One of our more egregiously stupid (against stiff competition) Australian politicians covered himself in something or other by conferring a knighthood on the present Duke of Edinburgh, a few years ago, but that's not the subject of this study, which is drawn from my e-book, Not Your Usual Australian Villains, a study of Australian post-invasion scallywaggery, with a few slightly more evil characters thrown in.
***
In August 1867, an enthusiastic
Sydney Municipal Council voted £3000 to cover “the entertainment of Prince
Alfred”. The whole of Sydney was excited in January 1868, when one of
Queen Victoria’s sons, His Royal Highness, Prince Alfred, the Duke of Edinburgh,
made a visit to Australia, and honoured the Anniversary Regatta with his regal
presence. He was, by then, a captain in the Royal Navy, commanding HMS Galatea.
He had actually been in Australia for some months, spending
time in Adelaide, Melbourne and Hobart from October 1867. Some of the events
that “entertained” him were a little bizarre, like the demonstration of a mongoose
killing snakes at the Australian Museum. [1]
There were also picnics, railway excursions in a special train carriage with a
lavatory (something quite rare in those days), balls, a visit to the Destitute
Children’s Asylum at Randwick, and even a concert which featured a waltz
composed by HRH himself. [2]
A 22-carat gold trowel, encrusted with jewels, was prepared
so the Duke could lay the foundation stone of the new Town Hall for Sydney [3]
but that would have to wait until April. First came an almost fatal picnic at
Clontarf, not far from Manly. It had been announced almost two months before it
was due to take place, said the Illustrated
Sydney News:
The committee of the Sailors’ Home have arranged for a grand
picnic at Clontarf during the Prince’s stay, and an influential committee have
been appointed to carry it out. [4]
A long list of names followed, but we need to concentrate on
one: Sir William Manning, because he played two curious roles, at different
times, in the history of this sunny beach on a calm and sheltered part of
Sydney Harbour.
In Melbourne, there had been scuffling between Catholics and
Protestants, and somebody noticed that the proposed date for the picnic, 18
March, was just one day after St Patrick’s Day, which was not to be a public
holiday. [5]
A few officials began to feel a little uncomfortable. On 8
March, it was decided, as a courtesy to the Catholic portion of Sydney, to
bring the picnic forward to 12 March. The problem with the long time-line for
the picnic was that twisted minds had time to prepare.
As we will see shortly in the story of the Bulletin libel suit, Clontarf would, in
another dozen years, have an unsavoury reputation, but it was far more refined
in 1868. Indeed, just a week earlier, the first festival of St. Peter’s Sunday
school took place at the very same location.
On the day, a goodly part of Sydney society was there, including
Henry James O’Farrell, a self-styled “Fenian”, as the Irish freedom fighters
called themselves (or as the Irish terrorists called themselves, if you
disapprove of them).
O’Farrell had a pistol, an efficient one, and he got close
to the Duke. A coachbuilder, William Vial, happened to be just as close to O’Farrell
as the self-styled Fenian was to the Duke. Vial gave evidence on the first day
of hearings, and Empire carried a
full report:
I saw a man come from behind, at the side, make four or five
quick steps, and before I had time to speak he levelled a pistol at his Royal
Highness’s back and fired. Prisoner was about four feet from the Prince when he
fired. The Prince fell, and called out, “Oh! my back is broken,”, or some thing
to that effect. Sir William Manning turned round, and advanced in the direction
of prisoner, who retreated.
Prisoner presented the pistol at Sir William Manning, and
called out “ Stand back.” He pulled the trigger, but the pistol missed fire,
and Sir William Manning fell. Prisoner then levelled the pistol again in a line
with the Prince and Sir William Manning, and as he did so I jumped on his back,
and threw my arms around him, and pinioned his arms to his side. He twisted his
arm round and tried to point the pistol at me, swearing at me.
Finding he could not level the pistol at me he pointed the
pistol in the same direction he had it in at first, and as he did I slipped my
right hand down on to his arm and knocked the pistol downwards. This had the
result of diverting the direction of the shot from the direction he had
intended.
I then tried to throw prisoner, but I was seized by the hair
of the head by some by-standers. When I extricated myself I was bleeding from
the nose and mouth, and received a kick in the chest, but was not much hurt.
Prisoner was taken away. When I caught hold of prisoner first I called out “I’ve
got him.” I had a good view of prisoner’s face. I am sure he is the man. [6]
Sir William Manning, mentioned above, was at Clontarf as the
President of the Sydney Sailor’s Home, a charity that was to benefit from the
day. Before we return to Manning, one other witness is worth quoting:
John Robinson deposed: I am a constable in the city police. I
was on duty at the picnic at Clontarf yesterday. I assisted to apprehend and
bring the prisoner to Sydney. I heard some shots fired at Clontarf. Just after
I laid hold of prisoner, he said, “I’ve done my duty, and I can die for my
country.’ On board the steamer prisoner said, “ It can’t be helped now, I’ve
made a mess of it.” [7]
Four things are worthy of note: first, the police who were
in attendance had a stern fight with the public who wanted to lynch O’Farrell
on the spot, said the Sydney Morning
Herald. Then some sailors wanted to do the same thing: the Duke was, after
all, their commanding officer.
No sooner had Mr. Vial grasped the arms of the man who had
fired the shots, than Mr. Benjamin Mortimer (an American gentleman), Mr.
Whiting (of the firm of Drynan and Whiting), A. L. Jackson, and other gentlemen
seized him; and, had it not been for the closing in around them of the police
and other persons, they would speedily have placed him beyond the reach of the
Law Courts. The people shouted “lynch him,” “hang him,” “string him up,” and so
on, and there was a general rush to get at him.
The police, headed by Superintendent Orridge, got hold of the
assassin, and they had the greatest difficulty in preventing the infuriated
people from tearing him limb from limb. In this the police were ably assisted
by the Chief Justice, Lord Newry, and the men of the Galatea Band.
Both Lord Newry and Sir Alfred Stephen exerted themselves to
get the prisoner on board the steamer lying at the wharf, while Mr. Orridge,
with herculean strength, kept back the crowd as much as possible. The task of
putting the prisoner on board the ship was not an easy one, and it was fully
ten minutes before they could get him on to the wharf. By that time all the
clothing from the upper part of his body was torn off, his eyes, face, and body
were much bruised, and blood was flowing from various wounds; and when he was
dragged on to the deck of the Paterson, he appeared to be utterly unconscious.
No sooner was he on board than a number of sailors had a rope
ready to string him up, and it was only by the interference of Lord Newry that
his life was spared. Some of the police were very roughly used, detective
Powell getting about the worst of it. In the scuffle he fell over some stones,
and had a chance of being trampled to death…
The people, out of whose hands the prisoner had been rescued,
immediately gave vent to their disappointment, and, at, an indignation meeting,
summarily convened, determined to bring him back from the steamer, and dispatch
him at the scene of his crime.
A rush was then made for the steamer, which had just hauled
off a few feet from the wharf, and they shouted to the captain to haul in. For
a moment this officer appeared to waver, but the Hon. John Hay, who was on the
bridge, doubtless divining the intentions of the crowd, peremptorily ordered
the captain to haul off. This he did, and the vessel accordingly proceeded on
her way to Sydney. [8]
Second, in all probability, if he went on trial today, O’Farrell
would be found not guilty on the grounds of insanity, and should have been
found so, even by the primitive tests in use back then, but he was quickly
tried, promptly found guilty and hurriedly hanged.
Third, the Duke survived because the bullet was deflected by
the victim’s thick India-rubber braces, because the bullet struck him where the
two straps came together, making a double thickness.
Fourth, unsatisfied by the mere fact of O’Farrell being
executed, even if unjustly, patriotic Sydney citizens took up a collection to
endow a hospital which still bears his name: the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital,
or “RPA”.
***
I will get back to the Bulletin libel case, some time soon.
[4] Illustrated Sydney News, 16 January
1868, 2, http://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/63513799/5408968
[5] The Newcastle Chronicle, 15 February
1868, 2, http://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/111329419
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