The Land that Never Was Sir Gregor MacGregor and the Most Audacious Fraud in History
Being a Historical Investigation by Lucas James
This picture is the front cover of an 1822 pamphlet which purports to be a guide book to the (fictitious) country of ‘Poyais’. The title is “Sketch of the Mosquito Shore, Including the Territory of Poyais, Descriptive of the Country”. Inside this pamphlet, it says that the author is ‘Thomas Strangeways, Captain 1st Native Poyer Regiment, and aid-de-camp to his Highness Gregor, Cazique of Poyais.’ In Gregor MacGregor, the con artist who claimed that Poyais existed in order to make money, paid Strangeways to write this “disinformation pamphlet”. It describes the (nonexistent) government and economy of “Poyais” with the intent to convince gullible people to buy land there. In lavish detail, the pamphlet illustrates the alleged lushness, prosperity, and natural wealth of the nation of Poyais, and uses every possible tactics to draw landbuyers in. This pamphlet spread like wildfire throughout Scotland and England. It is one of the major contributors to the hype and hysteria about Poyais’ value and existence.
“Our hero retired to the Island of Wight, where, during a summer which he spent at Ryde, with his wife and sister (a beautiful and amiable woman), he affected a degree of style and fashion much beyond his means. He there represented himself as heir to an Island Baronet, and to a castle, with an estate, in the Highlands: his gay disposition, handsome figure and good address, procured him ready admission to all circles, and the assemblies of Ryde were considered devoid of their principle attraction, unless graced by the presence, and succeeded by the petits soupers, of the lively Scotchmen.” -Colonel Michael Rafter Colonel Rafter, a soldier who fought alongside the then-revolutionary MacGregor in Portugal, describes a man who was so caught up in his own delusional baronial fantasies that he dared to play make-believe with his close relatives watching—he tricked everyone into believing in his royal heritage on the very island in which he was staying with his relatives! MacGregor liked to put on airs (or heirs): at other times, he claimed to be a King, a knighted nobleman, and the one surviving heir to a famous Scottish clan! Such shameless, barefaced lying about his own heritage gets a dark reprise in his great “Poyais” con. MacGregor used spurious claims about his heroics in various wars, his alleged heritage, and his sheer charisma to lie his way into public adoration. After everyone in Scotland had heard of the great MacGregor, he concocted a scheme bolder than any scheme before: he would invent a country. Styling himself the “Cazique (king) of Poyais”, he spread the word everywhere that there was an Anglophile South American nation just waiting for some adventurous entrepreneurs to come along and liven the place up with trade and agriculture. When the intrepid entrepreneurs arrived, the mosquito-ridden civilizationless hell-hole killed most of them. The lively and romantic imagination of Gregor MacGregor probably led to his grand (and ruinous) con of Poyais—had he not deluded himself in all sorts of ways as to his own innate superiority, he would never have started it in the first place, and no-one else would ever have believed if he had.
The Land that Never Was is a book by David Sinclair about a 19th century con artist called Gregor MacGregor, and how he scammed the world into believing in a fictional country. In the beginning, the book describes the time that MacGregor spent in and out of the army. Each time he is kicked out of the army (which happens several times due to his overconfidence and incompetence), he settles down somewhere for a few months or a year in some city somewhere, then joins a different army. He cynically joins a Portugese revolution, but quickly leaves. The second part of the story describes his Poyais con. It begins by explaining the setup to the con. MacGregor, in the public’s affectionate eye, is a noble and honest former soldier who can do no wrong, so they believe him when he claims to be the new King to the tiny nation of Poyais. He builds up the excitement for Poyais using pamphlets, newspaper articles, and even balladeers, all while fabricating government records and bank notes from “The Royal Bank of Poyais”. He uses his boundless charm to talk a Prince of England into funding his scam (the prince thinks it is simply a business venture). Finally, the big reveal: he begins to sell land to intrepid adventurers hoping to start a new life in the possibility-rich land. Poyais share prices rise higher and higher, and soon MacGregor is raking in the cash. When the land-buyers arrive, there is nothing but bug-infested shore, swampland, and dysentery. Many die on the sands, breaking their backs trying to eke out a living from the muddy shore land. Others die from disease or exposure. Some, however, survive, and make the long trip to a port in which they can sail back to London with the terrible news. Even then, most of them still believed in MacGregor, clinging to the faith that it must have been a mistake, or someone else’s fault. Eventually, though, they have to face the truth: MacGregor lied. Even with the bad publicity, many Scotsmen and Englishmen still buy land and shares in Poyais, but the revenue is running out. MacGregor hightails it to France, where he can make a fresh start with new targets and no bad press. The law catches up to him, however, and he is tried in a French court. Using his charm and his lawyer’s ability to keep a straight face, MacGregor gets off Scot-free—but not better off. His reputation his ruined and he is nearly penniless by this time, due to mishandling of the money that he got from the con, and so he escapes to Venezuela, where he stayed and contemplated his ridicule in British newspapers until he died of old age in 1845. This is a very interesting book. It describes in detail the fascinating life of Gregor MacGregor. It talks about his association with the “57th of Foot, the famous ‘Die-Hards’ who had fought heroically at the battle of Albuera”, and of his amazing fraud. Readers will be intrigued in the amazing character of MacGregor. The charismatic man tricked a huge group of people into believing in a country that never existed, talked his way out of prison, and tricked a prince
This is an informative book. It is detailed, thorough, complete, and gives a large amount of context as to what is going on. The author often quotes sources who were near to MacGregor, such as Colonel Michael Rafter, who fought alongside him, and the famous Venezuelan Francisco de Miranda. The author has pulled a great many numbers and statistics from the annals of history, and it shows. It is a lengthy book full of riveting details about MacGregor’s life.
An Honourable Life
Gregor MacGregor combed back his hair with one sturdy hand, the kind of hand one would expect to give firm handshakes and reassuring pats on the back. Smirking slightly, he took his seat on one of the uncomfortable wooden pews in the front row. The lavish French courtroom was vaulted with dark wooden beams that arched high overhead, while beneath MacGregor‟s feet a lush tapestry-carpet graced the floor. Dappled light through large stained-glass windows lit the statues on either side of the pews with a strange glow. A temple to justice, MacGregor thought. Fitting. I’ve often conned people into worshipping me. “Nous allons commencer,” the magnificently-wigged judge said gravely. “Let us begin the final day of the trial. I would appreciate if we could finish this.... expeditiously.” MacGregor gave a charming grin at the prosecution, a wispy Frenchman with an even wispier beard. It had the expected unnerved response. “Prosecution? Stop dithering and please join me at the bar.” The Frenchman, carrying his neat mountain of papers, unsteadily made his way up to the lectern and took a deep breath before beginning. “Honourable judge, defence, and--uh--accused. To recap, I stand here today to prosecute the—uh--aforementioned accused. The charges are „conspiracy to defraud,‟ and „unlawful sale of titles to land not owned by the accused.‟ Again, I suggest that, in all frankness, the defendant has—uh—invented a country and has had us all believing it is a land of opportunity and riches. I would like to call up a witness to the—uh—stand.” Moustache twitching, he once more gave that little „uh‟,
akin to the coughing of a tiny dog, and beckoned to MacGregor‟s lawyer. “We call Monsieur Lehuby to the stand.” The prosecution was stumbling through the explanation of what he—uh— would like Monsieur Lehuby, an unwitting partner-in-crime and fanatic devotee of MacGregor‟s, to explain to the judge. If only he had a talent for speaking, MacGregor mused. “Are the, ahem, business dealings selling the fertile soil of this alleged country of MacGrego‟s and his organisation--uh--in any way suspect, in your opinion?” “No.” “Care to elaborate?” “No.” “So, you believe that the defense has lived an honourable life?” “Yes, of course. To suggest otherwise, sir, is simple calumny!” “If I may speak frankly, is Poyais a real place?” “Yes.” “Is that all, Monsieur?” The judge struck quite a figure with his absurd wig and black robe, sternly gazing down at all his subjects with the paternal joviality of a tiger. “I do not believe greater loquaciousness can be coaxed from this particular witness. We have heard very similar testimony from witnesses before.” The lawyer, blushing a bright red and muttering furiously, ushered for Lehuby to leave the stand. Lehuby sullenly stepped down and walked woodenly back to his seat. MacGregor was bored. He was sure he was going to win. It was simply an issue of having to wait so long for the judge to figure it out. It was taking up a lot of
his time and it was simply not a game worth playing unless there was a challenge. Nevertheless, something felt wrong. Normally he delighted in hearing tales of his wonderful—fictitious—accounts of his escapades in far-off places, his bravery and prowess, his noble birth and exotic titles. But today, it just made him feel ill. “Please, prosecution, please bring up your next witness or allow the defence to take the stand.” The Frenchman seemed to grow a few inches, and a smug smile crept across his face. MacGregor leaned forward. Ah, so this is an interesting witness. MacGregor‟s smile mirrored the lawyer‟s, molar for molar. “We call Madame Pierre to the stand.” From the front row, a woman in a black dress walked slowly to the stand. Her expression was mostly obscured by the black veil that fluttered in front of her face. “Madame Pierre, s’il vous plait, could you tell us the results of your…poor husband‟s travels to MacGregor’s little Garden of Eden?” The stuttering, the mumbling was all gone now, and the lawyer‟s expression was hungrily taking in the faces of MacGregor‟s entourage. Madame Pierre half-nodded, and adjusted her veil, seemingly subconsciously, back over her face. “My dear, dear Alfonse read that pamphlet—about that…horrid place. I told him not to go, I didn‟t want him to go, but he said…he said he‟d send for us. When he made a—a living there. He didn‟t think there was going to be any trouble, he trusted Sir MacGregor, he and I trusted you!” Her grief had turned into blinding rage, and she stood, tall on the stand in a black dress pointing accusingly at MacGregor‟s expressionless face. “We trusted you, and you sent him off to die, to die from disease and exhaustion in that awful place. I know about your kind, you smile and charm and you don‟t care about other people, you don‟t care about
anyone, you don‟t care that Alfonse died because you played at being a king!” One hot tear was visible even beneath the veil, sliding down her cheek. Not bothering to wipe it away, she turned to the judge. “Can I go? I don‟t want to be here one second longer.” The judge nodded, and she fled the courthouse. The door „clanged‟ as she slammed it. MacGregor was not smiling anymore. The prosecution raised a hand. “Permission to adjourn? I believe a judgment can now be made?” The judge, looming over the courtroom in executioner-black robes, stiffly nodded. “Granted. Ladies and gentlemen, it has been a very exciting few days. The time has come to answer the crucial question. Has Monsieur MacGregor charmed us into living in a fantasy, where he is the Cazique of a fictional country? Is he a…master thief of the mind, as the prosecution would have us believe?” MacGregor looked truly nervous for the first time in his life. Trembling, he slowly stood. Her husband died. “I conf—“ “We fine Maitre Merilhou, the prosecution lawyer, one hundred francs for misrepresenting the shares of Poyais, the inestimable High Cazique MacGregor‟s noble country.” MacGregor collapsed back in his seat. His face showed a perfect replica of joy that could be felt all the way in the mysterious land of Poyais.
Bibliography: Sinclair, David. The Land That Never Was: Sir Gregor MacGregor and the Most Audacious Fraud in History. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo, 2004. Print. "Gregor MacGregor." Venezuela Tuya. N.p., 2012. Web. 12 Nov. 2012. "Sketch of the Mosquito Shore, Including the Territory of Poyais, Descriptive Of..." Sketch of the Mosquito Shore, Including the Territory of Poyais, Descriptive of the Country: With Some Information As to Its Productions, the Best Mode of Culture,& C. N.p., n.d. Web. 12 Nov. 2012. <http://www.forgottenbooks.org/info/Sketch_of_the_Mosquito_Shore_Including_the_Territory_of_ Poyais_1000777474.php>.