Prisoner 4374 E-Book

A.J. Griffiths-Jones

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

For more than a century, Dr. Thomas Neill Cream was a potential Jack The Ripper suspect.

He was a sinister character, preying on the unfortunate souls who were forced to make a living as streetwalkers in Victorian London, and ultimately led those poor women to an untimely and torturous death. These crimes eventually branded him the 'Lambeth Poisoner'.

However, during the time of the heinous Ripper murders, Dr. Cream was incarcerated in Joliet Prison, Illinois. Over the decades, this fact alone has caused debate as to whether or not he deserves to be under suspicion of being the Whitechapel fiend. Was it possible that Dr. Cream bribed his way out of jail, perhaps using a doppelganger to take his place while secretly finding a passage to England with murder in mind?

This fascinating book, told from the standpoint of Cream himself, explains the twisted logic behind his actions. The author has done considerable and meticulous research, tracing Cream's life from his adolescent years in Canada to his last moments on the gallows at Newgate.

Jack the Ripper Book of the Year 2016

Leseprobe

Prisoner 4374

A.J. Griffiths-Jones

Copyright (C) 2017 A.J. Griffiths-Jones

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Next Chapter

Cover Design by Antony Caswell

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Only Death Will Find You…

Within the slender boundaries between heaven and hell

Sit all the black angels

This is where we will find you.

Against the shadows on a cold moonlit night

Lie all the forgotten heroes

This is where we will find you.

Behind the gravestones,

Where evil breathes upon the tombs of the innocent

Gloom rears its ugly head.

This is where we will find you.

Where the stench of death prefers to lurk,

Where the good will fear to tread,

Where the Devil eats the souls of men,

Only death will find you.

A.J. GRIFFITHS-JONES

Note from the Author

The events, people and places recounted in these pages are based upon fact. I have chosen the rather unconventional method of writing in an autobiographical style in the hope that the reader can envisage the crimes and consequences that led to the trial of a notorious felon.

Until now, the finer details of Dr. Thomas Neill Cream's life have been, relatively, undocumented. Cream has been branded as a 'Jack the Ripper' suspect since the beginning of the 20th Century, and only now can it be revealed as to whether he earns a rightful place on that suspect list, or not. Over a decade of research in to Cream's life has allowed me to recreate the circumstances of his crimes in considerable detail. In writing his biography I have been fortunate in accessing a number of resources, for which I will be eternally grateful to those who have supported me in pursuit of the truth.

My work includes exclusive, previously unpublished, photograph's of Dr. Cream for which I have personally obtained copyright. I also have permission to use the complete records from his incarceration, totaling 181 pages of authentic reports from which I have been able to piece together his motives and movements both before and during his imprisonment. These documents alone prove, beyond doubt, where Cream was in 1888, the year of the London 'Jack the Ripper' murders.

Firstly, in recognition of my support network, I mention my darling husband Dave, without whom this book would never have seen the light of day. His belief in me has never faltered and for that he has my unconditional love and respect. I also owe my sincere thanks to Sylvia Caswell, who has relentlessly read and reread my work, giving constructive criticism and support throughout this long and arduous journey, I am proud to have you as my advocate. Appreciation also, to Barry and Karen Williams, and my good friend Bev Williams for their feedback and honest appraisals. John Reinhardt and his team at the Illinois State Archive have been first-rate in helping me to procure and make use of the records at their disposal, I appreciate it. I owe my gratitude to Heather McNabb and colleagues at the Musee McCord Museum in Canada, for aiding my quest to find original photographs of Cream, and then assisting with the legalities of copyright issues. Faye Robinson and Paul Bickley at Scotland Yard have been both professional and encouraging in providing images from the Crime Museum, thank you. Appreciation also to Sophia Brothers, and her department at the Science Museum Group, who have provided me with further images and support. Lastly, but by no means least, I am beholden to Antony Caswell for his brilliant interpretation and graphic design of the cover for 'Prisoner 4374', you did a wonderful job.

I do hope that you enjoy reading the journey of Thomas Cream's life and that I have succeeded in portraying him in his true colors.

A. J. Griffiths-Jones

1. In the beginning…

If you asked me to pinpoint the moment when it all started, well, that would be a darn hard task.

I guess you could say that my mother's passing was a pivotal time, how that poor woman suffered, but hey, I didn't set out to carve myself a life of debauchery. I used to teach Sunday school for goodness sake, pillar of the community in my younger days. Let's say it kind of just happened. We're talking about nineteenth century America my friend, a fellow had to make ends meet & sometimes it just meant stepping over the line. Don't get me wrong, I'm no criminal, but to finance yourself in a comfortable manner sometimes you had to put your morals to one side, get your hands a little dirty, ruffle a few feathers. I guess you could blame it on the women too, yep, there you go, it was the women who got me into this mess.

I've always had a natural charm with the ladies, must have been a combination of my inherent good looks and smooth Scottish-American tongue, they just dropped at my feet - ha,ha, literally in some cases! Let's see, there was that disastrous relationship with Flora, even ended up marrying that one. Julia came next, the bitch nearly cost me my life, what with her scheming and lies, but we'll talk about that later. Jeez, it still makes me curse at the very mention of her name. The only woman I really ever loved was Laura, how it pains me to think of her sweet young face, but I never really was the settling kind. I always regarded marriage as a means to an end, wealth being the optimum prize. Anyhow, I'm guessing that you want to know all about those London street-walkers mostly, but you'll have to be patient dear friend, all in good time. I have so much to tell you.

Let's talk about that 'Jack the Ripper' rumor…oh yes, I've read the books. I'm flattered that so many pages have been devoted to my name, there must be ten score and more who think I did it. Have you joined the ranks dear reader?

Well, I certainly had the surgical talent in those days, used to pride myself that I could gut a hog in darn near three minutes. There is also the little matter that the bitches didn't scream isn't there? And I did just happen to graduate with an excellent thesis on chloroform, that sure would knock the whores out cold.

And then there was that guy from the Whitechapel neighborhood, what was his name, George Hutchinson? Says he saw a 'gentleman' with a horseshoe tiepin near the murder scene. Well, you got me there too, worn one of those since my university days. He nearly got my height, even got a good look at the well-groomed moustache. Guess I fit his description pretty neatly didn't I?

Now those English cops were smart, but even they couldn't figure it out. I mean, one 'Ripper' and a whole force of 'Bobbies', maybe they were just looking in the wrong place all along. Or maybe they were searching but not really seeing…Well friend, I could go on, there are things that even the best of them over-looked. I mean, have you ever asked yourself why a fifty-cent a night bitch would be wearing a silk scarf? And they all were you know. Bit of a coincidence don't you think? You could understand a cotton neckerchief tied around their filthy necks, but silk? Some parting gift that was!

Now then, before you get all excited and go telling folk you know who Jack was, you have to solve a riddle. That being the fact that I was holed up in Joliet State Penitentiary during the entire Ripper episode, with not one iota of an impending parole date.

Sure, there were petitions, but the fact remains I was serving a life sentence in 1888. So, how did I get out of that one? Do you reckon I paid some doppel-ganger to sit in my cell while I dug myself out & high-tailed it to London? Maybe I bribed Governor Fifer to let me out early, ha, ha, sure he would sleep easy at night with that on his conscience! I mean, I did have money despite my delicate predicament, what with my father's death and all, but do you reckon I would line the pockets of some paper-shuffling bigwig in order to stalk hookers in the London fog? Well maybe that's exactly what I did! Or maybe not…

Regrettably my demise was to be with a noose around my neck at Newgate. They dubbed me 'The Lambeth Poisoner', a rather harsh moniker I thought, considering I was doing no more than cleanse your city streets of disease-ridden sluts. Where was the appreciation from your London Borough Council? Nowhere! Instead they locked me in a cold, damp cell & pronounced me guilty of murder. 'Murder'! Darn cheek, didn't even get compensated for the vast amounts of strychnine I had to purchase from the drugstore. That hangman, Billington they called him, went on to tell the tale that I shouted 'I am Jack…' as the trap was drawn. How can he be sure I didn't say 'Bye Jack…' ? I mean, 'Jack' was still walking the streets when they arrested me for those 'other' unfortunate incidents, would have been polite for a gent to say farewell.

Always tickled me that they never asked if I knew him, Jack that is. I mean, come on, there were some mighty fine medical men lodging in the East End in my day, only seems natural that our paths would cross at some point.

Hell, did I hint he was a doctor? Slip of the tongue friend, don't want to give the game away do I? Jeez, you'll all be queueing up at the pearly gates to ask me his name! Well, if you're good & don't judge me too harshly on my actions, I might tell you about my notorious pal. Let's wait and see…

For now let ME hold the limelight, let me tell you what it's like to be driven by a desire so strong that you breathe, eat and sleep revenge. Your dreams of slaughter become intertwined with your waking actions until you neither know if you thought it or did it, wanted it or despised it, regretted it or revelled in it. I am an addict, I am addicted to my own glorious infamy! Let me share it with you…

Sorry, what was I thinking friend, I should introduce myself: Thomas Neill Cream M.D. at your service.

2. 106 Mansfield Street, Montreal

These were my humble lodgings in a brownstone tenement building in 1874.

At 24 years old, I was a handsome young guy, two years into my medical degree at McGill University, when I found myself in dire need of additional funds, so it came to pass that my very first scam was born. Now don't get me wrong, my father sent me a healthy allowance & truth be told, it pretty much covered my daily requirements. What it didn't allow for were the finer things in life that a man of my reputation was drawn to. You know how it is, mixing with gents from privileged families, I had a certain appearance to maintain. Anyhow, let's just say that what my father didn't take into consideration were days out at the racetrack, top quality leather boots and drunken weekends entertaining ladies of the night.

Now before you get thinking I was some kind of gigolo or compulsive gambler, let me tell you that it wasn't only me. Hell, we were all at it, having a good old time in our student days that is. You would only have needed to take a glance at my Graduation photo to see what a bunch of players we were!

Anyhow, as I said, I needed money fast. Debts were gathering & I had a little overseas trip planned. So in September of the aforementioned year, I paid a visit to The Commercial Union of Montreal for the purpose of taking out an insurance policy on my belongings. They gladly obliged & for just a few dollars a month, covered my worldly possessions for the princely sum of $1,000. Maybe I was a little hasty, but I figured I'd let a few weeks pass & then arrange a little 'fire damage' in my apartment. Needless to say the insurance guys were more than a little suspicious & it took me another two months before they finally settled on paying me the paltry sum of $350. Can't say I was overjoyed as my initial claim was for $978.40 but at the end of the day, a few hundred dollars in my pocket for a pile of burned books was a bonus.

Now that should have been my one time crime, but I guess I found it so easy that the lies just kept on coming. I still to this day have no idea where my devilish streak comes from. Born of a god-fearing Scottish family, I was a good son until the bright city lights changed my ways. I wasn't even going to become a doctor until my father convinced me that I had a natural aptitude for treating the sick. Seems quite ironic now though huh?

I'm guessing that you want an explanation for my sudden change in temperament, and I'm not going to fob you off with excuses. However, there was one significant incident that led me along the path of destruction. Again, it can be blamed on the women. Now I say women, but it must have been just one woman who passed on her disease to me, but I'm damned if I can pinpoint who or where. So friend, as bad luck would have it, somewhere in that great Canadian city, in a moment of pleasurable weakness, I contracted syphilis. Yep, as a man of medical means, I really should have known better and protected myself at all costs. But I didn't and I got it.

At first I thought my headaches were caused by late nights and hard study, but then I talked to Charlie Stroud, a fine gentleman & fellow scholar at McGill, who just happened to be putting his brain matter to good use studying venereal diseases. Now Charlie reckoned that eventually I would go crazy, but I never really paid much attention to that part of his diagnosis. Between us we concluded that a mediocre prescription of morphine would keep the headaches at bay & whatever else followed I would deal with in due course.

I can't say that my predicament hindered my progress as eighteen months later, on March 31st 1876, I graduated with the degree of Doctor of Medicine and Master of Surgery. A momentous occasion, for the son of a migrant lumber merchant, wouldn't you say? Now THAT was a day for celebration! After Professor Roddick gave his valedictory address, something about prudence, sobriety & honor I think, we hit the town at full pelt & carried on drinking till dawn.

Having now become a fully-fledged doctor, I then persuaded my father to cover my costs in putting my feet back on British soil, as I planned to enroll on a post-graduate course at St. Thomas's Hospital in South London the following September. This he did & all was going according to plan, until Flora.

Miss Flora Eliza Brooks, was just about the prettiest young lady I'd ever set my eyes upon. We became close very quickly, her being on a visit to Montreal & not knowing many folks down there, I took it as my duty to escort her to dinner & show her the many wonderful sights. It also didn't hurt that her father was a wealthy hotelier in their hometown of Waterloo, seventy miles from Quebec City. I saw myself as a pretty good match for young Flora & courted her like there was no tomorrow. Now, without going into too much detail, let's just say that we became 'intimate' just a few months into our relationship, she didn't take much enticement I can tell you! Ironically I, the man of failed 'protection' in my previous sexual encounters, threw caution to the wind a couple of times & landed up in the mire again. This time it was with a pregnant Flora, not my plan at all!