Lore - Episode 95: Out of Sight

Episode Date: September 17, 2018

Few things disappoint us more than when our expectations aren’t met. We expect to be loved, or to be rewarded for our hard work. And above all, we expect the people in our lives to always be there. Which is why it’s so frightening to hear stories of those who don’t—of people who were right there, where they should be, only to disappear without explanation. Learn more about your ad-choices at https://www.iheartpodcastnetwork.com Access premium content!: https://www.lorepodcast.com/support See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

The sun above them was hot and bright when the three children wandered off to play in a nearby field. the three children wandered off to play in a nearby field. They were siblings, one boy and two girls, the children of a local railroad guard in the city of Gloucester, England. The field was one of their favorite places to go during the day, but they always returned home by dinnertime. On this particular summer day in 1906, though, dinner arrived without the children. Their parents, Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn, grew worried enough to call for the authorities to come help them. Beginning that very night, a search party was formed to locate the missing children. They finished their night of searching empty-handed. Not a single clue had been found that might hint at where the children

had gone, or if they'd been taken by a malicious stranger. But these were their children, and parents rarely give up hope so quickly. They searched the following day, and a third day as well. After that, though, things were beginning to look bleak. On the fourth day, a farmer was plowing a field close to the one the children had been playing in when he noticed something in the ditch along the northeast side. It was the forms of the missing children, laying peacefully in the dirt. But they weren't dead. They were sleeping. After waking them up and taking them home, the children surprised everyone with a shocking story. They had no memory of the past four days. Even 40 years later, the son was still unable to offer an answer to the riddle of their disappearance.

Things go missing. Whether it's a sock in the dryer, your car keys, or an entire person, every now and then, things just sort of slip through the cracks and vanish. Thankfully, like the children in Gloucester, a lot of those missing things are eventually found. But if we thumb through the pages of history, we'll come face to face with something worse. of history, we'll come face to face with something worse. Something that tugs at our darkest fears and leaves us feeling unsettled. Sometimes people vanish, and they're never seen again. I'm Aaron Manke, and this is Lore. Let me just say right from the start that history is so full of disappearances that I'm not going to come anywhere close to discussing all of them.

From the legendary 9th Roman Legion and the Roanoke Colony, to the Mary Celeste and Amelia Earhart, the floor of history is so littered with disappearances that it's a miracle none of us trip and hurt ourselves. What's become clear is that the most powerful disappearance stories are the ones that involve people. That family member who's never seen again, or the public figure that seems to vanish into thin air. Lost objects and ancient colonies lack the emotional weight that we feel when a local man goes missing. And that's where I want to focus today.

Benjamin Bathurst was born into the upper crust of British society. His father was the Bishop of Norwich, then after finishing his education, he began work for the Crown as a diplomatic envoy. education, he began work for the Crown as a diplomatic envoy. He traveled to Vienna in the spring of 1809 and was part of the group of advisors that helped convince Holy Roman Emperor Francis II to declare war on France. But things didn't work out in the Emperor's favor, and Bathurst had to find a way to retreat home to London. He decided that traveling north through French-occupied Germany would be his safest bet. So, in November of 1809, he and a friend named Kraus set off toward Hamburg. On the 25th of November, though, their plans fell apart. That was the day they reached the city of Perleberg, just 80 miles from their destination.

The two men stopped for an early dinner at the White Swan Inn and had the horses on their carriage changed out. Then, thinking it would be safer for them to travel in the dark of night, Bathurst headed back down to the carriage around sunset to continue the journey. He and Kraus inspected the horses and watched as workers from the inn reloaded their luggage. The two men were just a few feet apart when Bathurst stepped out of view to climb into the carriage, and a moment later, Kraus followed him. When he looked inside it, though, he was shocked to find it empty. Bathurst had vanished.

Kraus claims that he searched the entire area around the carriage and even had guards block off the street so they could stop anyone who might have kidnapped his friend. But try as he might, he was never able to find Bathurst. The man had been there one moment, but was gone the next. Decades later, and 600 miles to the west, a group of men were traveling home from the pub at the end of a night of drinking in the Warwickshire town of Leamington Spa. The three men, Barham Wise, Hammerson Burns, and James Warson,

were all seated in the same carriage, laughing and trading stories, when Warson made an outrageous claim. He bragged that he was a gifted long-distance runner. He could run for miles and miles without slowing down or tiring, even after a night at the pub. His two friends refused to believe him without a demonstration, so they stopped the carriage and told him to get out. They told Warson to run the rest of the way home, and they would follow behind and told him to get out. They told Warson to run the rest of the way home, and they would follow behind him to see it with their own eyes. Reluctantly, Warson agreed. Even after all the drinking they'd partaken in back in the pub,

Warson put on a powerful show. According to the story, he set a steady pace and began the long run back to their home in Coventry, 10 miles to the north. All the while, Burns and Wise stayed behind him in the carriage, following along from a short distance. A handful of miles into the demonstration, something happened that left Warson's friends stunned and afraid. Worson's friends, stunned and afraid. They were watching Worson run straight down the middle of the country lane, when all of a sudden, the man tripped on something they couldn't see. He stumbled, waved his arms in a panic, and then fell to the ground and vanished. When Burns and Wise caught up to the place where Worson had tripped, they expected to find their friend laid out in a ditch. Amazingly though, there was no sign of him. They searched the sides of the road and called out for Worson to end the practical joke, but no matter how long they stayed there and searched for him,

he never turned up. The police were called to help in the search, as you might expect. But according to the story, Burns and Wise never found their friend. He'd tripped over something, then slipped into nothing, and was never heard from again. He was a rising star in his country's military, and now everyone had gathered in the town square to catch a glimpse of him. He was a man of the people, a newly minted captain, and a knight in France's prestigious Legion of Honor. If ever there was someone deserving of respect, it was him. The trouble was everyone was gathered to see him branded as a thief, not a hero. You see, he'd arrived in the city of Danzig a few months earlier and had settled in as the guest of a local business owner.

We don't know the shop owner's name, but we do know that he dealt in fancy goods, whatever that might mean, and was also in the middle of a bit of a business slump. As such, the man had no employees, so he enlisted the help of this esteemed military guest. It was sometime during his service over those many weeks in the merchant's shop that one of the valuable signet rings went missing. It was small, and the captain was trustworthy, so the merchant assumed it had just been lost under a box or cabinet. It would turn up again. He was sure of it.

And it did. Many weeks later, the merchant took a Sunday morning stroll through the city marketplace. While he was there, he bumped into an old friend, and the two men exchanged greetings and a handshake. And that's when the merchant noticed the man's ring. Where did you get that? he asked, motioning toward his friend's hand. This? the friend said, holding up the ring. I bought it off a soldier, if you can believe that.

It only cost me five dollars. The merchant proceeded to explain that the ring had once belonged to him, but had gone missing. Putting the pieces together, the two men came to the startling realization that the entire episode had been an act of theft by that well-respected member of the Legion of Honor, Captain Fritz Alswanger. The events moved quickly after that. The captain was arrested and brought before the governor, where a confession was made. A trial was set up and Alswanger was brought before a local general for a court-martial. Finally, a confession was drawn up and the captain willingly signed it.

All that was left was for him to be stripped of his rank and removed from the military, which would happen the following day in front of his entire garrison. The town square filled with thousands of curious onlookers when Alswanger was led out into the center. His military uniform was stripped of all its markings, badges, and honors, which were then piled together on a cushion and carried away. badges and honors, which were then piled together on a cushion and carried away. Women fainted, and fellow soldiers openly wept. The noble life of Captain Fritz Alswanger had been literally and figuratively dismantled.

That's when Alswanger asked to speak. He turned to the general, and then made the most amazing declaration. I am not Fritz Alswanger, he said. I am Diederik, the son of a tradesman from Strasbourg. The crowd was stunned, as was the general. He looked at the man who had just been stripped of his entire military career, paused, and then extended a hand. Explain yourself, he said. The tale the man began to weave for them was stunning. Three years prior, he had just completed seven years as an apprentice to a shoemaker in Strasbourg. Wanting something new for himself, he left the city and joined up with a small group of Romani.

After traveling south for some time, they eventually found themselves in the Italian city of L'Aquila. Stopping in a local lemonade shop for a drink, he discovered all of the seats were occupied with military officers, and all of them were watching him intently. Moments later, one of the soldiers stood and approached, and that's when Diedrich saw the man's face, and he froze. The two men looked so alike that they could have been twins. They spent some time marveling at this, and when Alswanger discovered

that Diederich was in search of a job, he offered him one. The following day, Diederich became the officer's valet. Life after that was interesting, to say the least. Asfanger loved to use their near-identical appearance for amusement. Sometimes the two would swap clothing so that Asfanger could have more fun and enjoy the non-military life, and to give Dietrich a taste of a bit more power and admiration. It was an entertaining life, and at least to Diederich, it was a major step up.

No longer was he the unemployed former apprentice to a Strasbourg shoemaker. He was valet to a well- known and well-respected lieutenant, and that had changed everything for him. But now here he was, convicted of a crime that resulted in the utter destruction of another man's reputation, which begged the obvious question. If Fritz Aswanger wasn't the man standing before them, then where was he? Alswanger, it turns out, was dead. It happened after a long night of drinking. Diederik helped his master home on a cold, wet autumn night,

although he practically had to drag him. Alswanger complained of a powerful headache and seemed delirious and unaware of his surroundings. After the officer was safe in bed, the valet gave him a cool drink and then retired to his own room for the night. In the morning, Diedrich claims he entered Alswanger's room at the usual hour to prepare a morning drink for him, but found the man to be pale and unmoving.

Stepping closer, it became obvious why. Alswanger was dead. Whether it had been some sort of illness or perhaps a heart attack, Diedrich didn't know, but he knew he had to act quickly. Before anyone else in the building was awake, he dragged his former master's corpse into his own quarters, where he dressed the man in his clothing. Then he quickly dashed back to Alswanger's bedroom, dressed himself in uniform, and started his day as the other man. After a short while, he faked annoyance at his valet's tardiness and sent someone to fetch him. Naturally, they found him cold and dead.

Like Farm Boy taking over the role of the dread Pirate Roberts, Dieterich had assumed the life of Fritz Alswanger. He took over every bit of it, from his duties in the military to friendships with the other officers. And thanks to the fact that the two men had been nearly identical in appearance, it worked. Of course, that had been two years before his arrest for theft, so the general and governor were intrigued to know what he had been doing all that time. Diederik explained that soon after, he received orders to travel to France and since that moved him closer to home and farther from the people who had known Alswanger intimately, he jumped at the chance.

Along the way, he was even promoted to captain, thanks to his commitment to his role and responsibility as an officer. The only hitch in the entire charade was the visit he paid to his mother. She didn't necessarily suspect him of being an imposter, but she certainly noticed he was much less affectionate toward her. A mother always knows, doesn't she? When they led Diedrich away to return to his jail cell, the people gathered around were left in stunned silence. Some even wept at the tragedy of it all. But none of that changed the current charges of theft, to which he had freely admitted guilt. All of the tragedy of it all. But none of that changed the current charges of theft,

to which he had freely admitted guilt. All of the details of his story were sent off to Emperor Napoleon for a decision. And the waiting began. When word arrived, there was good news and bad news. On the positive side, Napoleon didn't believe that Diederik had murdered Alswanger. On the other hand, though, he was still guilty of theft and fraud. According to the story, he was branded as a thief in the area of his back between his shoulder blades and then locked up in a local prison. The plan was to keep him there for just a short while and then transport him to another prison in western France where he would work as a slave on board one of the naval ships. Within months of his trial, though, the French Empire began to crumble around them, and as a result, that transfer never happened. By 1814, the city was

in the hands of the Prussians, and as they began the task of taking on the duties of running the various branches of government, one of the things they did was review the prison records. As far as I can tell, everything seemed normal and above board, except for one problem. The prisoner, listed as Diederik, was noted with one simple word. Missing. As the story goes, months before the arrival of the Prussians, the guards were escorting a group of prisoners across the open yard of the complex. They were walking in single

file, hands chained together, with a longer chain connecting them to each other. And right there, in full view of everyone around him, Diederik began to fade out of sight. one around him. Diederik began to fade out of sight. That's the story, anyway. And while it sounds like a scene pulled straight out of a Star Trek film, it probably does a lot of what folklore has done for us over the years. It takes a kernel of truth and repackages it for a more entertaining storytelling experience. Looking back, historians think that the more likely reason he was listed as missing was that he somehow managed to escape. Scribbling escaped in the margin of the prison logs would have been a lot more embarrassing, so they decided to go with missing. And honestly, all he needed to do was get over the wall. The harbor below the prison would have provided him the perfect place to hide

until a ship could carry him away. In a sense, Diederik disappeared the day he swapped clothing with the corpse of Fritz Alswanger. His old life vanished, while the life of his master continued on with a new actor running the show. And while we'll never know for sure how he disappeared from that prison in Danzig, whether it was some sort of supernatural evaporation or just a good old-fashioned prison break, it's clear that he lived out one of our greatest fears when he did it.

He went missing. It's almost terrifying just how easy it is for people to disappear. We go through life thinking of ourselves as so permanent and immovable, and yet, well, we're not. Sometimes life can carry us away, like a river dragging debris toward a new destination. Other times, it's the darker side of humanity that causes those disappearances, such as kidnapping or murder. People vanish, whether we like it or not. Sometimes, though, time reveals the answers. It can be like a strong wind that blows the sand back, revealing the truth buried beneath it. Take Benjamin Bathurst, for example. After he disappeared in 1809, odd clues started to turn up. His pants were found in the

woods outside of town. They had bullet holes in them, but no blood, and there was a letter to his wife in the pocket. Stranger, a coat that was thought to belong to him, was discovered in the private home of an employee of the White Swan Inn, where he'd been staying. That might sound like nothing more than a bit of on-the-job theft, but one final piece of information makes me wonder if something more wasn't going on. You see, in 1825, a house in the same town was demolished so that a new one could be built. A previous owner of the house had been yet another employee of the White Swan Inn, but they found something more significant buried in the dirt of the house had been yet another employee of the White Swan Inn, but they found something more significant buried in the dirt of the original foundation than a coat.

They found a skeleton. Benjamin Bathurst might have disappeared, but at the end, we have people to blame for it, not magic. And remember our long-distance runner, James Worson? Well, his story first appeared in a collection of tales published in 1913 by an American writer named Ambrose Bierce. In fact, it was one of many stories he published over the years that involved people who mysteriously disappear. And while that doesn't necessarily mean that Worson's amazing run was entirely fictional, there's no other evidence to prove it wasn't. Ambrose Bierce, if you've never heard of him, was the guy who wrote An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, a story I remember being forced to read in high school. He was born in 1842 and

worked as a journalist for a number of years, including for an abolitionist newspaper. Then the Civil War broke out, and he joined the Union Army. After the war was over, he continued his career as a writer. While he was mostly known for his journalism, his fiction helped inspire countless others. H.P. Lovecraft cited Bierce as a catalyst for his own writings, thanks to his many horror-themed short stories, and Hemingway held him in high regard as well. All in all, his writing career was groundbreaking and influential. At the age of 71, Bearse decided to revisit all of his old Civil War battle sites. It was the sort of thing people do when they want to reflect and reminisce. Those few years of military service had become core to who he was, and he wanted to stand in those places one last time.

He left Washington, D.C. by train in October of 1913 and began the long, slow journey south and west, stopping at each important site along the way. He wrote letters home and spoke to journalists in various cities he visited. In New Orleans, he told a reporter that he planned to keep traveling south into Mexico, perhaps to join up with Pancho Villa and the Mexican Revolution. I like the game, he said. I like fighting. I want to see it. He said, The old soldier in him must have gotten what he wanted, too.

In late December of 1913, he wrote a letter to a friend from the Mexican city of Chihuahua. As to me, he wrote, I leave here tomorrow for an unknown destination. And that was it. Over a century later, historians are still unsure what that new destination might have been and what transpired along the way. Like so many of his literary characters, Ambrose Bierce slipped out of the world and into the unknown. He vanished and was never heard from again. Tales of disappearing people have a way of unsettling us, whether the cause is mundane

or something more unexplainable. And we've explored a number of those today. After this short sponsor break, I want to share one last story with you. This one has the flavor of the remarkable, and while its truth is highly debatable, it's just the right mix of intriguing and entertaining. Stick around to hear it in a moment. The guard wasn't supposed to be there. It was a hot October afternoon in 1593, and the Viceroy's Palace in Mexico City was already staffed with enough watchful eyes.

So when one of the men glanced over the wall and saw another soldier standing at the front gate, he sounded the alarm. The man in question was a guard like them, but he was wearing a very different uniform, which meant that he might be the enemy. The captain of the guard brought a few soldiers with him to the front of the palace and then carefully opened the gate. The man outside turned and looked at them with a puzzled expression. Where am I? He asked in perfect Spanish. The captain answered him and then inquired about his name and story. The man identified himself as Gil Perez. Until a

few minutes before, he had been a guard serving the Spanish colony of Manila, 9,000 miles away in the Philippines. Naturally, the Mexico City guards didn't believe him, most likely laughing at the thought of it, but the man pushed deeper, trying to prove it. Just last night, he told them, the governor of Manila was killed by Chinese assassins while our fleet was headed to the Maluku Islands. Manila was killed by Chinese assassins while our fleet was headed to the Maluku Islands. Remember, though, that this was 1593. There was no internet or radio, let alone a telegraph or mail service. If something had happened 9,000 miles away just hours before, they had absolutely no way of confirming it. Instead, the stranger was thrown into one of the palace's jail cells and left there until a better, more believable story presented itself. And that's where he remained for many long months.

The following spring, a package of correspondence arrived from the Philippines. Among the papers inside it was a letter detailing the assassination of the governor along with the date of his death, October 25, 1593. Somehow, against all the odds, the stranger had been right. Not knowing what else to do, the Viceroy released Perez, gave him all the supplies that he would need, and then sent him back west, where he was told to catch the next ship bound for Manila. All we can assume is that he made it home safely. As with so many of these tales, there's very little evidence to help us know for sure whether the events really played out this way, or if they've been edited over the centuries to give us a bit more of a thrilling experience. Either way, the tale of Gil Perez highlights one important question

we almost never get a chance to answer. When people vanish from our sight, are they gone forever? Or do they simply end up somewhere else? A stranger in a distant land? In a distant land. Cabinet of Curiosities, and I think you'd really enjoy it. It's a twice-weekly podcast that explores some of the most bizarre events, objects, and people in history. Each 10-minute episode is a bite-sized collection of two short tales that show you just how unexplainable our world really is. Lore exists outside this podcast, too. There's a book series in stores around the country and online with the third book arriving in October called Dreadful Places

and the second season of the Amazon Prime television show arrives on October 19th. Check them both out if you want a little bit more lore in your life. And you can always learn about everything going on over in one central place, theworldoflore.com slash now. Oh, and hey, if you're a social media sort of person, you can follow the show on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

Just search for Lore Podcast, all one word, and then click that follow button. When you do, say hi. I like it when people say hi. And as always, thanks for listening. Thank you.