Chapter XXI: Part 21

"I, John Bishop, do hereby declare and confess that the boy
supposed to be the Italian boy was a Lincolnshire boy. I and
Williams took him to my house about half-past ten o'clock on
Thursday night, the 3rd of November, from the Bell, in Smithfield.
He walked home with us. Williams promised to give him some work.
Williams went with him from the Bell to the Old Bailey
watering-house, whilst I went to the Fortune-of-War. Williams came
from the Old Bailey watering-house to the Fortune-of-War for me,
leaving the boy standing at the corner of the court by the
watering-house in the Old Bailey. I went directly with Williams to
the boy, and we then walked all three to the Nova Scotia-gardens,
taking a pint of stout at a public-house near Holywell-lane,
Shoreditch, on our way, of which we gave the boy a part; we only
staid just to drink it, and walked on to my house, where we arrived
at about eleven o'clock. My wife and children and Mrs. Williams
were not gone to bed, so we put him in the privy, and told him to
wait there for us. Williams went in and told them to go to bed, and
I remained in the garden. Williams came out directly and we both
walked out of the garden a little way to give time for the family
getting to bed; we returned in about ten minutes or a quarter of an
hour, and listened outside the window to ascertain whether the
family were gone to bed. All was quiet; and we then went to the boy
in the privy, and took him into the house; we lighted a candle, and
gave the boy some bread-and-cheese; and after he had eaten, we gave
him a cup full of rum, with about half a small phial of laudanum in
it. I had bought the rum the same evening in Smithfield, and the
laudanum also in small quantities at different shops. There was no
water or other liquid put into the cup with the rum and laudanum.
The boy drank the contents of the cup directly in two draughts, and
afterwards a little beer. In about ten minutes he fell asleep in
the chair on which he sat, and I removed him from the chair to the
floor and laid him on his side. We then went out and left him
there. We had a quartern of gin and a pint of beer at the Feathers,
near Shoreditch Church, and then went home again, having been away
from the boy about twenty minutes. We found him asleep as we had
left him. We took him directly, asleep and insensible, into the
garden, and tied a cord to his feet, to enable us to pull him up
by; and I then took him in my arms, and let him slide from them
headlong into the well in the garden; whilst Williams held the cord
to prevent the body going altogether too low in the well. He was
nearly wholly in the water, his feet being just above the surface.
Williams fastened the other end of the cord round the paling, to
prevent the body getting beyond our reach. The boy struggled a
little with his arms and legs in the water, and the water bubbled a
minute. We waited till these symptoms were passed, and then went
indoors, and afterwards I think we went out and walked down
Shoreditch to occupy the time; and in three quarters of an hour we
returned, and took him out of the well, by pulling him by the cord
attached to his feet. We undressed him in the paved yard, rolled
his clothes up, and buried them where they were found by the
witness who produced them. We carried the boy into the wash-house,
laid him on the floor, and covered him over with a bag. We left him
there, and went and had some coffee in Old-street-road, and then (a
little before two in the morning of Friday) went back to my house.
We immediately doubled the body up, and put it into a box, which we
corded so that nobody might open it to see what it was, and then
went again and had some more coffee at the same place in the
Old-Street-road, where we staid a little while, and then went home
to bed--both in the same house, and to our own beds, as usual. We
slept till about ten o'clock on Friday morning, when we got up,
took breakfast together with the family, and went both of us to the
Fortune-of-War in Smithfield. We had something to eat and drink
there; and after we had been there about half-an-hour, May came in.
I knew May, but had not seen him for a fortnight before. He had
some rum with me at the bar, Williams remaining in the tap-room.
May and I went to the door. I had a smock frock on, and May asked
where I had bought it? I told him, in Field-lane. He said he wanted
to buy one, and asked me to go with him; I went with him to
Field-lane, where he bought a frock at the corner shop. We then
went into a clothes' shop in West-street to buy a pair of breeches,
but May could not agree about the price; he was rather in liquor,
and sent out for some rum, which we and the woman in the shop drank
together. May said he would treat her, because he had given her a
good deal of trouble for nothing. We then returned to the
Fortune-of-War, and joined Williams, and had something more to
drink; we waited there a short time, and then Williams and I went
to the West-end of the town, leaving May at the Fortune-of-War.
Williams and I went to Mr. Tuson's, in Windmill-street, where I saw
Mr. Tuson, and offered to sell him a subject, meaning the boy we
had left at home. He said he had waited so long for a subject which
I had before undertaken to procure him, that he had been obliged to
buy one the day before. We went from thence to Mr. Carpue's in
Dean-street, and offered it to him in the lecture-room with other
gentlemen. They asked me if it was fresh; I told them, 'Yes,' and
they told me to wait. I asked them ten guineas; and after waiting a
little, a gentleman there said they would give eight guineas, which
I agreed to take, and engaged to carry it there the next morning at
ten o'clock. I and Williams then returned to the Fortune-of-War; we
found May in the tap-room; this was about a quarter before four
o'clock in the afternoon; we had something to drink again, and I
called May out to the outside of the house, and asked what was the
best price given for 'things?' He said he had sold two the day
before for ten guineas each, I think. I told him I had a subject;
he asked what sort of one; I said, a boy about fourteen years old,
and that I had been offered eight guineas for it. He said, if it
was his, he would not take it; he could take it where he sold his
for more. I told him all he could get above nine guineas he might
have for himself, and we agreed to go presently and get a coach. I
and May then went to the bar and had something more to drink, and
then, leaving Williams at the Fortune-of-War, we went and tried to
hire a cab in the Old Bailey. The cabman was at tea at the
watering-house, and we went in and spoke to him about a fare, and
had tea also there ourselves. Whilst we were at tea, the cabman
went away, and we found him gone from the stand when we came out.
We then went to Bridge-street, Blackfriars, and asked a coachman
whether he would take such a fare as we wanted; he refused, and we
then went to Farringdon-street, where we engaged a yellow chariot.
I and May got in, drove to the Fortune-of-War, and (Williams having
joined us at the George, in the Old Bailey) we then drank something
again; and then, at about six o'clock, we all three went in the
chariot to Nova Scotia-gardens. We went into the wash-house, where
I uncorded the box and showed the body to May. He asked, 'How are
the teeth?' I said I had not looked at them. Williams went and
fetched a brad-awl from the house, and May took it and forced the
teeth out. It is a constant practice to take the teeth out first;
because, if the body be lost, the teeth are saved. After the teeth
were taken out, we put the body in a bag and took it to the
chariot. May and I carried the body, and Williams got first into
the coach, and then assisted in pulling the body in. We all then
drove off to Guy's Hospital, where we saw Mr. Davis, and offered to
sell the body to him. He refused, saying that he bought two the day
before of May. I asked him to let us leave it there until the next
morning; he consented, and we put it into a little room, the door
of which Mr. Davis locked. Williams was during this left in the
chariot. I told Mr. Davis not to let the subject go to anybody
unless I was there, for it belonged to me; and May also told him
not to let it go unless he was present, or else he should be money
out of pocket. I understood this to mean the money paid by May for
our tea at the Old Bailey (about 4_s._), and the coach-fair, which
we had agreed with the coachman should be 10_s._ May had no other
interest in, or right to the money to be obtained for the body,
except for such payments, and for what he could get above nine
guineas, as I had promised him. May paid the coachman 10_s._ on our
leaving the hospital; but, before we discharged the coach, May and
I ran to Mr. Appleton, at Mr. Grainger's school, leaving Williams
with the coach. We offered the subject to Mr. Appleton, but he
declined to buy it; and then May and I joined Williams, discharged
the coach, and went to a public-house close by to have something to
drink. After this we got into a coach in the Borough, and drove
again to the Fortune-of-War, where we had something more to drink:
this was about eight o'clock in the evening. We all three staid
there about an hour, and then went out, got a coach in Smithfield,
and went towards Old-street-road--stopped in Golden-lane with the
coach, and drank something, and then on to Old-street. At the
corner of Union-street--the Star corner--May got out of the coach
and said he was going home, and I and Williams drove to the corner
of Old-street and Kingsland-road, where we got out and paid the
coach-fare out of the money lent us by May, he having advanced each
of us 3_s._ We then walked home, and went to bed that night as
usual. We had agreed with May, on his leaving us, to meet him at
Guy's Hospital at nine o'clock the next morning (Saturday). I and
Williams went at eight o'clock on Saturday morning to the
Fortune-of-War, where we met Shields, the porter, and engaged with
him to go with us over the water to carry a subject. I wished him
to go to Bartholomew's Hospital for a hamper I had seen there; but
he refused, and I fetched it myself. We had a pint of beer, and I,
and Williams, and Shields, went to Guy's Hospital, Shields carrying
the hamper. We met May there. Williams and Shields went to a
public-house, whilst I and May went to Mr. Appleton and offered him
the subject again. He again refused to buy it, saying he did not
want it. May and I then joined Shields and Williams, and had some
drink, and then left them again; crossed the water in a boat to the
King's College, where we inquired of Mr. Hill, the porter, whether
he wanted a subject? He said he was not particularly in want, but
would speak to Mr. Partridge, the demonstrator. Mr. Partridge came,
and asked what the subject was? May said, 'A male subject.' Mr.
Partridge asked the price. May said twelve guineas. Mr. Partridge
said he could not give so much, and went away. Mr. Hill asked us to
stay a few minutes while he went after Mr. Partridge, to speak to
him again. Hill returned, and said Mr. Partridge would give nine
guineas. May said, 'he would be d--d if it should go in under ten
guineas.' He was in liquor, and, on his moving a little way off, I
took the opportunity of saying to Hill that it should come in at
nine guineas. I told May directly after, that I had sold it for
nine guineas, and that I would out of it pay him what I had of him,
and give him something besides. We then got into a cabriolet, and
went back to Williams and Shields at the public-house, where all
four of us had some beefsteaks and beer; and afterwards we went to
Guy's Hospital, packed the body in the hamper, and put it on
Shields' head, telling him to take it to the King's College, where
we went, Williams and Shields walking, and I and May riding part of
the way in a cab. On reaching the King's College, we carried the
body into the theatre, and then into a little room, where we took
the body out. Mr. Hill looked at it, and asked what it died of? May
answered he did not know, and it did not concern him. Mr. Hill
asked us how a cut which was on the forehead came? I answered, that
it was done by May throwing the body out of the sack on the stones,
which was the truth. Hill told us to remain in the other room, and
he would bring us the money. We went into the other room, and
waited for some time, when Mr. Partridge came to us and showed me a
50_l._ note, and said he must go and get it changed, as he had not
sufficient money without, and he pulled out his purse and counted
three or four sovereigns. I said he might let us have that, and
give us the remainder on Monday; but he said, 'No--he would rather
pay it altogether,' and went away. We waited some time, when the
police-officers came and took us into custody.

(_Signed_) "JOHN BISHOP.

"_Witness_, ROBERT ELLIS, Under-Sheriff."

"I declare that this statement is all true, and contains all the
facts as far as I can recollect. May knew nothing of the murder;
and I do not believe that he suspected I had got the body, except
in the usual way, and after the death of it. I always told him that
I got it from the ground, and he never knew the contrary until I
confessed to Mr. Williams since the trial. I have known May as a
body-snatcher four or five years, but I do not believe he ever
obtained a body except in the common course of men in that
calling--by stealing from the graves. I also confess that I and
Williams were concerned in the murder of a female, whom I believe
to have been since discovered to be Frances Pigburn, on or about
the 9th of October last. I and Williams saw her sitting about
eleven or twelve o'clock at night on the step of a door in
Shoreditch, near the church. She had a child, four or five years
old, with her on her lap. I asked why she was sitting there? She
said she had no home to go to, for her landlord had turned her out
into the street. I told her she might go home with us, and sit by
the fire all night; she said she would go with us, and walked with
us to my house, in Nova Scotia-gardens, carrying her child with
her. When we got there, we found the family in bed, and we took the
woman in, and lighted a fire, by which we all sat down together. I
went out for beer, and we all partook of beer and rum--(I had
brought the rum from Smithfield in my pocket). The woman and her
child lay down on some dirty linen on the floor, and I and Williams
went to bed; about six o'clock next morning I and Williams told her
to go away, and to meet us at the London Apprentice, in
Old-street-road, at one o'clock: this was before our families were
up. She met us again at one o'clock at the London Apprentice,
without her child; we gave her some halfpence and beer, and desired
her to meet us again at ten o'clock at night at the same place.
After this we bought rum and laudanum at different places, and at
ten o'clock we met the woman again at the London Apprentice: she
had no child with her; we drank three pints of beer between us, and
staid there about an hour. We should have staid there longer, but
an old man came in, whom the woman said she knew, and she said she
did not like him to see her there with anybody; we therefore all
went out; it rained hard, and we took shelter under a doorway in
the Hackney-road for about half-an-hour. We then walked to Nova
Scotia-gardens, and Williams and I led her into No. 2, an empty
house, adjoining my house. We had no light. Williams stepped out
into the garden with the rum and laudanum, which I had handed to
him; he there mixed them together in a half-pint bottle, and came
into the house to me and the woman, and we gave her the bottle to
drink; she drank the whole in two or three draughts; there was a
quartern of rum and about half-a-phial of laudanum; she sat down on
the step between the two rooms in the house, and went off to sleep
in about ten minutes; she was falling back; I caught her to save
her fall, and laid her back on the floor. Then Williams and I went
to a public-house, got something to drink, and in about
half-an-hour came back to the woman; we took her cloak off, tied a
cord to her feet, carried her to the well in the garden, and thrust
her into it headlong; she struggled very little afterwards, and the
water bubbled a little at the top; we fastened the cord to the
palings to prevent her going down beyond our reach, and left her,
and took a walk to Shoreditch and back in about half-an hour; we
left the woman in the well this length of time, that the rum and
laudanum might run out of the body at the mouth. On our return we
took her out of the well, cut her clothes off, put them down the
privy of the empty house, carried the body into the wash-house of
my own house, where we doubled it up, and put it into a hair-box,
which we corded, and left it there. We did not go to bed, but went
to Shields' house in Eagle street, Red Lion-square, and called him
up; this was between four and five o'clock in the morning. We then
went with Shields to a public-house near the Sessions House,
Clerkenwell, and had some gin and from thence to my house, where we
went in and staid a little while to wait the change of the police.
I told Shields he was to carry the trunk to the London Hospital. He
asked if there was a woman in the house who could walk alongside of
him, so that people might not take any notice. Williams called his
wife up, and asked her to walk with Shields, and to carry a
hat-box, which he gave her. There was nothing in it, but it was
tied up as if there were. We then put the box with the body on
Shields' head, and went to the hospital, Shields and Mrs. Williams
walking on one side of the street, and I and Williams on the other.
At St. Thomas's Hospital I saw Mr. South's footman, and sent him up
stairs to Mr. South to ask if he wanted a subject. The servant
brought me word that his master wanted one, but could not give an
answer until the next day, as he had not time to look at it. During
this interview, Shields, Williams, and his wife were waiting at a
public-house. I then went to Mr. Appleton, at Mr. Grainger's, and
agreed to sell it to him for eight guineas; and afterwards I
fetched it from St. Thomas's Hospital and took it to Mr. Appleton,
who paid me 5_l._ then, and the rest on the following Monday. After
receiving the 5_l._ I went to Shields and Williams and his wife at
the public-house, when I paid Shields 10_s._ for his trouble, and
we all went to the Flower-pot in Bishopsgate, where we had
something to drink, and then went home. I never saw the woman's
child after the first time before-mentioned. She said she had left
the child with the person she had taken some of her things to,
before her landlord took her goods. The woman murdered did not tell
us her name; she said her age was thirty-five, I think, and that
her husband, before he died, was a cabinet-maker. She was thin,
rather tall, and very much marked with the small-pox.--I also
confess the murder of a boy, who told us his name was Cunningham.
It was a fortnight after the murder of the woman. I and Williams
found him sleeping, about eleven or twelve o'clock at night, on
Friday, the 21st of October, as I think, under the pig-hoards in
the pig-market at Smithfield. Williams woke him, and asked him to
come along with him (Williams), and the boy walked with Williams
and me to my house in Nova Scotia-gardens. We took him into my
house and gave him some warm beer, sweetened with sugar, with rum
and laudanum in it. He drank two or three cups full, and then fell
asleep in a little chair belonging to one of my children. We laid
him on the floor and then went out for a little while and got
something to drink, and then returned, carried the boy to the well,
and threw him into it in the same way as we served the other boy
and the woman. He died instantly in the well, and we left him there
a little while to give time for the mixture we had given him to run
out of his body. We then took the body from the well, tore off the
clothes in the garden, and buried them there. The body we carried
into the wash-house, and put it into the same box, and left it
there till the next evening, when we got a porter to carry it with
us to St. Bartholomew's Hospital; where I sold it to Mr. Smith for
eight guineas. This boy was about ten or eleven years old; said his
mother lived in Kent-street, and that he had not been home for a
twelvemonth and better. I solemnly declare that these are all the
murders in which I have been engaged, or that I know anything of;
that I and Williams were alone concerned in these, and that no
other person whatever knew anything about either of them; and that
I do not know whether there are others who practise the same mode
of getting bodies for sale. I know nothing of any Italian boy, and
was never concerned in, or knew of the murder of such a boy. There
have been no white mice about my house for the last six months. My
son, about eight months ago, bought two mice, and I made him a cage
for them. It was flat, with wires at the top. They lived two
months, and were killed, I think, by a cat in the garden, when they
got out of the cage. They were frequently seen running in the
garden, and used to hide in a hole under the privy. I and my wife
and children saw one of them killed by a cat whilst we were at tea.
Until the transactions before set forth, I never was concerned in
obtaining a subject by the destruction of the living. I have
followed the course of obtaining a livelihood as a body-snatcher
for twelve years, and have obtained and sold, I think, from five
hundred to a thousand bodies; but I declare, before God, that they
were all obtained after death, and that, with the above exceptions,
I am ignorant of any murder for that or any other purpose.

"JOHN BISHOP.

"_Witness_, ROBERT ELLIS. U.S."

"I, Thomas Head, _alias_ Williams, now under sentence of death in
Newgate, do solemnly confess and declare the foregoing statement
and confession of John Bishop, which has been made in my presence,
and since read over to me distinctly, is altogether true, so far as
the same relates to me. I declare that I was never concerned in,
nor privy to, any other transaction of the like nature; that I
never knew anything of the murder of any other person whatever;
that I was never a body-snatcher, nor concerned in the sale of any
other body than the three murdered by Bishop and myself; that May
is a stranger to me; and that I had never seen him more than once
or twice before Friday, the 4th of November last; and that May is
wholly innocent, and ignorant of any of those murders in which I
was concerned, and for one of which I am about to suffer death.

"THOMAS HEAD.

"_Witness_, R. ELLIS."

"Newgate, 4th December, 1831.

"The above confessions, taken literally, from the prisoners, in our
presence.

"T. WOOD. R. ELLIS. _Under-Sheriffs._"

It was not until subsequently to the delivery of these statements, that May was acquainted with the merciful consideration which his case had received.

Shortly after the arrival of the respite at Newgate, Dr. Cotton and Mr. Wontner went to the room in which the three prisoners were confined. The reverend gentleman opened the paper, and began to read it aloud: the most anxious attention was paid to its contents by all the prisoners; but the interest manifested by May, who must have known that the fate of his miserable companions was sealed, but had felt that there was still hope for him, was quite painful to witness--his agitation was dreadful; but no sooner had Dr. Cotton repeated the words, "that the execution of the sentence upon John May shall be respited during his Majesty's most gracious pleasure," than the poor wretch fell to the earth as if struck by lightning. His arms worked with the most frightful contortions, and four of the officers of the prison could with difficulty hold him; his countenance assumed a livid paleness, the blood forsook his lips, his eyes appeared set, and pulsation at the heart could not be distinguished. All persons present thought he could not possibly survive--it was believed, indeed, that the warrant of mercy had proved his death-blow. It was nearly a quarter of an hour before he was restored to the use of his faculties. At last, when recollection returned, he attempted to clasp his hands in the attitude of thanksgiving, but his limbs shook so violently that he found even that was impossible. His lips moved, but nothing but inarticulate sounds came from his tongue. The parties present soothed him with assurances that they knew what he meant to say, and with earnest entreaties that he would calm himself, and not attempt to speak. When restored to something like composure, May poured forth his gratitude to God, and his thanks to the humane gentlemen who had interested themselves in his behalf. He then explained, that when the reverend ordinary commenced reading the warrant, he thought that all hope was at an end--that the ceremony was to signify to him that he must die--the sudden revulsion of feeling when he heard the words we have quoted, caused him to swoon. He added, that on learning he was to be spared, he felt as if his heart had burst in his bosom. He declared most solemnly, now that he was out of jeopardy, as he had done before, that he had nothing to do with the murder for which he had been condemned to die. He had never been concerned--either directly or indirectly--in any murder; but he acknowledged he had committed many sins for which the Almighty might have justly left him to suffer on this occasion. He hoped now to lead a better life, and to evince his gratitude to God by sincere repentance.

It will hardly be credited that Bishop and Williams beheld this awful scene with an indifference approaching to apathy. The dreadful agitation of their less guilty associate seemed to have no effect upon them.

On Sunday night the criminals retired to rest at an early hour, but their efforts to obtain sleep appeared to be vain. They frequently awoke, and entered into conversation with the persons appointed to watch them. Occasionally they entered into religious observances, but generally were averse to them. Once, when the person who sat up with Williams proposed to read to him some extracts out of religious books left him by the ordinary, he roughly declined the proposal, saying, "I had religious talk enough during the day; I will have none of it to-night." He then entered into conversation with the officer upon the subject of the offence for which he was going to suffer. He solemnly assured him, that up to the time of his marriage, he had never had any connexion with resurrection-men; and even added, that it was not until his wedding-night that he had any idea that Bishop got his livelihood by that horrible trade. He told the officer, that on that night, shortly after he had got to bed, his wife conjured him not to have anything to do with the snatchers. This led to inquiries on his part, which terminated in a full disclosure by his wife of the practices by which his father-in-law (Bishop) supported his family. No communication took place between him and Bishop on the subject till some time afterwards, when he was suddenly thrown out of work. Bishop then gradually disclosed to him his mode of life, and asked him to become a partner in the trade. Williams assented. He then became a regular resurrection-man; but, being tired with the difficulties and dangers of the trade, he proposed to Bishop that, instead of disinterring, they should murder subjects. He was then asked what led him to make such a proposal, and his reply was, "the recollection of what Burke had done at Edinburgh." After some other facts, tallying with those in Bishop's account, he stated, that on the Sunday after the murder of the woman Pigburn, they attempted to "Burke" a man whom they accidentally lured into their power. The laudanum, however, which they had mixed with his liquor was not strong enough, as Bishop said, to stupify him beyond resistance, and he was, therefore, allowed to escape, partly from a fear of his struggles, and partly from Bishop's arm being palsied by a similar feeling to that which palsied _Lady Macbeth's_ arm in a similar situation--namely, the feeling that the man whom he was about to dispatch, "resembled his father as he slept." Still bent on their murderous trade, they endeavoured, on the following Tuesday, to get another subject by the same means. Again was the laudanum inefficient; and in this case, as in the former, the intended victim left the house in which he met these ruffians without any idea of his having been exposed to such great and imminent danger.

During a subsequent intermission of sleep, he wrote the following letter, addressed to Mr. Russell, the chaplain of the Penitentiary, in which prison he had once been confined for three years:--

"Newgate, 4th December, 1831.

"MR. RUSSELL--If you will be kind enough to let my brother
prisoners know the awful death which I shall have suffered when you
receive this, it will, through your expostulations, prevent them
from increasing their crimes when they may be liberated; and tell
them, bad company, and drinking, and blasphemy, is the foundation
of all evil. Give my brotherly love to them, and tell them never to
deviate from the paths of religion, and have a firm belief in their
blessed Saviour. Give my love to John Edwards, John Justin, and
John Dingle, and receive the prayers of the unfortunate and
guilty--

"THOMAS HEAD." (His real name.)

Both prisoners rose at six o'clock in the morning, and were soon after visited by the reverend gentleman who had before attended them. Williams, at times, appeared fervent in his devotions, and prayed earnestly; but at intervals he would pause, and seem as if his prayer was hopeless; again he would resume his prayer, and clasp his hands in great agony. Bishop also prayed, but he by no means showed the same fervour as his companion. There was a listlessness in his manner approaching to indifference, not merely to religion, but to everything passing around him. At one time, when urged on the subject of his hope of forgiveness, he said he did hope and trust for mercy through Jesus Christ. He added, that he fully deserved what he was about to suffer, but that his case would be desperate if some greater mercy were not extended to him in the world which he was about to enter.

At half-past seven o'clock, the sheriffs, accompanied by the under-sheriffs, and several gentlemen to whom they had given permission to be present, entered the prison. The sheriffs immediately proceeded to the condemned cells, where Mr. Wontner, the governor, delivered the prisoners up to them for execution. The sheriffs then proceeded to the press-room, to which the strangers who had obtained admission to the prison were also admitted. The prisoners were soon after introduced by the sheriffs' officers. Bishop entered first. That kind of stupor which had been noticed when the verdict of the jury was pronounced, was still more strongly upon him. He advanced in rather a drooping manner, his eye fixed on the ground. His step was slow, without being firm, and his whole bearing was rather that of a man unconscious of, than indifferent to, the dreadful scene through which he was about to pass. He had got more than half-way to the upper end of the room before he looked around; when he did, a kind of half-suppressed groan escaped him, as from one who was, for a moment, roused to a quick sense of an approaching violent death.

But it was only for a moment; for at once he seemed to relapse into his former stupor: his eye was again bent on the ground, and he moved mechanically up to the officer, who stood ready to tie his hands, and stretched forth his arms, the wrists being closely pressed together. When that part of the preparation was concluded, he turned round, and allowed his arms to be pinioned. This done, he took his seat at a side bench without uttering a word. One of the under-sheriffs took a seat by his side, and, in a low tone, asked him whether he had anything more to confess. His answer was, "No, sir, I have told all." The under-sheriff remained with him for a few moments, but the only answers which could be obtained from him were to the effect that he had nothing more to tell.

Williams was next introduced, and came up the room with the same short hasty step which was noticed at the time of his sentence. Since then, however, his whole appearance had undergone the most terrible alteration. That cunning and flippant air which was noticed in him on his trial had left him. His look, as he entered the press-room on Monday, was one of downright horror--every limb trembled as he approached the officer by whom he was to be pinioned, and his hands shook to that degree, that one person was obliged to hold them up while another bound them together. While submitting to this operation, he frequently ejaculated, "Oh, I have deserved all this and more!--oh, I have deserved all I am about to suffer!" One of the under-sheriffs now asked him whether he had anything more on his mind, or wished to make any further disclosure. He replied, "Oh no, sir, I have told all--I hope I am now at peace with God. What I have told is the truth."

After the operation of pinioning had been gone through, at a few minutes before eight, the sheriffs, accompanied by their officers and the prisoners, proceeded towards the scaffold, the ordinary reciting part of the funeral service. Bishop moved on in the same gloomy and desponding manner which we have noticed. His appearance underwent no change as he approached the foot of the scaffold. Williams became more and more agitated as he advanced. Just as he came to the room which led out to the drop, he expressed a wish to see the Rev. Mr. Russell once more. That gentleman came forward, and while Bishop was being led out, seated himself near him. Mr. Russell said to him, "Now, Williams, you have another moment intervening between this and death; and, as a dying man, I implore you, in God's name, to tell the truth; have you told me the whole truth?" Williams: "All I have told you, is true." Mr. Russell: 'But, Williams, have you told me all?" Williams, (still evasive): "All I have told you is quite true." This was the last remark he made, and in a few moments he ascended the scaffold.

The scene without the prison was no less exciting than that which was passing within the jail.

The execution of these wretched and atrocious criminals attracted, as might have been expected, an immense assemblage to the spot, and every possible preparation had been made by the civil authorities for the purpose of mitigating the pressure of the anticipated crowd. The crowd, as early as one o'clock in the morning, had amounted to several thousand persons, and continued rapidly increasing. By five o'clock nearly two-thirds of the Old Bailey were filled with a dense mass of people. The continued buz among the multitude at this time, the glare of light from the torches that were used for the purpose of enabling the workmen to proceed with their labours, and the terrific struggles among the crowd, altogether presented a scene which those who witnessed it will not soon forget. When the fatal drop was stationed in its usual place, it was observed that three chains were suspended from it. As soon as Mr. Wontner, the governor of Newgate, heard of it, he ordered an officer to remove one of them, in consequence of May having been respited. This was done; and, although it was then dark, it was instantly communicated throughout the vast assemblage, and a general cry of "May is respited!" was uttered.

At daybreak there were not less than from thirty thousand to forty thousand persons assembled. The tops of the houses, lamp-posts, and every station from which the most distant view of the execution could be obtained was occupied. In fact, from one end of the Old Bailey to the other was one dense mass; and the streets in the neighbourhood, although not a glance could be had of the platform or the proceedings, were, from an early hour, rendered impassable by the throng of persons hurrying towards the scene of execution. The assemblage was the largest that had ever been witnessed on an occasion of the kind since the execution of Holloway and Haggerty, upwards of twenty years before. Notwithstanding the precautions taken by the city authorities to prevent accidents, several occurred. At the end of Giltspur-street, immediately opposite the Compter, a very heavy barrier was erected across the road, for the purpose of counteracting the immense pressure of the mob, which in that direction extended to Smithfield. This barrier was fastened to two uprights, that were placed two feet in the ground, by iron hooping, which was by no means of sufficient strength for the immense weight of the timber to which it was attached. The consequence was, that at the moment the culprits were visible on the gallows, the barrier was forced down, and a number of persons of both sexes fell with it. The screams of the females, and the confusion that ensued, was truly alarming. Several persons were carried to the hospital, but no life was lost.

As the hour of eight approached, the anxiety of the multitude became most intense; and every eye appeared directed towards the door through which the wretched criminals were to be led to the scaffold.

At eight o'clock the procession began to move from the Press-room, and the appearance of the executioner and his assistant on the scaffold indicated that the last awful ceremony was just at hand. A general cry of "Hats off!" took place, and in an instant the immense multitude were all uncovered. Bishop was first conducted on the scaffold, and his appearance was the signal for the most tremendous groans, yells, and hootings from all parts of the crowd. The wretched man came forward apparently unmoved by the dreadful reception he experienced. The executioner proceeded at once to the performance of his duty; and having put the rope round his neck, and fixed it to the chain, placed him under the fatal beam. A terrific cheer from the crowd proclaimed their satisfaction at the completion of the preparation for his exit to the other world; but still, though placed on the brink of eternity, and about to be launched into it amidst the execrations of his fellow-creatures, the miserable criminal betrayed scarce a symptom of fear. The same listless and sullen manner that had marked his conduct throughout appeared to be preserved by him to the last moment. Not a muscle seemed to be moved, not a limb to shake, though he remained, during the awful interval of two minutes that elapsed before Williams was brought forward, exposed to the indignant hootings of the multitude.

Williams next ascended the scaffold, on reaching which he bowed to the crowd, who returned his salutation with the most dreadful yells and groans. He appeared to labour under extreme anguish, and his demeanour altogether formed a complete contrast to that of his guilty associate. While the cap was being put over his eyes, and the rope adjusted by the executioner, his whole frame seemed convulsed by a universal tremor. The Rev. Mr. Cotton, having engaged the wretched men in prayer--in which Williams appeared to join fervently, wringing his hands and ejaculating aloud--gave the signal for the falling of the drop, when they were launched into eternity. Bishop appeared to die almost instantaneously, but Williams struggled for several minutes. The moment the drop fell, the crowd, which had been yelling all the time, set up a shout of exultation that was prolonged for several minutes.

The bodies having been suspended for the usual time, were cut down at nine o'clock. That operation was performed by the executioner amidst the shouts and cheers of the crowd, which still continued very great.

Immediately after a small cart drove up to the platform, and the bodies of the culprits were placed in it, covered with two sacks. The cart then moved on at a slow pace, followed by the sheriffs and city-marshal, and a large body of constables, along Giltspur-street, to the house of Mr. Stone, No. 33, Hosier-lane--the vast crowd yelling and making other discordant sounds as they proceeded. On reaching Mr. Stone's house, it was with great difficulty the bodies could be removed from the cart, the crowd appearing anxious to get possession of them. The bodies were placed on a table, and in the presence of the sheriffs (in conformity with their duty), an incision was made in their chests, after which they withdrew. The bodies were removed the same night--Bishop to the King's College, and Williams to the Theatre of Anatomy, in Windmill-street, Haymarket--to be dissected. They were publicly exhibited on Tuesday and Wednesday, at both places, when immense crowds of persons were admitted to see their remains.

The skeletons of the two criminals still adorn the museums of the schools, in which their bodies were dissected.

The case of the murder of a Mrs. Pigburn has already been alluded to in the course of this article, and it will be seen that, in the confession made by the two convicts, they admitted their participation in that crime. The statement made by them appears to be strictly correct, as it was fully borne out by Shields, the porter, in a statement which he made before the magistrates at Bow-street.

In consequence of this declaration Mrs. Williams, the wife of the prisoner, was taken into custody on suspicion of her having been concerned in the murder. From her statement, some curious circumstances were elicited as to the prisoners, and her own and her mother's relationship to them. She said that Bishop was the son of a carrier, who lived at Highgate, and who, in the course of a long life, succeeded in amassing a considerable sum of money. Mrs. Bishop, who was at the time of the inquiry about forty years of age, was married to the old man as his third wife, and at this time there were several children living, amongst whom were John Bishop, the convict, and herself, who were half-brother and sister, being both the children of the old man, but by different mothers. At the death of old Bishop, it was found that, by his will, he had divided his property between his last wife, his children, and some other relatives: and the payment of 15_s._ per week was secured to his widow out of a portion of the estate, in which some of the relations had a reversionary interest. In less than six months after the old man's death, his widow and his son married, and they had lived together ever since. She (then Rhoda Bishop), subsequently became acquainted with Williams, whose real name was Head; he had been bred a carpenter, but at this time followed the occupation of a glass-blower, and after a short courtship they were married (about two months before her husband's apprehension on the charge of murder), she being then seventeen years of age. She denied that she was at all aware of the diabolical crimes which had been resorted to by her husband and her half-brother; and although she admitted that she had accompanied Shields on the occasion pointed out, she declared that she was not informed of the nature of the load which he carried.

Mrs. Williams was remanded for a week, but at the expiration of that time, there being no evidence to implicate her in the horrid affair, she was discharged.

We have only a few words to add, in reference to May, to close our notice of these most detestable criminals.

May (who was a tall, light-haired, and rather good-looking man, about thirty years of age) was the natural son of a barrister, who formerly had chambers in the New Inn. His mother was a laundress in the chambers; she was particularly fond of her son, and when he was about twelve years of age she used to lead him about, fearful that any harm should come to him. He was brought up at a boarding-school, and received a tolerable education: he wrote an excellent hand, and at the age of fourteen he was employed in a professional gentleman's office, at No. 10, in the New Inn; but he was always of a wild, roving disposition, and whenever he could get away from his duties he was associating with the worst characters about Clare-market. This appeared to be his sole delight, until he neglected the office altogether, and was, consequently, discharged. He had at the same time some good friends, who felt an interest in his welfare, but nothing could induce him to break-off with his associates; and, instead of remaining a clerk, which he was well adapted for, he took a liking to be a butcher. The first place he got was at Mr. Roberts's, in Clare-market, with whom he lived some time: he afterwards lived with Mr. Price, in the same market; but he never remained long in one place. At last he took up the trade of a "body-snatcher;" and, in order to carry on the business with the greater facility, took a lodging in one of the houses in Clement's-lane, Strand, the back of which looks into the burying-ground, situated in Portugal-street, at the rear of St. Clement Danes' workhouse. Here he commenced business, and was very successful; but, like many others, flushed by success, he could not keep his own secret, and would brag of the number of bodies he had got out of the burying-ground at the back of his lodgings of a night, and what sums he had sold them for. He at first made no secret of his profession, and considered it meritorious, till, at last, he found that he was detested and despised by every person. He then left that part of the town, and got acquainted with Bishop and his associates.

We believe that there is no reason to doubt the truth of his assertions, that he had never been implicated in murder. He made a full confession of the habits and practices of persons engaged in his horrid trade, and his punishment was eventually commuted to transportation for life.