having been put in circulation, the result of the inquiries, which were
made by the Committee of Bankers for the Prevention of Frauds and
Forgeries, was clearly to fix the offence upon Hunton. The bills were
for the most part accepted in the name of Mr. Edward Wilkins of
Abingdon, and purported to be drawn by the firm of Dickson and Co. of
Ironmonger-lane, warehousemen, in which Hunton was a partner. It so
happened, however, that intelligence was received in town, before
several of them became due, that Mr. Wilkins was dead; and upon inquiry,
it turned out that the whole of the acceptances in the name of that
person were forgeries. Hunton received speedy information of the
discovery of the frauds of which he had been guilty; and upon inquiry
being made for him, he was found to have absconded. Officers were
immediately despatched in all directions to secure his person, and he
was at length traced by Forrester, the city constable, to the
neighbourhood of Plymouth. He directly started in pursuit, with some
others who were employed on the same errand; and upon inquiry there,
they learned that the object of their search was upon the point of
sailing for New York in the Leeds packet, on board which he passed under
the assumed name of Wilkinson. The officers immediately proceeded on
board that vessel, and under pretence of having a letter to deliver,
they were introduced to the forger. Upon their informing him of the
nature of their mission, he was not able to utter a word, but rose and
followed them, and was immediately conveyed to the shore. It is rather
extraordinary that the first paper taken from his pocket was a letter
directed to the editor of "The Times," stating that the amount of the
forgeries ascribed to him in a paragraph in that journal was
considerably exaggerated, and requesting that an acknowledgement to that
effect should be inserted, in justice to the party accused, who would
return as soon as possible, and pay off all his pecuniary obligations.
There was also found in his pockets the copy of a letter directed to the
house of Curtis and Co., informing them, that as it was not convenient
for the firm to discount any more bills for him, he should absent
himself for a short time from London. These were both directed from
Deal, and were, no doubt, intended to mislead, as the writer never went
near Deal in his route. He had entered the packet in his quaker dress;
but in the course of a few hours he put on a light-green frock, a pair
of light-grey pantaloons, a black stock, and a foraging-cap. It was
ascertained that he had previously entered a French steam-boat on the
river, with the intention of proceeding to Boulogne, and that he had
been actually in that boat at the time of its being searched by some
officers, who were endeavouring to procure his apprehension.
Upon his arrival in town, he underwent an examination before the lord
mayor, upon the charges which were preferred against him; and several
cases having been substantiated, he was fully committed for trial.
At the Old Bailey sessions, on the 28th of October 1828, the prisoner
was put upon his trial, and he was found guilty upon a charge of forging
a bill for 162_l._ 9_s._ with intent to defraud Sir William Curtis and
Co. On the following Tuesday, the 4th of November, he was again indicted
for a similar offence, in forging a bill for 94_l._ 13_s._ when a
similar verdict was returned; and at the conclusion of the sessions,
notwithstanding the recommendation of the jury to mercy, he received
sentence of death.
A considerable time elapsed before the case of this unfortunate prisoner
was reported to the Crown, in accordance with the custom which then
prevailed; and it was not until the 8th of December that his sentence
was carried into effect; but before we describe the circumstances
attending the execution, we cannot help alluding to a most extraordinary
delay which took place in the report of the recorder of London of the
cases of no less than forty-nine prisoners confined in Newgate on
various capital charges. It would appear that his majesty being at
Windsor, the recorder proceeded to the Castle on Monday the 24th of
November, for the purpose of making his report, when three wretched
prisoners were ordered for execution. In accordance with the usual
practice, it would have been the duty of the recorder to proceed
forthwith to London to communicate the result of the deliberation of the
privy council at Newgate, in order that the unhappy criminals, whose
cases had been under consideration, might be at once relieved from the
dreadful suspense in which, situated as they were, they would
necessarily be placed. Monday night passed, however, and no intelligence
was received of the learned gentleman, or of the decision which had been
arrived at; and the greater part of Tuesday was permitted also to elapse
before their dreadful anxiety was relieved. At five o'clock on that
afternoon, the clerk of the learned gentleman reached Newgate with the
death-warrant; and then only was it that the fate of the prisoners could
be disclosed to them. The subject was brought under the consideration of
the court of aldermen at the earliest possible period, with a view to
the recorder giving some explanation of the very singular conduct of
which he had been guilty; and he then stated, that the council not
having terminated until past eight o'clock on the evening of Monday, he
was at that time too fatigued to return to town on the same night; and
that on his starting from Windsor on the following morning, he was so
long delayed on the road, that he did not arrive in town until half-past
three o'clock. This excuse, however plausibly it may have been put by
the learned gentleman, was at least a lame one; and the remarks which
were made upon his conduct at the time by the public, and by the press,
were confined to no very measured terms.
Although so many prisoners had been reported on this occasion, it was
found that Hunton was not among the number, a circumstance which gave
him undue hopes and expectations, that he would be spared an ignominious
death. A second report, however, was made on Monday the 1st of December,
when the wretched criminal, with three others, was ordered for execution
on the 8th of the same month.
Hunton bore the intelligence, "that he was certainly to die," with
apparent fortitude. He was lying on his pallet when the Ordinary entered
his cell at a little after eleven on Monday night. Upon hearing the
cell-door open at so extraordinary an hour, he turned round slowly, and
said, "Well, I suppose I know the news thou bringest?" "Yes," replied
the Ordinary, "Mr. Hunton; you are, I hope, prepared for that which you
have expected--you are to be executed." Hunton said, "Indeed, I have
been expecting that intelligence; it is no surprise, and yet my case has
many palliatives which should operate with grace at the seat of mercy.
Pray, tell me who are doomed to die with me?" The Ordinary mentioned the
other names enumerated in the report, and Hunton observed, that he
should submit with calmness to his fate. "But," said he, "wilt thou do
me the great favour, friend Cotton, to permit my wife to come and stay
with me alone before the time arriveth for the change?" The Ordinary
replied, that he had not the power to grant any favour, but the request
should be communicated to the proper authority, and no doubt every
indulgence of a reasonable kind would be granted. During this
conversation, Hunton seemed to be perfectly resigned to his fate. It is
singular that he never asked on what day he was to be executed. After
the Ordinary assured him that he should be treated with kindness, he
turned about, and said, "Good night, friend," and appeared to resign
himself to sleep. In the morning he rose, evidently in a state of the
most wretched dejection: his eyes were filled with tears, and he
deplored the inhumanity of the laws, by which a man who had committed an
act not deserving the name of fraud was to suffer death. The spirits by
which he had been supported ever since his committal to Newgate
altogether abandoned him: he wrung his hands in agony, and complained of
the bitter aggravation of delay. When he first entered Newgate, he said,
"I wish, after this day, to have communication with nobody; let me take
leave of my wife and family and friends; I have already suffered an
execution; my heart has undergone that horrible penalty." A few days
afterwards a person called upon him to request that he would explain
some document relating to certain bills not yet due. In one instant he
gave the required explanation, fully to the satisfaction of the person
interested; and was asked by the same individual what opinion he
entertained of his own case? "Why," said he, "my case resembles the
condition of this paper (holding the letter upon his finger)--a breeze
of wind will turn it either way. Caprice may save or destroy me; but I
rather think I shall live longer." He was on the Tuesday visited by his
wife and several of the society of Friends, and he told them he knew
that to hope would be to court deception. He was, during the whole day,
the most painful object to those who went to console him: he groaned as
if his heart were bursting within him, and seemed to consider this life
all that a human being could wish for.
The execution of a man who was known to have moved in so respectable a
sphere of life as the unfortunate Hunton, failed not to attract an
immense crowd of persons to the vicinity of the jail of Newgate on the
morning upon which it was determined that his life should be forfeited.
From the extraordinary efforts which had been made to save this
unfortunate culprit, a very general belief was entertained that a
respite would most certainly arrive for him even so late as on the
morning fixed for his death. His safety was considered almost certain,
and many were scarcely persuaded that he would really suffer, even at
the moment when the fatal cord encompassed his neck. The unfortunate man
had, however, calmly composed his mind to meet his fate, and seemed to
contemplate its approach without dread. He was on Sunday visited by
several ladies and gentlemen of the society of Friends, who were
accommodated with an apartment, in which they remained in their peculiar
devotions for several hours. Afterwards the unhappy man was attended by
two gentlemen, elders of the congregation, who sat up with him in the
press-room all night, during which time Hunton composed a very long
prayer, appropriate to his situation and approaching death. He committed
his thoughts to paper, and after he had completed the prayer, he copied
it, and directed it to "his dearly-beloved wife." At about half-past
seven the two elders left the miserable man, after they had "kissed,"
and their absence was supplied by the attendance of Mr. Sparks Moline,
of Leadenhall-street.
At fifteen minutes before the awful hour of eight, the under-sheriffs
arrived at the prison, preceded by their tipstaffs, and were conducted
by Mr. Wontner to the press-room. At the end of this gloomy apartment
was observed, sitting at a long table which was strewed with pieces of
paper and books, the ill-fated Hunton; immediately opposite sat his
"friend," Mr. S. Moline. Hunton, turning his head, and observing the
group of officers as they entered the room said, "I pray thee stop a
minute; I'll not be long." He then concluded reading, in a distinct
voice, the prayer he had composed in the night; it was couched in the
most impressive and devout language that can be imagined. In it he
expressed his dependence on the merits of Jesus Christ, and a hope, that
when the spirit was separated from the body, it would join the angelic
host above, in singing praises to the Son of God, and to the Almighty.
Hunton had a very peculiar kind of voice, somewhat shrill and
effeminate; he, however, spoke with firmness. There was nothing in his
manner to condemn, but it showed a perfect self-possession. Mr. Moline,
when the unhappy man had done reading, bowed his head, and responded,
"Amen!" Hunton then arose, and folding up the paper in a hurried manner
said, "I am quite ready now." Mr. Wontner approached him, and said he
might remain seated for a short time longer; when he thanked the worthy
governor, and resumed his seat at the table, and occupied his time by
perusing some religious work before him. During this time John James,
aged nineteen, who was condemned for a burglary in the house of Mr.
Witham, the barrister, in Boswell-court, and two others were brought
into the room attended by the Reverend Ordinary.
The wretched Hunton, during the pinioning of his fellow-convicts,
conducted himself with the greatest calmness and devotion. He repeatedly
addressed those who were to suffer with him, urging them to repentance.
All having, at last, been properly secured, it only remained for the
unfortunate Hunton to undergo the same ordeal as his fellow-sufferers.
The unhappy man was indulging in a sort of reverie, when Mr. Wontner
tapped him upon the shoulder. He instantly stood up, and deliberately
took a white stock from his neck, and approached the officers; he stood
firmly, and when the man was in the act of tying his wrists he said,
"Oh, dear, is there any necessity to tie the cord so fast?" The officer
made no reply; upon which Hunton said, "Well, well, thou knowest best."
He again complained of the cord being too tight about his arms, which
was slackened a little, and the unhappy man said, "Thank thee, thank
thee." After he had been thus secured, he said, "Wilt thou allow me to
wear my gloves?" "Yes, certainly, sir," was the reply, and with some
difficulty he put them on, and still kept the prayer addressed to his
wife in his hand. All being now in readiness, the mournful procession
moved towards the scaffold.
Before Hunton left the room, he said to Mr. Moline, "Thou will not leave
me, friend?" "No," said Mr. Moline, "I will see thee to the scaffold."
Mr. Moline then supported the unhappy man along the passage to the lobby
at the foot of the scaffold, where he sat down by the side of his
friend, still holding the prayer to his breast.
Hunton was the last who was summoned by the officers. Upon his name
being pronounced, he turned round, and delivering the prayer to Mr.
Moline, each shook the other's hand, and kissed lips, the unhappy man
observing, "You may say I am quite happy and comfortable--fare thee
well." He then quickly ascended the steps with the same unshaken
firmness and deliberation which had marked his conduct throughout the
trying period. He took his station under the fatal beam, and requested
that a blue handkerchief, to which he seemed fondly attached, might be
fastened over his eyes, which was accordingly done.
The preparations of the hangman for the deaths of these unhappy men
being completed, the Reverend Mr. Cotton commenced reading a portion of
the burial-service, and at a given signal the drop fell, and the four
unfortunate beings were suspended. A loud shriek from some persons in
the crowd followed the close of the melancholy scene.
The sufferings of the unhappy men were but brief. The rope by which
Hunton suffered was longer than the rest, on account of his remarkably
low stature; it soon reached its full tension, and he appeared to die
instantly.
After the bodies had remained suspended for an hour, they were cut down
and removed into the interior of the jail, preparatory to their
interment.
The unfortunate Hunton, it appears, commenced business at Yarmouth, as a
slop-seller; and having been exceedingly prosperous, he opened a concern
of some magnitude at Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk: and also engaged in
business as a sugar-baker in the metropolis. He had previously married a
lady, a member of the society of Friends, to which sect it will be
perceived that he also belonged, and was supposed to be possessed of
property to the amount of 30,000_l._ Relinquishing these concerns he
entered into partnership with Messrs. Dickson and Company, of
Ironmonger-lane, who soon discovered that he was engaged to no small
extent in speculations on the Stock Exchange, in which, as it turned
out, he was particularly unsuccessful. A dissolution of partnership was
the consequence, and then the unhappy man, driven to want and despair,
committed those frauds which cost him his life. Up to the time of his
absenting himself from London, he had a large establishment at
Leytonstone, in Essex, where he was always looked upon as an eccentric,
but highly honourable and respectable person. The appearance and
demeanour of the unhappy man, at the time of his apprehension, were such
as to excite the greatest commiseration among those who saw him.
Although it would appear that the forgeries of which he had been guilty
were of no trifling extent, at that period one hundred sovereigns only
were found in his possession.
WILLIAM BURKE.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER
The unparalleled atrocities of which this diabolical murderer was
guilty, with his associates, can scarcely ever be obliterated from the
recollection of man. Devoid of all sense of humanity,--a butcher of the
human race, he was guilty of almost innumerable murders, for which his
only reward was to be the miserable amount to be paid him for the bodies
of his victims, in order that they might be submitted to the knife of
the anatomist.
The scene of these horrible occurrences was Edinburgh; but
notwithstanding the publication of the details of the circumstances
attending them which appeared at the investigations which took place
before the sheriff, few could be found who had formed such an idea of
the baseness of human nature, as to believe the possibility of the truth
of the dreadful disclosures which were made. The traffic in human blood,
with such an object as we have already pointed out, appeared too fearful
a crime to be contemplated; and all suspended their judgment until the
issue of the solemn inquiry of a jury should decide upon the allegations
which were made. Upon that inquisition, however, the most dreadful
apprehensions which were entertained as to the result were fully
realised, and the reports which had been circulated with reference to
the offences charged against the prisoners, were amply proved to be well
founded.
The metropolis of Scotland had been long and frequently excited by
statements being made of the disappearance of persons in the lower
orders of life, who were suddenly missed, and of whom no subsequent
traces could be discovered. Tramps entering the city with their friends
were suddenly lost; Irish hay-makers, on their road to the agricultural
districts of the Lowlands, in the same manner seemed to vanish from
among their companions; and in one instance an idiot, who in Scotland
is always looked upon as a harmless playmate for the children, as a
welcome guest at every table, and as an object of universal pity, was on
a sudden lost from the favourite haunts of his imbecile wanderings.
Suspicions of a dreadful character entered the minds of persons, whose
duty it was to superintend the police of the town,--suspicions of
murder, which might well be supposed to have been excited by the
influence of the Almighty, and through which the guilty were eventually
discovered and brought to punishment.
The occurrence which immediately led to the disclosure of these
diabolical crimes was the unaccountable disappearance of a mendicant
named Mary Campbell, an Irishwoman, who, after having been seen
frequenting the same vicinity for a considerable time, towards the end
of October 1829, was suddenly missed. The poor woman happened to have
friends, who were not disposed to treat her loss lightly, and a rigid
inquiry by the police was the result. An idea was suggested that her
body might be found at some of the medical schools in Edinburgh, so
justly celebrated for the excellence of the anatomical instruction which
they afforded to the pupils; and one day's search testified the truth of
the fears which had been excited of her death. Her remains were
discovered at the dissecting-room of Dr. Knox, a distinguished
anatomist, bearing marks perfectly conclusive of their identity. The
poor woman had received a wound upon her ancle, from the kick of a
drunken man, the aspect of which was sufficiently well known to enable
her former companions to speak with certainty as to the body. The cause
of death was now the subject of investigation; and here the deficiency
of caution in the purchase of subjects, the necessity of a change in the
law with regard to the provision of bodies for dissection, and finally,
the certainty of the murder of the deceased, were exemplified. The
medical men, by whom the body was examined, gave their firm and decided
opinion that suffocation had been the means by which the deceased had
been deprived of life,--a means which it was exceedingly unlikely any
natural circumstances would have produced. It was evident, therefore,
that murder had been resorted to,--it was believed, with a view to
secure the body of the wretched woman, in order that it might be sold
for dissection.
The next inquiry which followed, was that as to the individual from whom
the subject had been purchased. The law at that time contained no
enactment with regard to the mode by which surgeons were to be provided
with those subjects which the study of anatomy, so important to the
human race, positively required that they should possess. The occasional
execution of a criminal, whose remains were ordered by the terms of his
sentence to be given over to the surgeons for dissection, afforded no
sufficient supply to meet the constant demand which existed; and the
stealing of dead bodies was a practice openly encouraged by the
professors of anatomy, although it excited universal disgust and hatred
amongst those whose immediate interests forbade their looking upon the
custom with any feelings but those of horror.
So long as the war continued, the period of time required for the
completion of the education of medical students, so as to fit them in
some measure for the army or navy, was very short, and the study of
anatomy was consequently so much neglected, that it frequently happened
that a student filled the office of assistant-surgeon in those services
who had never dissected an entire body. At that time the
dissecting-rooms were supplied by men who in general exhumated the
bodies; and, as the suspicion of the public was not excited, it was
attended with no great difficulty. The highest price then ever obtained
by these men was four guineas for each subject; but as the number of
medical men increased, and many gentlemen, who had been engaged in the
army and navy during the war, returned to complete their education, the
demand became greater, and consequently the risk of procuring subjects
by the usual means was proportionately augmented. The men were
frequently detected in their attempts, and punished severely; they
therefore demanded an advance in their remuneration; and in consequence
of no legal provision being made for supplying the schools, it was found
necessary to accede to the demands. The price then became eight guineas;
and it subsequently varied from that to sixteen guineas, according to
circumstances.