Greenwich Observatory Clock c.1870,
Samuyuri – Licence CC BY-SA 2.0
On a crisp February afternoon on a non-descript Thursday in 1894, tram conductor Mr William Smith issued a through ticket from Westminster Bridge to Greenwich. On entering the horse-drawn tram, the passenger concerned wore a dark overcoat and held no conversation either with Mr Smith or with fellow passengers while taking a seat at the rear, on the left-hand side of the carriage. Five and a half miles later, the horses had pulled the rail-borne tram along cobbled streets to New Cross. Here, the dark-coated stranger moved to the front of the vehicle and sat immediately behind the driver, next to the steep spiral steps leading to the upper deck.
As the tram passed Greenwich College, more than one curious passenger noticed the man looking at something which he had upon the seat beside him. No one could not see precisely what, as he had his back to them. The tram car was due to terminate in Greenwich at 4.15 pm but was three minutes late. On reaching its destination, John Bone, a timekeeper employed by the Tramway Company – as per the procedure – was checking the conductor’s time when the man got out of the car and asked the way to the park. His English was good, but the accent was foreign. Regarding the overcoat, close to he seemed to be carrying something in the left-hand pocket. When thirty yards from the terminus, the man stopped and looked around before proceeding.
Moments later, Mr Chares Burchell, a park labourer, noticed a short man carrying a neat parcel wrapped in paper and about the length of a brick. He was walking sharply towards the Royal Greenwich Observatory up a zig-zag path bounded on both sides by a five-bar fence. From whatever process of intuition, Burchell wondered to his colleague Mr Freeman if this might be a foreigner? Soon afterwards Burchell heard a report which, to him, sounded as if from an overcharged gun.
However, nearby, another park-keeper, Patrick Sullivan, also heard the report. Noting it was followed by a volume of smoke, he commented to a colleague named Wright that he did not think this from a rifle or revolver. His curiosity aroused, he resolved he must satisfy himself by running in the direction of the smoke.
Meanwhile, two members of the Royal Observatory staff were in the building’s Lower Computing Room, a Mr Thackery and a Mr Hollis. They heard a sharp and clear detonation followed by a noise like a shell going through the air. Looking out, they noticed a park warden and some schoolboys running towards a figure that appeared to be crouched on the zig-zag path.
One of the boys was 14-year-old George Frost of Catford. Proceeding home from school, moments earlier he had been at the bottom of the hill and in front of the observatory in the company of another boy. Several others were a short distance away. His attention was called to a report from the direction of the observatory. The sound was to his left and when he looked in that direction, he observed a large volume of bluish smoke.
His companion, Thomas Winter, said it might be dynamite. The pair of them then ran the seventy yards or so towards the place where they saw the smoke. Several schoolmates trailed behind. When having covered about three-quarters of the distance, the smoke had cleared to reveal a man about the first hairpin at the top of the path. The boys could see the shape of him, immobile on the ground.
By the time park keepers Sullivan and Wright caught up, other boys had already told the pair that “a man has shot himself’”, with Sulluvan then sending Wright to bring a doctor. With a park keeper present, curiosity overcame fear. Alongside Sulivan, Winter and Frost inched forward in trepidation.
Close to, a man was in a kneeling position with his head towards the ground. Sulivan went up to him and, thinking he might have some weapon, took hold of him by the arm and said, “What have you got here?” A handkerchief was tied around the limb. Removing it carefully, Sullivan and the boys were horrified to find that the man’s left hand above the wrist had been blown away. A foreign voice began to gasp, “Take me home, take me home.”
By the time Hollis and Thackerey were looking over the scene from the safety of the other side of the observatory wall, they could see the park warden holding the injured man. A good many people were gathering about. Their colleague, a porter named William McManus, had the gumption to hurry out of the observatory carrying brandy for the wounded man. En route, he spotted something on the grass. Picking it up, he observed a piece of bone about three inches long, slightly blackened and smelling very much of gunpowder.
Just before the brandy and dismembered, charred finger followed, Doctor Wells had arrived and the park keeper had instructed some boys to go for a cab. Dr Wells asked what was the matter and heard in response that it was thought a bomb had exploded. Wells unfastened the injured man’s waistcoat and conducted an examination. Part of the left arm was gone. There was a hole in the waistcoat and another in the back of the overcoat. Two pools of blood lay on the ground aside a blood-smeared face.
Wells called for a stretcher. When it arrived, he told the bearers to lift the injured man to it with care and take him to the nearby Seaman’s Hospital. There, the foreign stranger died about thirty minutes later having said nothing about who he was or what had happened.
Constable Tangeney of R Reserve was called from nearby Blackheath Hill station to the hospital. Examining the body, he found a portion of glass bottle between the lining and cloth in the front part of an undercoat worn by the deceased. The victim having been partly searched before arriving at the hospital, the constable took charge of a number of items:
A metal watch and chain. The watch had stopped at 4:30. Two pieces of metal. Some bills for food. A tram car ticket whose number matched that of the 4:15 arrival at Greenwich. Coins totalling a weighty £12 in gold, 19s 6d in silver and 2 1/2d in bronze. Furthermore – and at this point we must imagine beads of sweat forming upon Tangeney’s wizened brow – nine cards on which were various addresses, one of them in Paris. Several memoranda of explosive ingredients. An advertising bill announcing a course of lectures. Two cards of admission to a masquerade ball in aid of the Revolutionary Party. And one membership of the Autonomie Club.
To be continued…
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