The Corpse Had a Pistol

1895

A Telegraph Operator's Exciting Experience in a Texas Railroad Depot.

"Talk about being scared to death, why, gentlemen, you don't know your A B C's until you have served in the railroad business on the frontier, as I had to do when I was quite a boy."

The speaker was a man beyond the border lines of middle age, with iron gray hair and a strong, rugged face, which showed by its lines that he had seen the service of a hard life in some forsaken region of this mortal vineyard.

"When I was a young man," he resumed, "I was depot agent for a road that ran out into the wilds of Texas. The country was not well settled, and I had a rather lonesome time of it out there. I never knew any minute that I would not be attacked the next, and train wrecking was a frequent occurrence on the line.

"One night I was sitting in the little depot by the lonely railroad track, keeping track of the trains over the wires, when something happened that I will not forget till I die. There was in the depot a coffin that had been brought there on the midnight train, strange to say, unattended by any one. It was addressed to some party in the neighborhood, who, according to my presumption, had been detained by swollen streams from coming to the station after it that night, so I had the ghastly casket placed in the depot to await the man who called for it. It was a rainy night, and as there was but one room to the depot I had the corpse for a companion that night and had about made up my mind to make the best of the situation till morning. It was about 3 o'clock, and I was clicking away with my telegraph key when I heard a noise in the direction of the coffin. Turning with a shudder, I was crazed with fright to see the lid of the coffin burst and a live corpse pop his head up with a pistol in his hand and start toward me.

"What did I do? Why, broke through the back door and left the fellow in the depot. I don't think I stopped running until I was a mile in the woods. As soon as I recovered I went back and waked the only two citizens of the place, and we went to the depot. Of course the robber had taken all the money I had and fled." — Atlanta Constitution.

Choosing Their Own Caskets

1895

People Often Express Their Preferences In the Matter of Style.

"I never actually knew anybody who kept his coffin in his house," said an undertaker, "but I have read of such things, and I have no doubt they are true, just as I believe the stories of some women keeping in the bottom of bureau drawers their own grave clothes, which they made themselves. But men sometimes choose, if not the particular casket in which they want to be buried, the style of coffin that they prefer, and I know of one man who drew the plans for the casket in which he was buried.

"He had his own ideas of what was most suitable, and we made a casket in accordance with the drawings which he furnished and then boxed it up and stored it for him. He was a man advanced in years. It is interesting to note that the casket so planned had square ends and perfectly straight sides and ends. In fact, in shape it was precisely the same as the present most advanced style of modern burial casket, which was not introduced until some years afterward.

"It is not at all unusual for men to look at caskets, express admiration of some of them and say that they would like to be buried in such or such a style. These men might be simply friends who had come to see me, or they might be here on business, but not with regard to a funeral. Some of the modern burial caskets are very costly and beautiful and as unlike the old fashioned coffin as could be imagined. It is no wonder that men should admire them, but it doesn't follow at all that they expect soon to need one.

"A few months ago there came in a man and his wife, people of perhaps 50 years, and I should say well to do, who wanted to look at the caskets, or rather he did. They came to a very beautiful casket of mahogany, one of modern style, with square ends and straight sides and ends and carved a little, but not overelaborately. Evidently he had heard of such a casket before or had seen one, and so was familiar with it, and he admired it greatly.

" 'There,' he said to his wife, calling her by her name, 'that is the kind of casket that I would like to be buried in,' and it was clear that it seemed to him very beautiful, as it certainly was. But, bless us, he is like everybody else almost. I have no doubt he expects to live for a hundred years. I saw him at the theater the other night with his wife. They had dined comfortably, and they were in the fullest on enjoyment of life, and I fancy that it will be many years before either of them comes to the end of life, but I venture to say that if he dies first his wife will faithfully see that he is buried in a mahogany casket such as he admired. — New York Sun.

Coffins as Furniture

1905

A man living at Queensbury not only uses his coffin as a piece of household furniture, but he has also a grave made in the local churchyard headed by a gravestone on which his name is set out in conventional style. Underneath is the line: "Not dead, but waiting."

One man at Tong, near Bradford, kept his Sunday clothes in his coffin, and another who ate porridge at breakfast used his coffin as a meal bin.

Some years ago a Keighley man kept butterfly specimens in his coffin. — London Daily Mail.


Novel Action to Insure Marriage

In the harbor of the little village of Ploumanac'h, in the Cote-du-Nord, is an islet of rock which can be reached at low tide. It is surmounted by a shrine of St. Guirec, who is said to have landed here from Britain in the sixth century. There are two rude statues of the saint, one of which is of wood.

To this statue on St. Catherine's day, come the young women of the neighborhood, who, following an old tradition, stick pins into the statue, in order that they may be married before the end of the year. — London Graphic.

A Pet Cemetery

1908

Where Pet Dogs and Cats Are Buried In State

New York. — In a picturesque little spot situated on one of the most beautiful of the Hartsdale hills lies one of the oddest of cemeteries. The casual visitor here, inspecting the inscriptions on the tombstones, would expect to see records of long forgotten generations, perhaps the history of the village in the lives of its citizens, but instead the stones contained nothing but inscriptions to dogs, with an occasional cat epitaph here and there.

"Fido, asleep," "Our beloved fox terrier, Flossie," "Dedicated to the memory of our pet cat, Smutty." Such a jumble of inscriptions meet the eye that the visitor begins to wonder whether the souls of Fido and Smutty now rest peacefully side by side or whether they arise at the witching hour to fight out once more their lifelong battle. In that case even the back fences of Harlem would be preferable to the rural peace of Hartsdale.

This cemetery, moreover, contains French dogs and French inscriptions and German dogs. And just as human tombstones have little angels on them so these dog tombstones have little puppies carved on them playing with toys. Next to one of the graves the owner has erected a big rustic mourner's bench so that he may grieve for his pet in comfort.

The most elaborate grave is that of a bulldog that once belonged to a family named Willson. Besides having a big granite stone at the head, it has two little bay trees on either side, and at the foot is a little marble trough with three little marble canaries drinking out of it. The canaries would be more easily explained if it were a cat grave, but perhaps this particular bullpup had feline predilections.

For six months after he was buried tali dog had fresh violets or roses placed upon his grave every day, it is chronicled. The burial cost the bulldog's owner over $500.

The grave digger of the cemetery also tells of dogs buried in rosewood or mahogany coffins, some with gold handles, and gold, jewel-studded collars around their necks.

"You have no idea," he will wander on, "how much money some undertakers make on the side in these dog coffins. Often the coffins are lined with plush or velvet and cost large sums of money.

"And then some people insist on having their dogs embalmed before they are willing to bury them. Of course the undertakers keep that part of their business very secret, but they do it just the same."

Many of the dogs that were prize winners in their lively days have all their trophies, ribbons, silver mugs and such things buried with them. Others have all their old collars, whips and playthings, and one woman actually buried a Bible and rosary with a dog.

"Of course I know it must seem very silly," she said in explanation, "but it just makes me feel better, so why shouldn't I do it?"

"And do they have real funerals for dogs, with services and so on?" asked the seeker of information of the digger of graves.

"Well, no; no real services," he explained, "though some of them would like to, I guess, by the way they act.

"Sometimes they bring the body up from New York in an automobile, sometimes they ship it up as freight and meet it at the railway station with carriages. Only family and friends, you know. There are never very many of them.

"But the way those people act when it comes to covering up the box is — well — just about the limit. And the men are not much better than the women, either. I've got a pretty interesting job, I can tell you.

"And most of them come up regularly and see to it that I'm keeping the grave in OK condition. And on the day of the dog's death they usually decorate the grave with flowers. I can tell you I wouldn't mind being some dogs."

There are now 450 dogs and about 20 cats buried in the cemetery. Plots cost from $15 to $25 each, including a zinc lined box which is hermetically sealed for shipping. This, however, is only the minimum expense for a dog funeral, and from this point the price goes up far into the hundreds.

Attila, King of The Huns

1915

Warrior-Barbarian Who Ravaged a Great Part of Europe in the Fifth Century

"Like the Huns under Attila" is a phrase which is on everybody's lips at the present time. Yet comparatively few people know by whom it was first used, or understand the reference.

It was with these words that the Kaiser bid farewell to his troops when they were dispatched to China to help put down the Boxer rising: "Gain a reputation like the Huns under Attila," he told them, says London Tit-Bits. The significance of the advice will be appreciated when it is realized that Attila was a barbaric chief whose ravages in Europe about the beginning of the fifth century gained for him the name of "the Scourge of God."

The leader of countless hordes of Huns, who were a Mongol race which crossed the Volga and struck terror into Europe, he was regarded by his men with superstitious reverence and by Christendom with superstitious dread. Among the acts which were committed by his direction were the following:

Bleda, his brother and co-chieftain, put to death.

All the countries between the Black sea and the Mediterranean devastated and pillaged.

Thrace, Macedon and Greece overrun, and 70 flourishing cities devastated.

Several cities in Italy razed to the ground and their inhabitants put to the sword.

Conquered peoples either killed or forced to follow in his train as prisoners.

Yet for all this ruthlessness Attila was a magnificent soldier and a striking personality. He was induced to spare Rome from destruction by the personal mediation of Pope Leo I, who is said to have subdued his ferocity into awe by the apostolic majesty of his mien. This deliverance was regarded as a miracle by the affrighted Romans, and old chroniclers relate that the Apostles Peter and Paul appeared in Attila's camp and changed his purpose.

Attila died on the night of his marriage with the beautiful Hilda — possibly by her hand. His death spread consternation through the host of Huns, who cut themselves with knives, shaved their heads and then prepared to celebrate the funeral rites of their king.

His body was placed in three coffins — the first of gold, the second of silver and the third of iron. The caparisons of his horses with his arms and ornaments were buried with him, while the captives employed to make his grave were all put to death so that none might betray the last resting place of Attila, king of the Huns.

Note: In World War I reporting, the Germans were frequently called the "Huns."

Petrarch's Tomb Opened

1874

A singular ceremony lately took place at Arqua, in North Italy, where Petrarch lies buried. The tomb of the poet was opened in the presence of the municipal officers of the town and a few invited spectators that the remains had been inclosed in an imperfectly-made coffin, and that the bones, thus exposed to the effects to the atmosphere, were discolored and moist.

The skull, of medium size, was entire, the development of the forehead being yet perceptible. Several of the teeth were well preserved, and the bones of the body were but little decayed. From the size of the skeleton it was easy to infer that Petrarch must have been a large, robust man.

Permission to examine these honored remains had been given by the authorities to certain students of anthropology, and it was to aid in their researches that the coffin was opened. These gentlemen took accurate measurements of the remains, which were then carefully placed in a new coffin.

The brief exposure to the air, however, had its effect, and the skull partially fell in, while some of the bones were resolved into dust before the eyes of the spectators of this curious exhibition of mortality.

A Sure Protection Against Body Snatchers

Advertisement, 1879

MOOERS' Metallic Coffin Shields.

A Sure Protection Against Body Snatchers.

The above cut represents Mooer's Metallic Coffin Shield. It is made of heavy sheet iron and is of such shape and size to completely inclose the coffin. A flange projects around the lower edge by means of which it can be securely fastened to the base upon which the coffin rests and thus prevent the removal of the corpse. Manufactured and for sale by A. H. Mooers, North Ridgeville; also for sale by Suearer & Waldeck, undertakers, Elyria, O.

—The Elyria Constitution, Elyria, Ohio, June 20, 1878, p. 2.

Bride-To-Be Alive in Coffin, Funeral Becomes Wedding

Virginia, 1892

A BIG SURPRISE

A Man Married His Wife on the Day of Her Expected Funeral

"I married my wife on the day I expected to attend her funeral," said Abram Poindexter to the Idle Hour club that was holding a séance. "That was twenty-five years ago, in Richmond, Va. We were to have been married on the 1st of January, but on Christmas day the young lady was taken ill, and on the last day of the old year she died; apparently.

"The funeral was to occur at an early hour next morning, and she was placed in a coffin that evening. About midnight I went to the room where she lay and the watchers withdrew to the hall. I sat down and bowed my head upon the coffin, overwhelmed by my loss. I had sat there perhaps ten minutes when I heard a scratching inside the coffin, then a stilled sob. My nerves, already stained to their utmost tension, seemed to snap, and I stood up and screamed like a hysterical woman. The watchers thought I had become insane, and tried to take me away. I was powerless to speak, and could only point to the coffin. They did not understand me, and persisted in taking me away. I broke from them and strove to tear off the coffin lid with my fingers. They trailed for help, but all the men in Richmond could not have held me back. I ripped that coffin lid to splinters, dragged the young lady from it and rushed into the open air with her. The people were too much horrified to follow me instantly. They called in the police to confine me, but when they found me the young lady had her arms around my neck and we were both laughing and crying like a couple of children. The minister came to preach the funeral sermon, but performed the marriage ceremony instead."

—The Davenport Tribune, Davenport, Iowa, Nov. 19, 1892.

An Old-Time Hanging Remembered

Philadelphia, 1878

Samuel Hulett, whose death at an advanced age was reported a few days ago, was one of the passengers in the mail coach between Philadelphia and Reading in 1830, when the horses were stopped and the passengers plundered by Wilson, Porter and Potete, whose arrest and trial, and execution of Porter were causes of much public feeling at the time.

The mail coach was on its way to Reading, and had reached Turner's lane, a mile or two above the built up portion of the city, when the lead horses were suddenly brought to a stand and a pistol put at the head of the driver and one or more of the passengers, to intimidate them and prevent resistance. The money and jewels were surrendered upon demand, and no violence was used. It was supposed that the bank messenger, William Miller, who held for many years the situation of bailiff in the United States district court, would be in the coach, but he had been unable to reach the White Swan Hotel in time to take son were captured in Philadelphia, but passage that morning.

Porter and Wilson were captured in Philadelphia, but Potete was arrested in Baltimore, and, upon being brought on here, consented to take the witness stand against his confederates. Samuel Hulett was a material witness, and Porter and Wilson were convicted and sentenced to be hanged. The robbery of the mail was then a capital offense, when the lives of passengers or any one was put in jeopardy, as was done. Wilson was saved through the intercession of influential friends, but Porter expiated his crime upon the gallows, having on the day of the execution ridden upon his coffin from the Arch street prison to the hanging ground, not far from the Eastern penitentiary. Potete, who had committed a crime in Baltimore, was taken back there and served out a term of imprisonment. Wilson became an exemplary citizen, and was living when last heard of a few years ago. — Philadelphia Ledger.

Doctor Resuscitates Girl at Her Funeral, Sits Up in Coffin

Wisconsin, 1883

Sitting Up in Her Coffin

At Black River Falls, Wis., the sensation of the day is the return to life of a young lady who to all appearance had been dead three days.

Miss Lina Richmann, the daughter of a wealthy German, had been very sick for some weeks and died, as was supposed. Her body was prepared for burial, when it was suggested by some one that the appearance of the young lady's face did not indicate death; but on the fourth day the funeral services were held.

While the ceremony was in progress Dr. Baxter, of Milwaukee, looking at the face of the supposed corpse asked that the services be interrupted long enough for him to attempt resuscitation. This was done, and he succeeded so well that the woman arose in her coffin with a terrible shriek. The scene was highly exciting. Men turned pale with horror, women fainted, and it was a long time before anything like quiet was restored.

Friends are continually calling to see and congratulate one whom they never thought to see again in this world. She says that while in a trance-like condition, she realized with unspeakable horror that she was being prepared for the services but could not speak or make any motion.

—The Hopewell Herald, Hopewell, New Jersey, Nov. 7, 1884.

Man Falls Dead By His Mother's Coffin

New York, 1899

Fifth Member of the Family to Die Within Three Months

By the side of his mother's coffin John F. Murphy, a retired fireman, apparently in full health and strength, fell dead, says the New York Times.

The mother, Mrs. Mary Ann Murphy, died on Wednesday afternoon, after an illness of only two days, at her home, 219 Harrison street, Brooklyn. She was the fourth member of the family to die within three months, and the sudden death of her son brings the number up to five.

John F. Murphy was 37 years old. He had been a fireman for thirteen years, and was retired on half-pay a short time ago. His home was at 521 1st avenue, Manhattan. He went to Brooklyn on Friday night to attend his mother's wake, and sat up with the body all night.

At 1 o'clock the next afternoon, when the body was about to be taken to Calvary cemetery, Murphy and a few friends were sitting in the room with the coffin. Murphy was talking. Suddenly he hesitated in his speech and clapped his hands to his heart. "Boys," he gasped, "I'm sick!" He attempted to rise from his chair and fell unconscious. His friends thought at first that he was joking, and then, becoming alarmed, sent for an ambulance.

Surgeon Smith of the Long Island college hospital responded and Dr. Walter Kean, of Clinton and Congress streets, was also sent for. The two physicians pronounced him dead and ascribed heart disease as the cause.

—The Lima News, Lima, Ohio, Feb. 11, 1899, p. 3.

Killing The Mountain Spirit

1874

In illustration of the excessive superstition of the California Indians, a writer in a Sacramento paper relates the following story:

"Two years ago, 'Whistler,' a noted hunter and brave warrior, of the Klamaths, was on the sacred mountain, at the head of Sprague River (a tributary of Williamson's River, and the one referred to so often as the latter stream), when, in the dusk of the evening, he saw a large mule deer, and at once fired, bringing it to the ground.

"In going to cut its throat he was horror-stricken at what he saw before him. There was a deer, a male, weighing over 300 pounds, whose horns were to him a mystery. From one side of the head grew a single spike, ten or twelve inches in length; while from the other side grew a stump horn, with seven short prongs. He had never seen or heard of the like before, and his superstition got the better of him.

"His health for a long time had been bad, and this and the excitement of having, as he supposed, killed the spirit of the mountains, threw him into convulsions. He bled at the mouth and nose, and laid there helpless for hours. At last he managed to crawl to the camp of his party at the foot of the hill, where he told his story and went into a trance. His party were terribly alarmed, and one rode to the agency and told O. C. Applegate that Whistler was dead. Applegate had his coffin made, and it was set out to dry.

"The next morning news came by another rumor that Whistler was alive. It happened the Indian doctor was along with the party, and when Whistler went into a trance he did likewise and kept him company, and brought him back with him, as he expressed it."

Boy Drawn Over Cliff in Coffin

1909

JACKSON, California — Lying unconscious in a coffin, Cecil Miller, 16 years old, was drawn up a 150-foot cliff on the bank of the Cosumnes river, near Plymouth Sunday.

While hunting on the banks young Miller stepped out on a large rock on Eagles' Nest bluff, which gave way suddenly and precipitated the boy down the bank to the water's edge. A companion ran to Plymouth, three miles away, for assistance. Believing that Miller was dead, a coffin was taken along by the rescuing party.

After much difficulty two men were lowered over the bluff with the coffin. The boy was alive, but unconscious, and terribly injured. He was placed in the coffin to be raised to the top of the bluff.


Shoots Both Wife and Himself

DES MOOINES, Iowa — Dennis Sweeney, connected with the coal mines at New Saylor, near Des Moines, shot his wife, from whom he had been separated for some time, and turned the revolver on himself. The body of Sweeney was found in a cornfield. The woman cannot recover.


Surprised, Regains Voice

POTTSVILLE, Pennsylvania. — Surprised by friends, Miss Sallie Sterner suddenly regained the loss of speech she sustained during an illness of five years ago. Physicians, puzzled by the loss of articulation, are still more mystified over the latest developments. The patient now talks as well as ever.

The Wrong Coffin — His Mother-in-Law and The Admiral

1878

The Wrong Coffin

A gentleman, who had been spending the winter at a village between Perpignan and Toulon, France, started for Marseilles, having under his charge the remains of his wife's mother, who had expressed a desire to be buried in the family vault near the sea.

On arriving at Marseilles he went with the commissioner of police to receive the body from the railway officials, but noticed that the coffin was of a different shape and construction from that which he had brought from home. It turned out that the officials had sent on to Toulon the coffin containing his mother-in-law's body, believing that it held the remains of a deceased admiral, which were to be embarked for interment in Algeria, while the coffin awaiting delivery was the one which should have been sent on.

The mourner having requested the railway officials to communicate at once with Toulon by telegraph, proceeded thither himself with the coffin of the admiral, but the dispatch had arrived too late. He ascertained when he got there that the first coffin had been duly received, taken on board the State vessel which was waiting for it, and dispatched to Algeria.

He at once called upon the maritime prefect, and explained the circumstances of the case, but though a dispatch-boat was sent in pursuit, the other vessel was not overtaken.

Acting upon the principle that an admiral in hand is worth a mother-in-law in the bush, he declined to give up the remains then in his possession until the authorities should produce the other corpse. He consoled himself doubtless with the thought that full military and naval honors had been paid to his wife's mother, for the remains had gone out of harbor amid the thunder of fort and fleet. — New York Tribune.