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Secret Police And A Bear Bone

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Secret Police And A Bear Bone

Post by Karen on Sat 29 May 2010 - 20:37

From abroad.
Fixed and loose.
(Edited for the Java Bode.)

Again the woman murders in London - New letters from Jack the Ripper - Indeed, several innocent arrested - Poor design of the secret police - Adventures of a reporter - The Spiritualists - A bear bone for a human leg - Alexander Dumas about the present day's duel - a reply in the Figaro - Henri Meilhac - Fourth God - Anecdote.

London is still overwhelmed by the horrific women murders, and though the people want him to be brought to justice, Jack the Ripper ensures that this will not happen. Again fell two unfortunate prostitutes - so now eight in all - under his hand, which he keeps infringing on either the police or the newspapers by sending advance notice. His last letter, dated October 5, was addressed to the General Superintendent of Police, Sir Charles Warren, with the following contents:

Old boy!
If you want to see me sometimes, I live in City Road, the number you should guess yourself. I am planning to operate in Whitechapel on a a few ladies of the night.

Yours, Jack the Ripper

Saturday morning there arrived by first post a postcard written in pencil at the police station on Commercial Road, which in the same sarcastic tone the Ripper gave them knowledge that on that same evening in a street, he would continue his work. He mocks the police and jokes that they are naughty boys. In all seriousness strong divisions have been placed in the area designated by the murderer, as if it would be so naive to volunteer to walk into the mouth of the lion. The newspapers report details about the silly season of horror more than is proper or necessary; whole columns are filled with more or less sensible advice by faithful readers, fathers, taxpayers, etc. The most interesting communication, we found yet appeared in "Truth", which brought attention to establish that the handwriting of the bloody letters from Jack the Ripper bear a remarkable resemblance to that of the Times documents, which Parnell and Egan are called to arise in connection with the double murder in Phoenix Park . After the release of each of those letters in the evening editions of the newspapers, anxiety and fear spread in the Whitechapel district, where despite an unusually large number of officers in uniform and in politics were drawn. During the last few days five drunk guys came here and one of them even provided a live show and impersonated as the murderer of the eight victims of Whitechapel, although he was completely innocent. At the docks the people wanted to a lynch sailor, who, because he was accused by two or three women, was given for the criminal, and the police had a difficult time in protecting the sailor, who proved that he had just arrived and never knew about the murders. Among the last was an American who had spoken to an East End woman, and when she refused to go with him, he pulled her hair and threatened to cut open her belly. When the woman called for help, the American jumped in a cab attempting to flee, but the police barred him from passing and took him into custody. Whether he also is responsible for the recent horrors has not yet been determined. Furthermore, the general view has been that they now have the knife with which the murders were committed. It is a large carving knife with a long and very sharp blade and a black wooden hilt. It was full of clotted blood with a bloodied handkerchief which was found in the house at No. 253 Whitechapel Road. One evening while London was still in turmoil brought about by additional pages of several newspapers, which categorically indicated that the infamous wretch had been arrested in the eastern part of the town of Shadwell, after displaying vehement opposition to it, an agent was stabbed and mortally wounded. Later on this whole story was not true. Meanwhile police constables represent each lane, at the corner of every street can be found deputies, besides all of the detectives, who walk up and down every hundred paces. A large proportion of the latter were requisitioned from the smartest police officers to temporarily strengthen the security service. Moreover, a vigilance committee was formed by the neighborhood residents who know best how to keep constant patrol through the most suspicious spots. But if it was announced with the ancestral arrangement of secret London police then reveals little surprise that it almost powerless to prevent.
In the Pall Mall Gazette a paragraph described the terms of a police appointment, stating that a candidate is rejected or revoked if he is less than 5 feet and 9 inches tall. Another paragraph claims to have a certain knowledge of an officer who is actually in secret to work. He must first for three years in duration don a full gunner's uniform eight hours a day, thirteen of the fourteen days patrolling through all alleys, so that all the criminals will sooner or later recognize him as a detective, however beautifully disguised, based on the idea of the secret sheep. An animal that people once had in their home who had an urgent need to keep secret and therefore moved in the dead of night, but received early in the morning a postcard with the following contents: Good morning, old man! I hope you like your new bed, you old rogue! Thus, the strict rules to prevent a female detective from service. Furthermore, the detective kept so short in his trash, his example for the despatch of the telegram tiniest first to ask permission from his boss, he even chased the culprit who meanwhile slipped through the meshes of the net. Not unduly be found anywhere in the latest English newspapers aspirations as: What are we still an illogical people! We shape or obstinacy servants! There is therefore no one discovered, though there was now talk that the killer was in Brighton, then he was seen at Woolwich. A reporter spent a whole night in the notorious neighborhoods strolling around in the cynical hope of hearing Murder! Murder! But he saw nothing but ragged public women, who took flight as soon as they saw him. He was seen by agents, who were convinced that they had found the true Jack, and it was dangerous if he had a hefty pack because he would be dragged to the nearest police station, to spend the night with half a dozen other pseudo-Rippers. Of course, the various spiritualistic societies, some of which are in London have also interfered with the police and to inform them. An old lady came to include one of the officials impart, that with five others they had called the spirit of the sixth victim, Elizabeth Watts. The spirit first told some stories and informed them that her old body was murdered by a man of forty years old with a big blond mustache. The spirit itself was so polite and gave his name and address. The man lives in Commercial Road and belongs to a gang of twelve villains. On the other hand the Society for promoting Christian education and Biblical associations recommended their members pray for the early capture of the murderer. Now if Jack the Ripper is not taken, then we can write off the intervention of spirits, the power of prayer and the cleverness of the English police for good. In the basement of the new police station they found the torso of a woman, carefully wrapped in a black silk dress. The head, arms and legs were not found there but in different areas of London they found two arms and rushed to the remains to apply them, but since that failed the police came to the rather logical conclusion that they would belong to another corpse. There they heard that in Guildford on a dunghill a leg was found, and immediately sent a policeman to pick up the bone; secretly harboring hopes that the leg would fit onto the torso, which the experts would apply- belong to a young woman with brown hair. How these experts have been able to get the color of her hair from of a body without a head, which, moreover, is largely decomposed, is beyond our comprehension, but at Glasgow the agent that was sent was instructed to be very careful with the body. The bones which had been entombed, was exhumed, neatly cleaned and placed in a box so that fellow travelers will not be bothered by the smell. The policeman arrived safe and sound, and the package was delivered from the morgue, where the court physicians were determining precisely the color of the eyes to determine the missing head, and the color of the hair was no longer a secret. Sorry! The bone was not from the unfortunate woman for a very sound reason: it was the leg of a bear! A resident of Guildford could not cook and serve the roast but why had he thrown it on the dunghill? The doctors of London discovered the mistake, but Guildford was not so lucky, so the bear bone and a human leg was buried, proving that even anatomists can be wrong and and that in England there are so many human limbs wandering on the street that there is no need to save.

Source: Java-Bode, Saturday 17 November, 1888, Page 9

***************************************
Karen Trenouth
Author of: "Epiphany of the Whitechapel Murders"
Author of: "Jack the Ripper: The Satanic Team"
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