Search This Blog

Monday, 12 November 2018

Shooting the Duke of Edinburgh


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.


[1] Sydney Morning Herald, 15 February 1868, 6, http://trove.nla.gov.au/ndp/del/article/13160407
[2] Sydney Mail, 15 February 1868, 7, http://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/166800298
[3] Sydney Morning Herald, 20 January 1868, 5, http://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/28608849
[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
[6] Empire (Sydney), 17 March 1868, 2, http://trove.nla.gov.au/ndp/del/article/60851386
[7] Empire (Sydney), 17 March 1868, 2, http://trove.nla.gov.au/ndp/del/article/60851386
[8] Sydney Morning Herald, 13 March 1868, 5, http://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/13154858

No comments:

Post a Comment