Bizarre, Bold or Bungled: 12 Weird Historical Assassination Attempts
Strange weapons and stranger plans characterize these would-be killers...
Picture an assassin and what do you see? Specialist weaponry, a devious disguise and most of all a devilishly cunning plan to reach their mark.
That's not these folk.
Without further ado, let's take a look at the bizarre methods or bungled executions of these twelve assassination attempts, including...
- King Hassan II's Royal Bluff
- The Politician Slain by an Axe-Bearing Bear
- The Frenzied Stabbing Foiled by a Splint
- Thick Fur Protects the Royal Hide
- Two Pistols, Two Misfires
- The Multi-Barreled Infernal Machine
- The Plane Plot (That Didn't Get Off the Ground)
- Mussolini and a Go-Getter Noblewoman
- Clemenceau and the Inaccurate Anarchist
- The Pazzi Conspiracy
- Mossad's Ear-Based Assassination Attempt
- The Gunpowder Plot
King Hassan II's Royal Bluff
Sometimes all that's needed to survive an assassination attempt is quick wits - something King Hassan II of Morocco seems to have had in abundance.
On August 16th of 1972, the monarch was returning from Paris on his private Boeing 727 when he found himself accompanied by an "honor guard" of four Moroccan fighter jets. As you might have seen coming, this unexpected escort waited for an opportune moment then raining fire into the Boeing 727.
To the assassins, things seemed perfect - the plane took multiple hits and lost an engine, before broadcasting the message ”Stop firing! The tyrant is dead!” Congratulating themselves on a job well done, the fighters broke off their attack.
Unfortunately for the naive ambushers, it was King Hassan II himself who made the broadcast - successfully bluffing his would be killers!
The Politician Slain by an Axe-Bearing Bear
Did you know that a Swiss politician was killed by an assassin in a bear costume?
Preacher-turned-politician Jürg Jenatsch had a reputation for underhanded acts. His opponents said he'd been involved in bribery, corruption and even the axe-murder of his rival Pompeius von Planta.
Despite this dark cloud (not helped by a surprise religious conversion that left some of his former friends feeling betrayed) Jenatsch managed to worm his way into high society. He couldn't escape his past forever though - and his enemies caught up with him in the town of Chur.
Chur was hosting a carnival at the time, so the partying Jenatsch didn't really give it much thought when a group of revelers (including someone in a bear costume) turned up at the door. They asked if they could join the festivities and were invited in... at which point the unidentified fellow in a bear costume used the axe he was carrying on Jenatsch before making his escape.
It's not actually known who was in the bear costume, but local legend suggests that the axe was the same one used by Jenatsch to hack Pompeius von Planta to death.
Jenatsch was hurriedly buried in Chur cathedral - researchers believe they have identified his body, noting that their DNA testing is bolstered by the bloodstained clothing and signs of an axe-blow on the remains!
The Frenzied Stabbing Foiled by a Splint
Though the assassination of Abraham Lincoln took the spotlight, the simultaneous attack on Secretary of State William Seward by Lewis Powel was equally dramatic - with the enthusiasm of the assassin only matched by his ineptitude.
Seward was bedridden at the time due to a carriage accident... which Powell attempted to exploit by "bringing medicine." You'll note I said attempted - a skeptical servant refused him access, so Powel went directly to plan B. He forced his way past, attempted to shoot Seward's son (pistol-whipping him instead when the gun misfired) then attacked another son, a daughter, a bodyguard, a nurse and Seward himself.
Powel fled when confronted by yet another son (whom he stabbed) and to round things off, also stabbed a messenger in the back as he ran for his horse.
Despite his frenzied attack, Powel failed to kill anyone at all. Even the bedridden and defenseless Seward survived, with the medical splint set around his jaw deflecting Powel's blade!
Lost and alone in Washington, Powel was apprehended, tried (during which time he attempted to kill himself by head-butting the walls of his cell) then hanged.
Thick Fur Protects the Royal Hide
In the winter of 1757 France, a servant called Robert-François Damiens walked straight past the guards protecting King Louis XV and struck him in the side. Though he initially thought he'd been punched, the king soon discovered blood on his furs - and the tell-tale entry wound of a blade.
Convinced of his imminent demise, the king was carried to his chambers. The monarch begged the forgiveness of his wife for his many affairs and tried to prepare his successor... rather prematurely as it happens. Damiens had used a penknife and Louis XV was wearing thick furs to ward off the winter cold, so the blade did little more than scratch the royal torso.
As for the motive of Damiens... it seems that he was simply rather impressionable. He had acted as the servant of several unhappy French nobles and had adopted their grievances against the king as his own.
Without much further thought, the erstwhile servant took it upon himself to remove the unpopular monarch - but found himself tortured then executed for his troubles instead!
Two Pistols, Two Misfires
It would be an understatement to suggest that painter Richard Laurence was less than stable. He believed that the US government owed him a fortune... and that somehow this money would make him King Richard III of England. The only obstacle to his impending royalty was Andrew Jackson, whom the painter thought was deliberately keeping this money from him.
Laurence decided to ambush Jackson as he left a funeral. Stepping forwards, he drew and fired a pistol point-blank... only for the gun to misfire. Jackson responded by flailing his cane at Lawrence, who drew a second pistol and -click- produced a second misfire.
Bystanders (including Davy Crockett) mobbed the would-be royal moments later. He spent the rest of his life in mental institutions, having been found not guilty by reason of insanity.
The Multi-Barreled Infernal Machine
It seems that Giuseppe Mario Fieschi did not approve of King Louis-Philippe of France. Most people would have muttered anti-royal statements or even protested, but Fieschi expressed his distaste by building an "infernal machine" featuring twenty-five gun barrels that would loose a lethal volley of lead in a narrow cone.
Fieschi assembled his device on the third floor of No.50 Boulevard du Temple, overlooking a route used by royal processions. All he had to do was wait for the opportune moment and abdicate France's monarchy.
Of course, things didn't go to plan when the time came. The gun blasted the crowd (killing around eighteen people and wounding many others) but only grazed the king. Fieschi wasn't spared either - several of the barrels exploded, ripping away part of his face.
Fieschi was swiftly captured (authorities were able to follow the trail of blood that started near the smoking window) and put on trial. Physicians managed to keep him alive despite his injuries... allowing him to be executed by guillotine after being found guilty. The machine itself lives on at the National Archives in Paris.
The Plane Plot (That Didn't Get Off the Ground)
Samuel Byck strongly believed that his financial woes were the fault of President Nixon. So adamant was he, that he decided to fly a hijacked plane directly into the Whitehouse.
Byck's plot demonstrates a lack of forward-thinking that might explain his monetary issues. He began by sending a recording of his scheme to a newspaper, then forced entry onto a passenger plane by shooting a guard... only to discover that the plane wasn't ready for take-off. The frustrated Byck shot both pilots, which rather grounded his plan.
The resulting hostage situation was brought to a bloody conclusion when an officer outside the plane fired a .357 revolver into the cockpit, hitting Byck twice. The hijacker chose to finish himself off with a shot to the head rather than face capture!
Mussolini and a Go-Getter Noblewoman
Whatever else you might say about Violet Gibson, you can't fault her go-getter attitude.
This Anglo-Irish noblewoman (she'd even been presented at the court of Queen Victoria) decided that something needed to be done about Italian dictator Benito Mussolini. Having made her way to Italy, she stepped out of the crowd during a rally, aimed a pistol and pulled the trigger - just as Mussolini leaned backwards. The bullet clipped his nose, but the gun jammed before a second shot could be fired.
Violet was deported back to Britain under the condition that she would spend the rest of her life in a mental institute. Presumably this was more politically convenient for both Italy and the UK than the drama of a public trial.
Clemenceau and the Inaccurate Anarchist
Louis Émile Cottin was a cabinet maker by trade and militant anarchist by personality. Having witnessed brutal strike-breaking at the hands of government officials, Cottin began plotting revenge against those he considered his oppressors - specifically the assassination of Georges Clemenceau, Prime Minister of France.
Plans and determination are one thing, but ability also matters - and it seems Cottin had very poor aiming skills. Shooting seven times at short range, he managed to strike Clemenceau thrice but failed to hit any vital organs.
Though initially sentenced to death, the penalty was commuted down to ten years of imprisonment after a campaign by anarchist newspapers.
The Pazzi Conspiracy
Florence has a dark history of intrigue - and the Pazzi conspiracy is one of the reasons behind it.
Picture the scene - Lorenzo and Giuliano de Medici are attending Easter mass in 15th century Florence. They kneel in prayer, unaware that some of their fellow worshipers (such as Francesco de' Pazzi and Bernardo Bandini Baroncelli) have smuggled weapons into the service.
Lorenzo is shaken from his reverie by the dagger entering his back, though his retainers and allies swiftly drag him to safety. Giuliano is less fortunate, receiving nearly twenty blows and dying where he kneels.
Meanwhile Jacopo de’ Pazzi rides through the streets of Florence, calling for the people to rise against the Medici. It's a bold but deeply miscalculated move, leading the angry pro-Medici public to turn on him and his supporters.
The Pazzi conspirators soon found death at the hands of the mob or in the grip of the government. The displayed corpses were even sketched by a young Leonardo da Vinci!
Mossad's Ear-Based Assassination Attempt
In 1997 Israel authorized the assassination of Khaled Mashaal (an influential Palestinian) in retaliation for a spate of suicide bombings.
The plan was quite cunning. A pair of agents would waylay Mashaal outside his office and spray concentrated fentanyl in his ear. The drug would be absorbed through the skin, leaving little indication as to what was killing him. That was the theory, anyway. Mashaal's driver and guards saw the bungling assassins as they performed their attack, which led to their capture.
Soon Mashaal was in hospital, hovering between life and death as the fentanyl ravaged his body. The King of Jordan threatened to put the Mossad agents on trial for the world to see (probably culminating in their execution) if Mashaal died.
It was USA intervention that forced Israel to hand over an antidote. Mashaal survived and acquired a great deal of support - in fact, the only thing Mossad managed to murder during the operation was their own credibility.
The Gunpowder Plot
Britain's Fireworks Night celebrates the failure of the the gunpowder plot, a Catholic attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament in response to persecution by King James I of England (and VI of Scotland.)
In theory it was a good plot - having rented a small house and a cellar beneath the House of Lords, the conspirators smuggled thirty-six barrels of gunpowder into position. Plans were made to kidnap the king's daughter and install her as a puppet monarch, while an experienced mercenary soldier named Guy Fawkes would set the fuse and escape to continental Europe in an attempt to rally support. Simple, right?
Here's where things started to go wrong for the conspirators. Fawkes attempted to lay some groundwork with a visit to Flanders, only to be spotted by British spies. Meanwhile, an anonymous letter (thought to be from a conspirator who wanted a friend to survive) suggested that it would be a bad idea to attend the opening of parliament.
The Earl of Salisbury (cousin to the king) began investigating, soon finding a cellar with entirely too much firewood in it. A second search revealed Guy Fawkes - who to be fair, didn't crack easily.
With the plot foiled some of the conspirators fled to Holbeche House in Staffordshire, hoping to withstand a siege and maybe negotiate... only to discover their gunpowder had got damp. That's when the made the genius decision of laying it out in front of a fire to dry it.
The resulting explosion blinded one of the plotters and left the rest poorly equipped to defend themselves - which became a problem when the High Sheriff of Worcestershire arrived with a force of two-hundred men!
Thanks for reading - perhaps you'd also like...
Sources and Further Info:
- Five Facts You Didn’t Know About Late King Hassan II
- Multidisciplinary Identification of the Controversial Freedom Fighter Jörg Jenatsch, Assassinated 1639 in Chur, Switzerland
- Lincoln assassination: The other murder attempt
- Assassination attempt on King Louis XV by Damiens, 1757
- Jackson escapes assassination attempt Jan. 30, 1835
- Objects of Intrigue: The Infernal Machine
- Samuel Byck: Would-Be Nixon Assassin
- Violet Gibson - The Irish woman who shot Benito Mussolini
- Clemenceau Shot: Wound Not Serious
- The “Pazzi Conspiracy”
- The Man Who Haunts Israel
- The Gunpowder Plot
About the Creator
Bob
The author obtained an MSc in Evolution and Behavior - and an overgrown sense of curiosity!
Hopefully you'll find something interesting in this digital cabinet of curiosities - I also post on Really Weird Real World at Blogspot
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By Aiden Wang4 days ago in Criminal
Every Night at 2:17 AM, Someone Knocks”
Every night at exactly 2:17 AM, someone knocks on my door. Not bangs. Not frantic pounding. Just three slow, deliberate knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. The first night it happened, I assumed it was a mistake. Someone drunk. Someone lost. Someone who would eventually realize they had the wrong apartment and go away. I didn’t check the door. The second night, I checked the clock first. 2:17 AM. The knocks came seconds later, as if whoever was outside had been waiting for me to notice the time. I froze in bed, listening. My apartment was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator and my own breathing. After the third knock, there was nothing. No footsteps walking away. No elevator ding. Just silence thick enough to press against my ears. By the third night, fear had settled in. I live alone on the fourth floor of an old building where sound carries strangely. Pipes groan like tired animals. The walls whisper when the wind is right. But this—this was different. This was intentional. Again, I checked the time. 2:17 AM. Again, three knocks. I forced myself out of bed and crept toward the door. I didn’t turn on the lights. I don’t know why—some instinct told me I shouldn’t let whoever was out there know I was awake. I peered through the peephole. The hallway was empty. No shadows. No movement. Just the flickering overhead light and the dull beige carpet stretching toward the stairwell. I laughed quietly, trying to convince myself I was imagining things. Sleep deprivation does strange things to the mind. Then I heard it. A soft sound. Breathing. Not mine. It was right outside the door. I stumbled back, heart hammering, every nerve screaming at me to lock myself in the bedroom. The breathing stopped the moment I moved, as if it knew I had heard it. That night, I didn’t sleep again. On the fourth night, I decided I wouldn’t let fear control me. I stayed awake. Sat on the couch with all the lights on. Coffee in one hand, phone in the other, door in my line of sight. Midnight passed. Then one. Then two. At 2:16 AM, my phone buzzed. I hadn’t set an alarm. The screen lit up with a notification from an app I don’t remember downloading. “It’s almost time.” Before I could delete it, the knocks came. Knock. Knock. Knock. My entire body went cold. I didn’t approach the door this time. I shouted instead. “Who is it?” No answer. “Go away,” I said, my voice shaking. “I’m calling the police.” Silence. Then, slowly, something pressed against the door from the other side. Not a hand. Not a fist. A forehead. I could see the faint indentation through the wood, the way the door bowed inward just slightly, as if whatever was out there was leaning its full weight against it. And then it spoke. Not loudly. Not clearly. Just enough. “You’re late.” The pressure vanished. Footsteps echoed down the hall—finally, real footsteps—and then nothing. The police found nothing. No fingerprints. No camera footage. No neighbors awake at that hour. They suggested stress. Anxiety. Hallucinations. I almost believed them. Almost. The knocks continued every night. Always at 2:17 AM. Sometimes there was breathing. Sometimes there was whispering. Once, I swear I heard my name spoken in my own voice. I stopped sleeping entirely. By the seventh night, I noticed something worse. My reflection had changed. Dark circles under my eyes deepened, but that wasn’t it. When I brushed my teeth that morning, my reflection blinked a fraction of a second after I did. I laughed it off. That night, the knocks came early. 2:16 AM. Knock. Knock. Knock. I didn’t check the door. Instead, I checked my phone. Another notification. “You were supposed to open it.” I don’t remember unlocking the door. I remember standing in front of it. I remember my hand on the handle, shaking. I remember thinking that whatever was out there had already been inside my apartment long before the knocking started. The door opened. The hallway was empty. But my apartment was not. I saw myself standing in the living room, barefoot, eyes hollow, smiling in a way I never had before. It spoke first. “Thank you,” it said. “I was getting tired of waiting outside.” The clock on the wall clicked over. 2:17 AM. I wake up every night now at that exact time. Not because someone knocks. But because I hear it knocking from inside the apartment—from behind my bedroom door. And every night, I knock back three times. Knock. Knock. Knock. Waiting for someone else to open it.
By Faizan Malik5 days ago in Criminal
📢 Raise Your Voice Thread: 02/05/2026
Our “Raise Your Voice Threads” are hosted most alternating Thursdays at 12PM ET to offer creators more avenues to uncover exceptional stories on Vocal. As we are continuously searching for fresh creators and inspiring stories, this thread provides an opportunity to exchange and discuss the stories that have moved and motivated us on Vocal.
By Raise Your Voice by Vocal4 days ago in Resources
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