The Whitechapel Atrocities. INTENSE EXCITEMENT AT THE EAST END. ATTEMPT TO LYNCH A DETECTIVE.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 333, 12 January 1889, Page 6

The Whitechapel Atrocities. INTENSE EXCITEMENT AT THE EAST END. ATTEMPT TO LYNCH A DETECTIVE.

Losdox, November 16. j Tm> state of excitement into which the East End was thrown by the seventh mysterious murder in Whitcchapel simply beggars description. On Fiiday, Saturday and Sunday no stranger could bo said to bo safe in the neighbourhood, especially after dark. Cries of "Jack the Kipper 1 ' wero raised on the faintest pretext, and despite the larpe torocs of police about it took them all their time to prevent tome innocent person being l^ nched. One amateur detective, a fool of a doctor in a paintully obvious disguise, nanowly escaped being torn to pieces. He hud been poking about, the scene of the murder, for some timo asking curious questions and attracting a oood deal of suspicion bv his theatrically blacked face, when a wom'in flu illy shouted, "'That's him, that's Jack the Kippei. ' In an instu.nL the crowd fell upon the unfortunate fellow like tuiies. The police tiiod vainly to piotccc him, and it ■was in a half-killed condition a [ios-l of 20 constables eventually gob him to the nearest police station. The following excerpt from the " Daily News " gives a vivid picture ot the scene in Spitalfields and Whitechapel on Sunday e\ening last. A heavy fog had shrouded the city 'like a pall for the greater part- of the day, 'but towaids night it cleaicd somewhat. The coi respondent made his way back with con^ideiablc trepidation. A "Star"' reporter had narrowly escaped being nominated as the mysterious "Ripper the previous evening, and the attitude of the populace was generally threatening to deeeutly-dreosed strangers. Fortunately, at this time there weie plenty ot missionaries about. There seem, he wiites, to be hundreds of people to whom the subject of the latest tragedy is still fiesh in its horroi, and who aie Hocking in and out cf the murky little street, full of the all-absorbing theme, or huddled together in little groups under the flickering lamps, listening to anybody who has anything to say about it, or can give the latest rumouis ot arre&ts made or auspicious characters been. The publichouses of course aie all full, and as the doors swing open every now and again one can hear that the babel of conversation gointj on there is all about the murder. Flaring naptha lamps aie throwing a lurid glare over barrows of walnuts and piles of apples, and lighting up the uncouth crowds engaged in eager discussion, while three or four hoarse-throated fellows, flaunting crimson advertisement sheets and bright-red covered pamphlets, are braying out * inducements to take ' the Wiiitechiipel' Blood-book— the Book of the "Whitechapel 'Orrors, onty a penny.' Two stalwart policemen are still stationed like a couple of mutes at the head of Miller's Court, from which the general public are still excluded^ thougb the wi etched inhabitants of this dreary little nook Hit in and oat, seemingly not greatly affected by the notoriety into which their little burrow has suddenly been dragged. It is a dismal, dreary scene presented here in the misty gloom ot this November evening, and it is ail the moie gruesome and depressing from the revolting conversation of many of the people, especialty of a line of lough-looking fellows who stand with their backs against the wall' opposite the head of Miller's Court, smoking shorb pipes, chaffing the cro»vd, and bandying unseemly jests about the shocking occurrence. As early as four o'clock in i\\e morning, it is said, people began to drop round to have a look at the scene of this latest hoiror, and all day long they have come and gone, and still they are clustering here, and streaming in and out. But the main thoroughfares look very quiet and deserted, at all events to those iamiliar with them only on weekdays. The gaslights nicker, feebly over the sloppy pavement, and there i»a clammy tog in the air. It is fcix o'clock, and bands of street preachers arc. beginning to make fchomtelves heard through the dusky soieet^. Yonder is the clear, pleasant voice of a 2 oung girl rising into the gloomy night, i tendering \iith great pathos and expression one of Mr Sankey's most melodious ditties. Sweetly and tremulously her voice soais out, and then perhaps fifty people round her catch up the chorus*, come of thetn taking their pans with gieat piecision and effect. The chorus die-5 out, and again the bright young \oice swells out with evident emotion, and passers-by scop" and listen, and r >ugh jests are hushed. It seems as r hough e\eiy few paces in this neighbourhood of Spitalnelds sheet singers and pieacheiv aie doing there bes,t to take full advantage of the solemnising effect of these, f-ucce^si\ c tragedies. " There is no doubt,'' said a City missionary, ''that the impies- ' <s]on has been very piofound; among these unhappy women. We have had special meetings lor them, and at the very outset of our efforts we gob thirty-four of them away to homes, and we have had a good many others since. I knew the poor girl who has just been killed, and to look at, at all events, she v*as one of the smartest, nicest-looking women in the neighbourhood. We have had her ab some of our, meetings, and a companion of hers was one we rescued. I know that she has been in correspondence with her motner. It is nob true, as it has been stated, that slie is a Welshwoman. She is of Irish parentage, and her mother, I believe, lives in Limerick. I used to hear a good deal about the letters from her mother there. You would not have supposed if you met her in the street that she belonged to the miserable class she did, a3 she was always neatly and decently dressed, and looked quite nice and respectable." "You have been at this work a good many yeaib?" "Seven years in this neighbourhood." " And do you find the state of thin^t improving in any degree?" "Well, I think there is a little impiovement — some little improvement. I have been out and about the streets at all hours; and have sometimes found a shocking state of things. I remember a year or two back going out one night and finding eleven women Avho had crept for shelter into the staircase of one houSe. They were quite destitute, and were sleeping here. The opening of the refuges of one sort and another has done something to reduce the numbers found in this way, bub there is still a deplorable state of things." Out into the darkness again and round into this lane, where the poorest of all the lodging-houses are to be found. What a queer world ifc is. Bufc down into the very deepest depths little bands of devoted men and women make their way with* perfect impunity. They trundle in their harmoniums, distribute their books, and'set up singing and praying ; and ib seems as though the most hardened ruffians afad the most abandoned profligates dare do nothing more at the most than assume an v air of stolid and sullen neutrality. Push openthe door ! What a picture for „ a Dore ! The huge coke fire, the sleek-looking, sprawling cats basking in its glow, the dark, uncouth ihadowa^ m

the background, the men stretched in sleepy indifference on tho kitchen forms, the rows of women with bandaged heads, and gaunt;, haggaid figures seated under the flaring gab, singing with the fervour of cherubim, and the grimy, half-clothed, curly-headed, roguish little imps of childien pitchpoling about th<£ sawdust floor, or sandwiched in between their mothers, piping up with their shrill little voices in the nenernl chorus. What a strange phase of life it is ! Out a&ain into tho murky lane and we are stopped by a singularly repulsive-looking little woman, whose face looks as though afc sonic lime or other it has had a terrible blow that has flattened it all in. She wants a word or two with her friend the missionary. "Whoro has "ho" gone to? She cannot get out haU-a-dozon words before she buists into tears. She bares her skinny arm to show how thinly she hi olacl and how wasted she is, and she tries to blurt oat the history of her wrongs-. • Twenty long years, and now " he " has gone, and sho is left alono to fight her own way, and sho sobs and cries, and bogs tho missionaries' help. A few moro peeps into tho kitchen, whore other bands of workers are gntheicd, and in one- ot which a young lady, heieCt of eyesight, is offering up a piayer of pi too uu 1 * earnestness for the ragged company seated amid the pot* and pans of the lodginghouse kitchen. Out again, and once moie there is a plea for the missionaries' aid. Her sister, alas ! has got into tioubie. Oh if the nrissionaiy would but try and «i;ot them married! "A vory common task," says the missionary. " During my seven years I suppose I have managed to gel a couple of hundred mairied under such oh 1 - cumstaneos at lcat-t.'' Away again up into a cotnfoi table, clean, and tidy little room in a block ot model dwellings, ineie is an exceedingly respectable - looking younj.' woman, who has been helped out of this lodging-house life. Hoi husband had committed forgery, and sho was plunged from comfoit and respectability down into the deepest depth. Just, in time they found her and holped her up again, and heie she is in a decent little homo , and work found for her. One who has clipped here and thoro into that awful lodging-bouse life can well understand the fervent giatitude of this poor girl, who haidly seems to know which to be most thankful for - the help out of the lodginghou^e kitchen or the lecovery of her only child fiom bronchitis. "We keep on dragging them out," says the missionary, " but others keep on streaming in." "What this part of London would bo without such work Heaven only knows !