return to normal view
Qu'Appelle Progress
Ontario, Canada
16 November 1888

London, Nov.10.
The Prince of Wales' birthday and the Lord Mayor's day open with a ghastly act of celebration. While Sandringham and Marlborough House were filled with joyous echoes Whitechapel was again suffering horrors. While the Lord Mayor was parading the streets with gorgeous surroundings, his police were again inert around the wretched shambles wherein lay the body of another mutilated hopeless woman, the seventh crime. Dr. Gabe, of Mericklenburg square, medical official, arose from the horrible sight on the squalid bedstead, at the head of which was a piece of looking-glass such as one buys in Petticoat lane for a half-penny. He said in all his experience in dissecting rooms never had he seen such a ghastly sight. What could be called the corpse laid, as he saw it, nearly naked on a blood engorged woolen mattress. The victim's hair was flung upwards on a pillow and matted with gore, as if the murderer had wiped his hands and threaded his tell-tale fingers. The nose and ears were sliced away; the throat was cut from left to right, so that the vertebrae at one end presented a headsmanlike violence. Below the neck was an appearance such as the carcass of a sheep presents in the abattoir with the ribs and backbone exposed, and cleared of the stomach, entrails, heart and liver. These three organs were placed carefully beside the mutilated trunk, after the fashion of a butcher shop. As on previous occasions, parts of the vicera (sic) were missing. From the hips to the ankles the flesh was spreaded (sic) more or less. "It must have been the work of perhaps a full half hour," said the physician. Rigor mortis was just beginning when the body was discovered. The poor creature, at 1 o'clock in the morning, had been heard by a fellow lodger croning (sic) a drunken song, perhaps to the murderer. From that hour to 10:30 this morning all is as yet a hideous blank. Then a young man who is a neighbour knocked at the door. It was locked. Apparently the murderer, sly to the last, or with a method in madness, had taken the key; but there was a side window with a pane broken in a quarrel she had a week ago with a man with whom she had been living, but who then parted from her only to reappear this morning to tell simply of her past and remain unsuspected. Through this little window the accidental visitant looked. His faintness and his escape, his tale and the commotion which followed, may better be imagined then described.

Advertise with us | Link to us | Privacy Policy | Copyright © Stephen P. Ryder & Johnno, 1996-2023 Thomas Schachner