Chapter VI: Part 6

'May said he wished to say what he knew, and would speak the truth. He then said his name was James May, and that he lived in Dorset-street, Newington. He went into the country on Sunday week, and returned on the evening of Wednesday, and went to Mr. Grainger's, in Webb-street, with a couple of subjects. On the following morning (Thursday) he removed them to Mr. Davis's, at Guy's, and after receiving the money he went away to the Fortune of War, in Smithfield, and stayed there about two or three hours. Between four and five o'clock, to the best of his recollection, he went to Nag's-head-court, Golden-lane, and there he stopped with a female until between eleven and twelve o'clock the next day (Friday). From Golden-lane he went to the Fortune of War again, and stopped drinking there until six o'clock or half-past. Williams and Bishop both came in there, and asked him if he would "stand any thing" to drink, which he did. Bishop then called him out, and asked him where he could get the best price for "things." He told him where he had sold two, meaning Guy's, and he (Bishop) then told him that he had got a good subject, and had been offered eight guineas for it. He (May) replied, that he could get more for it, and then Bishop said that all he could get over nine guineas he might have for himself. He agreed to it, and they went from thence to the Old Bailey, and had some tea at the watering-house there, leaving Williams at the Fortune of War. After tea they called a chariot off the stand, and drove to Bishop's house. When there, Bishop showed him the lad in a box or trunk. He (May) then put it into a sack, and brought it to the chariot, and conveyed it to Mr. Davis's, at Guy's. Mr. Davis said, "You know, John, I cannot take it: because I took two of you yesterday, and I have not got names enough down for one, or I would take it." He (May) then asked him if he could leave the body there that night, and he said he might. Bishop then desired Mr. Davis not to let any person have it, as it was his subject, but to deliver it to his own self. He (May) also told Mr. Davis not to let the body go without him, or he should be money out of pocket. May then went on to say, that he went to his own house and slept there that night, and the next morning he went to Guy's, and Bishop and Shields came in with a hamper, which was taken to King's College, where he was taken into custody.'

'JOHN WILLIAMS stated, that in the first place he met Bishop on last Saturday morning (Nov. 5), in Long-lane, Smithfield, and asked him where he was going. He said he was going to the King's College. They then went into the Fortune of War public-house, and after that Bishop went to Guy's Hospital, and then to the King's College. May and the porter met them against the gate. Bishop went in, and he (Williams) asked him to let him go in with him. That was all he had got to say, except that a porter took a basket from the Fortune of War to Guy's Hospital, and he (Williams) helped him part of the way with it.'

WILLIAM D. BURNABY, magistrate's clerk at Bow-street, was present at the examination of the prisoners at Bow-street, and remembers that when the prisoner May was examined as to the use of the awl found at his residence, he stated that 'that was the instrument he usually employed to punch out the teeth from dead bodies.'

JOHN KIRKMAN (of the new police) was on duty at the station-house, Covent-garden, when the inquest was held there on the body of the Italian boy. Behind where the prisoners sat was a printed bill relating to the transaction. On seeing it the prisoner Bishop said in a low tone of voice to the prisoner May, 'It was the blood that sold us;' and looking at the bill again, said aloud, 'The marks of violence were only breakings out on the skin.'

Mr. THOMAS, the superintendent of police, deposed that on examining the body of the boy it appeared to him that there were marks on the left arm as if from the violent compression of fingers, and there was dirt on the chest. He also saw on the neck, from the forehead to the breast, the traces of blood but clumsily wiped away.

Mr. ADOLPHUS stated that this was the case for the prosecution.

The prisoners were then called upon for their defence.

Mr. CURWOOD, on the part of the prisoner Williams, said he felt it to be his duty to object to that person's being further proceeded with under the present indictment. That indictment distinctly charged Williams with being a principal in the murder, and he appealed to the Court whether the evidence at all went to bear out the indictment, so far as it applied to that prisoner. It might be that the evidence would go to show that he was an accessory after the crime, but that was quite another question from the present indictment, which distinctly charged him with being a principal.

Lord Chief Justice TINDAL could not admit the force of the learned counsel's objection. It would be for the jury to determine not only the fact of guilt or innocence, but the degrees of both.

Mr. CURWOOD bowed to the decision of the Court, and only performed what he conceived to be his duty in urging the objection.

JOHN DAVIS was then recalled for the purpose of showing that he had very recently purchased two subjects from the prisoner May. He brought them the day before the date of the murder.

The Court then informed the prisoners, that if they wished to address any observations to the jury on the evidence just given against them, that that was the time.

Three written defences were then read by the officer of the Court.

The prisoner BISHOP, in his defence, stated that he was 33 years of age, and had followed the occupation of carrier till the last five years, during which he had occasionally obtained a livelihood by supplying surgeons with subjects. He most solemnly declared that he had never disposed of any body that had not died a natural death. He had been in the habit of obtaining bodies from workhouses, with their clothes on, so that he could have no difficulty in procuring them after a natural death. The statement then went on to describe the localities of the prisoner's residence, in order to show that they admitted of great facilities of ingress and egress, to all persons resident in the neighbourhood. His garden and premises were open to them, and theirs to him. With respect to the clothes found in his garden, he knew nothing. As to the cap, he should be able to prove that it was bought by his wife from a woman named Dodswell, who resided in Old Hoxton Town. The green cape he sewed on himself. The prisoner called upon the jury to divest their minds of all undue prejudices, and judge his case by the evidence alone. By so doing, they would be discharging their duty, and would acquit him of the crime then charged against him. In conclusion, the prisoner declared that neither Williams nor May knew how he procured the body.

WILLIAMS'S defence briefly stated, that he had never been engaged in the calling of resurrectionist; and had only by accident accompanied Bishop on the occasion of the sale of the Italian boy's body.

MAY, in his defence, admitted that, for the last six years, he had followed the occupation of supplying the medical schools with anatomical subjects; but disclaimed ever having had anything to do with the sale of bodies which had not died a natural death. The remainder of his defence was a recapitulation of his declaration at the coroner's inquest, to the effect that he had accidentally met with Bishop at the Fortune of War public-house, on the Friday on which the body was taken for sale to Guy's Hospital.

ROSINA CARPENTER, on behalf of the prisoner May, deposed, that she lived at Macbeth-court, Golden-lane; that she was acquainted with May for the last fourteen or fifteen years. That May came to her between four and five o'clock on Thursday, the 3d of November, and stayed with her till twelve o'clock next day.

On cross-examination, the witness stated, that she had slept several nights with the prisoner May before the 3d of November, and that nobody saw them together on that occasion.

SARAH TRUBY was recalled, in order to show that she had never, at any time, seen white mice in Bishop's possession.

The prisoner BISHOP.--What! did you never see any?

WITNESS.--No; never.

BISHOP.--Not about six months ago? Don't you recollect your cat having killed some in my garden.

WITNESS.--Never.

Mrs. MARY DODSWELL lived at 26, Hoxton Old Town: kept a second-hand clothes and sale shop. Knew the prisoner Bishop's wife. Sold a cap to her about two years ago. The cap was a cloth one, with a black leather cape.

[The cap found at Bishop's, and alleged to have been that worn by the Italian boy, was a brown hair one, with green leather front.]

The prisoner BISHOP.--Mrs. Dodswell, don't you recollect your having sold my wife two caps at the same time?

WITNESS.--No, I sold but one.

On behalf of the prisoner May, MARY ANN HALL and JANE LEWIS, who both admitted themselves to be in the habit of 'seeing gentlemen,' were called and examined, in order to show that they lived in the same street with May, and that the appearance of blood on his clothes was wholly owing to an accident which happened to a jackdaw, and which was followed by the loss of blood.

Mr. THOMAS (the Police Superintendent) here deposed, that he was inclined to believe, from the glutinous and fresh appearance of the blood on the prisoner May's clothes, that it was shed since his being taken into custody.

The CHIEF JUSTICE then proceeded to recapitulate the evidence to the jury, first warning them of the justice of founding their decision on the evidence then adduced, without being at all influenced by statements made elsewhere. The indictment contained two counts--one charging the prisoners at the bar with the murder of Carlo Ferrari, an Italian boy; the other with the murder of a boy, name unknown. The jury would learn from this circumstance, that it was by no means necessary that the name of the murdered party should be known, and that all that they need have to decide was, the fact itself. They accordingly would first direct their attention to the determining the fact, whether the body which the prisoners had proffered for sale had come by a natural death or not; and next, whether, if they were of opinion that it had not, the prisoners were the murderers, and to what degree they were implicated. With respect to the first point, he thought they would experience but little trouble after the explicit evidence of the medical gentlemen who had been that day examined, and whose conduct, it was but justice to say, was an honourable rebuke to any calumnious imputations on the medical profession to which the present case may have given birth. The learned Judge then went through the evidence with the most pains-taking minuteness, commenting on those points which, in his mind, would enable the jury to determine the guilt of the prisoners, and their probable share in the crime. The jury had heard evidence which traced the Italian boy close to the premises of Bishop, at twelve o'clock of the 3d of November, on the night of which it was probable the murder was committed. They had evidence also to show, that on that night a scuffle took place in Bishop's cottage, in which Williams's voice was discernible. The evidence, however, to show that May was present, or participated in the actual offence, was by no means decisive; so that the jury would have to determine how far he was, or was not, a principal or accessory. It might be that they would arrive at the conclusion that Bishop alone, or Bishop and Williams, were the criminals, and in such case they would find a verdict of acquittal for May; or it might be, that they would find that all three were equally guilty, or that they were guilty, but not in an equal degree. Their verdict would be according to their decision on this point, rendering it incumbent on them to cautiously weigh those parts of the evidence which bore particularly on Bishop and Williams, and on the other prisoner. He left it to their unbiassed judgment to find according to the evidence which had been submitted to them.

At eight o'clock the jury retired to consider their verdict, and the prisoners were removed from the bar, and taken out of court. The interval between that and the return of the jury was a period of intense anxiety to every one in court; and, as is usual on such occasions, there were various conjectures hazarded as to what would be the verdict as to all the prisoners. That a verdict of 'guilty' would be returned against two of the prisoners--namely, Bishop and Williams,--none who heard the evidence and the summing up of the learned Judge, could entertain any rational doubt; but the same confident opinion by no means existed with respect to the fate of the prisoner May. The general opinion, as far as we could judge from what was passing around us, was, that the circumstantial proof not being, in his case, so strong as it was in that of his fellow-prisoners, the jury would acquit him: but still there were many who thought the proof of a participation in the murder clear and perfect as to all the parties.

These conjectures and speculations were put an end to by the return of the jury at half-past eight o'clock.

The most death-like silence now prevailed through the court, interrupted only by a slight buzz on the re-introduction of the prisoners.

Every eye was now fixed upon them; but though their appearance and manner had undergone a considerable change from what they exhibited at being first placed at the bar, and during the greater part of the trial, they did not seem conscious of the additional interest which their presence at this moment excited. They scarcely raised their eyes as they entered, beyond a glance or two at the jury box.

Bishop advanced to the bar with a heavy step, and with rather a slight bend of the body; his arms hung closely down, and it seemed a kind of relief to him when he took his place to rest his hand on the board before him. His appearance, when he got in front, was that of a man who had been for some time labouring under the most intense mental agony, which had brought on a kind of lethargic stupor. His eye was sunk, and glassy; his nose drawn and pinched; the jaw fallen, and, of course, the mouth open: but occasionally the mouth closed, the lips became compressed, and the shoulders and chest raised, as if he was struggling to repress some violent emotion. After a few efforts of this kind, he became apparently calm, and frequently glanced his eye towards the bench and the jury-box; but this was done without once raising his head. His face had that pallid blueish appearance which so often accompanies and betokens great mental suffering.

Williams came forward with a short quick step; and his whole manner was, we should say, the reverse of that of his companion in guilt. His face had undergone very little change; but in his eye and his manner there was a feverish anxiety, which we did not observe during the trial. When he came in front, and laid his hand on the bar, the rapid movement of his fingers on the board, the frequent shifting of the hand, sometimes letting it hang down for an instant by his side, then replacing it on the board, and then resting his side against the front of the dock, showed the perturbed state of his feelings. Once or twice he gave a glance round the bench and the bar, but after that he seldom took his eye from the jury-box.

May came forward with a more firm step than either of his fellow-prisoners; but his look was that of a man who thought that all chance of life was lost. He seemed desponding; but there appeared that in his despondency which gave an air of--we could not call it daring, or even confidence,--we should rather say, a physical power of endurance, which imparted to his whole manner a more firm bearing than that of the other prisoners. He was very pale, but his eye had not relaxed from that firmness which was observable in his glance throughout the whole of the trial.

Ordinary physiognomists who, without having seen the prisoners, had read the accounts of their examinations at the police-office,--of their habits and mode of living, and the horrible atrocities with which, there is now no doubt, they were familiar,--would have been greatly disappointed in the appearance of all of them as they stood at the bar. There was nothing in the aspect or manner of any of them which betokened a predisposition to anything like the outrage on humanity of which they stood convicted. Thurtell looked, as well as acted, the 'bold-faced villain.' Ings, and one or two others of the companions of Thistlewood, wore in their countenances, almost as strongly as they showed in their deeds, the bold daring of the reckless desperado; but nothing of this kind could be traced in the face of any of the three who were then at the bar. There was something of heaviness in the aspect of Bishop, but altogether his countenance was mild. Williams had that kind of aspect with which men associate the idea of sharpness and cunning, and something of mischief, but nothing of the villain. May, who was the best-looking of the three, had a countenance which most persons would consider open and manly. There was an air of firmness and determination about him; but neither in him nor his companions was there the slightest physiognomical trait of a murderer, according to the common notions on the subject. They were all those kind of vulgar men in appearance of which one sees hundreds every day, without being struck with any indication in them of good or evil disposition.

When the three prisoners were placed at the bar, the names of the jury were called over; and on being asked whether they had agreed to their verdict, they answered that they had.

The question was then put to them, as to each of the prisoners, and they returned as their verdict, that John Bishop, Thomas Williams, _alias_ Head, and James May, were severally _Guilty_ of murder.

The verdict was received in court with becoming silence; but in a moment it was conveyed to the immense multitude assembled outside, who evinced their satisfaction at the result by loud and continued cheering and clapping of hands. To such an extent was this expression of the popular feeling carried, that the windows of the court were obliged to be closed, in order that the voice of the Recorder might be heard in passing sentence.

The prisoners were then severally called upon to say why sentence of death and execution should not be pronounced upon them; but none of them availed themselves of this opportunity of saying anything.

The RECORDER then proceeded to pass the awful sentence of death upon them, but was for some moments again interrupted by the renewed shouts of the populace from without. Silence having been restored, the learned Judge proceeded. He began by eulogizing the patient and diligent attention bestowed on their case by the jury, whose verdict was just recorded; and of that jury he might state, what he often had occasion to remark of juries in that box, that nothing but the most satisfactory evidence, and a conviction of the solemn obligation they owed to their Maker and to their country, could induce them to pronounce a verdict which was to consign some of their fellow-men to a disgraceful death. He fully concurred in the verdict they had pronounced, which was supported by the most conclusive evidence.

The prisoner BISHOP.--By false evidence, my Lord.

The learned RECORDER went on, and addressing himself to the prisoners, observed, that he would not encroach, by any lengthened remarks, on the very short time that was to intervene between their sentence and their appearance in the presence of their Creator. A month had now elapsed since their first committal for this crime, and he hoped that that time had been employed by them in looking back on their past lives,--on the horrible agony which they had inflicted on the feelings of so many of their fellow-men,--and on the dreadful outrage on human nature of which they were now convicted. But, however they might have spent the time past, he earnestly adjured them, by their hopes of mercy, to lose not an instant of the few hours which yet remained to them, in constant prayers to Almighty God for pardon through the merits of their Redeemer. After pointing out to them the spiritual assistance which would be afforded to them in prison, the learned Judge concluded by passing upon each of them the sentence of the law, which was, that each of them be hanged on the following Monday morning, and their bodies be delivered over for dissection and anatomization.

The prisoners heard their sentence, as they had heard the verdict, without any visible alteration in their manner. They stood at the bar, as if expecting that something more would be added. When ordered to be removed, May raised his voice, and, in a firm tone, said, 'I am a murdered man, gentlemen, and that man (pointing to Bishop) knows it.'

The prisoner Williams said, 'We are all murdered men.' He then addressed himself to one or two of the witnesses at the side bar, and said, that before three months they would suffer for the false evidence they had given against him.

Bishop made no observation, but retired from the bar even more absorbed by his awful situation than he had appeared before.

The prisoners were then removed, and in a short time after the crowd outside the court dispersed.

From a momentary forgetfulness on the part of the Recorder, when passing sentence of death upon Bishop, Williams, and May, these wretches nearly escaped the additional judgment of dissection. The Recorder, in the usual manner, had ordered them to be hanged on the following Monday, and was passing on to the end of his address, 'and the Lord have mercy upon your souls,' when Mr. Justice Littledale whispered to the learned gentleman, who then stopped short in the concluding sentence, and ordered their bodies to be given up for dissection.

On Saturday night, when the prisoners were removed each to his cell, attended by his watchman, the person who was placed over Williams saw him grow anxious and uneasy; towards midnight his agitation increased, and the vigilance of his keeper became more marked. Williams observed it, and said, 'Don't be frightened, sir, I am not going to do anything wrong, but I wish to ease my mind. Let me see the Governor.' Mr. Wontner was then called from his bed, and the Rev. Mr. Cotton, the Ordinary, was also in attendance in a few minutes.

When these gentlemen came into the cell, Williams looking at them steadfastly for a moment or two, burst into tears and said, 'Gentlemen, I wish to unburden my mind; I know I am guilty, and I ought to suffer the utmost punishment of the law; I am a murderer, I confess it, but the witnesses were all mistaken as to its being the Italian boy.' He was then urged to relieve his mind as calmly and as coolly as possibly; and, after a strong effort, during which the mental agony which he endured was dreadful, he made a statement, of which the following is the substance:--

On Thursday the 3d of November, he was in the neighbourhood of Smithfield, when he saw a boy, whom he had often observed before, assisting in driving cattle to the market. This boy was about fourteen or fifteen years of age, and exactly corresponded with the description given of the Italian boy. He enticed him from the cattle, and took him to the Fortune of War public-house, and sent for Bishop, who was waiting at another public-house in the neighbourhood for the purpose of receiving communications from him (Williams) as to anything he might do. Bishop came, and they took the boy home to Nova Scotia Gardens, giving him some soup and potatoes by the way. When they got him there, they set him to play with Bishop's children until near dusk, when they gave him some rum, and he became stupified. They (Bishop and Williams) then took him into the garden, and on the way threw him down, and, pushing his head into the water-barrel, sunk into the ground (as already described) held him until he was suffocated. They then conveyed the body back to the house, 'kept it snug' till the next day, when May was applied to, to assist in disposing of it. May had nothing to do with the murder of that boy.

Here the statement concluded. Williams seemed greatly relieved after making his confession, and went to bed and slept soundly.

The Rev. Mr. Williams, according to his promise, also visited Bishop in his cell. The culprit appeared to be aware of his approaching dissolution, and though firm as when he appeared at the bar before the Court at the Old Bailey, yet he appeared to be anxious to make a communication in favour of May. Bishop observed, that as he had no hopes of mercy here, he did not wish an innocent man to suffer for his crimes, and he declared that May was not concerned in the murder of which he had been convicted. He said he was ready to make a confession of the murders in which he had participated. After some hesitation, he admitted that he had been concerned in the commission of three murders, viz.--that of the Italian boy, the murder of Frances Pigburn, and of a drover, a boy who had come to London with cattle from Lincolnshire, which boy the witnesses on his trial had sworn was the Italian boy, to the best of their belief, though he had disposed of that body before.

Bishop entered into a minute description, most horrible in its details, of the mode by which he had perpetrated the inhuman murders, and then made the following confession:--

_Newgate, December 4._

'I, John Bishop, do hereby declare and confess, that the boy
supposed to be the Italian boy was a Lincolnshire boy. I and
Williams took him to my house about half-past ten o'clock on the
Thursday night, the 3d 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 walked then all three to 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
stayed 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 stayed in the garden. Williams came out directly,
and we both walked out of the garden a little way, to give time
for the family getting to bed; we returned in about ten minutes
or a quarter of an hour, and listened outside at the window to
ascertain whether the family were gone to bed. All was quiet, and
we then went to the boy in the privy, and took him into the house;
we lighted a candle, and gave the boy some bread and cheese, and
after he had eaten, we gave him a cup full of rum, with about half
a small phial of laudanum in it. (I had bought the rum the same
evening at the Three Tuns, in Smithfield, and the laudanum also in
small quantities at different shops.) There was no water or other
liquid put in the cup with the rum and laudanum. The boy drank
the contents of the cup directly in two draughts, and afterwards
a little beer. In about ten minutes he fell asleep on the chair
on which he sat, and I removed him from the chair to the floor,
and laid him on his side. We then went out and left him there. We
had a quartern of gin and a pint of beer at the Feathers, near
Shoreditch church, and then went home again, having been away
from the boy about twenty minutes. We found him asleep as we had
left him. We took him directly, asleep and insensible, into the
garden, and tied a cord to his feet to enable us to 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 of the well--his feet just
above the surface. Williams fastened the other end of the cord
round the paling to prevent the body getting beyond our reach.
The boy struggled a little with his arms and legs in the water,
and the water bubbled for a minute. We waited till these symptoms
were past, and then went in doors, and afterwards I think we
went out, and walked down Shoreditch to occupy the time, and in
about three-quarters of an hour we returned and took him out of
the well, by pulling him by the cord attached to his feet: we
undressed him in the paved yard, rolled his clothes up, and buried
them where they were found by the witness who produced them. We
carried the boy into the wash-house, laid him on the floor, and
covered him over with a bag. We left him there, and went and
had some coffee in Old-street-road, and then (a little before
two o'clock on the morning of Friday) went back to my house. We
immediately doubled the body up, and put it into a box, which we
corded, so that nobody might open it to see what was in it, and
then went again, and had some more coffee at the same place in
Old-street-road, where we stayed a little while, and then went
home to bed--both in the same house, and to our own beds, as
usual. We slept till about ten o'clock on Friday morning, when we
got up, took breakfast together with the family, and then went
both of us to Smithfield, to the Fortune of War. We had something
to eat and drink there, and after we had been there about half
an hour, May came in. I knew May, but had not seen him for about
a fortnight before. He had some rum with me at the bar, Williams
remaining in the tap-room. May and I went to the door, I had a
smockfrock on, and May asked me 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; May 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, that he had been obliged to buy one the day before. We
went from there 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; 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 sell it where he sold his for more. I told
him that all he could get above nine guineas he might have for
himself; we agreed to go presently and get a coach. I and May then
went to the bar, 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 cab-man was at tea at the watering-house, and
we went in and spoke to him about a fare, and had also tea there
ourselves. Whilst we were at tea, the cab-driver 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 if 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 joining us by
the George, in the Old Bailey, on our way) at the Fortune of War
we drank something again, and then (about six o'clock) we all
three went in the chariot to Nova Scotia Gardens; we went into
the wash-house, where I uncorded the trunk, and showed May the
body. He asked, "How are the teeth?" I said I had not looked at
them. Williams went and fetched a brad-awl from the house, and May
took it and forced the teeth out: it is the constant practice to
take the teeth out first, because, if the body be lost, the teeth
are saved. After the teeth were taken out, we put the body in a
bag and took it to the chariot; May and I carried the body, and
Williams got first into the coach, and 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 had bought two the day before of May. I asked him to let
us leave it there till the next morning; he consented, and we put
it in a little room, the door of which Mr. Davis locked. Williams
was, during this, left with the chariot: I told Mr. Davis not to
let the subject go to any body 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 teas at the Old Bailey,
(about four shillings) and the coach fare, which we had agreed
with the coachman should be ten shillings. May had no other
interest or right to the money to be obtained for the body, except
for such payment, and for what he could get above nine guineas,
as I had promised him. May paid the coachman ten shillings 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 May and I then joined Williams,
discharged the coach, and went to a public-house close by, and had
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 stayed there about one 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 Old-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 Union-street, Kingsland-road, where we
got out and paid the coach-fare out of money lent us by May (he
having advanced to each of us three shillings). 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 him to go with us over the water to carry
a subject. I asked him to go to St. Bartholomew's Hospital for
a hamper which I had seen there; he refused, and I fetched it
myself. We had a pint of beer there, 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, stating that 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, if 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 whilst 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 under ten
guineas.' He was in liquor, and on his moving a little way off, I
took the opportunity of saying to Hill, that he 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 had some beef-steaks and beer, and afterwards 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 he 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, that he did not know, and it did not
concern him. Mr. Hill asked how a cut, which was on the forehead,
came. I told him that it was done by May throwing it out of the
sack on the stones, which was the truth. Hill told us to remain
in the other room, and he would bring in the money. We went into
the other room, and waited for some time, when Mr. Partridge came
to us, and showed me a fifty pound note, and said he must go and
get it changed, for 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 he could give us the remainder on
Monday. 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.

'JOHN BISHOP.'

'Witness, ROBERT ELLIS.'

'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 he suspected that 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 to the contrary
until I confessed it 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 Fanny Pigburn, on or
about the 9th of October last. I and Williams saw her sitting,
about eleven or twelve o'clock at night, on the step of a door in
Shoreditch, near the church. She had a child, four or five years
old, 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 that she might go home with us, and
sit by the fire all night. She said she would go with us; and she
walked with us to my house, in Nova Scotia Gardens, carrying her
child with her. When we got there, we found the family 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 there, and stayed about an hour.
We should have stayed there longer, but an old man came in, whom
the woman said she knew; and she said she did not like him to see
her there with 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 gave her the bottle to drink. She drank the whole
at two or three draughts. There was a quartern of rum and about
half a phial of laudanum. She sat down on the step between two
rooms in the house, and went off to sleep in about ten minutes.
She was falling back; I caught her, to save her fall, and she
lay with 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 came back in about half an hour; we left
the woman in the well for this length of time, that the rum and
laudanum might run out of the body at the mouth. On our return, we
took her out of the well, cut her clothes off, put them down the
privy of the empty house, carried the body into the wash-house of
my own house, where we doubled it up, and put it into a hat-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 stayed a little while, to wait the change of the
police. I told Shields he was to carry that trunk to St. Thomas'
Hospital. He asked if there was a woman in the house who could
walk alongside of him, so that people might not take any notice.
Williams called his wife up, and asked her to walk with Shields,
and to carry the hat-box which he gave her to carry. There was
nothing in it, but it was tied up as if there were. We then put
the box with the body on Shields' head, and went to the hospital,
Shields and Mrs. Williams walking on one side of the street, and
I and Williams on the other. At St. Thomas' Hospital I saw Mr.
South's footman, and sent him upstairs to Mr. South to ask if he
wanted a subject. The footman brought me word that his master
wanted one, but could not give an answer till the next day, as
he had not time to look at it. During this interview, Shields,
Williams, and his wife, were waiting at a public-house. I then
went alone to Mr. Appleton, at Mr. Grainger's, and agreed to sell
it to him for eight guineas; and afterwards I fetched it from St.
Thomas' Hospital, and took it to Mr. Appleton, who paid me five
pounds then, and the rest on the following Monday. After receiving
the five pounds I went to Shields, and Williams and his wife,
at the public-house, where I paid Shields ten shillings for his
trouble, and we then all went to the Flower Pot, in Bishopsgate,
where we had something to drink, and then went home. I never saw
the woman's child after the first time before mentioned. She said
she had left the child with 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
smallpox. I also confess the murder of a boy, who told us his
name was Cunningham. It was a fortnight after the murder of the
woman. I and Williams found him sleeping, about eleven or twelve
o'clock at night, on Friday, the 21st of October, as I think,
under the pig-boards in the pig-market 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
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 had 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 mixtures we had given him to run out of the
body. We then took the body from the well, took off the clothes
in the garden, and buried them there. The body was carried into
the wash-house, and put into the same box, and left 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 concerned, or that I know anything
of; that I and Williams were alone concerned in these, and that
no other person whatever knew anything about either of them, and
that I do not know whether there are others who practise the same
mode of obtaining bodies for sale. I know nothing of any Italian
boy, and was never concerned in, or knew of, the murder of such
a boy. 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 about two months, and were killed, I think, by a cat in the
garden, where 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 in the
garden whilst we were at tea. Until the transactions before set
forth, I never was concerned in obtaining a subject by 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 one 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,
Under-Sheriff.'