that produced fake $100 bills so convincing they fooled bank tellers and threatened public confidence in the dollar. Arrested in 1935, he briefly escaped custody, only to be recaptured and sentenced to twenty years at Alcatraz.

2 Reed Waddell

Born into affluence in Springfield, Illinois, Reed “Kid” Waddell seemed destined for a respectable life until a gambling addiction severed his family’s financial support in his early twenties.

By 1880, Waddell had migrated to New York City and entered the world of “green goods,” a scam that lured gamblers with flyers promising “perfect” counterfeit currency. Victims paid for money that never materialized, and the law offered little recourse.

Waddell’s claim to fame was the invention of the gold‑brick swindle. He would take a lead ingot, plate it in gold, stamp it with official markings, and even embed a small plug of genuine gold that he later removed to show a jeweler for “authentication.” He sold these faux bars for thousands, targeting wealthy farmers who believed they could double or triple their investment.

In the 1890s, Waddell partnered with fellow grifter Tom O’Brien and moved operations to Paris. Their partnership soured in 1895 during a heated argument over money, resulting in O’Brien shooting Waddell dead.

3 John St. John Long

John St. John Long, an Irish‑born charlatan, began his career as an artist before discovering that quack medicine paid far better than canvases.

In 1826, Long announced a miracle cure for consumption (tuberculosis). His regimen involved two secret chemicals: one inhaled as vapor, the other rubbed onto the chest and back. The topical lotion contained turpentine, which created a painful sore that Long claimed drew the disease to the surface, allowing it to escape the body.

Long’s handsome demeanor and persuasive charm earned him a thriving practice on London’s Harley Street. In 1830, he was tried for the death of a patient and found guilty of manslaughter, receiving a £250 fine paid on the spot. A month later, another patient died, but Long was acquitted.

Despite the medical community branding him the “Handsome Hoaxer of Harley Street,” Long retained wealthy, influential friends. He died in 1834, reportedly from a riding accident, though some tales claim he succumbed to consumption after refusing his own treatment.

4 William Elmer Mead

William Elmer Mead earned the moniker “The Christian Kid” because he lived a strictly sober, church‑going lifestyle, despite pulling off cons worth over $2 million across a four‑decade career.

Mead pioneered the “magic wallet” trick: he and a mark would discover a wallet stuffed with cash or important documents, only to learn it belonged to an accomplice. After returning the wallet, the con artist would feign gratitude and propose a seemingly lucrative deal.

In 1910, as Halley’s Comet approached, Mead targeted a wealthy contractor. He and the contractor found the wallet, returned it to a shill, and were invited to lunch where Mead posed as a sports promoter. He suggested leasing stadiums during the off‑season for comet‑watching crowds, an idea the contractor enthusiastically endorsed.

The shill and Mead then cashed a generous check, repeating the scheme multiple times before the comet’s passage ended. Their “Halley’s Comet” con remained one of the most audacious uses of a celestial event to swindle money.

5 Lou Blonger

Lou Blonger was born in 1849 in Vermont and enlisted in the Union Army at just fourteen. After the Civil War, he reunited with his older brother Sam, and the duo roamed the frontier, dabbling in prospecting, gambling, and occasional grifts.

By the late 1880s, the brothers settled in Denver, opening saloons and gambling halls that catered to tourists eager to spend every penny. Their operations grew, and they began investing in mining claims, bribing local police and politicians, and even driving rival con man Soapy Smith out of town.

The Blonger empire, dubbed the “Million‑Dollar Bunco Ring,” ran a network of offices that resembled legitimate stock exchanges or betting parlors. Their crew lured affluent marks into betting on “sure things” like stock tips or rigged races, ensuring the marks always lost.

When victims reported being swindled, they often tipped off Blonger, who would quickly shutter his offices, casting the complainants as liars or lunatics. This tactic kept law enforcement at bay and allowed the brothers to dominate Denver’s underworld for decades until Sam’s death in 1914.

6 Henri Lemoine

If you ever Google “how to make diamonds,” you’ll find countless modern tutorials promising a DIY sparkle. Little do you know that the very first “diamond‑making” scam dates back over a century to French swindler Henri Lemoine.

In 1905, Lemoine claimed he could synthesize diamonds from ordinary coal. He secured an audience with De Beers executives, including Sir Julius Wernher, and staged a demonstration in his Paris laboratory.

To prove his innocence, Lemoine stripped naked, assuring the audience he wasn’t hiding diamonds on his person. He then placed coal and mysterious chemicals into a crucible, heated it, and after cooling, produced twenty tiny diamonds. He repeated the feat, convincing the executives of his breakthrough.

Wernher, convinced, offered Lemoine a substantial sum to keep the formula secret and funded further research. French newspaper Le Figaro estimated Wernher paid over 1.5 million francs across three years. Notable figures like writer Marcel Proust also invested.

In 1908, a Parisian jeweler exposed the fraud, revealing the diamonds had been purchased from Lemoine. He was indicted for fraud, failed to replicate his method in court, and fled the country before sentencing. Proust later immortalized the episode in “The Lemoine Affair.”

7 Lord Gordon Gordon

The true name of the man known as Lord Gordon Gordon has been lost to history, as have his origins. In the late 19th century, he masqueraded as a British nobleman, convincing banks, law firms, and jewelers to part with large sums.

His first recorded appearance came in 1868 when he attempted to acquire a Scottish estate by posing as Lord Glencairn. After being uncovered, he fled to America, but not before duping multiple financial institutions and a jeweler.

In Minnesota, he resurfaced as Lord Gordon Gordon, targeting the burgeoning railway industry. Colonel J. Loomis, land commissioner for the Northern Pacific Railway, squandered $45 000 of railroad funds courting Gordon, believing he would invest millions.

In 1872, Gordon traveled to New York and enticed railroad magnate Jay Gould, promising control over 60 000 Erie Railway shares. Gould bribed Gordon with roughly $1 million in stock and $200 000 in cash, only to discover two weeks later that Gordon was a fraud. Gould sued, but Gordon had already cashed the stock and escaped to Canada.

Gould’s attempts to extradite or even kidnap Gordon failed. In 1874, a jeweler in Edinburgh, Marshall & Sons, identified Gordon as the earlier Lord Glencairn, linking him to a £25 000 theft. Rather than face deportation, Gordon hosted a farewell party in Manitoba, then took his own life.

8 Hungry Joe

Joseph Lewis, better known as Hungry Joe, was a prolific swindler operating in late‑19th‑century New York. His preferred con involved coaxing affluent marks into fixed bunco games—a popular parlor pastime of the era.

Joe’s reputation as the “king of the Bunco Men” grew after he bilked high‑profile victims such as General John A. Logan, Judge Noah Davis of New York, and politician Charles Francis Adams, son of John Quincy Adams.

His most famous mark was literary legend Oscar Wilde. During Wilde’s 1882 U.S. tour, Hungry Joe lured him into a bunco game and walked away with $5 000. Wilde escaped financial ruin by issuing a check that he managed to invalidate before it cleared.

Although authorities were aware of Hungry Joe, he wasn’t convicted until 1885 when he attempted to swindle British manufacturer Joseph Ramsden. Posing as a respectable businessman, Joe encouraged a bunco match, but when Ramsden hesitated, Joe seized the cash and fled. Ramsden identified him, leading to a four‑year sentence.

Upon release, Joe was quickly rearrested for another con, receiving an additional ten‑year term. His career exemplifies the relentless pursuit of profit through charm and deception.

9 Oscar Hartzell

In 1915, the mother of Oscar Hartzell invested $6 500 in a dubious venture. She, along with countless Midwestern Americans, believed they could profit by suing the British government over the estate of famed 16th‑century explorer Sir Francis Drake.

Initially, the scam targeted only individuals bearing the Drake surname, convincing them they were descendants of the wealthy navigator. The scheme proved so lucrative that it expanded to anyone willing to invest.

Hartzell, thinking the opportunity legitimate, was hired as a recruiter by the masterminds—a woman named Sudie Whittaker and her lawyer, Milo Lewis. After traveling to England, Hartzell realized the con’s true nature and seized the chance to take over the operation, exploiting infighting between Whittaker and Lewis.

The racket persisted for fifteen years while Hartzell luxuriated in London. It wasn’t until 1933 that a postal inspector exposed the fraud, leading to Hartzell’s deportation to the United States.

Although sentenced to ten years, Hartzell kept the scheme alive for another year with his brother’s help. By its peak, the swindler had conned tens of thousands, netting $20 000 a month.

10 William Thompson

William Thompson’s crimes weren’t especially audacious, but his place in history is secure: he was the first person ever labeled a “confidence man.”

Active in mid‑19th‑century New York City, Thompson cut a genteel figure, sporting courteous manners that allowed him to approach affluent strangers and strike up conversations as if they were old acquaintances.

After a few minutes of friendly chatter, he would politely ask his new companion if they possessed the confidence to entrust him with their watch until the following day. Occasionally, he requested a modest loan, and bewilderingly, people obliged. Thompson would then walk away with the watch—or the cash—while his marks stared, unsure of what had just transpired.

In July 1849, Thompson was arrested after Thomas McDonald, one of his victims, reported him. Earlier that year, Thompson had approached McDonald on the street, used his usual tactics, and walked away with a gold lever watch valued at $110. When the two later crossed paths again, McDonald alerted a police officer, leading to Thompson’s capture despite his protests and attempts to resist.

Back in 2019 I cracked open Can’t Hurt Me: Master Your Mind and Defy the Odds by the legendary former Navy SEAL David Goggins. The moment I started flipping pages, I was glued to the narrative, powering through the entire book in a single marathon reading session. Goggins, often celebrated as “the hardest man alive,” boasts the rare distinction of having conquered three of the world’s toughest military training pipelines: Navy SEAL training, Army Ranger School, and the Air Force’s Tactical Air Controller course. On top of that, he’s an ultramarathon phenom who routinely tackles races stretching beyond 100 miles (162 kilometers).

One chapter that sticks with me is Chapter 4, titled “Taking Souls.” Goggins explains that when SEAL candidates hit the point of no return during the grueling Hell Week—a relentless 130‑hour ordeal—their only signal of surrender is a triple toll of a massive brass bell. That resounding clang marks their exit, a literal ringing of the bell to announce defeat.

Inspired by that notion, I set out to compile a roster of people, creatures, and machines that met their own version of that bell‑ringing finale. Whether it was a fighter delivering a knockout that shattered a skull, a predator executing a death‑roll, or a star‑ship sending a foe into a black hole, each story showcases an unmistakable finishing move that forced the opponent to ring the metaphorical bell. Sit back, relax, and join me as we count down ten of history’s most unforgettable bell‑ringing finishing moves.

10 History 8217: The Ultimate Countdown of Bell‑Ringing Finishing Moves

10 Michael “Venom” Page Causes Power Outage in Opponent’s Brain (2016)

Everyone loves the sweet taste of victory, but a handful of competitors are wired to chase an almost brutal level of domination. Michael “Venom” Page—better known by his moniker MVP—is a prime illustration of that mindset. This British mixed‑martial‑arts star, who later earned a spot in the UFC, was fighting for Bellator in 2016 when he delivered a knockout that still echoes in MMA lore. MVP blends an unorthodox striking style with a swagger that skirts the line between confidence and outright showboating.

The moment that cemented his reputation came against Evangelista “Cyborg” Santos. MVP launched a flying knee that slammed directly into Santos’s skull, a weapon that draws on the combined force of the glutes, quadriceps, and core to produce a bone‑crushing impact. The strike was so ferocious that it fractured Santos’s cranium in an instant, effectively turning off the lights for his brain.

Adding a theatrical flourish, MVP pretended to capture his fallen foe, mimicking the act of catching a Pokémon—a nod to the wildly popular Pokémon GO at the time. He even arranged for a prop to be handed over the moment he secured the win, turning a brutal finish into a pop‑culture spectacle.

9 Sugar Ray Robinson’s Famous One‑Punch Knockout (1957)

While the 2015 blockbuster Avengers: Age of Ultron gave us a memorable showdown between the Hulk and Tony Stark’s Hulkbuster suit, the real-life drama unfolded back in 1957 when boxing legend Sugar Ray Robinson delivered a single, decisive blow that sent his opponent into the dark. On May 1, 1957, the 35‑year‑old Robinson faced the resilient middleweight champion Gene Fullmer, a fighter famed for his iron chin and relentless pressure.

Fullmer dominated the opening four rounds, pushing a relentless pace that would have worn down any adversary. Yet Robinson, ever the tactician, studied his rival’s habits and discovered that Fullmer habitually dropped his guard when throwing a right hand. Seizing the opening, Robinson feigned a punch to draw Fullmer’s defense down, then unleashed a short, perfectly timed left hook that connected flush with Fullmer’s chin.

The impact was instantaneous—Fullmer’s lights went out for the first and only time in his 64‑fight career. Robinson later described the strike as “the most perfect punch of my career,” adding another legendary knockout to his already impressive résumé of over 100 career KOs.

8 Alligator’s Infamous Death Roll Instantly Ends Its Prey’s Suffering

The death roll stands as one of nature’s most fearsome finishing maneuvers. While many predators rely on a single bite or strike, crocodilians such as alligators and crocodiles face a unique mechanical challenge: their jaws excel at crushing and gripping, yet they lack the dental architecture to chew large prey. To solve this, they evolved a rotational attack that dismembers their victims.

During the death roll, an alligator first ambushes its target, dragging it into the water and clamping down with its powerful jaws. It then initiates a rapid, relentless spin of its entire body, using the resistance of the surrounding water to generate massive torsional force. This spinning action tears the prey apart into smaller, manageable sections that the reptile can swallow whole.

For any creature caught in that grip, the battle ends instantly—there is no viable escape, no defense against the sheer physics of the roll. The death roll epitomizes a primal, unyielding finishing move that forces the opponent to ring the bell of defeat.

7 The USS Enterprise Sends a Romulan Ship on a One‑Way Journey into a Black Hole (2258)

While I strive to keep this countdown grounded in reality, I couldn’t omit a cinematic masterpiece that perfectly captures a spectacular finishing move. In J.J. Abrams’s 2009 reboot of Star Trek, the USS Enterprise faces off against the Romulan mining behemoth Narada, a vessel armed with the exotic substance Red Matter capable of birthing black holes.

The climax sees Spock piloting a modest Vulcan craft loaded with Red Matter, colliding head‑on with the Narada. The impact triggers an implosion that creates a singularity, a black hole that begins devouring the Romulan ship from within. With the Narada crippled and being torn apart, Captain Kirk orders a barrage of phasers and photon torpedoes, sealing the enemy’s fate as the black hole consumes it entirely.

The Romulan captain Nero refuses Kirk’s offer of rescue, choosing instead to watch his vessel vanish. The scene delivers one of cinema’s most memorable finishing moves—a combination of scientific ingenuity and raw firepower that sends the opponent spiraling into oblivion.

6 Golden Eagle Tenderizes a Goat’s Meat with a Brutal Drop (2008)

Eagles rank among the most formidable predators on the planet, boasting vision that outpaces human sight by a factor of four to eight. Their eyes resolve detail at 20/5 versus the human 20/20, allowing them to spot prey the size of a rabbit from over two miles away. The golden eagle, in particular, targets large, sure‑footed mammals such as mountain goats and ibex.

When faced with prey that exceeds the eagle’s lift capacity—generally anything over roughly 4.4 pounds (2 kg)—the bird forgoes a traditional carry. Instead, it employs gravity as an ally: the eagle claws the animal, then hurls or pushes it off a precarious cliff edge. The resulting free‑fall delivers a fatal impact as the goat smashes against the valley floor below.

Once the prey is incapacitated by the drop, the golden eagle swoops in to claim its meal. This strategic use of height and momentum showcases a natural finishing move that forces the victim to ring the bell of death without a single bite.

5 Chicago Bears Quarterback Justin Fields Gets His Bell Rung (2021)

Justin Fields entered the NFL as one of the most promising high‑school quarterbacks of the 2018 class, eventually being selected in the first round of the 2021 draft by the Chicago Bears. His initiation into professional football took a harsh turn on August 21, 2021, during a preseason clash against the Buffalo Bills.

In the fourth quarter, Bills linebacker Andre Smith burst through the line, bypassing Bears protection and slamming into a distracted Fields. The hit was a vicious, illegal helmet‑to‑helmet collision that ripped Fields’s helmet clean off his head, resulting in a personal‑foul penalty for roughing the passer and an automatic first down for Chicago.

Smith was later fined $5,806 by the league, while Fields, though shaken, kept his composure. The incident served as a stark reminder that the NFL’s level of physicality far exceeds that of high school or college play, forcing Fields to adapt quickly and “ring the bell” on his rookie season’s learning curve.

4 Present)

Rats are notoriously nearsighted and suffer from poor depth perception, yet they compensate with an acute sensitivity to motion and tactile cues from their whiskers. Between 2020 and 2024, researchers in northern Germany observed a startling new hunting behavior in brown rats (Rattus norvegicus), later published in 2025.

The rodents demonstrated the ability to snatch bats mid‑flight in total darkness. Scientists hypothesize that the rats detect the subtle air‑current disturbances generated by the bats’ wingbeats, allowing their whiskers to pinpoint the prey’s location despite the lack of visual cues. Captured bats, often taken from platforms near cave entrances, were either devoured immediately or stored for later consumption.

This discovery highlights how predators can evolve novel finishing moves to exploit new food sources. The rat’s mastery of motion detection enables it to overcome a bat’s aerial advantage—at least for now.

3 Tiny French Nuclear Submarine Scores a Kill of a U.S. Navy Aircraft Carrier (2015)

In the realm of naval warfare, simulated victories hold as much weight as real ones, as they expose potential vulnerabilities. During a joint exercise off Florida’s coast in 2015, the U.S. Carrier Strike Group 12—centered around the $4.5 billion nuclear‑powered carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt—found itself outmaneuvered by the French Rubis‑class attack submarine Saphir.

Despite its relatively modest size compared to the massive carrier, Saphir slipped past multiple layers of anti‑submarine defenses, including escort ships and a U.S. nuclear submarine. The French vessel achieved a covert firing solution, earning credit for “sinking” the Theodore Roosevelt and four of its escorts in the wargame scenario.

The outcome served as a stark wake‑up call for the U.S. Navy, revealing that even the most formidable surface combatants can be vulnerable to a small, stealthy submarine. The incident, initially publicized on a French Navy blog and later removed, underscores the silent but deadly nature of undersea warfare.

2 Army Ants Neutralize and Eat Any Foe (2012)

The moniker “army ants” perfectly captures the behavior of over 200 ant species that operate like coordinated military units. These insects launch overwhelming assaults on prey, employing sheer numbers to dominate their targets.

When army ants engage a victim, they swarm en masse, using massive, scissor‑like mandibles to slice through flesh while simultaneously releasing chemicals that break down soft tissue. Their attacks are relentless, turning the prey’s fate into an instant, collective demolition—essentially a living executioner that leaves no chance for escape.

A 2012 National Geographic video vividly showcases this terrifying efficiency, illustrating how a single colony can incapacitate and devour its quarry in moments. Encountering a marching column of army ants is a clear signal to flee at top speed.

1 One‑Punch Knockout Sends Boxer Maurice Harris to an Astral Plane (1999)

On November 6, 1999, heavyweight Maurice Harris faced off against the powerful left‑hander Derrick “Smoke” Jefferson. The bout, which had been a hard‑fought contest, reached its climax in the third round when Jefferson sensed Harris’s weakening stance.

Seizing the moment, Jefferson unleashed a devastating left hook that connected flush with Harris’s chin. The impact was so overwhelming that Harris’s mouthguard flew from his mouth, and he collapsed to the canvas in a serene, almost meditative state, as if he had been transported to an astral plane.

The knockout was immediate—no referee count was needed. Observers later described the scene as one of boxing’s most astonishing finishes, cementing Jefferson’s reputation for delivering a single, world‑shaking blow.

Duels once stood as the ultimate expression of aristocratic honor, a formal way for the privileged to resolve disputes. Yet, not every duel followed the classic script of pistols or swords. The following ten episodes—each more outlandish than the last—show how 10 history 8217 is peppered with contests that defy expectations, some of which never even happened.

Why 10 History 8217 Loves Odd Duels

10. Billiard Balls

Sometimes a gentleman’s disagreement escalates into a formal duel, but other times it spirals into something that feels more like a reckless fraternity challenge. On a quiet September day in 1843, a heated argument erupted over a billiards match in Maisonfort, France. The two players, Melfant and Lenfant, could not settle their dispute through words, so they elected to duel—ironically choosing billiard balls as their weapons because the quarrel stemmed from the game itself.

They drew lots to decide who would throw first; Melfant won. Following the customary twelve‑pace distance, he shouted, “I will kill you with my first throw!” and hurled the ball. It struck Lenfant squarely on the forehead, killing him instantly. Though Melfant technically won, his victory was short‑lived; authorities deemed the duel unlawful, leading to his arrest, trial, and conviction for manslaughter.

The episode remains a stark reminder that even seemingly harmless objects can become deadly when honor is at stake, and that the law of the time did not always view such improvised duels as respectable.

9. Abraham Lincoln’s Near Duel

If you think trolling is a modern invention, think again—Abraham Lincoln proved otherwise. In 1842, Illinois State Auditor James Shields advocated closing the financially troubled Illinois State Bank. Lincoln, disagreeing vehemently, chose not to argue directly but to launch a satirical campaign. He penned a scathing letter to the Sangamo Journal under the pseudonym “Rebecca,” mocking Shields’ ego and even joking about his inability to marry women.

Shields, incensed by the personal attacks, demanded a duel to restore his honor. As the challenged party, Lincoln was allowed to set the terms. He selected massive cavalry broadswords, giving his 6‑foot‑4‑inch frame a clear advantage over Shields’ 5‑foot‑9‑inch stature. The two met on Missouri’s Bloody Island, but the duel ended abruptly when Lincoln chopped down an overhead branch, prompting Shields to call a truce and walk away.

Lincoln’s choice of weapon and his clever deflection turned a potentially lethal encounter into a whimsical footnote in his early career, illustrating how wit could sometimes outweigh steel.

8. Proust Duels His Critic

Literary critic Jean Lorrain launched a vicious assault on Marcel Proust, labeling him “one of those small‑time fops in literary heat” and insinuating a scandalous homosexual liaison with Lucien Daudet. Lorrain’s reputation for sensationalist attacks made his accusations all the more poisonous, and Proust, unwilling to let his reputation be tarnished, issued a challenge to a duel.

The two met in the forest of Meudon, exchanging pistol fire. Neither sustained injuries, and the duel concluded with the matter declared settled. This confrontation offers a tantalizing glimpse into the personal stakes behind Proust’s later work, especially the ambiguous sexuality of the protagonist in Swann’s Way, which scholars have linked to the author’s own hidden struggles.

Thus, a literary disagreement escalated into a literal showdown, underscoring how personal honor could spill over from the page to the battlefield in 10 history 8217.

7. The South’s Dramatic Duelist

Dueling was intended as a gentleman’s method of dispute resolution, yet some individuals took it to obsessive extremes. Kentucky’s notorious duelist Alexander Keith McClung, dubbed the “Black Knight of the South,” challenged opponents for no discernible reason—often simply because he could. His reputation for reckless dueling spread across the United States and even into Uruguay, where he is believed to have killed more than ten men.

McClung’s self‑destructive reputation spiraled: each duel amplified his notoriety, leading to heavier drinking and a shorter fuse. Social circles began to avoid him, and a Southern society lady chronicled his morbid fascination with cemeteries and his eventual suicide in Jackson, Mississippi, in 1855.

The tragic arc of McClung’s life illustrates how the culture of dueling could become a vortex of violence and despair, consuming even the most flamboyant of its participants.

6. Ben Jonson

Ben Jonson, the celebrated playwright and occasional actor of Shakespeare’s era, enjoyed a career riddled with controversy. While his first play, Every Man In His Humor, featured Shakespeare, Jonson’s later work, The Isle of Dogs, landed him in trouble for allegedly inciting rebellion, resulting in his imprisonment for sedition.

The details of his duel remain murky, but it ended with the death of fellow actor Gabriel Spencer, a leading man in their troupe. Jonson faced serious charges, yet he escaped severe punishment by invoking the “benefit of clergy”—a legal loophole that allowed literate individuals to receive leniency. He proved his literacy in Latin, securing only a brief two‑week jail stint, though he later endured incarceration in Newgate Prison where he converted to Catholicism.

Jonson’s brush with the law highlights the precarious balance between artistic expression and the strict moral codes of his time, a theme that resonates throughout 10 history 8217’s most eccentric confrontations.

5. George Frideric Handel

George Frideric Handel, revered for masterpieces like the Messiah, almost lost his life to a duel over a seemingly trivial dispute. While living in Hamburg, he shared a residence with fellow composer Johann Mattheson. Their rivalry intensified during a joint performance of Mattheson’s opera Cleopatra, where Mattheson juggled conducting and acting while Handel played harpsichord.

When it was time for Mattheson to take the reins, Handel refused to hand over the baton, sparking a heated confrontation that spilled into the street. Spectators, ever eager for drama, heckled the two musicians until they agreed to settle matters with swords. The duel ended in a stalemate, and Mattheson later claimed his blade broke upon striking one of Handel’s coat buttons, sparing his opponent from a fatal blow.

Despite the near‑fatal clash, the two reconciled and maintained a lifelong correspondence, reminding us that even the most celebrated artists of 10 history 8217 could be prone to impulsive, sword‑wielding tempers.

4. The Duel Over The Donner Party

After the tragic fate of the Donner Party, California Secretary of State James Denver announced a bill promising aid to travelers crossing the Sierra Nevada, explicitly mentioning the remaining Donner members. When a supply convoy set out, the Daily Alta California editor Edward Gilbert accused Denver of exploiting the disaster for political gain, using language deemed “unmistakably discourteous.”

Incensed, Gilbert challenged Denver to a duel. The first exchange saw Gilbert survive, but he fell in the second round, succumbing to a shot from the general. Denver attempted to halt further bloodshed, but Gilbert stubbornly refused reconciliation, forcing Denver to defend his honor. The duel cemented the practice’s lingering respect in the 1850s and propelled Denver later to the governorship of Kansas Territory, lending his name to Denver, Colorado.

This episode demonstrates how personal vendettas could intertwine with public policy, turning a humanitarian initiative into a lethal showdown within 10 history 8217.

3. The Legend Of Mark Twain’s Duel

Mark Twain famously declared, “I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him.” This paradoxical stance reflects his own tangled relationship with dueling folklore. While working for the Territorial Enterprise, Twain became embroiled in a heated exchange of insults with editor James Laird, culminating in a challenge that remains shrouded in mystery.

Twain, notoriously poor with a firearm, practiced with his second, aware of his own inability to hit a barn door. His second, however, was a sharpshooter. When they claimed Twain had decapitated a bird, Laird accepted the story and called off the duel, sparing both men from bloodshed.

The gun Twain once used now resides in the Nevada Historical Society, which continues to investigate the authenticity of this anecdote, adding another layer to the mythic tapestry of 10 history 8217’s most curious confrontations.

2. The Court‑Ordered Medieval Duel

In 1386, the Parisian courts resorted to a duel to resolve a high‑stakes legal dispute, marking the final instance a French court mandated such a trial by combat. Sir Jean de Carrouges, a knight away on overseas duty, returned to find his wife allegedly assaulted by squire Jacques Le Gris, a favored court official. Le Gris instructed the lady to stay silent, promising disbelief if she spoke.

When Carrouges pressed charges, the court, unable to ascertain truth, ordered a duel before the king’s return. The loser faced execution, and if Carrouges lost, his wife would be burned. The duel concluded with Le Gris falling to a wounded knight’s blade; he was later hanged, sealing the case.

This dramatic resolution underscores the brutal legal customs of medieval France and provides a vivid illustration of how honor and law intersected in 10 history 8217.

1. The Princess And The Countess

Dueling was not solely a male domain; a 1892 showdown between Princess Pauline Metternich and Countess Kielmannsegg proved otherwise. While debating floral arrangements for a musical exhibition, their disagreement escalated to a sword duel, overseen by Baroness Lubinska, a medically trained woman who suggested the combatants fight topless to avoid infection from potential cuts.

The two women partially disrobed and clashed. The princess drew first blood with a facial wound, but her shock caused her to ignore the next strike, leaving her forearm pierced. Their seconds fainted at the sight of blood, while Lubinska tended to their injuries.

The sensational image of two aristocratic women dueling in the nude spread rapidly, inspiring numerous paintings that celebrated these “emancipating duels,” cementing their place in the annals of 10 history 8217’s most unconventional confrontations.

When we talk about the French Revolution, the phrase “10 horrific episodes” instantly conjures images of guillotines, mob justice, and heart‑stopping tragedy. From the storming of the Bastille in 1789 to Napoleon’s coup a decade later, France was a cauldron of violence, intrigue, and relentless bloodshed. Below, we count down the ten most chilling moments that still send shivers down the spine of historians.

10 Horrific Episodes Unveiled

10. The Attempted Suicide Of Nicolas Chamfort

Nicolas Chamfort, a celebrated playwright of the late 1700s, earned fame for snappy maxims like “War to the châteaux, peace to the cottages.” Oddly, his birth records are a mystery: one lists a modest grocer, Nicolas François, and his wife Therese Croizet as parents; another leaves his lineage blank, hinting at possible adoption.

Despite these humble or uncertain beginnings, Chamfort’s brilliance shone through a scholarship‑funded education. He rose from teacher to acclaimed dramatist, earning patronage and the admiration of the Académie Française. His career eventually placed him as secretary to the king’s sister, a position that would later become perilous.

When the Revolution ignited, Chamfort threw his lot in with the Jacobins, penning revolutionary pamphlets and serving as their secretary. By 1793, repulsed by the radicals’ escalating savagery, he switched to a moderate faction. His outspoken criticism landed him a brief imprisonment, and the specter of another arrest loomed.

Desperate, Chamfort locked himself in his study in September 1793 and attempted suicide. He fired a pistol at his own face, shattering jaw and nose, yet miraculously survived. He then seized a paper knife, slashing at his throat and torso, but the wounds did not prove fatal. A servant found him, and Chamfort lingered for six agonizing months before finally succumbing to his injuries.

9. The Lynching Of Joseph Foullon De Doue

In 1789, Joseph‑François Foullon de Doué stepped into the role of Controller‑General of Finances, replacing the beloved Jacques Necker. While Necker enjoyed popular support, Foullon was reviled as a cold aristocratic shill, rumored—though unverified—to have muttered, “If they have no bread, let them eat hay.”

Necker’s dismissal sparked the storming of the Bastille on July 14. Foullon, already suspected of hoarding grain, fled to Viry‑Chatillon, even staging a fake funeral to mask his disappearance. Nevertheless, a mob uncovered his hideout, seized him, and bound him with ropes.

The mob crowned his neck with a thistle garland, forced him to gulp vinegar, and marched him to the Hôtel de Ville for a mock trial. When the crowd grew impatient, they stuffed his mouth with hay, attempted to hang him twice (the rope snapping each time), and finally succeeded on the third try. His severed head was paraded on a pike, sealing his fate in the annals of 10 horrific episodes.

8. The Lynching Of Berthier De Sauvigny

Berthier de Sauvigny, a Parisian administrator and son‑in‑law of Joseph Foullon, found himself caught in the same murderous frenzy. While being escorted to trial, he and his accompanying soldier crossed paths with the jubilant mob that had just hanged Foullon. The crowd dragged them to the Hôtel de Ville, demanding Sauvigny be hung alongside his father‑in‑law.

The mayor attempted to protect him, handing him over to guards for safe transport. Yet the mob overran the building, seized Sauvigny, and forced him to a lamppost. In a desperate act, he snatched a musket and swung it at his attackers, but the effort proved futile.

The mob riddled him with bayonet wounds, then a soldier slit his chest, pulling out his still‑beating heart. Finally, his head was torn from his body, mirroring Foullon’s gruesome end. The scene was so graphic that the soldier who displayed the heart was himself slain by a fellow soldier later that night.

7. The October March

On October 1, 1789, while Paris starved from a failed harvest, the royal guard threw a lavish banquet for King Louis XVI and his family at Versailles. News of the feast inflamed the already famished populace, especially after rumors that the revolutionary tricolour had been trampled.

By October 5, a crowd of over 4,000 women and several hundred men swore to bring the monarchs back to Paris, promising to bring bread along. When they stormed the palace courtyard, a royal soldier fired on a protester, killing him and igniting a chaotic rush.

The mob surged into the palace, decapitating two bodyguards with a tiny axe and parading their heads on poles—one even carried by a child. When the royal couple appeared on the balcony, Louis XVI promised to return to Paris if his guards were spared. The mob, armed with poles and commandeered flour carts, escorted the king, queen, and a few loyal guards back to the capital, ending a century of residence at Versailles.

6. The Murder Of The Princesse De Lamballe

Born in 1749 in Turin, Marie‑Thérèse Louise de Savoie‑Carignan married the Prince de Lamballe at seventeen. The prince died a year later, and a sympathetic Marie Antoinette invited the young widow to Versailles, where she quickly became one of the queen’s closest confidantes and Superintendent of the Queen’s Household.

Beyond her court duties, the Princesse de Lamballe was a Grand Mistress of women’s Masonic lodges and a noted philanthropist. However, gossip‑mongers smeared her as one of the queen’s alleged lesbian lovers, a rumor that would later fuel public hatred.

In June 1791, after the royal family’s failed flight, she fled to England but soon returned to France. By August 1792, she was imprisoned in La Force while the queen was held at the Temple. A month later, a furious mob stormed her cell, demanding she renounce the queen. When she refused, they savagely beat her to death, mutilated her body, and beheaded her. Her head was mounted on a pike and paraded to the queen’s windows, where onlookers allegedly shouted for the monarch to kiss her old friend’s lips.

5. The Execution Of Guillaume‑Chretien De Lamoignon De Malesherbes

Guillaume‑Chretien de Lamoignon de Malesherbes, great‑grandfather of historian Alexis de Tocqueville, was a noble lawyer who championed reforms under France’s final monarchs. In 1750, he became Director of the Press, granting permission for the first volumes of Diderot’s controversial Encyclopédie, a cornerstone of Enlightenment thought.

Between 1775 and 1776, Malesherbes served as Secretary of State for Louis XVI, overhauling the prison system and curbing the abusive use of lettres de cachet—royal orders that could imprison citizens without trial. Frustrated by the king’s reluctance to back his reforms, he resigned and spent the next thirteen years advocating for French Protestants’ legal rights.

When the revolutionary tribunal tried Louis XVI in December 1792, Malesherbes joined the defense team. The king was executed the following month, and Malesherbes himself was arrested later that year, accused of counter‑revolutionary activity. Before meeting the guillotine, he was forced to watch his daughter and grandchildren die, a harrowing prelude to his own execution.

4. The Murder Of Anne Durif

In pre‑revolutionary France, the Catholic Church owned roughly six percent of the nation’s land and collected an agricultural tithe, making it both powerful and wealthy. Enlightenment thinkers lambasted the clergy for corruption and intolerance, a sentiment that intensified after the Revolution seized and nationalized Church property.

Anne Durif, a former nun, married Etienne Chabozi to escape financial insecurity—a choice that drew scorn from local clergy. In June 1797, authorities were alerted to a pitchfork wound that had allegedly killed her. Earlier that year, she had attended Easter Mass with her husband, only to be expelled after a priest labeled her “the Antichrist.”

Initial police reports claimed Durif fell onto a pitchfork in the barn, but neighbors soon revealed Chabozi’s deceit. He had refused a companion’s offer to attend church with him that morning, and witnesses reported threats and screams. Investigation uncovered that Chabozi deliberately thrust a pitchfork into his wife’s vagina to induce an abortion; the unborn child was stillborn, and Durif died a few days later from the grievous injury. Chabozi was guillotined, and the scandal was weaponized by revolutionary papers to fan anti‑Church sentiment.

3. The Nantes Drownings

During the Reign of Terror, Republican official Jean‑Baptiste Carrier orchestrated the mass drowning of alleged royalist sympathizers in Nantes. His brutality spared no one: pregnant women, children, the elderly, and even a woman who allegedly stared at him from a window was shot on the spot.

Many victims were stripped naked, bound together, their heads battered with musket ends, and then tossed into the Loire River in a grotesque ceremony dubbed a “Republican marriage.” In one notorious incident, soldiers tasked with transporting 155 prisoners to a fortress on Belle‑Isle became intoxicated, returning with only 129. When superiors demanded the quota be met, the soldiers seized additional detainees—people not on any list—and threw them directly into the river.

Another horrifying episode involved prisoners pleading for mercy; instead of rescue, their limbs were cut off, and they were placed aboard a boat that deliberately sank, drowning them all at once. Carrier’s ruthless tactics left an indelible scar on French memory.

2. The Execution Of Olympe De Gouges

Olympe de Gouges, a playwright and activist, remains celebrated for her anti‑slavery drama “The Slavery of Blacks” and her feminist manifesto, the “Declaration of the Rights of Woman and of the Female Citizen.” Born Marie Gouze in 1748, she married at sixteen, bore a son, and was widowed shortly thereafter. She later adopted the name Olympe de Gouges and moved to Paris, where she championed causes for women and children.

In 1789, the National Assembly proclaimed the “Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen,” yet the document excluded women. Two years later, Gouges responded with her own pamphlet, demanding equal rights for women and denouncing the revolution’s gender bias. Though she supported the revolution, she sided with the moderate Girondins and expressed admiration for King Louis XVI, horrified by his execution.

When the Girondins fell, Gouges lost protection. She was arrested, tried, and guillotined on November 4, 1793. Contemporary accounts noted that she “mistook her delirium for an inspiration of nature,” a chilling epitaph for a woman who dared to speak truth to power.

1. The Martyrs Of Compiegne

In September 1792, a group of Carmelite nuns were forced from their convent as anti‑Catholic decrees shut down churches and expelled clergy who refused to swear loyalty to the new Republic. Disguised in secular clothing, the nuns persisted in daily prayer and devotion for two more years.

By July 1794, amid the last throes of the Reign of Terror, sixteen of these sisters were seized, transferred to Paris, and imprisoned in the Conciergerie. Accused of counter‑revolutionary conspiracy, they received no legal representation, and the judges swiftly pronounced them guilty.

On July 17, the nuns were carted to the guillotine. Unlike the usual chaotic mobs, the crowd fell silent, awed by the sisters’ serene bravery. As they approached the scaffold, the nuns burst into a powerful hymn that resonated until the final sister’s head fell. Their bodies were dumped in a mass grave, and ten days later, the Terror itself collapsed. Pope Pius X beatified them in 1906, and their story inspired the opera “The Dialogues of the Carmelites” in 1956.

Welcome to a deep‑dive into 10 extraordinary facts about one of history’s most polarizing figures: Mao Zedong. The man who reshaped China left a trail of contradictions—brutal policies, bizarre personal habits, and surprising cultural contributions. Grab a cup of tea and settle in; we’re about to explore the lesser‑known corners of his life, from peasant beginnings to the Little Red Book’s global domination.

10 He Came From A Peasant Family

Despite the seismic impact he would later have on China, Mao Zedong’s origins were remarkably modest. Born on December 26, 1893, in Shaoshan—a tiny village in Hunan province—he grew up in a household that blended Buddhist compassion (his mother, Wen Qimei) with Confucian rigor (his father, Mao Yichang). Though the family initially faced debt from Mao’s grandfather, Yichang turned things around by lending money and buying land from poorer peasants, eventually becoming one of the village’s wealthier families.

This relative affluence meant the young Mao could attend school, a luxury unheard of for most villagers. He proved a bright pupil, yet his rebellious streak showed early: kicked out of school three times by age 13 for defying rules. He returned at 16 to a school in Xiangxiang, 27 km away, where his battered peasant attire drew ridicule but also forged friendships with teachers and classmates. Shaoshan itself was isolated—no newspapers, no modern amenities—yet Mao absorbed news of the fallen Qing emperor and the infant ruler Puyi, laying the groundwork for his revolutionary worldview.

9 He Was First Married At Only 14 Years Old

Mao’s matrimonial life began in 1908 when he was merely 14, forced into marriage with an 18‑year‑old cousin, Luo Yigu. The match was arranged by his father and Luo’s father, Helou, without Mao ever meeting his bride before the ceremony. Unhappy from the start, Mao reportedly preferred another cousin, Wang Shigu, but was denied due to an incompatible horoscope.

He treated Luo with open disdain, refusing to share a room or even a bed, insisting she would distract him from his studies. After the wedding, Luo lingered in the Mao household as a presumed concubine to Yichang, but her life ended abruptly in 1910 from dysentery at age 19. Mao showed no remorse, later telling journalist Edgar Snow that he never considered her his wife. This early marital episode foreshadowed his later cold detachment from personal relationships.

8 He Was An Accomplished Poet

Beyond his political ferocity, Mao cultivated a reputation as a classical poet. While many balk at the notion of a mass‑murdering tyrant dabbling in verse, scholars note the quality of his work—some even comparing it favorably to Churchill’s poetry, though others dismiss it as mediocre. Mao’s poems were steeped in traditional Chinese styles; he began writing as a child, but his first collection did not appear until January 1957.

During the Cultural Revolution, his verses became compulsory reading in schools, and students memorized them verbatim. Devotees even etched entire poems onto rice grains or mountain cliffs, demonstrating the extraordinary reach of his literary influence—whether genuine admiration or state‑driven propaganda.

7 He Wrote The Second‑Most‑Printed Book Of All Time

Quotations from Chairman Mao Zedong, colloquially known as the Little Red Book, ranks as the world’s second‑most printed work after the Bible. First issued in 1964 for the People’s Liberation Army, the pocket‑sized red volume became a quasi‑religious text during the Cultural Revolution. Possession of a copy was mandatory; destroying it could result in imprisonment.

Between 1966 and 1971, official prints topped one billion copies, supplemented by countless pirated editions. The book spread to over 100 nations, translated into dozens of languages, and inspired Maoist movements from Peru to the United States. Even far‑right groups, like Italy’s People’s Fight, praised its nationalist fervor. After Mao’s death and the ensuing chaos, the Chinese government withdrew more than 100 million copies, labeling the book a “widespread and pernicious influence.”

6 He Allowed Intellectuals To Criticize His Government And Then Turned On Them

The 1957 Hundred Flowers Campaign seemed like an unprecedented liberalization: Mao invited writers and scholars to voice criticisms, promising that constructive feedback would be welcomed. He likened ideas to blooming flowers, hoping “a hundred flowers” would flourish. By summer, Premier Zhou Enlai was inundated with millions of letters, many demanding reforms.

Suddenly, Mao reversed course, labeling dissenters “poisonous weeds.” The following year, the Anti‑Rightist Campaign swept up over 550,000 alleged critics, sending them to remote labor camps, exile, or execution. The brutal crackdown underscored Mao’s willingness to weaponize a façade of openness to entrap opponents, a tactic speculated to stem from his earlier frustrations as a low‑ranking librarian at Beijing University, where elite scholars snubbed him.

5 He Loved To Swim

Mao was an avid promoter of physical fitness and took personal pride in his swimming prowess. In 1966, as the Cultural Revolution loomed, the 72‑year‑old leader joined 5,000 participants in the Cross‑Yangtze Competition, swimming 16 km across the river in just over an hour—an event heavily publicized to showcase his vitality against weakened political rivals.

Earlier, during a 1958 visit from Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev, Mao invited the short, portly leader to join him in his private pool. Khrushchev, unable to swim, struggled in the shallow end with water wings, while Mao glided confidently through the deep end, clearly relishing the humiliation of his guest.

4 He Was A Shameless Pervert

Dr. Li Zhisui’s 1994 memoir, The Private Life of Chairman Mao, exposed a scandalous side of the Chairman. According to Li, Mao never bathed, brushed his teeth, or washed his hands. He suffered from an undescended testicle and occasional impotence, yet maintained a voracious sexual appetite, preferring young women and even under‑aged teenagers over his fourth wife, Jiang Qing.

His exploits included nude water ballets in his pool and the intentional spread of trichomoniasis—a parasitic STD—to dozens of women, who bizarrely wore the infection as a badge of honor. Li concluded that Mao was “devoid of human feeling, incapable of love, friendship, or warmth,” painting a portrait of a man who wielded sexual power with the same ruthlessness he applied to politics.

3 He Was A Feminist

Paradoxically, Mao championed women’s rights despite his personal misdeeds. His own arranged marriage spurred a series of essays (1919‑1920) condemning forced unions, inspired by a tragic story of a young woman who slit her throat after being compelled to marry. He advocated for equal rights—divorce, education, property ownership—culminating in the 1950 Marriage Law that outlawed arranged marriages, set minimum marriage ages (18 for women, 20 for men), and granted women the legal ability to divorce and own property.

While these reforms advanced gender equality, many men resented the changes, and women continued to face discrimination and wage gaps throughout the Maoist era. Nevertheless, the constitutional promise of “equal rights with men in all spheres of life” remains a cornerstone of modern Chinese law.

2 His Son Died In The Korean War

The Korean War (1950‑1953), known in China as the War to Resist US Aggression and Aid Korea, saw Mao dispatch over a million volunteers to aid North Korea. His own 28‑year‑old son, Anying, volunteered despite warnings from party elders. Mao famously asked, “Who will go if my son doesn’t?”

Anying perished in an American bombing raid just a month after China entered the conflict. Upon hearing the news, Mao reportedly could not eat or sleep, spending the rest of the day in grief and smoking. He later remarked, “It was his misfortune to be Mao Zedong’s son,” underscoring the personal cost of his political ambitions.

1 He Dramatically Improved His People’s Well‑Being

Ironically, Mao’s rule also ushered in substantial improvements for ordinary Chinese citizens. In 1949, life expectancy hovered at a bleak 36 years, and only 20 % of adults were literate. Massive public‑health initiatives, sanitation programs, and the establishment of universal medical care slashed infant mortality and lifted average life expectancy to 64 years by the late 1970s.

Education reforms dramatically increased literacy: by 1979, 66 % of adults could read and write, thanks to the simplification of Chinese characters and a nationwide school‑building campaign. Mao’s legacy endures in popular culture; taxi drivers display his portrait for good luck, and peasants keep statues in ancestral shrines. According to The Guardian, many still view him as a champion of egalitarianism, while today’s elite are seen as corrupt and indifferent.

These ten extraordinary facts paint a portrait of a man who was simultaneously a ruthless tyrant, a cultural icon, and a paradoxical reformer. Whether you admire or abhor him, Mao Zedong’s imprint on history remains undeniably profound.

If you thought the modern fantasy flick The Last Witch Hunter was outlandish, you haven’t yet met the real-life terror‑master Heinrich Kramer. Born circa 1430 and departing this world in 1505, Kramer was a German Dominican friar who turned his inquisitorial duties into a full‑blown crusade against witches. He earned a place in history as the first officially papal‑approved witch‑hunter, and his life is riddled with absurdities that still raise eyebrows. Below are ten delightfully bizarre facts about this medieval menace.

1 He Became An Advocate For Women After Writing The Misogynistic Malleus

Since the 1970s, feminist scholars have highlighted Kramer’s Malleus Maleficarum as a textbook example of medieval misogyny. He devoted an entire chapter to explaining why women, allegedly more prone to lust, made up the bulk of alleged witches. The Devil, they argued, seduced women who then lured men into his diabolical orgies. Critics have painted Kramer as a man driven by a deep, personal hatred of women. Yet recent scholarship by Tamar Herzig at the University of Jerusalem suggests a more nuanced picture. Herzig uncovered documents revealing that Kramer admired several Italian mystic women in his Dominican order, even testifying to the authenticity of their miraculous stigmata. He recommended some of these holy women as exemplars of true piety, challenging the prevailing patriarchal narrative. While his writings still echo a Madonna‑whore complex, his primary obsession appears to have been the vilification of heretics as Satan’s allies, not a blanket animus toward women.

2 He Believed Witches Were More Evil Than Satan Himself

Kramer’s theological treatise posits that witches surpass even the Prince of Darkness in wickedness. He builds a six‑point argument: first, while Satan fell from an angelic state, witches fell from a state of grace, making their sin more grievous. Second, unlike Satan, who is irredeemable, witches continue sinning after repeated punishments, showing a deeper malice. Third, witches, having been baptized, betray both Creator and Redeemer, whereas Satan only opposes the Creator. Fourth, paradoxically, God shows pity toward witches, while Satan receives none, highlighting the witches’ greater offense. Fifth, the repeated notion that witches sin after grace underscores their profound depravity. Finally, Kramer argues that Satan is a mere punisher, whereas God is a merciful persuader; thus, witches offend the most compassionate divine figure, rendering their evil supreme.

3 Traditional Trials By Ordeal Weren’t Witch‑Proof Enough

Kramer’s notorious double‑bind required a witch‑accused to die in order to prove innocence. In his era, the “trial by red‑hot iron” was popular: the suspect had to carry a glowing iron for three paces without dropping it. Failure meant guilt; success could exonerate, but witches allegedly cheated the test. Kramer recounts a case from the Diocese of Constance where a witch carried the iron for six paces, even offering to go farther. Rather than condemning her, the authorities released her, sparking scandal. This anecdote illustrates Kramer’s belief that even the most brutal ordeals could be subverted by witchcraft.

4 He Thought Witches Hid Magical Charms In Their ‘Unmentionable’ Bodily Cavities

Kramer prescribed elaborate safeguards for judges confronting witches. He urged the use of blessed salt capsules and the recitation of seven sacred words spoken by Christ on the cross. Witches, he warned, might try to glimpse the judge beforehand, believing that visualizing him could magically sway his judgment. Physical contact was forbidden, lest a witch cast a spell on the judge. Moreover, he insisted on stripping and shaving the accused, because witches allegedly concealed talismans in the most secret parts of their anatomy—places “which must not be named.” One tale describes a Hagenau witch crafting a charm from the ashes of unbaptized children, granting her a “power of silence” that prevented confession. Kramer noted that a lack of tears during torture signaled guilt, and he detailed various tricks witches used to evade detection, including sewing silencing charms into their flesh.

5 His Legacy Was Partly Built On Demonic Lettuce

To lend theological weight to his witch‑hunting manual, Kramer mined older sources for precedent. He cited Gregory the Great’s Gregorian Dialogues, which narrates a Rome overrun by witches and recounts the tale of a male witch, Basilius. After fleeing to a Spanish monastery, Basilius caused the abbot to levitate and tormented a nun. The nun later ate a seemingly ordinary lettuce in the garden, only to be seized by a demon that claimed it was merely “sitting on the lettuce.” The abbot expelled the demon, and Kramer seized this bizarre episode to bolster his arguments that witches wielded tangible, demonic power.

6 He Believed Witches Performed Remote Penectomies

Beyond shape‑shifting, Kramer claimed witches could magically sever a man’s genitalia. He argued that demons, sent by God as punishment, could physically remove a penis, echoing biblical plagues where God used angels to afflict bodily harm. However, most cases were “illusions” so convincing that victims truly believed their member was gone. Kramer asserted he had examined many such cases, noting that the sufferer’s senses could be deceived to the point of genuine belief. The only way to differentiate illusion from actual loss was if the organ reappeared; otherwise, the wound remained a mysterious, possibly permanent, magical injury.

7 He Believed Witches ‘Changed’ People Into Animals

Kramer wrestled with the theological conundrum of human‑to‑animal metamorphosis. Rejecting the notion that witches could truly turn flesh into beast, he invoked the writings of Saint Antoninus, who allowed that demons could create powerful illusions that fooled the senses. Kramer argued that witches, like the Devil, could project such phantasms, making victims *see* themselves as animals. He referenced Homer’s Circe as a precedent and recounted a case where a scorned lover hired a Jewish witch to turn his rejected girlfriend into a horse. The transformation, Kramer insisted, was a devil‑crafted illusion that nonetheless appeared real to all who beheld it.

8 His Book Became A Popular, Posthumous Hit

Although the Inquisition originally focused on serious heresy, witchcraft was not part of its jurisdiction. Kramer’s Malleus never achieved the “must‑have” status among his contemporaries. Yet after his death, the book exploded in popularity, especially among Protestant readers freed from Catholic hierarchical constraints. The printing press, already in widespread use, amplified its reach. The work helped fuel the witch‑hunt frenzy of the Reformation era, influencing both Catholic and Protestant persecutions well into the 17th and 18th centuries, even though Kramer himself never saw his manual become the definitive guide he imagined.

9 His Book Was Made Even More Effective By Popular Opposition

Armed with the papal bull of 1484, Kramer launched a witch‑hunt in Innsbruck the following summer. He initially faced stiff resistance from local clergy who found his interrogations—especially his fixation on the sexual conduct of accused women—distasteful. The papal endorsement persuaded Bishop Georg Golser of Brixen to issue 40‑day dispensations encouraging cooperation. Fifty individuals were accused, only two of whom were men. Kramer amassed written testimonies covering a wide array of alleged magical offenses, which later fed directly into the drafting of the Malleus. The trials, running from August to September 1485, generated a public uproar. When Kramer overstepped, demanding a defense lawyer for a woman he tried to link to sexual sorcery, the lawyer turned the tables, resulting in a mistrial. The backlash forced Kramer to retreat, but the experience sharpened his legal maneuvers for future witch‑hunting endeavors.

Kramer’s ambition required papal backing to legitimize his crusade against witches. To sway skeptical theologians, he added Jakob Sprenger—an esteemed scholar—as a co‑author of the Malleus, hoping Sprenger’s reputation would lend credibility. He then petitioned Pope Innocent VIII, arguing that satanic witchcraft threatened the German lands and the Church. The pope, in 1484, issued the bull Summis desiderantes affectibus, granting Kramer carte blanche to hunt witches throughout Germany without obstruction. This papal endorsement gave Kramer the authority to pursue his grim agenda with impunity, sealing his place as the first officially sanctioned witch‑hunter.

These ten absurd facts illuminate the strange, often contradictory world of Heinrich Kramer—a man whose zeal, theological gymnastics, and papal privileges forged a legacy that still haunts the annals of witchcraft history.

Over the ages, writers, philosophers, and politicians have fashioned a parade of images for the “ideal citizen.” In reviewing these archetypes, we see that not every one lives up to the lofty label—some are even downright chilling. This roundup of 10 personifications history shows the full spectrum, from lofty philosophers to grim totalitarian prototypes.

10 Ubermensch

The concept of the Ubermensch—sometimes rendered as “superman,” “overman,” or “beyond man”—became inseparably linked with the Third Reich and Nazi propaganda. To the Nazis, it symbolized everything they deemed pure and admirable about the Aryan race, while casting everything else as degenerate.

Although the term first surfaced in Nietzsche’s 1880s treatise Thus Spoke Zarathustra, the philosopher had been playing with the word since his teenage years. He never offered a crystal‑clear definition, leaving it open to interpretation.

Nietzsche envisioned the Ubermensch as a tangled figure: capable of tyrannical impulses yet ultimately rising above them to cooperate for the greater good. He saw this archetype as a balance of opposites—reason and passion, order and chaos—harmonized within a single individual.

In tandem with this balancing act, the Ubermensch assumes total responsibility for the world, refusing to blame any external force—be it God, the Devil, Christianity, or Judaism. The true Ubermensch would own every choice and its consequences.

Further, Nietzsche painted the Ubermensch as a free‑thinking global citizen, able to guide humanity’s evolution. He would discard the shackles of nation‑state identity, embracing a universal humanity. This lofty vision made the Nazis eager to appropriate the term for their own ends.

Ironically, the Nazis also invented the opposite, the Untermensch, twisting Nietzsche’s notion of a “sheeplike” ordinary person into a dehumanized class deemed worthy only of death.

9 The Randian Hero

Ayn Rand’s novels deliver a thunderous declaration about success, industry, and the human condition, giving rise to the archetype known as the Randian hero. These characters stand far from the traditional American ideal of self‑sacrifice and communal good.

Instead, they embody the ultimate capitalist magnate—towering tycoons who sit atop massive fortunes, caring only for themselves. Their moral compass points inward, with no room for altruism.

Rand famously asserted that a man’s first duty is to himself; for the Randian hero, that duty is absolute. Greed becomes a virtue, not a vice. Unlimited wealth is celebrated, and any means to achieve it are deemed acceptable, promising happiness without pain.

8 The Knight Of Faith And The Knight Of Resignation

Søren Kierkegaard draws a sharp contrast between two existential heroes: the knight of infinite resignation and the knight of faith. He illustrates their differences through the mythic tales of Agamemnon and Abraham, each forced to contemplate the sacrifice of a child.

Agamemnon, faced with the choice between his daughter Iphigenia and his people, opts for the collective good, surrendering his child to restore the winds needed for his army. This act makes him the knight of infinite resignation, bearing the weight of the world alone and accepting his grim role without protest.

Abraham, by contrast, receives a divine command to sacrifice his son Isaac. Yet, unlike Agamemnon, Abraham approaches the ordeal with unwavering faith, willingly walking toward the altar. In Kierkegaard’s narrative, his faith averts the tragedy, showcasing the knight of faith’s willingness to trust an unknowable higher purpose.

Both knights represent extremes of bravery. The knight of faith invests everything in a transcendent goal and an unseen authority, while the knight of resignation embraces solitary responsibility, shouldering the world’s burden by himself.

7 Junzi

In Confucian thought, the junzi stands as the benchmark of personal virtue. Originally denoting the son of a noble, the term evolved after Confucius to signify anyone striving toward moral excellence.

The ultimate aim is the shegren—the sage—an almost saintly figure. Since most people cannot achieve this pinnacle, the junzi serves as the next best aspiration, embodying the highest attainable moral standard.

The junzi must embody five core virtues: benevolence (ren), knowledge (zhi), trustworthiness (xin), righteousness (yi), and ritual propriety (li). These guide behavior toward family, community, and the state, contrasting sharply with the self‑serving xiaoren.

In practice, a junzi masters the proper ways of conduct—whether honoring ancestors, observing rites, or behaving responsibly when drinking. He knows his duties and acts in harmony with his social station.

6 The New Soviet Man

Born in the revolutionary fervor of 1917, the New Soviet Man was cast as the embodiment of communist ideals—a template for every citizen to emulate. Its roots trace back to Nietzsche’s Ubermensch, but it was reshaped to fit Marxist‑Leninist doctrine.

Lenin argued that only by shedding old social constraints could the masses forge a new, higher type of human being. This New Soviet Man was imagined as an inexhaustible source of energy, mastering emotions so that raw feeling would no longer dictate actions.

Trotsky described this emotional mastery as a “higher biological type,” and he warned that anyone refusing to conform would be deemed a failure, a lesser being compared to the ideal.

By the 1920s, under Stalin’s direction, the archetype shifted toward industrial might. The New Soviet Man became a tireless factory worker, a cog in the massive Soviet machine, whose labor was essential to achieving the promised utopia.

5 The Political Soldier

When Britain’s National Front fell under the sway of radical right‑wing elements, the notion of the Political Soldier emerged, championed by Derek Holland in his 1984 pamphlet of the same name.

Holland called for an elite cadre of warriors who placed their spiritual and religious convictions above all else, ready to die for their cause. He likened them to Roman centurions and Crusader knights, suggesting that only death could halt such devotion.

He positioned the Political Soldier against a perceived alliance of communism and capitalism, championing support for Libya and Palestine while demanding the expulsion of Zionist Jews and the silencing of certain media influences.

Also referred to as the Warrior Saint or Herald of a New World Order, the Political Soldier was portrayed as a pure, admirable figure. In a 1994 update, Holland reiterated the call for holy war, describing these men as disciplined, single‑purpose fighters willing to sacrifice everything, even detonating bombs, to confront capitalists, Freemasons, communists, and Zionists.

4 Mussolini’s Fascist New Man

With Benito Mussolini’s rise, the Fascist regime sought to forge a New Man—a citizen molded to embody fascist virtues. These individuals were to be rigorously drilled, hardened in combat, and physically sculpted into the ideal.

The regime even erected a central stadium surrounded by nude athletes from every Italian province, a visual testament to unity and the pursuit of the ideal. Beyond battlefield prowess, the New Man was expected to possess an unflinching willingness to restore Italy’s soul at any cost.

This archetype was a study in paradox: contemplative yet daring, authoritative yet beloved, realistic while dreaming of future possibilities.

Drawing inspiration from ancient Greece and Rome, the Fascist New Man combined military virtues with a cultural mission, with Mussolini viewing himself as the architect shaping a blank canvas of citizens into his envisioned masterpiece.

3 The Philosopher King

Plato’s seminal work The Republic tackles an age‑old query: what makes a ruler truly great? Through Socrates, Plato proposes the philosopher king—a leader equipped with both wisdom and practical skill.

The philosopher king perceives truth without distortion and applies that knowledge to any circumstance. He revels in learning and despises falsehood, seeking to guide his city with enlightened insight.

Plato acknowledges that many philosophers are corrupted by their upbringing. Yet, with proper education, a philosopher can evolve into both teacher and ruler.

He outlines a rigorous curriculum: poetry, music, mathematics, astronomy, harmonics, and physical training. Additionally, the study of dialectic leads the philosopher king toward the Form of the Good—a continually expanding understanding that enlightens all it touches.

Plato warns that the populace may resist such a ruler, so the philosopher king thrives best when founding a new city, constructing it from the ground up, and instilling appreciation for knowledge and the Good.

2 The Utopian Socialist New Man

The socialist vision of a New Man took a curious turn in the 1950s, when China reorganized society around a communal ideal. In this model, everyone worked together, theoretically laying the foundations for a new, collective humanity.

Charles Fourier, a French utopian socialist, identified monotony as the chief obstacle to success. He proposed phalanxes—work units where labor rotated with military precision—allowing individuals to thrive and communities to flourish.

Fourier imagined that, within such harmonious societies, men and women would grow to astounding heights—215 cm (seven feet)—and enjoy lifespans of 144 years. Their bodies would become remarkably resilient, capable of regenerating teeth, and after sixteen generations, they would develop a functional tail.

This tail, boasting 144 vertebrae, would enable swimming like fish and climbing trees with ease. Most intriguingly, the tail would end in a tiny hand, allowing its bearer to play musical instruments in a wholly novel fashion.

1 The Unknown Citizen

Pulitzer‑winning poet W. H. Auden penned the satirical piece “The Unknown Citizen” in 1940, profiling the archetypal state‑approved man, designated JS/07 M 378, on a monument erected by an anonymous government.

The poem notes that the Bureau of Statistics never logged a complaint against him. He led a compliant life, working steadily, enjoying a drink now and then, maintaining a handful of friends, reading newspapers, and he was insured when he fell ill.

He purchased modern comforts, never overspent, supported peace in peacetime and war in wartime, married, had an appropriate number of children, and embodied the ideal everyday man.

Auden’s chilling conclusion suggests that true happiness and freedom lie not in changing the world but in being a nameless, faceless cog in society’s vast machinery.

When schoolchildren recite the classic tale of Columbus “discovering” America, they miss a trove of lesser‑known anecdotes. Here are 10 rarely told stories that shine a different light on the famed explorer.

10 Rarely Told Highlights

10 The Mysterious Green Glow

On October 11, 1492, Columbus recorded something strange in his journals, and we’re not talking about his tendency to refer to himself in the third person, which takes a special sort of personality. Columbus noted an odd phenomenon so faint or so far away that only one other person had been able to see it when he pointed it out from the deck of the Santa Maria. Something was glowing, which Columbus thought may or may not be land. The glow was irregular and incredibly faint, and it seemed to moving.

There have been plenty of guesses as to what it was that Columbus saw and was so captivated by that he thought it important enough to record it. Explanations included candlelight or firelight on distant land, canoes rowing on the nighttime ocean, or the explorers’ eyes simply playing tricks on them. A few centuries later, a naturalist suggested what looks like the most likely answer—luminous worms.

Only recently have biologists begun to unlock the secrets of the species that might be responsible for the mysterious glow that Columbus spotted off the deck of his ship. The aptly named fireworms are little more than 1 centimeter (0.4 in) long and live in coastal waters, where Columbus would have been sailing. During their mating cycle, the worms swim close to the surface, and the green glow of the females attracts the males as they perform their circular dance. The display only lasts for about half an hour before the worms retreat to the safety of the ocean floor, but it’s entirely possible that Columbus’s mysterious light was the age‑old dance of fireworms.

9 The Jewish Theories

Considering how famous (or infamous) he is, there’s a lot that we don’t know about Columbus’s personal life and childhood. According to some historians, it’s looking more and more like he was secretly Jewish, and contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t from Italy at all. While it’s just a theory based largely around a rather scattered set of clues, it just might carry some weight.

It started with a linguistic investigation by Georgetown University linguist Estelle Irizarry. When she reviewed dozens of Columbus’s personal letters, she found some signs that his first language might have been Catalan. Those included the use of a particular punctuation mark called the virgule, a slash used to show where the pauses come in his writing, a mark specific to those who come only from Catalan‑speaking areas of the Iberian Peninsula. She also found a few telling signs in some of his personal letters, which were never meant for anyone outside his family to see. In correspondence between Columbus and his son, she found the Hebrew letters bet‑hei, a blessing found in the letters of practicing Jews. (The mark was left off of letters that were addressed to both family and crown.) His will also contained some things that seemed telling, like the traditional Jewish practice of setting aside some of his estate to go to poor girls who otherwise would have no dowry.

Irizarry also feels that Columbus tried to hide his Catalan Jewish background by telling people that he was from Genoa. Historians have never been able to definitively pin down Columbus’s birthplace. Although it’s generally said to be Genoa, others have also suggested Corsica, Portugal, or even Greece. The idea that he was actually from Spain—and a practicing Jew—might cast his voyages in a whole new light.

In 1492, Spain was going through a major ethnic cleansing. In March, around 800,000 Spanish Jews were given an ultimatum: Convert or get out. The date of the ultimatum? August 3, 1492. Perhaps coincidentally, this is the date that Columbus and his crew set sail.

If Columbus really was a Catalan‑speaking Spanish Jew, some think that he might have had other motives for setting out to the New World. He may have been looking for a new Jewish homeland, or he may have hoped to claim riches to help reestablish their home in Jerusalem. It’s just a theory, certainly, but it seems clear that there was more going on than we’re likely to ever know.

8 Texas Longhorn Cattle

Texas Longhorns—they’re one of the most distinctive types of cattle in the United States. They’re a huge part of Texas’s state identity, and when the University of Texas at Austin took a crack at decoding the genome to find out just what went into making the famous Texas Longhorn, they found something unexpected. They’re descended from cattle that made the trip across the ocean with Columbus.

They looked at more than 50,000 genetic markers and traced most of the cattle’s ancestry to the taurine variety of cattle, which come from the ancient aurochs that once roamed the Middle East around 10,000 years ago. A smaller part of the genome (about 15 percent) came from the indicine aurochs of India, and that’s the part that gives some of them their hump. The indicine cattle spread from India, through Africa, and up into the Iberian Peninsula, where they influenced cattle genetics there.

To find out just how cattle from the Iberian Peninsula made it to the New World, they looked at the earliest voyages across the ocean. The first cattle brought to the New World (on Columbus’s second voyage) ended up in the Caribbean. Records of how many were on the ship are long gone, but it’s estimated that he would have had somewhere between 20 and 30. Those first cattle were likely pregnant females that were picked up on the Canary Islands. Gradually, the descendants of those first few spread to the mainland with the spreading European population. They turned feral and adapted to life in the desert, which they were already well‑equipped to survive thanks to their Indian and African ancestors.

7 The First Tax In The New World

“No taxation without representation” has been the rallying cry of the young US since the middle of the 18th century, but taxes were problematic long before then, and they were introduced to the native population by Columbus.

On his second trip to the New World, he settled the ill‑fated colony of La Isabela with the goal of trading with the indigenous population. He’d already met and “claimed” the native Taino, a well‑established, thriving society that would be nearly extinct by 1550. La Isabela was to be a purely economical settlement, but in order to turn a profit, Columbus needed guaranteed income in the form of gold. In 1495, he enacted what’s known as the first instance of taxation in the New World, a tax that the Taino couldn’t pay.

The tax was due every three months, and it was to be paid for every man in the settlement over the age of 14. They were a few options for payment. The first was described as one hawk’s bell of gold, which wasn’t achievable for a people who hadn’t placed any particular value on gold. They hadn’t developed their mining and smelting operations to the point where they could keep up with that kind of demand. Alternately, Columbus allowed them to pay off their debt with 11 kilograms (25 lb) of cotton or with manual labor.

The ability to pay in physical labor instead of gold made the colony different than other factorías that had been set up by the Spanish, and it also hastened La Isabela’s downfall. Gold wasn’t plentiful enough to allow the workers to pay their tax with it, and when the funds began to dwindle, the whole structure began to crumble.

6 The Wolof Slave Rebellion

The Columbus family was at the heart of another infamous first in the New World—the first organized uprising of slaves.

It happened in what is now the Dominican Republic, and it was led by the Wolof men from Senegal. They had been taken to the New World about two decades before the Christmas 1522 uprising. They were captured during a series of wars that ravaged the area known as Senegambia. Those prisoners eventually ended up in Portugal and Europe. From there, they were shipped off to the New World.

On December 25, a group of around 20 men armed themselves with machetes that they had been given to cut sugar cane and became a rather effective fighting unit. They were so effective, in fact, that they held out for several days. (It helped that they chose Christmas to revolt, knowing that their overseers would be drunk after a Christmas Eve celebration.) They also held their own against the initial Spanish cavalry charges.

They headed for an estate on the Zuazo plantation, where they planned to execute those in charge and free the roughly 120 slaves who were kept there. Once the Spanish got word of what was going on and where the Wolof seemed to be headed, however, they organized a better resistance and put down the rebellion, but not before they’d lost more than a dozen men total.

The whole thing happened on the holdings of Diego Columbus, Christopher’s son and the appointed viceroy of the Indies. The rebellion kicked off only a few miles from his own estate, and the resultant legislation was bizarre, to say the least. In response to the rebellion, Spain outlawed the use and introduction of so‑called gelofes into a slave population. That included anyone raised by Moors or anyone from Guinea, as they were deemed too dangerous to be good workers on Spanish holdings.

5 La Isabela And The Silver Ore

La Isabela was founded by Columbus after he returned to Spain full of stories of the fortune and glory they were going to find there—if only he had a little more time, money, and people. When he settled there in 1494 with about 1,500 people, it would take only about four years for the colony to be completely abandoned. There was no gold or silver, but there was plenty of starvation, disease, and death, so much so that Columbus himself headed back to Spain in 1496.

We’ve always known that the settlement was a failure, so archaeologists probably weren’t expecting to find gold and silver when they excavated La Isabela, but that’s exactly what they found. Excavations turned up samples of galena, an ore that contains silver. They also found lead silicate, a by‑product of the smelting process that’s usually used to extract the silver, seeming to indicate that there was a smelting operation going on there.

Silver deposits were never recorded as having been found in the area around La Isabela, so the evidence seemed to completely contradict what we’ve always known about the settlement, until they started looking at the makeup of the mineral itself, with the help of an archaeometallurgist from the University of Arizona. Then, they were able to identify the galena as having come from Europe. Tracing Columbus’s journey showed that he’d stopped at several places where galena occurred along the way. A few more experts weighed in, and they realized that it was a standard process for gold‑ and silver‑seeking operations to bring along a sample of rock that they knew contained what they were looking for. These samples had been smelted, however, perhaps in a desperate attempt to make what little money they had last a bit longer.

4 He Devastated Europe With Disease

We all know about how the native populations in the New World suffered and died from the introduction of all sorts of new European diseases after encountering Columbus and his men. Less talked about is the disease that Columbus and company brought back to Europe with them—syphilis.

It’s no coincidence that the first confirmed case of syphilis happened in Italy in 1495. When it started to spread, it was horrific enough that some friars thought the outbreaks were signs heralding the Second Coming. The church itself cracked down on the afflicted. Much like with those who contracted leprosy, syphilis was thought to be a very visual sign that someone was doing something that they weren’t supposed to.

Even archaeological evidence dates the arrival of syphilis in Europe as coinciding with Columbus’s return from the New World. Older skeletons once thought to be the remains of syphilis sufferers have tested negative for the virus. Before you start blaming long months at sea with no women in sight for the spread of the disease, you should know that it probably didn’t happen that way at all.

We’ve always known that syphilis is sexually transmitted, but tracing the earliest strains back to the New World has shown that it likely didn’t start as such. In its New World form, it was called yaws, and it started with red patches on the skin and escalated into something permanently disfiguring. When it was taken from the wet, humid New World to the colder European climate, it mutated not only to survive in a different environment, but to be transmitted by sexual rather than causal contact.

3 The Most Accurate Portrait We Have

There are a lot of famous portraits of Christopher Columbus, so many that it’s easy to forget that we don’t actually know what he looked like. There are no surviving portraits of him that were painted during his lifetime, and for a long time, people have been trying to figure out what he looked like.

The best written description we have of him comes from his son, Fernando. Fernando describes his father as “a vigorous man, of tall stature, with blond beard and hair, clear complexion and blue eyes,” which is nothing like some of the usual depictions of him. Because Columbus was never accurately represented in his lifetime as well as his rather mythic status as a larger‑than‑life figure, it’s also likely that even many of the earliest portraits of him were a bit more embellished and stylized than usual. There are, however, a couple portraits out there that are probably more accurate, and one is the piece done by Ridolfo Ghirlandaio.

The other is part of a larger piece done as a triptych and altar piece called The Virgin of the Navigators. In the work, the Virgin Mary stands watch over a group of explorers, including a robed, late‑middle‑aged Columbus (shown above). Unlike many of the portraits that claim to show him, his appearance in The Virgin matches all of the contemporary reports of what Columbus would have looked like. Most importantly, the artist, Alejo Fernandez, was of the right age and in the right place to at least have seen him.

Fernandez was born about 30 years before Columbus died, and as he was working in Seville, he would have known—and probably consulted with—others who had known Columbus in life. Art historians also point to a period of Spanish pride, making the image of Columbus not only likely to be accurate, but finely dressed in an attempt to create him as not just an explorer, but as an icon of the country that he represented. Also weighing in on the side of the portrait being accurate is the idea that it was created with the intention for the figures (which also include Martin Alonso Pinzon, Hernan Cortes, and Amerigo Vespucci) would be instantly recognizable to viewers who’d lived at the same time as the explorers.

2 The Most Devastating Disease

La Isabela had a whole bunch of problems, and for a long time, it was thought that diseases like smallpox, tuberculosis, and influenza were largely to blame for the deaths that occurred when Columbus and his crew settled in what became Europe’s first permanent (albeit short‑lived) settlement in the New World. When archaeologists took a closer look at some of the skeletons that were excavated from the colony, they found something rather unexpected. One of the biggest problems that the settlers faced was something usually associated with long months at sea—scurvy.

Scurvy was well‑known by the 1700s (unlike the 1490s), and it would kill more sailors than shipwrecks would. It happens when there’s a complete vitamin C deficiency, and symptoms are varied. They can include headaches, bleeding gums, reopening of healed or partially healed wounds, joint pain, rashes, or even mood swings and exhaustion. The symptoms of scurvy can take up to three months to manifest, so it was likely that by the time the settlers were a month or so into their foray into the New World, they were starting to feel the ill effects of what had started during the ship’s crossing.

It’s also something that could have been prevented, and some of the skeletons showed signs that some people had started to repair the damage done to their bodies by reintroducing some vitamin C. It was, after all, all over the place. The scurvy‑ridden explorers had landed in a place rich with native fruits and vegetables, and that might have saved their colony. They were surrounded by cherries, guavas, yuccas, sweet potatoes, and so on. According to modern doctors, the daily amount of vitamin C that it takes to keep scurvy at bay can be attained from a few ketchup packets. Unfortunately, the European settlers seemed more interested in finding gold than exploring the local cuisine, and they also relied heavily on the supplies and stores that they brought with them rather than procuring new food sources. Doing so might have saved lives.

1 What Happened To The Santa Maria And The Villa De La Navidad?

It starts like all good stories do—with a party and someone left in charge who probably shouldn’t have been. In December 1492, Columbus and his crew were off the coast of Haiti. After what we can only imagine was a pretty rowdy Christmas Eve party, the crew all fell asleep, and steering the ship fell to one of the only people still sober—the cabin boy. He was, understandably, ill‑equipped to navigate the waters by himself, and the Santa Maria was wrecked on a coral reef. Christmas Day was spent salvaging what they could, including stripping timbers from part of the ship itself. Those timbers were then used to make a fort that was christened Villa de la Navidad.

When Columbus returned on his next trip, the fort was gone, along with the remains of the Santa Maria. Today, people are still looking for both. At the head of the search for the location of La Navidad is amateur archaeologist Clark Moore. We’re using the term “amateur” only as a technicality; Moore is credited with finding more than 980 significant sites in Haiti, where he spends winters exploring the lands that Columbus settled. He’s pretty sure that he has a good idea where La Navidad was built—on a hill amid villagers who ultimately burned it to the ground when they realized the character of those who settled there.

And as for the Santa Maria? In 2014, it was claimed that marine archaeologists led by Barry Clifford had found the wreck by closely studying contemporary accounts of the trip and then diving in the right spot. Unfortunately, UNESCO stepped in with the final word, saying the wreck found wasn’t of the Santa Maria. Their conclusions were based on finding fasteners and the remains of copper fittings. Those, along with evident shipbuilding techniques, dated the wreck to sometime in the 18th century.

That last fact only helps us to conclude that in spite of being known throughout Europe and the Americas as one of the great explorers of the Age of Exploration, there’s more myth and mystery about Christopher Columbus than there is historic fact.

While legendary buccaneers such as Blackbeard and Calico Jack often dominate popular imagination, a shadowy roster of lesser‑known marauders also carved a permanent scar into the annals of seafaring horror. In this roundup of 10 history s, we shine a lantern on those fearsome captains whose ruthless deeds still echo across the waves.

10 History S: The Most Brutal Buccaneers

10 Sadie The Goat

Sadie Farrell, a notorious gang chief hailing from New York’s underbelly, earned a reputation for driving her victims to the brink by head‑butting them straight into the gut before stripping them blind. Though her early criminal career involved petty theft, a dramatic encounter with the Charlton Street Gang’s botched sloop robbery ignited her ambition to become a pirate. Within days, she leapt into the fray, leading a daring seizure of a far larger vessel.

Her crew quickly became infamous for their coarse language and reckless daring, cruising the Hudson and Harlem Rivers to plunder other ships, raid coastal settlements, and snatch people for ransom. Tales of prisoners being forced to “walk the plank” circulated alongside the grisly legend of Sadie sporting a human ear around her neck – a gruesome trophy bitten off a rival gangster during a violent clash.

The Goat’s marauding reign persisted for several months until a coalition of local farmers amassed enough force to push them back. Defeated, Sadie retreated to land, yet her legacy endured, forever branding her as the “Queen of the Waterfront” in New York folklore.

9 Francois L’Olonnais

Born Jean‑David Nau to a destitute French family in the 1600s, Francois l’Olonnais was thrust into indentured servitude before eventually escaping to the bustling colony of Saint‑Domingue (present‑day Haiti). There, he immersed himself in the chaotic world of buccaneers, targeting Spanish‑laden vessels plying the West Indies trade routes.

After a disastrous shipwreck that left his crew brutally assaulted by Spanish troops, l’Olonnais swore vengeance. He rallied the surviving men on Tortuga, where they unleashed a savage raid that razed the town and annihilated an entire rescue party dispatched by the governor of Havana. Only a single sailor was spared, forced to bear witness to the carnage.

His notoriety stemmed largely from his love of torture. Among his favorite methods were cleaving chunks of flesh from captives with his sword and a gruesome technique called “woolding,” wherein a rope was tightened around a victim’s skull until the eyes burst forth.

Fleeing a renewed Spanish assault, l’Olonnais inadvertently grounded his crippled ship along Panama’s coast. While his men scrounged for provisions, they fell into the hands of the native Kuna tribe—cannibals who devoured both the pirate and his remaining crew, ending his reign of terror.

8 Nicholas Brown

Nicholas Brown, dubbed “The Grand Pirate” by his contemporaries, prowled the waters off Jamaica in the early 1700s. Though details of his youth remain murky, he quickly earned infamy by raiding English, Portuguese, and Spanish vessels throughout the Caribbean, amassing a fearsome reputation.

In a bid to curtail his depredations, colonial authorities extended a royal pardon, hoping to lure him back into lawful society. Brown initially accepted, but the allure of piracy proved too strong; he soon abandoned the straight‑and‑narrow life, prompting the Jamaican government to post a £500 bounty on his head.

His old schoolmate and naval adversary, John Drudge, seized upon the bounty with literal fervor. After tracking down Brown, Drudge slayed him, then decapitated his friend, preserved the head in a rum‑filled keg, and marched back to Jamaica to claim his reward, cementing a grisly episode in pirate lore.

7 The Victual Brothers

The Victual Brothers originated as a cadre of German mercenaries hired by King Albert of Sweden to wage war against Denmark during the 14th‑century conflicts. Rather than simply seizing enemy ships for the crown, the group swiftly morphed into a Robin Hood‑style fleet, plundering opulent merchant vessels to feed the starving and support the downtrodden.

During the siege of Stockholm by Queen Margaret of Denmark, the Victual Brothers executed a bold breakout, slicing through the blockade to deliver vital provisions, ammunition, and military aid to the beleaguered city’s populace.

Emboldened by their success, they established a permanent base on Gotland Island, turning the icy Baltic waters into a hunting ground. Their relentless attacks on any ship they encountered caused such panic among merchants and state vessels that Baltic trade ground to a near‑standstill.

In response, King Albert and Queen Margaret temporarily set aside their rivalry to jointly expel the marauders. By 1400, royal forces captured Klaus Stortebeker, a principal leader, and brought him to trial in Hamburg, where he met a swift beheading.

With Stortebeker’s execution, the remaining Victual Brothers were systematically hunted down and eradicated by Danish and Swedish authorities, ending their reign of terror in the Baltic Sea.

6 Edward Jordan

Edward Jordan’s brief yet ferocious piratical career began amid the Irish rebellion against the British Crown in 1798. Captured and sentenced to hang, he escaped, was recaptured, and ultimately bought his freedom by trading valuable insurgent intelligence for a royal pardon.

When Irish compatriots discovered his betrayal, Jordan fled across the Atlantic, settling in Gaspé where he secured a loan to purchase a schooner named Three Sisters. His inability to repay the debt led creditors to dispatch Captain Stairs in 1809 to seize the vessel.

Initially, Jordan appeared compliant, even requesting passage for his family aboard the schooner to secure honest employment. However, once the ship set sail, he brandished a pistol, attempted to shoot Captain Stairs, missed, and instead killed the first mate. Stairs escaped by leaping overboard.

Jordan commandeered the Three Sisters, steering toward Newfoundland with plans to recruit a new crew and flee back to Ireland. Yet a passing ship rescued Stairs, prompting a swift search for Jordan’s vessel. A bounty of £100 was offered for the capture of “Pirate Jordan.”

The schooner was intercepted off Newfoundland’s coast, and Jordan was tried, condemned to death, and his body tarred and displayed in chains at the harbor as a stark warning to other seafarers.

5 Edward Low

Edward Low entered the world in London as the son of a destitute family, turning to petty theft from a young age. After an early marriage, he and his wife ventured to the New World, only for her to die in childbirth, prompting Low to return to a life of crime.

He earned his pirate mantle after leading a mutiny aboard a sloop bound for Honduras, where he had been employed as a rigger. Unlike many of his contemporaries, Low kept his fleet modest—typically three or four ships—yet his cruelty knew no bounds.

Following a successful capture, Low would torture his captives before setting the seized vessel ablaze. Crew member Philip Aston recalled Low’s barbarity, noting that no English crew matched his savage reputation. Low’s preferred method involved binding a victim’s hands, threading rope between the fingers, then igniting the rope, scorching the flesh to the bone.

He also delighted in brutal cutlass assaults, famously cutting off the lips of the captain of the Portuguese ship Nostra Signiora de Victoria and subsequently broiling and force‑feeding them to the horrified captain. Low’s ferocity and reckless tactics made him the most feared pirate of the early 1700s, though his ultimate fate remains a mystery—rumors suggest a storm‑driven wreck, mutiny, or French capture and execution.

4 Black Caesar

Black Caesar, a towering figure reputed to have once been an African chieftain, was captured and shipped to the Americas as a slave. After a shipwreck off Florida’s coast, he and a companion commandeered a longboat, escaping the sinking vessel.

Disguised as shipwreck survivors, they lured passing vessels, then seized them at gunpoint, demanding provisions and valuables. Caesar amassed a modest fortune, which he allegedly buried on Elliot Key.

He later expanded his operations by capturing a larger ship and recruiting a crew, allowing him to venture into deeper waters while still haunting the Florida Keys. Ingeniously, he devised a method of submerging his boat beneath the surface using a rope and a stone‑set metal ring, rendering it invisible to coastal patrols.

In the early 18th century, Caesar joined the infamous Blackbeard’s crew as a lieutenant aboard the Queen Anne’s Revenge. After Blackbeard’s demise, Virginia authorities apprehended Caesar, sentencing him to death by hanging. To this day, treasure hunters scour Elliot Key, hoping to uncover the lost loot.

3 Henry Every

Henry Every, also known as “Long Ben” or “The King of Pirates,” orchestrated the most lucrative pirate raid ever recorded—equivalent to roughly $78 million today—before vanishing without a trace.

He began his maritime career in Britain’s Royal Navy, serving during the Nine Years’ War. After the conflict, he joined the merchant vessel Charles II, sailing to the West Indies to intercept French ships. A sluggish season left the crew restless, culminating in a mutiny that elevated Every to captain and rechristened the ship the Fancy.

Renowned for masterful ambush tactics and deft navigation, Every pillaged several English and Danish vessels before learning of a massive Indian convoy. He steered the Fancy toward the island of Perim, where he allied with pirate Thomas Tew and other local buccaneers to intercept the fleet of 25 Indian ships.

During the clash, Tew perished, and many pirate ships lagged behind. Undeterred, Every pursued the two largest ships, overtook them, and seized a treasure trove, allowing his crew to indulge in rampant rape, pillage, and torture. He then fled across the Atlantic, briefly anchoring near Nassau before setting sail for good.

After departing the Bahamas, Every, his crew, and the astounding loot disappeared, eluding the East India Company’s manhunt and cementing his legend as a phantom pirate.

2 Bartholomew Roberts

Bartholomew Roberts, famed as “Black Bart,” claimed over 400 vessels during his illustrious career, making him one of history’s most successful pirates. In 1719, while serving aboard the slave ship Princess, the vessel fell to a pirate attack off West Africa, and Roberts was swiftly drafted into the crew due to his exceptional navigational skills.

His ascent was rapid; after the captain perished in battle, Roberts was elected leader. Commanding the flagship Royal Fortune, he pursued and seized larger, better‑armed British, Portuguese, and Spanish warships with ruthless efficiency.

Roberts’ treatment of captives was chillingly pragmatic. After overtaking a slave ship carrying 80 chained Africans, he burned the vessel without freeing the prisoners. In a separate vendetta against the governor of Martinique, Roberts boarded a ship, murdered the governor, and displayed the corpse on the Royal Fortune’s yardarm for months.

His reign ended in the winter of 1722 when the English warship HMS Swallow caught up to him. In a daring confrontation, Roberts was mortally wounded by grapeshot to the throat. True to his wishes, his crew cast his body overboard, and despite exhaustive searches, his remains were never recovered.

Roberts’ legacy endures as a symbol of audacious piracy, his daring tactics and sheer audacity inspiring countless tales of high‑seas adventure.

1 Stenka Razin

Stenka Razin, a Cossack rebel and pirate of the mid‑1600s, remains a beloved folk hero throughout Russia. Historically, Cossacks enjoyed a degree of autonomy, but early 17th‑century policies tightened tsarist control, imposing harsh taxes and punishments.

Razin, a longtime community leader, was driven to vengeance after the execution of his brother by Russian troops. He rallied a force of 1,000 Don Cossacks, seized a fleet of tsarist ships, and began a campaign of plundering merchant vessels and liberating political prisoners along the Volga River.

His daring exploits elevated him to a peasant champion, inspiring uprisings across the Russian lands. As his army swelled beyond 2,000, Razin expanded his raids to the Caspian Sea and the Persian coast, cementing his reputation as a formidable maritime insurgent.

In 1671, Razin plotted a bold capture of Simbirsk but was betrayed by his own men. Captured and taken to Moscow, he endured four days of brutal torture before being executed. Despite his death, his legend persisted, with Cossack rebels continuing to resist Russian oppression, their stories and songs preserving Razin’s memory.

Alyssa Howard is a freelance writer and history fanatic. You can see her work at www.kitfoxsociety.wordpress.com.

Welcome to a whirlwind tour of 10 crazy tales that showcase the strange, often dangerous job of tasting food for the powerful. From ancient Roman emperors to modern‑day presidents, and even to insects, these stories prove that the phrase “don’t judge a book by its cover” applies to a plate as well.

10 Crazy Tales of Food Tasting Throughout History

10 Emperor Claudius’s Murder

Claudius rose to power after Caligula’s assassination, only to become a target of conspiracies himself. His matrimonial history was a disaster, and his final wife, Agrippina, plotted his demise to install her son Nero as emperor. In his dying moments, Claudius reportedly lamented his marriage and the promotion of Nero—details historians view as more than coincidence.

The exact cause of his death remains debated, but the prevailing theory points to his food taster, a eunuch named Halotus. Ancient sources such as Pliny, Tacticus, Dio, and Suetonius describe the final banquet on October 12, 54 AD, where Halotus served Claudius his beloved mushrooms. According to Tacticus, Halotus delivered the mushrooms laced with poison, acting on Agrippina’s orders and using a toxin crafted by the infamous Lucusta.

The plot, however, was only partially successful. The poisoned mushrooms made Claudius ill, prompting him to summon his physician, Xenophon, who allegedly administered a lethal dose via a feather slipped down the emperor’s throat under the guise of treatment. Some scholars argue that Halotus may not be solely responsible; others suggest Claudius, already weakened by prior illness, could have succumbed to natural causes. Yet the food taster’s involvement remains a compelling suspect.

9 Napoleon’s Yellow Dog

Napoleon Bonaparte’s relationship with canines was famously complicated. He disliked Josephine’s pug and harbored an aversion to Newfoundlands—until a Newfoundland rescued him from drowning off Elba. While in exile, Napoleon acquired a yellow retriever‑spaniel mix, which doubled as his personal food taster.

The dog served as a precautionary measure after Napoleon learned of several assassination plots against him. Its presence symbolized a layer of security, ensuring that any poisoned dish would be detected before reaching the emperor’s mouth.

When Napoleon escaped Elba in 1815, his canine companion transitioned from a security asset to a loyal companion. Today, the dog’s stuffed form is displayed at the Hôtel des Invalides in Paris, standing beside Napoleon’s tomb as a reminder of this unique food‑tasting partnership.

8 The Mice Of The Beijing Olympics

Food tasters aren’t limited to royalty; modern events also employ them. In 2008, concerns over China’s food safety and the risk of Olympic athletes falling ill prompted officials to implement rigorous safeguards. Among these was the deployment of mice to sample food before it reached human plates.

Beijing’s Municipal Health Inspection Bureau chose mice because toxins manifest symptoms in them within roughly 17 hours—faster than many laboratory tests. This rapid detection helped ensure athletes and visitors avoided contaminated dishes.

The practice wasn’t exclusive to the Olympics. Mice were also utilized during an Asia‑Pacific Economic Cooperation summit, serving as an additional line of defense against potential assassination attempts.

7 Stalin’s Rabbit

Stalin’s “Rabbit” was not an animal but a man—likely his half‑brother. While Stalin’s paternity remains murky, one candidate, wrestler‑tavern owner Koba Egnatashvili, had two legitimate sons: Sasha and Vaso. When Stalin seized power, the brothers were imprisoned, assets seized, yet they secured an audience with the new leader.

Remembering his childhood playmates, Stalin appointed Sasha to crucial positions, bestowing the nickname “the Rabbit” for his role as the dictator’s food taster. The Rabbit oversaw private meals and state banquets, working under a chef who had previously cooked for Lenin and Rasputin, and whose grandson would later become Vladimir Putin.

During World War II, Stalin’s paranoia intensified, especially toward the wives of close advisers. He ordered the Rabbit’s wife executed, yet the Rabbit persisted as food taster, earning medals and promotions. After the war, he was reassigned to manage Politburo sanatoriums in Crimea, where he died of natural causes in 1948.

6 Mark Antony And Cleopatra

According to Livy, the earliest recorded murder by poison dates back to 331 BC, igniting a widespread fear of clandestine toxins. Poison became a weapon for power‑hungry individuals, prompting many to employ food tasters as a safeguard.

Mark Antony, wary of Cleopatra’s influence, kept a food taster on standby. Pliny recounts that Cleopatra, offended by Antony’s lack of trust, coated prayer beads in poison and slipped them into his wine to demonstrate his vulnerability.

An alternate version tells of Cleopatra daringly dipping a garland’s flowers in poison, then crowning Antony with the garland during a banquet. When Antony attempted to sip the poisoned wine, she intervened, offering a prisoner’s cup instead. The prisoner died, and Cleopatra used the incident to press Antony into trusting her over his food tasters.

5 Margot Wolk

Before the failed July 20, 1944 attempt on Adolf Hitler’s life, Margot Wolk and fifteen other teenage girls served as his food tasters. They lived at home, summoned to the Wolf’s Lair only when Hitler was present, tasked with sampling the vegetarian fare laid before the Führer.

After the assassination attempt, the girls were relocated to a boarding school. Wolk later recalled days filled with terror and the night she was assaulted by an SS officer. She survived as the sole survivor; the other girls were executed by Soviet troops.Wolk’s rescue came twice: first, a lieutenant placed her on a train to Berlin before Allied forces arrived; later, a doctor concealed her from SS searches. She recounted that the lavish meals she tasted during the war left her with a lingering, paralyzing fear of food, and it took years before she could eat without dread. Humor became her coping mechanism, allowing her to endure the constant anxiety of whether each bite might be her last.

4 Elizabeth I’s Food Tasters

During Elizabeth I’s reign, the English monarchy faced relentless threats, prompting a highly ritualized food‑tasting protocol. In 1594, a 70‑year‑old Jewish physician, fleeing the Spanish Inquisition, was executed for an alleged plot to poison the queen—though many doubted his guilt.

Historical documents detail a meticulous process: an unmarried countess and an elder woman performed the tasting ceremony. First, all plates slated for the banquet were cleared, then 24 royal bodyguards—one for each course—entered. Noblemen received each dish, and a female taster offered a bite to the plate‑bearer. After a timed interval, marked by drums and trumpets, another group transported the plates to Elizabeth’s private chambers, where she selected her preferred dishes and passed the remainder to courtiers.

3 Poison‑Testing Ants

Even insects have adopted the role of food tasters. A recent study in Animal Behavior reveals that ant colonies, when stressed or facing famine, repurpose older workers as “living silos.” Deprived of sustenance for up to 48 hours, these senior ants abandon foraging, staying home to oversee food supplies.

These ants consume available food and regurgitate it to feed younger colony members. Researchers at the University of the West of England suggest that these living silos not only store but also test food for toxicity. Because they are nearing the end of their life cycles, they absorb potential hazards, protecting the brood.

The living silos position themselves just outside the brood chamber. Even if they ingest poison, the subsequent regurgitation dilutes the toxin, reducing its impact on younger workers and the queen.

2 The Food Tasters Of The Tudors

Henry VIII, notorious for his appetite and marital exploits, hosted feasts featuring exotic fare such as whale, peacock, beaver tail, organs, cow udders, and spleens—washed down with an estimated 2.3 million liters of ale and 285 000 liters of wine annually. At every banquet, a cadre of cupbearers and food tasters knelt for hours, sampling dishes to guard against poison.

The role, though grueling, came with perks. Henry VII rewarded his chief taster, William Berryman, with a lease on a tavern called le Rose super le Hope and a brewery; the rent? A single red rose presented at midsummer. Additionally, historians believe that the family of John Dee, the famed astrologer, began as food tasters for Henry VIII, with Dee’s father serving as a “gentleman sewer,” essentially the king’s personal food taster and wine steward.

1 The Lab Of Recep Tayyip Erdogan

Turkey’s President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan resides in a $600 million palace boasting around 1 000 rooms, one of which houses a dedicated food‑analysis team. According to his personal physician, five experts work 14 hours daily, scrutinizing every dish for poison, radioactive contaminants, and bacteria.

When internal checks prove insufficient, Dr. Cevdet Erdol’s team contracts external laboratories across the country for additional testing. Critics argue the elaborate system showcases opulence, while supporters contend it’s a necessary safeguard in a volatile region.

The concept of a Turkish food taster isn’t new; Mustafa Kemal Atatürk also employed one. Advocates cite the mysterious death of Turkey’s eighth president in 1993—officially an apparent heart attack—as evidence of the need for such precautions. Moreover, Turgut Ozal’s family alleges he was poisoned via lemonade at a Bulgarian embassy, implicating a network of ultranationalist conspirators and underscoring the modern relevance of food tasters.