How did soldiers in the 1800's dispose of a friend's gear when he died on the battlefield? Or what happened to a sailor's belongings when he didn't make it through a voyage? The limitations of travel made it all but impossible to return all but the most personal effects.

In a previous post, I mentioned the book Two Years Before The Mast telling of a sailor who fell overboard and couldn't swim. The ship was under sail, and they stopped as quickly as possible, yet they were unable to rescue the sailor...

Afterwards, an auction was held to dispose of his belongings. The money was collected to give to his family.

Life In Wellington's Army tells of the many auctions held after a battle to dispose of the soldier's gear. Sometimes the bidding became boisterous and competitive. The good-natured spirit of the bidders is better understood when you realize they were taking their joy where they could find it. They knew that the next auction could be to dispose of their goods.

A meal kit purchased after one battle could be auctioned again after the next.

While it seemed strange to me—it is little different than an estate auction in modern times.

There is an irony in a man who was nearly illiterate having his autobiography written, and that people could be fascinated by his life story 200 years after his birth. Kit Carson's life was fodder for dime novels, and it's likely that he had a personal flair that led itself to story form. 

Having never really heard or read anything about Carson, a man who traveled and lived in the American West during the early 1800's, his story caught my attention when I noticed a report of him running away from the man he'd been apprenticed to. Carson had fond memories of the man, but not the job of making saddles. A reward for Kit's return was offered, and published in a newspaper. One cent. A nice way of telling a lad that he's free to go as he pleases and to wish him well.

 

It really was upside down.

    Beau Brummell is known for the style of clothing he wore and his wit. But in a time when daily bathing wasn't necessarily the thing to do, particularly in warm water, Brummell was ahead of his time.
    He may have made his place in Regency history due to his fashion sense, but without the hygiene, I doubt it would have mattered what he wore. 
    Unable to sustain the lifestyle that he so loved, Beau spent time in a debtor's prison, and his later years were plagued with illness. I wish life had been kinder to him, and he had been kinder to others. 
    Perhaps his perfect clothing and his criticisms of others helped him gain popularity, but his insults of others and his expenditures led to his downfall.
    But Regency history wouldn't be the same to me without the thought of clean cravats, warm water and elegant clothing.

In my original manuscript, I used the words "dust bin." I thought it sounded more glamorous than a simple trash can. But then someone corrected me, and I paused when I realized she was right.

In the Regency, they had a bone and rag collector, but no need for dust bins.

Without the manufactured substances we have today, remnants from daily life could be burned in the household stove.

Comparatively, as far as history is concerned, dust bins are a modern invention. And recycling—it's probably as old as humanity.

Court records of the past can raise more questions than they answer, but imagination can fill in the blanks.

In March of 1840, William Henry Fowler was indicted for fraud. Apparently he had added a wedding in the vicar's marriage register  between another Fowler, George, and a Hannah Bassett.  But the forgery listed the marriage as taking place 114 years earlier. In 1726.

He pleaded guilty and judgment was respited. 

Since judgment was lenient, I can't think the judge saw malicious intent in the case. William Fowler, age 42, in my romantic view, just wanted his grandparents or great grandparents to have been married, and perhaps he did it to show a relative that, yes, of course a marriage had taken place.
 
Another man had one too many marriages on record.

Thomas Phelps was charged with bigamy in 1848. But he seemed to hint that it could have been another Thomas Phelps who married the first time. The witness, who had also been present at the first wedding  said that he remembered seeing the face of Phelps before, but it had been twenty years since he'd seen him, and it was hard to be certain it was the same man.

The second woman admitted she had married Phelps, but she'd thought him a man named John Tanner.

Phelps sealed his own fate when he admitted that he hadn't seen or heard from his first wife in six years and wasn't sure if she was alive or dead.

The sentence—guilty and nine months in jail. He would have been more convincing if he hadn't changed his name.