Free Wild Talents by Charles Fort Page A

impossible to be altogether wrong—or right. This is why it is so hard to learn anything. It is hard to overcome that which cannot be altogether wrong with that which cannot be altogether right. I look forward to the time when I shall refuse to learn another thing, having accumulated errors enough.
    In the Spiritualist, July 21, 1876, was published a story of “mass excitement” in Nanking and other cities of China. Uncatchables, who could not even be seen, were cutting off the pigtails of Chinamen, and there was a panic. More of the story was told, but I preferred to take accounts from a local newspaper. I give details, as I found them, in various issues of the North China Herald, from May 20 to Sept. 16, 1876.
    Panic in Nanking and other towns, and its spread to Shanghai—people believed that invisibles were cutting off their pigtails. It was said that, regard this story of the invisibles as one would, there was no doubt that a number of pigtails had been cut off, and that great alarm existed, in consequence. “Many Chinamen have lost their tails, and we can hardly admit that the imaginary spirits are real men with steel shears, for it could hardly happen that someone would not be detected, before this, in the act of cutting. The most likely explanation is that the agents, whoever they may be, operate by means of some potent acid.”
    Panic spreading to Hangchow—“Numerous cases are reported, but few of them are authentic.” “The cases are increasing daily.”
    In the streets of Shanghai, men, fearing attacks behind, were holding their pigtails in front of them. Quack doctors were advertising charms. Probably the reputable physicians, devoted to their own incantations, were indignant about this. The Military Commandant stationed soldiers in various parts of the city. “Suffice it to mention that, amongst much that is untrustworthy, there seem good grounds for believing that some children have actually lost part of their tails.”
    Sellers of charms suspected of cutting off pigtails, to stimulate business—mischievous children suspected—missionaries accused, and anti-Christian placards appearing in public places—rumors of drops of ink thrown in people’s faces, “by invisible agencies,” and people so treated dying—inhabitants of Woosin and Soochow mad with terror—the lynching of suspected persons—arrests and torture. People had suspended work, and had organized into guards. At Soochow broke out “the crushing mania,” or a belief that at night people were crushed in their beds. The beating of gongs was taken up so that the supply ran out, and anybody who wanted a gong had to wait for one to be made.
    The standardized way of telling of such a scare is to elaborate upon the extremities at the climax of the excitement, and to ignore, or slightingly to touch upon, the incidents that preceded. There was a panic, or a mania, in China. Perhaps there was. I have no Chinaman’s account. For all I know, some Chinaman may have sent an account to his newspaper, of us, beating gongs, during the parrot-disease scare, of the year 1929, having seen a janitor knocking off dust from the cover of an ash can. There was probably considerable excitement that was the product of delusions: nevertheless it does seem acceptable that there were cases of mysterious hair-clipping.

7
    Rabid vampires—and froth on their bloody mouths. See the New York Times, Sept. 5, 1931—rabies in vampire bats, reported from the island of Trinidad. Or a jungle at night—darkness and dankness, tangle and murk—and little white streaks that are purities in the dark—pure, white froths on the bloody mouths of flying bats—or that there is nothing that is beautiful and white, aglow against tangle and dark, that is not symbolized by froth on a vampire’s mouth.
    I note that it is ten minutes past nine in the morning. At ten minutes past nine, tonight, if I think of this matter—and can reach a pencil, without having to get up from my