_Tales of the Resurrectionists--The Professional Body-Snatchers--A
Dundee Resurrectionist Ballad--A Strange Experiment in Glasgow._
The two preceding chapters have been devoted to stories circulated about
doctors and medical students who engaged in resurrectionist exploits, but
there are many other tales, quite as interesting, told of a very different
class of men. Those who entered into this horrible work for the purpose of
carrying out their anatomical investigations, can be excused in part; but
the men of whom we now speak entered into it with motives not dictated by,
and therefore had not the excuse of, a desire for scientific progress, but
rather were founded on mercenary greed. Not a few of them were sextons;
many of them were drawn from the scum of the population, who, rather than
earn an honest livelihood, were ready to engage in any desperate
enterprise which would give them a large sum of money. The work of these
men, if all stories are true, at times touched the feelings of the
anatomists themselves. It is stated that a Professor of the University of
Glasgow, going into the dissecting room one morning to view a subject
which had been laid out, was horrified to find it was the body of his son,
who had been recently interred. A somewhat similar tale is recorded of a
student at the University of Edinburgh. He saw on the dissecting table
what he believed to be the body of his mother. Half distracted he posted
home to Dumfries, and, in company with his father, made an investigation
of the grave where his mother had been buried. It was then found he had
been mistaken, for they found the body lying silently in its last
resting-place.
In connection with the Medical School of Edinburgh were several worthies
who have been made immortal by the graphic pen of Leighton. Here is how
the author of the _Court of Cacus_ photographs them:--"There was one
called Merrylees, or more often Merry-Andrew, a great favourite with the
students. Of gigantic height, he was thin and gaunt, even to
ridiculousness, with a long pale face, and the jaws of an ogre. His shabby
clothes, no doubt made for some tall person of proportionate girth, hung
upon his sharp joints, more as if they had been placed there to dry than
to clothe and keep warm." The manners of this man were quite of a piece
with his outward appearance. His gait was springy, and his face underwent
contortions of the least pleasant kind. The people knew his peculiar ways,
and many of them seized every opportunity of tormenting him, generally
much to their own intense satisfaction and amusement. Another attendant,
and one of Merry-Andrew's colleagues, was a worthy whose proper name was
practically unknown, but who went by the _sobriquet_ of "Spune." With an
exterior suggestive of a broken-down parson, his mental qualities were of
the feeblest order, or, being vigorous, they found no fitting expression.
The "Spune" always kept his own counsel, performing his duties in such a
staid and dignified manner that Leighton feels compelled to say "that you
would have said he bore all the honours of the science to the advancement
of which he contributed so much." These two men were slightly touched by
scientific aspirations, though it must be admitted that these were not by
any means the motives that constrained them to follow their unholy
employment. The pecuniary results weighed much more than any scientific
considerations with the "Moudewart," properly called Mowatt, who was
another of the group. He had been a plasterer, but he found that to pursue
his trade he had to work hard for little, and he took to the business of a
resurrectionist simply because he could make more money a great deal
easier--a course of conduct perhaps legitimate enough in itself, but one
which it would be difficult to justify when the nature of the change is
taken into account. However, these three men were the great supports of
the anatomical investigators in Surgeon's Square, Edinburgh. They were
assisted by others of less note, important enough in their own way, but
undeserving the same particular notice.
These men are believed to have made a great number of purchases in the
lower parts of Edinburgh, for not a few drunken, shiftless creatures were
willing to sell the bodies of their deceased relatives for a small sum;
often an arrangement had been come to before the final separation of soul
and body. Indeed, it is to be feared that this was by no means uncommon in
all the centres of population. A grimly amusing story is told by Leighton,
illustrative of this, and at the same time of the trickishness and love of
mischief supposed to be characteristic of the medical student. This is how
he tells it:--"One night a student who saw him [Merrylees] standing at a
close-end, and suspected that his friend was watching his prey, whispered
in his ear, 'She's dead,' and, aided by the darkness, escaped. In a moment
after, 'Merry Andrew' shot down the wynd, and, opening the door, pushed
his lugubrious face into a house. 'It's a' owre I hear,' said he, in a
loud whisper. 'And when will we come for the body?' 'Whist, ye mongrel,'
replied the old harridan, who acted as nurse; 'she's as lively as a
cricket.'" The unfortunate invalid was terrified, but was unable to do
anything to help herself. Merry Andrew slipped out, and went in search of
the student who had played such a scurvy trick upon him, but was, of
course, unsuccessful. To resume Leighton's narrative:--"The old invalid,
no doubt hastened by what she had witnessed, died on the following night;
and on that, after the night succeeding, when he had reason to expect that
she would be conveniently placed in the white fir receptacle that has a
shape so peculiarly its own, and not deemed by him so artistic as that of
a bag or a box, Merrylees, accompanied by the 'Spune,' entered the dead
room with the sackful of bark. To their astonishment, and what Merrylees
even called disgusting to an honourable mind, the old wretch had scruples.
'A light has come doun upon me frae heaven,' she said, 'an' I canna.'
'Light frae heaven!' said Merrylees indignantly; 'will that shew the
doctors how to cut a cancer out o' ye, ye auld fule? But we'll sune put
out that light,' he whispered to his companion; 'awa' and bring in a
half-mutchkin.' 'Ay,' replied the 'Spune,' as he got hold of a bottle, 'we
are only obeying the will o' God. "Man's infirmities shall verily be cured
by the light o' his wisdom." I forget the text.' And the 'Spune,' proud of
his Biblical learning, went upon his mission. He was back in a few
minutes; for where in Scotland is whisky not easily got? Then Merrylees
(as he used to tell the story to some of the students, to which we cannot
be expected to be strictly true as regards every act or word), filling out
a glass, handed it to the wavering witch. 'Tak ye that,' he said, 'and it
will drive the deevil out o' ye'; and finding that she easily complied, he
filled out another, which went in the same direction with no less relish.
'And noo,' said he, as he saw her scruples melting in the liquid fire, and
took out the pound-note, which he held between her face and the candle,
'look through it, ye auld deevil, and ye'll see some o' the real light o'
heaven that will mak your cat's een reel.' 'But that's only ane,' said the
now wavering merchant, 'and ye ken ye promised three.' 'And here they
are,' replied he, as he held before her the money to the amount of which
she had only had an experience in her dreams, and which reduced her
staggering reason to a vestige. 'Weel,' she at length said, 'ye may tak
her.' And all things thus bade fair for the completion of the barter, when
the men, and scarcely less the woman, were startled by a knock at the
door, which having been opened, to the dismay of the purchasers there
entered a person, dressed in a loose great-coat, with a broad bonnet on
his head, and a thick cravat round his throat, so broad as to conceal a
part of his face. 'Mrs. Wilson is dead?' said the stranger, as he
approached the bed. 'Ay,' replied the woman, from whom even the whisky
could not keep off an ague of fear. 'I am her nephew,' continued the
stranger, 'and I am come to pay the last duties of affection to one who
was kind to me when I was a boy. Can I see her?' 'Ay,' said the woman;
'she's no screwed doun yet.'" "Merry-Andrew" and the "Spune" slipped out
of the house, followed by the stranger, who pretended to give them chase.
The stranger, it came out afterwards, was a student who thought fit to
play a practical joke on the two worthies. The dead woman was decently
buried, but the nurse quietly put the three pounds in her pocket.
In the course of some transactions in Blackfriars' Wynd, Merrylees had--so
they thought--cheated his two companions to the extent of ten shillings,
and this was an offence never to be forgotten or forgiven. A sister of
Merrylees, residing in Penicuik, happened to die, and it occurred to his
unfeeling heart that he might make a few pounds by raising her body,
immediately after the interment. He said nothing, but the "Spune" noticing
from his appearance that he had some important project on foot, made
inquiries which made him, as he said, "suspect that Merrylees' sister was
dead at last." The "Spune" told the "Moudewart" so, and they agreed to
lift the body themselves, as by doing this they would not only profit to
the extent of several pounds, but would also be revenged upon Merry-Andrew
for his unfair behaviour towards them. A donkey and cart were procured,
and the two companions set out that night for Penicuik, with all the
necessary utensils. Between twelve and one o'clock they were at work in
the kirkyard. They had hardly begun when they were alarmed by a noise near
at hand, but, after listening a moment, they thought they were mistaken,
and resumed. At last they got the body above the ground. Then they heard a
shout, and behind a tombstone they saw a white-robed figure with extended
arms. They fled in terror, and started for Edinburgh in all haste. The
apparition was none other than Merrylees, who, having met the owner of the
donkey and cart, and been told that his two colleagues were away with them
to Penicuik, suspected their design, and had thus frustrated it. Remarking
that "the 'Spune' is without its porridge this time, and shall not man
live on the fruit of the earth," Merrylees shouldered the body of his
sister and set out for the city. Before long he came near his foiled
enemies, and raising another shout he forced them to leave their cart
behind, as they found their legs would carry them faster home than the
quadruped they had borrowed. This was the crowning part of Merry-Andrew's
expedition, for he put his burden in the cart, and managed at last to
convey it to Surgeons' Square.
The professional body-snatchers were, however, sometimes employed by other
than doctors--by persons who made use of them for purposes which had not
even the excuse of a desire for the advancement of anatomical science. The
story is told of two young men from the north, named George Duncan and
Henry Ferguson, fellow-lodgers in the Potterow of Edinburgh, who were
rivals for the affections of a Miss Wilson, residing in the vicinity of
Bruntsfield Links. Ferguson was preferred, and Duncan hated him because of
that. At last disease carried the successful suitor away, and his body was
interred in Buccleuch burying-ground. Duncan's hatred went even further
than death itself, for he employed a well-known snatcher, who rejoiced in
the cognomen of "Screw," on account of his cleverness at raising bodies,
and they went together to the cemetery for the purpose of conveying the
corpse of Ferguson to the rooms occupied by Dr. Monro. When they arrived
there they found Miss Wilson beside the grave, overwhelmed with grief at
the loss of her lover. At last she went away, and soon the body was within
the precincts of the college.
In the Dundee district, also, the resurrectionists were able to do a
considerable amount of business. There, as elsewhere, the people in the
country parts were in a high state of excitement over the frequent
depredations made in their churchyards, and it was shrewdly suspected that
this was done for the purpose of supplying the Edinburgh doctors with
"subjects." Watches were set, but the superstition of the guardians of
the dead, often aided by the whisky they partook of to keep away the cold
and raise their spirits among their "eerie" surroundings, made their
vigils too frequently of little avail. The wily resurrectionists were too
sharp for them, for it was almost a matter of certainty that the body of
any one who died of a peculiar disease would disappear within a few days
after it had been consigned to the grave. In the village of Errol, in the
Carse of Gowrie, such depredations were not unfrequent. About the time
that Burke and Hare were operating with so much effect among the waifs of
Edinburgh, an incident of a somewhat amusing kind occurred at this place.
The parish churchyard was then without a boundary wall, and as it lay in
the middle of the village it was customary for the inhabitants to make a
"short cut" across it, when passing from one part of the place to another.
On one occasion a village worthy had been attending a convivial gathering,
and on his way home, at "the witching time of night," he thought he would
take the pathway through the churchyard. As he approached it he saw what
appeared to be a black horse feeding in the "isle," a low part of the
yard. To his horror some one jumped on the animal's back, and made towards
him. He took to his heels, and ran as fast as he could, never stopping
until he had gained a safe hiding in a farm on the side of the Tay, at a
point about two miles to the south-east of the village. When the story
obtained currency, the belief was commonly expressed that the horse
belonged to a doctor who was in search of an interesting "subject" that
had been recently buried.
The churchyard of Dundee, then popularly known as the "Howff," was laid
under heavy contribution to the cause of science, and the most notorious
of the local resurrectionists was Geordie Mill, one of the grave-diggers.
He was at last caught in his nefarious work, and his memory has been
celebrated in a song long popular in the district. This production has now
nearly dropped out of memory, but as it is a curious commentary on the
transactions of the time, it is worthy of preservation. The following
fragments of it are from the notes of Dr. Robert Robertson, Errol, and Mr.
James Paterson, Glasgow, two natives of the Carse of Gowrie:--
"Here goes Geordie Mill, wi' his round-mou'd spade,
He's aye wishing for the mair folk dead,
For the sake o' his donal', and his bit short-bread,
To carry the spakes in the mornin'.
"A porter cam' to Geordie's door,
A hairy trunk on his back he bore;
And in the trunk there was a line,
And in the line was sovereigns nine,
A' for a fat and sonsie quean,
Wi' the coach on Wednesday mornin'.
"Then east the toun Geordie goes,
To ca' on Robbie Begg and Co.;
The doctor's line to Robbie shows,
Wha wished frae them a double dose,
Wi' the coach on Wednesday mornin'.
"Geordie's wife says, 'Sirs, tak' tent,
For a warning to me's been sent,
That tells me that you will repent
Your conduct on some mornin'.'
"Quo' Robbie, 'Wife, now hush your fears,
We ha'e the key, deil ane can steer's,
We've been weel paid this dozen o' years,
Think o' auchteen pound in a mornin'.'
"Then they ca'd on Tam and Jock,
The lads wha used the spade and poke,
And wi' Glenlivet their throats did soak,
To keep them richt in the mornin'."
The worthies were, according to the ballad, discovered when lifting the
second body, and it concludes with the line,--
"And that was a deil o' a mornin'."
It was popularly believed that these men were in the habit of supplying
Dr. Knox with bodies taken from the churchyard of Dundee, and there was
great indignation against them when the revelations consequent on the
apprehension of Burke and Hare were made known.
Before proceeding to deal with the events that led up to the Burke and
Hare trial, there is an incident of peculiar interest which deserves to
be recorded, but which cannot be properly put under any of the classes
into which we have divided these tales of the resurrectionists. In a sense
it does not belong to the resurrectionist movement, but as it relates
indirectly to it, it may be given. At the Glasgow Circuit Court in
October, 1819, a collier of the name of Matthew Clydesdale was condemned
to death for murder, and the judge, in passing sentence, as was the
custom, ordered that after the execution the body should be given to Dr.
James Jeffrey, the lecturer on anatomy in the university, "to be publicly
dissected and anatomised." The execution took place on the 4th of November
following, and the body of the murderer was taken to the college
dissecting theatre, where a large number of students and many of the
general public were gathered to witness an experiment it was proposed to
make upon it. The intention was that a newly-invented galvanic battery
should be tried with the body, and the greatest interest had accordingly
been excited. The corpse of the murderer was placed in a sitting posture
in a chair, and the handles of the instrument put into the hands. Hardly
had the battery been set working than the auditory observed the chest of
the dead man heave, and he rose to his feet. Some of them swooned for
fear, others cheered at what was deemed a triumph of science, but the
Professor, alarmed at the aspect of affairs, put his lancet in the throat
of the murderer, and he dropped back into his seat. For a long time the
community discussed the question whether or not the man was really dead
when the battery was applied. Most probably he was not, for in these days
death on the scaffold was slow--there was no "long drop" to break the
spinal cord,--it was simply a case of strangulation.