Petty Officer John Shaw Torrington

While reading my current book (Helen Humphries' Afterimage), I was reminded of a tale that captured my imagination as a child. The story (click for a pretty good summary of the events) of Franklin's third expedition into the Arctic held all the drama and tragedy of the most engrossing novel, plus there were the mummies. I was fascinated by mummies of all kinds, but the faces of the buried sailors from Franklin's crew were particularly intriguing. The cold preserved their bodies to an incredible degree, so much that the mummies still had their eyes nearly intact.

This image of young sailor John Torrington is so haunting, it's no wonder that, after nearly 15 years it has never left my head. As soon as I read the passages in Afterimage that referenced the Franklin expedition, I got the urge to draw him, and I'm quite happy with how the sketch turned out:



I'm considering bringing some tragic, frozen sailors into the cast of my next show, so this most likely isn't the last you'll see of John and his ilk on this blog (in fact, I expect you'll see a watercoloured sketch of this very piece quite soon).

Ah, nostalgia - sometimes you're ever so useful for inspiration!

Whilhelm & the Bicycle

Whilhelm (Willie for short) had dreamed about riding a bicycle since before he had ears, fantasizing about the feeling of the wind ruffling his red fur as he flew down hills, the bike's bell ringing out a cheery tune.



One day, he came across a beautiful bike just sitting on the street as if it was waiting for him to happen upon it. Excitedly, he hopped up on the seat, but soon realized the fatal flaw in his long-desired plan...





...Willie had no way of touching, let alone reaching the handlebars.

It was a tragic blow to poor Willie, his dreams dashed upon the street as he clinked away from the beautiful bike and back to the freak show from whence he came, where he spent the rest of his jarred existence being ogled by the curious.



THE END

{This sad little merfox - who is thisclose to being finished - was made from wire, masking tape, fake fur, acrylic paint, paper and watercolour. He'll be starring as one of the main curiosities at the Farther's Freaks exhibit.}

Ofelia Ortiz, 1843

Ofelia Ortiz, 1843

Ofelia was born in Barcelona, but not long after her 17th birthday moved to Paris to be more fully immersed in the artistic community of Europe. A prolific author, she wrote over 50 novels and novellas during her lifetime and was regarded as a literary genius in certain circles.

During a visit to London in 1844, Ofelia caused quite a stir when she was invited to a swanky club and spent the evening canoodling with her host's female cousin. Though the authorities passed the incident off as an unusual outpouring of female friendliness (but nothing to be worried about), Ofelia was later revealed to be a lesbian when her letters were found in a box under her bed after her death. Those who read her novels today are seldom surprised to discover her sexual orientation, as she cleverly inserted references to erotic female love throughout nearly all of her books, references that were somehow not acknowledged by her contemporaries.

Ambrose Ashdown, 1858

Ambrose Ashdown, 1858

Born in Orkney in 1816, Ambrose was a sickly child who seldom left his mother's side. In his journals later in life, he attributes his sheltered childhood to the passion for exploring that struck him during his teenage years. At the age of 18 he left his tiny village and traveled to Edinburgh, where he met a man by the name of John McClure, who had signed on with Sir Robert Black to help organize an ambitious Arctic exploration. Ambrose was taken on, and in 1836 he sailed on the HMS Terror and spent the next four years in the far north.

After his return to Europe, he spent a few years working as a clerk in a London bank, but soon felt the exploring bug bite him harder than ever. Thankfully for Ambrose, his friend John McClure had become a captain in his own right and was in the process of putting together a team. In 1850 the HMS Investigator made its way north on a trip
that would end up lasting for almost a decade.

One of the key moments in the exploration came when the ship became hemmed in by ice. Leaving the crew to their own devices, Ambrose and John decided to set out on sledges and see what they could find in the vicinity. Though Ambrose's journals show that he was the one to find the majestic strait that would come to be known as the Viscount Melville Strait, as captain it was John McClure that claimed the discovery as his own.

Unaware of John's upcoming betrayal, Ambrose continued to work with him in their push farther north and may have helped him find the Northwest Passage. Upon the ship's eventual return to England, John was knighted and the rest of the crew given a token medal for their bravery, leaving Ambrose extremely bitter.

In 1859, Ambrose threw his medal in the Thames and set off on his own ship, Artemis. He returned to the Arctic and spent the rest of his days living in an Inuit village and pretending Europe did not exist.

Alonzo Purcell, 1878

Alonzo Purcell, 1878

A consummate performer, Alonzo knew he wanted to be a part of a traveling show from the age of 5. When his moustache started to grow at the age of 17 and people began to comment on its virility, he knew his facial hair would be his ticket to stardom.

After only three years of growth, Alonzo beat the great Harlan Montrose, a.k.a. 'Mister Moustache', at the London Fair in the categories of both bushiness and length. After collecting his prize of twenty pounds, Alonzo was approached by Tom Norman (the future manager of the Elephant Man), then a young showman, and offered a spot on his lineup.

For three years Alonzo showed off his impressive 'stache in between the Skeleton Girl and the Balloon-Headed Baby (somehow Tom managed to procure an endless supply of such babies, thus extending the life of that exhibit), earning an impressive sum of money and charming all of England with his passionate poems on the benefits of a fine set of facial hair.

Once his contract with Tom ended, Alonzo went on to shill for Colonel Carrigan's FINEST Moustache Wax as well as enjoying a brief stint as Bath's poet laureate.

Walter Blackwood, 1881

Walter Blackwood, 1881

Walter Blackwood lived a relatively unassuming life just outside of London. Born to an accountant and a seamstress, he managed to secure himself a well-off bride and purchased a ramshackle estate from a doddering lord whose children were forcing him to move into the city for their convenience.

Once settled in to the grounds, Walter and his wife set to work fixing innumerable cracks, leaks, crumbling walls and mouse-infested cupboards. Three years passed before the main house could be considered truly livable, but the pair seemed to revel in the renovation, even waiting to procreate until the house and grounds were perfect.

They went on to have seven children, all of whom became lawyers.

Miss Adella Alabaster, 1840

Miss Adella Alabaster, 1840

Though she began her performing life with a traveling troupe, Adella was a savvy businesswoman and quickly got her own agent and began securing headlining shows at such impressive venues as Picadilly Hall in London. She was not a freak in the literal sense, but with her excessive flexibility and charming stage demeanour, Adella became a bona fide star on stages across Europe.

Seamus & Samuel, 1846

Seamus & Samuel, Siamese Twins

One of the top draws at Barnum's American Museum during the peak of its popularity, Seamus & Samuel were billed as conjoined twins found by a brave explorer during his trek into the darkest heart of Siam and brought back to New York, where they picked up English at an impressive rate and soon learned to live a fully civilized life.

In actuality, the twins were born in Chicago, but the secret of their origin was not revealed until many years later, when Samuel wrote a tell-all book about his life.

Gideon Madill, 1862

Gideon Madill, 1862

Gideon considered himself a nihilist philosopher and was therefore quite out of fashion amongst his contemporaries. While John Stewart Mill spoke of securing the greatest happiness for the largest number of people, Gideon stuck to his anomie, writing excessively long papers about the futility of life and his conviction that the world around him was entirely meaningless.

Later scholars came to believe that this gloomy view of life was directly related to the death of his childhood sweetheart at the age of eighteen, only a few months before their wedding was to happen. Nevertheless, as a philosopher he made some interesting forays into the subject of life's futility and wrote elegantly about his crushing malaise.

Buford Blewett, 1870

Buford Blewett, 1870

Coming from humble beginnings as a farmer's son, Buford pulled himself handily up by his bootstraps and became one of the best-known politicians of his day. Well-read and charming, he was known for his blustery speeches, which never failed to whip crowds into frenzies of passionate support. His political bent was evident from his first days at Oxford, where he studied law and made a name for himself as a tough debate opponent.

Buford was on his way to becoming Prime Minister of England when scandal struck - his wife Caroline accused him of adultery. The issue might have fallen out of public notice without a sound had letters between Buford and his alleged mistress not been found and subsequently printed in the papers, leading to a trial that rocked London, as their beloved Buford Blewett was unable to deny that the letters were real and was forced to step down from public office, allow his wife the divorce she was seeking, and retreat into the country, where he reportedly lived with his mistress until his death in 1900.

Perry Longsbury, 1886

Perry Longsbury, 1886

Perry was born to a life of wealth and privilege, but, like many youth of his time, rejected his father's estate at the age of 17 and set off to experience a life of danger and adventure. This photo shows him on the borders of his family estate in his traveling clothes, ready to set off into the great wide world and find his own way without the aids of money and social status.

Unfortunately for Perry, his adventures did not last long. He was the victim of highway robbery not long after landing in France and wound up working as the stable boy at a tavern in Lille called Le Macareux, too proud to return and bear his father's scorn. During his time at the tavern, Perry fell in love with the barmaid and the pair wound up marrying and living out the rest of their days on a small farm just outside the town limits.

Philomena Farnsby, 1843

Philomena Farnsby, 1843

In a review of Carmen, Philomena Farnsby was described as, "an illuminated performance never matched before...as Carmen, Miss Farnsby conquered the stage and captivated the entire theatre with her angelic voice."

Not only did Miss Farnsby find herself a star of the London stage, she also posed for a number of Godey's fashion plates, helping the catalogue sell the dresses she modeled at an unprecedented rate.

Wyatt Windemere, 1860

Wyatt Windemere, 1880

A staunch conservative, Wyatt was a constant presence in the House of Commons, always lobbying to get various texts and artworks banned from bookshops, libraries and museums. His greatest battle occurred when he decided to raise quite the stink about Charles Darwin's Origin of the Species.

He might have gotten backing from other detractors of the book if he hadn't decided to attack not Darwin's evolutionary theory, but the name of his boat. Wyatt maintained that a man who would allow a boat named The Beagle to carry him on a serious research mission had to be deficient in his scientific method.

Not surprisingly, Wyatt was laughed out of the House, going on to become a street preacher and organ grinder.

Crowley Harthington, 1888

Crowley Harthington, 1888

Born in Paris to a pair of British ex-pats, Crowley often cursed his parents for giving him such a distinctly English name, as it made his integration into the Bohemian artist's quarter of Paris all the more difficult. Luckily, he was blessed with a gift for words, and was able to spout passable poems even when entirely drunk off of absinthe.

He published only one official book, but managed to get a number of poems into Parisian newspapers and periodicals, thus becoming a minor celebrity in the city. One of his poems, 'Musings Upon a Honey Bee Lost in Paris' was a sensation throughout Europe for its subtle sexual overtones, though Crowley himself always denied any sensual slant to the piece.

The most contested stanza was printed as follows:

"When the furry honey bee
Did flitter down upon my hairy knee,
All a-sudden my leg did shake

But the little creature did not flee
Instead she peeked coyly up at me
And wondered how much honey I did make

-- O! And I was shy, you see,
For I could not fathom how that bee
Had any thought for a bear like me."

Calvin Sanderlen, 1868

Calvin Sanderlen, 1868

Known mainly for being a daring and dapper dresser, Calvin lived a life of luxury and indulgence, traipsing around London with his perfectly groomed greyhound or spending quality time in one of the many upscale pubs downtown. Calvin never worked a day in his life, but spent many hours each week working on a volume of poetry he claimed would change the world. The book was unfinished when a light carriage ran him over in the street, claiming his young life, and the manuscript was later lost when his parents moved from the city to their country estate, so the world will never know what effect the poems may have had.

Connie Ackerman, Bearded Lady (1875)

Connie Ackerman, 1875

Born in the small German village of Hegensdorf in 1845, Connie appeared to be an entirely normal infant. It wasn't until her 13th birthday that her mother noticed a small patch of hair on her chin, a patch that in the next few years grew into a lush beard that was the envy of many of the village men. She was not treated badly once her beard grew in, but Connie was nevertheless a discontented teenager.

When she was 18, an English showman named Walter "Grins" Manchester who had heard of her through the grapevine during his stay in Berlin came to call, offering Connie a life of fame and fortune in the great city of London. She accepted the job and traveled with Walter to her new home in England.

From 1863-1877 Connie was on display at S. Watson's American Museum of Curiosities on Oxford Street in London, which also boasted 'The Two-Headed Marvel' and 'The Stoutest Woman in the World'. Many came to marvel at her hirsuteness, but after 14 years with S. Watson. she became fed up with never being featured on the poster and quit.

Her life post-freakshow is not well documented, but it is known that she moved back to her hometown and was thought to have married and had at least two (non-bearded) children.


Pictured: Poster from Watson's museum

Shoebills, Savage and Otherwise

In the African wilds, Shoebills once roamed in nomadic tribes, hunting and gathering with great skill. The following illustration shows one of the remaining 'savage' Shoebills and is from a portfolio brought to England in 1860.



This drawing is from the collection of one Herbert S. Millivine, known for his extensive library that contained many rare artifacts relating to the ancient Shoebills' society. He added it to his collection in 1867 after finding it languishing in a London antique market, and often referred to the image as 'my dear ancestor'.

Herbert is pictured below in a photo taken sometime between 1867 and 1869.

Seal-Folk

Stephan DeSotto, 1899

Known best for his rapier wit, which he developed in his teenage years to distract from his rapier teeth, Stephan was popular in the artist's cafés of Paris as he always had a clever insult ready for any newcomers who dared to show off their attempts at art. He tried desperately to overcome the existing prejudices that regarded leopard seals as nothing but bloodthirsty killers (of defenseless penguins, even), and managed to make great headway until the day he was discovered with the pocket watch of a penguin artist named Pierre who had recently gone missing.

It later turned out that Pierre had merely drunk too much absinthe and fallen into the river (and that Stephan had found the watch by the riverside), but by then the poor seal had left Paris in disgrace and it is reported that he spent the rest of his days drinking in smoky taverns in the South of France.



Clarence Warlington, 1822

Not nearly as famous as William Orpheus Harrington, Clarence was still considered one of the foremost opera singers in Europe. His rich tenor graced many a stage, and his first performance in London (where he played Alfredo Germont in La Traviata) drew one of the biggest crowds ever recorded.

Orville Ainsworth - 1888

Orville Ainsworth was a quiet badger who enjoyed the countryside and spent the majority of his time in the Lake District, wandering through meadows and commenting on the slant of the daffodils when a breeze appeared. He was fond of saying he'd been friends with Wordsworth during the poet's twilight years, but few believed his claims, even when he retrieved a signed copy of Poems in Two Volumes.


(P.S: Look! I actually put in a background on this one! Exciting!)

William Orpheus Harrington, 1820

A highly respected opera singer, William - known to the public as The Bariboon (on account of his deep voice) - traveled all over the European continent performing for nobility and packed houses in all the major cities (and a few minor ones as well). His rich baritone was unrivaled, and he shone onstage in such roles as Marcello in La Bohème and Papageno in The Magic Flute.

After retirement, William purchased a villa in Tuscany and lived there with a bevy of beautiful women, who he claimed to be training in the art of singing.