Cock-fighting Match between the Counties of Lanark and Haddington in 1785, at which Deacon Brodie was present. (After Kay.)Cock-fighting Match between the Counties of Lanark and Haddington in 1785, at which Deacon Brodie was present.(After Kay.)
dice was nightly practised in a select company of sharpers and their dupes. It is probable that this house still survives in the truncated portion of the close remaining between the High Street and Cockburn Street. He also developed, among other “gentlemanly vices,” a passion for cock-fighting, at that time a fashionable recreation among the young bloods of the capital, and was a regular attender at themainsheld in the cock-pit belonging to Michael Henderson, stabler in the Grass-market, of whom we shall hear further in the sequel. Brodie, who is said to have lost large sums in betting on his favourite sport, was present, among other “eminent cockers,” at the historic match between the counties of Lanark and Haddington, of which an account is given in “Kay’s Portraits.” In allusion to this contest, Kay observes—“It cannot but appear surprising that noblemen and gentlemen, who upon any other occasion will hardly show the smallest degree of condescension to their inferiors, will, in the prosecution of this barbarous amusement, demean themselves so far as to associate with the very lowest characters in society.” Brodie himself kept game-cocks in a pen in his woodyard, and retained to the last his attachment to the “art of cocking.” Between his bets at the cock-pits and his gambling at Clark’s, the young man must have got rid of a good deal of money; and it is believed that he had already begun to supplement his income by the nefarious means which later he certainly employed.
One night in August, 1768, the counting-house of Johnston & Smith, bankers in the Exchange, was entered by means of a false key, and upwards of £800 in bank notes carried off. Two nights afterwards £225 of the money was found, wrapped in paper, at the door of the Council Chamber; but the balance was never recovered, and no clue to the delinquent could be obtained. The discovery, many years afterwards, of Deacon Brodie’s exploits induced a strong suspicion that he was concerned in the affair. It was then recollected that, prior to the robbery, the Deacon had been employed in making various repairs on the premises, and had frequent occasion to be in the bank. The key of the outer door, from which it was ascertained he had taken an impression in putty, usually hung in the passage, a custom of which the Deacon, as we shall find, often afterwards took unscrupulous advantage.
At this time, however, no one dreamt of suspecting Brodie, whose secret dissipations were known only to his disreputable associates. Outwardly he was following worthily in his father’s footsteps, and, on 9th February, 1763, was, like him, made a Burgess and Guild Brother of Edinburgh. In September, 1781, he also became a member of the Town Council as Deacon of the Incorporation of Wrights, and his connection with the Council continued from that date till the year before his apprehension, as follows:—Deacon of the Wrights in 1782 and 1783; Trades Councillor in 1784, and, again, Deacon of the Wrights in 1786 and 1787. In 1785 he was not a member of the Town Council. Robert Fergusson, in his poem, “The Election,” has, with his usual felicity, portrayed the humours of an Edinburgh municipal election according to the old mode, when—
... Deacons at the counsel stentTo get themsel’s presentit:For towmonths twa their saul is lent,For the town’s gude indentit.
... Deacons at the counsel stentTo get themsel’s presentit:For towmonths twa their saul is lent,For the town’s gude indentit.
... Deacons at the counsel stentTo get themsel’s presentit:For towmonths twa their saul is lent,For the town’s gude indentit.
The minute of Deacon Brodie’s last election, on 20th September, 1786, will be found in the Appendix, together with other excerpts from the Council records, bearing upon his official life.
In the new Deacon’s first year of office occurred the political contest between Sir Laurence Dundas, who had represented the city in Parliament from 1760 to 1780, and William Miller, afterwards Lord Glenlee. The Town Council was divided into two hostile camps, and extraordinary efforts were made by each party to secure the return of its own candidate. Both claimed to have been duly elected member for Edinburgh; but, as the result of a parliamentary inquiry, Sir Laurence retained the seat. Deacon Brodie made a conspicuous figure in this election by keeping back his promise to vote for either party, in consequence of which he became a man of great moment to both the candidates, because upon his vote the election turned.
On 1st June, 1782, Convener Francis Brodie “died of the Palsy att his own house in Edinburgh, att 5 o’clock afternoon, in the 74th year of his age”; and William, his son, reignedin his stead. We read in theAnnual Registerfor 1788—“However extraordinary it may appear, it is a certain fact that Mr. Brodie at the death of his father, which happened about six years ago, inherited a considerable estate in houses in the city of Edinburgh, together with £10,000 in specie; but by an unhappy connection and a too great propensity to that destructive, though too predominant passion, gaming, he is reduced to his present deplorable situation.” That the Deacon owned some heritable property other than the family mansion in Brodie’s Close, appears from a statement by the author of “Kay’s Portraits” (1877, vol. I., pp. 141-2). It is there said that a house in Gourlay’s Land, Old Bank Close, was purchased from the trustee for the Deacon’s creditors in 1789 by William Martin, bookseller and auctioneer in Edinburgh, who subsequently sold the property to the Bank of Scotland in 1793. From the state of affairs, which he prepared at a later date as aftermentioned, it is evident that Brodie owned, in addition to this property, three other tenements, respectively situated in Horse Wynd, at the Nether Bow, and in World’s End Close. We also find from the Council records that, in 1785, he was speculating in the building lots of the New Town.
The “unhappy connection” above mentioned refers to the Deacon’s two mistresses, Anne Grant and Jean Watt. Anne Grant resided in Cant’s Close, and her relations with William Brodie must have been long continued, for she had borne three children to him, the eldest, Cecil, being a girl of twelve at the time of his trial. To Anne Grant he addressed one of the letters written after his escape from Scotland, by which, as will be seen, he was traced and brought to justice. Jean Watt, by whom he had two boys, lived in Libberton’s Wynd, close to his own house, and was the principal witness to thealibiattempted to be set up for him at his trial. Each of these women was presumably ignorant of the other’s existence, and the Deacon’s connection with both appears to have been unknown to his family and friends. After his father’s death his sister, Jean Brodie, presided over his household; his other sister, Jacobina, to whom he refers in his letters as “Jamie,” having married Matthew Sheriff, an upholsterer in Edinburgh.
It seems incredible, regard being had to the confined and crowded stage on which the old city life was played, that Deacon Brodie’s protracted peccadilloes escaped the notice of those “stairhead critics,” who, Fergusson tells us—
Wi’ glowring eye,Their neighbours’ sma’est faults descry.
Wi’ glowring eye,Their neighbours’ sma’est faults descry.
Wi’ glowring eye,Their neighbours’ sma’est faults descry.
But, if the facts were generally known, the estimable reputation which he nevertheless enjoyed is characteristic of the social conventions of his day.
Had it not been for the Deacon’s unhappy propensity for gambling and dissipation, his circumstances at this time should have been highly satisfactory. During his term of office he was regularly employed by his fellow-Councillors to execute wrightwork in connection with the town—his accounts for the year 1782-3, for instance, amounting to upwards of £600. In addition to the city work, his social and official position had secured for him the best cabinetmaking business in Edinburgh; but, notwithstanding these advantages, he was frequently at a loss for money.
Deacon Brodie was already, in Stevenson’s striking phrase, “a man harassed below a mountain of duplicity,” and to one so circumstanced it is not surprising that the idea occurred of putting his professional opportunities to an unlawful use. He knew the locks and bolts of all the houses of his customers; was familiar with their internal arrangements and the habits of the owners; and could, without incurring remark, exhibit in such matters a professional interest in the houses of his friends and acquaintances. No doubt he was sometimes consulted, at a later stage, as to the best means of defence against his own infraction. He was shortly, as we shall see, to become the leader of a gang of robbers, whose mysterious depredations, under his skilful conduct, were, during eighteen months, to baffle the authorities and strike terror to the hearts of wealthy burgesses; but at the outset of his career of crime the Deacon worked alone.
“Many a citizen,” says Stevenson, “was proud to welcome the Deacon to supper, and dismissed him with regret at a timeous hour, who would have been vastly disconcerted had he known how soon, and in what guise, his visitor returned. Many storiesare told of this redoubtable Edinburgh burglar, but the one I have in my mind most vividly gives the key of all the rest. A friend of Brodie’s, nesting some way towards heaven in one of these great ‘lands,’ had told him of a projected visit to the country, and afterwards, detained by some affairs, put it off and stayed the night in town. The good man had lain some time awake; it was far on in the small hours by the Tron bell; when suddenly there came a creak, a jar, a faint light. Softly he clambered out of bed and up to a false window which looked upon another room, and there, by the glimmer of a thieves’ lantern, was his good friend the Deacon in a mask.”
Another story, illustrative of the methods of this pioneer of amateur cracksmen, is as follows:—One Sunday an old lady, precluded by indisposition from attending the kirk, was quietly reading her Bible at home. She was alone in the house—her servant having gone to church—when she was startled by the apparition of a man, with a crape over his face, in the room where she was sitting. The stranger quietly lifted the keys which were lying on the table beside her, opened her bureau, from which he took out a large sum of money, and then, having locked it and replaced the keys upon the table, retired with a respectful bow. The old lady, meanwhile, had looked on in speechless amazement, but no sooner was she left alone than she exclaimed, “Surely that was Deacon Brodie!”—which subsequent events proved to be the fact.
On both of these occasions it is to be noted that, although the Deacon was recognised, no action was taken by his victims. In the first instance the man hesitated to denounce his friend; in the second the old lady preferred to doubt the evidence of her senses—a striking proof of the advantages conferred by a respectable reputation.
Apart altogether from the question of gain, it is probable that Deacon Brodie, in adopting these criminal courses, was influenced by the dramatic possibilities of his new part. The minor duplicities which hitherto he had so successfully practised would thus be capable of development upon a larger stage; and, to one of his peculiar temperament, the prospect doubtless afforded fascinating opportunities for deception. To rob a friend’s house of an evening, and in the morning condole with him upon his loss; to carry through some daring burglary overnight,and gravely deliberate next day in the Council Chamber as to offering a reward for discovery of the perpetrator—these were situations after the Deacon’s heart.
Throughout the whole course of the robberies which we are about to consider, it is to be kept in view that Deacon Brodie retained the respect and esteem of his fellow-citizens—for his reputation among the associates of his secret life is immaterial; daily pursued his lawful avocations; and regularly attended the meetings of the Council, taking his share in the conduct of the town’s affairs. And so masterly was his performance of this dualrôlethat no suspicion of the Deacon’s integrity was aroused, until the failure of the “last fatal” business of the Excise Office and the treachery of an accomplice shattered, at once and for ever, the elaborate fabric of his deceit.
We can form a vivid impression of the appearance of Deacon Brodie about this time from the description of him which was circulated some two years later. From this it appears that he was a small man—“about 5 feet 4 inches”—of a slender build, and looking younger than his age. He had “dark brown, full eyes, with large black eyebrows, and a cast with his eye that gave him somewhat the look of a Jew,” a sallow complexion, and a peculiar manner of speaking, “which he did full and slow.” From the minute details of his dress and toilet it is evident that the Deacon was something of a dandy, or, in the language of the day, “a macaroni.” He had also “a particular air in his walk, and moved in a proud, swaggering sort of style,” while the advertisement includes such particulars as the size of his ankles and the turn of his calves. We shall afterwards find that this very candid portrait was not appreciated by its original.
About the month of July, 1786, there arrived in Edinburgh a man who was to exercise a powerful influence for evil upon the Deacon’s fortunes. This was George Smith, a native of Boxford, near Newburgh, in Berkshire, who was travelling the country as a hawker with a horse and cart. He was a stranger to Edinburgh, and put up at Michael Henderson’s house in the Grassmarket, having heard it mentioned on the road as a traveller’s inn. Soon after his arrival he fell sick, and, his illness lasting for some four months, he was reduced to selling hisgoods, and finally his horse, in order to support himself and his wife, for whom he had meanwhile sent into England to join him. Among the frequenters of Michael Henderson’s tavern were two men, Andrew Ainslie and John BrownaliasHumphry Moore, of whom, prior to their doings in connection with the robbing of the Excise Office, but little is known. Ainslie is designed in the Crown list of witnesses as “sometime shoemaker in Edinburgh,” but his attention to his professional practice was less marked than his addiction to dicing and the company of cheats. Brown—like Smith, an Englishman—was a noted sharper, and had been convicted of theft at the Old Bailey in April, 1784, and sentenced to transportation beyond the seas for a term of seven years. He had, however, contrived to escape from justice, and was then lurking in Edinburgh, ready for any villainy that might prove remunerative.
With these two agreeable acquaintances Smith beguiled the tedium of convalescence in various games of hazard, in which, owing to the skill of the players, but little was left to the blindness of Fortune; and at this time he first made the acquaintance of Deacon Brodie, who, in connection with his cock-fighting proclivities, had long been a patron of the house. It is probable that, at this juncture, the Deacon’s resources were at a low ebb. Notwithstanding the income he derived from his varied interests and pursuits, his passion for gambling was a constant drain upon his purse, and the expense of maintaining no less than three establishments at once must also have been considerable, while the success of his earlier robberies doubtless induced him to extend his future operations by the assumption of a partner.
Be that as it may, we have it from Smith’s second declaration that Brodie, early in the intimacy which, in spite of the disparity in their social positions, speedily sprang up between them, suggested to him in the course of conversation “that several things could be done in this place, if prudently managed, to great advantage, and proposed that they should lay their heads together for that purpose.” Smith is said to have been at one period of his career a locksmith in Birmingham, and his abilities in this direction may have first led the Deacon to select him as an accomplice. From the readiness with which Smith embraced this proposition we may assume that his past record was not so blameless as he would have us believe.
In the following account of the burglaries (other than that of the Excise Office) committed by Deacon Brodie and his associates, the details are given from the various statements made by Smith, and, so far as possible, in his own words; but there is good reason for believing that these by no means disclose the full extent of the depredations for which the gang was responsible.
When the invalid was sufficiently recovered, the new friends, “in consequence of this concert, were in use to go about together in order to find out proper places where business could be done with success.” In the course of these interesting excursions, Smith relates that one evening in November, 1786, they visited a hardware shop in Bridge Street belonging to Davidson M‘Kain, armed with false keys, an iron crow, and a dark lantern. Having opened the outer door, Smith entered the shop, his companion remaining outside to watch. Smith was inside for about half-an-hour, and Brodie, becoming impatient, called out what made him stay so long—was he taking an inventory of the shop? The result appears to have been disappointing; but among the goods removed was a red pocket-book, which Smith presented, as a token of gratitude, to “Michael Henderson, stabler in Grassmarket, his daughter.”
About a fortnight later the two worthies again repaired to M‘Kain’s shop with the view of making a more thorough clearance. The same methods were adopted; but before Smith could get to work he was disturbed by movements in a neighbouring room, and fled, shutting the shop door after him. Brodie had already beaten a retreat. A little later, however, the pair walked arm-in-arm down Bridge Street to reconnoitre the premises, but, seeing a man on the watch, “and a guard soldier standing opposite at the head of the stair which goes down to the Fleshmarket, they passed along the bridge, and afterwards went to their several homes, as nothing could be done further that night.” This, according to Smith, was their first joint depredation; but there is reason to believe that a much more important robbery, which was committed on 9th October, the previous month—when a goldsmith’s shop near the Council Chambers was broken into and many valuable articles carried off—was also the Deacon’s handiwork.
An ostensible occupation had been found for Smith, and he was established in a house in the Cowgate, where his wife and he kept a small grocery shop. Brodie had now introduced his new friend to his own favourite “howff”—Clark, the vintner’s at the head of the Fleshmarket Close—where it was their habit to foregather nightly for the purpose of gambling and discussing future opportunities for the exercise of their felonious talents. Hither, also, came Ainslie and Brown, from the lodging which they occupied together at the foot of Burnet’s Close, but who were not yet admitted to share the others’ councils. On 8th December, we read that “the shop of John Law, tobacconist in the Enchange, was broken into, and a cannister containing between ten and twelve pounds of money carried off.” This robbery, though not confessed to by Smith, was probably committed by him and Brodie.
Stimulated to further efforts by the inadequate results of these operations, the Deacon now proposed to Smith a more important undertaking. He had recently been employed by the magistrates, in consequence of the lowering of the streets, to alter the door of the shop in Bridge Street belonging to Messrs. John & Andrew Bruce, jewellers, there. This, he said, “would be a very proper shop for breaking into,” as it contained valuable goods, and his familiarity with the lock would make it an easy matter to effect an entrance. It was accordingly agreed that they should meet at Clark’s on the evening of Saturday, 24th December, for the purpose of carrying out the robbery. Arriving there, they fell to playing hazard with other members of “the club,” as it was called by the questionable characters who frequented the house, and Smith, the luck being against him, soon lost all his money. Brodie, on the other hand, was winning steadily, and refused to leave, turning a deaf ear to his friend’s repeated reminders that business should come before pleasure and their work awaited them. It was nearly four in the morning when Smith decided to wait no longer, “as the time for doing their business was going,” and started by himself upon the exploit. The lock presented no difficulties, and, by the light of his dark lantern, he was able to reap an excellent harvest. “Ten watches, five of them gold, three silver, with the whole rings, lockets, and other jewellery and gold trinkets in the show-boxes,”were all stuffed into two old black stockings and carried by Smith to the hospitable Mr. Henderson’s stable, where he hid them in a manger, and was at last free to seek the shelter of his grocery establishment in the Cowgate.
Smith was up betimes on the Sunday, and by eight o’clock was “tirling” at the door in Brodie’s Close, to inform the Deacon of what he had missed. The maid told him, however, that her master was still in bed, so Smith left a message that he wanted to see him, and returned home. Later in the day the Deacon called upon him, and Smith, having meantime fetched the black stockings from the Grassmarket, poured out upon the bed their glittering contents, remarking, “You see what luck I have been in; you might have been there, but, as you did not go, you cannot expect a full share. But there are the goods; pick out what you choose for yourself”—which certainly seems handsome behaviour on Smith’s part, although Brodie afterwards complained that he had been treated badly in the matter. The Deacon accordingly selected for his own use a gold seal, a gold watch-key set with garnet stones, and two gold rings. They valued the whole articles at £350 sterling, and must have been good judges, for that was the figure which the owners themselves subsequently put upon the goods.
That same day they walked past Bruce’s shop several times to see if the robbery had been discovered, but found everything as they had left it. Delighted at the success of his coup, Smith boldly proposed returning that night “in order,” as he said, “to sweep the shop clean,” but Brodie dissuaded him from so hazardous an attempt. They then consulted as to the safest means of disposing of the goods, with the result that, on the following Wednesday, Smith set off with them on foot to Dunbar, and from thence took the mail-coach to Chesterfield, where he parted with them to one John TaskeraliasMurray—who had previously been banished from Scotland—for £105. The Deacon had advanced five and a half guineas for the expenses of the journey, and, on his return, Smith repaid this sum, and entrusted Brodie with the balance to keep for him, and give him as he required it; but Brodie “gained a great part of it at play.” The Deacon, therefore, did not do so badly after all.
Head of Brodie’s Close, Lawnmarket. (From a Drawing by Bruce J. Home.)Head of Brodie’s Close, Lawnmarket.(From a Drawing by Bruce J. Home.)
It is interesting to note in passing that during this period—the winter of 1786-7—Deacon Brodie had for an opposite neighbour no less a person than Robert Burns. While the poet was sharing his friend Richmond’s lodgings in Baxter’s Close, Lawnmarket, there also dwelt in the adjacent Wardrop’s Court Alexander Nasmyth, the artist, whose portrait of Burns was painted at this time. It is probable that the poet, the painter, and the Deacon foregathered with other kindred spirits at Johnnie Dowie’s tavern in Libberton’s Wynd, the recognised resort of the Edinburgh wits of that day.
The partners seem to have rested satisfied with the substantial profits of their last transaction for a considerable time, for the next robbery of which we have any details was not carried out till 16th August, 1787. In this, for the first time, they had the advantage of Ainslie’s assistance, he being taken into their confidence for that end. The three repaired to Leith, to the shop of John Carnegie, a grocer at the foot of St. Andrew Street, which Ainslie and Smith entered by means of pick-locks—Brodie remaining without to watch—and carried off “350 pounds of fine black tea,” at that period a very valuable haul. Two wallets were filled from the chests in the shop, but “Ainslie being ill at this time and Brodie being weakly,” they were forced to abandon one of the wallets, which they hid in a shed in a field by the Bonnington Road, where it was afterwards recovered. The Deacon objected to the other wallet being taken to his house, and what became of it is not known.
In their next undertaking the company was raised to its full strength by the accession of John BrownaliasHumphry Moore, whose previous experiences in England eminently qualified him to take an important part in such criminal enterprises. Brown appears to have been spending the autumn in Stirlingshire, but his visit was suddenly brought to a close in September on his banishment from that county by the Justices of the Peace for a theft committed by him within their jurisdiction. This was a more boldly conceived robbery than the gang had yet attempted—no less than the theft of the silver mace belonging to the University of Edinburgh. The Deacon, in the course of those walks with Smith, in which healthful exercise wascombined with an eye to business, “carried” the latter “to the College Library, where, having observed the mace standing, Brodie said that they must have it.” Ainslie was accordingly sent to see where the mace was usually kept, and reported that it was in the Library, where the others had seen it. Accordingly, on the night of 29th October, 1787, the quartet proceeded to the University. “Having got access at the under gate, they opened the under door leading to the Library with a false key, which broke in the lock; and thereafter they broke open the door of the Library with an iron crow, and carried away the College mace.” The magistrates offered a reward of ten guineas for a discovery of the thieves, but without success. The mace was forthwith despatched to the accommodating Tasker, of Chesterfield, at the appropriate address of the “Bird in Hand,” and the macer thereof knew it no more.
Brown appears entitled to the credit of planning the next robbery, and took a leading part in its execution. In those days the merchants of Edinburgh usually resided above their business premises, and the key of the shop was hung on the inside of the door—a habit highly appreciated by the Deacon’s little band. Brown brought to Smith the key of a shop belonging to one John Tapp, which, he said, also opened the door of that gentleman’s house; and Smith, having cast a professional eye over same, assured him “there was nothing in it.” Thereafter, one evening about Christmas time, between nine and ten o’clock, Brown dropped in upon John Tapp, whom he detained in his shop over a friendly and seasonable bottle. His associates, meanwhile, opened the house door with a false key and rifled the good man’s repositories, making off with “eighteen guinea notes, and a twenty shilling one, a silver watch, some rings, and a miniature picture of a gentleman belonging to Tapp’s wife, which picture they broke for the sake of the gold with which it was backed.” One wonders if Mrs. Tapp mentioned the loss to her husband. These valuables accompanied the mace to Chesterfield, where John TaskeraliasMurray seems to have driven a brisk, though illegitimate, trade, along with a letter to him, written by Brown in Smith’s name, arranging for their disposal.
Soon after this the Deacon, ever on the alert for a good stroke of business, suggested to his partners the “doing” ofthe shop of Messrs. Inglis & Horner, silk mercers at the Cross of Edinburgh, “as the goods there were very rich and valuable, and a small bulk of them carried off would amount to a large sum.” He and Smith frequently went to examine the padlock, “which they did most commonly on the Sunday forenoon when the people were in church.” They found this necessary, as the lock proved to be of a difficult construction. Brodie made a key for it himself, and went one night alone to test its efficacy, probably with the view of stealing a march upon the rest, and doing a little private practice outwith the knowledge of his colleagues. When he tried the key, however, although it unlocked the padlock it would not lock it again, and he had to disclose the state of matters to the others. On learning of his attempt “they were all very angry with him, and said that he had more than likely spoilt the place after all the trouble they had been about; but Brodie told them he hoped not, as he had fixed the padlock with a bit stick in a way that it would not be discovered, and upon looking at the place afterwards, which they all did, they found the lock to be just as it was.” Eventually Smith made a key that was more reliable, and on the night of 8th January, 1788, an entry was effected, and silks and cambrics to the value of between £300 and £400 successfully removed.
Next day a reward of £100 was offered by the Procurator-Fiscal for the discovery of the criminals, but, as usual, without success. The owners, however, did not let the matter rest there, and on their representations the Government, on 25th January, offered an increased reward of £150 to any one who, within six months, would give such information as should lead to the discovery and conviction of the perpetrators, and twenty guineas for the names of the offenders whether they should be convicted or not. In addition, “His Majesty’s gracious pardon” was promised to any accomplice who should within the like period procure the apprehension of the guilty parties. Though this offer elicited no information at the time, it was, ultimately, as we shall see, the means of breaking up that dangerous association from whose depredations the inhabitants of the good town of Edinburgh had so long and severely suffered.
From the spoils of Inglis & Horner’s shop Smith tells us thatBrown selected “a piece of plain white sattin, a piece of variegated ditto, and a lead-coloured silk, in quantity about ten yards, which he gave to a girl, an acquaintance of his of the name of Johnston.” One is pleased to notice in passing this indication of a gentler element in Mr. Brown’s rugged nature. The remainder of the goods were concealed in a cellar which Ainslie had hired for the purpose in Stevenlaw’s Close, and were subsequently despatched in two trunks—one by the Berwick carrier and the other by the Newcastle waggoner—to our old friend at the “Bird in Hand,” Chesterfield. We shall hear more of them later.
The reader must have been struck, in following the account of the robberies committed by Deacon Brodie, with the singular incapacity displayed by the official guardians of the public safety. These were the Old Town Guard, a body of armed police which existed in Edinburgh from an early date until 1817, when it was finally disbanded. The corps was composed of some hundred and twenty veterans, chiefly drawn from the Highland regiments, who were in continual conflict with the youth of the capital. Fergusson, in his poems, has many a hit at the peculiarities of this “canker’d pack”—
And thou, great god ofaqua vitæ!Wha sways the empire of this city—When fou we’re sometimes capernoity—Be thou prepar’dTo hedge us frae that black banditti,The City Guard.
And thou, great god ofaqua vitæ!Wha sways the empire of this city—When fou we’re sometimes capernoity—Be thou prepar’dTo hedge us frae that black banditti,The City Guard.
And thou, great god ofaqua vitæ!Wha sways the empire of this city—When fou we’re sometimes capernoity—Be thou prepar’dTo hedge us frae that black banditti,The City Guard.
Indeed, so frequently does he refer to them that Scott, in “The Heart of Midlothian,” calls him their poet laureate. Evidently these antiquated warriors were no match for the Deacon and his merry men.
Notwithstanding the many calls upon his time, owing to the varied character of his engagements and pursuits, Deacon Brodie managed to drop in at the club in the Fleshmarket Close of an evening as frequently as ever, and, in spite of the magnitude of his recent operations, was not above winning a few guineas from any one foolish enough to lose them. On the night of the 17th of January, therefore, Brodie, Smith, and Ainslie were at Clark’s, according to their own account, “innocently amusing themselves with a game of dice over aglass of punch,” when their privacy was intruded upon by John Hamilton, a master chimney-sweep in Portsburgh, who insisted on joining them at play. This person was, within a surprisingly short time, relieved by the trio of “five guinea notes, two half guineas in gold, and six shillings in silver,” and being apparently a bad loser, he promptly seized the dice, which, on examination, were found to be “loaded, or false dice, filled at one end or corner with lead.” Here was a pretty scandal for the respectable Deacon to be mixed up in! Outraged innocence was of no avail—the dice spoke for themselves.
But the master sweep’s blood was up, and the matter was not allowed to end there. Hamilton forthwith presented to the magistrates of Edinburgh a petition and complaint against Brodie, Smith, and Ainslie, setting forth his meeting with them at Clark’s, and his being invited to join them in a friendly game, with the result above narrated. The petitioner concluded with praying for a warrant to apprehend and incarcerate the said persons until they should repeat the sum of which he had been so defrauded, and pay a sum over and above in name of damages and expenses. Answers were lodged for Brodie, and separate answers for Smith and Ainslie, in which it was stated that if false dice were used it was unknown to the defenders, as the dice they played with belonged to the house; that Brodie had only gained seven and sixpence; and that “the petitioner himself was a noted adept in the science of gambling, and it was not very credible that he would have allowed himself to be imposed upon in the manner he had alleged.”
Hamilton’s replies to these answers are conceived in a fine vein of irony—“Mr. Brodie knows nothing of such vile tricks—not he! He never made them his study—not he! Mr. Brodie never haunted night houses, where nothing but the blackest and vilest arts were practised to catch a pigeon, nor ever was accessory, either by himself or others in his combination, to behold the poor young creature plucked alive, and not one feather left upon its wings—not he, indeed! He never was accessory to see or be concerned in fleecing the ignorant, the thoughtless, the young, and the unwary, nor ever made it his study, his anxious study, with unwearied concern, at midnight hours, to haunt the rooms where he thought of meetingwith the company from which there was a possibility of fetching from a scurvy sixpence to a hundred guineas—not he, indeed! He is unacquainted altogether either with packing or shuffling a set of cards—he is, indeed!” This, one would think, must have been painful reading for the Deacon’s fellow-Councillors; but nothing further appears to have been done in the matter, and the affair blew over without damaging the worthy man’s repute: a singular comment on the moral standard of the time.
In spite of the consummate skill with which Deacon Brodie had hitherto sustained his double character, one is hardly prepared, in view of his manner of life, to find him figuring in a criminal trial in any other capacity than that of the central figure. Strange as it may seem, however, his next public appearance was in the jury-box of the High Court of Justiciary, when, on 4th February, 1788, Allan M‘Farlane, officer of Excise, and Richard Firmin, soldier in the 39th Regiment of Foot, were placed at the bar charged with the murder of Dougald Fergusson, ferryman at Dunoon, Argyllshire.
The facts brought out at the trial were, briefly, as follows:—A party of Excise officers, accompanied by some soldiers, had, in the previous July, gone to Dunoon and seized certain illicit stills, which they put on board their boat. Fergusson, a zealous freetrader, had rung the kirk bell, assembled a mob, who pelted the officers with stones, and, boarding the boat, had knocked down the two boatmen and attempted to carry off the stills. In these circumstances, M‘Farlane ordered Firmin to fire, which he did, killing Fergusson on the spot. The charge against Firmin was abandoned by the Lord Advocate in his address, as it was proved that he had only acted under orders; and the point for the jury to consider was whether M‘Farlane was justified in giving the order to fire in self-defence, in view of the danger to which the Excise party were exposed from the hostile mob behind them, had Fergusson succeeded in carrying off the boat. The jury unanimously found both panels not guilty.
Thus did the Deacon, at the very time when all Edinburgh trembled at his depredations and the authorities were straining
The Old Excise Office, Chessel’s Court, Canongate. (From a Drawing by Bruce J. Home.)The Old Excise Office, Chessel’s Court, Canongate.(From a Drawing by Bruce J. Home.)
every nerve to discover the guilty author, calmly officiate upon a jury to judge of the crimes of others. But, although he may have laughed in his sleeve at this ironical situation—for he had a pretty wit, and doubtless relished the humour of it keenly—fate had prepared for him one yet more dramatic. A few months later he himself would sit in that dock on trial for his life, the same counsel would conduct the prosecution, the same judges occupy the bench; but the verdict would be a different one, and the sentence to follow upon it, death.
Undisturbed by any shadow of coming disaster, and emboldened by his previous successes, Deacon Brodie now decided to carry out a robbery upon a grander scale than any he had previously attempted, the daring and danger of which were commensurate with the advantages to be gained. The General Excise Office for Scotland was at that period kept in a large mansion, enclosed by a parapet wall and iron railing, situated in Chessel’s Court, Canongate. The building had formerly been occupied as a dwelling-house, and was by no means a secure repository for the great sums of money which in those days were collected there from all parts of the country. The Deacon, in his professional capacity, was familiar with the arrangements of the office, his men having at various times executed repairs on the premises. A connection of his, Mr. Corbett, of Stirling, too, was in the habit of coming to Edinburgh frequently on Excise business, and Brodie took the opportunity of accompanying him upon these occasions with a view to studying how the land lay.
Having learned all that was necessary for his purpose, the Deacon went one day to the office with Smith, on pretence of inquiring for Mr. Corbett, and while he thus engaged the attention of the cashier, Smith took an impression in putty of the key of the outer door, which, according to the prevailing ingenuous custom, was hung upon a nail inside it. From this Brodie prepared a drawing of the wards, and Smith filed a key of similar pattern. The next step was to ascertain the habits of the watchman who guarded the premises, and for this purpose Ainslie—whose department seems to have been scouting—was deputed to observe the office on several successivenights. He found that it was usually closed for the day at eight o’clock; that when all the clerks had left the outer door was locked, and the key taken to Mr. Dundas, “the housekeeper,” who lived in the court, and that the night watchman did not come on duty until ten o’clock. The Excise Office was thus left wholly unguarded between the hours of eight and ten at night.
Smith and Brown had already tried the efficiency of the new key, which readily opened the outer door, but the lock of the inner door to the cashier’s room refused to yield to their persuasive methods. Smith was of opinion that its resistance could only be overcome by violence, observing that the coulter of a plough would be a suitable instrument for that purpose. Accordingly, on the afternoon of Friday, 28th February, Ainslie and Brown repaired to Duddingston as a likely spot for picking up such an implement. Having refreshed themselves after their walk with a bottle of porter at a house in the village, they entered a field in the neighbourhood, where they had seen a man ploughing, and, when his back was turned, removed the coulter of the plough and two iron wedges, which on their way home by the King’s Park they hid in Salisbury Crags. Unfortunately for themselves and Smith, they were accompanied upon this country ramble by a black dog, belonging to the latter, named “Rodney,” which, curiously enough, was at a later stage to bear testimony against its master before the Sheriff.
On Tuesday, 4th March, a final consultation was held by the four desperadoes at Smith’s house in the Cowgate to arrange the details of the attack upon the Excise Office, which was fixed for the following night, when, as they had ascertained, it was the turn of an old man, who watched night about with the other porter, to be on guard. According to Smith’s second declaration, “it was concerted by Brodie, in case of interruption by the man coming into the office before the business was accomplished, to conceal themselves quietly until he was gone to rest, and then to secure him; and they were, if this happened, to personate smugglers who came in search of their property that had been seized; and the declarant had a wig of Brodie’s father in his pocket in order to disguisehimself.” Little did that decent old gentleman dream to what base uses his respectable wig would one day be assigned by his cynical and degenerate offspring. The Deacon also furnished Smith with a coil of rope to be knotted into a ladder, so that if taken by surprise they could lock the outer door of the office and make good their escape by the back windows into the garden behind. Having decided upon their plan of campaign, the meeting adjourned till the following afternoon.
Wednesday, the 5th of March, 1788, was a busy day for the Deacon. Between two and three o’clock he was back at Smith’s, attired in “the white-coloured clothes he usually wore,” with various requisites for the night’s adventure—pick-locks, false keys, an ivory whistle, “a strong chisel with a brass virral,” and a spur, which was to be left on the scene of the robbery, “to make it believed it had been done by some person on horseback, in order that it might appear, when found, to have dropped from the foot by its being torn by accident at the buckle.”
By three o’clock he was presiding in his own dining-room, with the panel painting and the great arched window, at a dinner-party consisting of his aunt, his two sisters, Matthew Sheriff, his brother-in-law, and “a stranger gentleman” whose identity was not disclosed. “We drank together,” says Mr. Sheriff, “from dinner to tea, which I think was brought in about six o’clock, and then the stranger gentleman went away.” Probably he thought discretion the better part of valour. The brothers-in-law, however, continued the sederunt till shortly before eight o’clock, when Sheriff retired to his residence in Bunker’s Hill—the name by which St. James’ Square was then known. The moment his guest had gone the Deacon, hastily attiring himself in an old-fashioned black suit, a cocked hat, and a light-coloured great-coat, put his pistols and dark lantern in his pocket, and hurried off to the business of the evening.
It had been arranged that the gang should assemble at Smith’s house at seven o’clock, since which hour the others had been impatiently awaiting their leader’s arrival. The Deacon was in a merry mood; his spirits were high as his hopes, and the potations of the afternoon had doubtless contributed to their elation. He burst in upon his anxious friends with apistol in his hand, singing a stave from his favourite “Beggar’s Opera”—
Let us take the road;Hark! I hear the sound of coaches!The hour of attack approaches;To your arms, brave boys, and load.See the ball I hold;Let the chemists toil like assesOur fire their fire surpasses,And turns our lead to gold.
Let us take the road;Hark! I hear the sound of coaches!The hour of attack approaches;To your arms, brave boys, and load.See the ball I hold;Let the chemists toil like assesOur fire their fire surpasses,And turns our lead to gold.
Let us take the road;Hark! I hear the sound of coaches!The hour of attack approaches;To your arms, brave boys, and load.
See the ball I hold;Let the chemists toil like assesOur fire their fire surpasses,And turns our lead to gold.
It was a raw and wintry evening of a type familiar to the Edinburgh spring—that “meteorological purgatory” of Stevenson; there had been a considerable fall of snow, followed by an intense frost, and few people were out of doors. Smith, Brown, and Ainslie were sitting in an upper room beguiling the time with a light refection of herrings and chicken, washed down by draughts of gin and “black cork,”i.e., Bell’s beer. Ainslie and Brown had, whenever it was sufficiently dark, brought the coulter of the plough and the iron wedges from their hiding-place in Salisbury Crags. No time was to be lost, and so soon as the Deacon arrived the final arrangements were quickly made. Three brace of pistols—one of which had been obligingly lent by Michael Henderson—were loaded by Smith with powder and ball, each member of the party, excepting Ainslie, being armed with a pair, “as they were determined not to be taken, whatever should be the consequence.” Three crape masks were also prepared for the use of Smith, Ainslie, and Brown. To Smith and Brown was appointed the task of forcing the doors and rifling the premises; the Deacon was to be stationed in the hall behind the outer door to prevent a surprise; while it was Ainslie’s duty to keep watch within the “palisadoes” outside the office, where, concealed by the parapet wall, he could command a view of the court and entry. Ainslie was provided with a whistle of ivory, purchased by Brodie the night before, with which, if the watchman appeared, he was to give one whistle, so that they might be prepared to secure him; and, if more than one man or any appearance of danger was perceived, he was to give three whistles, and then make the best of his way to the gardens behind, in order to assist the others in escaping bythe back windows. Brodie, on hearing the signal, was, in turn, to give the alarm to Brown and Smith within the building.
In pursuance of this arrangement, Ainslie left first for the scene of action in Chessel’s Court, carrying with him the coulter, and, having taken up his position within the “palisadoes,” saw the porter come out with a light and lock the outer door behind him. Shortly thereafter Smith arrived. On hearing that the coast was clear, he lost no time in opening the front door with his false key and went into the office. He was followed five minutes later by Deacon Brodie, who, learning that Smith was within, but that Brown had not yet put in an appearance, went back up the court to look for him. They met in the entry and returned together, Brown explaining that, on his arrival, he had seen the old man who usually locked up the office leaving the court, and had dogged him home as a precautionary measure. Brown then inquired of Ainslie “whether or not he had ‘Great Samuel’?”—by which playful appellation he referred to the coulter—and Ainslie handed it to him through the railings. The Deacon and Brown then entered the office, leaving the outer door on the latch, behind which the former ensconced himself.
Smith had meanwhile opened the spring catch of the inner door with a pair of curling irons or “toupee tongs” which he had prepared for that purpose, and was awaiting Brown in the hall. By means of the coulter and an iron crow—“Little Samuel,” in Brown’s humorous phraseology—the two burglars at length succeeded in forcing the door of the cashier’s room, and by the light of the Deacon’s lantern they proceeded to prize open every desk and press which it contained. In the cashier’s desk they found and appropriated two five-pound notes, six guinea notes, and some odd silver; but after half-an-hour’s diligent searching their utmost efforts failed to discover the accumulated riches which they had confidently expected to secure.
In the hurry of the search, by a curious chance, a secret drawer, concealed beneath the cashier’s desk, containing no less than £600 sterling, escaped their notice.
Unwilling to accept their defeat, the two men were ransacking the desks afresh when they heard the front door open, but, supposing Brodie to be at his post, paid no attention. They wereabout to leave the room to prosecute their investigation of the premises when they heard some one come hastily down the stairs, “which made them stop or they must have met him.” Upon this Brown whispered, “Here must be treachery; get out your pistols and cock them!” They then heard the front door close with a crash. Perceiving that something was wrong, they now hastened into the hall, when, to their amazement, they found that the Deacon had vanished, and, on opening the door, that Ainslie also had disappeared. Cursing their ill luck and the defection of their companions, the puzzled burglars hurried through the court into the Canongate; and, quite at sea as to what had happened, made the best of their way to Smith’s house, leaving behind them in the office the heavy coulter and the spur which was designed to mislead the discoverers of the robbery.
We must now return to Ainslie, whom we left on the watch behind the railings. A servant girl, returning from a message to her master’s house in the court, saw him looking over the wall, and, “judging him to be a light or suspicious person”—in which diagnosis she was not far wrong—sought safety within doors. He had not been long at his post when the silence of the court was broken by the sound of a man running into it from the street, and Ainslie, peering through the railings, was alarmed to see him go in at the open door of the Excise Office. At the very moment of his entrance another man rushed from the doorway and fled at full speed up the court; and before Ainslie could recover from his surprise at this unlooked-for situation, a third man, as he supposed, came immediately out of the office and also disappeared towards the Canongate after the other.
The scanty oil lamps with which in those days the city was “illuminated” after nightfall served but as feeble foils to the surrounding darkness, and to Ainslie, in the dimly-lighted court, friend and foe were equally indistinguishable. These mysterious and unlooked-for doings proved too much for the watcher’s nerve; so, having hastily given the agreed-on signal of retreat by three blasts upon his whistle, he, too, made for the entry, and, turning down St. John’s Street, came through the gardens of the Canongate to the back of the Excise Office. Finding no trace of his associates there, Ainslie in his turn repaired to Smith’s.
The explanation of these occurrences, which had dispersed the gang in bewilderment and consternation, was singularly simple, but the issue might have been very different. Mr. James Bonar, Deputy Solicitor of Excise, had returned to the office about half-past eight o’clock to get certain papers which he had left in his room. Finding the outer door on the latch, he assumed that some of the clerks were still in the building, and was entering the office when the Deacon, who appears to have lost his usual presence of mind, bounced out from behind the door, and, brushing past him, fled hastily from the court. Mr. Bonar attached no importance to this incident, thinking the person belonged to the office, and, being pressed for time, ran upstairs to his own room, got what he wanted, and hastened from the building, slamming the outer door after him.
If Ainslie had not lost his head at the sudden entrance and exit of the Solicitor and the Deacon, but had blown his whistle, as he should have done, whenever the former appeared, Smith and Brown, rushing out with their pistols cocked, would have encountered Mr. Bonar in the lobby, and murder would doubtless have been done. As it was, that gentleman probably owed his life to the pusillanimity of Ainslie and Brodie, the latter of whom could, from his ambush, easily have closed with him as he entered the hall.
After his undignified flight from the Excise Office, Deacon Brodie reached his own house about nine o’clock, where he once more changed his attire, putting on the fine white suit he usually wore. He then hurried to the house of his mistress, Jean Watt, in Libberton’s Wynd, where he remained till the following morning. Meanwhile, at Smith’s house the other three were discussing the disappointing result of the night’s expedition and indulging in mutual recriminations. The non-appearance of Brodie added to their uncertainty, and they parted for the night in no amiable mood, Ainslie and Brown going over to the New Town, where, in a tavern kept by one Fraser, they sought consolation in a bowl of punch. The next day—Thursday—the Deacon came to Brown and Ainslie’s lodging in Burnet’s Close and laughingly told them that Smith had accused him of deserting his post the previous night. He was received but sourly by Brown, who made no secret of sharing Smith’s opinion. These, however, were minor matters, thevital question being whether or not suspicion would be directed to themselves. It was arranged that they should all meet at Smith’s the following night, when the sixteen pounds—miserable recompense of so much risk and labour!—was to be equally divided among them.
Accordingly, upon the Friday evening, in the upper room of Smith’s house, each man received his share, amounting to a little over four pounds. Ainslie, to whom Brodie owed a “debt of honour,” took occasion to require payment, and got one of the five-pound notes and some gold from him. The Deacon, who had staked infinitely more, thus made less than any of them by the adventure. Brown, so soon as he had received his share, went out, like Judas, and for a similar purpose.
The reader may remember the two trunks in which the silks stolen from Inglis & Horner’s shop were packed with a view to transmission to John Tasker at Chesterfield. One of these had been despatched some time before by the Berwick carrier, the other had been forwarded that week by the Newcastle waggoner, and Smith’s wife was to leave for England on the Saturday in order to treat personally with the proprietor of the “Bird in Hand,” who was probably a difficult customer to deal with. Smith and Ainslie therefore proceeded to the New Town, where, at the inn kept by William Drysdale, they purchased a ticket for Mrs. Smith by the mail-coach to Newcastle on the following day. The five-pound note was tendered in payment, and they received the change, less the price of the ticket.
Let us now see how prudent Mr. Brown had been improving his time. Daily since the 25th of January there had appeared in each of the three Edinburgh newspapers advertisements offering £150 reward and a free pardon to whoever should disclose the robbers of Inglis & Horner’s shop. The excitement occasioned by that crime had been revived and increased tenfold by the discovery of the attack upon the Excise Office, which was made by ten o’clock on the night of its occurrence, and the vigilance of the authorities was proportionally augmented.
Brown stood in a more ticklish situation towards the outraged majesty of the law than any of his companions, for over him hung the sentence of transportation, which he had hithertosuccessfully evaded; and it would go hard with him if he fell into the hands of justice in connection with any of his later villainies, which might happen at any moment. He was, moreover, profoundly disgusted with the manner in which the Excise business had miscarried through no fault of his own, and would not be sorry to steal a march on his cowardly associates. He was also cunning enough to foresee that, if he turned informer, he would not only earn a handsome reward, but enjoy immunity for his past performances, as it would be necessary for the public prosecutor to obtain a pardon for his old offence also, before his evidence could be made available against his fellow-criminals.
Having carefully considered his position, therefore, and immediately after securing his dividend at Smith’s, Brown proceeded to William Middleton, of the Sheriff-Clerk’s Office, and informed him that he had certain discoveries to make concerning the robberies recently committed in the city. Late as it then was—eleven o’clock—Middleton at once took Brown to the Procurator-Fiscal, to whom he told the whole story, suppressing, however, in the meantime, all mention of Deacon Brodie’s name in connection with the crimes. His object in taking this course was doubtless to secure a hold upon the Deacon which would enable him, at his leisure, to blackmail that respectable gentleman with impunity. At his own request the Procurator-Fiscal and Middleton went with him that same night to Salisbury Crags, where Brown pointed out a number of false keys underneath a stone, hidden there by Smith after the affair at the Excise Office, of which the Fiscal took possession.
The next morning, Saturday, 8th March, Brown, accompanied by Middleton, left for Chesterfield in pursuit of Inglis & Horner’s goods by the very coach in which Mrs. Smith was to have performed the same journey. How they fared upon their errand is not recorded, but it would have been interesting to know what happened when John Tasker’s unexpected guests dropped in at the “Bird in Hand.”
The same day Ainslie, Smith, and his wife, and servant-maid were apprehended; and, having been examined before the Sheriff, were committed to the Tolbooth, the two women being subsequently set at liberty.
That Saturday evening the rumour of the prisoners’ arrest spread like wildfire through the city, and on Deacon Brodie, confident in his fool’s paradise, the intelligence must have fallen like a thunderbolt. Apart from his temporary loss of nerve at the Excise Office, he was undoubtedly a man of courage and resource, and the step he now determined to take might well have daunted a less intrepid character. This was to visit the Tolbooth in person and obtain speech with Smith and Ainslie, so as to induce them, if it were not too late, to hold their tongues. To do this, knowing nothing of where he stood or how much had come out, was to put his head into the lion’s mouth; but he saw that, at all costs, he must ascertain what had happened. Accordingly, having taken his cane and cocked hat, the Deacon, with that “particular air” which characterised his walk, sallied forth upon his desperate errand. The Tolbooth was but a few paces from his own door, and he was familiar with the jail, both as a Town Councillor and in the ordinary course of his employment. Arrived there, he congratulated the officials on their capture, and expressed his curiosity to see the redoubtable burglars with whose deeds all Edinburgh was then ringing, but was informed that no one was allowed access to them. He was therefore compelled to return home no wiser than he went, where, it is probable, the owner of the house in Brodie’s Close passed a sleepless and remorseful night.
Next morning, realising that the game was up, and that he must prepare for the worst—for he might now be arrested at any moment—Deacon Brodie sent for his foreman, Robert Smith, at eight o’clock, told him that he was about to leave town for a day or two on business, and gave him a message about a waistcoat and a pair of breeches he required for the journey. He then casually asked “if there were any news about the people who had broke into the Excise.” The foreman answered that Smith was in custody, and that Brown had been sent to England; and, knowing his master’s intimacy with these men, added that he hoped he (Brodie) was not concerned with them, to which the other made no reply.
If he was to fly the country it was essential that the Deacon should be in touch with his relations in Edinburgh, upon whose assistance he would principally have to rely. Hetherefore promptly called upon his cousin—whose name was considerately withheld in the subsequent proceedings—and explained the situation. This gentleman’s feelings, as he listened to the disclosures of his respectable relative, may readily be imagined. But the honour of the family was at stake, and he seems to have done everything he could to further the Deacon’s plans. The necessary arrangements made, early in the forenoon of Sunday, 9th March, while the good folks of Edinburgh were still in church, Deacon Brodie burnt his boats and stole secretly out of the city.
Had the Deacon’s confidence in the loyalty of his late companions been stronger, it is possible he might even yet have weathered the storm, for neither Smith nor Ainslie in the declarations emitted by them on the Saturday had admitted their guilt or made any reference to his connection with them. So far, therefore, the statements of Brown were uncorroborated; and if, in modern parlance, Brodie had decided “to face the music” and remain in Edinburgh, his fortunes might have taken a different turn.
In the course of Smith’s first examination before the Sheriff a curious incident occurred. He was confronted with the ploughman, John Kinnear, whose coulter had been stolen by Ainslie and Brown as before narrated, in order to try if that person could identify him. Kinnear, never having seen him before, failed to do so. At this moment, however, Smith’s dog “Rodney,” having followed his master to the Sheriff-Clerk’s Office, came into the room, and the ploughman at once recognised it as the black dog which he had seen with the men in the field at Duddingston. The animal ran up to Smith and fawned upon him, thus, in spite of his denial, establishing the fact of his ownership. “Rodney” figures in Kay’s sketch of the first meeting of Brodie and Smith.
On Monday, 10th March, Smith, learning that the Deacon had decamped, and no doubt hoping to secure more favourable terms for himself, sent for the Sheriff and informed him “that he wished to have an opportunity of making a clean breast and telling the truth.” He thereupon emitted his second declaration, laying bare the whole operations of the gang, and implicating Brodie to the fullest extent, his admissions being afterwards confirmed by Ainslie.
The following paragraph appeared next day in theEdinburgh Evening Courant:—“The depredations that have been committed by housebreakers in and about this city for this some time past have been no less alarming than the art with which they have been executed, and the concealment that has attended them has been surprising. From a discovery, however, just made, there is reason to hope that a stop will soon be put to such acts of atrocious villainy. With what amazement must it strike every friend to virtue and honesty to find that a person is charged with a crime of the above nature who very lately held a distinguished rank among his fellow-citizens? With what pity and compunction must we view the unfortunate victim who falls a sacrifice to justice for having violated the laws of his country, to which violation he was perhaps impelled by necessity, when rank, ease, and opulence are forfeited in endeavouring to gratify the most sordid avarice? For to what other cause than avarice can we impute the late robbery committed upon the Excise Office, when the situation of the supposed perpetrator is considered? No excuse from necessity can be pled for a man in the enjoyment of thousands, who will run the risk of life, honour, and reputation in order to attain the unlawful possession of what could in a very trifling degree add to his supposed happiness.—See the advertisement from the Sheriff-Clerk’s Office.”
The advertisement to which this article refers—a copy of which will be found in the Appendix—was the offer by the Procurator-Fiscal of a reward of two hundred pounds for the apprehension of “William Brodie, a considerable house carpenter, and burgess of the city of Edinburgh,” together with the minute and somewhat unflattering description of that gentleman’s personal appearance, to which we have already alluded. So the murder was out at last, and the ex-Town Councillor became a fugitive from justice with a price upon his head.
In consequence of the revelations of Smith, the officers of justice proceeded on Monday, 10th March, to search the house in Brodie’s Close. There Smith, who accompanied them, unearthed the Deacon’s pistols, buried in his woodyard. His dark lantern, several pick-locks, and a parcel of false keys were also found—the first “in a pen where game-cocks had been