by Joan Lock
The other new cause of death being mooted was poisoning by the foul water into which the victims had fallen. Not surprising, given that the two sewage outlets for north and south London emptied into the Thames about this point. A Times editorial explained why this had become an issue:
… when the loss of life after the collision between the Bywell Castle and the Princess Alice was almost the only subject which engaged the attention of the public we printed a letter from ‘A PHARMACEUTICAL CHEMIST’, in which the writer expressed his belief that the mortality must have been due, in part at least, to the noxious character of the fluid into which the sufferers were plunged. Now that the first shock of the calamity is over, this opinion seems to be gaining ground; and today we publish other letters written for the purpose of enforcing it. Some of the evidence given at the inquest yesterday confirms that impression.13
The poisoning idea was much encouraged by Captain Bedford Pim who kept asking survivors if they had tasted the water. His questions had been prompted by the evidence of Miss Emma Eatwell. She had volunteered that the water was very foul and that she was still taking medicine on account of having swallowed some of it.
‘Is the doctor treating you for nerves or for poison?’ Pim had asked.
‘For nerves, liver and other things,’ she had replied, at which there was laughter in the court.14
In response, Pim told the coroner, ‘There is a strong feeling that the death was due in many cases to the poisonous state of the water, and I should like the previous witness recalled in order to put a question to him on the subject.’
The previous witness was Mr Huddart who, when asked whether he had noticed anything peculiar in the water replied, ‘Both taste and smell were something dreadful.’ He had, he added, been down to the bottom and had risen with his mouth full.15
Compositor Charles Masters said he did not taste the water because he took good care to keep his mouth shut. As did letter-carrier, Benjamin Smith.
‘Did it smell bad?’ persisted Pim.
‘I had not time to think of smell.’16
However, railway clerk Henry White came through for Pim with: ‘The water was slimey and had a most disagreeable smell and taste.’17
Pim may have been after bigger fish – the Metropolitan Board of Works, rather than the Steamship Company – from whom to claim compensation for his clients, the family of the victim.
The Times continued making their poisonous water case, if somewhat rather inelegantly:
Out of the 130 persons who landed alive, fourteen have since died; and it is reported by the Reverend Styleman Herring, one of the almoners of the Mansion House Fund, that:
many more are in a precarious state. We have not evidence how far the deaths may have been those of feeble, or aged, or previously unhealthy persons, or how far they may have been due to mental emotion or to accidental injury; but, if we set aside these possibilities, the rate of mortality among the saved, regarded as the mere effect of an immersion in water on a fine summer evening, is undoubtedly exceedingly large.18
There was no evidence whether it was injurious to health, The Times continued, but it was certainly a subject that called for further investigation. It was also unnecessary to foul the river like this as there were ways of purifying and filtering sewage.
One of their correspondents did know whether it was injurious. Mr Richard Dover of Hammersmith revealed:
Those who have chanced to encounter or inhale an intensely putrid smell have found their powers of action paralyzed, of which there are so many records of fatal results from the sewerage in the sewers of London. And it is well known that the presence of 1-1,500th of sulphuretted hydrogen in the air is instantly fatal to a bird; that 1-800th will kill a dog; and that 1-150th of its volume has killed a horse.19
There was no answer to that.
However, apart from fractious jurymen and lawyers, screw injuries and poisonous waters, what was most concerning the coroner was that the Board of Trade had opened their inquiry into the tragedy whilst the inquest was still in progress causing witnesses to be torn between the two venues. The Board had now demanded that the Bywell Castle crew attend their court the following Tuesday when he required them to give evidence at the inquest on that day.
Though not a well man, the 69-year-old Carttar was in fighting mood. When Mr Mybergh, for the Bywell Castle, informed him that the Board of Trade had refused to accede to a postponement and had actually subpoenaed the Bywell Castle crew to attend, the coroner retorted that they had no power to take witnesses into custody. He had, however and, if necessary, would be prepared to exercise it. He had written to the Board of Trade and, if necessary, would appeal to the highest tribunal possible.
Fortunately a lighter note was sounded after the coroner announced that he had received information that representatives of the illustrated newspapers were anxious to be present with the intention of sketching the faces of the jury, but that he was not disposed to aid in the production of such a caricature. Therefore, he would give directions that if any person in the court occupied himself in that manner, he should direct his removal. He was shutting the door after the steed had been stolen, remarked Mr Nelson. ‘The gentleman referred to took his sketches last Monday.’ 20
At the close of that day’s inquest hearing, on Friday 20 September, it appeared that a compromise had been reached with the Board of Trade as Carttar announced that the inquest would be resuming, as planned, on the following Wednesday, the 25 September, the Board of Trade inquiry having been postponed until 14 October.
Then, the world would hear what the Bywell Castle crew had to say for themselves.
Notes
1. The Times, 10 and 19 September 1878; Standard, 9 September 1878 and Coroners’ Records COR/PA 6 & 22.
2. The Times, 20 September 1878.
3. The Times, 26 September 1878.
4. The Times, 19 September 1878.
5. The Times, 21 September 1878.
6. Standard and The Times, 21 September 1878.
7. The Times, 20 September 1878.
8. Ibid.
9. Ibid.
10. The Times, 19 September 1878.
11. Ibid.
12. The Times, 20 September 1878.
13. The Times, 19 September 1878.
14. Ibid.
15. Ibid.
16. The Times, 20 September 1878.
17. Ibid.
18. The Times, 19 September 1878.
19. Ibid.
20. The Times, 21 September 1878.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Aftermath
Every now and then the protracted proceedings of the Woolwich inquest were interrupted by a relative formally identifying the clothing and possessions of a victim who had been ‘buried unknown’. Occasionally, this was followed by an exhumation request which, the relatives were told, would be carried out on the payment of twenty-five shillings and the production of a shell large enough to accommodate the retrieved coffin. Ten such exhumations were done.
Several of those thus identified had been with the Bible class party. These included Emma Stoneman, whose clothing was recognized by her daughter Isabel, and Elizabeth Haist, wife of a warehouseman. Her clothing was identified by her niece, as was that of her cousin Eleanor Haist, aged fifteen, and nephew William Fredric Haist, aged seventeen.
The search by the brother and sister of the Bible party’s 73-year-old Elizabeth Hopkins had been particularly harrowing. She, it turned out, had been one of the first (‘body number 3a’) to be found and placed in the boardroom at Roff’s Wharf. For some reason the pair had been unable to gain entrance to look for their sister – probably due to the chaos at the venue at the time – and she had been ‘buried unknown’. Now they were able to identify her clothing.
The coroner remarked that the Bible class had numbered fifty-one, only one of which had survived. In fact, it was now becoming clear that five had survived: two of the Haist children, Jane Green, servant to Miss Barden (who had died), 60-yea
r-old Mrs Martha Corfield and Mary Brent, who claimed that she owed her survival to her alpaca dress and petticoat.
Once recognized, a good many of the parcels of clothes were left behind. The best of these garments were given to the poor of the neighbourhood. The rest were burned. By 18 September only twenty-five bundles of clothing remained unclaimed. Several of these were such as might be worn by tourists, proclaimed The Times, although a few days later they declared that some of these were of ‘so peculiar and distinctive a character that it is considered almost marvellous how they have so long escaped recognition’.
On the same day as the inquest on the reasons for the collision resumed, a meeting of the Mansion House Committee was held in the Venetian Parlour in the Mansion House and presided over by the Lord Mayor. Mr Soulsby, the secretary, informed the committee that, up to now the applicants were made up of twenty-eight widows, 163 orphans, twenty-six aged parents, thirty-five widowers with families and forty-four claims from survivors and others. More applications were flowing in.
The Reverend Herring said that 640 bodies had been recovered and over 130 people were rescued, though sixteen of these had since died. From the great number of inquiries for missing relatives still being made, he ventured to think 130 more had been drowned, though he feared few more bodies would be found. They could thus account for 786 dead or rescued. Therefore, if his supposition was correct, there had been 960 onboard.
Up to now he had only been able to investigate the cases of those whose initials of their surnames began with A and B and among these there were sixteen widows, twenty-two orphans and fifty-eight families. This, the Reverend Herring said, would give the committee an idea of the work before them. The Lord Mayor had given him £400 to expend in the relief of the distressing cases, of which he had spent nearly £300. He proposed to attend Mansion House daily at 11 a.m. to hear applications for immediate relief. It was arranged that a sub-committee would meet daily at midday to go personally into the various cases.
The rector of Woolwich proposed that the committee should not entertain applications for grants for the mere purpose of exhuming any of the dead buried at Woolwich and transferring them to other cemeteries. The proposal was carried.
A Mansion House sub-committee meeting discussed how one thing that wasn’t helping those left behind was the fact that some friendly societies and burial clubs to which those involved had been regularly contributing were now dragging their heels paying out, thus increasing the distress. The committee were not suggesting that these agencies were not bona fide, merely commenting on their ‘red tape system’ of doing business.1
The Times of 20 September 1878, reported there were, ‘as may be imagined, almost as many impudent, as deserving claims’.
One survivor who had neither relative nor friend onboard, is anxious to be recouped for the loss of his hat and overcoat in saving himself; another seeks compensation for a lost umbrella; a woman complains that her clothing was damaged and torn in effecting her rescue, and still another has made pressing inquiries as to the recovery of a carpet bag of little or no value. Such applications are rejected.
The genuine cases included:
A lady who had seen better days, and who had lately acted as governess and housekeeper to a gentleman drowned in the Princess Alice, is cast destitute upon the world, and is herself in a weak state of health, caused by the shock of the accident and the very narrow escape she had. She was in the water over three-quarters of an hour and was rescued almost in a dying state. She fortunately fell into the hands of working men who took her to a cottage, where she gradually recovered. It is thought likely that by publicity she may get another situation in some respectable family.
It transpired that many of the claims the sub-committee had to deal with were referred on to the clergyman or ‘other reliable person in the district from which the claimant lived’.2
By 19 September the amount in the Mansion House Fund had risen to £23,000 and money continued to flow in. Among the latest donors were Prince Leopold (Queen Victoria’s fourth son) with £25, Miss Alice Rothschild (£25) and Harrow School Chapel (£50), who donated ‘a similar amount’ to the Abercarne mining disaster fund.3
The Honourable and Reverend Adelbert Anson, the Rector of Woolwich, only wanted sixpences for his fund – so as not to interfere with the subscriptions needed for the living. He was collecting ‘for the purpose of erecting a memorial over the place where so many who were lost in the terrible disaster on the Thames lie buried’.4
Other memorials in the form of poems made regular appearances in the press. As early as 11 September one pen – that of eminent lawyer, William Digby Seymour QC, LL.D – commemorated the sad affair with:
The Foundering of the Princess Alice
There’s a rippling wave and a sparkling spray
As the fair ship steams along:
It is seemly to close the festive day,
With measures of dance and song –
But, ah! those lips will be silent soon,
And the music hushed in that bright saloon.
The poem went on to relate how gaiety and laughter died, then continued:
Oh! Weep for the fate that befell the gay,
For the young who too early died,
For manhood and beauty swept away
By that cold, unpitying tide!
Weep for fond bosoms force to part,
For the desolate home, and the broken heart!
The seven verses conclude:
It is sweet when the Royal Lady sends
Her message of Queenly love;
It is sweeter when faith with a prayer ascends
To a higher throne above.
May He who the issues of life controls
Have mercy on those eight hundred souls!5
Out on the river, beyond the inquests and the Mansion House deliberations on how to help the bereaved, the weather remained fine and the last of the season’s steamboat excursions continued to ply back and forth. It was noticed, however, that fewer women and children were onboard when previously they had been predominant.
As for the political news, shortly before the collision the Princess Alice passengers had sung: ‘We don’t want to fight but by jingo if we do!’ in reference to a threatened war. That war now loomed even nearer in the form of the Second Afghan War.
As to the health of nations, infectious diseases remained a continuous threat. Yellow fever still had its grip on New Orleans and Memphis and deaths in London for the week ending 21 September included four from smallpox, two from measles, twenty-four from scarlet fever, ten from diphtheria, forty-three from whooping cough, thirty from various other fevers, and eighty from diarrhoea.
Islington had not forgotten its heavy Princess Alice losses. Mr Watts, proprietor of Collins’ Music Hall on Islington Green, was one of the first to announce his intention of throwing open his establishment for performances in aid of the Mansion House Fund, reported the Islington Gazette of 23 September, 1878.
They went on to describe the morning and evening performances. The morning audiences were small and select but, ‘as might be expected, the balance of the patronage was in favour of the latter’. The evening audience ‘had to be packed in like sardines, and was largely composed of the working classes’.
Many prominent artists had offered their services so there was plenty of variety. Miss Stella De Vere, ‘attired in glittering dresses’, gave three songs of French origin ‘in a decidedly piquant style’. Next, came Picardo’s Piccaninnies, ‘a troupe of youngsters, who carried off the premier honours of the day with their comic and sentimental singing and laughable Negro impersonations’. Comic songs, serio-comic songs and popular ballads followed as did sketches and a ‘clever-grotesque’ comedian. Miss Jenny Hill gave three of her character songs, ‘including an artistic impersonation of a lady advocate of women’s rights, whose denunciations of “those men” were highly diverting’.
But the charitable reason for the performances was not forgotten.
‘At both, the following address, written by Mr Geoffrey Thorn, was delivered by Mr D. Crocker, and received hearty applause’.
Kind friends, forgive me if a while
I chase away a happy smile.
As he did with a long tale about the fate of the Princess Alice:
When Death rode on her water way,
And with one cruel, deadly stroke,
The bond of life and pleasure broke!
Oh! Dwell not on the anguish there.
The piercing shriek – the hurried prayer –
The cry for mercy – help too late –
As twice three hundred met their fate!
He eventually concluded by urging them to play and sing again and announcing that the entire receipts would go to the Mansion House Fund.6
Notes
1. The Times, 20 September 1878.
2. Ibid.
3. Ibid.
4. Ibid.
5. A printed version with a black border can be found in the Coroners’ Records COR/PA/44.
6. Islington Gazette, 23 September 1878.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Deep and Lasting Sorrow
Wednesday 25 September 1878, was surely a day dreaded by two particular witnesses: the captain and the pilot of the Bywell Castle.
Most of the preliminaries centred around the question of which of them had been in charge of the vessel at the time of the collision. Counsel for the Bywell Castle said that the pilot had been in charge but admitted that, as the ship was exempted from compulsory pilotage, the owners would not be relieved of civil liabilities even if the pilot had been in charge.
