It was as strange a sight as London had ever seen. On New Year’s Day 1908, a crowd in Trafalgar Square gathered to observe a man wearing a helmet like a medieval knight. In front of him was a stroller, or pram, devoid of any babies. The words were written on his shirt maskas if it wasn’t obvious, and go around the world. A sign emerging from the top of his mask bore the same inscription.

“Bye!” he shouted to those who gathered, the words muffled by his headgear. “See you in 10 years!” »

As he explained to the press, the man was about to embark on a bizarre journey in which he was determined to travel through hundreds of cities around the world while pushing the cart. He said he was given specific conditions to carry out this task, including that no one would ever discover his true identity and that he would not receive any money or other means of support.

If he were to complete the march, he would receive $100,000 (about $3.2 million today). Although it was better than no reason at all, it still raised a host of questions. Who paid him? And why? How to prove that he had traveled the globe? What would he do for money? More importantly: who was he?

The answers would be to come. But as expected, the man in the iron mask would prove a very unreliable narrator.

The bet

The story began in 1907, when a self-styled playboy in his thirties named Harry Bensley walked into the posh National Sports Club in London’s West End and overheard a lively conversation. As he approached, he discovered that the two men speaking were the American financier John Pierpont (JP) Morgan and the impressively wealthy Hugh Cecil Lowther, the 5th Earl of Lonsdale.

According to Bensley, he was friends with Morgan and saw that Morgan and Lowther were frothing over the question of whether it would be possible for a man to get around different cities in different countries on foot, pushing a stroller and without ever being identified. The discussion seemed to be reaching no satisfactory conclusion when Bensley intervened.

“This bet was made by a friend of mine, a well-known American millionaire, following an argument which took place in a club in Pall Mall,” Bensley later said. “He said no Englishman would walk around the world masked and pushing a stroller. After hearing the conditions, I immediately decided to accept the bet myself.

There were several other conditions, all bizarre. Bensley could have 1 book (about 100 pounds, or almost 130 US dollars today) as starting capital, but he would otherwise have to support himself without accepting gifts or gratuities of any kind. He would have to wear headphones when in public to avoid being recognized. He must push the stroller and be accompanied. He had to visit 169 cities in the UK and 125 cities in 18 other countries. He must have found a wife during his travels. And to prove his feat, he secure signatures of the mayor or other official of each area visited.

Bensley – although no one knew he was Bensley – set out on January 1, 1908, intending to travel across England before venturing to Scotland, Canada, Japan and beyond. The background to his trip appeared in the newspapers, but you didn’t have to read an article to be struck by the sight of a helmeted man pushing a stroller. Everywhere Bensley went, curious crowds gathered, some wanting photos that were distributed by his assistant, a man known only as Mr. Allen.

Their visits proved worthy of interest. When they arrived at Penzance in April 1908, The Cornishman The newspaper writes: “The arrival in the city of such a strangely equipped individual aroused much interest, and a representative of The Cornishman waited for him at the Golden Lion Hotel, where host Tom Martin ensures his comfort… The man in the iron mask is a well-organized individual, and his conversation betrays that he is a man of education and a considerable culture.

Her calves, the journalist added, “seemed like a long trip.”

This attention was the solution to Bensley’s biggest problem: money. For as little as a penny, he sold postcards, photos and brochures, all with his image. The stroller served as a place to store his inventory. And business was good: at some stops, he sold 600 to 800 souvenirs, enough to remain solvent for food and lodging.

There were certainly downsides. Weighing 4 pounds, 5 ounces, the helmet was an unnatural accessory that must have proved taxing. He took it off to eat, but if he had to be with other people, he dined behind a screen. A bedroom was also a safe haven, or so he thought: Once, a maid hid under his bed in the hope she could see the man without his mask. (She did not succeed.)

The greatest danger to Bensley’s anonymity turned out to be the law. He once sold a postcard to a curious child in Bexleyheath without thinking and without realizing the area he was in, preventing trading on the street without a proper license. He was brought before a judge and explained his situation. The court kindly allowed him to keep his mask on during his appearance.

By the end of 1908, Bensley estimated he had traveled 2,400 miles, an average of 10 miles per day. Incredibly, he had even found a woman to accompany him on his journey. He had planned to go to Scotland next; it would take years to reach all the necessary countries.

While some newspapers had seriously covered Bensley’s trip, others found it too strange to be considered with sincerity. Shortly after his departure, a correspondent from The province in Vancouver observed that “of course, the man with the helmet is only advertising the stroller, the helmet or himself. I don’t know which one, but I know it’s one or the other.

The anonymous columnist was right.

A well-traveled lie

In January 1909, just a year after Bensley’s bet began, he began detail what some already suspected. There had been no betting in the West End club, no argument between Morgan and Lowther, and no $100,000. It was all a ruse.

Bensley had been serving a prison sentence since bigamy when he began reading about the Man in the Iron Mask, a French prisoner from the late 1600s whose identity had never been discovered and who later inspired Alexandre Dumas’ novel. The Man in the Iron Mask. Bensley, who was not the man of means as he sometimes presented himself, decided to make a boast of a bet in order to visit various cities and sell his postcards for a profit.

Even his marriage was a sham, in a way. “One of the conditions… was that I find a woman ‘on the road,'” he said. “I already had a wife and intended to have her join me as soon as I could provide her with suitable transportation.”

Bensley managed to attract investors for his project, getting money to start printing postcards and purchasing a helmet, which he obtained at a theater costume store. His escort “Mr. Allen” was simply someone who helped finance the business.

It’s unclear how long Bensley planned to continue. But he revealed why he quit after just 10 months. “The tension started to weigh on me,” he said. “My eyes hurt and I suffered from tearing pains in my head. On several occasions I passed out on the side of the road, and sometimes I was even confined to bed for two or three days straight.

Walking for miles every day had exhausted Bensley. His condition concerned his wife, Kate, who insisted he stop the stunt. “I would have liked to continue like this,” he said, “but the circumstances were too strong for me. » After leaving Wolverhampton in December 1908, he returned home, boasting that he had supported himself, his wife and his assistant for almost a year solely on postcards and other paper ephemera.

At one point, however, Bensley appeared to have a change of heart regarding his fictitious bet. He later resurfaced to state that he had traveled until 1914 and had only a few miles left on his estimated 30,000 mile journey when the trip was cut short due to the outbreak of the First World War. World War. JP Morgan, he says, paid him £4,000, or about $420,000 today, as a sort of consolation prize.

There was a considerable problem with this story. Morgan deceased in March 1913, which prevented him from settling a bet unless Bensley employed a spirit medium. This version also ignores Bensley’s prior confession. Given the times and how slowly news spread, it’s possible he hoped people would have missed his 1909 revelation.

Indeed, they did. Subsequent stories about Bensley up until his death at the age of 80 in 1956 credulously repeated the broad strokes of the “gamble” and its international march. His later descendants common a version of the story that Bensley himself told them just before his death in which Bensley accepted the bet, but not willingly. Instead, they said, he had lost too big a hand in poker and had been forced into that situation to pay off his debt. As this is no more credible than his first explanation, it is likely that Bensley’s 1909 account is closest to the truth.

Bensley’s stunt prompted some imitators behavior. Danish journalist Marius Bernstarf Schroder said he would travel the world wearing handcuffs 22 hours a day; a couple known as Dianelli and Zenarchi stuffed themselves into a barrel, vowing not to come out unless necessary while they were traveling; others were moved in wheelbarrows. It was said that they were all part of a bet.

As for Bensley, he probably never left the UK. It is equally doubtful whether he ever met Morgan or Lowther. And rather than having a fortune, it seems he took on odd jobs after moving to Essex.

Bensley imposed an additional condition on himself for the bet: he could only wear one pair of underwear during the entire trip. It’s amazing that it lasted up to a year.

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