Again, we said the Lord Advocate might be compelled to grant his concurrence in such circumstances; and we think Mr. Burnett and Mr. Baron Hume will amply bear out our assertion. The former, after stating at length the conditions above briefly indicated, says, it is perfectly understood “that his Majesty’s Advocatecannot refusehis concourse, andmay be compelled to give it, in all cases where the complaint of a private party is founded on a known and relevantpoint of dittay, (murder for example) and as to which he hasprima facieatitleto insist.” pp. 306–7.—And Mr. Baron Hume is, if possible, still more explicit on the point. After stating that the Lord Advocate may refuse his concourse, if it be asked to a charge of witchcraft, which a statute has expunged from the list of crimes, or of treason for which no private party can prosecute, or of murder at the instance of some stranger, who does not even allege that he is anywise related to the deceased, he goes on to say, “On the other side, certainly the Lord Advocate is not the absolute and accountable judge on such occasions; but is subject to the control and direction of the Court,who will oblige him to produce and justify the grounds of his refusal to concur. Nay more; except in such extraordinary situations as those above supposed,he shall not even be allowed to engage in any inquiry concerning the merits of the case, the propriety of the prosecution, the form of the action, the sufficiency of the title, or the like,BUT SHALL BE ORDAINED TO COMPLY STRAIGHTWAY;leaving the discussion of these matters for the proper place and season, after the libel shall be in Court.” Vol. II. pp. 123–24. Lord Alemore’s opinion, given on the complaint of Sir John Gordon against his Majesty’s Advocate, June 21, 1706, is equally precise: “Had the Advocate refused his concourse,he might have been compelled to give it, for everyone is entitled tojustice; but he cannot be forced to prosecute.” Maclaurin, p. 298. Is there any “novel doctrine” in all this?
But our opponent endeavours to complicate the matter by most disingenuously attributing to us a statement which we never made, or even so much as dreamt of, namely, that the mother of Daft Jamie, “taking advantage of the disclosures made by the infamous Hare, underPROMISEof pardon,” is entitled to prosecute him with the concurrence of the Lord Advocate. The artifice is paltry enough; but our answer is, that the rights of the private party, who, as such, “is entitled to justice,” cannot be in any manner of way læsed or impaired, far less destroyed by any previous proceedings of the Prosecutor, in his public capacity; especially when these proceedings are in the eye of the law illegal, and only winked at upon a principle of utility or general expediency. What, in the name of common sense, of reason, and of law, had the mother of Daft Jamie to do with the disclosures made by Hare to the Lord Advocate “underpromiseof pardon?” That “promise” may be good against his Lordship himself; but it is utterly monstrous to pretend that it can in any way affect the rights of a private party who comes forward to prosecute; which it would unquestionably do, in the most serious manner, were his Lordship to be held entitled, in virtue of that most injudicious promise, to refuse his concurrence. Nay, we maintain, on the authority of Mr. Baron Hume, that it would be illegal in the Lord Advocate, when his concourse was applied for, to take any such circumstance into his consideration at all; for it is expressly laid down in the passage already quoted, that his Lordship “shall not even be allowed to engage in any inquiry concerning themeritsof the case; theproprietyof the prosecution, theformof the action, thesufficiencyof the title, orthe like; all these arejus tertiito him;” and, accordingly, the Court would “ordain him to comply straightway; leaving the discussion of these matters for the proper place and season, after the libel shall be in Court.” This, we should think, is not very “novel doctrine;” and as no man, we are assured, “would be more happy to think our reasoning without flaw, than the Lord Advocate,” (which we well believe,) we humbly hope that the exposition we have now given will be found to answer that condition.
These then are the main points of our case; and we flatter ourselves that we have made them out. But as we are resolved to engage in no further controversy on the subject, and therefore wish to clear off our score at once, we shall take the liberty of adverting, before we conclude, to one or two points of secondary importance, on which our opponent strenuously insists.
And, in the first place, he persists in maintaining that “had Hare and his wife not been witnesses, there is thebest reason for supposingthat the conviction of none of the four would have been obtained.” We would have been much better pleased, however, had this incurious apologist condescended to inform us in what this “best reason for supposing” consisted; as we confess our own inability to discover a shadow of “reason” for the “supposition” so gratuitously made. The point, we are well aware, is an important one for our opponent; because, unless he can make out that there was no case against Burke, without the evidence of Hare and his wife; in other words, disprove our argument that there was sufficient testimony to convict without the evidence of theaccomplices at all, then our conclusion is inevitable, that Hare and his wife ought to have been at the bar, and not in the witness-box. But, strange to say, although the point at issue is so important to the justification which our adversary labours to make out, he has not ventured to bring forward a single argument, or show a vestige of “reason” or authority, for the opinion he so strenuously asserts. We shall not, however, follow his example in this respect, but state as shortly as possible the grounds upon which we hold that Hare and his wife ought to have been placed at the bar beside Burke and M‘Dougal.
The testimony of asocius criminisis good in law only in so far as it is corroborated by other testimony perfectly unexceptionable, or by circumstances of real evidence; and where it stands alone and unsupported, it is the duty of the presiding Judge to direct the Jury to pay no attention whatever to it. Let us apply this test to the evidence of Hare and his wife, and observe to what conclusion it will lead. The former, wherever he spoke to circumstances which fell within the knowledge of unexceptionable witnesses, differed from, or rather was flatly contradicted by them; and consequently his evidence in regard to these was of no avail whatever, except to impeach his own credibility. Again, he was contradicted by his wife in respect to several of the occurrences in Burke’s and Connaway’s on the evening of the murder; and both were contradicted in regard to other matters in which they agreed, by the unexceptionable witnesses. As to what they said in regard to matters concerning which no other person could speak, they stood alone and unsupported, and of course were not in law entitled to be believed; while they were farther discredited by thewant of all corroboration in regard to circumstances spoken to equally by them, and by the unexceptionable witnesses. How then was it possible that any weight whatever could be attached to such evidence, either by the Court or the Jury, particularly the latter? Two miscreants, whose only title to be believed was their having been engaged in the commission of three murders, are adduced as witnesses to speak to one of them, and wherever their testimony is susceptible of being corroborated, it is flatly and pointedly contradicted by persons who are above all suspicion; and where it stands alone and unsupported, it is in the eye of the law worth nothing. Why, then, were such witnesses adduced at all? They were not necessary, because their testimony was not and could not be believed; and, in point of fact, their depositions served no other purpose, except to enable the Dean of Faculty to plead what would have been otherwise nearly an unpleaded case, and to point out such a formidable array of flagrant contradictions as to shake the minds of the Jury in regard to the effect of the unchallenged and unchallengeable testimony. The case, therefore, was, in point of fact, made out against Burke by other evidence than that of Hare and his wife; and as the same evidence which led to the conviction of Burke, would have also led to the conviction of Hare at least, we have again to submit that that hideous wretch, if not also his wife, ought to have been placed at the bar beside his brother murderer.
We are accused of having blamed the Lord Advocate “for not having possessed the gift of second-sight;” and various other follies which seem to have entered the imagination of our opponent, when heated with his subject, are also laid to our charge. To these, however, we disdainto offer any reply. We can well believe that the case opened upon his Lordship gradually, and that, had he now to retrace his steps, he would, in many respects, act differently from what he has done. With the very best intentions in the world, a Prosecutor may be placed in such circumstances as almost inevitably to lead him to bungle a case: but surely it can be no very heinous offence to point out such errors as a warning for the future, and at the same time to show how even at present they may be in a great measure remedied.—“The very head and front of our offending hath this extent—no more.” It is true, we called for further investigation, and we did our best to indicate what channels ought to be explored. That call has been answered, and inquiries have been set on foot which can scarcely fail to lead to important results. In regard to the nature of these inquiries, or the facts which have been elicited, we are for the present dumb. Our object is to aid, not to thwart, the progress of judicial investigation; and no wish to gratify the public curiosity, or any other motive indeed shall induce us to breathe a whisper calculated to defeat the great and necessary purpose which the Public Prosecutor is now labouring so zealously to accomplish.
In order to give a connected account of the preliminary legal proceedings respecting the contemplated trial of Hare, we shall delay introducing the subject at present. In a future number a detail of the whole proceedings will be given.
We now proceed to detail the particulars which we have carefully collected, with respect to the lives and characters of the several individuals who have been concerned in these nefarious transactions. Of these, the first we shall notice is,
We can pledge ourselves that every circumstance that is here narrated, has been obtained from such sources as to leave no doubt of its authenticity; it will be seen that while this memoir is a great deal fuller than any one that has appeared, it is also dissimilar, in many particulars, to the disjointed fragments that have been from time to time published; how these have been obtained, we cannot say, but we can aver that this account has been received from sources which may be relied on, and much of it from the unhappy man himself, indeed so much as to entitle us to say that it is almost his own account.
William Burke, whose crimes have condemned him to an ignominious death on the scaffold, describes himself, in his judicial declaration, emitted before the Sheriff-substitute of Edinburghshire, in relation to the cause for which he was tried, as being thirty-six years of age. He was born in the parish of Orrey, near Strabane, county of Tyrone, in Ireland, about the year 1792. His parents were poor, but industrious and respectable in their station, which was that of cottiers, occupying, like the most of the peasantry of Ireland, a small piece of ground. The Irish are remarkable for the avidity with which they seek education for their children, under circumstances in which it is not easily attainable. The parents of Burke seem to have been actuated by this laudabledesire, as both William and his brother Constantine, must have received the elements of what, in their condition, may be called a good education, and superior to what usually falls to the lot of children in their rank in Ireland. He was educated in the Roman Catholic faith, which he has ever since nominally adhered to, though with little observance of its doctrines or ceremonies. He is by no means, however, a person of the brutal ignorance or stupid indifference that his callously continuing in a course of unparalleled wickedness, apparently without compunction, would betoken. He has sinned deeply, but it has not been altogether against knowledge, as he could at times put on a semblance of devotion; and during the fits of hypocrisy, or it may be, starts of better feeling, before he became so miserably depraved, his conversation was that of a man by no means ignorant of the truths of Christianity, and such even as to lead some to imagine him seriously concerned about his eternal salvation. During one of these temporary ebullitions about five years ago, he became an attendant on a prayer-meeting held on the Sabbath evenings in the Grassmarket. He was, for some time, remarked as one of its most regular and intelligent members. He never omitted one of its meetings, and expressed much regret when it was discontinued. As a Catholic, he was considered wonderfully free from prejudice, frankly entering into discussions upon the doctrines of his church, or those of other sects, with whose tenets he showed some acquaintance.
He read the Scriptures, particularly the New Testament, and other religious books, and discussed their merits. On a Sabbath, especially though he never attended a place of worship, he was seldom to be seen without a Bible, or some book of devotion in his hands.
At that time no one of his acquaintances would have admitted the idea for a moment that he was capable of committing such infamous crimes, and probably his own mind would have revolted at the contemplation of such enormities; but a continued indulgence in sin produced in him its never failing consequences in hardening and deadening the heart, and fitting it for the perpetration of deeds, which a little before the sinner would have shuddered at.
Burke was remarked to be of a very social and agreeable disposition, with a great turn for raillery and jocularity, and what from his after proceedings could scarcely have been supposed, was distinguished not only as a man of peculiarly quiet and inoffensive manners, but even as evincing a great degree of humanity. Of thissoftness of heart, a singular instance is given by an acquaintance and near neighbour, whose child Burke was remarkably fond of, and used to caress much. The little boy chanced, during the time he lodged in the neighbourhood, to be afflicted with a tumour and gathering on the neck, and his mother took him to a neighbouring dispensary. The medical attendants there considered it advisable to open the gathering, which was done. Upon the mother’s return home with the child, she informed Burke of what had taken place; he appeared very much affected at the recital, and said repeatedly that he could not have witnessed the operation; that the mention of it made his flesh creep, and expressed great surprise that the mother could be so cruel as to permit and witness it.
At an after period, in Peebles, he still made considerable pretensions to religion, as the subjoined note testifies.[3]It is from an intelligent correspondent of the Saturday Evening Post, who mentions, “On my first visit to his house, he had one or two religious books lying near him, which he said he read; being at that time confined by a sore leg.” Somewhat inconsistent with this pretended sanctity, is the other part of the intelligence, that, “on Saturday nights, and the Sabbath days, his house was the scene of riot and drunkenness with the lowest of his countrymen.” In his confessions, published in the Caledonian Mercury, the following testimony, borne by himself, as to his religious feelings, appears:
“He states, that while in Ireland, his mind was underthe influence of religious impressions, and that he was accustomed to read his catechism, and his prayer-book, and to attend to his duties.”
All his pretensions, however, seem to have had but little influence on his life and conversation, as he was all the time living in the flagrant violation of the plainest dictates of religion, a drunkard, blasphemer, and adulterer.
Burke originally worked as a labourer about his native place, assisting his father, and living in his house, until he attained the age of eighteen, when he left him. He then went as servant to a gentleman in the neighbourhood, but after being one year in this capacity, the gentleman died, when he was obliged to seek other employment.
At the age of nineteen, he entered the Donegal militia as a substitute, and served in it as a private soldier for seven years. In this regiment, his brother Constantine held the rank of a non-commissioned officer. During the greater part of his service, he acted in the capacity of an officer’s servant; and from the propriety with which he acquitted himself, gained considerable respect.
It was at this period that he became acquainted with a young woman, of a respectable character, in Ballina, county of Mayo, to whom, after some time, he was regularly married. By her, he had seven children, of whom some were still-born. All of them, excepting one boy, are now dead. His wife still survives, and resides with her father in Ireland.
It is probable, that notwithstanding her good character, the connection was not a very comfortable one forher. He proved unfaithful to her; and this is a vice which must have marred their domestic happiness. Indeed, even at his best time, he appears to have displayed considerable laxity in his intercourse with women.
At the general peace, his regiment was disbanded, along with the rest of the militia forces. He then went with his family to reside in the county Mayo, in the neighbourhood of his father-in-law. He was also in the same class as Burke’s parents, and possessed a small farm, which, in conformity with the custom in Ireland, he was willing to parcel out to his family and connections. The system pursued in that country, of the lessee or tacksman, of what originally is, perhaps, a very small farm, sub-leasing miserable portions of it to an indefinite number of retainers, is now so universally understood, that it is unnecessary here to explain it. In a country swarming with an unemployed population, and when so many additional claimants for the most wretched patch of potatoe ground, had been superadded by the reduction of the army, to the already redundant population, it must have been no slight good fortune in Burke, to find a father-in-law whose farm could still afford sustenance for another family. He does not seem, however, to have been contented with the permission that was allowed him to cultivate, from year to year, for his own behoof, the share that was allotted to his use, and insisted upon having a lease granted him. This the old man peremptorily refused, on the allegation, that his object, after obtaining the lease, was to sell it and desert his family. This difference led to squabbling between them; and after it had continued for some time, Burke finding that there was no probability of gaining his point, abandoned the project, and deserted his wife and family.
After taking leave of his parents, he came to Scotland in 1817 or 1818. He then engaged as a labourer, on the cutting of the Union Canal, soon after its commencement; and subsequently wrote to his wife in Ireland, but she would not receive the letter. After some time it was returned to him, and with this, all intercourse with his family ceased, never to be renewed. He has ever since, however, spoken in respectful terms of his wife, and several times expressed an intention, when he could get matters arranged, of returning to her; but motives are seldom wanting, for a continued indulgence in a favourite sin, and want of clothes, to make a respectable appearance, when he joined her, or some other frivolous pretence, constantly diverted him from his purpose.
While employed upon the Union Canal, he accidentally met the woman M‘Dougal at the village of Middiston in Stirlingshire, where she was residing with her father after the death of her husband. The story told of his falling in with her on the streets of Glasgow is incorrect. An intimacy was speedily formed, and about a year from the commencement of their correspondence, they agreed to live as man and wife, and have done so ever since.
A similarity of disposition seems to have produced a corresponding affection, and the sympathy that attracted them to each other appears still to have outlived all their quarrels and the ill usage he subjected her to. They have expressed great attachment to each other since his conviction. It is understood that an account of his connection with M‘Dougal, while his wife was still alive, having been made to the priest of his religion, he wasfirst admonished, and recommended to return to her, and upon his refusal to do so, was excommunicated. This may perhaps in some measure explain his not attending chapel while his religious fits were upon him.
He, after the completion of the canal, came, along with M‘Dougal, to reside in Edinburgh, and engaged in the petty trafficking in various sorts of merchandise practised by many of his countrymen, travelling about the country in prosecution of his trade. He dealt in different sorts of pedlary wares, old clothes, &c. and collected skins, human hair, &c. in the country.
During the work on the canal, he had been noted among the other labourers as of a particularly handy active turn, and skilful in cobbling, in a rude way, his own and the shoes of his acquaintances. After his subsequent settlement in Edinburgh, he turned his talent to some account; and though he never had learned the craft and mystery of shoemaking, contrived to gain from fifteen to twenty shillings a week by his new acquirement. His practice was to purchase quantities of old shoes, and, after cobbling them in the best fashion he could, to send M‘Dougal to hawk them about among the colliers and poor people of her native district.
At this time he lodged in the house of an Irishman named Michael, or more commonly Mikey Culzean, in the West Port, who kept a lodging-house for beggars and vagrants, similar to the one which Hare’s crime has made so familiar to the public,—in the language of the classes who frequent them,—abeggars’ Hotel.
Many will probably recollect of a fire happening in one of these abodes of wretchedness about six years ago,when incredible numbers emerged from the miserable hovels. In this conflagration Mikey’s dwelling suffered, and Burke and M‘Dougal escaped from the flames nearly naked, and with the loss of all the little property they possessed. Some charitable individuals contributed to procure clothes and necessaries for the sufferers, and they received some relief by the hands of the Rev. Dr. Dickson, one of the ministers of the parish. By this disaster he lost his library; and though it is somewhat surprising to hear at all of a collection of books under such circumstances, it is not the less so when the names of some of the works are mentioned. Among them were, Ambrose’s Looking unto Jesus, Boston’s Human Nature in its Fourfold State, the Pilgrim’s Progress, and Booth’s Reign of Grace. His landlord afterwards took a room in Brown’s Close, Grassmarket, where Burke also again went as a lodger.
It was at this time that he attended the religious meeting we have previously mentioned, which was held in the next apartment to the one in which he lodged. During his attendance he was always perfectly decorous in his deportment, and when engaged in worship had an air of great seriousness and devotion. The conductor and frequenters of it had formerly been subjected to much obloquy, and even violence, from the Catholics who abounded in that neighbourhood; and one evening, after Burke’s attendance on it, his landlord, Mikey Culzean, attempted to create annoyance, by breaking through some sheets of paper which were used to cover up an old window, and crying out in a voice of derision, “that the performance was just going to begin.” Burke expressed himself in indignant terms on the occasion, saying, that it was shameful and unworthy of a man to behave in such a manner.
From the general aversion to the meeting so unequivocally manifested by the Catholics, and Burke being universally known to belong to that persuasion, his frequent attendance on it, and reverential behaviour, excited the more notice. It was usual for him to remain conversing with the individual in whose house they assembled after the others had dispersed; and on these occasions the subjects that had occupied their attention during the service naturally were often talked over. His conversation was generally such as to show that he had been attentive to what was passing, and comprehended the topics brought under his notice. Since his conviction he has adverted frequently to the subject, and deplored that the meetings had been discontinued, as even this imperfect form of public worship had a tendency to keep him from flagrant sin. He has kept in his recollection, and mentioned after condemnation, an expression which was used in one of the exhortations—“that there was no standing still in sin.” His career of guilt, gradually advancing in the commission of crime, until the violation of every human and Divine law led him to most flagrant enormities, has awakened him, by bitter experience, to give his unwilling testimony to the justice of the remark.
During his residence in this neighbourhood, he gave no indications of any thing that would lead people to anticipate his future enormities. He was industrious and serviceable, inoffensive and playful in his manner, and was never observed to drink to excess. He was very fond of music and singing, in which he excelled, and during his melancholy moods was most frequently found chanting some favourite plaintive air. All these qualifications, and his obliging manner, joined to a particularly jocular quizzical character, with an interminablefund of low humour and drollery, rendered him a general favourite. His custom was to take a walk almost daily along the streets with an acquaintance, and freely to interfere in any thing which occurred to indulge his humour. Some of these occurrences are still recollected by his companions in his perambulations, a specimen of which, as every thing concerning him now seems to possess interest, may be given. In passing along the Cowgate on one occasion, his musical ear was annoyed by the continued inharmonious cry of an itinerant vender of salt. Upon her approaching him still nearer, the annoyance reached its climax by her drawling out in discordant sounds her reiteration of “wha’ll buy saut;” though flinching under it, he turned and replied with his usual politeness, “Upon my word I do not know, but if you will ask that woman standing gaping at the door opposite, she will perhaps be able to inform you.”
On another occasion, when attacked by a girl of the town in the High Street, instead of replying directly to her solicitations, to the astonishment of the unfortunate girl, he commenced a torrent of abuse, on account of the awkward style in which she had painted her face, saying that he might have passed over the painting, had it been properly done; but that it was shameful to come to the street, bedaubed in such an unskilful manner. Such was the humour with which he continued his remonstrance, that the rude laugh of the crowd was effectually directed against the amazed girl, and she was glad, by a hasty retreat, to save herself from farther ridicule.
Though his conduct was such as has been described, and even to his paramour, notwithstanding her irregular habits, partook most frequently of his general character.Yet on several occasions, he subjected her to ill usage, or sometimes rather, perhaps, returned her violence, by relentlessly beating her. A fruitful source of quarrels, was his propensity for the company of loose women, which, when exhibited, never failed to rouse her jealousy. The most common subject of it, was a near connection of her own, whose virtue was not of an immaculate description. She was, however, a great favourite of Burke’s and often was introduced into the house. In one of these squabbles, a result was nearly produced, which might have terminated both their lives, in a somewhat less notorious manner, than his is likely to be, though more conducive to the public safety, than his after impunity was, and exhibits the latent savageness of his disposition, notwithstanding the fair exterior. One evening, Burke, M‘Dougal, and the female already mentioned, had gone to bed together. In the night, some jealousy had arisen between them, and a battle was the consequence. So long as the conflict was maintained on nearly equal terms, Burke contented himself with witnessing it; but, when the elder virago was likely to master the young one, he rose out of bed, and interfered in behalf of his favourite. His interposition speedily turned the scale, and he inflicted an unmerciful thrashing upon M‘Dougal. The neighbours who had heard the uproar, but as usual, were backward in interfering, were now alarmed by the cries of an interesting little girl, a daughter of M‘Dougal’s by her former husband, who lived with them, and who entreated them to assist her mother, as William Burke was murdering her. Upon hastily rising and opening their doors, they found M‘Dougal extended on the floor of the passage, apparently lifeless, with her brutal companion standing by, contemplating her. After some time, she exhibited signsof life, when, again seizing her by the hair, and uttering a horrid imprecation, he exclaimed, “There is life in her yet,” and dashed her head violently on the floor. The police watchmen had by this time, been made aware of the noise, and arrived immediately after this fresh inhumanity. Upon asking Burke, if the woman was his wife, he again assumed his usual mild manner, and in an insinuating tone said, “Yes, gentlemen, she is my wife.”
After living for a year in Brown’s Close, he removed, still as Culzean’s lodger, to Swan’s Close on the opposite side of the Grassmarket, where he resided for some time still cobbling and pursuing the same course of conduct. About this time, his acquaintance with the individual who has furnished us with some of the above particulars, suffered an interruption. Burke, although so liberal in his intercourse with Protestants, had still enough of Catholic feeling, as to take exceptions to his friend’s attending Orange lodges, and a coolness in consequence ensued.
After leaving Swan’s Close, he went to Peebles, where he settled for some years. He was employed there as a labourer, and went daily to road-making in the neighbourhood of Innerleithen.
Here, although he still maintained some pretensions to religion, we can trace a gradual deterioration in his character. From the note formerly given, it will be seen that he was now distinguished for keeping suspicious hours, and that his house was the resort of profligate characters, and noted as the scene of drunkenness and rioting, especially on Saturday nights and Sundays.
From thence he went to Pennicuik, where his conduct and occupation were much the same, working generally as a labourer, and occasionally following his self-taught occupation of mending shoes.
After the harvest of 1827, he, still accompanied by M‘Dougal, came again to reside in Edinburgh, and it was at this time that he first became acquainted with the monster Hare, who was his tempter to these unhallowed deeds, and his teacher, as well as seducer. He came to live in Hare’s house in Tanner’s Close, West Port, which was kept as a lodging-house by his wife, under the name of her former husband Log. In this abode of profligacy and vice—the resort of vagabonds of every description, and the theatre of continued brawling and drunkenness, it is not surprising that every trace of decent feeling that might still have lingered about him should speedily be dispelled, and his mind be properly tutored and prepared for the commencement of the murderous trade in which he so ruthlessly continued for nearly twelve months.
An intimacy was speedily contracted between Hare and him, and to show the vile footing on which the two families lived, we may here relate an anecdote which was communicated by a respectable neighbour of theirs, who called on Burke with the intention of giving him a job as a cobbler. He found Hare most brutally beating the woman M‘Dougal, who was lying on the floor, and Burke unconcernedly sitting at the window. He asked Burke why he suffered another man to beat his wife? to which he replied, “She well deserved all she was getting.”
Burke still, however, maintained a more respectable character than any of his partners; Hare was a rudeand ferocious ruffian; his wife was a meet companion for him; and M‘Dougal was very little behind them in drunkenness and profanity. He continued, (unlike the other three) to work a little at his business, in the inner small apartment. The person who now shows Hare’s house is, along with his other avocations, a dealer in old shoes, and used to employ him to mend them up for sale. The stock of boots and shoes which was found in Burke’s house upon their arrest, and which excited so much speculation, belonged to him.
Previously to his becoming an inmate in Hare’s dwelling, he had been in the habit of engaging in harvest work, first at Mr. Howden’s, an extensive farmer in East Lothian, and subsequently with Mr. Edington, farmer at Carlinden, near Carnwath, where Burke and Hare, with their two women, wrought last harvest.
Of Burke, it had been observed, that he seemed to be a polite, obliging, and industrious person. In rainy weather, while the reapers could not work in the fields, it was usual for him to find out some useful service, which he performed at the farm-steading; so that he was seldom, if ever, idle. Whenever it happened that a servant had any heavy article to lift, he, of all the harvest people assembled in the kitchen, was the foremost to offer his assistance. On a young woman’s mentioning that she had never seen Edinburgh, the same courteous Burke invited her to town, saying, that he would give her a lodging in his own house, and that he would show her the city; but, fortunately, she never had an opportunity of availing herself of his kindness. After a stay of a few days at Carlinden, a letter arrived, which was said to announce the illness of a child of Hare’s, inEdinburgh; the parents began to arrange for their returning homeward, when M‘Dougal remarked, that “if Hare goes, William Burke will go too, for they are like brothers, and cannot be separated.” Accordingly, all the four went off together.
While he resided in the West Port, he was remarked to be a very early riser, frequently appearing on the streets in his working dress, on a summer morning by three or four o’clock; some who were also on foot at these early hours, used to observe him, and taunt the shoemakers of the West Port with the observation that the Irish lad was the most industrious man among them. It is probable that this activity was for a very different purpose to what was suspected.
The first dealing in subjects commenced in a manner which few would be inclined to visit with very great reprehension, and had the pair throughout confined themselves to similar exploits, they would probably have been regarded as adroit and ingenious knaves, perhaps more beneficially employed in furnishing the necessary supply of subjects in a manner which harmed no one, than from their bad habits they were likely otherwise to be.
In December 1827, the natural death of a lodger happened in Hare’s house,—not of a woman, as has been erroneously stated, but of a very tall and stout man, a pensioner who led a dissipated good-for-nothing life. His debauched habits sufficiently account for his death, while yet in the vigour of life, without any suspicion of unfair agency being aroused.
After his decease, the ordinary observances were gonethrough, and all matters fitly prepared for the funeral; a coffin was procured, and the funeral guests invited, and every thing managed in a decorous manner; the undertaker came, and while employed in fastening down the lid, was invited into the other room to recruit his strength by a dram, the coffin was then uncovered, and the corpse quickly dislodged and made to change situations with a sack of waste bark which had been previously procured from a neighbouring tannery. After this, the fastening proceeded. The coffin was borne out at the appointed time, before the assembled guests, and with all due solemnity deposited in the Grey Friars churchyard. The rogues, after the ceremony, proceeded to find out a purchaser for the body, and so unacquainted were they with the manner of proceeding, that they did not at first apply to the proper quarter. Throughout the day, however, they found this out, and at dusk the subject was conveyed away in the sack which had held the bark, and was carried on Burke’s back. Their first resting place was at Bristo Port, where it was set down for a little, when Hare took his share of the burden. They then took the round-about road of College Street to Surgeons’ Square. They soon afterwards, however, found out the nearest way.
After all that has been said, subjects must be procured for scientific purposes; the necessity of a young man under a course of education for surgical practice qualifying himself for his future profession by anatomical dissections, renders them indispensable, while the very ordinances and regulations of the College of Surgeons, makes dissection imperative before he can obtain a diploma or license to follow his profession. Were all subjects procured in this harmless way, where neither the feelings ofprivate friends were outraged, nor public decency violated, small fault would be found, though the nature of the traffic would continue still sufficiently revolting to deter all but ruthless blackguards from embarking in it.
But after once gaining what to them was a large sum of money, Burke’s and Hare’s cupidity could not be satisfied with this comparatively innocent method of supplying their wants. They were apparently too indolent or inexpert, or lacked courage too much, to adopt the ordinary but hazardous mode of raising the dead from church-yards. Still, with this easy, and apparently unlimited means of acquiring money opening to them, they could not betake themselves again to the pursuits of honest industry; and, stimulated by the greatness of the reward, and the prospect of their sensual indulgences being so readily gratified, they formed the desperate resolution of committing murder, and of continuing to imbrue their hands in their fellow-mortals’ blood, as their ordinary and sole means of procuring a livelihood.
Before commencing the revolting narrative of their appalling crimes, we may mention, that previous to the period in which they engaged in them, their neighbours used to observe them only to notice the squalor and wretchedness of their appearance; but all at once, there was a sudden change, and Burke and M‘Dougal especially assumed a different aspect. They appeared well dressed, and spent money freely. Whisky, which however much it may be relished, can only be procured at intervals by men in his situation, seemed to be constantly at their command; and even credit at a neighbouring spirit-dealer and grocer’s, was obtained, to an extent that almostno individual in his situation would have ventured to hope for or request. At this time, Burke mentioned to the wife of an old acquaintance, whom he met accidentally, that he had spent fourteen pounds within the last fortnight; and if he had known where her husband lived, would have been glad to come and spend three or four pounds in company with him. Of course, all this apparent affluence was not exhibited, without exciting the speculation of those who observed it; and they were troublesome in their inquiries into the secret, that enabled them to live well, and drink continually, without working. Various were the excuses that were made; for they never appear to have been at a loss for an answer. On one occasion, when the question was put to Burke, and suspicions intimated, that he followed the trade of a resurrection man, he neither would give a denial nor an affirmative to the proposition, but contented himself with remarking, that the querist was as bad as the rest. On another, he would ask Mrs. —— “Can you keep a secret,” and when the curious inquirer, expecting to be entrusted with the whole mystery, eagerly answered, “Yes,” he would reply, with an air of secrecy, that he smuggled a little small-still whisky.
Nelly M‘Dougal had a different way of accounting for it. She averred that she had a property in Stirlingshire, which had been left to her by her former husband, and which produced twenty pounds a year; and that it was from the rent of it the money came. It was afterwards observed to her by some of the neighbours, that this story would scarcely account for their abundant supply of money, as the rents of such properties, as she described, were usually drawn at definite terms, and they seemed to get money much more frequently. She then alleged that themoney was the proceeds of a legacy that had been lately left her, and that she drew part of it when she pleased. To humour this story, she used to announce to her acquaintances, from time to time, that their money was expended, and that she had written off for a fresh supply. In a few days, accordingly, she intimated that the money had arrived, and new vigour was imparted to their drunken disorderly courses.
It must be perfectly apparent what the dispatching of the letter meant, and if these proceedings does not amount to a guilty knowledge and accession to the murders, so far as knowledge of, and sharing in the proceeds goes, we do not comprehend what can constitute participation.
At another time she intimated that William [Burke] was the favourite of a lady in the New Town, who never allowed him to want money, and sometimes she had known him receive twenty pounds at a time from her.
Burke states, that Hare and he had often talked over the subject of murder, and had consulted upon the best mode of effecting it. It may well be credited, as their first essay seems to have been conducted with as much coolness and deliberation, as much cautious management in effecting it, and as little compunction in the execution, as if they already had been adepts in the art. It was perpetrated on an elderly woman, belonging to the village of Gilmerton, whom Hare had observed a little intoxicated on the streets. She was a pensioner to a gentleman in the New Town, from whom she received 1s. 6d. a week. Hare accosted her, and easily succeeded in enticing her into his house, here they gave her spirits to drink, and afterwards Mrs. Hare, purchased, for one shilling and sixpence, a smallcann ofkitchen-feewhich she had received at the house of the gentleman already mentioned. The price of it was also laid out in liquor, and the poor woman speedily got altogether intoxicated, and commenced singing in the exuberance of her mirth. She told them that she had a very fine young daughter at home, and, with maternal feeling, was loud in her praises. Hare represented himself as an unmarried man, and said, that upon her representation, he would marry her daughter: The poor woman readily consented to the match, when the heartless fiend, expressed great kindness for her, and alleged that his bride and he could not live without her, and that when the daughter came home, she must come to reside with them. She willingly consented to this arrangement, and expressed herself quite overjoyed at meeting with such a good provision for herself and daughter, and promised to return and get the marriage consummated. They took care to ply her well with liquor, in order that being made completely drunk, she might remain after the other lodgers had departed in the morning. Next day, the spirits had the effect, and she was sick and vomited. The monsters had not abandoned their purpose, however, and after stupifying her with more whisky, when all the others had left the house, they put her to death in the way they pursued ever afterwards, by covering and pressing upon the nose and mouth with their hands. The body was afterwards conveyed to Surgeons’ Square, and the money readily obtained for it. This happened in December 1827.
In the whole story, we see none of the hesitations and misgivings of men engaged in a first attempt, at such a horrible crime; every thing appears rather like the acts of those, whom long familiarity with a course of iniquity had rendered completely callous; and yetthere does not seem any sufficient ground for supposing that either of them had been engaged in such crimes before. Burke asserts strenuously, that he never was concerned in like transactions, and expresses his belief that Hare also was guiltless up to this time, so far as he knows, of the blood of his fellow-creatures; and, after what has happened, he assuredly will not be much inclined to favour Hare. This opinion is also corroborated, when we recollect that they proceeded like novices in the disposal of the pensioner who died naturally.
The next unfortunate victim to be inserted in the horrid catalogue was an Englishman, a travelling pedlar orpackman, who had lodged also in Hare’s house. The process which they had now ascertained to be most easy and efficacious was also gone through with him. He was enticed to drink to intoxication at night; and when the house was cleared, he was suffocated in the usual manner.
Success in these instances made them more eager, and Burke describes himself at this time as thirsting continually after his prey.
A connected or chronological account of their murders cannot now be obtained; the copartnery kept no books to which reference can be made, and were not curious in inquiring into their victims’ names or circumstances; but such distinctive marks of every one of them has been furnished, as to enable us to lay before our readers some notice of all the individuals murdered, though it may not perhaps be exactly in the order in which they occurred; even in this particular, we believe, it will be found nearly correct. They in all amounted to sixteen; fewer than what some have asserted, but far above what any onecould have conceived of before this atrocious system was unveiled. One of this number was effected by Hare at the time that Burke was absent in the country; how it was accomplished, remains only known to that demon himself, as it was only by accident that Burke discovered anything of it. It has been often said, that there is honour among thieves: this does not, however, seem to hold good regarding murderers, as Hare appropriated to himself the price of this subject; and upon being challenged by Burke for his breach of contract, audaciously asserted that nothing of the kind had taken place. It was only after his comrade applied at Surgeons’ Square that the truth transpired. This is understood to have been the minister’s servant, to which public attention has been attracted.
Another, and probably the third one sacrificed, was a dissipated character, who used to infest the Grassmarket and neighbourhood, called Mary Haldane; she was enticed into the house, and fell an easy prey; her previous habits caused her readily to imbibe a sufficient quantity of ardent spirits, and little difficulty was found in despatching her.
It is singular, that among their victims should be ranked a mother and her daughter, and at different times too, but so it is that the child of this Mary Haldane was kidnapped into the house where her mother had been formerly murdered—she was unconscious of her mother’s fate, and was deprived of life in the same way. She was a woman of the town, and led a very dissolute life; one of her sisters was transported to Botany Bay not long before the murder of the mother and sister.
Among the rest, was an old man, who was usuallyknown by the name of Joe. He had been a miller, but old age and infirmities had incapacitated him from working at his trade. In an evil hour he entered Hare’s lodging-house, and never departed from it; he was also plied with liquor, and when in a drunken slumber, his breath was stopped.
Among the other melancholy stories, there is one of a peculiarly touching description, which Burke, remorseless as he has been, often talks of, and deplores as the one that hangs heaviest upon his conscience. It is that of the poor Irishwoman, and her deaf and dumb grandson, which has been already noticed, though incorrectly, in the newspapers. The poor woman, with her helpless charge, had been met by Hare on the street, and though her circumstances as a destitute country woman, and the protectress of the helpless boy, might have melted the hardest heart, he does not seem to have felt any compunction in marking her and her child out for slaughter. She was invited to the house, and to her seeming, hospitably entertained. She seemed perfectly well pleased, and even expressed to them the satisfaction she felt at her good fortune in meeting with a kind countryman, who behaved so generously to her, and in whose house she could repose safe from the dangers of this wicked town. But their feelings could not be touched by such appeals, and the unfortunate woman was put to death at night, and allowed to remain in bed as if sick or asleep. The youth did not comprehend what had taken place, but seemed to imagine that his grandmother was unwell. Next morning he was, almost charitably, dispatched also. Burke took him upon his knee, and broke his back. He describes this murder as the one that lies most heavily upon his heart; and says that he is constantly haunted by the recollection of the piteous manner in which the boylooked in his face. The lad was laid in the bed alongside of his grandmother; and when the time arrived for conveying them to the dissecting-rooms, the bodies were tumbled into an old herring barrel.
A curious incident happened in connection with this murder which had well nigh put a stop to their career, and, in looking back upon the circumstances now, it appears astonishing that it should not have led to a complete discovery of their infamous transactions. The herring barrel containing the two bodies was placed on a cart. An old horse which Hare possessed, and which he used in his traffic in fish and crockery-ware was yoked to it, and the two set out at darkening to Surgeons’ Square with their cargo. They proceeded along the West Port, without any thing remarkable happening, but when they reached the market-place at the entrance to the Grassmarket, the horse stopped, and, notwithstanding all their efforts, would not proceed a step farther. It may be easily conceived that they were in a sad quandary, with nothing before them but instant exposure. As Burke has since said, they “thought the poor old horse had risen up in judgment against them.” Unfortunately for the public, though luckily for them, as it gave them a respite for some time longer, the assembled crowd were so much engaged in attending to the horse, that none of them thought of inquiring into the contents of the cart; and when it was ascertained that nothing could induce the horse to move forward, two porters were allowed to bear off his burden without attracting particular observation, and, like M‘Culloch, they bore their load to the dissecting-rooms without being troubled with any scruple upon the subject, or once venturing to ask either themselves or their employers what it was composed of. The miserable horse, which it is probableage and hard usage, and insufficient diet, had arrested in its progress, rather than any suspicions or unwillingness to comply with the assigned task, was, in revenge for the fright it had given its masters, and the trouble it had put them to, led to a neighbouring tannery and shot.
The subjects, however, reached their destination, and, notwithstanding this untoward event, and the imminent risk the guilty pair had incurred, the next opportunity found them as eager for slaughter as if no cause of terror or subject for reflection had occurred: indeed, by this time probably any feeling of compunction, which appears—if such ever existed—to have been of a very evanescent description, had disappeared. They had tasted the sweets of an abundant supply of money, and ample means of gratifying their sensual appetites, without the irksome operation of working for the necessary means; and it was not likely that any temporary alarm would divert them from practices which supplied all their wants. With their hearts seared, if such an operation ever was requisite, by the habitude which former crimes had given them, and assured by the impunity which had hitherto attended their speculations, it was unlikely that any scruples should assail, or any dread dismay them. Reflection was quite out of the question. Hare seems to have been both mentally, from original organization, and physically from his incessant use of ardent spirits, incapable of it; and Burke, though possessing a more active and acute mind, was yet endowed with an unstable rambling disposition, which incapacitated him from any continuous mental exertion, and besides, at this time he was in the constant habit of “steeping his senses in forgetfulness,” and at the sametime banishing reflection and the warnings of conscience, by the indulgence of his inordinate appetite for stimulants.
Whatever might be their feelings, or whether they felt at all or not, the next opportunity found them actively engaged in what had now assumed the character of a regular trade. The narration must be proceeded in, and the disgusting catalogue gone through, however revolting to humanity, and we hasten to lay before our readers the remainder of the intelligence we have obtained respecting these murders.
Another one was effected upon the body of a poor old woman who had unhappily drank too freely, and not being in a condition to behave discreetly, had subjected herself to the surveillance of the police, who, as a last resource, were in the act of conveying her to the office; Burke happened to be in the way, and apparently commiserating the situation of the unfortunate woman, proffered his good offices in taking charge of her and furnishing her with a night’s lodgings. The officers were doubtless glad to get their troublesome charge so easily off their hands, and readily acceded to his request; she was conducted to the ordinary slaughter-house, Hare’s, and speedily put out of a condition to give any further annoyance to the police.
Another victim was a cinder gatherer, whose occupation caused her to wander about the streets at all hours, and while Burke prowled abroad at the early hour we have mentioned, many opportunities must have occurred to form an acquaintance with her, and we may suppose that little inducement would be requisite to cause her to leaveher wretched employment for a season, and partake of his good cheer: she was destined never to return to it.
If there be any gradation in their wickedness it appears more incredible and unnatural that a near relation of the one, and connection of the other, should have been selected as a sacrifice; yet it is well ascertained and admitted by Burke, that a young woman, a cousin of M‘Dougal’s was also put to death, after having been intoxicated. Some relations, we believe her mother and sister, after the nefarious system was developed, came to Edinburgh in fearful apprehension, endeavouring to ascertain the fate of her whom they had long anxiously mourned over, and applied at the house of Constantine Burke, when her relative Helen M‘Dougal was present. She, in answer to their agonised inquiries, replied, that they need not trouble themselves about her, as she was murdered and sold long before.
One of the remaining murders was perpetrated on the body of a woman who came from the country, and took up her lodgings also in Hare’s.
We have already given, at page 125–137, a description of the murders of Mary Paterson and James Wilson, or Daft Jamie, and it will be unnecessary here to repeat what has already been inserted. Burke has admitted, that he was intoxicated when he suffocated Paterson, and that it was done in the presence of Hare, while she was in a slumber, which the excessive quantity of spirits he induced her to swallow had produced. All legal proceedings regarding her may be considered to be at an end. Should it be resolved upon, however, to indict and try Hare for the murder of Daft Jamie, a farther development of some of thecircumstances connected with him may be anticipated. As it stands at present, we may assert that no additions can be made to the narrative formerly given. It is singular that he was the only individual murdered who had sense enough to refuse the liquor that was pressed upon him, and apparently the only one that they found any difficulty in dispatching. Burke has latterly, in allusion to this, remarked, “that they found more trouble with a sober fool than a drunk one.”
During the progress of this wholesale butchery, Burke and M‘Dougal removed from Hare’s, or as it was more commonly called Mrs. Log’s house, to that of a relation or connection of theirs, named Broggan, the father of the witness of that name. We cannot determine whether there had really occurred such a quarrel between Hare and them as to induce them to separate in disgust, as has been asserted, or whether it was imagined that another establishment would furnish additional opportunities for accomplishing their designs; but if a disagreement actually did take place, it had been of short continuance, and their operations appear to have suffered no interruption in consequence. It has been already stated, that Broggan’s house presented admirable capabilities for carrying on the work, provided the inmates could be relied upon, but as it only consisted of one small apartment, this was indispensable. There was also the dark passage, furnishing a place of retreat for the women, when that should be considered convenient.
Previously to occupying their new lodgings, however, they seem to have spent a short time in Constantine Burke’s house in the Canongate, as they were residing there when Paterson and Brown were enticed into it in April. Soonafter Whitsunday they removed to Broggan’s house, and not long after commenced using it for the purpose that Hare’s had been formerly applied to. A decent woman, the widow of a porter, named Ostler, who lived in the Grassmarket, and who had died shortly before, was the first victim in it. She gained her living in an industrious laborious way, mainly by washing and dressing, and eked it out by any sort of work she might be employed in, and during harvest engaged in country work. She had been accustomed to frequent Broggan’s house in her vocation of a washer-woman, and was well known to the neighbours from her long residence about the neighbourhood, and from her often coming to Mrs. Law’s, where she got her clothes mangled. One day she was observed to enter Broggan’s house, and was noticed afterwards singing “Sweet Home” in company with Burke. This was the last time that she was seen. After having been persuaded to drink, she was dealt with in the usual manner.
Those who lived in the neighbourhood cannot divest themselves of the idea that Broggan, or at least his wife, was cognizant of this affair. Their characters were not good, he being a rude, brutal and drunken personage, who made the place the scene of a continued series of brawls; his wife also was not held in good estimation. The time of the murder, they argue is pretty well ascertained by the fact of Mrs. Ostler’s having been known to enter the house, and never seen to depart, and her disappearance from her usual places of resort, as well as Mrs. Law’s mangle, a place which her occupation required her often to visit; and it is alleged, that at that period, though Broggan might be out of the house, his wife could not, as she had lain in about the time. It is but justice, however, towards the Broggans to state, that Burke has never implicated them in any knowledge ofhis nefarious proceedings, and in this particular case, he says, that the accouchment had taken place some time before the murder, and that Mrs. Broggan, as well as her husband, was absent from the house at the time.
Some time after Burke’s coming as a lodger to this house, he became the sole occupier. Broggan had been unable to pay his rent at Martinmas, and Burke and Hare, who were cautioners for it, were under the necessity of satisfying the landlord. Broggan immediately after this decamped with his family, though it could not be to evade the landlord’s claim, or from inability to meet it, as we have seen that the rent was already paid by his sureties. He left Burke in undisturbed possession of the house, and furniture.
After his removal, it might have been supposed that no inmate would have been admitted whose presence could possibly prevent the accomplishment of their designs; yet with strange inconsistency they shortly after invited Gray and his wife to lodge with them. It could scarcely have been with the hope of mastering them, as Gray appears too stout a man to have been attempted single-handed, even by both of the villains, and the notion of his being an accomplice is equally out of the question. It is true that when a “a shot,” as their abominable cant termed it, was obtained, they were sent out of the way, but this must have been inconvenient, and after being felt so, it is probable that they would not have occupied their lodgings long. The girl that Hare murdered, when Burke was absent in the country, completes the number of sixteen; and this, according to Burke’s confession, makes up the whole number. The amount is sufficiently horrifying, and the details abundantly fearful.
The account of the trial, furnishes ample details of the murder of Margery Campbell, or Docherty. It was the last committed, and afforded the means of detecting and putting an end to their wicked career. It is fearful to contemplate to what lengths it might otherwise have gone, or how long it might have continued.
To the notices which have been given, we may subjoin a list of the whole; and although, as we have already premised, we cannot vouch for the order in which they happened being strictly observed, we believe that it will be found otherwise perfectly accurate.
The first subject sold was,
The murders were,
Of these, nine were murdered in Hare’s house, and two in the cellar adjoining to it, which was used by him as a stable. Four or five of them were effected in what was first Broggan’s, and afterwards Burke’s house, and one in Constantine Burke’s, in Gibb’s Close.
We have frequently had occasion to advert to the insinuating manners, and mild deportment of Burke; and the same character attended him in his last place of residence in the West Port: Though seldom occupied at work, and almost continually drinking, he was still considered a quiet inoffensive man. The frequent squabbles that took place between M‘Dougal and he, and the beastly orgies of Hare and his wife, did not change the opinion of their neighbours. His character rather stood out favourably, when contrasted with his associates; and a scuffle in the family of Irish people of his rank, is not such an uncommon occurrence, as to excite much attention. Indeed, so little was this regarded, that the cries of murder, on the night in which Campbell was suffocated, were passed over with this single remark by one of their near neighbours, that “Nelly would surely be murdered to-night, as she was making such a noise;” but without any idea that there was any thing more serious than usual going on.
On ordinary occasions, if he chanced to meet any person in the passage when intoxicated, he would pass on with the observation of, “I am fou to-night; but I will not disturb you.”
His fondness for music has been formerly noticed, and this distinguished him to the last. It was his practice to engage some wandering minstrel—a young Savoyard, or Italian boy who plays about the streets on a hurdy-gurdymost frequently, and with his assistance to get up in his house a concert and dance among the children that could be collected about the neighbourhood; and such was his popularity, that his assemblies were generally well attended. He appears to have displayed considerable affection towards children, and to have secured their good will by joining them in such harmless sports as these dancing parties. Those who were too young to participate in the amusements were propitiated by gifts of sweetmeats, &c.
Many anxious mothers have found out since the trial, that their children were objects of regard to the murderer Burke; and in the plenitude of their parental affection, have congratulated themselves upon their escape from his clutches. Nothing could now convince them that a plot was not laid to kidnap their beloved offspring, and that if he had not been detected, they would ere this time have furnished subjects for dissection. Burke, however, alleges that he never meddled with children, and never intended to do so. There is little room to doubt, however, that had the supply of full-grown and higher priced victims failed, he would not have scrupled much to betake himself to younger ones; we cannot allow any tenderness of feeling to one who could go on butchering so unconcernedly and for such a length of time. He states, indeed, that he would have abandoned it long before, had it not been for the enticements of the monster Hare, who, whenever he proposed stopping short, incited him on by threats and fresh temptations; but although Hare may have been, and, we believe, was the greater delinquent of the two, if any distinction can be made, still Burke must be allowed to have possessed free-agency enough to have withdrawn himself, or even to have arrested the progress of his partner when he pleased, and we fear that this excuse will scarcely serve to palliate his conduct. He was all the time a sharer in the unhallowedgains, and an active co-operator, and seems to have prowled about as ruthlessly in search of miserable wretches to practise upon, as if no feeling of remorse ever entered his mind.
He has even stated, that Hare and he intended taking a journey in the way of their business next spring, they were to proceed westward from Edinburgh, and after visiting the intermediate places, travel on to Glasgow, where they expected to find a rich harvest. They were to proceed thence to Belfast, by way of Greenock, which was also to be attempted on the route, and after doing what they could in the north of Ireland, were to journey on to Dublin. They had little fear about making a successful speculation; and in all probability, with such a fine field before them, they would not have been disappointed.
It is evident from all this that a year’s impunity had produced the effect of making them consider themselves as engaged in a species of profession which had indeed, like illicit distillation, or any contraband traffic, to be concealed from the authorities, but which, except for this annoying accompaniment, was pursued with nearly as little compunction as any other profession would have been; and after some practice, they must have found it a lucrative one. The commencement was made in December 1827, about Christmas it is stated, and the woman Docherty was murdered on the 31st October 1828. Their bargain was to receive eight pounds for each subject during the summer season, and ten pounds in the winter. While novices in the profession, in the course of ten months they had massacred sixteen individuals, which must have produced about one hundred and fifty pounds, or seventy-five pounds to each, without counting the price of the first subject; no small sum for persons in their condition.Their evil-got gains seem, however, to have departed as readily as they came, and all that either of them possessed when arrested, was about two pounds received on the same day as part of the price of the corpse of Campbell. Burke’s money was upon his person, and Hare’s was hid under the door of his inner closet, where it was got and delivered to him in the jail.
Upon the evening of the day on which the body of Docherty was detected lying among the straw, and before the neighbours were apprised of it, Hare was discovered lurking in the stair leading to Burke’s room, about the time when the body was to be conveyed away, and upon being questioned as to who he was, and what induced him to lounge about in that manner, he replied that he was waiting for William Burke. By this time he was recognised, and as he was an universal object of dislike, was desired to go away. Mrs. Connoway adding, “that he would frighten thelassesfrom coming to Mrs. Law’s mangle.” Some time after he was still found loitering along the passage, and again interrogated about his remaining so long. This time he took an effectual mode of relieving himself from his troublesome inquirers by commencing to retch and vomit. Mrs. Law shut her door violently in his face, exclaiming, “what an ill-bred fellow,” and Mrs. Connoway also followed her example. This was apparently the signal they waited for, and immediately afterwards M‘Culloch the porter carried out the tea-chest containing the body.
When the alarm was given by Gray and his wife that a dead body had been seen in the house, and that it was now removed, a great sensation was naturally created, and people flocked about the place; none of the suspected individuals, however, could be found, and the police officers, who bythis time had been informed of it, and had visited the house, left the place in search of them, and the tumult in some degree subsided. After a short while, Burke and M‘Dougal were heard coming down the stair and along the passage. By this time they must have been aware of the discovery, as M‘Dougal had been informed by the Grays of their suspicions, and had made an unsuccessful attempt to tamper with them; yet there was no flurry nor precipitation perceptible in their manner, and, instead of proceeding directly into their apartment, M‘Dougal observed, “I have a candle but no light,” and entered Connoway’s house to procure one, as if there was nothing wrong. Burke leaned unconcernedly against the door-post, without speaking until Connoway said, “We have been speaking about you William;” he then replied, indifferently, “That he hoped they had not been speaking ill of him;” and upon Connoway’s answering that “It was not good they had to speak about him,” he inquired, “What ill they had to say?” After being informed that it was about a body that had been found, he affected to make light of the affair, under the pretence that it was one of their old stories about lifting the dead. He was then informed that it was not such a surmise now, but that he was suspected of murdering the little old woman with whom they all were so happy the night before, and that the police were after him. He replied with more asperity, “That he defied all the country to prove any thing against him; that he had not been long about these doors, and this was the second time such a story had been raised upon him.” Mrs. Connoway remarked, that she had heard of his being a resurrection man, but never had known of any murder being laid to his charge.
He entered into an explanation of his meaning, whichas much as any thing else tends to show the cool designing nature of the man. “Do you recollect the old woman that came from the country?” he said, describing an elderly woman who had been introduced as a country friend of M‘Dougal, and had lived with them for three or four days some time before. Mrs. Connoway answered, “That she did.” “Then do you recollect,” he rejoined, “her coming in to you and shaking hands, and bidding you farewell?” Mrs. Connoway replied, “That she remembered it perfectly well.” “I made her come in and do so on purpose,” he added, “as Broggan told me that you said I had murdered her.” Whether Broggan had actually said so, or whether Burke had devised this blind to screen him when another occasion required it, we cannot say, but Mrs. Connoway had never heard of the circumstance before. The officers immediately after this colloquy entered, and seized the culprits. They were conveyed to the police office, and after examination by the sheriff, were transferred to the Calton Hill Jail, and placed among the untried prisoners. Burke’s conduct before trial was decorous, and corresponded with what has been previously said of him. His behaviour during the trial, and immediately after it, has also been described, and little remains to be added, save some short account of his demeanour since conviction.