The old woman from Gilmerton.
The English pedlar.
The old man Joe the miller.
Mary Haldane.
Her daughter.
The old Irishwoman.
Her grandson.
The Cinder Gatherer.
The old woman taken out of the police officer’s hands.
Mary Paterson.
The woman from the country.
The girl M‘Dougal.
Mrs. Ostler, the washer-woman.
Daft Jamie.
The woman Campbell, or Docherty.
The girl murdered by Hare alone.
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-gurdy most 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 unhallowed
gains, 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
the _lasses_ from 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 by this 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, which as 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.
On the first morning after his removal from the Lock-up-house to
the condemned cell, which, in the Calton Jail, is under the women’s
cells, and adjoining the stair which leads to them, he mentioned to
the jailor who attended him, that he had heard a woman lamenting, and
inquired if it would be Hare’s wife. He was informed that it could not
be she, as she was confined in a distant part of the house. He asked,
if there were any women in the same quarter, for he was sure that it
was a woman he heard mourning. The jailor then told him that it must
have been his own wife, who was kept among the women for protection.
“Is the place convenient,” he said. The jailor answered, “That it was
quite near.” “Poor thing,” he relied, “she has lost her only earthly
provider.” On the evening before M‘Dougal left Edinburgh, she called at
the jail with Constantine Burke, both requesting to see Burke, and upon
this being denied them, M‘Dougal sent a message, informing him that she
wanted money. He sent all that remained of his money, and a common old
watch, to her. He has since expressed great affection for her, and a
strong desire to see her before he suffers.
Shortly after he came to the jail, it was observed by some one that he
would receive absolution from the priest, which would make all right.
He answered in a serious tone, “that there was only one absolution for
sin, and that it had already been made.” Any account of the spiritual
conversion of a great criminal has frequently been complained of by
many, under the supposition that it has a tendency to encourage sinners
to continue in their iniquity, in the hope that a tardy repentance
may place them in a state of grace at last. We question much the
justice of their conclusions. Men engaged in a career of crime do not
reason in this way, nor reason at all upon the subject; and, though
they did, it would require great hardihood in a fellow-sinner to
endeavour to deprive them of “the hope set before them in the Gospel.”
Though we certainly do not imagine that these objectors would for a
moment contemplate fettering the operation of the Spirit. We, at the
same time, hold the opinion, that the utmost caution should be used
in promulgating such accounts, and that the state of mind of the
individual should be thoroughly sifted and rigidly inquired into
before a conversion be announced. It is with some pain, therefore, that
we have heard it given forth that Burke has become a true penitent.
Happy should we have been had we been enabled to proclaim that “the
wicked had forsaken his ways, and the unrighteous man his thoughts,”
and glad should we still be to learn that it was so; but truth compels
us to state, that no symptom has hitherto occurred to warrant such
a conclusion. We know well that he has expressed contrition for his
misdeeds, but we fear that it is rather sorrow for punishment having
overtaken him, than a sense of the magnitude of his sin against God;
and as for saying that he has sinned, a man who has committed fifteen
cold-blooded murders, if he speaks on the subject at all, can scarcely
say any thing else. He is said to be perfectly resigned to his fate,
and to express himself quite calmly on the subject. We believe it
all. He is a man of that stamp that would resolutely bring himself to
suffer calmly what he could not avoid. As to his announcing that he
would not now accept of pardon though it was offered to him, it appears
to us to be a mere fiction. We would not wish to speak irreverently
upon such a solemn subject, but surely we may be allowed to say, that
conversion to the faith of the Gospel, and to a firm belief in the
truths of Christianity, does not and ought not to bring along with it
a predilection for being hanged; that while it alone prepares a man
for death, it also capacitates him for worthily continuing in life.
We fear if Burke has made use of such an expression, it can only be
accounted for by wrong-headedness or hypocrisy. He must know well that
a pardon is not likely to be granted, and if it were, that his consent
would not be asked; and any observations upon the subject may therefore
be spared. We repeat that we shall be happy to be assured that we are
mistaken in the view we have taken of his state, but there is much
fear that though a melancholy it is a just one.
Since his conviction he has been very strictly watched, lest he should
find means to destroy himself, though he has never shown the slightest
inclination to do so. A man sits with him night and day, and to those
engaged in this duty, as well as others who are necessarily employed
about him, he has been very communicative and garrulous.
As illustrative of the freedom with which he converses with those who
are about him, we may mention an instance which, were it not for the
melancholy and awful situation in which he is placed--standing on the
brink of eternity--would bear an irresistibly ludicrous aspect. His
mind seemed to have been engaged in a train of reasoning upon some
subject, and at last he gave vent to it by saying, that he thought he
was entitled to, and ought to get, the five pounds from Dr. Knox, which
was still unpaid, on the body of the woman Docherty. It was observed
to him, that Dr. Knox had lost by the transaction, as the body was
taken from him. He replied, “That was not my business: I delivered the
subject, and he ought to have kept it.” It was then said to him, that
if the money was paid, Hare ought to get half of it. He pondered a
little upon this view, and then answered, “No; that Hare had cleared
himself by becoming king’s evidence, and he thought that he had justly
forfeited his share of it, and that all the five pounds should go to
him.” It turned out that his anxiety for the five pounds proceeded
from a desire to appear in a reputable manner on the scaffold. “Since
I am to appear before the public,” he said, “I should like to be
respectable. I have got a tolerable pair of trousers, but have not a
coat and waistcoat that I can appear in; and if I get the five pounds
I would buy them.” Though it is not likely that he will receive the
money, his wish will be gratified in respect to the clothes,--a topic
which he has frequently adverted to. We understand that the priest who
attends him has provided him with what he desires; and if he had not
done so, the Magistrates would have supplied the want.
His disease has now got worse, and gives him great uneasiness. In
consequence of the surgeon’s request some change has been made on his
food, and in addition to the meagre diet formerly hinted at, a little
soup has been allowed him daily. This day, (Tuesday) he will receive
the sacrament according to the rites of the Romish church. He was
removed to the Lock-up-house previous to the awful ceremonial of a
public execution, at five o’clock this morning.
Since his condemnation, all intercourse with him has been strictly
prohibited, except by those whose duties required their attendance, or
the authorities who might wish to see him upon public business; or,
finally, those who had, from their situation, the privilege of the
_entrée_, and could extend the same privilege to a few of their
immediate friends; but, with the exception of their visits, they seem
to have been actuated by the laudable desire, that the unhappy man
should not be annoyed from motives of curiosity, and the public has
been rigidly excluded. Still a sufficient number found their way into
his cell, to harass and tease him about confessions; and to be rid
of the annoyance, as it is stated, he addressed a letter to the Lord
Provost, requesting that a professional gentleman, whom he named, might
be allowed access to him, for the purpose of, once for all, giving
through him an authenticated confession, which might satisfy the public
mind.
The public authorities appear all along to have been actuated by a
decided reluctance to disclose to the public any thing connected with
these transactions beyond what must necessarily appear on the regular
trials; and in doing so, we have no doubt have been anxious to secure
to official persons the exclusive knowledge of such circumstances
as might be necessary for the ends of justice, as well as, in their
opinion, to prevent the public mind being unnecessarily excited.
TOWN-COUNCIL OF EDINBURGH, WEDNESDAY, JAN. 21.
The Lord Provost stated to the Council, that they were perhaps aware
that a written application had been made to him, _signed_
by Burke, the individual at present under sentence of death, for
permission to be visited by a Writer in town, to whom he was desirous
of making some disclosures regarding the crimes with which he had been
connected, and that, acting upon the advice of the Lord Advocate, he
had deemed it right to refuse the application in question.--That advice
had been given by the Lord Advocate in a letter, which, of course, was
not written with the view of publication; but as much misrepresentation
had gone abroad regarding the matter, the Lord Provost deemed it right
that the letter should be laid before the public, that they might know
the true grounds on which the request had been refused. His Lordship
further stated, that he had waited upon Burke, and explained to him
the reason for refusing access to the individual whom he had mentioned
in his letter, and by whom that letter was written, though it was
certainly signed by Burke--when the unfortunate man mentioned to the
Lord Provost, that he was perfectly indifferent as to the matter, and
that he did not conceive that the narrative of his life, which the
person already mentioned had wished to prepare for publication, was of
a nature calculated to interest any one. The Lord Advocate’s letter is
of the following tenor:--
“_Edinburgh, January 15, 1829._
“MY LORD PROVOST--I had the honour to receive your Lordship’s
letter of yesterday’s date, transmitting a communication to you
from William Burke, which is herewith returned.
“Your Lordship is perhaps not aware that, on the 3d instant,
Burke intimated to the Sheriff, through the Governor of the
Jail, that being harassed by inquiries, he wished once for
all to make a full confession of every thing he could say in
regard to the atrocious transactions in which he had been
engaged, to the end that he might afterwards be allowed to
remain undisturbed, and apply his mind to things fitted to his
situation. In consequence of this communication, the Sheriff, on
that same day, repaired to the jail, and took from Burke a full
and voluntary confession, which was drawn up in the shape of a
declaration, consisting of 19 pages. This declaration is now
in my possession, and I sometime ago sent a copy of it to the
Secretary of State.
“It appears to me of importance both to the individual himself,
and to the public, that no second statement, which might be
contradictory of, or inconsistent with, the first, (so solemnly
and deliberately given) ought now to be impetrated from this
man by irresponsible parties, with the avowed object of its
publication; and that the proper answer for your Lordship in
return is, that Burke having himself most properly already
selected such a mode of making his confession as was best
calculated to secure its accuracy, and to render it truly
authentic, no deviation from that mode of proceeding can now be
sanctioned; but that the Sheriff will wait upon Burke, for the
purpose of reading over to him the confession made on the 3d
current, and that that magistrate will then take down whatever
additions or alterations Burke may desire to have made upon it.”
“I have the honour, &c.
(Signed) “WM. RAE.”
“Right Honourable the Lord Provost
of Edinburgh, &c. &c. &c.”
It is difficult, however, to see how “it is of importance to the
individual himself, and to the public, that no second statement, which
might be contradictory of, or inconsistent with, the first,” should be
given. To us it seems of great importance, that all he is willing to
confess ought to be received and given to the public. So far from his
wishing to remain undisturbed, it is at his own request conveyed in a
letter, signed with his name, that that permission for the gentleman
to visit him was asked; and his second statement could only be
important, in as much as it differed from the one previously given to
the Sheriff. It could only be with a view of giving a fuller account,
and more minute in its details, that he was desirous of being troubled
further in the matter. It is not an impossible supposition, that the
declaration the Sheriff received is altogether a tissue of lies; and
is the immaculacy of it still to be upheld, and all correction denied,
because it would be contradictory of, or inconsistent with, the former
document? Neither does it seem to us, that the avowed object of its
publication makes any difference. It is only in as far as this object
is concerned that the public cares a straw upon the subject. And if the
Sheriff’s document is not intended to be immediately published, but
is to be shut up in the archives of his office, until some future Sir
Walter Scott grubs it out, and weaves for other generations a romance
of thrilling interest out of the horrifying confessions of Burke, the
public perhaps would have been as well pleased had all this official
activity been spared.