_Conclusion--Review of the Effects Produced by the Resurrectionist
Movement--The Houses in Portsburgh--The Popular Idea of the Method of
Burke and Hare--Origin of the Words "Burker" and "Burking."_
Such were the resurrectionist times in Scotland, and such the crimes
committed by Burke and Hare, and their English imitators. Now-a-days it
may seem strange that events like these were possible in a country
professing a civilizing christianity, but no one with a knowledge of the
depths to which humanity can descend will deny that even in our much
boasted time, with all our social advancement, men could be found who
would dare to put their consciences under the burden of such terrible
iniquities, were the other circumstances and necessities still the same.
There was little wonder that the public sense of security was alarmed,
that the heart of the nation was touched, at the shocking disclosures made
at each successive trial, and at the daily actions of men who seemed to be
safe from the law. We have seen how the people of Scotland felt under the
constant robbing of their churchyards; how they were awe-struck at the
mysterious disappearance from among them of some unfortunate, whose
whereabouts was never found out; and how they rose in righteous anger when
the mystery was cleared up in the High Court of Justiciary. The wonder,
indeed, is that considering the reverential regard for the dead which has
always characterised them, that they bore the terrible pillage of their
Golgothas so long; and that when the end came they did not work more
mischief than they did. But the times, hard as they were at the best, and
suffering under such a shocking blemish, were productive of real and
lasting good to the nation, socially, scientifically, and even
spiritually.
For a long time after the execution of Burke and the flight of his
accomplices, the houses in Wester Portsburgh were objects of horror and
detestation; and having acquired a ghastly interest from the horrible
crimes of which they were the scene, were among the best visited places in
Edinburgh, until at last they were knocked down as eyesores to the
community, and as perpetuating a series of crimes which were too deeply
impressed on human memory to be easily forgotten. But the tradition clung
long to the district, and even to this day the locality is pointed out to
the stranger as being notable. The interest taken in these buildings and
their internal arrangement was so great, that paintings of them on canvas
were taken through the country, and shown at village fairs and markets.
But an annoying and reprehensible practice arose out of the actions of
Burke and Hare, which while certainly not so serious, was not without its
dangerous element. This was a habit which many young men dropped into of
attempting to put pieces of sticking-plaster over the mouths of
unsuspicious passengers on the streets. Most commonly this prank was
played upon girls, many of whom were almost out of their wits, and who
would not venture out of the door at nights. This practice obtained not
only in Edinburgh but also in Glasgow and the other large towns in
Scotland, and though examples were made by the miscreants being
apprehended and punished by the police magistrates, it became after a time
such an intolerable nuisance, that the strictest measures had to be taken
for its repression. One case of this kind in Glasgow created an
extraordinary commotion. A servant girl was attacked in the street, and a
sticking-plaster of so strong an adhesive nature was placed over her mouth
that it could not be removed without taking a great portion of the skin of
her face with it. There was little wonder that the _Glasgow Chronicle_, in
a comment on the occurrence, said that the "wretches who can behave thus
at any time, and more especially in the present state of public feeling,
are a disgrace to society." But it is curious to note how this silly
imitation of the method of Burke and Hare came to be regarded as the
actual mode in which these men had performed their manifold murders. The
fact that so many terrible crimes had been committed by them kept a firm
hold on the mind of the people, but, gradually, the method, which had been
made so public through the medium of the newspapers, was forgotten, and
the impression as gradually gained ground that slipping up to their
intended victims on the streets, Burke and his accomplice gave them their
quietus by skilfully placing a piece of sticking-plaster over their
mouths. Of course the preceding narrative, and the confessions of the
condemned criminal, show that it was far otherwise, but the impression,
amounting latterly to an absolute belief, became so fixed that even yet it
still holds sway, though certainly in a less degree now than a generation
ago.
Allusion has already been made to the remarkably strong hold the whole
plot took upon the minds of the Scottish people, and to the fact that it
has exercised an influence on the inner life of the Scottish mind down to
the present. This is generally acknowledged, but perhaps a better idea of
the original character of the impression made by the discoveries of 1829
may be gained when the great events and movements going on all around at
and after the time are taken into consideration. In the year 1829 the
country was agitated not only by stirring news from the Continent, where
armies were marching to and fro, and there was a tendency to a general
European conflagration, but also by the Catholic Emancipation movement,
and parliamentary reform. Every one knows the interest the people of
Scotland took in these matters, and especially in the Reform Bill, and how
many suffered on the scaffold for over boldness in the struggle. These
were events that might have absorbed all the attention the people could
spare from their daily toil for the sustenance of life; but yet the Burke
and Hare tragedies were always to be heard repeated by some fireside, and
the tales of the resurrectionists were rehearsed to willing listeners.
Such great events affected the rights of the people as citizens of the
empire, as freemen in the state; but the violation of churchyards, the
murder of poor human beings for the sale of their bodies, touched the
heart, it related to the home-life of the man, independent of his
citizenship. It was the same with the other great political movements of
the early half of the century. The stories went from mouth to mouth, from
father to son, from nurse to child, and the horrid memory of the foulest
series of murders on the criminal calendar of Scotland was kept fresh,
young minds grew up in fear of a terrible unknown something of which the
preceding generation had had a full realization, a something which happily
was impossible, but which exercised a baneful and dwarfing influence all
the same. The old bogles of superstitious times were thrown aside, the
stern realities of human criminality were used in their stead. Many still
remember their youthful impressions and shudder. It is well that these
influences are losing their power, but it would be unfortunate if the
lessons taught by these awful times were forgotten by the country.
Happily, however, the resurrectionist times were not without their good
elements as well as their bad. Had such events not taken place two things
would have been evident--first, that up to that time anatomical study and
research had made little progress; and second, that the study would have
continued in a state of stagnation under restrictions discreditable to the
country and its rulers. But quite another state of matters existed and do
exist. The scientific ardour which from an early period of its history had
characterised the medical faculty in Scotland, and particularly in
Edinburgh, may be said to have created the necessity for resurrectionists
or body-snatchers, and the fact that the research so needful to the
happiness and comfort of humanity was being conducted under such
unfortunate auspices, and debasing restrictions, gradually awoke the
community to a sense of what they owed to themselves and to those whose
ultimate object was the general good. The churchyards were being robbed of
their silent tenants, the poor were being surreptitiously bribed to part
with the bodies of their dead relatives, and even the streets were being
laid under contribution for their living wanderers. The exigencies of
science had created a necessary evil; the natural and even justifiable
prejudices of the nation, outraged and grieved, were against the seeking
of a remedy. But the evil became so great, its worst and latest
development was so shocking, that some steps had to be taken, even at the
expense of human sentiment, to put matters on a right and proper footing.
Men could not live without doctors who were thoroughly trained and
experienced in all the intricacies and mysteries of the human frame; these
doctors could not gain their experience without "subjects," and
"subjects" they must have by some means or other. Not, certainly, that the
profession approved of murder to obtain their ends, but the result showed
that the men upon whom the profession mainly depended had resorted to that
terrible act to supply their patrons. The only feasible course open,
therefore, was that made lawful by the Anatomy Act of 1832, which put upon
a legal basis the purchase of bodies from relatives under certain wise and
not too irksome conditions. It has been seen that notwithstanding the
unhappy state of matters then existing, and the terrible scourge under
which the country had so long suffered, there was a strong feeling against
the passage of that measure; but on the other hand an interesting
testimony was given in its favour when many of the highest in the land,
amongst them the Duke of Sussex, the youngest son of King George III., and
uncle of Queen Victoria, gave directions that if necessary their bodies
should after death be anatomised. The science of anatomy, therefore, for
the first time in its existence, made rapid progress, the art of healing
and alleviating disease became more perfect, and although there is much
still to be desired, research is unfettered, and the possibility of
discoveries valuable to humanity are increased. It is curious, however,
that in the last few years of these baneful restrictions, extraordinary
results accrued from the researches of anatomists, and, strange though it
may seem, the science was really put upon a scientific basis it had never
occupied before.
But there was still another effect of the resurrectionist movement, and
that was that it had a widening tendency on the religious beliefs of the
people. The old idea is well expressed in the ballad written in 1711, and
quoted in an early chapter in this volume, when the unknown author says:--
"Methink I hear the latter trumpet sound,
When emptie graves into this place is found,
Of young and old, which is most strange to me,
What kind of resurrection this should be."
The people preferred to think of a resurrection which would in one respect
and to a certain extent be comprehensible to them. They thought they
could understand the dead rising from the grave if their bodies were
placed intact in the sepulchre, but they deemed that a body dissected and
cut into pieces, probably portions buried in different places, was
unlikely to be under the influence of the last call. In this they
distrusted God in the belief of a doctrine which above all required a
distinct act of faith in His almighty power. Their ideas, however, were
widened, and they came to see that if it were possible for the Great
Father of the human race to wake the dead on the judgment day when their
dust lay peacefully beside the village church, it was also possible for
Him to call them to Him though their particles lay far apart.
There is one other point which must not be omitted in a work of this kind.
The transactions in the West Port of Edinburgh, in 1828, gave new words
with a peculiar significance to the English language. A "burker" was
unknown before the crimes of William Burke were made public; "burking" was
an undiscovered art until he discovered it. This in itself is another
testimony to the effect the crimes chronicled in this book had upon the
minds of the men and women of the period. Many other words similarly
derived have had a brief popularity, and dropped into oblivion, to be only
hunted up by the philological antiquary, but these have retained their
significance, and, by their aptitude to many actions in all phases of
life, have attained to a classical position in the language to which their
usefulness, rather than their origin, entitle them.
[Illustration: MRS. HARE AND CHILD (From a Sketch taken in Court)]
APPENDIX
APPENDIX.
THE CASE AGAINST TORRENCE AND WALDIE.
At page twenty-four _ante_ a brief note is given of the case against
Torrence and Waldie for the murder of a boy for the purpose of disposing
of his body to the surgeons. The account there given is founded upon a
brief jotting in the _Edinburgh Evening Courant_, and, as the case is one
of considerable interest, the following more lengthy record is taken from
the _Scots Magazine_ for 1752:--
"Helen Torrence, residenter, and Jean Waldie, wife of a stabler's servant
in Edinburgh, were tried, at the instance of the King's Advocate, before
the Court of Justiciary, for stealing and murdering John Dallas, a boy of
about eight or nine years of age, son of John Dallas, chairman in
Edinburgh. The indictment bears, that in November last the pannels
frequently promised two or three surgeon-apprentices to procure them a
subject; that they pretended that they were to sit up with a dead child,
and after the coffining, slip something else into the coffin, and secrete
the body; but said afterwards that they were disappointed in this, the
parent refusing to consent; that on the 3rd of December, Janet Johnston,
mother to the deceased, having come to Torrence's house, was desired by
her to sit down; that Waldie, who was then with Torrence, soon left them,
on pretence of being ill with the colic, and went up stairs to her own
house, which was immediately above that of Torrence; that thereafter, on
hearing a knock upon the floor above, Torrence went up stairs to Waldie,
staid a short while with her, then returned to Janet Johnstone, and
invited her to drink a pint of ale in a neighbouring house, which
invitation she accepted of; that after they had drunk one pint of ale,
Torrence offered another; that this second pint being brought in, Torrence
went out of the ale-house; that then both or either of the pannels went to
the house of the above-mentioned John Dallas, chairman, stole away the
poor innocent boy in the absence of its parents, and murdered it; that
Waldie immediately after went and informed the surgeon apprentices that
Torrence and she had now found a subject, desiring them to carry it
instantly away; that on this the apprentices came to Waldie's house, and
found the dead body stretched on a chest; that having asked what they
should give for the subject? would not two shillings be enough? Both
pannels declared they had been at more expense about it than that sum; but
that upon their giving Torrence tenpence to buy a dram, she and Waldie
accepted of the two shillings in part payment; that, at the desire of the
apprentices, Torrence carried the body in her apron to one of their rooms,
for which she received sixpence more; and that when the pannels were
apprehended, some of the facts were confessed by them, by Torrence before
one of the Bailies of Edinburgh, and by Waldie before the Lord Provost;
Waldie in particular, having confessed that Torrence told her, that should
this boy die, he would be a good one for the doctors; that, at Torrence's
desire, she frequently went to see how the boy was; that thereafter,
Torrence having asked her how he was? and she having answered, that he
continued much in the same way, Torrence replied that it would be better
to take him away alive, for he would be dead before he could be brought to
her house; that accordingly, after the boy's mother had seen Waldie
upstairs to her own house, 3rd December, Torrence came and told her that
she and the mother were then drinking a pint of ale, and that it would be
a proper time for Waldie to go for the boy; that Waldie accordingly went,
found the boy looking over a window, took him up in her arms, and carried
him directly to her own house, whither she was immediately followed by
Torrence; that, before Torrence came in, Waldie had given the boy a drink
of ale, but it would scarce go over, and he died six minutes thereafter;
and that Waldie, at Torrence's desire, went for the surgeons, and sold the
dead body to them, as above. On missing their child, the parents made
inquiry for him. In about four days, the body was found in a place of the
town little frequented, but with evident marks of having been in the
surgeons' hands. The parents were thereupon taken up, and likewise the
pannels. The pannels were examined, the parents set at liberty, and the
pannels kept in prison. Their trial came off on the 3rd February. After
debates, the Lords found the libel relevant to infer the pains of law. A
proof was taken on the same day. Among the witnesses were the boy's
parents, and the surgeons' apprentices. Next day the jury returned the
following verdict:--'Found, that the pannels are both guilty, art and
part, of stealing John Dallas, a living child, and son of John Dallas,
chairman in Edinburgh, from his father's house, at the time and in the
manner libelled; and of carrying him to the house of Jean Waldie, one of
the pannels; and soon thereafter, on the evening of the day libelled, of
selling and delivering his body, then dead, to some surgeons and students
of physic.' Counsel were heard on the import of this verdict on the sixth,
when all defences were over-ruled. Both pannels were sentenced to be
hanged in the Grassmarket of Edinburgh, on the 18th March. They were
executed accordingly. Waldie, in her last speech, says, that Torrence
prevailed on her, when much intoxicated, to go and carry the child alive
from its mother's house; that she carried it in her gown-tail to her own
house; that when she arrived at home, she found the child was dead,
having, as she believed, been smothered in her coats in carrying it off;
that it really died in her hands; that she acknowledges her sentence to be
just. Torrence declines saying anything about the crime."
On page 152 of MacLaurin's _Remarkable Cases_, under date February 3,
1752, there is a short account of the pleadings at the trial. The
following is a note of the matter contained there, with the exception of
the finding of the jury, which has already been given:--
_His Majesty's Advocate against Helen Torrence and Jean Waldie._
"They were indicted for stealing and murdering John Dallas, a boy about
eight or nine years of age, son of John Dallas, chairman, in Edinburgh, on
the 3rd December, 1751.
"The counsel for the prisoners represented, that however the actual murder
might be relevant to infer the pains of death, yet the stealing of the
child could only infer an arbitrary punishment. And as to the selling of
the dead body, it was no crime at all.
"_Ans._--Though the stealing the child when alive, when disjoined from the
selling of it when dead, might not go so far; yet, when taken together,
they were undoubtedly relevant to infer a capital punishment.
"The court pronounced the usual interlocutor."
AN INTERVIEW WITH BURKE IN PRISON.
The following appeared in the _Caledonian Mercury_ early in the month of
January, 1829:--
"The information from which the following article is drawn up we have
received from a most respectable quarter, and its perfect correctness in
all respects may be confidently relied on. In truth, it is as nearly as
possible a strict report, rather than the substance, of what passed at an
interview with Burke, in the course of which the unhappy man appears to
have opened his mind without reserve, and to have given a distinct and
explicit answer to every question which was put to him relative to his
connection with the late murders.
"After some conversation of a religious nature, in the course of which
Burke stated that, while in Ireland, his mind was under the influence of
religious impressions, and that he was accustomed to read his Catechism
and Prayer-book, and to attend to his duties. He was asked, 'How comes it
then that you, who, by your own account, were once under the influence of
religious impressions, ever formed the idea of such dreadful atrocities,
of such cold-blooded, systematic murders as you admit you have been
engaged in--how came such a conception to enter your mind?' To this Burke
replied, 'that he did not exactly know; but that becoming addicted to
drink, living in open adultery, and associating continually with the most
abandoned characters, he gradually became hardened and desperate; gave up
attending chapel or any place of religious worship, shunned the face of
the priest, and being constantly familiar with every species of
wickedness, he at length grew indifferent as to what he did, and was ready
to commit any crime.'
"He was then asked how long he had been engaged in this murderous traffic,
to which he answered, 'From Christmas, 1827, till the murder of the woman
Docherty in October last.' 'How many persons have you murdered, or been
concerned in murdering, during the time? Were they 30 in all?' 'Not so
many; not so many, I assure you.' 'How many?' He answered the question,
but the answer was, for a reason perfectly satisfactory, not communicated
to us, and reserved for a different quarter.
"'Had you any accomplices?' 'None but Hare. We always took care when we
were going to commit a murder that no one else should be present; that no
one could swear he saw the deed done. The women might suspect what we were
about, but we always put them out of the way when we were going to do it.
They never saw us commit any of the murders. One of the murders was done
in Broggan's house while he was out, but before he returned the thing was
finished and the body put into a box. Broggan evidently suspected
something, for he appeared much agitated, and entreated us to take away
the box, which we accordingly did. But he was not in any way concerned in
it.'
"'You have already told me that you were engaged in these atrocities from
Christmas, 1827, till the end of October, 1828. Were you associated with
Hare during all that time?' 'Yes, we began with selling to Dr. ---- the
body of a woman who had died a natural death in Hare's house. We got ten
pounds for it. After this we began the murders, and all the rest of the
bodies that we sold to him were murdered.'
"'In what place were these murders generally committed?' 'They were mostly
committed in Hare's house, which was very convenient for the purpose, as
it consisted of a room and kitchen. Daft Jamie was murdered there. The
story told of this murder is incorrect. Hare began the struggle with him,
and they fell and rolled together on the floor; then I went to Hare's
assistance, and we at length finished him, though with much difficulty. I
committed one murder in the country by myself. It was in last harvest. All
the rest were done in conjunction with Hare.'
"'By what means were these fearful atrocities perpetrated?' 'By
suffocation. We made the persons drunk, and then suffocated them by
holding the nostrils and mouth and getting on the body. Sometimes I held
the mouth and nose, while Hare went upon the body; and sometimes Hare held
the mouth and nose, while I placed myself on the body. Hare has perjured
himself by what he said at the trial about the murder of Docherty. He did
not sit by while I did it, as he says. He was on the body assisting me
with all his might, while I held the nostrils and mouth with one hand,
choked her under the throat with the other. We sometimes used a pillow,
but did not in this case.'
"'Now, Burke, answer me this question:--Were you tutored and instructed,
or did you receive hints from any one as to the mode of committing
murder?' 'No, except from Hare. We often spoke about it, and we agreed
that suffocation was the best way. Hare said so, and I agreed with him. We
generally did it by suffocation.'
"'Did you receive any encouragement to commit or persevere in committing
these atrocities?' 'Yes; we were frequently told by Paterson that he would
take as many bodies as we could get for him. When we got one he always
told us to get more. There was commonly another person with him of the
name of ----. They generally pressed us to get more bodies for them.'
"'To whom were the bodies so murdered sold?' 'To Dr. ----. We took the
bodies to his rooms in ---- ----, and then went to his house to receive
the money for them. Sometimes he paid us himself; sometimes we were paid
by his assistants. No questions were ever asked as to the mode in which we
had come by the bodies. We had nothing to do but to leave a body at the
rooms, and go and get money.'
"'Did you ever, upon any occasion, sell a body or bodies to any other
lecturer in this place?' 'Never. We knew no other.'
"'You have been a resurrectionist (as it is called) I understand?' 'No.
Neither Hare nor myself ever got a body from a churchyard. All we sold
were murdered, save the first one, which was that of the woman who died a
natural death in Hare's house. We began with that: our crimes then
commenced. The victims we selected were generally elderly persons; they
could be more easily disposed of than persons in the vigour of health.'
"Such are the disclosures which this wretched man has made, under
circumstances which can scarcely fail to give them weight with the public.
Before a question were put to him concerning the crimes he had been
engaged in, he was solemnly reminded of the duty incumbent upon him,
situated as he is, to banish from his mind every feeling of animosity
towards Hare, on account of the evidence which the latter gave at the
trial; he was told that a dying man, covered with guilt, and without hope
except in the infinite mercy of Almighty God, through our blessed Redeemer
the Lord Jesus Christ, he, who stood so much in need of forgiveness, must
prepare himself to seek it by forgiving from his heart all who had done
him wrong; and he was emphatically adjured to speak the truth, and nothing
but the truth, without any attempt either to palliate his own iniquities,
or to implicate Hare more deeply than the facts warranted. Thus
admonished, and thus warned, he answered the several interrogations in the
terms above stated; declaring at the same time, upon the word of a dying
man, that everything he had said was true, and that he had in no respect
exaggerated or extenuated anything, either from a desire to inculpate
Hare, or to spare anyone else."
THE CONFESSIONS OF BISHOP AND WILLIAMS, THE LONDON "BURKERS."
The following are the confessions of Bishop and Williams, the London
"Burkers," an account of whose case is given in chapter XLI. They were
emitted in presence of the Under-Sheriff on the 4th of December, 1831, the
day before their execution:--
"I, John Bishop, do hereby declare and confess, that the boy supposed to
be the Italian boy was a Lincolnshire boy. I and Williams took him to my
house about half-past ten o'clock on the Thursday night, the 3rd of
November, from the Bell, in Smithfield. He walked home with us. Williams
promised to give him some work. Williams went with him from the Bell to
the Old Bailey watering-house, whilst I went to the Fortune of War.
Williams came from the Old Bailey watering-house to the Fortune of War for
me, leaving the boy standing at the corner of the court by the
watering-house at the Old Bailey. I went directly with Williams to the
boy, and we walked then all three to Nova Scotia Gardens, taking a pint of
stout at a public-house near Holloway Lane, Shoreditch, on our way, of
which we gave the boy a part. We only stayed just to drink it, and walked
on to my house, where we arrived about eleven o'clock. My wife and
children and Mrs. Williams were not gone to bed, so we put him in the
privy, and told him to wait there for us. Williams went in and told them
to go to bed, and I stayed in the garden. Williams came out directly, and
we both walked out of the garden a little way, to give time for the family
getting to bed: we returned in about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour,
and listened outside the window to ascertain whether the family were gone
to bed. All was quiet, and we then went to the boy in the privy, and took
him into the house; we lighted a candle, and gave the boy some bread and
cheese, and, after he had eaten, we gave him a cup full of rum, with about
half a small phial of laudanum in it. (I had bought the rum the same
evening at the Three Tuns, in Smithfield, and the laudanum also in small
quantities at different shops). There was no water or other liquid put in
the cup with the rum and laudanum. The boy drank the contents of the cup
directly in two draughts, and afterwards a little beer. In about ten
minutes he fell asleep on the chair on which he sat, and I removed him
from the chair to the floor, and laid him on his side. We then went out
and left him there. We had a quartern of gin and a pint of beer at the
Feathers, near Shoreditch Church, and then went home again, having been
away from the boy about twenty minutes. We found him asleep as we had left
him. We took him directly, asleep and insensible, into the garden, and
tied a cord to his feet to enable us to put him up by, and I then took him
in my arms, and let him slide from them headlong into the well in the
garden, whilst Williams held the cord to prevent the body going altogether
too low in the well. He was nearly wholly in the water in the well, his
feet just above the surface. Williams fastened the other end of the cord
round the paling, to prevent the body getting beyond our reach. The boy
struggled a little with his arms and his legs in the water; the water
bubbled for a minute. We waited till these symptoms were past, and then
went in, and afterwards I think we went out, and walked down Shoreditch to
occupy the time, and in about three-quarters of an hour we returned and
took him out of the well, by pulling him by the cord attached to his feet.
We undressed him in the paved yard, rolled his clothes up, and buried them
where they were found by the witness who produced them. We carried the boy
into the wash-house, laid him on the floor, and covered him over with a
bag. We left him there, and went and had some coffee in Old Street Road,
and then (a little before two on the morning of Friday) went back to my
house. We immediately doubled the body up, and put it into a box, which we
corded so that nobody might open it to see what was in it; and then went
again and had some more coffee in the same place in Old Street Road, where
we stayed a little while, and then went home to bed--both in the same
house, and to our own beds as usual; we slept till about ten o'clock on
Friday morning, when we got up, took breakfast together with the family,
and then went both of us to Smithfield, to the Fortune of War--we had
something to eat and drink there. In about half-an-hour May came in--I
knew May--but had not seen him for about a fortnight before,--he had some
rum with me at the bar, Williams remaining in the tap-room. [The condemned
man then described the movements of himself and Williams, and May during
that day, in course of which they were principally occupied in visiting
public houses, though they called upon two lecturers on anatomy and
offered them the body, but were refused.] At the Fortune of War we drank
something again, and then (about six o'clock) we all three went in the
chariot to Nova Scotia Gardens; we went into the wash-house, where I
uncorded the trunk, and shewed May the body. He asked, "how are the
teeth?" I said I had not looked at them. Williams went and fetched a
brad-awl from the house, and May took it and forced the teeth out; it is
the constant practice to take the teeth out first, because, if the body be
lost, the teeth are saved; after the teeth were taken out, we put the body
in a bag, and took it to the chariot; May and I carried the body, and
Williams got first into the coach, and then assisted in pulling the body
in...." [The rest of this part of the confession is simply a record of
"having something to drink," and visiting lecturers, who refused to
purchase the body. It concludes with an account of the apprehension of the
men at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, with the body in their possession.]
In an addition to this confession of the murder of the boy, Bishop made
this further statement:--
"I declare that this statement is all true, and that it contains all the
facts so far as I can recollect. May knew nothing of the murder, and I do
not believe he suspected that I had got the body except in the usual way,
and after the death of it. I always told him I got it from the ground, and
he never knew to the contrary until I confessed to Mr. Williams [a
clergyman] since the trial. I have known May as a body-snatcher for four
or five years, but I do not believe he ever obtained a body except in the
common course of men in the calling--by stealing from the graves. I also
confess that I and Williams were concerned in the murder of a female--whom
I believe to have been since discovered as Fanny Pigburn--on or about the
9th of October last. I and Williams saw her sitting about eleven or twelve
o'clock at night on the step of a door in Shoreditch, near the church. She
had a child four or five years old on her lap. I asked her why she was
sitting there. She said she had no home to go to, for her landlord had
turned her out into the street. I told her that she might go home with
us, and sit by the fire all night. She said she would go with us, and she
walked with us to my house, in Nova Scotia Gardens, carrying her child
with her. When we got there we found the family abed, and we took the
woman in and lighted a fire, by which we all sat down together. I went out
for beer, and we all took beer and rum (I had brought the rum from
Smithfield in my pocket); the woman and her child laid down on some dirty
linen on the floor, and I and Williams went to bed. About six o'clock next
morning I and Williams told her to go away, and to meet us at the London
Apprentice in Old-Street Road, at one o'clock. This was before our
families were up. She met us again at one o'clock at the London
Apprentice, without her child. We gave her some half-pence and beer, and
desired her to meet us again at ten o'clock at night at the same place.
After this we bought rum and laudanum at different places, and at ten
o'clock we met the woman again at the London Apprentice, she had no child
with her. We drank three pints of beer between us there, and stayed there
about an hour. We would have stayed there longer, but an old man came in
whom the woman said she knew, and she said she did not like him to see her
there with any body; we therefore all went out; it rained hard, and we
took shelter under a door-way in the Hackney Road for about an hour. We
then walked to Nova Scotia Gardens, and Williams and I led her into No. 2,
an empty house adjoining my house. We had no light. Williams stepped into
the garden with the rum and laudanum, which I had handed to him; he there
mixed them together in a half-pint bottle, and came into the house to me
and the woman, and gave her the bottle to drink; she drank the whole at
two or three draughts; there was a quartern of rum, and about half a phial
of laudanum; she sat down the step between two rooms in the house, and
went off to sleep in about ten minutes. She was falling back; I caught her
to save her fall, and she laid back on the floor. Then Williams and I went
to a public-house, got something to drink, and in about half-an-hour came
back to the woman; we took her cloak off, tied a cord to her feet, carried
her to a well in the garden and thrust her into it headlong; she
struggled very little afterwards, and the water bubbled a little at the
top. We fastened the end to the pailings to prevent her going down beyond
our reach, and left her and took a walk to Shoreditch and back, in about
half-an-hour; we left the woman in the well for this length of time, that
the rum and laudanum might run out of the body at the mouth. On our
return, we took her out of the well, cut her clothes off, put them down
the privy of the empty house, carried the body into the wash-house of my
own house, where we doubled it up and put it into a hair-box, which we
corded and left there. We did not go to bed, but went to Shields' [a
street porter] house in Eagle Street, Red Lion Square, and called him up;
this was between four and five o'clock in the morning. We went with
Shields to a public-house near the Sessions-house, Clerkenwell, and had
some gin, and from thence to my house, where we went in and stayed a
little while, to wait the change of the police. I told Shields he was to
carry that trunk to St. Thomas's Hospital. He asked if there was a woman
in the house who could walk alongside of him, so that people might not
take any notice. Williams called his wife up, and asked her to walk with
Shields, and to carry the hat-box which he gave her to carry. There was
nothing in it, but it was tied up as if there were. We then put the box
with the body on Shields' head, and went to the hospital, Shields and Mrs.
Williams walking on one side of the street, and I and Williams on the
other. At St. Thomas's Hospital I saw Mr. South's footman, and sent him up
stairs to Mr. South to ask if he wanted a subject. The footman brought me
word that his master wanted one, but could not give an answer till the
next day, as he had not time to look at it. During this interview,
Shields, Williams, and his wife, were waiting at a public-house. I then
went alone to Mr. Appleton, at Mr. Grainger's [Anatomical Theatre], and
agreed to sell it to him for eight guineas, and afterwards I fetched it
from St. Thomas's Hospital, and took it to Mr. Appleton, who paid me £5
then, and the rest on the following Monday. After receiving the £5, I went
to Shields and Williams and his wife, at the public-house, when I paid
Shields 10s. for his trouble, and we then all went to the Flower Pot in
Bishopsgate, where we had something to drink, and then went home. I never
saw the woman's child after the first time before mentioned. She said she
had left the child with a person she had taken some of her things to,
before her landlord took her goods. The woman murdered did not tell us her
name; she said her age was thirty-five, I think, and that her husband,
before he died, was a cabinetmaker. She was thin, rather tall, and very
much marked with the small-pox. I also confess the murder of a boy who
told us his name was Cunningham. It was a fortnight after the murder of
the woman. I and Williams found him sleeping about eleven or twelve
o'clock at night, on Friday, the 21st of October, as I think, under the
pig-boards in the pig market in Smithfield. Williams woke him, and asked
him to come along with him (Williams), and the boy walked with Williams
and me to my house in Nova Scotia Gardens. We took him into my house, and
gave him some warm beer, sweetened with sugar, with rum and laudanum in
it. He drank two or three cups full, and then fell asleep in a little
chair belonging to one of my children. We laid him on the floor and went
out for a little while, and got something to drink and then returned,
carried the boy to the well, and threw him into it, in the same way as we
served the other boy and the woman. He died instantly in the well, and we
left him there a little while, to give time for the mixture we had given
him to run out of the body. We then took the body from the well, took off
the clothes in the garden, and buried them there. The body we carried into
the wash-house, and put it into the same box, and left it there till the
next evening, when we got a porter to carry it with us to St.
Bartholomew's Hospital, where I sold it to Mr. Smith for eight guineas.
This boy was about ten or eleven years old, said his mother lived in Kent
Street, and that he had not been home for a twelvemonth and better. I
solemnly declare that these were all the murders in which I have been
concerned, or that I know anything of; that I and Williams were alone
concerned in these, and that no other person whatever knew anything about
either of them, and that I do not know whether there are others who
practise the same mode of obtaining bodies for sale. I know nothing of any
Italian boy, and was never concerned in or knew of the murder of such a
boy.... Until the transactions before set forth, I never was concerned in
obtaining a subject by the destruction of the living. I have followed the
course of obtaining a livelihood as a body-snatcher for twelve years, and
have obtained and sold, I think, from 500 to 1000 bodies; but I declare,
before God, that they were all obtained after death, and that, with the
above exceptions, I am ignorant of any murder for that or any other
purpose."
Williams, whose proper name was Thomas Head, confirmed the confession
given above as altogether true.
SONGS AND BALLADS.
_The following songs and ballads were published at the time the news of
the West Port tragedies was agitating the people of Scotland. They are
rude and unpoetical for the most part, but they are fairly representative
of a very extensive class, in which the feelings of the common people are
not unfaithfully mirrored._
RHYMES
_On reading the Trial of William Burke and Helen M'Dougal, for Murder,
24th December, 1828._
AN EXPOSTULATION.
"_Thou can'st not say I did it!!!_"
Ah!--can'st thou, with cold indifference see
The hand of execration point to thee?
Can'st thou, unmov'd, bear a whole nation's cry,
To cleanse thyself from the polluted sty
Of Burke, and Hare, and all that fiendish crew,
Who, for mere gain, their fellow-mortals slew,
And sold to thee, as thou hast not denied,
Such bodies as by students were descried
Ne'er to have been interred, nay, bore, some say,
Strong marks of life, by violence reft away?
And thou didst not attempt the truth to find,
Though oft it must have flash'd across thy mind;
But with a reckless carelessness, receiv'd
Whate'er was brought,[1] and any lie believ'd,
Told by the gang, whose very forms do show
They would not tell thee aught thou did'st not know,
Or should'st have known, if true thy Science says,
That marks of death by _Murder_ any ways
May well be seen, when the dissecting knife
Opens all the sure and secret seats of life.[2]
Art thou a Scotsman ----? then haste to prove
That patriotic feelings can thy bosom move;
Haste to wipe out the stain thy country shares,
While such a stigma fair Edina bears.
Art thou a son of Science? quickly, then,
Show she does not make brutes of _lect'ring_ men.
Art thou a Father? then thy child may plead,
To cleanse thyself from this unholy deed.
Art thou a husband? ask thine honest wife,
If 'twere not better to descend in life,
Than traffic with the basest, vilest band,
And thus for ---- soon's the deed is plann'd;
A ready market keep--and hide away
An _old tea-box_; that's all which you can say.
Art thou a Christian? think'st thou this avails
With Him on high, who, with unerring scales,
Weighs all the thoughts, and words, and deeds of men,
And searches through, ev'n the soul's inmost _ken_?
If this dread argument will not prevail,
Nought can thy cold obdurate heart assail.
Yes, time mispent, and surely worse than vain,
'Tis to attempt to rouse, by my poor strain,
The proud rich man, hedg'd round by many a friend,
Whose voice th' applause of hundred youths attend.
If his own conscience will not wake and cry,
Assert thine innocence, REPLY, REPLY,
To all the accusations lately rais'd
'Gainst thy fair fame, till ev'n ---- has gaz'd,
And gaz'd in vain to see thee ---- come forth,
Arm'd with thy ---- thy ---- and thy ----
* * * * _Cetera desunt._
[1] _Vide_ the evidence produced on the trial of Burke, &c. It has
been told as a fact, that this gang carried off to ---- one of their
slaughtered victims in such a hurry, that the body actually _groaned_
in the box on the porter's back. No doubt the half-strangled being
would be dead enough after a night in the ---- cellar.--_Original
Note._
[2] The ---- is understood to be profoundly skilled in Anatomy;
consequently, it is one of the bitterest satires that can be uttered
against the utility of the Science, to say that he was _ignorant_ that
the bodies supplied by Burke and his gang had come to their death by
violence.--_Original Note._
WILLIAM BURKE.
O Burke, cruel man, how detested thy name is!
Thy dark deeds of blood are a stain on our times.
O savage, relentless, forever infamous,
Long, long will the world remember thy crimes.
Thrice ten human beings, weep all you who hear it,
Were caught in his snares and caught in his den,
The shades of thy victims may elude thy vile spirit,
O Burke, cruel monster, thou basest of men.
The weary, the old, and the way-faring stranger,
Were woo'd by his kindness and led to his door,
But little knew they that the path led to danger,
O little knew they that their wanderings were o'er.
Little knew they that the beams of the morning,
To wake them to brightness, would shine all in vain,
And little their friend knew, who watched their returning,
That they were ne'er more to return back again.
O gather the bones of the murdered together,
And give them a grave in some home of the dead,
That their poor weeping friends with sad hearts may go thither,
And shed tears of sorrow above their cold bed.
Ye great men of learning, ye friends of dissection,
Who travell'd through blood to the temple of gain,
And bright human life for your hateful inspection,
O give the poor friends the white bones of the slain.
But woe to the riches and skill thus obtained,
Woe to the wretch that would injure the dead,
And woe to his portion whose fingers are stained
With the red drops of life that he cruelly shed.
Tho' Burke has been doom'd to expire on the gallows,
The vilest that ever dishonoured the tree,
Yet some may survive him whose hearts are as callous,
O, who wall be safe if the tigers be free.
Let none e'er reside in the crime marked dwellings,
For ever disgraced by Burke and by Hare,
May the cold damp of horror lie dark in their ceilings,
And their pale ghastly walls still be dismal and bare.
Let their guilt and their gloom speak of nothing but terror,
Some dark deeds of blood to the stranger declare,
And ages to come ever mark them with horror,
For the ghosts of the murdered will still gather there.
ELEGAIC LINES WRITTEN ON THE TRAGICAL MURDER OF POOR DAFT JAMIE.
Attendance give, whilst I relate
How Poor Daft Jamie met his fate;
'Twill make your hair stand on your head,
As I unfold the horrid deed;--
That hellish monster, William Burke,
Like Reynard sneaking on the lurk,
Coy-duck'd his prey into his den,
And then the woeful work began;--
"Come, Jamie, drink a glass wi' me,
And I'll gang wi' ye in a wee,
To seek yer mither i' the toun--
Come drink, man, drink, an' sit ye doun."
"Nae, I'll no' drink wi' ye the nou,
For if I div 'twill make me fou;"
"Tush, man, a wee will do ye guid,
'Twill cheer yer heart, and warm yer bluid."
At last he took the fatal glass,
Not dreaming what would come to pass;
When once he drank, he wanted more--
Till drunk he fell upon the floor.
"Now," said th' assassin, "now we may
Seize on him as our lawful prey."
"Wait, wait," said Hare, "ye greedy ass;
He's yet too strong--let's tak' a glass."
Like some unguarded gem he lies--
The vulture wants to seize his prize;
Nor does he dream he's in his power,
Till it has seized him to devour.
The ruffian dogs,--the hellish pair,--
The villain Burke,--the meagre Hare,--
Impatient were their prize to win,
So to their smothering pranks begin:--
Burke cast himself on Jamie's face,
And clasp'd him in his foul embrace;
But Jamie waking in surprise,
Writhed in an agony to rise.
At last, with nerves unstrung before,
He threw the monster on the floor;
And though alarm'd, and weaken'd too,
He would have soon o'ercome the foe;
But help was near--for it Burke cried,
And soon his friend was at his side;
Hare tripp'd up Jamie's heels, and o'er
He fell, alas! to rise no more!
Now both these blood-hounds him engage,
As hungry tygers fill'd with rage,
Nor did they handle axe or knife,
To take away Daft Jamie's life.
No sooner done, than in a chest
They cramm'd this lately-welcom'd guest,
And bore him into Surgeons' Square--
A subject fresh--a victim rare!
And soon he's on the table laid,
Expos'd to the dissecting blade;
But where his members now may lay
Is not for me--or you--to say.
But this I'll say--some thoughts _did_ rise,
It fill'd the students with surprise,
That so short time did intervene
Since Jamie on the streets was seen.
But though his body is destroy'd,
His soul can never be decoy'd
From that celestial state of rest,
Where he, I trust, is with the bless'd.
MRS. WILSON'S LAMENTATION ON HEARING OF THE CRUEL MURDER OF HER SON.
Why didst thou wander from my side,
My joy, my treasure, and my pride?
Though others little thought of thee,
Though wert a treasure dear to me.
I little thought when thee I left,
So soon of thee to be bereft;
Or that when after me you sought
You would by ruffian men be caught.
Thy playful manners fill'd with joy
The aged sire and sportive boy;
Of real joy you had enough,
When you could give or take a snuff.
The tricks you play'd with childish art,
Bound you the closer to my heart;
Thy kindness to thy mother prov'd
How dearly she by thee was lov'd.
What horrid monsters were these men
Who lur'd thee to their fatal den;
That den, whose deeds as yet untold,
Were done for sake of sordid gold.
But they alone were not to blame;
For when these dauntless monsters came
With human creatures scarcely cold,
The doctors took them, we were told.
Nor did they leave the doctors door
Without an order to bring more!
But Justice stern aloud doth cry--
"Let all who wink at murder die!"
And justice shall to me be done,
On all who murder'd my poor son;--
I'll make appeal to Britain's King,
That one and all of them may swing.
But that will not restore my son,
Or remedy the mischief done;
He murder'd is--no peace I have,
I shall go mourning to my grave.
DAFT JAMIE.
The following is a chap-book version of the ballad quoted at pp. 205-6.
O! dark was the midnight when Hare fled away,
Not a star in the sky gave him one cheering ray,
But still now and then, would the blue lightnings glare,
And some strange cries assail'd him, like shrieks of despair.
Over vale, over hill, I will watch thee for ill;
I will haunt all thy wanderings and follow thee still.
But, lo! as the savage ran down the wild glen,
For no place did he fear like the dwellings of men,
Where the heath lay before him all dismal and bare,
The ghost of Daft Jamie appeared to him there.
Over vale, &c.
I am come, said the shade, from the land of the dead,
Though there is for Jamie no grass covered bed,
Yet I'm come to remind you of deeds that are past,
And to tell you that justice will find you at last.
Over vale, &c.
O! Hare, thou hast been a dark demon of blood,
But vengeance shall chase thee o'er field and o'er flood;
Though you fly away from the dwellings of men,
The shades of thy victims shall rise in thy den.
Over vale, &c.
When night falls on the world, O! how can you sleep,
In your dreams do you ne'er see my poor mother weep?
Sadly she wept; but, O! long shall she mourn,
E'er poor wandering Jamie from the grave shall return.
Over vale, &c.
From the grave, did I say, and though calm is the bed
Where slumber is dreamless, the home of the dead,
Where friends may lament, there sorrow may be,
Yet no grave rises as green as the world for me.
Over vale, &c.
O! Hare, go to shelter thy fugutive head,
In some land that is not of the living or dead;
For the living against thee may justly combine,
And the dead must despise such a spirit as thine.
Over vale, &c.
O! Hare fly away, but this world cannot be
The place of abode to a demon like thee,
There is gall in your heart--poison is in your breath,
And the glare of your eyes is as fearful as death.
Over vale, &c.
When the blue lightnings flash'd through the glen, and it shone,
And there rose a wild cry, and there heaved a deep groan,
As the Ghost of the innocent boy disappear'd,
But his shrieks down the glen, in the night breeze were heard.
Over vale, &c.
THE RESURRECTIONISTS.
In No. XXIX of _The Emmet_, an old Glasgow periodical, published on
Saturday, 18th October, 1823, is the following:--
"_The_ Resurrectionists, _a Tale_ (in Blind Alek verse) _Humbly Inscribed
to the Editor of the 'Glasgow Chronicle.' Printed for John Smith, 25,
Gallowgate._
"ORIGINAL.
"This _elegant_ poem was put into our hands as we were going to press, so
we must be excused for passing it over more slightly than such a
performance _deserves_. In fact we have only room for a single extract. It
opens as follows, in a style which leaves Lewis, and Ratcliffe, and all
our writers on the horrible, far in the rear. John Starke himself, with
his 'Thesaurus of Horror,' never penned anything so deliciously frightful.
'Twas a cold winter night, and dark _was_ the clouds,
And the dead men lay quietly still in their shrouds;
The worms revelled sweetly their eyeholes among,--
It was a rout night, and there was a great throng:
Some fed upon brains, others fed upon liver,
Had we e'er such a feast, all cried out, O! no, never.
"We suspect our readers will think we have given them enough of this
feast; if they pant for more of it, let them turn to the work itself. More
disgusting trash never emanated from the press. Blind Alek is a Milton
compared with the blockhead who would sit down and pen such a mass of
loathesomeness.... Lord preserve us from this imitator of Blind Alek.
'Some heads replete with strange bombastic stuff,
Think words when rhym'd poetical enough.'"
THE LAMENT.
"Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed."--GENESIS,
ix. 6.
"Bloody and deceitful men shall not live out half their days."--PSALM, lv.
23.
"Depart from me therefore, ye bloody men."--PSALM, cxxxix. 19.
"Now thou son of man, wilt thou judge, wilt thou judge the bloody
city?"--EZEKIEL, xxii. 2.
"The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the
ground."--GENESIS, iv. 10.
O woe for bonny Scotland,
For murder is abroad,
And we must flee for refuge,
To an avenging God.
For we have seen that Law alone,
Can do us little _gude_,
As it has let three demons loose,
To work _mair_ deeds of _blude_.
Ye bloody fiends, ye hellish fiends,
Dare ye here yet be seen,
With the mark of blood upon your brows,
And murder in your _een_!
O woe for my _ain_ Scotland,
For thou art now the land,
Chosen for such deeds of darkness,
As man before ne'er plann'd.
Alas for Mary Paterson,
Cut off in her young days,
Wi' a' her sins upon her,
And in her wicked ways;
While steep'd in drunk stupidity,
And overcome by sleep,
On his devoted victim
Burke took the dreadful leap.
And alas for the old woman,
Entic'd to revelry,
Under the mask of country kindness,
By a Judas for his fee;
That he might sell her body,
When he had done the deed,
And with the price of human blood,
His _loathsome_ carcass feed.
O'hon for poor _Daft_ Jamie,
Whom we shall miss away,
In his own happy _idiocy_,
_Sae gude-natur'd_ and gay!
O! who shall cheer the mother
For the want of her poor boy,
By's simpleness the more endear'd
To her--her only joy.
But our all-gracious Maker
Will surely soon look down,
On this detested murder
With his all-powerful frown!
* * * *
In search of his dear mother,
Burke found him wand'ring then,
And for to see his parent,
Was lur'd to Hare's dread den;
Where he was ply'd with liquor,
(And all by coaxings prest),
Till he was quite o'erpow'red,
And laid him down to rest.
The two fell fiends they watch'd then,
Until he soundly slept,
Then Hare upon his destin'd prey
With murderous purpose crept.
And having fastened on him,
Hare strove his life to take;
Which recall'd his long lost reason,
And did his senses wake.
He shook the butcher from him,
And seeing no help there,
He fought with all the frenzy
Of madness and despair.
His cowardly assassin,
Did crouch beneath his blows,
And called on Burke his comrade
To give the murderous close.
They two, conjoin'd together,
Depriv'd him of his life;
But not before he left them
Marks of the desperate strife.
In his tremendous struggle,
Though weaken'd much by drink,
He showed how men do fight for life,
When on death's dreadful brink.
His body, it is said, (if true,
Let those who bought beware)
Was sold to an Anatomist;
And some one did declare,
When it lay on his table
For the dissecting knife,
That it was poor _daft_ Jamie,
Whom he saw strong in life
But yesterday; and more 'twas strange
As all knew passing well,
He was a stout and hearty youth,
The rest I may not tell;
But loudly it's been whisper'd,
That damning marks of strife
Show'd clear that death by violence
Had _twin'd_ him of his life.
'Tis told, that then the body
Was laid in spirits strong,
To remove all such suspicions,
And hide the cruel wrong.
If so! O righteous Heaven,
To thee we look for aid;
Nor will thy kindling anger
Be longer much delay'd!
Thou art the _poor's_ avenger,
The _idiot's_ only guard,
The _childless_ mother's helper,
The good man's high reward.
To Thee then we are looking,
To appease the cry of blood
Which runs throughout our city,
Like a portentous flood!
AND WE DO HOLD THY PROMISE,
WE SHALL NOT LOOK IN VAIN;
FOR WHOSO SHEDDETH MAN'S BLOOD,
HE SURELY SHALL BE SLAIN!
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's The History of Burke and Hare, by George Mac Gregor