The Country Lady

09/14/2025

In December 1848, Ellen Craft boarded a train in Georgia — but she wasn’t traveling as herself. Dressed as a wealthy white male planter, her arm in a sling, and her face partially covered with bandages, she disguised every trace of her identity. At her side was her husband William, playing the role of her servant. Together, they attempted one of the boldest escapes in American history.
Their plan was audacious. Ellen, light-skinned due to her mixed ancestry, relied on the disguise to move openly through the South. Every stop was a test. A single question, a request for her signature, or a glance at William could have exposed them. One mistake meant capture — and a return to slavery.
Despite the danger, they traversed hundreds of miles by train, ferry, and carriage. Ellen’s careful mannerisms, combined with William’s unassuming presence, allowed them to pass undetected. They traveled boldly, blending into a world that would have killed them for their true identities.
On Christmas Day, they reached Philadelphia. Safe, free, and triumphant, their escape immediately captured attention in abolitionist circles. The story of a woman passing as a white male planter, moving openly with her husband as a servant, became legendary for its ingenuity, courage, and love.
Their journey didn’t end there. They later moved to England, speaking publicly against slavery and raising a family in freedom. Their story is not just about escape; it’s about wit, resilience, and the extraordinary lengths people went to claim freedom.
Could you imagine risking everything in a disguise this daring
Would you have the courage to pull off such a plan under constant threat

09/14/2025

A gun flint knapper with a massive flint. Following extraction, flint was transported to workshops in Brandon, Thetford, where it underwent a process known as quartering, being broken into smaller, more manageable pieces.

These fragments were then flaked and skillfully knapped into gunflints. The industry, once vital to military and civilian fi****ms production, gradually declined and had largely disappeared by the mid-20th century.

One of the final known locations where flint knapping was practiced was in the outbuildings behind the Flintknappers Arms public house.

09/14/2025

Children of a Victorian Workhouse. The little girl on the left looks traumatised…

09/14/2025

They called him Texas John Slaughter, and when he showed up, trouble usually left. Born in 1841, raised hard and fast on the raw edge of the Texas frontier, Slaughter cut his teeth fighting Comanches as a Texas Ranger—no quarter asked, none given. When war split the nation, he rode as a Confederate trooper, trading bullets with Union soldiers across scorched Southern soil. But his real legend began after the dust of war settled, in a place where lawmen didn’t ask nicely and outlaws didn’t play fair.

He rode into Cochise County, Arizona, a lawless stretch of desert thick with rustlers, killers, and ghosts. Slaughter became sheriff, and he made one thing clear: you ran, or you died. He didn’t bluff. He didn’t break. And when he drew that long-barreled C**t, it was already too late for the man on the other end. He hunted outlaws like a bloodhound, stared down killers without blinking, and built a name so feared, whispers of it could quiet a saloon.

John Slaughter didn’t die in a blaze or with a noose around his neck. He lived to 80, sharp-eyed and iron-backed to the end. Some men burn fast and vanish. Slaughter rode the long trail—and left it behind him soaked in grit, gun smoke, and justice.

09/14/2025

In the quiet village of Turville, England, Ellen Sadler was born on May 15, 1859—the tenth of twelve children in a working-class family. At just 11 years old, she was sent to work as a nursemaid in Marlow, but her health began to rapidly deteriorate. Ellen suffered from chronic fatigue, intense headaches, and disorientation. Doctors eventually diagnosed a cranial abscess, but after 18 weeks in the hospital with no improvement, she was sent home without answers. Then, on the night of March 29, 1871, Ellen had a series of violent convulsions. She curled up in her bed… and never woke up.

What followed was one of the strangest medical cases of the 19th century. For nearly nine years, Ellen remained in what appeared to be a deep, unshakable sleep. Her mother became her full-time caretaker, feeding her a mixture of milk, sugar, and port wine through a special teat, as Ellen’s jaw remained tightly locked. Though unresponsive, some visitors claimed she would twitch slightly or move her fingers. News of the “Sleeping Girl of Turville” spread across England, attracting journalists, skeptics, and even curious tourists. While some believed Ellen was suffering from an unknown neurological condition, others accused the family of orchestrating an elaborate hoax for sympathy—or profit.

In May 1880, after her mother’s death, Ellen was placed in the care of her sisters. Not long after, to everyone’s astonishment, she awoke. Disoriented and confused, she remembered nothing of the years that had passed. Her body bore the toll of her strange sleep—she had barely grown, her sight was poor, and her health remained delicate. But with time, she recovered. Ellen went on to marry, raise six children, and live a quiet life until her death in 1911 at the age of 52. Yet to this day, no one has fully explained what happened during those nine missing years. The small cottage where she lay dreaming remains a place of quiet legend—still known as the "Cabin of Dreams."

09/13/2025

The aftermath of the Northfield raid left Cole Younger with injuries so severe they became a chilling testament to the desperate and violent end of the James-Younger Gang’s infamous run. During the final standoff at Hanska Slough, he suffered a gunshot wound that entered just behind the right angle of his jaw, traveled through the roof of his mouth, and lodged in the left upper jaw—an injury that left lasting damage and immense pain. But that was only one of many. Cole also had at least four wounds in his back, though it remains unclear whether they occurred during the Northfield shootout or in the swampy chase that followed.

Shotgun blasts left their mark on him as well. Buckshot had pierced his left shoulder blade and struck again just below it, each lodging several inches deep. Another shot entered the middle part of his arm, angling upward, while yet another wound passed behind his armpit. Every injury added to a picture of a man who had endured one of the most brutal pursuits in the history of frontier crime. His body bore the evidence of an escape attempt that pushed him past the limits of human endurance, and yet, somehow, he remained alive, even conscious, through it all.

The toll wasn’t just in bullet wounds. When Cole’s boots were finally removed, it was clear his feet had suffered terribly during the desperate trek through swamp and wilderness. They were so damaged from days of relentless movement that even removing the boots caused visible harm. These were not the wounds of a quick battle, but of prolonged agony—signs of a man who had kept going through pain most would never survive. His injuries told a grim story of the collapse of an outlaw legend and the high cost paid by those who tried to outrun justice on the ever-shrinking frontier

09/13/2025

Rat rods

09/13/2025

In the mid-19th century, London was plagued by recurring cholera outbreaks and the infamous “Great Stink” of 1858, when the smell from the polluted River Thames overwhelmed the city. The crisis prompted Parliament to commission civil engineer Joseph Bazalgette to design a modern sewer system. Completed in the 1860s, his plan involved constructing over 1,300 miles of underground brick sewers to divert waste away from the Thames and improve public health.

Bazalgette’s most remarkable decision came during the design phase: he doubled the diameter of the sewer pipes beyond what was deemed necessary. His reasoning was simple yet profound: “We’re only going to do this once, and there’s always the unforeseen.” This foresight proved critical. By the 1960s, London’s population had grown far beyond Victorian estimates, and the system was still able to handle the increased load without overflowing.

Today, Bazalgette’s sewer network remains largely intact and operational, a testament to his engineering brilliance and long-term thinking. His work not only saved countless lives but also laid the foundation for modern urban sanitation.

09/13/2025

Dubuque, Iowa, 1940...

Caption
Two children pictured at their home located in a poverty stricken community...

Source
Farm Security Administration John Vachon photographer

09/13/2025