 CHAPTER VII of THE HISTORY OF BERK AND HAIR and OF THE RESURRECTIONIST TIMES, this is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Greg Giordano. THE HISTORY OF BERK AND HAIR by George McGregor. CHAPTER VII NEW PROSPECTS. DESCRIPTION OF HAIR'S HOUSE. THE MURDER OF ABIGALE SIMPSON. THE OLD WOMAN FROM GILMURTON. THE TWO SICK MEN. THE SUCCESS OF THEIR FIRST TRANSACTION WITH THE DOCTORS. DEVELOPED NEW FEELINGS IN THE HEARTS OF BERK AND HAIR. AND THEIR TWO FEMALE COMPANIONS. THEIR MINDS, unconsciously, have been undergoing a degrading process, and the action they had taken with regard to the old pensioner's body opened up the way to them into a more complete state of moral turpitude. They thought they saw in this new traffic, if they could by any means obtain possession of the remains of their fellow creatures, an easier method of attaining a comfortable livelihood than any they had yet tried, even though it should involve the committal of murder, for they seemed fatally blind to the consequences which it was certain such a course as they contemplated would in all probability bring to them. Their argument, it may be assumed, was that if they got bodies to sell, no matter how, they would be able to throw off suspicion, and instead of doing what others then did, go to the church yards and plunder them of their ghastly contents. They took for their motto the significant question Burke put to the student when he was negotiating for the sale of Donald's body. When to give a pound or more for a fresh one? It was perhaps the case that they did not make up any definite plan of operations for the future. But it is beyond doubt that the outline of the plan they ultimately adopted was suggested by the conversation in Ox's rooms, while the details, in respect of the individual members, may have been worked out as occasion presented, each act leading on to the next until the last foul crime was committed. Before beginning the horrid record, it would be well to give a description of the scene of the enactment of most of the crimes, logs lodging house and tanners close. The entry from the street, says Layton, begins with the descent of a few steps, and is dark from the super incumbent land. On proceeding downwards you came for the house, which was raised for shame, is no longer to be seen, to a smallish self-contained dwelling of one flat, consisting of three apartments. One passing down the close might, with an observant eye, has seen into the front room, but this disadvantage was compensated by the house being disjoined from other dwellings. And a ticket, beds to let, as an invitation to vagrants, so many of whom were destined never to come out alive. Distinguished it still more. The outer apartment was large, occupied all round by these structures called beds, composed of knocked-up fir stumps and covered with a few gray sheets and brown blankets, among which the squalid wanderer sought rest, and the profligate snored out his debauch under the weight of nightmare. Another room opening from this was also comparatively large, and furnished much in the same manner, in place of any concealment being practiced, so far impossible indeed, in the case of a public lodging house. The door stood generally open, and, as we have said, the windows were overlooked by the passengers up and down, but as the spider's net is spread open, all his small keep is a secret hole, so here there was a small apartment, or rather closet, the window of which looked upon a pigsty and a dead wall, and into which, as we know, were introduced those unhappy beings destined to death. The very character of the house, the continued scene of roused passions, saved it from that observation, which is directed toward temporary tummels, so that no surprise could have been excited by cries of suffering, issuing, from such a place, even if they could have been heard from the interior den. And that was still more impossible. From the extraordinary mode of extinguishing life adopted by the weary and yet unwary colleagues, in this inner apartment Burke used to work when he did work, which always seldom, soon came to be rare, and eventually relinquished for other wages. In this place Donald, the pensioner, died, and here it was, that the most terrible series of modern tragedies was committed, the plan having been agreed upon by the two Confederates. It is doubtful if the two women had anything to do with its formation. Hare began by prowling about the streets to see if he could fall in with any person who would make it likely subject upon whom they could practice. For a time he was unsuccessful, but at length an opportunity arrived. This was, according to Burke's confession of the 3rd January, 1829, early in the spring of 1828, and according to the one published in the Edinburgh Evening Current on 11 February. Layton, however, says it was one afternoon in December, 1827, though he gives no other reason for differing from Burke, though in this instance the criminal does not speak generally, but with absolute definiteness. Whichever month it was, the fact is certain that one afternoon Hare met an old woman, the worse of drinking the grass market. This was Abigail Simpson, belonging to Gilmourton, a village on the outskirts of Edinburgh, who had come into the city to obtain the pension granted her by a gentleman in the new town, Sir John Hope. It has been suggested, who gave her one and six pence a week and a can of kitchen-fee. Her call had been made, and some of the money she had apparently spent in drink, where she was under the influence of it when she met Hare. He thought she looked a fitting subject. She was old and weakly, and the little strength of mind and body left her by her potations could surely be overcome very easily, if she were once in a suitable place for the commission of his shocking design. Hare spoke to her, professing that he had seen her before, and she, garrulous and doted, readily entered into conversation with him. Speedily they became fast friends, and he easily persuaded her to accompany him to his house, where they would have a dram together in honour of their happy meeting. Once in the house, Mrs. Simpson was treated with overflowing kindness. She was introduced to Burke as an old friend, and the whiskey was placed before her. She and the others partook of the liquor, though it is probable that her entertainers were more circumspect than she was in her libations. Highly pleased with her reception, she told all about herself and her affairs, and of how she had a fine young daughter at home, who was both good and beautiful. Hare said he was a bachelor, and he spoke to the old woman of marrying her daughter, so that they would have all the money among them. When the supply of drink was finished, Mrs. Hare bought the can of kitchen-fee for Mrs. Simpson for one and six pence, and this money was also expended in the purchase of more whiskey for the use of the company. The fun became fast and furious. The old woman crooned some of the songs of her youth, and Burke, who, as it has already been seen, was himself something of a musician, contributed his share to the harmony of the evening. It was proposed that Mrs. Simpson should not go home that night, and to this she readily assented. For, as the current confession of Burke puts it, she was so drunk she could not go home. This was their chance, but somehow or other it was not taken advantage of. Perhaps it was because they were not old hands at the trade, and they lacked sufficient courage at the time to carry out their evil intentions against the old woman. Just as likely they were too much intoxicated themselves to commit the crime. Possibly they were joined by other lodgers before whom they could not act. Be that as it may, the poor victim lay the last night of her life in a state of thorough intoxication. When morning came, she was sick and vomiting, and cried to be taken home to her daughter. Her entertainers expressed the utmost sympathy for her condition, and in their brutal kindness they gave her some porter and whiskey, which quickly made her again helplessly drunk. The time had now arrived. The house was quiet, and the courage of the two men was sufficient for the deed they contemplated. Hare placed his hand over her mouth and nose to stop her breathing, and Burke laid himself across her body in order to prevent her making any disturbance. Resistance? There was really none. The woman was beyond resistance, and any noise she might have been able to make was stifled by the method adopted to compass her death. In a few minutes she was dead, and the men lifted the body out of the bed, undressed it, and bundled it up in a chest. Hare took away the clothing, among which was a drab mantle and a white-grounded cotton shawl with blue spots, with the intention of putting it in the canal. One of the men afterwards informed Dr. Knox's students they had another subject to give them, and it was agreed that a porter from Surgeon's Square should meet them at the back of the castle in the evening. Burke and Hare carried the chest, with its ghastly contents, to the meeting-place, and thence the porter assisted them with it to the rooms. Dr. Knox, says Burke, came in when they were there. The body was cold and stiff. Dr. Knox approved of it being so fresh, but did not ask any questions. The price paid by the murderers for the corpse of old Abigail Simpson of Gilmourton was ten pounds. The work of wholesale murder was now fairly begun, and the conspirators had gained confidence by the success of their first effort. There were no qualms of conscience. If there were, they were speedily drowned in drink, strong enough to stop them in the course upon which they had so rapidly entered. The fear of discovery had passed away when they saw how easily and quietly they could work, and the desire for more victims became, shall we charitably say, a mania. The next unfortunate who fell into their foul clutches was the miller known to Burke simply as Joseph. The man was related by marriage to one of the partners of the Karen Iron Company, then the principal iron-founding firm in Scotland, and at one time had himself been in possession of a decent competency. He had, however, lost his money, and was so reduced that he had to reside in Hare's house in Tanner's Close. Joseph, while lodging there, became very ill, and the report went forth that the malady by which he was attacked was an infectious fever. Hare and his wife were alarmed, lest the rumours of damage the reputation of their house, and keep lodgers away. It was accordingly agreed that Joseph should be put out of the way as quickly as possible, and that by the remedy they had applied so successfully in the case of Mrs. Simpson. Burke laid a small pillow over the sick man's mouth, and Hare lay across the body to keep down his arms and legs. Death ensued as a matter of course, and the body was sold in Surgeon's Square for ten pounds. It does certainly seem strange that such a set of circumstances should lead up to the murder of the miller, and having in view the line of conduct these two men had now adopted, it is more than probable that the report of Joseph lying ill of fever was circulated by them to avert suspicion at his disappearance, and render his death from apparently natural causes more probable. Another case very similar to this one, but in all likelihood distinct from it, is mentioned in one of the Confessions of Burke, which, though not to be depended upon absolutely, must be assumed to be accurate in their main features. In the current confession the condemned man mentions the murderer of an Englishman as having filed out of Mrs. Simpson, though in the document prepared by the Sheriff Clerk the case of Joseph the miller is given in its place. The victim in this other instance was a native of Cheshire, also a larger in Hare's house, who was ill with jaundice at the time of the tragedy with Abigail Simpson was being enacted. He was a very tall man about forty years of age, and found a livelihood by selling spunks, or matches, on the streets of Edinburgh. His death was caused by the efficient plan now adopted by Burke and Hare, who obtained the customary ten pounds from Dr. Knox for the body, and no questions asked. As indicative, however, of the untrustworthiness of these Confessions, it is interesting to notice at this point, though, while in the document published in the current, and attested as correct by Burke's own signature, the murder of the Englishman is placed in point of time, after that of Simpson, yet, in the official confession, emitted fully of Fortnight earlier, the commission of the crime is stated to have occurred in May, and as the fourth on the terrible list. It is nevertheless to be feared, that although there may be some doubt as to the exact dates when some of the murders were committed, Burke did not make full confession of the various acts of want and sacrifice of human life in which he had been engaged. Perhaps, unfortunately, because they were so numerous, and were done in such a short space of time, that his memory could not carry every individual case in its proper details. End of Chapter 7. Recording by Greg Giordano. Newport Richey, Florida Chapter 8. Wams of Conscience, the Murder of Mary Patterson, and Escape of Janet Brown, Preservation of the Fallen Beauty It is remarkable, that at so early a period in their career of crime, Burke and Hare should have shown so much boldness, as they exhibited, in the murder of Mary Patterson, a young woman, unfortunately too well known on the streets of Edinburgh. And it is equally remarkable, how considering the whole circumstances, they were able to carry out the crime and dispose of the body without detection. There is little reason to doubt that Burke was, in the first instance, a man of finer nature than Hare, though their guilt in the end was at least equal. Here, it seems, could play his part in the slaughter of a fellow mortal without any qualms of conscience, and he slept as quietly the night after he had provided a subject for the doctors, as if his soul were unstained with guilt. Burke, however, was a man of a different temperament, and though reckless he could not altogether banish the moral teachings of his church from his mind, thou shalt do no murder rang in his ears. But under the benumbing influences of drink, the command was forgotten and broken, and then followed the fearful looking for judgment. He could not sleep without a bottle of whiskey by his bedside, and he had always, on the table, a two-penny candle, burning all the night. When he wakened sometimes in fright, he would take a draft at the bottle, often to the extent of half of its contents at a time, and that induced sleep, or rather, super. In one of these walk-rive fits, Burke early on the morning of Friday, the 9th April, 1828, left the house and made towards a public house in the neighborhood of the Cannon Gate, kept by a man named Swanson. While he sat drinking rum and bitters with the landlord, two young women, of the apparently doubtful character, entered the house and ordered a gill of whiskey, which they immediately set about to consume. These were Mary Patterson, or Mitchell, and Janet Brown, both residing with a Mrs. Worthington in Leith Street. They had been apprehended the previous evening for some offense against the law, probably for being drunk and quarrelsome, and lodged in the Cannon Gate police station. Between four o'clock and five o'clock in the morning, they were liberated and went to a house in the vicinity where they had formerly lodged, occupied by a Mrs. Laurie, who endeavored to persuade them to remain with her. She was unsuccessful, and they left for Swanson's public house, where they met with Burke. The women, and Burke, it is said, were strangers to each other, but he, whose conscience had been again quieted by the liquor he had imbibed, thought he saw in them two fine subjects for the doctors. In his most winning manner he went up and spoke to them, asked them to have a drink with him, and ordered a round of rum and bitters. They were not at all averse to the treat, so they sat down and consumed three gills at the expense of their smooth-spoken entertainer. At last Burke had ingratiated himself so much with the girls that he proposed they should accompany him to his lodgings nearby and partake of breakfast with him. His story was that he was a pensioner, and to Brown, who had some objection to going with him, he said he could keep her comfortably for life if she and her companion, who was quite willing, would go with him. He talked them round until they agreed to accompany him. Purchasing two bottles of whisky he gave one to each of them, and the trio then set off for Constantine Burke's house in Gibbs Close, off the Cannon Gate. This Constantine Burke, his brother, was a married man with several of a family, and was a scavenger in the employment of the Edinburgh Police Establishment. It was never known whether he and his wife had any complicity in the murders, but it was shrewdly suspected at the time that they were at least aware of them, especially of the one that was committed in their house. When Burke and his two companions arrived at the house, they found that the brother and his wife were newly out of bed, but had not, as yet, got time to kindle the fire. The house, on that account, looked rather gloomy for the reception of guests, and Burke abraded his sister-in-law, or landlady, as he wished her to appear, for her carelessness. The fire was, however, speedily lighted, and a cheerful glow was shed through the apartment, which even then was nothing very fine. The entrance to it was up a narrow wooden trap-stare, and along a dark passage. The door was only fastened by a latch. The place itself was but meagerly furnished. The most prominent articles it contained being a truckled bed, and another with tattered patchwork curtains. While on the walls were nailed, by way of adornment, some tawdry prints. The fire, however, improved its appearance somewhat, and Mrs. Constantine Burke and her brethren-law set about the preparation of breakfast. Soon there was on the table a plentiful supply of food, consisting of tea, bread and butter, eggs and haddocks. Altogether a feast which could not have been anticipated by the look of the apartment itself, or of its accustomed occupants. The company sat down, and the conversation became general and altogether friendly, so that with the drink they had imbibed and the warmth of their reception the girls began to feel quite happy. Constantine Burke left to attend to his daily employment, and when the breakfast dishes were cleared off the table the two bottles of whisky were produced, and the debauch began at so early an hour was renewed. Burke and Mary Patterson drank recklessly, the former to keep up his courage for the murder he contemplated, and the latter simply because she liked the liquor. But Brown was more temperate. Although she did not altogether abstain, Mary had lengths succumbed to the potency of the whisky, and she lay back asleep in her chair. Burke now saw that at least one of his proposed victims was safe, and his suggestion to Brown that they should go out and have a walk was agreed to quite readily. It was difficult at first sight to surmise what can have been his object in making this movement, but it may find an explanation in the fact that soon the couple were seated in a public house with pies and porter before them. The mixture of drinks made Brown more stupid, and after a while she accompanied the man back to the house in Gibbs Close, in a very drunken condition, but still retaining some little knowledge of what she was doing. Again the whisky was produced. While they sat drinking, Helen McDougal, who had entered the house while they were out, and who had hidden herself behind the bed curtains, broke in upon the conversation. The sister-in-law whispered to Brown that this was Burke's wife, and McDougal fiercely attacked the girls, accusing them of attempting to corrupt her husband, Brown explaining that neither she nor her own helpless companion knew Burke was married. McDougal, having heard this explanation, apologized to Brown, and pressed her to resume her seat. And she then turned with the fury of a tigress upon her husband, breaking the dishes on the table. Burke threw a glass, which striking her on the forehead caused an ugly gash, which bled profusely. Mrs. Constantine Burke rushed out of the house, and went it has been assumed for hair, and soon afterwards Burke succeeded in turning his McDougal out, locking the door after her. Mary Patterson slept through all the hubbub, while Brown stood aside in terror. Burke endeavored to induce the latter to sit down again, and she, though willing enough, was put in so much fear by the noise made by McDougal in the passage leading to the house, that she felt the sooner she was at home it would be the better for herself. Finding he could not persuade her to stay, Burke conducted her past his paramour, and then returned to the house, where Mary Patterson still lay unconscious. Hair arrived soon afterwards. The two men combined to try their fatal skill on the intoxicated girl, and in a few minutes her soul had fled from her poor frail body. The women were conveniently outside, and when they came in the corpse was lying on the bed, covered up. They asked no questions, for they probably knew as well, as if they had witnessed it, what was going on. Having completed their work, the men left the house. In the meantime Janet Brown had made her way as best she could to the house of Mrs. Laurie, which she and Patterson had visited immediately before meeting with Burke. She told as coherently as possible the story of what had happened to herself and her companion during the day, and Mrs. Laurie, judging that the company in which they had been was somewhat rough, sent her servant along with Janet to bring Mary away. Muddled with the drink she had taken, the girl found the greatest difficulty in returning to the house she had so recently left. At last she applied for information to Swanson, the publican, who informed her that Burke was a married man, and that she would probably find him in his brother's house, in Gibbs Close. Thither she went, and after mistaking the door, she succeeded in getting the place she wanted. Mrs. Hare was sitting inside, and whenever she saw Brown, she jumped towards her as if to strike her. But thinking better of it, she held back. The girl asked where Mary Patterson had gone, and they replied that she was out with Burke. The unlikeliness of the story did not seem to suggest itself to her. Though if she had been in any other than a semi-intoxicated condition, she would have remembered that when she left the house, Mary was totally incapable of walking on account of the drink she had taken. On the invitation of Hare and his wife and MacDougall, she again for the third time sat down at the table to partake of more whiskey. Mrs. Laurie's servant, seeing the state of matters, left Brown and returned to her mistress. Hare now calculated on a second victim, and he plied Brown with more liquor. While MacDougall, to keep up the appearance, poured forth invective against her husband for going away with Patterson, who poor girl lay dead on the bed beside them. While this was going on, and the girl was fast becoming a fit subject for the murdering arts of Hare, the servant had informed Mrs. Laurie of how matters looked in Gibbs' close, and she, rather alarmed, sent the girl back to bring Janet Brown away. In this she succeeded, and Hare, considering his object frustrated, left the house shortly after her. Later in the afternoon, Brown partially sobered, returned again. How like the moth, careering recklessly round the candle that works its destruction, and again inquired for Mary. The answer she received this time was that Burke and her friend had never returned. Brown went out to search for her, and with the aid of Mrs. Worthington, with whom she resided, she found that Mary Patterson had not gone with Burke. They called again at Constantine Burke's house for an explanation, and the inmates there, seeing that their former story had been proven untrue, said the girl had gone away with a Pac-Man to Glasgow. This was not at all satisfactory. But what could they do? If they had called in the police and searched the house, they would speedily have unraveled the mystery. But they were, unfortunately for themselves, of a class whose relationship with the authorities was not of the most pleasant description, and who, therefore, sought to have as little to do with them as possible. About four hours after Mary Patterson's death, her murderers had her body in Dr. Knox's dissecting room, and had received eight pounds for their four-noons work. This expedition in itself was rather foolhardy, for, while the corpse was cold, it was not very rigid, and presented the appearance of recent death. And it was all the more so on account of the fact that Burke and Hare were supposed to be resurrectionists of the old type, who robbed graves of their contents. Ferguson, the student already mentioned, and one of his companions, both they knew the girl, and one of them said she was as like a girl he had seen in the cannon gate only a few hours before, as one pee was to another. But more than that, the girl's hair was in curlpapers, so that all the external appearances were that the body was fresh, and had not been buried. They asked Burke where he had obtained the body, and his reply was that he had purchased it from an old woman residing at the back of the cannon gate. One of the students gave him a pair of scissors, and he cut off her fine flowing tresses, and these he would probably sell to a hairdresser to be made up for the use of some proud dame. But this was not all. Mary Patterson in life was an exceedingly good-looking girl. Indeed, her fine personal appearance had to a certain extent contributed to her ruin. Her handsome figure and well-shaped limbs so attracted the attention of Dr. Knox that he preserved the body for three months in spirits, and invited a painter whose name is suppressed in Burke's confession to his rooms to see it. Her friends, however, knew nothing of this, and they searched everywhere but without success. For some months Janet Brown asked Constantine Burke every time she saw him, if he had ever heard anything of Mary Patterson, since she went away with the tramp to Glasgow. But he replied to her only with a growl. And there the matter rested for eight months, until the great conspiracy against human life was brought to light. And surely Mary Patterson, notwithstanding all her faults, was worthy of a better fate. Beautiful and well-educated, she had lost in youth the guiding care of a mother. Her beauty was a snare to her, and her perverse will, though accompanied but not modified by a kind heart, greatly tended to accomplish her downfall. End of Chapter 8 Recording by John Brandon Chapter 9 of The History of Burke and Hare and of the Resurrectionist Times This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The History of Burke and Hare by George McGregor Chapter 9 Unknown Victims The Two Old Women Effie the Cinderraker A Good Character with the Police Burke and Hare Separate The Murder of Mrs. Hostler In view of what has already been said as to the serious discrepancies in the confessions given to the world by Burke, and considering also that many of the persons murdered, even according to these confessions, were never sought after by their friends, if they had any, the impossibility of taking the crimes in their chronological order will be at once evident. We therefore propose, in the present chapter, to bring together as many details as can be gathered respecting these unknown victims, reserving in the meantime an account of those more prominent instances which came within public can either through the medium of the trial or by subsequent inquiry. One forenoon, Mrs. Hare, in the course of her peregrinations, found herself in the company of an old woman, whom she persuaded to go with her to her house. There the whiskey was, as usual, produced, and a midday carouse indulged in by the two women. But Mrs. Hare, it may be presumed, would drink very sparingly. At this time Hare was at work unloading the canal boats at Port Hopeton, and Burke was busy mending shoes in his cellar. That this was so may be taken as indicating that, in point of time, this was one of the earliest adventures of the terrible quartet. For laterally, when they were in receipt of a large and, as they made it, a steady income from the doctors, the men threw aside all honest work and devoted themselves to their murderous enjoyment. However, at this period they were sometimes engaged in the creditable affairs of life. When Hare came home for dinner, his wife had her unknown acquaintance in bed, in a helplessly drunken state, although she had had some trouble before she got that length. Three times had Mrs. Hare put the old woman to bed, but she would not sleep, and every time she plied her with more drink until at length she attained her purpose. Hare, seeing the woman in this condition, carefully placed a part of the bed-tick over her mouth and nose, and went out to resume his work. When he returned in the evening the woman was dead, having been suffocated by the bedding he had placed over her. Burke, if his own statement is to be credited, had nothing to do with this cool and deliberate murder. But if not an accessory to the fact, he was certainly one after it, for he assisted Hare to undress the body, place it in a tea-chest, and convey it that night to Dr. Knox's rooms, where they received and divided the usual fee. The name of this woman was not known, even to Burke, and all that he could tell of her was the manner of her death, and that she had some time previously lodged in Hare's house for one night. As a set-off against the crime just mentioned, there is one in which Burke acknowledged that he alone was engaged. This was the murder of an old woman in May, 1828. She came into the house as a lodger, and of her own accord she took drink until she became insensible. Hare was not in the house at the time, and Burke, by the usual method of suffocation, produced her death. No time was lost in conveying the body to Surgeon Square. In the murder of an old cinder-woman, however, both the men were engaged. During the course of her work of searching for small articles of inconsiderable value among the contents of ash pits and cinder-heaps, and about the coach-houses, this woman, familiarly known as Effie, came across small pieces of leather, which she was in the habit of selling to Burke, who used them for mending the shoes and trusted him for repair. One day he took her into Hare's stable, which he used as a workshop, and gave her drink, possibly on the pretense of finishing some business transaction between them. It may have been, in part, payment of scraps of leather he had received from her. Firm murder never seems to have been committed except when the funds were at a low ebb, and at the rate at which the Confederates were carousing and indulging in finery, that was very frequent. Hare joined his companion in the work of making the woman incapable, and she was soon so overcome by the liquor she had consumed that she lay down to sleep on a quantity of straw in the corner. Their time for action had again arrived, and they carefully placed a cloth over her so as to stop her breathing. She was then, proceeds the confession, carried to Dr. Knox's, Surgeon Square, and sold for ten pounds. This is always the end of the matter, and for a few paltry pounds these persons were willing to take the life of a fellow creature. But in spite of all his loose way of living, and, as we have seen, somewhat drunken habits, Burke had a good character with the police, and on one occasion made them the means of furnishing him with a victim. A good character with the police in the locality in which he lived would be of some consideration. It was then inhabited, and still is, by the lowest classes of the community, and the criminal element would be prominent. Burke, so far as is known, had always been able to keep clear of the minions of the law, and in this respect his character would seem to them to be of a better type than those who engaged in a less shocking, if more open, form of crime. They would look upon him as a poor workman, a little foolish perhaps, but still, as the place went, comparatively respectable. Yet, as they found out laterally, he was the most wicked criminal in the city, with perhaps the exception of his accomplice, Hare. It seems strange that he should have been able to manage the police in such a way as to make them serve his vile purposes, but it must be remembered that he was a man possessed of a considerable assurance, and not a little of that winning tongue proverbibly belonging to his race. However, this was the way the incident came about. Early one morning, when probably on the lookout for some poor unfortunate whom he could drug with whiskey and put to death, he came across Andrew Williamson, a policeman, assisted by his neighbor, dragging a drunken woman to the watch-house in the west port. They had found her seated on a stair, but thought she would be safer and more comfortable in a police cell. And so she would have been, if they had carried out their intention. Burke saw in her a victim, who had herself half done the work he contemplated, so he went to the countstables and said, Let the woman go to her lodgings. The men were willing to do so, but they did not know where she lived. Burke proffered his services to take her home, and they, presuming he knew something about her, gladly gave him the charge of their loathsome burden. The murderer did not look upon her in that light. She was to him a valuable prize, loathsome though she might be as a drunken, debauched woman. He took her to Hare's house. There was hardly any need to say what was done with her. That she fell into Burke's hands in such a condition indicates her end. That night she was murdered by Burke and Hare in the same way as they did the others, and for her body they received ten pounds from Dr. Knox. But the last of these, what may be called isolated cases, took place in the house of John Brogan, with her Burke and his wife removed in mid-summer 1828. Why this change of residence took place has never been satisfactorily explained. Some have supposed that the parties quarreled, and there is undoubted evidence of a dispute between Burke and Hare about the time of the removal. But certainly, if the separation of residence was due to such an event, they do not seem to have kept up the ill-feeling long, for they were soon together at work at their shocking trade. Others, again, have thought it more probable that the change was due to a desire to extend the business in which they were now engaged, or to avert any suspicions that may have been raised by the frequent disappearance of people seen to enter Log's lodging-house. Either of these suppositions is feasible, but, as will be shown later on, a dispute as to the division of the money received from Dr. Knox in payment for a body was the primary cause of the separation. Though, after the difference between them was settled, the change may have been found very convenient. Brogan's house was situated only a short distance from the abode of the hares, and into it Burke and Madougal first went in the capacity of lodgers, but it was afterwards rented by them. In the month of September, or perhaps October, after this removal had taken place, a widow-woman of the name of Hostler was washing for some days in Brogan's house. This woman's husband, a street porter, had died but a short time previously, and she was forced to seek for employment at washing and dressing, and during the harvesting season, in the fields. The Brogan's had engaged her to wash their clothes, and after a full day's work she went back the day after to finish up. When this was done, Burke pressed her to take a drop whiskey along with him. They soon were in a happy state, and the sound of merriment was heard by the neighbors, who, however, paid little attention to the matter. Very possibly because Mrs. Brogan had but a little before been confined, and their idea was that the Blythe meat and the dram, incident to such an occasion, were going round. Burke, in his second confession, said Brogan and his wife were not in the house at the time, but the fact already mentioned rather tells against the latter's absence. Whoever were present seemed to be enjoying themselves. Mrs. Hostler drank heartily, and as the liquor warmed her blood and raised her spirits she sang her favorite song, Home Sweet Home. Burke, notwithstanding all the black sin on his soul and the evil purpose in his mind, sang too, and the mirth to the outsiders seemed real and legitimate. But the drink she had imbibed made the woman sleepy, and at last she was forced to lie down on the bed. Hare by this time had joined his accomplice, and they speedily smothered the poor woman. She did not die without a severe struggle. In her hand at the time of death she had nine pence hapony, and it was with the greatest difficulty that the murderers were able to open the tightly grasped hand to take away the money. The body was packed into a box, and placed in a coal-house in the passage, until an opportunity occurred for taking it to Surgeon Square. That evening the corpse of Mrs. Hostler lay in Dr. Knox's rooms, and Burke and Hare were richer by eight pounds, though they had to answer for another murder. The History of Burke and Hare by George McGregor CHAPTER X Old Mary Haldane The end of her debauch. Peggy Haldane in search of her mother. Mother and daughter united in death. But returning to the cases about which more is known than those spoken of in the last chapter, or which possessed features that have given them a greater hold on the public mind, the first to call for notice are the murders of an old woman named Haldane and her daughter Margaret, which took place before Burke changed his residence. Old Mary Haldane, it seems, was called Mistress merely out of courtesy, for she had no claim to the title. A woman of some considerable personal charms in her youth, she had given way to the deceiver, and at last found herself on the streets, a drunken, worthless vagrant. She had three daughters, one of whom married a tinsmith named Clark, carrying on business in the high street of Edinburgh. The second, at the time of her mother's death, was serving a term of fourteen years' transportation for some offence, while the third was simply following the unfortunate example of one who should have sheltered her from evil influences. Old Mary was well known to Burke and Hare and their wives, having at one time been a denison of Loggs' lodging-house. According to Burke's own admission, this was how the murder was committed. She was a lodger of hairs. She went into her stable, the door was left open, and she being drunk and falling asleep among some straw, Hare and Burke murdered her, the same way as they did the others, and kept the body all night in the stable, and took her to Dr. Knox's next day. She had but one tooth in her mouth, and that was a very large one in front. This account, however, hardly agrees with what was brought out by subsequent inquiries. Burke, it would appear, had long thought of her as a proper subject for his murdering craft, and one day, when he felt that something further would have to be done to renew their exhausted ex-checker, he went out to look for Mary. She had left Hare's lodgings and was then away on a drunken debauch. His search was unfruitful at the time, but two days later he saw her standing at the close, leading to the house in which she then resided. She was then in the condition of the man who said he was sober and sorry for it, for she readily agreed to accept the dram Burke offered her if she went along with him. Mary was well known in the district, and the gammons regarded her as a butt for their little practical jokes and coarse fun. They ran after her as she passed along the grass market towards the west port, all the more so as she was in the company of a well-dressed man, because Burke's personal appearance and habit had been improved by the large sums of money he was every now and then receiving from Dr. Knox for his ghastly merchandise. Many persons noticed the strangely assorted couple, and although they wondered a little at the time to see them going along the street in so friendly a manner, they soon forgot all about it, until the disclosures of the trial brought the incident back to their recollections. As Burke and Mrs. Haldane were on their way along, they met Hare walking in the opposite direction. Hare, if he were not previously aware of his colleague's object, now quickly divined it, and stood to speak with them. Mary agreed to accompany her old landlord to his house in Tanner's Close, and Burke, having chased away the children who were tormenting the poor woman, left them to transact some other business. He was not, however, long behind them in arriving at Hare's house, where the two women, Madougal and Mrs. Hare, had provided whiskey for the good of the company. The bottle was passed round, and Mrs. Haldane partook greedily of its contents, so greedily indeed that in a marvelously short time she was helplessly intoxicated. Then followed the usual process of Birking, and Mary Haldane, unfortunate in life, was equally unfortunate in her death. Of course the women had retired from the apartment before the last scene was enacted. Probably they did not care to see the end, for it was inconvenient if they should be called upon as witnesses, though they must have known what was being done, as they certainly contributed largely to bring about the commission of the deed. This was but a part of the method, and in this, as in other respects, it was carefully carried out. What Dr. Knox or his assistants gave them for Mary Haldane's body is not known, but it has been suspected that, providing a regular and good supply, the conspirators were now receiving twelve or fourteen pounds for every subject they took to Surgeon Square. But this was not the end of the Haldane tragedy. There was yet another victim from that already unfortunate family. Mention has been made of the daughter Margaret, who was only too closely following in the footsteps of her wayward mother. Notwithstanding the terrible career of these two unfortunates, there seems to have been as strong a bond of affection between them as should always exist between a daughter and a mother. Margaret, or Peggy, Haldane, soon missed her mother, and after the lapse of a day or two set out to look for her. It was nothing new for the old woman to be away for a short time, but on this occasion the absence was more prolonged than usual. She went about asking everyone she knew if they had seen Mary Haldane, and her begrudten face and tawd refinery drew sympathy from many to whom that feeling was an almost total stranger. Many gave her what help they could to trace her missing mother, but for a time they were without a clue, until David Reimer, a grocer in Portsburg, mentioned to a neighbor that he had seen Mary Haldane in the company of Hare on the way to his house. The girl felt that her search was now at an end, and so it was, for she would soon be beside her lost parent. At Hare's house she called, in the full expectation of finding her mother. Perhaps it might be in the midst of a debauch, but that was nothing out of the way, and surely she would get her home with her. On entering the house Peggy met Mrs. Hare and Helen Madougal, who, to her surprise, denied that Mary Haldane had recently been with them, and who, in the fear of discovery, endeavored to strengthen their repudiation by abusing the old woman and her daughter. Hare, in an adjoining apartment, heard what was going on, and set to work to deceive the girl in a much more astute manner. Blank denial could only send her back to those who had helped her to trace her mother to his house. Suspicion might be raised, and inquiry, he saw, could only result in complete discovery. He therefore came out of his den, and silencing the clamorous tongues of his two female associates, he assured Peggy that he could give her the explanation of her mother's disappearance. In his heart he knew no one could throw more light than he on the matter, but it was his purpose rather to darken than illuminate the inquiring mind of the poor searcher. He invited her into the adjoining room to taste the inevitable dram, drink and die. She was not averse to a drop of whiskey, and she sat down at the table where her mother, but a few days before, had indulged in her last debauch. I and where many before had done the same. Burke had noticed Peggy enter the house, and he soon followed after her. It was wonderful how readily these two men closed round their victims. He sat down at the table with Hare and the girl, and the former began his explanation. He admitted, of course, that he had seen old Mary, for there was a policy in that. But he added that she left him to go on a visit to some friends she had at Mid Calder, a few miles to the west of Edinburgh. It must have appeared a little strange to Peggy that her mother should have gone visiting among her family friends without letting her daughter know of her intention. But then Mary's ways were somewhat erratic, and the hope that a walk to Mid Calder would discover her mother, combined with the benumbing effects of the whiskey she was drinking, quieted her anxieties. The quotation wrought speedily, and the young woman passed from the talkative and merry state of drunkenness to the dull and stupid, until, at last, she was ready for the sacrifice. She was so drunk, says Burke, that he did not think she was sensible of her death, as she made no resistance, whatever. Burke's confession regarding Peggy Haldane's murder has been proven by inquiry to be inaccurate in some details, but there is no reason to doubt his account of the manner of it. He says it was committed in Brogdon's house. That was not the case, for the crime occurred in Loggs' lodging-house, of which Hare was then the landlord. He said, Hare had no hand in it, and that this was the only murder that Burke committed by himself, but what Hare was connected with. But this statement is contradicted by another of Burke's own confessions, and further, we have seen that if Hare took no active part in the murder itself, he was at least accessory to it. However, as to the manner there need be little doubt. She was laid with her face downwards, and he, Burke, pressed her down, and she was soon suffocated. What a dreadful death! Yet no more dreadful than that met by all the victims of the soul-hardened conspirators. The body was put into a tea-chest and taken to the rooms of Dr. Knox. Mary and Peggy Haldane were again under the same roof. They were again together, but in death. Burke acknowledged that he received eight pounds for this victim, but, as he said, he did not always keep mind of what he got for a subject, though he had no doubt Dr. Knox's books would show. These books, however, never saw the light of day. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The History of Burke and Hare by George McGregor Chapter XI A narrow escape. The old Irish woman and her grandson. Their murder. Hare's horse rising in judgment. Still the wholesale slaughter of weak human beings went on. The murderers never saw a strong able man upon whom to try their fatal skill. They always chose the old and the silly in body or in mind, those who could be plied with drink. Burke, one day in June, 1828, was wandering about the streets of Edinburgh looking for another subject. In the high street he came across a frail old man whose physical condition bespoke him an easy victim and whose bleared eyes and drink sawed in face showed he would quickly respond to the fatal bribe of a glass or two of whiskey. The two men were just becoming fast friends and were about to adjourn to the Den and Loggs lodging-house when an old woman, leading a blind boy of about twelve years of age, came up to them. She asked if they could direct her to certain friends for whom she was seeking. Burke then discovered her to be an Irish woman who had walked all the way from Glasgow, sleeping at nights by the roadside or in farm yards, and whose simple question showed that she was entirely strange to Edinburgh. This was a better opportunity, he thought, and he parted with the old man to make friends with the newcomers. He soon found out from the woman's own statement who she was and for whom she was in search and on the strength of a common nativity he undertook to befriend her professing that he knew where her friends resided and that he would take her to them. The boy, it seemed, was her grandson, and he was deaf and dumb. Burke even thought he was weak in his mind. So he took them to Hare's House at the West Port, feeling certain that he had obtained a prize, if not two of them. He knew that being strangers there would be less chance of an inquiry after them, should they disappear, than if they had been netizens of Edinburgh, though experience had shown him that even the best-known figures in the district could drop out of sight without any serious search being made for them. Again the bottle was set on the table, and the old Irish woman was invited to take a drop until her friend should come in, for it was told her that they resided there. It is the old sickening story. The whiskey operated quickly on the wearied brain, the woman lay down on the bed, and at the dead hour of the night she was murdered by the human ghouls. How truly can Poe's lines be applied to them? They are neither man nor woman, they are neither brute nor human, they are ghouls. The dreadful work completed, they stripped the body and laid it on the bed, covering it with the bed-tick and bed-clothes. All this time, unconscious of the tragedy going on in the little room, the poor boy was in the one adjoining in the charge of the women, who were, in their peculiar way, looking to his comfort. He was becoming anxious that his grandmother's prolonged absence from him, even though she was in the same house, and he gave such expression to his anxiety as his dumbness would permit. The men wondered what they should do with him. It would be imprudent, they thought, to slay him also and take his body with that of his grandmother to Surgeon Square. Yet what could they do with him? They might wander him in the city, and there would be little fear that he would be able to tell how or where his grandmother had disappeared, for he was deaf and dumb and weak in his mind. On this point, however, they could not agree, and they parted, hair to get something to put the body into, and Burke to consider the whole bearings of the important matter under discussion. Burke, in his second confession, says, They took the boy in their arms and carried him to the room, and murdered him in the same manner, and laid him alongside of his grandmother. Layton, however, obtained some further information, and in the light of it the tragedy becomes even more horrible. The night passed, he says, the boy having by some means been made to understand that his protectress was in bed, unwell. But the mutterings of the mute might have indicated that he had fears which, perhaps, he could not comprehend. The morning found the resolution of the prior night unshaken, and in that same back room where the grandmother lay, Burke took the boy on his knee, and, as he expressed it, broke his back. No wonder that he described this scene as the one that lay most heavily upon his heart, and said that he was haunted by the recollection of the piteous expression of the wistful eyes as the victim looked in his face. The bodies of the old Irish woman and her poor grandson lay side by side on the bed for an hour, until their murderers could get something into which they could be packed. The tea-chest so often used had gone astray, or been used up, so it was no longer available, but they obtained an old herring-barrel which was perfectly dry there was no brine in it. Into this receptacle the two bodies were crushed, and it was carried into hair's stable where it remained until the next day. This cargo for the doctors required much more careful handling than any that had yet taken to Surgeon Square, and hair's horse and cart, which he had used in his hawking journeys throughout the country, were pressed into the service. But an extraordinary occurrence took place, nearly ending in discovery. The barrel was carefully put into the cart, and the old hack owned by hair started for Dr. Knox's rooms with its loathsome burden. At the meal-market, however, it took a dour fit, and move it would not. A large crowd had gathered round the stubborn animal, and assisted the drivers to lash and beat it, but all to no effect. Burke thought the horse had risen up in judgment upon them, and he trembled for exposure. Conscious guilt made a coward of him. Fortunately for them no one made any inquiry as to the contents of the barrel, for attention was directed mainly to the horse, and the murderers were safe. They engaged a porter with a hurly-barrel, and the barrel was transferred to his care. The man had less scruples than the horse, and dragged his vehicle after him to Surgeon Square. Hair accompanied him, and Burke went on in advance, fearful, lest some other awkwardness should occur, and the stubbornness of the horse had made him doubtful if they would manage safely through the transaction. Arrived at Dr. Knox's rooms, Burke lifted the barrel and carried it inside. Another drawback took place in the unpacking of the bodies. They had been put into the barrel when they were in a comparatively pliable state, but now they were cold and stiff, having been doubled up in it for nearly a whole day. The students gave a helping hand in the work, and when it was accomplished and the bodies laid out, sixteen pounds were paid down to Burke and Hare. But was it not strange that no question should have been asked, or that no suspicions of foul play should have been raised? The horse, it turned out, was fairly used up. Hare had it shot in a neighboring tanyard, and it was then found that the poor animal had two large, dried-up sores on his back, which had been stuffed with cotton, and covered over with a piece of another horse's skin. No wonder, then, that the brute refused to go further. End of Chapter 11 George McGregor Chapter 12 Jealousy An undeveloped plot Hare cheats Burke, and they separate. The foul work continued. Murder of Anne McDougall While all this was going on, these four persons bound together as they were by the Joint Commission of Terrible Crimes had their little disagreements among themselves. The women were jealous of each other, and there was every reason to believe that each man was suspicious that his neighbor, in the case of discovery, would turn informer, as the result afterwards proved. To those around them, they all appeared to be in a most prosperous condition. The women dressed themselves in a style that was considered highly superior in the locality in which they lived. The men also were better clad than members of the same class usually were. And their mode of living, the extent of their drinking, too, showed that somehow or other they had plenty of money in their possession. These things attracted the attention of the neighbors, but if they had any suspicion that matters were not altogether right, they did not give expression to it. Under all this outward appearance of comfort and well-doing, there was a canker. The women, as already said, were jealous. The men were suspicious, and these feelings joined to produce the plan for another tragedy in their own little circle, which was prevented either by the intervention of an accident, or by the fact that Burke had still a little kindness left in his blood-stained heart. Here and his wife could not trust Helen McDougall to keep their secret, because as Burke himself expressed it, she was a scotch woman. It is difficult to reconcile this statement with another made by Burke, that the women did not know what was going on when the murders were being committed. Besides, as we have seen, the women helped towards assisting the poor victims into a state in which they could be easily operated upon. And though they may not have been active participants in the taking away of life or witnesses of the last struggle between the men and the creatures whom they so quickly ushered into eternity, there can be no reasonable doubt that they were aware of the dreadful adventure in which they were all to a greater or less extent engaged. Had the women been ignorant of all this, there would have been no need. It would indeed have been impossible for the one to urge that the other should be put out of the way, on the principle that dead men and women tell no tales. However, notwithstanding these minor discrepancies in Burke's confessions, we have his own definite statement that Mrs. Hare urged him to murder Helen McDougall. The blind suggested was that he should go with her to the country for a few weeks, and that he should write to Hare telling him that his wife was dead and buried. No more of the plan is given, but it is to be presumed that the murder would actually take place in the little back room which had been the scene of so many tragedies. The little human shambles in Hare's house, and that the body should be sold, like the rest, to Dr. Knox and his fellows. This plan, as has been indicated, was not carried out. Burke says he would not agree to it. That may have been, but it is rather strange that about this time Helen McDougall and he should go to Madison near Fallkirk to visit some of her friends there. The time at which this visit to Madison was made was when the villagers made a procession round a stone in that neighborhood. Burke thought it was the anniversary of the Battle of Bannockburn. This would fix the date as the 24th of June, 1828. They were away for some time, but whether through scruples of conscience, on the part of Burke, or because no fitting opportunity of putting her out of the way occurred, Helen McDougall returned to Edinburgh with him. Arrived there, they found a very different state of matters than had existed when they went away. Before Hare and his wife were sadly in water of money, some of their goods having been laid in pawn, but now they were in the possession of plenty of money and were spending it freely. There must have been some reason for this change, and a suspicion was raised in Burke's mind that Hare had taken advantage of his absence to do a little business on his own account without making him any allowance from the proceeds. The agreement among them, according to Burke, was that if ten pounds were obtained for a body, six went to Hare and four to Burke, the latter having to pay Mrs. Hare one pound of his share for the use of the house if the murder took place there. This arrangement was in itself scarcely equitable to Burke, assuming it to be correct, and it was therefore all the harder on him when he found that his colleague was attempting to rob him of his due. He consequently taxed Hare with endeavouring to cheat him, but this was indignantly denied. Not satisfied, however, Burke paid a visit to Dr. Knox's rooms, and was there informed that during his absence Hare had brought a subject and had been paid for it. Returning to the house, he abraded his partner, charging him with unfairness and breach of honour. Hare still denied the accusation, and from high words they got to blows. They fought long and fiercely, so that the neighbours attracted by the noise gathered round the door to witness what was going on, but neither of the combatants allowed a word to escape them as to the cause of the quarrel between them. At last they were exhausted, possibly Hare was worsted, for Burke, without mentioning the fight, stated in his quarence confession that Hare then confessed what he had done. He does not say whether or not he received any portion of the proceeds from the sale of the body of the victim murdered during his absence. It was probably owing to this quarrel that Burke and Helen McDougal removed from Hare's house in Tanner's Close to that of John Brogan, whose wife was a cousin of Burke. This house was not far from their old lodgings, being but two closes eastward in Portsburg. Grimly's Close was between it and Tanner's Close, and it was entered from a back court to which admission would be gained from the street, either by an unnamed passage or by Weaver's Close, still further east. Layton was able to gain a detailed description of this place, and it is well worth quoting. In a land to the eastward of that occupied by Hare, in Tanner's Close, you reached it after descending a common stair, and turning to the right where a dark passage conducted to several rooms, at the end and at right angles, with which passage there was an entrance leading solely to Burke's room, and which could be closed by a door so as to make it altogether secluded from the main entry. The room was a very small place, more like a cellar than the dwelling of a human being. A crazy chair stood by the fireplace, old shoes, and implements of shoemaking lay scattered on the floor. A cupboard against the wall held a few plates and bowls, and two beds, coarse wooden frames without posts or curtains, were filled with old straw and rugs. It was in this house that Mrs. Hostler, as already described, was murdered, and it was in this house that the last of the long series of tragedies was to be enacted. The criminals were gradually approaching their doom, but they had become reckless and bold. They had been so successful in the past that they hoped to be equally so in the future, forgetful that the mills of God grinds slow, but sure. We have seen that while Burke, according to his own declaration, had murdered Peggy Haldane in this house of weavers close, unaided by his old accomplice, though both these details are doubtful. Yet they were united in the suffocation of Mrs. Hostler. They really could not work separately. They were so bound together by the crimes they had committed that an ordinary quarrel, though it should have at first made them live in different houses, could hardly disjoint their interests. This could only have been done by one of them informing on the other. But they were again united in their horrid labors. In the course of the autumn they arrived in Edinburgh to visit Helen McDougal, a cousin of her former husband. This was a young married woman named Anne McDougal, who probably came from the district around Falkirk. There is no doubt she would be received in the most friendly manner, which she would heartily reciprocate, for it is more than probable that her visit was consequent upon an invitation given her by Helen McDougal and Burke when they were in Stirlingshire during the summer. But may not that invitation, given in all apparent kindness, have been simply a snare to draw the poor woman from her home so that she might be a more convenient victim in Edinburgh. May Burke not have given it so that he might make Anne McDougal a sacrifice, instead of his paramour, as had been suggested to him by Mrs. Hare? But whether this was a premeditated plan, or whether the young woman came to Edinburgh on a genuine invitation, or of her own accord, is quite immaterial. It is at least certain that once she was in the house of her relatives, her fate, so far as they were concerned, was sealed. After she had been coming and going for a few days, Hare and Burke plied her with whiskey until she was in an incapable drunken condition, and had to be put to bed. Burke then told Hare that he would have the most to do to her, as he did not like to begin first on her, she being a distant relative. What an amount of feeling this displays! It would have been interesting to have known how Burke argued with himself in coming to this decision. However, relative or not, he was not at all averse to allow Hare to kill her, when she was supposed to be under his protection. And what was more, he was willing to help Hare once a beginning had been made. He was even anxious to share the price her body would bring at the dissecting rooms. Hare then set about his portion of the work. He held a woman's mouth and nose to stop the breathing, and Burke threw himself across the body holding down her arms and legs. Of course life could not long continue under these conditions, and Anne McDougall lay murdered in the house of a friend, and by the heart and hand of a friend, a distant friend, as Burke put it to his accomplice. The murder was committed in the afternoon. It is surely a remarkable thing that if Helen McDougall knew nothing of the work in which her reputed husband and Hare were engaged, she should have allowed her relative to be murdered. Or that if this was the first she learned of it, she should have been so ready to let the matter rest. But of course she was cognizant of it all along. Burke was at no regular employment, and yet the money was to hand in larger quantities than they could ever have expected from the cobbling of shoes. The two men next set about making arrangements for the transfer of the body to Surgeon's Square. They saw Patterson, Dr. Noxus Porter, who gave them a fine trunk to put it in. When this was done, Brogan, who had been out of his work, came home and made inquiries about the trunk standing on the floor head, for he knew that neither he nor his lodgers possessed an article like it. Burke then gave him two or three drams, as there was always plenty of whiskey going at these times to keep him quiet. He went out again. Burke and Hare carried the trunk in its contents to Surgeon's Square, receiving ten pounds for it. On the return they each gave Brogan thirty shelling's, and he left Edinburgh a few days afterwards for Glasgow, it was thought. This money payment brings out the duplicity of Hare in a remarkable manner, and chose that the cunning by which he afterward saved himself from the scaffold was no new development. Brogan, it would seem, had practically discovered that there was something wrong. The murderers saw that it would be necessary to give him hush money, and to endeavor to get him to leave the city. But Hare was cautioner for Brogan's rent, which amounted to three pounds, so that if the man left the city there was every probability that the payment of the rent would fall on him. He therefore proposed to Burke that they should each give thirty shelling's to enable Brogan to pay the rent, and to this Burke readily agreed, and he was glad to see the man out of the way. Brogan, however, spoiled this plot by going away with the money, and as Burke said in his second confession, the rent is not paid yet, but Burke was victimized all the same, as he was afterwards at the trial by his more astute colleague who should have accompanied him to the gallows. The relatives of Anne McDougall made inquiries about her, but they could find no trace. Though it is recorded that on seeking her at the house of Burke's brother in the cannon gate, Helen McDougall, under the influence of drink, no doubt, told them they need not trouble themselves about her, as she was murdered and sold long before. They did not seem to have taken much notice of the remark, or if they did, they must have concluded that the disappearance of Anne was due to the workings of the band of resurrectionists, to whose existence the people of Edinburgh were gradually being awakened by the numerous and frequent disappearances, but suspicion had not yet alighted on Burke and his associates. End of Chapter 12 Recording by John Brandon Chapter 13 of the History of Burke and Hare and of the Resurrectionist Times This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon The History of Burke and Hare by George McGregor Chapter 13 James Wilson Daft Jamie Some anecdotes concerning him Daft Jamie and Bobby All Perhaps none of the murders committed by Burke and Hare caused so much popular regret as that of James Wilson, known as Daft Jamie. He was one of those wandering naturals known to everybody, and being a lad who, while deficient in intellect, was kind at heart. He was a universal favourite, only the very small and the very impudent boys troubling him. Here is a quotation from a small publication issued shortly after the mystery of his death was cleared up, which gives us some knowledge of his manners. He was a quiet, harmless being, and gave no person the smallest defence whatever. He was such a simpleton that he would not fight to defend himself, though he were ever so ill-used, even by the smallest boy. Little boys about the age of five and six have frequently been observed by the citizens of Edinburgh, going before him, holding up their fists, squaring and saying they would fight him. Jamie would have stood up like a knopless thread and said, with tears in his eyes, that he would not fight, for it was only bad boys who fought. The boys would then give him a blow, and Jamie would run off saying, That was naysayer man, you cannot catch me. Then about a thousand getts, young brats of children, hardly out of the eggshell, would have taken flight after him, bawling out. Jamie, Jamie, daft Jamie! Sometimes he would have stopped and turned round to them, banging his brow, squinting his eyes, shooting out his lips, which was a sign of his being angry, saying, What way dare ye call me daft ye here? The little getts would have bawled out, I am no though, said Jamie, assures death devil tack me, I am no daft out of ye, year, year. The getts would have bawled out. He then would have held up his large fist, which was like a Dorby's Mason's Mel, saying, If ye say I'm daft, I'll knock ye down. He would then have whirled round on his heel, and ran off again, acting the race-horse. Such was daft Jamie Wilson. He was born on the 27th November 1809 in Edinburgh. His father died when he was about twelve years of age, and his mother being a hawker, he was left during her absence, pretty much to his own devices. He generally wandered about the streets, getting a meal here, and a few pents there, eking out a livelihood by the good will of the people, who as a rule were very kind to him. Many stories are told of him, and if you are well worth repeating. One afternoon, in the summer of 1820, Jamie set off with a number of boys in search of bird's nests. He stayed so long that his mother became alarmed, and went out to look for him. During her absence, Jamie arrived at the house ravenous with hunger, and he was so impatient that he could not wait until his mother returned. So he broke open the door. Once in, he sought every corner of the house for food. In the movable wooden cupboard he found a loaf, and when reaching up to lay hold of it, he overbalanced himself, bringing cupboard and its contents to the floor. The dishes were all broken, and a great amount of damage was done. When the mother came in and saw what Jamie had been about, she was so angry that she attacked him with a long leather strap, and gave him such a beating that he left the house, and would not reside in it afterwards. He preferred to sleep on stairs or behind walls, except when someone offered him accommodation for the night. Jamie, like other people, had his likes and dislikes. He was very fond of some of the students attending the university, and to them he would talk readily, even offering them a pinch out of his snishing mill. This article was a curiosity, and along with it he carried a brass snuff spoon, in which were seven holes, the middle hole being Sunday, and the others rounded the days of the week. He was of a statistical turn of mind, and could tell how many lamps there were in the city, how many days in the year, and such like. Many little conundrums he considered his own particular property, and he was highly offended if anyone anticipated him in their answer. He liked best when they replied, I gie it up, and left him to supply the solution himself. What a pleasure it gave Daph Jamie to be asked, in what month of the year do the ladies talk least? For he could say, the month of February, because there was least days in it. When he was asked why is a jailer like a musician, he replied, because he might take care of his key. And the question, what is the cleanest meat a dirty cook can make ready? Gave him the opportunity of saying, a hen's egg is cleanest, for she cannot get her fingers into it to take a slaket. I can tell ye a guess, Jamie would have said to a crowd of idlers who might have gathered round him. I can tell ye a guess, that nay body can's, nor nay body can guess, what is't Jamie? Would be the eager question, and highly pleased, the poor fellow would repeat what most of his audience had often heard before. Though I black and dirty am, and black as black can be, there's many a lady that will come, and by the hon tack me. Now he would continue, no name, oh ye guess, can of that? Ah, no, Jamie. Someone would reply, we can a guess, that fickly ain't. What learned ye a say, fickly guesses? It whizz me half step-mither, he usually answered, for she's a canty body, for she's eye as canty as a kitten, when we're a-sittin' beside her round the fireside. She tells us heaps o' funny stories, but I did not mind the may. Ah, I can ye a guess, Jamie. Some tantalizing bystander would remark, it's a tea kettle. Jamie was fairly discomfited, and he would run away crying, because ye can, because somebody tell ye. Half-witted and all, as he was, Jamie was wonderfully ready at Ray-part-tay. A gentleman once said to him, Jamie, I hear you have got Siller in the bank. Why do ye keep it there? Because I'm keepin' it, replied Jamie, till I be an all-man. For maybe I'll hay Sere Lakes, and no can gang about, to get only Ting fray my nineteen friends. Another person asked him, why do the ladies in general not carry bibles to church? Because, said Jamie, they are ashamed o' the cells, for they cannot find out the text. That is very true, said an old schoolmaster, for I observed twa governesses sitting in a front seat in a church that I was in last Sabbath, and the text was in Ecclesiastes, and neither of them could find it out. Jamie was in the habit of frequenting the house of an old lady in George Street, Edinburgh, where the flunky and the cook were very good to him. The man often shaved him, and on one occasion, when the flunky was about to lather his customer, he remarked, I did not think I'll shave ye only mare, Jamie, unless ye ye peg ye a kiss. But maybe, Mem, what be angry? said Jamie. No, no, said the flunky. She'll no be angry. For who can she can? She'll no see. Laughingly, Jamie turned round to Peggy, and made to kiss her. But she stopped him and said, A twel, a twat, no, Jamie. You'll no kiss me? Weed that langbeard, it would jag at my lips. With this repulse, Jamie resumed his seat, and when the shaving process was finished, he looked at himself in the glass. Peggy now claimed her kiss, but Jamie clapped his hands over his mouth, and replied, You're no a bonnie lass. You're no bonnie nutch for me. And since he was proud, I'll be saucy. I'm a dandy now. We'll then, said Peggy. Let me see how the dandies walk. And Jamie walked through the kitchen with his proud agate as that of a Highland pipe-major. On another occasion, when Jamie was a little touched with the whiskey he had imbibed, he met a woman whose eye had been blackened in some brawl. Oh, five-five, Jamie, it is a great shame to see you. Or only such as you, Jack Drink, was her greeting. A wheel, answered Jamie. What eye, hey, and me, you, nor name like ye, can tack out. And what way, hey, ye got that blue eye? Hey, ye fawn on the tub, nay? When ye was washing? The woman explained that she got it by coming against the snack of the door last night. Oh, I, said Jamie, ye can ye mon tell the best story ye can? But I can ye even fowl when ye got it. And by your impudent tongue, cheer Goodman, he had tain ye through the heckle-pins. I saw ye yesterday, where ye said, nay, he ben. This was enough for his reprover, and she left him. An instance of Jamie's carefulness has already been given in the reply he gave to the gentleman who asked him why he put his sillar in the bank. But two others, bearing on the same point, have also been preserved. He was on very friendly terms with the porters, on Adam's square stance, and one of them asked him why he did not wear an article of dress which had been given him by one of his friends. It was all good for me to wear, replied Jamie. For when I, hey, good glaze, the folk did not give me only ting. Once a gentleman accosted him in George Street with a remark, Come along with me, Jamie, and I will give you an old coat. I thank ye, I thank ye, said Jamie, but I've got plenty of oldians at him. The gentleman passed on, but he was not far away when Jamie ran up to him and said, Is it a gidden? The reply was favourable, and Jamie accompanied his friend to his house where he was given a coat, a hat, and a pair of shoes. Jamie never wore a hat or shoes, and although the day was very cold and dirty, he could not be persuaded to don the articles given him by the gentleman, and he explained that he did not want to wear them in sick hard times. Like many of his poor brethren in misfortune, Jamie was a regular attender at church, and he was never known to be absent from a sermon in Mr. Aikman's chapel. He was very fond of the singing, and lilted away in his own peculiar fashion. An attempt was made to induce him to go to the Gaelic Chapel next door to Mr. Aikman's, but he said he wad gang to ne' buddy's kirk but his aim. He had a preference for Sundays, as on that day he was in the habit of visiting a kind friend who gave him meal and kale. Jamie's fondness for singing, such as it was, supplied a coachman in Hunter's Square with an opportunity of playing a practical joke on him. The man asked him to sing King David's Anthem, and he would give him his coach and horses and make him provost. Jamie said the people would hear him, but the facetious jihu said he would shut him in the coach. Having been snugly ensconced in the vehicle, Jamie began the singing, and roared so loudly that the whole neighborhood was alarmed. Among those attracted to the spot was Robert Kirkwood, another half-wit, a great friend of Jamie, familiarly known as Bobby All. Bobby saw his companion through the window of the coach and cried out, Hey, it's staff Jamie, I can him, I see him. Jamie came out and shook hands with Bobby, who asked, Did you get a ride, Jamie? I said Jamie, but no far. The coachman then induced the bear to dance on the street, but the crowd became so great that a policeman had to put a stop to the performance. Jamie and Bobby were fast friends, and no one could get them to fight. Though frequent attempts were made to do so, they seemed to have a fellow feeling for each other, and each of them firmly believed that his companion and not himself was daft. In the grass market, on one occasion they joined together to purchase a dram. On their meeting Jamie accosted his friend with, It's a cold day, Bobby. I asked Jamie, was the reply, What know we be the better of a dram? Hey, he only sillerman? I hate tippants, and I hate forpents. Said Jamie, that'll get a hail muchkin, answered Bobby, and the pair joined to the public house, where the liquor was served over the counter. Bobby, on the pretense that Jamie should go to the door to witness a dogfight, that he said was going on when they came in, got his companion out of the way, and drank up the whole of the whiskey himself. When Jamie came back, he said he saw no dogfight. But when he noticed the empty measure, he said to Bobby, What's come out of whiskey? Hey, you drunkard eh? He daft beast, and left me nane. Oh, I, said the delinquent, You see, I was dry, and couldn't await. When Jamie was afterwards asked why he did not revenge himself on Bobby for this piece of treachery, he answered, Ow, what could you say to poor Bobby? He's daft, you can. Once and only once did these two lads come to blows, and it was then, through the mischievous workings, of a Neddenborough caddy, or errand boy. They were together in the slaughterhouse when Wag fell the caddy, gave Bobby a putrified sheep's head. He then induced him to turn his attention to something else, and slipped the head to Jamie with the remark that he was to run away home and boil it. Jamie started on his mission, but he was not far gone, when Bobby, who had been told by Fell that Jamie had stolen his sheep's head, made up to him crying, Daft Jamie, gie's my head. They both claimed it, and in the struggle Bobby struck Jamie so violently on the nose that it bled profusely. Jamie, however, did not retaliate, though he retained possession of his heed. It is a strange fact that these two lads both met with a violent end. Bobby all was killed by the kick of a donkey, and his body was disposed of in Dr. Monroe's dissecting room. The circumstances of Jamie's death, as being connected more directly with the narrative of this book, had better be told in another chapter. End of Chapter 13. Recording by John Brandon Chapter 14 of the History of Burke and Hare. End of the Resurrectionist Times. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon The History of Burke and Hare by George McGregor. Chapter 14. Daft Jamie trapped in Hare's house. The Murder. The body recognized on the dissecting table. Popular feeling. The murder of so well-known a character as James Wilson by Burke and Hare, can only be regarded, from their point of view, as an act of the most egregious folly. And like that of Mary Patterson, it courted discovery. So long as they could find their attention to tramps and others who were strangers in the city, or to persons regarding whom there was no probability of much inquiry being made, they were comparatively safe, but now they were treading on absolutely dangerous ground. It may have been, as Burke asserted in his confession, that so far as he could remember, he had never seen Daft Jamie before he met him in Hare's house. But that is in no wise probable. During his residence of many years in Edinburgh, he must frequently have come across the poor half-witted lad who was known by sight to almost every resident of the city, especially as the grass market was a favorite haunt of both of them. But though Burke might plead ignorance, some of his accomplices could not, for it was owing to their very acquaintance with Jamie that he fell into their hands, that they should have made such a supreme error, something more than remarkable. On a day late in September, or early in October, 1828, Daft Jamie was wondering about the grass market, asking all he knew if they had seen his mother. What set him upon this tack, it would be difficult to say. His mother perhaps had been away from home, and the poor lad had taken a sudden longing to see her. Or perhaps it was simply one of those strange vagaries that poor mortals like Jamie occasionally take. During his search, he was met by Mrs. Hare, who asked him what he was about. My mother, he replied. Hey, you seen her ony gate? Mrs. Hare was ready with her answer, for she had quickly formed a plan. Yes, she had seen his mother, and if Jamie went with her, he would find her in her house in tanners close. Jamie in all innocence, and what could he expect? Follow the woman to Log's lodgings, where Hare was himself sitting idle. Of course the visitor was welcomed in the most kindly fashion, asked to sit down until his mother should appear, and to keep him from wearying, he was invited to partake of the contents of the whiskey bottle. Jamie was charry about this, for although he was fond of an occasional dram, he had a great fear of getting foul. At last he was induced to taste, and he sat down on the edge of the bed with a cup containing some liquor in his hand. In the meantime, Mrs. Hare went down to Mr. Reimer's shop near at hand, to purchase some provisions. She there found Burke standing at the counter, talking to the shopkeeper, and taking advantage of the opportunity, she asked her old lodger to treat her to a dram. This he did, and while she was drinking it off, she pressed his foot. Burke understood the signal. As he said himself, he knew immediately what he was wanted for, and he went after her. When he arrived at the house, Mrs. Hare told him he had come too late, for the drink was all done, but that defect was soon remedied by another supply being brought in. Jamie was again offered more whiskey, and was prevailed upon to take it. Then they managed to get him into the little room where so many tragedies had been enacted. The drink began to take Jamie's weakly brain, and he lay down on the bed in a half-dazed state. Hare crept beside him, and the two men watched his every movement to see when it would be safe for them to attempt to carry out their diabolical design. Mrs. Hare, meanwhile, had been acting with her usual caution. She knew it was not for her to stay in the house when business was being transacted. So she went out carefully locking the door behind her and placing the key in an opening below the door. The two men were eagerly watching their victim in the back room, but they felt that this case would not be as easy as most of the others in which they had been engaged. Jamie was young and physically strong, and he had not taken enough of their liquor to render him absolutely helpless, even in the hands of two robust, desperate men. Burke at last was tired of waiting, and he furiously threw himself on the prostrate body of the sleeping lad. Jamie was no sooner touched than the natural instinct of self-preservation made him endeavor to defend himself. He closed with his assailant, and after a furious effort threw him off. He was now standing on the floor, ready for another onslaught. Burke's blood was up, and he renewed the attack, but Jamie was likely to be more than a match for him. Hare, in the meantime, was standing aside, idly watching the contest, and it was only when Burke threatened to put a knife in him that he roused himself and threw his strength in the scale against the man who was fighting for his life. Jamie had nearly overcome Burke when Hare entered the lists and tripped him up. The poor lad fell heavily on the floor, and before he had time to recover himself, the two men were upon him, Hare, as usual, holding his mouth and nose, and Burke lying over his body, keeping down his legs and arms. Still Jamie struggled, but to no advantage, his murderers had him too securely beneath him, and gradually his strength waned until at last the tragedy was completed. Burke and Hare, when they saw the end coming, watched him anxiously, for even yet they were afraid their prey might escape them, but they had done their work too thoroughly. They had not, however, come off unheard. It was reported at the time of the trial that during the struggle Jamie bit Burke so severely on the leg that if the laws of the country had not promised to hang him by the neck, he would likely have died from the cankered wounds received in the conflict. This was found not to be the case, but there is no doubt that the two murderers received several painful bruises from the dying man. When it was certain the daft Jamie was dead, Hare searched his pockets and found in them the snuffbox and spoon which were about as well known as the Simpleton himself. To Burke he gave the spoon, retaining the box himself. A box was libeled among the productions at the trial, but Burke in his confession says that the one in the possession of the authorities was not daft Jamie's, which had been thrown away, but was his own. Before it was taken to Surgeon Square, the body was stripped of its clothing, and here another fatal blunder was made. In all the other murders the clothes of the victims were destroyed to prevent detection, but in this case Burke gave daft Jamie's clothes to his rather Constantine's children, who were then going about almost naked, and it is said that a baker who had given the murdered lad a pair of trousers he wore at the time of his death recognized them on one of Burke's nephews. When stripped the body was put into Hare's chest, and in the course of the afternoon it was conveyed to Dr. Knox's rooms when the sum of ten pounds was obtained for it. No questions seem to have been asked as to how Burke and Hare became possessed of the body of daft Jamie, though there can be little doubt that the students recognized it. The public then wondered at the matter, and it may be wondered at still. In a popular work published at the time there was this very pertinent sentence. Certainly those scientific individuals who attend the class in which he was dissected must be very hardened men. When they saw Jamie lying on the dissecting table for anatomy, for they could not but know when they saw him that he had been murdered. And not only that, the report of his being a missing went through the whole town on the following day. There could not be any one of them but must know him by sight, that some of them did know him by sight is certain. For shortly after he was missed the statement was commonly circulated that one of Dr. Knox's students had affirmed that he saw Jamie on the dissecting table. Mrs. Wilson and her friends went here and there looking for the poor lad, but no trace could they find of him, and there seemed to be a tendency to treat the statement of the body having been seen on a table in the room's insurgent square as a mere idle rumour, arising out of the uneasiness and suspicion which the quiet and unknown operations of Burke and Hare were causing among the inhabitants of the country in general and Edinburgh in particular. A sense of insecurity had gone abroad and it was not dispelled until the final clearing up in the trial of Burke and Helen MacDougall. The mysterious fate of daft Jamie, as we have said, took a most remarkable hold on the public mind. It was the talk all over the country and when the mystery was solved the murder of the poor natural bulked larger than all the other crimes put together. The hawkers and peddlers and patterers of the time carried about with them all over the country coarsely printed chap books containing accounts of the crimes of the greatest murderers of the age or biographies of daft Jamie in which in some cases were added the efforts of sympathizing poet-tasters. The poetry as a rule was inexorable but the feeling displayed in them was but a reflex of the public mind. One aspiring genius spoke of the ruffian dogs, the hellish pair, the villain Burke, the meager hare while another composed the following acrostic. Join with me friends whilst I bewail a while the subject of this tale many a mind has often been engaged with Jamie's awkward mean such pranks will nare again be seen. We may be well, but is in vain it will not bring him back again. Lost he is now, this thought imparts sad comfort to our wounded hearts. O may such crimes nowhere remain nor evermore our nation's stain. End of chapter 14, recording by John Brandon