Most people look at me askance when I talk about sex & the Cthulhu Mythos, but both of those subjects take on the syntax of their era, and have been combined pretty much from their conception. One of the key examples I like to bring up is Teenage Twins (1976), one of those quiet landmarks where a lot of strange elements come together. A hardcore pornographic film by director Carter Stevens and writer Richard Jaccoma (under the pseudonym "Al Hazard"), it manages to be the first American pornographic film to use twin actresses (Stevens would later joke in an interview that the twins - who were stewardesses on a small Southern airline and addicted to Quaaludes "would do anything in front of the camera - except act"), the first pornographic film to feature elements of H. P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos (the plot of the film surrounds a copy of the Necronomicon), and the first film to feature the creations of Robert E. Howard - the invocation "ka nama kaa lajerama" used from the film comes from "The Shadow Kingdom" (1929) - although REH's story "Pigeons From Hell" had previously been adapted for television. There's an anecdote that someone cut the pornographic parts of the film and ran a "clean" version of it at an early World Fantasy Convention under the title "At the Mons of Madness" (a pun on Lovecraft's At the Mountains of Madness), but I've never been able to confirm that or find a print, although I know at least one person has duplicated the effort with a digital copy, although he said it was difficult due to the casual nudity in many scenes and the rather abrupt ending of the concluding ritual/orgy. The film was sufficiently successful that they even published the soundtrack as a vinyl LP.

Note: as I Tell this story often, I've written most of this before on my personal blog. But I tailor the explanations to the audience.

While discussing Japanese history and the Hamilton Musical simultaneously, it occurred to me to wonder when George Washington became a big name in Japan? Was it after the Meiji restoration? After Perry opened up Japan to Westerners? Earlier?

The answer surprised me. George Washington was known as a hero in Japan before Perry ever sailed into Edo Bay. And furthermore, during the Bakumatsu: the troubled final years of the shogunate, he was seen as a model by some Japanese who wanted to expel the foreigners from Japan.

According to Tadashi Aruga's article "Japanese Interpretations of the American Revolution" (The Japanese Journal of American Studies, No. 2, 1985.) Japan didn’t even learn of the American Revolution till 1808 when the Dutch East Indian Company, the only Europeans who were allowed to trade with Japan, chartered American ships in their Nagasaki trade. Asked for an explanation, the Dutch gave a glowing account of the American revolution and the new republic. The official report to Edo emphasized the heroic role of George Washington.

“During the war for independence, a very capable general, Washington by name, fought bravely against English forces, and led the Americans to the final victory. Several years before his death, the Americans established a new city, and named it Washington in honor of his great service to the nation.”

Stories about Washington circulated through private correspondence after this, but in 1845-46, a scholar named Shogo Mitsukiri published a series of volumes called Konyo Zukishi (An overview of the Geography of the world.) The volume on the United States enthusiastically related the American Revolution. Shogo followed it up with a short biography of George Washington. For Shogo, George Washington is the perfect man: a model of Confucian virtues. I’ll quote its conclusion:

Washington had a dignified bearing. He was an able official, and a manly burgher. He was circumspect in his actions, and undaunted in the face of great difficulties. His devotion to his country was indomitable. His guiding principle was the preservation of national honor. He cherished his country, gave prosperity to its people, and was ever ready to serve others. He always had a sound basis for his views, but never sought to force those views on others. In managing affairs, he was strict, but benignant. This was his heaven-endowed nature, truly worthy of respect and adulation. He was an exceptional man, born to do great things, and to achieve success and distinction. (Page 78)

Now, guess who else gets high praise in this biography?

“In the country, there was a person called Hamilton, who was sagacious, eloquent, and well versed in political matters.So he was chosen by Washington to assist the latter in governing.“ (Page 77)

So, I guess Hamilton had his fans in Edo Period Japan as well.

Print of George Washington from the book Meriken Shinshi, 1855. Courtesy of UBC’s Japanese Maps of the Tokugawa Era Collection.

After this, Washington-mania was at full blast. “George Washington was almost a culture hero in late Tokugawa Japan," says Marius Jansen in The Cambridge History of Japan, Vol. V (p. 337)

In 1853, The United States via Commodore Perry threatened Edo with gunboats, forcing Japan to open up its ports to foreign trade. And that somehow didn’t effect Washington’s popularity. Instead, in a very strange turn of events, he became a role model for certain Sonnō Jōi (Revere the Emperor and Expel the Barbarians) patriots. Just as Washington had risen up and rallied the American people to expel the British, these patriots were going to expel the foreigners. Marius Jansen describes the thought process of one patriot: Nakaoka Shintaro of Tosa:

Nakaoka, for his part, shared the dangers and discoveries of the Choshu loyalists, and gradually came to the conclusion that the foreigners were to be dealt with only after a period of borrowing and learning. Jōi, he now realized, had been practiced elsewhere by men of patience and will; if Washington had waited until he had the armed strength to drive out the English barbarians, the Japanese too should be able to wait until the moment appropriate to their cause arrived.” (Page 351, Sakamoto Ryoma and the Meiji Restoration)

It probably helped that despite Perry’s dramatic entrance, the United States was seen as a much lesser threat than other Western powers. The U.S. had no colonies in Asia at that time.

And you know . . . it must be nice to have Washington on your side. (hides)

I'm a big fan of the more recent (1917) but still historical story of Ernest Shackleton's ill-fated trans-Antarctic trip.

In 1914 Shackleton and his 27-man crew set off from Britain bound for Antarctica to cross the southern continent by foot. They never made it onto the continent. Their ship, the Endurance, was trapped in sea ice during the Antarctic winter and sunk in 1915.

Over the next two years the men would slog along pack and sea ice (never actually making it on to Antarctica proper) until ultimately setting a camp on Elephant Island.

Keep in mind when this occurred: This takes place during 1915-1916 and the Great War was raging in Europe and Shackleton's crew had been all but forgotten. Even if their radios had worked well enough to call for help, no help was available. It was now 1916 and these men were thoroughly and utterly alone on Antarctic ice.

With no help coming and no hope for any salvation, Shackleton embarked on a last hail-Mary effort. He took five other men and set about a rather monumental task. They equipped the James Caird, a lifeboat they'd salvaged from the Endurance, with what provisions they could. Then they set off.

The six men set off from Elephant Island, bound for South Georgia Island.

In a rowboat.

In an Antarctic Winter.

During a hurricane.

Across the Drake Passage, which has some of the roughest water in the world.

Aiming for a tiny island that contained a tiny whaling station (on the wrong side) 800 miles away.

Against the currents.

After having been starved and exhausted by their trek over the previous two years.

Unbelievably, the entire crew of the James Caird made it to South Georgia Island. Unfortunately, the island wasn't exactly hospitable; the interior of the island hadn't even been mapped, as it was considered to be impassable. And yet, here Shackleton &co. stand, thoroughly starved and beaten and thirsty (one of their few casks of water on the lifeboat had been contaminated by seawater and turned brackish), and in order to get help they'd have to cross the island by foot. They had no radios, no means of calling for help, and nobody knew their whereabouts. Also their clothes and shoes were in a horrid state of disrepair after the cumulative events of the previous years; they weren't exactly kitted out in North Face apparel.

If their survival to this point weren't miraculous enough, the following events stretch claims of believability even further: The entire crew made it across the interior of the island to the whaling station Stromness without maps or aid.

After reaching help, Shackleton and his beleaguered crew recovered in Stromness and waited out the weather before setting off in a borrowed ship. Thrice they were rebuffed by sea ice and misfortune, but on their fourth attempt they reached shouting distance of Elephant Island and rescued the remainder of the crew of the Endurance.

The entire party was saved: All 27 men made it out alive. There was no loss of human life, though there was no shortage of abject suffering.

(Upon effecting the rescue of the Endurance crew, Shackleton would then immediately sail across the globe to rescue the crew of the Ross Sea Party which had been laying strategic supply depots across Antarctica in preparation for Shackleton's trans-Antarctic crossing).

In case you're interested, this is all thoroughly documented in Ernest Shackleton's autobiographical book South. Also, there was a photographer on the crew and several photographs of the ill-fated expedition exist and can easily be found online.

I've posted this before, but here it goes again:

This story of a a gamble gone wrong is obviously apocryphal, but it's still one of my favorites.

Kilbrittain Castle (co. Cork, Ireland) changed hands a number of times over the course of the late medieval and early modern periods. Mostly it was for the usual reasons - Kilbrittain was in a heavily contested borderland region between the part of Cork nominally controlled by the English administration and the regions that were dominated by autonomous lordships. In 1510, however, the local lordships seem to have been mostly at peace with one another and entered into a very odd arrangement with one another.

According to C. Coakley, "McCarthy Reagh -- at this time Donal, grandson of Dermod "an Dhunaidh" -- was the owner of a strange animal, usually described as a white weasel, to which his neighbour, Lord Kinsale, appears to have taken an extraordinary liking, so much so that he borrowed it, and actually pledged Kilbrittain Castle for its safe return. But the weasel died on his hands, and McCarthy Reagh kept possession of the castle. The local version represents the animal as a ferret, and De Courcey's pledge as merely a joke, but a very serious joke, as the event proved! Whatever be the correct version, the result of the incident was to make McCarthy Reagh and his descendants undisputed masters of Kilbrittain Castle for the next hundred and thirty years."

Unfortunately for de Courcey, that weasel kicked the bucket (allegedly). Coakley doesn't cite any source for this tale, but I'm fairly certain he has it from an early modern antiquarian -- probably Charles Smith. It's almost certainly apocryphal, but I'd love to be proven wrong! The next time Kilbrittain changed hands wasn't nearly so whimsical -- it was captured by the son of the Earl of Cork during the Rebellion of 1641, and the wars and confiscations that followed pretty much signaled the end of the Mac Carthaigh Riabhach lordship, along with most other Gaelic lordships.

C. Coakley, "Kilbrittain Castle," Journal of the Cork Historical and Archaeological Society 26/123 (1920): 18-23.

When Julius Caesar was an adolescent, he was captured by pirates. The pirates demanded an enormous ransom from him, otherwise they'd kill him. He laughed in their faces, said they clearly didn't know who he was, and offered to pay double.

So Caesar's agents went around collecting the money. In the meantime, he was kept as a prisoner by the pirates. But he actually ended up popular. He was young and charismatic, and they let him wander around unshackled. He spent the time composing poetry and holding poetry readings, where he would read his poetry to the pirates, and call them ignorant barbarians if they didn't show enough appreciation of his poetic genius. They all laughed heartily at that.

Oh, and he kept threatening to crucify them all. They laughed at that too.

So, the money comes through, and the pirates release Caesar. He immediately raises a private army, attacks the pirate camp, and captures everyone. Then he had every last one of them crucified, just like he said he would.

I think my favorite "go to stories" stay away from famous historical figures and events and instead focus on some interesting stories I've come across in my own research that focus on the more mundane aspects of history. I mostly stick to 18th Century newspaper stories to provide a real kick. As I've been working on the Halifax Gazette from the mid-18th Century, I'll share one story that I've found particularly riveting:

Some context to begin: The modern Canadian province of Nova Scotia changed hands quite a bit in the colonial era. After a period of contestation between the French (who called the Area L'Acadie), Scottish settlers (who called the region New Scotland), and later British colonists from New England, a group of French settlers prospered in the modern Annapolis Valley of the peninsula. In 1711, the British were able to capture the French administrative capital at Port Royal; however, the French Acadians continued to live in the valley and throughout Nova Scotia due to their relations with the indigenous people and their knowledge of the land. The Indigenous alliance continued to be a thorn in the side of the British Empire in North America and eventually, Nova Scotia governor Charles Lawerence ordered that all Acadians be removed from Nova Scotia. (For further reading on Le Grand Derangement, I'd suggest John Mack Fargaher's "A Great and Noble Scheme")

Despite Lawerence's decision to deport the Acadians, which by the way is subject of great interest because it is not exactly clear who came up with the deportation scheme, other British subjects in the region learned to turn a tremendous profit from working with the Acadian people. After the establishment of a new capital along the south shore of Nova Scotia, many British residing in the Annapolis Valley began to rely on the Acadians for trade. Even after the British made it illegal to conduct trade with the Acadians, some subjects found the business lucrative.

Here is where the story begins. On June 8, 1754 the Royal Halifax Gazette runs a story in their Halifax News section describing the misfortune of three British sailors abroad the sloop Vulture. The government in Halifax ordered a few British ships into the Bay of Fundy to patrol the region in order to cut down on illegal trade between Acadians and British settlers. The job would have been miserable. Notorious for its foul weather, which is especially bad in fall and spring, the British had relatively few stopping stations along the Bay of Fundy should things turn sour aboard the ship. One night the Vulture spotted a ship returning form Chignecto isthmus. As the sloop approached the vessel, a Captain Harvey turned a swivel gun and fired. After a return volley from the Vulture three men, all aboard the Vulture, had been killed and the crew of the trading ship, including Captain Harvey, had been captured and returned to Halifax in irons.

Back in Halifax Harvey and his three other crew members were placed in the stockade to await their trial. However, having only recently been established and lacking any real justice system, the men languished for the near entirety of the summer until the arrival of the newly appointed chief justice Jonathan Belcher Jr. arrived from Ireland in October. However, on September 20, 1754 the Gazette ran another story explaining that Harvey had escaped the stockade and despite a 20£ bounty on his head, there was no indication of where he went. The other three men were later acquitted of murder.

It seems Harvey disappeared from the newspapers for the remainder of the period; however, with the influx of British soldiers to Halifax during the War for American Independence, a privateering captain has an incredible run of luck of the Bay of Fundy region. This captain made a new for himself not only capturing American trading vessels from New England but also a few French warships blown off course from Rhode Island. The privateer credits his success to his knowledge of the winds and tides from some time spent in the region decades before. His name, is Captain Harvey.

There is little evidence, if any at all, that this is "the" Harvey who escaped imprisonment in 1754. But there is also little evidence that it isn't. Regardless, I think the story is exciting because it speaks to the wildness of imperial fringes. While we often associate this "chaos" and "lawlessness" with the Caribbean, it's equally important to note that neither the French nor the British could really assert firm control in the North Atlantic of the 18th Century. Furthermore, so many men and women used these "Aqueous Territories" to construct their own empires, or at least, their own visions of empires...

The term "aqueous territory" is taken from Ernesto Bassi's wonderful book, An Aqueous Territory

How Rapa Nui (Easter Island) is really a story of human adaptability and creativity rather than an episode of "eco-cide."

I find most people have heard that basic story and know about the Mo'ai which gained prevalence in the 1970s as a sort of parable we could tell ourselves about the fate of earth-- the island was the perfect sort of metaphor-- and one that has been repeated over and over again. It has featured prominently in the works of Clive Ponting- Green History of the World, Jared Diamond- Collapse, Tim Flannery- Future Eaters, and in other media such as the 1994 feature film “Rapa Nui.” Indeed, Clive Ponting warns the reader that, “despite its superficial insignificance, the history of Easter Island is a grim warning to the world.” For each of these authors, Easter Island represents a society, which in the words of Jared Diamond, chose to fail. The Island is treated as a metaphor for the world itself- isolated, small, alone- and the human inhabitants stand-ins for ourselves in the theatre of decline as the island is over developed, over populated, and over exploited until war tears the society apart and people regress to primitive cave dwellers.

One of the most seductive scenes is that of a human cutting down the last tree left standing on the island, despite clearly being able to look around and see it was the last. The film "Rapa Nui" even has this scene taking place, while Diamond sort of imagines it and wonders what the tree cutter must have been thinking. But this is nothing more than a powerful rhetorical tool. For all that Easter Island can teach us about societal collapse, ecocide, and over exploitation, the main problem with that narrative is that it is incorrect and based off projections by the authors more than it is on reality.

More recent work (which I'm still shocked Diamond didn't use since he clearly know some of these guys-- or at least knows Patrick Kirch who definitely knows this work) and research by archaeologists Terry Hunt and Carl Lipo, "The Statues that Walked", rewrite the settlement date of Easter Island from two thousand years ago to only 800 years ago and attributes the loss of the ancient palm forest more towards the arrival of rats in the voyaging canoes and their destructive tendency to eat the seeds of the extremely slow growing palm. Human swidden agriculture did not help the situation much- but human adaptation to the rapid ecological devastation of the island and employment of things like lithic mulching, is the triumphal story of Hunt and Lipo. Rapa Nui is the sight of extreme adaptation rather than ecological suicide and collapse for recent archeologists who tend to assign the population collapse on the island to European introduced diseases after Dutch and later British arrivals- indeed recent work by Bishop Museum archaeologists Mara Mulrooney has shown that the interior of the island was much more densely occupied at the time of European contact and the population was likely much larger and the demographic collapse that much greater upon contact with Eurasian diseases.

If it can be inserted into conversation organically, as when meeting Eartha Kitt (for example), I like to talk about the "Dreadnought Hoax."

On February 7, 1910, a group of foreign dignitaries -- Abyssinian princes conducting an extended tour of England -- arrived at the docks at Weymouth. They had arrived with the intention of inspecting HMS Dreadnought, the most formidable warship on earth, and to pay their respects to her crew and commander. Her captain at the time was Herbert Richmond, a prickly and unpopular character in the Navy, but one who could be counted on to observe the proper niceties in a situation such as this.

Their arrival was not unexpected -- Herbert Cholmondeley, a clerk of the Foreign Office, had telegrammed in advance to warn the Dreadnought and her crew of the dignitaries' imminent arrival. Their Abyssinian provenance threw everyone off kilter; protocol demanded an honour guard and a formal reception in a case such as this, but the notice of their arrival had been so short that no Abyssinian flag could be acquired. It was consequently decided (somewhat bafflingly) that the flag of Zanzibar would be flown instead, and the Zanzibar national anthem played. The visiting princes seemed touched by the gesture, much to the crew's relief.

The inspection duly proceeded. With the aid of an interpreter (the princes spoke no English), the visiting party made clear its complete satisfaction with the Dreadnought and her crew. They were very impressed with the ship, very grateful for the warmth of their reception, very pleased to be able to report back home that all was well with the Royal Navy, etc. Captain Richmond was suitably chuffed, and bid them a happy farewell as they departed.

The problem with all of this is that there were no Abyssinian princes. Herbert Cholomondeley did not exist, and certainly did not work for the Foreign Office. The "interpreter" was not interpreting anything, and the visitors were speaking gibberish made up on the spot.

The visitors were in fact artfully disguised members of the Bloomsbury Group, a literary and artistic coterie that had at the time attained a somewhat notorious reputation in England. The ringleader of the hoax was Horace de Vere Cole (who never met a joke he'd turn down), but it involved a number of the leading lights of the Bloomsbury scene, such as Adrian Stephen, the painter Duncan Grant -- and a young Virginia Woolf. They had been made to look like "Abyssinians" by the accomplished theatrical designer and make-up artist William Clarkson.

The hoax quickly became public knowledge and the Navy was suitably chastened. The tricksters were never formally punished, as it was not apparent what law (if any) they had actually broken. It became a matter of national embarrassment that a group of uncredentialed people off the street could simply board and walk around the Navy's flagship with impunity -- this, too, during a time of heightened international tensions.

Security was tightened significantly after the hoax, thankfully, but all involved were keenly aware that it could have been far worse.

The time that San Francisco was controlled by a mob!

San Francisco in the Gold Rush years was a real rough-and-tumble town. From 1850 to 1856 (and periodically afterwards), crime was rampant. Buildings would periodically burn down, people got shot in the street, gambling and prostitution were common. An area known as the Barbary Coast - consisting mainly of a few blocks along Pacific St - was especially notorious:

Barbary Coast is the haunt of the low and vile of every kind. The petty thief, the house burglar, the tramp, the whoremonger, lewd women, cut-throats and murderers, all are found there. Dance-houses and concert saloons, where bleary eyed men and faded women drink vile liquor, smoke offensive tobacco, engage in vulgar conduct, sing obscene songs, and say and do everything to heap upon themselves more degradation, unrest and misery, are numerous. Low gambling houses thronged with riot-loving rowdies in all stages of intoxication are there. Opium dens, where heathen Chinese and God-forsaken women and men are sprawled in miscellaneous confusion, disgustingly drowsy, or completely overcome by inhaling the vapors of the nauseous narcotic, are there. Licentiousness, debauchery, pollution, loathsome disease, insanity from dissipation, misery, poverty, wealth, profanity, blasphemy and death, are there. And Hell, yawning to receive the putrid mass, is there also.

• Lights and Shades in San Francisco, 1876

Along with these run-of-the-mill crimes, there was quite a bit of political corruption. Notably, a state senator named David Broderick was a sort of mob boss - powerful enough to deny anyone public office unless they joined his corruption ring and split the profits. In May 1856, a popular journalist named James King, whose Evening Bulletin was devoted to exposing this kind of corruption, was confronted by James Casey, a supervisor and supporter of Broderick who had been named in one of King's editorials. Casey shot King, who would die of his wounds a week later.

When word got out of the shooting, a mob formed in front of the jail that held Casey. Within two hours of the shooting, the mob (numbering up to 10,000) had intimidated the jail guards into giving up Casey. Now styling themselves as a Vigilance Committee, the mob held a kangaroo court for Casey on the day of King's funeral:

"While the greater part of the populace were witnessing the last sad rites at the grave of their dead friend, quiet preparations were going on at the committee-rooms for the enacting of a scene that would strike terror to the heart of every criminal. A scaffold had been shot out from the second-story window of the committee-rooms; Casey and Cora [another outlaw] were placed upon it, and the same bells that tolled the funeral march, sounded the dirge of these doomed criminals. Ere the fleetest of foot had returned from the grave, the bodies of Casey and Cora were dangling from the cornice.

The Vigilance Committee stayed in control of the town, and began to 'purge' others who were suspected of being 'villains'. When word got the the Governor, he declared San Francisco to be, "in a state of insurrection." He commissioned William Tecumseh Sherman (yes, that one) as a major general to enlist all the local militias and conscript anyone necessary to keep the peace. The Vigilance Committee wasn't happy about this, and decided to essentially set up shop as a military government. They seized arms meant for the militia, occupied all defensible positions in town, and set up a headquarters which they nicknamed "Fort Gunnybags".

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your view) cooler heads eventually prevailed. By August the Committee had dealt with anyone they felt was a danger, and deeming their job done (or at least realizing that open rebellion against the government was a bad idea), they disbanded after a "grand final parade". Over the next few months the captured arms were returned and government forces allowed back in the city. Their legacy?

The work they had performed spoke for itself. Four criminals had been executed; about twenty-five had been banished; and those whom fright drove from the city was variously estimated at from five to eight hundred.

The story of Ibn al-Haytham, who in 11C Egypt came up with a plan to dam the Nile and told the caliph he could do it. TLDR: his theory was great, but the engineering capacity of his society far lacking. But if he told the caliph it wouldn't work? Off with his head. So he pretended to go mad, and was locked inside a house by himself, the standard treatment at the time. For a decade, until the caliph died, he had to pretend to be mad, so he wound up inventing the camera obscura and basically the entire modern science of optics.

The subject of my master's thesis comes up at parties sometimes, and it always seems to interest people. I wrote about the wet dreams of monks in the early Middle Ages.

The Great Rising has a mountain of good ones. I like to rip off a summary from one of Lee Patterson's lectures on Chaucer.

At St. Albans, the working tenants had to work big grain mills owned by the abbot, just like most other peasants around the same time, and they were charged a fee for using the very tools they needed to, you know, work and live. That's shitty, so a lot of the peasants would keep small, private hand-mills at their homes to get around having to pay to use the abbot's mill. Not surprisingly, hand-mills started getting confiscated around the late 13th century. Fifty years later, the peasants rose up and won the rights to their hand-mills by force, but shortly after, that concession was taken back. To add insult to injury, the abbot cemented the millstones he confiscated into his parlor floors.

Another fifty years later when the Great Rising happened, the peasants stormed the abbey, smashed up the floors, and handed a piece to each worker in the community.

...I end the story then, because the aftermath of the Rising has a lot less poetic justice.

I have mostly non historian friends so all my anecdotes must be simple and appeal to non historical desire friends, so for example I tell the origin of things or expresions we use today but have funny origins. For example ties (corbatas in spanish) come from the croatians mercenaries that used red cloths arouns their neck. Or some words like Crase mistake from licinius crasus major defeat at the parthians, or putting red cloths around doorknobs and baga as a symbol lf good luck, cause that waa what the spaniah tercios did to identify themselves (and since their king waa hasburg red is the hasburg color).

Often at parties, people tend to notice my "birthmarks" as I call them, then they start asking some questions, so I drop some "fun facts":

1. Captain Cook finding Tahitians in 1769 (the word tattoo comes from the Tahitian ta-tu or tautau) and bringing some back as a sort of show and tell where displaying a "painted man" became the inn thing to draw in customers in European pubs, etc.

At this point, it was also where the Naval services began a long love affair with tattooing as quite a few of Cook's men began receiving tattoos themselves

2. Tattooing began receiving widespread negative attention around the 1880s to about the 1920s- often called the Carnival Era because of painted man displays in travelling circuses- P.T. Barnum of course being one of the favorites. These displays involved a common narrative of the tattoos being forced on white people as torture or punishment from more savage places-Prince Constantine, with 338 tattoos and a narrative involving his forced tattooing by Chinese cannibals.

These shows also started to include females in an abduction type of narrative, these were popular mainly for a softcore porn angle as there was often a bit of risque showing, at least something that would be considered out of the mores of the time

3. At one point, tattooing was fashionable with the upper crust due to its exclusivity (a popular tattoo was the bust of George Washington across a female upper chest) until the 1890s when Samuel O'Reilly's tattoo machine (which is the predecessor the the modern one- they haven't changed much). Once the tattoo became cheaper and easier to obtain, the wealthy largely discarded it

I always have a hard time picking, so I'll just bulletpoint a couple of my favorites; feel free to follow up.

That time Robert E. Lee got a staff officer out of his hair by sending him on a wild goose chase to find a 'masked battery', telling him he'd have found it back in his day, and finally letting the poor boy know he'd been had.

When Edward Porter Alexander was a kid, he brought a gun to a fight with two older, pro-secessionist boys. He drew his gun after the older boy broke a stick over his head, but it misfired; he pulled the trigger again, still with no result. By now, the older boy had drawn his pistol, and figuring he'd gotten the wrong percussion caps, decided not to fire, in case his gun fail and the other boys not. After a moment, the crowd pulled them apart, and when someone pointed Porter's gun skyward and pulled the trigger, the shot rang out loud and clear.

George McClellan came home to find Lincoln and Seward, walked past them, went upstairs, made them wait half an hour, then had his butler tell them he'd be glad to see them some other time.

The night before the British stormed the Taku forts during the Second Opium War, one soldier recorded seeing the moon seem to shut off like a light, 'as if it couldn't bear to watch what was about to happen', and sure enough, looking back through the almanacs, there was a lunar eclipse that night.

There's an extensive Spanish derived Dutch vocabulary, mostly words relating to courtesy, war, religion, and cursing.

Hannibal's whole story is larger than life, and part of why i'm disappointed fantasy fiction seems to draw so heavily on the medieval era, when the classical is so rich. So imagine you're a Pontic king at war, and out of nowhere, the greatest land general who ever lived shows up to crash on your couch. You then put him in charge of your navy(???), and this grizzled one eyed legend who's been on campaign since he was a child wins a battle by hurling pots of snakes onto the enemy ships, the absolute madman.