About 40 people on the train near Praed Street were injured by these bombs. Most were sent to St Mary’s Hospital so that their injuries could be seen to. Dr Owens, the medical superintendent there, oversaw their care. Fortunately, none had life-threatening wounds. Most only suffered cuts from flying glass. Only four people had to be admitted as in-patients. Richard Brown, aged 45, was the most badly hurt. An artery had been cut and he had, at first, bled profusely. Walter Warren, a corporal in the Dragoon Guards, suffered from concussion as well as numerous cuts. Some suffered from shock and others from temporary deafness. Two days after the explosion, all were recovering. Two schoolboys were sent to a nearby hotel for the night and went home the next day.
On 2 November, both the Home Office and the Metropolitan and District Railway companies offered £500 each for the apprehension of the perpetrators. Meanwhile, Colonel Mejendie, an explosives expert employed by the Home Office, had been busily investigating the rolling stock which passed over the lines just before the explosions, as well as interviewing the railway staff who had witnessed the explosions. Chemistry experts were also employed. Inspector Frederick Abberline, a key officer in the hunt for Jack the Ripper in 1888, was also one of the leading detectives in this case. They found four rockets, but upon examination these turned out to be fireworks of the type used by schoolboys in the run-up to 5 November, not dynamite cartridges. Yet dynamite had been used to cause these explosions.
It was thought that the explosive near Charing Cross was the work of someone on an earlier train. A vessel containing the explosive, and set with a time fuse, was lowered by a piece of string and dropped over the window of the last carriage. It was thought that the string had been measured so the explosive could be slung just above ground level and then could be dropped without causing a premature explosion. Then the string was cut and the time fuse began to burn.
However, that at Praed Street was laid in a hole in the tunnel’s brickwork. Apparently there was a ten-minute interval between trains in the case of the latter and men had been allowed to wander into these tunnels. This practice was now cancelled.
Then there was the question as to culpability. Some initially thought that the explosions might have been accidental or the work of discharged railway workers. Yet this was deemed a deliberate plot, similar to that against the local government offices in Charles Street, Westminster, earlier that year. It was thought that the criminals were not men knowledgeable of London, because neither blast damaged any public buildings as that in March had. The aim of the explosions was evidently to cause alarm, wreck trains and injure passengers. However, no one was ever apprehended for either crime.
Yet Londoners did not panic and remained calm. As The Times observed on 1 November, ‘It is greatly to the credit of the people of London that there has been no approach to panic, still less to any rash impulses of suspicion and vengeance.’ Perhaps this was partly because there was no loss of life – when Fenians had killed over a dozen people in Clerkenwell in 1867 with a bomb, some Irish workers in the capital were sacked because of doubtless unjust suspicion against them on account of their nationality. Ironically, it was noted, in 1883, ‘If among the dynamite party there was a man willing really to take his life in his hand, the doctrine of spoliation and disruption might have been terribly asserted.’ In other words, had this been a case of what would now be termed a suicide bomber, death and devastation would have been high – as was discovered in 2005.
The bombers struck again in February 1884, and this time their plans were more ambitious. There were attempts made to destroy parts of four major London railway stations: Victoria, Charing Cross, Ludgate Hill and Paddington. The only one which actually detonated was at 1 am on Tuesday 25 February at Victoria. It was fortunate that the station was almost deserted and that no lives were lost – a quarter or half an hour earlier and that would almost certainly not have been the case. A large portion of the long frontage of the station was blown to smithereens. Various offices there were completely wrecked and the gas pipes were leaking. Fire broke out, but the station staff contained the blaze until the Fire Brigade could arrive and douse the flames. Apparently at 8 on the previous evening, a respectably dressed man had deposited a portmanteau at the cloakroom, as the attendant recalled. One of the cases was heavy and the gentleman asked it be handled with care. It was this case which was later to be found – or rather the remains of it – at the centre of the area affected by the explosion. Luckily, the clock fuse, which was probably set to 12, went off an hour late.
After the explosion at Victoria, extra vigilance was clearly visible in other major railway termini in London. At Charing Cross, on Wednesday, 27 February, just before midnight, bearing in mind what had happened at Victoria, the cloakroom porter was told to investigate any items which looked suspicious and had been deposited in the cloakroom there. He found a black portmanteau which seemed unusually heavy, and was later found to weigh 27 pounds. It was opened, and beneath some old clothes, and some daily English newspapers of 20 and 21 February 1884, were found cakes of a peculiar nature, which were labelled Atlas Powder. This was an explosive made of pure nitroglycerine and sawdust, added together so it would not explode in handling by its operators, and was manufactured in America. It was illegal to import it into England. There was a detonator attached which should have caused the device to explode, but it had failed to do so. The man who left it may have been about five feet ten, because that was the size of the trousers found within the case.
A similar discovery was made on the afternoon of the same day at Paddington. Two days previously, a brown leather portmanteau, studded with brass knobs of American make, and of a similar weight, had been deposited in the cloakroom there. It was opened and inside were found 46 cakes of Atlas powder, some in a cash box and the others surrounding it. There was a clockwork timer attached, but for some reason, perhaps a faulty mechanism, it had failed to detonate. It was timed to explode at midnight, but the clock had stopped at 9.10. It was exactly the same as the devices found elsewhere. However, in this case there was a copy of the New York Sun of 6 February 1884. Although the attendant was questioned about the man who left it, he could give no clue to his identity because on that evening, it had been very busy and usually between 300 and 400 cases were deposited daily. Yet the man depositing the bag was probably reasonably well to do because the case was not inexpensive, costing between 20s and 25s.
It was thought that the men behind the bombing were Americans. This was because the explosive used was American and because of the American newspaper found in one of the portmanteaus. In any case, there was Fenian support in that country. It was also thought that the men who deposited the cases were very conscious of their own safety and took care to be at a distance when the bombs exploded. The dynamite had been timed to explode when there would be large numbers of people at the railway stations.
Two Americans were seen behaving oddly in Windsor on the Friday and Saturday after the bombs had been located. On early Friday afternoon, an American arrived at the town and looked around the castle. He refused the services of a guide. The police were alerted, but after visiting other parts of the town, he disappeared. On the following day, a respectably dressed American went to a pub near the castle and ordered a meal. The landlady thought he was acting oddly, so sent a man to investigate. He found that the American had removed most of his clothing for an unknown reason. The doubtless embarrassed stranger quickly paid up and left. There was also a rumour that an Irishman had been at Charing Cross on Monday and declared that he expected there would be a ‘blow-up’ there soon, but this was discounted.
Once again, no one was ever convicted of these bombings, despite a combined reward by the government and the railway companies totalling £2,000. It was believed that there were four men involved in all, one to deposit dynamite at each of the four stations. They had arrived, separately, in London on 20 February. One was a man of some social status, aged 28, who had arrived at the Waverley Hotel, Portland Road, at 7 pm,
half an hour after the Liverpool Express had terminated its journey at Euston. He had with him an American portmanteau of the same type as those later found at the railway stations. He was about five feet six in height, thin faced and with dark hair and a moustache. Another man, with a similar bag, came to the hotel an hour later. He was about 40, an American, and of medium height with a fair moustache. He carried a similar case. On 25 February, the night when the four explosions were to have occurred, the two men left the hotel, never to return. One of the portmanteaus which had dynamite in it was later shown to hotel staff, who identified it as being similar at least to the luggage carried by the guests just mentioned. If one of the men left his case at Paddington at, it was believed, 5.30 pm, he could then have caught the 5.45 to Weymouth and then boarded a ferry to Cherbourg and so been safely out of the country when the case exploded.
Their two co-conspirators arrived at Waterloo from Southampton at 7.04 pm on 25 February. They had come from America. They took a cab from Waterloo, but the police were unable to trace the cabman who took them to their unknown destination. One man was aged about 29, five feet ten, with a round face, light brown hair and a slight moustache. His companion was perhaps a year older, shorter and bearded. They had a large brown trunk with them. What is odd is how they could have smuggled the explosives, weighing about 100 pounds, through Customs.
All this was undoubtedly part of a Fenian plot. It was thought that the more respectable and peaceful Irish politicians could exert an influence over their more violent colleagues. According to The Times:
They would do well to exert that influence for the repression of outrages, since the British people, however long suffering, will not indefinitely put up with the murder of innocent persons, and may supplement the imperfections of legal machinery with reprisals of an exceedingly unpleasant kind upon the Irishmen whose presence they now tolerate.
Yet there was more to come. As in 2005, the initial explosion on the Friday evening of 2 January 1885 took everyone by surprise. It was 9.15 and it happened in the tunnel of the Metropolitan Line between Gower Street and King’s Cross stations. The 8.53 Hammersmith down train from Aldgate was stopped at the Charlton Street box at 9.13. The train had six carriages, most of which was third class. The line was clear and so the signalman allowed the train to proceed at 9.14. Scarcely had the train reached 70 yards from the signal box, travelling at 14 mph, when ‘an explosion, attended with a loud report, took place’.
There was a flash. Gas from the train and the signal box were extinguished. All the glass in the train was shattered, as it was in the signal box. The clock in the latter was also smashed and the hands remained set at 9.14. The carriages rocked and people were hurled together on the train, greatly alarming other passengers, as might be imagined. Fortunately, there were few people travelling that evening. It was only when the train stopped at Gower Street that the damage was known.
One witness stated:
So loud was the report and so strong the concussion that several persons crossing the Euston Road in close proximity to the gratings were thrown off their feet while the horses of the omnibuses and other vehicles were restrained only with great difficulty from running away. At Gower Street station and King–s Cross nearly all the lights were put out, and the gas engineer was thrown off his seat on his face. Several women on the platform fainted.
Fortunately, the explosion was not deadly. True, a few people had been hurt by flying broken glass, but that was all. No one died. Mr Macintosh, a gas engineer at Gower Street, saw the train arriving with its lamps out. The train was emptied of passengers and sent to Bishop’s Road, Neasden Junction. The carriages had suffered no damage to the woodwork or structure.
Superintendent Harris of S division and Chief Inspector Gosden of the Metropolitan Railway Police arrived on the scene about half an hour later in order to ensure the safety of the public. They examined the tunnel where the explosion occurred. Part of the brickwork there had been blown away (with a diameter of about two feet). There was also evidence that the roof had been affected by the explosion, with the crust of dirt there being blown away. Yet the main structure of the tunnel was sound. The signal box at St Pancras was damaged. The explosion took place on the north side of the line between St Pancras church and the Charlton street signal box.
The debris in the tunnel was also raked through for any clues. But the items found – small scraps of paper, pieces of wood and a boy’s cap – did not help the investigation.
The explosion might have been caused by someone throwing a bomb from the passing train from Hammersmith. The bomb could have been dynamite or gun cotton. It might have been a small percussion bomb, of the type used to kill Tsar Alexander II in 1881, which would explode immediately on hitting a hard surface. Nitroglycerine might have been used. It probably fell on the footboard, then rebounded from the tunnel wall and then exploded on impact. One theory was that the perpetrator was the man who was seen to enter a carriage with a parcel and then left at the next station. He was wearing a coat trimmed with fur and wearing a wideawake hat. However, police did not take the latter report seriously.
Further investigations took place on the following day. Colonels Ford and Majendie, inspectors from the Home Office, together with railway officials, went to where the explosion took place. Measures were taken to guard underground tunnels. An appeal was made to all passengers on the damaged train to contact the police with their names and addresses. This was rather tardy, as it could have been done on the night in question, but perhaps the police had not arrived as fast as they should.
Train staff – engine driver, stoker, guard, underguard and signalman – were questioned at the Home Office. None had any previous suspicion of any danger and none had seen any lights beforehand; although some had been on the lookout for any possible danger, given previous explosions. They recalled the explosion was very loud, sudden and like nothing they had ever heard before. The driver recalled there was a puff of smoke as the explosion occurred. None had seen anyone suspicious in the tunnel. But, in any case, since the tunnel was dark it would be unlikely that anyone there would be seen. They had seen no one dash away from the train on reaching Gower Street; indeed the people leaving the train seemed to linger there. Again, the perpetrator would be hardly likely to advertise themselves by running away at first opportunity. In all, the men could shed very little light on the incident.
A critic of both the perpetrator of the crime and the authorities wrote to The Times. Although he thought that the explosion ‘gives fresh proof to the dynamiters of their own feebleness’, the majority of his letter was directed against the police. Vigorous action was needed, as was common sense. Although he gave the police a report about the bombing which he witnessed, he claimed they paid no attention to it. Therefore, he concluded:
So long as the pursuit of criminals is carried on in this fashion, I can but feel convinced that neither the offer of a reward, however large, nor the extension to England of the Crimes Prevention Act will be of practical avail in aiding the apprehension of these cowardly scoundrels.
At first it was believed that Anarchists might be responsible for this bomb-throwing outrage. However, it is more likely that it was the work of the Fenians, like the other bombings over the previous two years. There was also a string of unreliable rumours from abroad. The Gil Blas, a French newspaper, suggested that the criminals were Irishmen living in Paris. Two were brothers in their thirties. They lived in Montmartre and had been employed in a printing office in Rochechourart until early December 1884, but made the bombs in a cellar and then came to London several weeks before the explosions. Another French newspaper claimed that the criminals were from Les Invalides; another that they were the work of a police plot (recalling the corruption scandal among the detective force in London in 1877) in order to keep up a state of alarm or prevent their own discharge.
Yet on Tuesday 3 February 1885, the police arrested a man whom they believed was responsible for these outrages. The man ‘under d
etention pending enquiries’ was an Irish American. Joseph Hammond, the guard of the Gower Street train, thought he had seen the suspect, one James Cunningham, a dock labourer, leave at Gower Street. He remembered him because he had sat in the last compartment but one of the train from Hammersmith, where the brake apparatus was, and this was usually kept empty except in the case of overcrowding, but often did contain passengers’ luggage. Of course to travel in this compartment was hardly suspicious in itself, but as a result of the explosion the guard (a former detective constable) kept an eye on the man, who, however, vanished the instant the guard’s attention was elsewhere. Hammond gave the police a description of the man and this matched that of Cunningham.
At Bow Street magistrates’ court, Cunningham, alias Dalton, and one Harry Burton, a cabinet maker, were charged with high treason and were accused of causing the explosion at the Tower of London on 24 January 1885. Much of this need not concern us, but they were also implicated in the Gower Street bombing. The two had arrived from America, as the 1884 bombers probably had too. Cunningham had been back and forth between America and England in 1884, sailing from New York on 10 December 1884 and arriving in Liverpool ten days later. By 24 December, at the latest, he was in London, having been seen at Broad Street station. He resided at Great Prescot Street, Whitechapel, near to the Tower of London. Burton arrived shortly afterwards and lived in Mitre Square (where, in 1888, one of the Ripper victims was killed), not far away. They had also been seen with brown American luggage cases.
There were a number of witnesses, other than the guard already alluded to, who had seen Cunningham on 2 January. One was Michael Myers, an auctioneer from Clapham. That day he had been to the City for business, travelling by the Metropolitan line. He had returned that evening on the same line from Farringdon. When a westbound Metropolitan train arrived, he made to enter the brake compartment as he had a case of delicate china. There he saw three men, one of whom was Cunningham. At this point in the hearing, Cunningham shouted at him. ‘Liar!’
Great Train Crimes: Murder and Robbery on the Railways Page 2
