by Paul Roland
The Times described the murder scene:
‘A more horrible or sickening sight could not be imagined. The clothes of the woman were lying by the side of the bed, as though they had been taken off and laid down in the ordinary manner.
It was a very poorly furnished apartment, about 12 ft. square, there being only an old bedstead, two old tables and a chair in it. The bedclothes had been turned down, and this was probably done by the murderer after he had cut his victim’s throat. There was no appearance of a struggle having taken place, and, although a careful search of the room was made, no knife or instrument of any kind was found . . . at 10 minutes to 4 o’clock a one-horse carrier’s cart, with the ordinary tarpaulin cover was driven into Dorset Street, and halted opposite Millers-court. From the cart was taken a long shell or coffin, dirty and scratched with constant use. This was taken into the death chamber, and there the remains were temporarily coffined. The news that the body was about to be removed caused a great rush of people from the courts running out of Dorset Street, and there was a determined effort to break the police cordon at the Commercial Street end.
The crowd, which pressed round the van, was of the humblest class, but the demeanour of the poor people was all that could be described. Ragged caps were doffed and slatternly-looking women shed tears as the shell, covered with a ragged-looking cloth, was placed in the van. The remains were taken to the Shoreditch Mortuary, where they will remain until they have been viewed by the coroner’s jury.’
The very last sighting of Jack the Ripper?
A curious postscript to the murder at Miller’s Court was the sighting of a man near the crime scene that Friday morning who answered the description given by Sarah Lewis. According to The Times:
‘A Mrs Paumier, a young woman who sells roasted chestnuts at the corner of Widegate Street, a narrow thoroughfare about two minutes’ walk from the scene of the murder, told a reporter yesterday afternoon a story which appears to afford a clue to the murderer. She said that about 12 o’clock that morning a man dressed like a gentleman came up to her and said, “I suppose you have heard about the murder in Dorset Street.” She replied that she had, whereupon the man grinned and said, “I know more about it than you.” He then stared into her face and went down Sandy’s Row, another narrow thoroughfare which cuts across Widegate Street. Whence he had got some way off, however, he vanished. Mrs Paumier said the man had a black moustache, was about 5ft 6in high, and wore a black silk hat, a black coat, and speckled trousers. He also carried a black shiny bag about a foot in depth and a foot and a half in length. Mrs Paumier stated further that the same man accosted three young women, whom she knew, on Thursday night, and they chaffed him and asked him what he had in the bag, and he replied, “Something that the ladies don’t like.”
One of the three young women she named, Sarah Roney, a girl about 20 years of age, states that she was with two other girls on Thursday night in Brushfield Street which is near Dorset Street, when a man wearing a tall hat and a black coat, and carrying a black bag, came up to her and said, “Will you come with me?”
She told him that she would not, and asked him what he had in the bag, and he said, “Something the ladies don’t like.”
He then walked away.’
A further report received late last night says:
‘Not the slightest doubt appears to be entertained in official headquarters that this fresh crime is by the same hand which committed the others. There is also, it is to be noted, a striking similarity of the month in which the crime has been committed, for while two of the most atrocious of the other murders in the same district were committed on the 7th of the month of September and August, this was committed on the 8th – approximately the same period in the month. This would seem to indicate that the murderer was absent from the scene of these horrors for fixed periods, and that his return was always about the same time. The late storms might account for the crime on this occasion being a day later, the suggestion, of course, being that the murderer journeys across the sea on some of the short passages.’
Profile of a murderer
In his official report to Sir Charles Warren, dated the same day as The Times story, 10 November, Dr Bond, lecturer in forensic medicine at Westminster Hospital, reviewed the particulars of each killing and provided a rudimentary profile of the perpetrator.
‘The murderer must have been a man of physical strength & of great coolness & daring – there is no evidence that he had an accomplice. He must in my opinion be a man subject to periodical attacks of Homicidal & erotic mania. The character of the mutilations indicate that the man may be in a condition, sexually, that may be called Satyriasis [a condition of being exceedingly oversexed]. It is of course possible that the Homicidal impulse may have developed from a revengeful or brooding condition of the mind, or that religious mania may have been the original disease but I do not think either hypothesis is likely. The murderer in external appearance is quite likely to be a quiet “inoffensive-looking man” probably middle aged & neatly & respectably dressed. I think he must be in the habit of wearing a cloak or overcoat or he could hardly have escaped notice in the streets if the blood on his hands or clothes were visible.
Assuming the murderer to be such a person as I have just described, he would probably be solitary & eccentric in his habits, also he is most likely to be a man without regular occupation, but with some small income or pension. He is possibly living among respectable persons who have some knowledge of his character and habits and who may have grounds for suspicion that he is not quite right in his mind at times. Such persons would probably be unwilling to communicate suspicions to the Police for fear of trouble or notoriety whereas if there were prospect of a reward it might overcome their scruples.’
The seventh victim?
Former Chief Constable Frederick Porter Wensley began his career as a beat constable in the Metropolitan Police in January 1888 and was seconded to H Division, where he was directly involved in the investigation of the Whitechapel murders. The following extract is taken from his memoirs, Forty Years of Scotland Yard, published in 1931.
‘During my first year of service the Jack the Ripper murders occurred in Whitechapel. Again and again bodies of women, murdered and mutilated, were found in the East End; but every effort to bring the assassin to justice failed. For a while there was an atmosphere of terror in the district.
This business brought about my first glimpse of the neighbourhood in which so much of my life was to be spent. In view of the work that I was to do there later there was a touch of coincidence in the fact that my earliest recollections should be concerned with a great murder mystery.
Not that I had much to do with it. In common with hundreds of others I was drafted there, and we patrolled the streets – usually in pairs – without any tangible result . . . Officially, only five (with a possible sixth) murders were attributed to Jack the Ripper. There was, however, at least one other, strikingly similar in method, in which the murderer had a very narrow escape. This occurred something more than two years after the supposed last Ripper murder.
The story is chiefly concerned with a very young officer named Ernest Thompson who had been only six weeks in the service when, on February 13, 1891 – an ominous date – he went out for the first time alone on night duty. A part of his beat was through Chambers Street, from which at that time a turning, most inappropriately named Swallow Gardens, ran under a dark, dismal railway arch towards the Royal Mint. Thompson was patrolling Chambers Street when a man came running out of Swallow Gardens towards him. As soon as he perceived the officer he turned tail, made off at speed in the opposite direction, and was in a few seconds lost to view.
Thompson moved into Swallow Gardens and on turning the corner came across the body of a murdered woman – Frances Coles – mutilated in much the same fashion as the victims of the Ripper. The spot had possibly been chosen because it commanded a view in three directions.
It is probable that had Thompson been a little
more experienced he would have taken up the chase of the fugitive immediately. In all likelihood he would have made a capture which might possibly have solved a great mystery. But it is understandable that this young man was so taken aback by his grim discovery that he did not take the obvious steps. It was certainly through no lack of personal courage, as later events showed.
Whether the murderer was Jack the Ripper or not, he escaped. I fancy that the lost opportunity preyed on Thompson’s mind, for I heard him refer to it in despondent terms more than once, and he seemed to regard the incident as presaging some evil fate for himself. By an uncanny coincidence his forebodings came true. The first time he went on night duty he discovered a murder; the last time he went on duty, some years later, he was murdered himself.’
Wensley’s account of the Francis Coles killing is inaccurate in one important respect – he describes the 26-year-old prostitute as having been mutilated ‘in much the same fashion as the victims of the Ripper’, whereas only her throat was slashed. Dr Phillips, the police surgeon who had carried out post-mortems on previous Ripper victims, was adamant that the fatal injuries were not the handiwork of the Ripper. Moreover, the suspect in the Coles killing did not evade the police for long but was later identified as James Sadler, a ship’s fireman who was known for his violent temper and who had been seen arguing with Coles on the night of her death. But he was never charged with the killing for lack of evidence.
A year later the official police file on the Whitechapel murders was closed. The ‘Autumn of Terror’ was at an end.
More possible victims
The following women were extremely unlikely to have been Ripper victims, but it is just possible that one or more may have provided a rehearsal for his escalating cycle of violence.
Fairy Fay was the appellation given by the Daily Telegraph to an unnamed murder victim reputedly found on 26 December 1887 who was allegedly killed by having ‘a stake thrust through her abdomen’. However, no such person appears in any police files or in the records of the local authority. It seems likely that Fairy Fay may have been a ‘Jane Doe’ type tag used by a journalist to denote Emma Smith, who had been fatally injured in a similar way. The Telegraph was clearly referring to the Emma Smith attack, but was mistaken about the date.
Annie Millwood, aged approximately 38, was subjected to a vicious attack and hospitalized on 25 February 1888 for the ‘numerous stabs in the legs and lower part of the body’ which hastened her death a month later.
Ada Wilson was stabbed twice in the neck on 28 March 1888 and survived.
Emma Elizabeth Smith was attacked by three men, probably extortionists, on 3 April 1888, and a blunt object was inserted into her vagina. She died in hospital two days later. Her death is included because it is commonly cited by many Ripper scholars as the first Ripper murder, although the victim’s own statement shows that to be a false assumption.
Annie Farmer claimed to have been the victim of a knife attack on 21 November 1888, but the injury was superficial which led police to believe that it may have been self-inflicted to bring attention to herself. Consequently no further investigation was deemed necessary.
Rose Mylett (also known as Catherine Millett and Alice Downey) was strangled on 20 December 1888, possibly accidentally after becoming entangled in a cord while drunk.
Elizabeth Jackson was dismembered and the parts tossed into the Thames in the summer of 1889. Although she was a prostitute it is more likely that she was the victim of the ‘torso’ murderer who had deposited an earlier victim in the cellar of the new Metropolitan Police headquarters the previous year.
Alice McKenzie (alias Alice Bryant) had her throat slashed on 17 July 1889 and was left to bleed to death.
The cause of death reawakened fears that the Ripper may have returned but her other injuries suggested a domestic quarrel that had got out of hand.
The Pinchin Street Murder The name given to the third ‘torso murder’ victim discovered on 10 September 1889 who was later identified as prostitute Lydia Hart. It is feasible that the torso murderer and Jack the Ripper were one and the same, but there is no conclusive evidence to connect both sets of killings.
Questions in the Commons
On 9 November Sir Charles Warren resigned as head of the Metropolitan Police in response to increasing personal criticism of his handling of the case and specifically for ordering the erasure of the Goulston Street graffiti which may have offered a vital clue to the Ripper’s identity.
As a consequence of Warren’s departure the Home Secretary, Henry Matthews, was pressed to account for the failure of the police in apprehending the murderer. During questions in the House of Commons Matthews countered by stating:
‘The failure, so far, to detect the persons guilty of the Whitechapel murders is due, not to any new organization, or to any defect in the existing system, but to the extraordinary cunning and secrecy which characterize these atrocious crimes. I have already, for some time, had under consideration the whole system of the Criminal Investigation Department, with a view to introducing any improvement, that experience may suggest. With regard to the final question of the hon. member for Camborne, I have to say that Sir Charles Warren did, on the 8th inst., tender his resignation to Her Majesty’s Government, and that it has been accepted.’ (Loud Opposition cheers.)
On a subsequent occasion the Home Secretary was asked whether he contemplated offering any additional reward for the capture of the Whitechapel murderer. His response revealed the degree to which the government feared the threat of civil unrest should the police fail to apprehend the murderer in their midst.
‘I hope the House will allow me, at greater length than is usual in answering a question, to state why I have refrained from offering a reward in the Whitechapel cases. Before 1884 it was the frequent practice of the Home Office to offer rewards, sometimes of large amount, in serious cases. In 1883, in particular, several rewards, ranging from £200 to £2,000, were offered in such cases as the murder of Police-constable Boans and the dynamite explosions in Charles-Street and at various railway stations. These rewards, like the reward of £10,000 in the Phoenix Park murders proved ineffectual, and produced no evidence of any value . . . Since I have been at the Home Office I have followed the rule thus deliberately laid down and steadily adhered to by my predecessors. I do not mean that the rule may not be subject to exceptions, as, for instance, where it is known who the criminal is, and information is wanted only as to his hiding place, or on account of other circumstances of the crime itself. In the Whitechapel murders, not only are these conditions wanting at present, but the danger of a false charge is intensified by the excited state of public feeling. I know how desirable it is to allay that public feeling, and I should have been glad if the circumstances had justified me in giving visible proof that the authorities are not heedless or indifferent. I beg to assure the honourable member and the House that neither the Home Office nor Scotland Yard will leave a stone unturned in order to bring to justice the perpetrator of these abominable crimes, which have outraged the feelings of the entire community.
(Hear, hear.)’
An opposition MP then asked whether the Home Secretary had ‘taken into consideration the propriety of extending the offer of pardon to an accomplice to the murders, having regard to the fact that in the case of the first murder committed last Christmas, according to the dying woman [Emma Smith], several persons were concerned in the murder.’
Mr Mathews said it would not be proper that he would consider the suggestion. On 18 July the Secretary of State was again pressed on the question of whether he would offer a substantial reward, ‘accompanied by a free pardon, to anyone not in the police force and not the actual perpetrator of the recent crime in Whitechapel who would give such information as would lead to the conviction of the murderer; and whether he would sufficiently increase the number of detectives so as to prevent, if possible, further atrocities in East London.’ His answer was intended to put an end to the matter.
&n
bsp; ‘I have consulted the Commissioner of Police, and he informs me that he has no reason to believe that the offer of a reward now would be productive of any good result, and he does not recommend any departure from the policy resolved on last year, and fully explained by me to the House. Since the occurrence of the outrages in the East-end a large number of men in plain clothes have been employed there, and I yesterday sanctioned an arrangement for still further increasing the number of detectives available for duty in Whitechapel.’
An autumn evening in Whitechapel
On 3 November 1888, Littell’s Living Age, an American magazine, printed the following graphic description of life in the East End during the ‘Autumn of Terror’:
‘Whitechapel and Spitalfields are always interesting neighbourhoods, and recent events have made them decidedly more interesting. They have afforded startling illustrations of the dreadful possibilities of life down in the unfathomable depths of these vast human warrens. At all times one who strolls through this quarter of town, especially by night, must feel that below his ken are the awful deeps of an ocean teeming with life, but enshrouded in impenetrable mystery. As he catches here and there a glimpse of a face under the flickering, uncertain light of a lamp – the face perhaps of some woman, bloated by drink and distorted by passion – he may get a momentary shuddering sense of what humanity may sink to when life is lived apart from the sweet, health-giving influences of fields and flowers, of art and music and books and travel, of the stimulus of interesting enterprise, the gentle amenities of happy hours and intercourse with the educated and the cultured. A momentary sense of what human nature may become may here and there flash in upon one as he gazes out upon the dark waters, but it is only when the human monster actually rises for a moment to the surface and disappears again, leaving a victim dead and disembowelled, that one quite realizes that that momentary scene is a dread reality. Just for a few days the mass of the people of Spitalfields and Whitechapel themselves seemed to be realizing the awful possibilities of the nature that belonged to them. Thousands of them were really shocked and sobered, by the last tragedy especially. One could see in the people’s faces, and could detect in their tones and answers, an indefinable something which told plainly that they had been horrified by a revelation.