by Clay, Jeremy
The torpedo then exploded, shattering several blocks of houses in the vicinity. The report was heard some miles away.
Fortunately no one was killed, but four persons who were in the market-place at the time were thrown violently upon a heap of debris, while others were injured by flying pieces of stone and timber.
A portion of the torpedo, weighing 75lb was found in the adjoining street, having rebounded over the roofs of the intervening houses. Mr Cunningham has been arrested and committed for trial.
The Worcestershire Chronicle, November 14, 1896
A Martyr to Science
The Sicilian tyrant Phalaris was roasted on the instrument he had prepared for the roasting of others, and by a singular fatality a French engineer has just fallen the first victim to his own ‘murderous invention.’
The poor fellow lived in the Faubourg St Antoine, and had for a considerable time been engaged in fabricating an engine of war which should sweep away whole columns, and provide his countrymen with an incomparable weapon of vengeance.
He had spent all he possessed on his deadly invention, and had become so absorbed in it and so furious at his repeated failures, that his friends were on the point of putting him under constraint.
On Saturday last they left him making a final experiment. In a few hours, however, an awful explosion was heard; all the windows in the neighbourhood were broken, and volumes of smoke were pouring from the apartment.
The police at once forced an entrance, and found the implement of war burst into pieces, and the inventor himself lying in fragments about the room. He had placed upon his table a hundred leaden soldiers, such as children play with, dressed in the Prussian uniform, loaded his machine to the muzzle with his own composition and missiles, and fired it off. His remains were collected limb by limb and conveyed to the morgue.
The Hampshire Telegraph and Sussex Chronicle, September 28, 1872
A Wonderful Bed
A Parisian millionaire, M. Lang, has recently had made for him a wonderful bed, which is certainly one of the most luxurious pieces of furniture yet heard of.
When it is time to get up, a chime of bells ring. The occupant continues to sleep. Suddenly a candle is lit by a clever mechanical arrangement. The sleeper rubs his eyes, and an invisible hand proceeds to divest him of his nightcap. By means of electricity a spirit lamp with coffee-roasting apparatus affixed next begins to burn. The water soon boils and the smell of coffee fills the room with a delicious fragrance.
Luxuriously revelling in a crowd of agreeable sensations, the occupant, now just beginning to wake, is soothed by sounds proceeding from a costly musical-box. At length the bells ring out another merry peal, and at the foot of the bed a card with ‘Levez-vous’ (‘Get up’) inscribed on it appears. If this invitation is without effect a powerful mechanism lifts the occupant bodily from his bed and deposits him on the floor.
The Worcestershire Chronicle, March 6, 1886
A Steam Man
The Newark Advertiser (New Jersey) describes the very extraordinary invention of a machine which moved by steam will perform some of the most important functions of humanity – stand upright, walk or run as he is bid, in any direction, and at almost any rate of speed, drawing after him a load whose weight would tax the strength of three stout draught horses.
In order to prevent the ‘giant’ from frightening horses by its wonderful appearance, the inventor intends to clothe it, and give it as nearly as possible a likeness to the rest of humanity.
The boilers and such parts as are necessarily heated will be encased in felt or woollen garments. Pantaloons, coat, and vest of the latest styles are provided. Whenever the fires need coaling, which is every two or three hours, the driver stops the machine, descends from his seat, unbuttons ‘camel’s’ vest, opens a door, shovels in the fuel, buttons up the vest, and drives on.
On the back, between the shoulders, the steam cocks and gauges are placed; as these would cause the coat to sit awkwardly, a knapsack has been provided which completely covers them, a blanket neatly rolled up and placed on the top of the knapsack perfects the delusion. The face is moulded into a cheerful countenance of white enamel, which contrasts well with the dark hair and moustache. A sheet-iron hat with a gauge top acts as a smoke stack.
The cost of this ‘best man’ is $2,000, though its makers expect to manufacture succeeding ones, warranted to run a year without repairs, for $100. The man now constructed can make his way without difficulty over any irregular surface whose ruts and stones are not more than 6 inches below or above the level of the road.
The Taunton Courier, March 18, 1868
A Wonderful Invention
The latest Yankee invention is worth hearing about, but whether it will be a nice thing to hear is another matter. It is said that a Troy inventor will shortly take a patent for a cataphone.
As its name implies, the invention has something to do with the noise of the feline race. By means of wires stretched along backyard fences and house tops the inventor conveys, with the aid of some machinery, all concaternated caterwauls into an air-tight barrel.
By another simple contrivance the sounds can be ejected, and can be used in quantities for fire and burglar alarms. The inventor says the instrument is useful for blasting rocks.
The Evening News, Portsmouth, November 4, 1878
A Curious American Invention
The Hospital, referring to the issue in the United States of some curious patents in medicine and surgery, says: There is a patent tape-worm trap, consisting of a gold capsule about the shape and size of the gelatine capsules used by pharmacists.
This capsule opens longitudinally and sets with a spring, like an old-fashioned rat-trap, and has a ring at one end, to which a piece of silk thread is to be fastened. The patient is to fast two or three days, and then the trap is set, baited with a bit of cheese, and swallowed, leaving the silk string hanging out of the mouth.
In a few moments it is supposed that the hungry worm will make a dash for the cheese, set free the spring, and leave the jaws of the capsule clasped about his head. Then by means of the string he is to be drawn out hand over hand and coiled away in a bottle, after which you may go fishing for another one.
The Manchester Evening News, October 25, 1890
LIFE and DEATH
Preface
Railwayman John Wilkinson died an ironic death. Shortly after clambering into his locomotive, he collapsed, slumping suddenly to the footplate. His workmates dashed to help, but by the time they’d carried him to the waiting room, he’d stopped breathing.
So the train, much like its unfortunate driver, was late that May morning in 1876. But there were few grumbles from the passengers; most of them were dead too.
This minor-key scene played out on the Necropolis Railway, which was built to convey corpses and the bereaved from a dedicated station by Waterloo Bridge to a vast new cemetery in Surrey. It was the largest burial ground in the world at the time, and the most beautiful too, according to an 1888 advert in The Times that urged all to visit before making the doleful error of depositing loved ones in ‘the seething London cemeteries’.
Therein lies the tale. Crowded beyond compare, the disease-infested boroughs of London had faced a chronic shortage of skeleton space in the first half of the nineteenth century. The canny solution was found in a swathe of land by the village of Brookwood, near Woking, and in the train tracks of the London and South Western Railway.
The first railway funeral was held in November 1854; a truly morose affair for stillborn twin boys from south London. More than 200,000 coffins later, the final passenger to make the one-way trip along the line was a Chelsea pensioner buried in April 1941, shortly before Luftwaffe bombs fell around Waterloo and closed down the operation. In between, there’s a good chance poor Mr Wilkinson ended up in the hearse carriages at the back of his own train. Perhaps he knew that day would come, wondering only as to the timing and the cause.
And when it came to causes, there were p
lenty of contenders for the average Briton: consumption, cholera, smallpox, convulsions, dysentery, dropsy … With the singles charts a full century away, the Leicestershire Mercury began printing a regular countdown of the various ways the townsfolk had died. In the early 1840s, the mortality figures appeared four times a year. By the end of the decade, the table was in each month. By the early 1850s, it was a weekly rundown. Maybe the statistics were being compiled ever faster. Or maybe they proved so popular they just needed to be.
Death fascinated the Victorians, with their grandiose funerals, cult of mourning and keepsake photographs of lifeless loved ones propped up in their Sunday best. And the newspapers of the day indulged them, with reports of calamities and murders that dripped with unpleasant, unnecessary detail.
By contrast, in a topsy-turvy twist to the norm, we are the ones who seem prudish.
A Tragic Story
The tragic circumstances surrounding the death of a well-known Brooklyn doctor named Park are exciting much sympathy. Mrs Park died, as it was supposed and the husband was completely prostrated. As the undertakers were putting Mrs Park into her coffin she revived; the shock to Dr Park, aided by other physical complications, caused his death two hours afterwards.
The Nottingham Evening Post, January 18, 1890
Laughed Himself to Death
Wesley Parsons, an aged and well-known farmer, died at Laurel, Ind. under peculiar circumstances. While joking with friends he was seized with a spell of laughing, being unable to stop. He laughed for nearly an hour, when he began hiccoughing, and two hours later he died from exhaustion.
The Star, Guernsey, December 14, 1893
Buried Alive
A rich manufacturer, named Oppelt died about 15 years ago at Reichenberg, in Austria, and a vault was built by his widow and children in the cemetery for the reception of the body.
The widow died about a month ago, and was taken to the same tomb; but when it was opened for that purpose, the coffin of her husband was found open and empty, and the skeleton of the deceased discovered in a corner of the vault in a sitting posture.
It is supposed that M. Oppelt was only in a trance when buried, and that on coming to life he had forced open the coffin.
The Worcestershire Chronicle, May 19, 1858
Novel and Fatal Balloon Duel
A deadly encounter between balloonists is reported from Guayana. It appears that M. Molica, a Portuguese gentleman, sent a challenge to a Dutchman, who, according to the rules that are adopted in all cases of this sort, had the choice of weapons and manner of meeting.
The Dutchman, who is an aeronaut, elected to ascend in his balloon; his adversary to adopt a similar course in a balloon borrowed for the occasion. The terms were agreed to, and each belligerent, accompanied by his second, ascended simultaneously.
At a given time the combatants discharged their weapons. M. Molica was wounded slightly, while his antagonist received a mortal wound, from the effects of which he expired in less than two hours. The affair has caused quite a sensation in the locality in which it took place.
The Illustrated Police News, March 16, 1878
Fall Into a Grave.
Sad Death of a Step-Father
Walter W. Fish, an old resident of Rochester, Pennsylvania, was found dead last week in the grave destined for his step-daughter, Mrs William Shell.
Fish had dug the grave and returned home, but was not present at the funeral. When the procession arrived at the cemetery, James Brotherton looked into the grave and saw Mr Fish lying dead in the rough box.
The undertaker, who was on the hearse, was notified, and kept the mourners in the carriages in ignorance of what had occurred. Aided by the pallbearers, Fish’s body was removed from the grave and taken away. The funeral then proceeded without the wife of the family knowing the father’s fate, until their return home.
At the coroner’s inquest it was discovered that Fish’s neck was broken. The theory is that he stumbled and fell into the open grave. He was 60 years old.
The Western Mail, Cardiff, December 12, 1893
France
A remarkable case of mistaken identity is reported from Fecamp. The body of a man was found recently in the Rue de Valmont, and after the usual formalities was buried as that of an octogenarian named Godefroy. Two of Godefroy’s daughters attended the funeral.
When they returned home they nearly died of terror at finding their father sitting in his usual place near the fire. The shrieks of the women, who thought they saw a ghost, brought in the neighbours, who restored them to consciousness. The error was due to a remarkable likeness between Godefroy and the man who had been found dead.
The Morning Post, November 2, 1896
Killed by a Mouse
Extraordinary Occurrence
An extraordinary occurrence has been brought to light at an inquest of a man in South London. It appears that in a workroom where many young girls were at work a mouse suddenly made its appearance on a table, causing, of course, considerable commotion and a general stampede.
The intruder was seized, however, by a young man who happened to be present, but the mouse slipped out of his hand, and running up his sleeve, came out between his waistcoat and shirt at the neck.
The unfortunate man had his mouth open, and the mouse on the look out for some convenient place of concealment, entered the man’s mouth, and he, in his fright and surprise, swallowed it.
That a mouse can exist for a considerable time without much air has long been a popular belief and was unfortunately proved to be a fact in the present instance, for the mouse began to tear and bite inside the man’s throat and chest, and the result was that the unfortunate fellow died after a little time in horrible agony.
Several witnesses having corroborated the above facts, and medical testimony as to the cause of death having been given, a verdict of accidental death was returned.
The Manchester Evening News, December 31, 1875
Singular Affair in London
An extraordinary case of being lost in London, which has resulted in the death of a child scarcely six weeks old, was brought to light this morning.
It would appear that a Mrs Susan Cox had resided for some time past in Elliot’s Row, St George’s Road, Southwark, with her husband and family.
On Tuesday last the family removed from that address to a house in a turning off the Walworth Road, but so that Mrs Cox should not be worried with the moving, she with her baby, which was six weeks old, went to Bayswater, to remain at the house of a friend.
Mrs Cox stayed there during Tuesday night, but started out at three o’clock yesterday afternoon from her friend’s house to her new home, which she had seen previous to the removing, but she was not certain as to the name of the street.
However, she felt sure she could find the place, and took the underground railway to Westminster. From that point she started to walk to her home and got as far as the Elephant and Castle.
According to her own statement she searched for Duke Street (there is no such street in the neighbourhood) thinking that to be the name of the street to which her household had removed; but, after wandering through the neighbourhood for several hours, constantly going over the same ground, she found herself no nearer her destination than when she started.
All her inquiries and searches to find her residence proved futile. During the whole of this time the mother was carrying her baby about with her. As time went on and the shops began to close, Mrs Cox determined to give up the search and find a suitable lodging.
At eleven o’clock last night she found herself near a private hotel in Newington Butts. Here she engaged a room for the night, but she had no sooner sat down than she found that her child was lifeless.
The poor woman seemed completely dazed at the discovery, and it was some time before she could offer any statement. Ultimately a police constable was called in, and it was decided that Mrs Cox should proceed to the Kennington Lane Police Station, where both she and her child were seen by Dr
Farr, the divisional surgeon.
The poor woman, however, seemed to have lost her memory, and it was some time before she could give the statement which is detailed above. The body of the child was then conveyed to the Newington mortuary, and after Mrs Cox had made another but futile search for her residence, in company with Sergeant Bontick, she was taken in an exhausted condition to the St Saviour Union Workhouse.
The Manchester Evening News, February 4, 1886
Shocking and Fatal Mistake
A Dalziel despatch, dated Jasper (Indiana), Nov 26, states: A farmer named Thomas Atkins, while hunting yesterday, noticed that his dog had tracked something in a hollow tree-trunk. Thinking that he had found a ‘catamount,’ Atkins called off his dog and shot into the end of the trunk.
He then took a stick and pushed out the object that he had shot. It proved to be the body of his own boy, aged four years, whose head had been completely blown off. Atkins attempted to commit suicide when he found what he had done, but did not succeed.
The Midland Daily Telegraph, Coventry, November 27, 1891
A Peculiar Case
A man named William Hutchinson was recently admitted to the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, suffering from a pain in the chest, a cough, and shortness of breath. He was treated for heart disease and consumption, but he sank gradually for about a month, when he died.
A post-mortem examination of the body was made, and embedded in the right lung, a musket bullet was found. The deceased, who was 41 years of age, had been a soldier, and served in the Indian Mutiny of 1857–8. He was shot in the right side of the chest, but the wound healed. He subsequently served the remaining portion of his time with his regiment, and was discharged with a pension.
