Greatest Conman Of History Who Sold a Fake Country.

When you hear "calm man," your mind might leap to Charles Ponzi, the OG of pyramid schemes. He set the stage for the likes of Bernie Madoff, who pulled off one of history's greatest financial cons. And who can forget our modern-day legend, the Nigerian prince who just can't stop promising free cash? But these guys? They'd be mere apprentices to the Jedi Master of con artistry, Gregor McGregor.

Picture this: it's the early 1800s, and McGregor's out there, convincing all of England and Scotland that he's not just any prince but the ruler of a land called Poya. Yep, you read that right—Poya, a place that exists solely in McGregor's imagination. It all kicks off in 1811, and let me tell you, it's a wild ride from there.

When young McGregor got the itch for adventure, he set sail for South America, ready to dive into the Venezuelan war of independence. Sometimes he fought for the cause, sometimes against Spain and Portugal—hey, a guy needs options, right? Turns out McGregor had a knack for battle, and before you know it, he's climbing the ranks like a champ.

After a decade of sword swinging and cannon blasting, McGregor finds himself on the mosquito-infested shores of Honduras' Mosquito Coast. And let me tell you, they didn't name it that for kicks. Those bloodsuckers were straight out of a horror movie. Picture this: swamps as far as the eye can see, and every step feels like wading through a pool of mosquito larvae. It's enough to make you swear off camping for life.

But McGregor? He's not one to be deterred by a few pesky bugs. With enough persuasion (and probably more than a few rounds of liquid courage), he starts making moves.

So, McGregor pulls off the ultimate persuasion move: he convinces King Frederick Augustus to sign over a whopping 12,500 square miles of land to him. That's like getting the deed to your own personal kingdom, mosquito-infested swamps and all.

With his newfound territory in hand, McGregor sets sail for England. Now, picture this: England's just trying to recover from the chaos of the Napoleonic Wars, and McGregor strolls in like he's the long-lost heir to a mythical kingdom. He spins this tale about being crowned the Prince of Hoya by King Augustus, and suddenly, that mosquito-infested swamp of his? It's not just any old mud pit—it's a paradise waiting to be discovered.

He paints this picture of lush crops, trees dripping with fruit, riverbanks lined with gold—heck, he might as well have thrown unicorns into the mix because people were buying hook, line, and sinker. McGregor even busts out a handbook and guide to the Mosquito Shore for prospective colonists, courtesy of a dude named Captain Thomas. And just like that, England and Scotland are all aboard the McGregor hype train, dreaming of their own little slice of paradise.

Enter Strange ways, the guy who couldn't stop gushing about the beauty of Poya. Except, here's the twist: Strange ways was none other than McGregor himself in disguise. Talk about early examples of fake news!

But here's where things take a turn for the bizarre: hundreds of people start buying into this dreamland fantasy. McGregor's rolling in dough, a modern-day multi-millionaire in every sense. He's not just selling bonds anymore; the guy's printing his own currency, oil money, and swapping it for cold, hard cash. Now, taking people's money is one thing, but McGregor? He's operating on a whole different level of diabolical.

He's not content with just fleecing folks; oh no, McGregor goes the extra mile. He charters ships and fills them with eager dreamers, all headed for this land of supposed rainbow-pooping unicorns. And so, in September of 1822, the first of two ships sets sail for Poya, carrying around 250 passengers. After two months of anticipation, they finally arrive...

Well, let's just say McGregor's promises didn't quite match up with reality. Instead of a bustling town with democracy and bountiful resources, the immigrants found themselves staring at a couple of ramshackle huts. And as for booking a return ticket? Well, let's just say that option wasn't readily available.

These poor souls had bet everything on McGregor's fairy tale, but reality hit them hard. The land was barren, producing nothing but disappointment and despair. Malaria and yellow fever ran rampant, claiming the lives of most of the 250 residents within a couple of years. The remaining 50, beaten and broken, finally waved the white flag and retreated back to Europe.

But McGregor? He managed to slip through the cracks. He hightailed it out of England and found refuge in France, where he dusted off his old scamming playbook and started peddling his Poya fantasy all over again. And you know what's wild? It almost worked. The French folks were just as susceptible to McGregor's spiel, and many invested in the dream, ready to board ships bound for mosquito-infested paradise.

But the government smelled something fishy. I mean, who wouldn't, right? People flocking to a country that might as well be a figment of McGregor's imagination? They weren't having it. And just like that, McGregor's grand scheme came crashing down once again.

And that, my friends, is where McGregor's house of cards came tumbling down. He gets nabbed in France, then shipped off to England for a brief stint behind bars. But here's the kicker: despite losing his fortune, McGregor's still got that silver tongue of his. He waltzes back to Venezuela, of all places, and convinces the authorities that he's owed a fat commission for his supposed heroics in the war. And guess what? They buy it. McGregor walks away with a tidy sum.

But even McGregor's luck runs out eventually. He shuffled off this mortal coil six years later, in 1845, at the ripe old age of 59. As for Poya? Well, let's just say it's still as desolate as ever, a reminder of McGregor's epic con job. But hey, at least it's not sucking the life out of folks like McGregor himself did.

So, folks, if you enjoyed this tale of deceit and mosquitoes, smash that like button, hit subscribe, and stay tuned for more jaw-dropping stories. And remember, don't believe everything you hear—especially if it involves rainbow-pooping unicorns.

Thanks for reading and I will see you next time.