Chapter X: Part 10

“You have been a resurrectionist (as it is called) I understand?” “No. Neither Hare nor myself ever got a body from a churchyard. All we sold were murdered save the first one, which was that of the woman (man) who died a natural death in Hare’s house. We began with that: our crimes then commenced. The victims we selected were generally elderly persons. They could be more easily disposed of than persons in the vigour of health.”

Such are the disclosures which this wretched man has made, under circumstances which can scarcely fail to give them weight with the public. Before a question was put to him concerning the crimes he had been engaged in, he was solemnly reminded of the duty incumbent upon him, situated as he is, to banish from his mind every feeling of animosity towards Hare, on account of the evidence which the latter gave at the trial; he was told, that, as a dying man, covered with guilt, and without hope, except in the infinite mercy of Almighty God, through our blessed Redeemer, the Lord Jesus Christ, he, who stood so much in need of forgiveness, must prepare himself to seek it by forgiving from his heart all who had done him wrong; and he was most emphatically adjured to speak the truth, and nothing but the truth, without any attempt either to palliate his own iniquities, or to implicate Hare more deeply than the facts warranted. Thus admonished, and thus warned, he answered the several interrogatories in the terms above stated; declaring, at the same time, upon the word of a dying man, that every thing he had said was true, and that he had in no respect exaggerated or extenuated any thing, either from a desire to exculpate Hare, or to spare any one else. The unhappy man is, moreover, perfectly penitent, and resigned to his fate. He never deluded himself with any hopes of escape or of mercy; and he is now accordingly preparing himself for confession, and for receiving absolution, by a perusal of such books as his spiritual guides have put into his hands, and by listening with the most devout attention to their religious instructions. He fully acknowledges the justice of his sentence; nay, he considers it in some measure as a blessing, the certainty of his approaching fate having brought back his mind to a sense of religion, from which it had been long estranged. At first he expressed deep regret that Hare, whose guilt he conceives as of a still deeper dye than his own, should have escaped the vengeance of the law; but by the exertions of his spiritual monitors, who have been indefatigable in their efforts to impress him with a strong sense of the dreadful enormity of his own guilt, as well as to bring him to a right frame and temper of mind, he no longer gives expression to such feelings, and now only breathes a wish to die at peace with all mankind. As often as the subject of the late trial is mentioned, however, he never fails to assert that Hare perjured himself in the account he gave of the murder of the woman; repeating the statement we have already given, that, so far from sitting by, a cool and unconcerned spectator of the crime, Hare actively assisted in the commission of it, and was upon the body of the woman co-operating with himself in his efforts to strangle her.

PREPARATIONS FOR THE EXECUTION.

We are now drawing near a termination of the earthly career of the wretched man who has lately occupied so large a place in the public mind. At the time that his atrocities were first brought to light, a deep and general sensation of horror and astonishment was produced. The fresh disclosure of new crimes which were announced from day to day, kept alive this feeling, until at last it was wound up to a pitch of interest which can scarcely be imagined. All classes seemed actuated by a common feeling of indignation against the ruffians who could perpetrate such enormities; while the disappointment of the public, that the vengeance of the law had hitherto overtaken only one of the murderous gang, was strongly expressed. There was manifested, at the same time, great satisfaction that one at least of the miscreants had not also escaped his merited fate; and, as the time appointed for his execution drew near, an universal interest was exhibited to learn the progress of the preparations, and the state of mind of the unhappy man. The magistrates and authorities, however, seem purposely to have adopted a line of conduct calculated directly to disappoint the very natural anxiety so unequivocally exhibited; and up to the moment when he appeared on the scaffold, all knowledge of what was passing was withheld, and all access to the condemned cell or to the Lock-up-house denied; while those, whose duty required that they should be brought in contact with Burke, were repeatedly cautioned against divulging such intelligence as their situation might enable them to obtain. So rigidly was this injunction enforced, that one of the turnkeys in the Calton-hill jail, an individual who was very generally respected in his station, and who, we believe, heretofore conducted himself with much propriety, has, notwithstanding his previous character, been dismissed for revealing some of the secrets of the prison-house.

In despite, however, of all this well-preserved mystery, some particulars of the last hours of the doomed man have transpired, and we now are enabled to lay before our readers an account, as complete as it can be made, of the awful ceremony which terminated his mortal existence.

REMOVAL TO THE LOCK-UP-HOUSE.

At four o’clock on the morning of Tuesday the 27th, (the day previous to that appointed for the execution), Burke was taken off the _gad_, and conveyed in a coach from the Calton-hill Jail to the Lock-up-house in Libberton’s Wynd. The time was purposely fixed at this unusual hour to prevent any annoyance from the crowd, which would undoubtedly have assembled had it been delayed to a later time of the day. From this cause, the only persons present, and indeed the only individuals acquainted with it, except the coachman, were Captain Rose and one of his assistants. The criminal was strongly ironed, and secured with shackles of unusual magnitude and strength.

He maintained on this trying occasion, both immediately before leaving the jail, and during the time he was in the coach, the same composure of mind which he has displayed ever since his conviction.

On reaching the Lock-up-house, he was supported into it in a state of extreme exhaustion; so much so, as to lead some who witnessed it to imagine that the gallows might still lose its deserved victim, by his death taking place before the next morning.

In the course of the last day of his existence, his composure or insensibility still continued unshaken, excepting when the dead-clothes, a suit of sables, were presented to him. On receiving them he exhibited deep emotion, and by his own confession he felt it. We have mentioned before that his thoughts had been frequently occupied about the dress he was to appear in. He remained perfectly unmoved, with the exception of this transient indication, throughout the rest of the day. In the course of the day, he was visited by the Rev. Messrs. Reid and Stewart, Catholic priests, and the Rev. Mr. Marshall, whom he requested to attend him to the scaffold, as well as the Rev. Mr. Porteous, which he promised to do. He said to those in attendance that he had committed no more murders than those which were comprised in the declaration he made to the sheriff since his conviction. For two or three nights previously, he had enjoyed sound sleep, and it is extraordinary that such was his state of dogged tranquillity, that his rest was sound and unbroken, for five hours, from Tuesday night to Wednesday morning. This, we believe, has however been observed to be frequently the case with criminals on the evening previous to execution.

At length, he manifested some impatience for the arrival of the time when he was to leave this world. In the course of the night, he said with much apparent earnestness, “Oh that the hour were come which is to separate me from the world!” About half-past five o’clock on Wednesday morning, he expressed a desire to be relieved from his chains, complaining much of the weight of them. This desire was readily complied with. He held out his leg to the smith employed to perform this service, and when the fetters fell from his limbs, he exclaimed, turning up his eyes towards Heaven, “So may all earthly chains fall from me!”

About half-past six o’clock, the two Catholic clergymen (the Rev. Messrs. Reid and Stewart) entered the Lock-up-house: The former immediately waited upon the criminal in his cell, and was absent for a considerable time with him.

At seven Burke walked with a firm step into the keeper’s room, followed by his confessor; and at this moment no appearance of agitation or dismay was discernible in his countenance or manner. He took his seat on an arm chair at the side of the fire, and twice or thrice he was remarked to sigh heavily. There were present at the time Bailies Child, Crichton, and Small, and one or two official persons besides; who were shortly afterwards joined by the Reverend Mr. Marshall and Mr. Porteous, chaplain to the Calton-hill Jail. Before the latter gentleman arrived, however, Burke and his spiritual assistants of the Catholic persuasion had commenced their devotions; he engaged in them with much apparent fervour. The Reverend Messrs. Reid and Stewart followed up their prayers with some serious exhortations. In the course of these devout and pious admonitions, Mr. Reid used the words, “You must trust in the mercy of God;” upon which the unhappy wretch heaved a long, deep-drawn suspiration, or rather suppressed groan, which too plainly betrayed the anguish and despair that lurked about his heart. He seemed to have a secret feeling that he was too deeply sunk in crime to be entitled even to hope in the infinite mercy of Heaven: his mind acknowledged the truth of the observation, while his guilty and perhaps awakened conscience bade him doubt of that mercy being extended to him.

What is somewhat singular, he exhibited no emotion on the executioner making his appearance. After this portion of his religious exercises had been gone through, he was on his way to an adjoining apartment, when he was accidently met by Williams, who stopped him rather officiously; upon which he said, “I am not ready for you yet.” The executioner followed him, and in a very short time both returned, Burke with his arms tightly pinioned behind his back, but without any change in his demeanour. While Williams was discharging this part of his duty, no conversation took place; indeed he rather appeared disinclined to hold conversation with any.

He was then invited to take a glass of wine, which he accepted of, and before putting it to his lips, bowing to the company, he drank “Farewell to all present, and the rest of his friends.” He then entered into conversation for a few minutes with Mr. Marshall and Mr. Porteous upon religious subjects. The Magistrates, Bailies Crichton and Small, who had previously gone out, now appeared in their robes, with their rods of office, and Burke took the opportunity, before he went forth to meet his doom, of expressing his gratitude to the Magistrates generally, and particularly to Bailie Small, for the kindness he had experienced from them, as well as from all the public authorities. He likewise made similar acknowledgments to Mr. Rose, the Governor of the Calton-hill Jail, Mr. Fisher, the Deputy-Governor, and Mr. and Mrs. Christie, who have the charge of the Lock-up-house, for their unremitting and kind attentions.

Precisely at eight o’clock, Burke was upon his feet, as if eager to have the ceremony proceeded in, and immediately after the melancholy procession began to move towards the scaffold. He was supported by the two Catholic priests, more from the difficulty of walking, owing to the circumstance of his arms being pinioned than from any inability, or any faltering in his steps. When proceeding up Libberton’s Wynd, he seemed perfectly cool and self-possessed, turning from side to side, and conversing with the Rev. Messrs. Reid and Stewart, and the Rev. Mr. Marshall. In crossing from the Lock-up-house to the postern entrance in Libberton’s Wynd, to where the pathway was wet from the rain and thaw of the morning, he was observed picking his steps with the greatest care. When he arrived at the head of Libberton’s Wynd, his face had an expression of wistfulness and anxiety, as if he were uneasy and uncertain of his reception from the mob, and he hurried on with his eyes half closed, eager apparently to bring the fatal scene to a speedy close.

OCCURRENCES ON THE STREET.

We will now advert to what was passing in the mean time out of doors. Here fortunately no individual “dressed in a little brief authority” could interfere, to prevent all the circumstances from being transacted under the public eye, or from the press, causing the knowledge of them to be widely extended far beyond even the countless multitudes who thronged and blocked up the High Street.

On Tuesday many anxious spectators were collected near the ordinary place of execution at the head of Libberton’s Wynd, and the thoroughfare was kept up, notwithstanding the inclemency of the weather, during the whole day. The preparations commenced at an early hour in the forenoon. Holes were dug in the pavement for the reception of the upright posts, and a space surrounding the place which it was intended the scaffold should occupy, was enclosed with strong posts and chains, to prevent the crowd breaking in upon the scaffold. At ten o’clock on Tuesday night, the ceremony of setting up the scaffold commenced. Its progress was watched by a great many eager beholders, although the rain still continued at intervals to pelt upon them. The din of the workmen and clanging of the hammers were mingled with the shouts which were raised by the assembled populace, whenever an important piece of the erection was completed, while the torches used, shedding a lurid glare on the black apparatus and dusky countenances of the workmen, added greatly to the wildness and interest of the scene. When all was finished, and the fatal beam placed transversely upon the perpendicular one, and its dark outline visible through the dim light, three tremendous cheers were given. To show the feeling of the working classes, we may mention, that notwithstanding the reluctance that is invariably exhibited among the operatives of the carpenter employed to set up the apparatus for an execution is such, that lots have to be cast for those workmen in the employment who are to fulfil the disagreeable task. On this occasion, one and all volunteered their services, and performed the work with a gusto and alacrity which would have been astonishing in an ordinary case. It was completed about two o’clock in the morning, and shortly after that hour the people dispersed, some few having delayed their departure until they witnessed the fitting and adjusting of the rope. It was afterwards removed, and replaced shortly before its services were required.

Long before this time the closes and stairs near the spot were blocked up by those who had resolved upon securing a good view, by remaining all night on the ground. The inclemency of the weather drove them to any shelter that could be obtained, and morning found them in the comfortless lairs they had chosen overnight.

A constant bustle was also kept up by the arrival of those individuals, who either from favour or for money, had procured the conveniency of a window in the vicinity. Many gave considerable sums for this accommodation, and such was their desire to avail themselves of their good fortune in securing them, that they spent the night in the apartment.

The streets were nearly perfectly quiet throughout the morning after the erection of the gibbet; the heavy and almost incessant rain must have contributed greatly to prevent any very early assemblage. As the morning advanced, however, groups were seen hastening to their windows, or taking their station in as favourable a place as they could fix upon for properly witnessing the approaching event.

About five o’clock the people began again to assemble and take their station, principally in front of the gallows, and above it towards the Castle Hill, while large parties of policemen and patrole successively arrived, and were judiciously posted in a strong line in front of the railing which kept off the crowd. The space left free was larger than is usually reserved upon such occasions. The Police acted under the conduct of Captain Stewart and his Lieutenants. Their services were not in a solitary instance required except it might be to prevent the great pressure of the vast multitude from bursting the barrier; indeed the mob were in perfect good humour, and instead of their usual animosity against the police officers being displayed, in futile attempts to annoy or retard them in the execution of their duties, one and all of the immense assemblage would willingly have done any thing in their power to aid the officers and further the arrangements.

From six to seven o’clock a great concourse thronged every avenue to the High Street, and the numbers pouring, almost rushing into it from every quarter, gave the immediate vicinity a very busy and animated appearance. Among the arrivals, there were many whose appearance betokened that they did not belong to the usual class who attend such scenes. In this number were included many well dressed ladies, who by and bye made their appearance at the windows of the lofty and sombre looking lands in the Lawnmarket, as well as those of the county buildings, and gave an unexpected variety to the picturesque scene. We understand that windows commanding a view of the place of execution were eagerly inquired after, and engaged at prices varying according to their locality, from five to thirty shillings each, while some who had engaged a window retailed a view at the rate of half a crown a head. The great numbers who were constantly arriving up before seven o’clock seemed principally to disperse themselves in this manner, as no very sensible addition was made to the mass up to this hour.

About six o’clock the weather had become less inclement, and though it was a cold raw disagreeable morning, the showers were only partial and less violent than they had been during the night. After seven o’clock, when the rain almost entirely ceased, the crowd became rapidly larger and more dense, and about eight o’clock the area contained between the West Bow and the Tron Church, presented an aspect of such an immense and closely wedged mass of human beings--such a living and moving sea of uncountable multitudes as could very seldom be witnessed, and we should suppose has never been known on a similar occasion, or perhaps on any other in the city, excepting perhaps at the king’s visit. All along the street the people were packed more closely than could have been conceived, and as far as the eye could reach, every vantage ground that could command a view was thickly studded. In the immediate neighbourhood of the scaffold, looking downwards, the crowd presented a dark appearance from the great proportion of males who composed it, but few females, much under the number that usually attends on similar scenes were present. Farther out, however, where the pressure was not so great, the usual proportions of the sexes seemed to be more nearly maintained. Some few females were sprinkled even in the most dense parts of the crowd, and their screams and unavailing efforts to extricate themselves, sometimes gave a painful interest to their appearance. We noticed one boy who was with great difficulty preserved from being trampled under foot. Another unlucky youth had by some chance got elevated above the heads of the crowd, and cut a grotesque figure as sprawling on the top of the mass, he was tossed by its movements from side to side; at last he was cast up against the houses and secured a more stable station on a lamp iron. At the movement of any part of the mob, a correspondent and simultaneous motion seemed to be imparted to it in nearly all its parts, and some action continually happening, imparted an appearance of a vast substance continually waving to and fro.

The numbers collected at this time have been computed at from twenty to thirty thousand individuals; we were disposed at first to consider this calculation excessive, but, upon consideration, we are inclined to believe that the amount has been under rather than overrated. Any idea of counting is quite out of the question, and guessing by the appearance in such a case, is nearly equally fallacious. The only way that tolerable accuracy can be obtained, is by calculating the superficial extent of the space occupied by the crowd.

We believe that we are not far wrong in assuming, that the High Street, from the West Bow to the Tron Church, is about three hundred yards in length, and averages about thirty yards in breadth. This would give for the superficial contents of the area, nine thousand square yards. The people did not quite extend to the Tron Church, but they were higher than the West Bow, and some standing on the Castle Hill; and taking the number in Bank Street, and those pushed out of the line in front of the Advocates’ Library, and into closes and stairs, and throwing off one thousand square yards, as an ample compensation for the deficiency about the church, there is still left eight thousand square yards. The mean density cannot be taken at less than four individuals to the square yard,--indeed, from the close packing for a considerable way round the scaffold, we are convinced that this is rather under than over the mark. This computation will give thirty-two thousand persons standing on the streets. We imagine that it is reckoning within the number when we calculate five thousand additional for the crammed windows, and those adventurous individuals who occupied the house tops. In all, we arrive at the enormous number of thirty-seven thousand persons. We do not give this calculation as strictly correct. It cannot under these circumstances be so, but we believe that it is nearer the truth than any guess, and that the whole number approximated more nearly to forty thousand souls than to thirty-five thousand.

This immense multitude presented certainly nothing of the appearance of having come for the purpose of witnessing a sad solemnity, and differed very widely in demeanour from that which is usually exhibited by the spectators of an execution. In ordinary cases, a great degree of sympathy for the sufferer is usually manifested, and even in the worst a respectful and solemn deportment is observed, as if it was recognised that they were met upon a melancholy occasion. In this it was totally different. Every countenance bore an expression of gladness that revenge was so near, and the whole multitude appeared more as if they were waiting to witness some splendid procession or agreeable exhibition. Rude jokes and puns were bandied about, and any opportunity for fun and frolic to while away the time was immediately seized upon. Even the disagreeable and almost suffocating pressure was borne with equanimity, and the glances that were cast at St. Giles’ clock rather betokened an impatient desire to glut their vengeance by the spectacle of the arch-fiend’s death-struggles, than an anxiety to be released from their uncomfortable situation.

Eight o’clock at last struck solemnly, and commanded universal attention; all eyes were directed towards the scaffold. It now remains for us to describe what took place there, and

THE EXECUTION.

We left the _cortege_ proceeding up Libberton’s Wynd, the windows of which were also filled with spectators. When Bailies Crichton and Small, who were foremost in the procession, reached the top of the wynd, and were observed by that part of the crowd who were in a situation to see them, a loud shout was raised, which was speedily joined in by the whole mass of spectators. When the culprit himself appeared ascending the stair towards the platform, the yells of execration were redoubled, and at the moment that he came full in view, they rose to a tremendous pitch, intermixed with maledictions, such as “the murderer! _Burke_ him! choke him, hangie!” and other expressions of that sort. The miserable wretch, who looked thinner and more ghastly than at his trial, walked with a steady step to the apparatus of death, supported between his confessors, and accompanied by the Rev. Messrs. Marshall and Porteous, and seemed to be perfectly cool and self-possessed.

When he arrived on the platform of the scaffold, his composure seemed entirely to forsake him, when he heard the appalling shouts and yells of execration with which he was assailed. He cast a look of fierce and even desperate defiance as the reiterated cries were intermingled with maledictions, such as we have already described. His face suddenly assumed a deadly paleness, and his faculties appeared to fail him. Deafening cries of “hang Hare too,” “where is Hare?” “hang Knox,” were mingled with the denunciations against Burke.

His appearance betrayed considerable feebleness, whether from disease or emotion we cannot say.

He was dressed in the suit of black that we have already noticed, which was rather shabby in appearance. The coat had been made for a man of a much larger size, and from the looseness gave a look of weakness to his person. His appearance was that of a short man, narrow about the shoulder and chest; this proceeded from the dress, as he was really a well formed muscular man. His head was uncovered, and his hair, which was of a light sandy colour approaching nearly to white, along with his dress, gave somewhat of a reverend aspect to him. The resemblance to the portrait which was given in our third number, was universally acknowledged by those who were around us, and we cannot give a better idea of the man at this time to those who did not see him than by referring to it, allowing for the colour of the hair, the cadaverous hue, and some alteration which disease, confinement, and the murderer’s fare, had produced. He wore a white neckcloth, and boots which seemed to have lain uncleaned for a length of time in some damp place until they had become mouldy.

It was precisely five minutes after eight o’clock when they ascended the scaffold. Having taken his station in front of the drop, he kneeled with his back towards the spectators, his confessor on his right hand, and the other Catholic clergyman on his left, and appeared to be repeating a form of prayer, dictated to him by one of these reverend persons; the position called forth new shouts and clamours of “stand out of the way,” “turn him round.” Mr. Marshall, in the meanwhile, offered up a fervent supplication to Heaven in his behalf. The bailies, and other persons on the platform, stood round and joined in the devotions, with the exception of Williams the executioner, and his assistant, who kept their station all the time at the back of the drop. During the prayer a partial silence was obtained, although there was still considerable confusion and uproar, which Bailie Small in vain endeavoured to repress, by turning repeatedly and waving his hand. Mr. Marshall’s prayer occupied exactly five minutes, when he and the others, excepting the Catholic clergyman, retired from around him, Burke and the priests still continuing to kneel. His prayers seemed to be very fervent, and he mentioned to one of the priests, that he died in the full assurance that he would be saved through the mediation of our Saviour.

When he arose from his kneeling posture, he was observed to lift a silk handkerchief on which he had knelt, and carefully put into his pocket. He then cast his eyes upwards towards the gallows; and took his place on the drop, the priest supporting him, though he did not seem to require it from any bodily weakness. There was some hesitation displayed in his manner, as if loath to mount; one of the persons who assisted him to ascend, having rather roughly pushed him to a side, in order to place him exactly on the drop, he looked round at the man with a withering scowl which defies all description. While the executioner, who was behind him, was proceeding with his arrangements some little delay took place, from the circumstance of his attempting to unloose the handkerchief at his breast. Burke, perceiving the mistake, said, “the knot’s behind,” which were the only words, not devotional, uttered by him on the scaffold, and the only time he spoke to any one excepting the priests.

When the hangman succeeded in removing the neckcloth, he proceeded to fasten the rope round his neck, which he pulled tightly, and after adjusting it, and affixing it to the gibbet, put a white cotton night cap upon him, but without pulling it over his face.

_Published by Thomas Ireland Jun^r. Edinburgh._]

While this was going on, the yells, which had been almost uninterrupted, became tremendous, accompanied with cries of “hang Hare too;” “where is Hare.” “_Burke_ the ----, do not waste rope upon him;” “give him no rope.” “You ----, you will see Daft Jamie in a minute.” He seemed somewhat unsteady; whether from terror or debility, we cannot say.

The Rev. Mr. Reid then advanced, and conversed with him shortly, but earnestly. It was then, we presume, that he directed him to say the creed, which he did.

His countenance continued to present a death-like paleness, but appeared composed, and he stood unflinching and motionless. When Mr. Reid retired, the executioner advanced, and offered to draw the cap over his face. He manifested some repugnance to its being done; but, with some little difficulty, this part of the fatal preparations was also completed.

When every thing was ready, and the assistants withdrawn, he uttered an ejaculation to his Maker, beseeching mercy, and immediately gave the signal, throwing the handkerchief from him with an impatient jerk, as violently as his pinioned arms would permit, and was instantly launched into eternity.

Before his removal from the jail, he had said that he would make short work on the scaffold; and, though evidently disconcerted, and his ideas scattered by the appalling shouts of the mob, he kept his word. The whole proceedings on the scaffold occupied only ten minutes, and precisely at a quarter past eight o’clock the drop fell. The fall was very slight, and certainly could not dislocate his neck. It was nearly so imperceptible, that at one instant he seemed standing, and engaged in an active operation; on the next, with almost no change visible, he was hanging helplessly suspended only by the cord that was suffocating him.

Though no sympathy could be felt for such a despicable and cold-blooded monster, it is still a fearful sight to witness death snatching his victim with such circumstance. If any feeling of pity could be aroused by this, it must have been heightened by the terrific huzza raised at the moment he was thrown off, and the populace saw their enemy in the death struggle.

----“One universal cry there rushed,
Louder than the loud ocean--like a crash
Of echoing thunder.”

In all the vast multitude there was not manifested one solitary expression of sympathy. “No one said, God bless him;” but each vied with another in showing their exultation by shouting, clapping of hands, and waving of hats.

This universal cry of satiated vengeance for blood ascending to heaven, rung through the city, and we are assured was distinctly heard by the astonished citizens in its most remote streets. Never perhaps was such a noise of triumph and execration heard, and we may safely say never on a similar occasion. It was followed by a more partial and savage cry of “Off with the cowl;” “let us see his face;” and many appeared desirous of glutting their revenge by gloating on the disgusting spectacle of his distorted features.

The magistrates, clergymen, and executioners immediately upon the drop falling retreated from the scaffold, and left it under the charge only of about half a dozen city-officers, who walked about to keep them from the cold, and looked as if they would willingly have followed the example of their superiors.

There was nothing which could be called struggling observable on the now apparently lifeless body. It seemed as if, slight as was the jerk given by the fall, instantaneous death had been produced, although the neck could not have been dislocated, yet the body swung motionless except from the impetus given by the fall, until about five minutes after the suspension, when a slight convulsive motion of the feet and heaving of the body indicated that vitality was not entirely extinguished. Upon observing this another cheer was raised by the crowd who were anxiously watching the body. It was repeated at intervals as the motions were renewed. This happened we think perhaps twice after the first, each time diminishing in force until the last seemed merely a slight tremulous motion of the feet, imperceptible except to those who were gazing intently upon the body. Notwithstanding that the criminal was now obviously dead, and nothing visible but his wretched carcass hanging at the end of a cord, a disgusting spectacle of the pitch of degradation that guilt and crime can reduce a human being to, the populace showed no disposition to disperse, and comparatively few left the place. They seemed to wait for the purpose of gloating their eyes with the spectacle of the last agonies of this object of their implacable dislike, but after the occurrence of what we have mentioned, there were no indications of sensation, and the very gradual swinging round appeared to be produced by the action of the wind: The head also, as usual, leaned a little to one side, which added a more miserable character to the scene.

At a particular part of the crowd a cry of “to Surgeons’ Square,” was now raised by some individuals, and a large body detached themselves from the mass and proceeded in that direction. The signal was not imparted to any other part, and the movement confined to the quarter in which it originated. We are informed that the detachment which thus broke off, though large when it left the Lawnmarket, was gradually diminished by stragglers who dropped off in its progress, until upon reaching its destination it was not able to cope with the party of policemen who were stationed there in anticipation of such an attack. Though they removed from the thickest part of the crowd, their defalcation did not produce a sensible difference in the appearance. At this time a baker had the hardihood to attempt a passage down the street with a board on his head and a few rolls in it, and, contrary to expectation, succeeded in accomplishing it. At one time his board was nearly capsized, but an escort of fellow tradesmen quickly rallied round him, and guarded him safely past the danger. A chimney-sweeper with his ladder was not so fortunate as the baker, as his brethren probably did not muster so strong, and he had to retreat without accomplishing his purpose. With such incidents the mob were amused, while the melancholy spectacle was exhibited before them, and their laughter and glee continued unabated up to their dispersion.

At the time this was passing we observed a person dressed in a drab great coat hallooing and encouraging the mob to persevere in these manifestations of their feelings, from a window on the second floor of a house, a little to the eastward of the scaffold, on the opposite side. This individual, who seemed anxious to render himself conspicuous by prompting fresh ebullitions of the popular sentiment, persevered indefatigably in his exertions until the body was cut down; but the vengeance of the mob appeared to have been satiated with the death of the criminal, and the shouts, though renewed at intervals, gradually became fainter and fainter.

After hanging a considerable time, some individual from below the scaffold, the under part of which was boxed in for the reception of the body when it should be cut down, gave the body a whirl round, but no motion except what was thus given was observable. From the same place was handed up to the town-officers on the platform shavings and chips taken out of the rude coffin underneath. These were held up to the populace, and some chips thrown over among them;--conduct which did not appear very decorous from the official attendants upon such a solemnity. At five minutes to nine o’clock, Bailies Crichton and Small again came up Libberton’s Wynd, still habited in their robes and with their staffs, but did not ascend the scaffold. The executioner mounted it and immediately commenced lowering the body, which was done by degrees and rather leisurely. Again the people made the welkin ring with three hearty cheers when they saw their vengeance completed. A few cries of “Let us have him to tear him in pieces” were heard, but there was no colour for what has been said in a newspaper account, that there appeared indications of a riot to effect this. There was perhaps never a tithe, or a twentieth part of the same number collected in Edinburgh who showed less disposition to disturb the public peace. So far from the bold front of the policemen deterring them from their purpose, the policemen stood all the time with their backs to the crowd, and we believe had not to interfere in a single instance. Had the purpose of the mob been evil, and had they acted simultaneously, no bold front of the detachment of police, though it was strong, could have prevented them attaining their object: the physical force and pressure of such a mass would have overwhelmed all the officers present. But the crowd were in perfect good humour, and never was there one that thought less of rioting. Their desires were gratified--their aspirations were answered, the arch-criminal had met with his doom, and there was for the present nothing to ruffle their tempers. Accordingly after the body was lowered, the people commenced dispersing quietly, and in an orderly manner, until the streets were perfectly cleared. The body was lowered precisely at five minutes before nine o’clock, having hung exactly forty minutes. Upon its falling into the space under the scaffold, which was boxed in, a scramble took place among the operatives for relics, consisting of pieces of the rope, shavings from the coffin, &c. &c. The body was placed in a shell and almost immediately carried down on men’s shoulders to the Lock-up-house.

The populace, upon seeing this winding up of the business, quietly dispersed. All Wednesday, however, large groupes visited the scene.

Instantly after the tragedy was closed, the men who were to remove the scaffold and other erections appeared and commenced operations; such was their celerity that by half-past eleven o’clock all traces of it were removed.

We have abstained in the foregoing account of the exit of this notorious criminal, from expressing any opinion upon the very remarkable and unusual display of feeling which was manifested by the immense majority of the spectators present, but have contented ourselves simply with describing these ebullitions along with the other incidents attendant on it, conceiving that to our readers who did not witness it, they would form part and parcel of the transactions, aye, and a more important part than either some of the actions of the culprit, or the doings of the officials engaged in it. No one who witnessed the unprecedented conduct of the crowd, could have hindered himself from being impressed with it: and assuredly we did not survey it with indifference, nor refrain from forming an opinion. Some of the journals who record such events, appear to have felt very wrathful upon the occasion, and to have lavished every term of vituperation upon those whose conduct ran counter to their fine drawn sentimentality. We confess that we cannot see any reason for indulging in such excessive sensibility. It is not customary certainly to behave so; and this departure from the etiquette of an execution is probably what has shocked them; but then we must recollect that ordinary executions are very different things from what this was, and that in them the expression of feeling and sympathy for the sufferer is genuine and heartfelt; and if those who exhibit it are entitled to any praise for honesty and sincerity in that case, they have not forfeited it in this, as there can be no doubt that the behaviour complained of was an unpremeditated and simple expression of detestation for the crime, and exultation that punishment had overtaken it.

No comparison can be drawn between a man who is executed for some petty theft, whom the frequenters of executions cannot bring themselves to consider as a very desperate felon, and a monster who is most justly hanged for one execrable murder, when there are fifteen behind as abominable. The sentiments and opinions of the mob cannot be the same in the one case, as in the other; they cannot enter into nice legal distinctions--if indeed legal distinctions would blame them; but they see one man suffer for stealing a few shillings, and they pity him, and another for murdering sixteen individuals, and they execrate him. There is nothing extraordinary in all this, though it is unusual, almost unprecedented, that an opportunity should occur to call it forth. To show any thing else than an implacable aversion to such great moral turpitude, would have been to manifest a slight perception of evil, and we suspect that those who blame the shouters, were themselves actuated by equally honourable feelings, though they would not permit them to operate in the same way.

We will concede to them, that people of very refined feelings and cultivated minds would not triumph over the last moments of the most depraved man who ever lived, and that Burke was that man, perhaps with the exception of Hare, there can be no question; but then we must recollect that those who jostled each other upon the High Street of Edinburgh on the morning of the execution, make no pretensions to such high refinement. We must also bear in mind, that many of the populace were of the same rank in life as the massacred victims, and that they naturally felt more deeply on the subject than those whose station and habits removed them from the risk of being butchered. Also, that a notion had gone abroad among these people that their bodies were mangled for behoof of a science which is to benefit more peculiarly the rich, and that those obnoxious individuals who exercise the inhuman trade of resurrectionists, are screened by them from the punishment they merit. They believed also that there was a desire to deal too leniently towards this ruthless gang, and that although one of them had been sacrificed, others of the delinquents had been snatched from a deserved fate, because their blood was little accounted of. It had been even imagined that a disposition was cherished of saving the life of Burke, and that he was unwillingly consigned to his fate; now all this is very erroneous, and some of it very absurd, but still these opinions were conscientiously held by numbers, and would be as operative in dictating an expression of their feelings, as more rational ideas could have been.

It is not wonderful, then, that when they witnessed the preparations for the ceremony, they should indulge in expressions of satisfaction; and that when the culprit himself was exhibited before them, an uncontrollable and simultaneous shout of triumphant exultation should burst forth, and that execration for his enormous guilt should have led the vast multitude, without concert or premeditation, to repeat again and again their acclamations.

The law in such cases justly and wisely, but relentlessly, consigns the perpetrators to death, and the public voice also relentlessly adds to it obloquy and reproach. Nay more, the Lord Justice Clerk, before passing sentence, mentioned that he was prevented only by a sense “that the public eye would be offended by so dismal a spectacle,” from ordering also, “that to satisfy the violated laws of his country and the voice of public indignation, his body should be exhibited in chains, to bleach in the winds, in order to deter others from the commission of similar offences.” His Lordship, so far from having any aversion to posthumous vengeance, adds, “I trust, that if it is ever customary to preserve skeletons, yours will be preserved, in order that posterity may keep in remembrance your atrocious crimes.” And he could scarcely have used other terms in animadverting upon what he justly characterized in the following words: “A crime more atrocious, a more cold-blooded, deliberate, and systematic preparation for murder, and the motive so paltry, was really unexampled in the annals of this country.” His Lordship’s colleagues also expressed themselves in similar terms, and still the people are blamed for acting in unison with their declared sentiments.

Even the hangman seemed to share in the general feeling. His instructions to the porter who assisted him were conveyed in the following petty sentence, “Hold him till I get the rope adjusted, and then let the ---- kick.” When fastening the rope about his neck, he did give it an unmerciful tug, so as nearly to strangle him.

It is admitted by those who complain of the violation of decency and good taste, that he was a cold-hearted miscreant, towards whom a spark of sympathy could not be extended, and his atrocities are denounced in eloquent and indignant terms, and yet it appears to have been anticipated that the public, on the only occasion they had of publicly manifesting their sentiments, should have met him with a semblance of pity and forgiveness. They could not have done so without doing violence to every feeling that agitated them, and it would have been an unaccountable piece of hypocrisy to have attempted it. Public detestation unequivocally expressed, is always an important, and sometimes the most important auxiliary of punishment, and the scorn and contumely that is heaped upon a guilty head may be the best ally of the repressors of immorality, and if there was in that assemblage one individual whose sordid soul, could contemplate the commission of enormities which might outrage humanity, and bring on him similar manifestations of disgust, it must have acted as a solemn warning when he made the terrible discovery, that “when it goeth well with the righteous the city rejoiceth, and when the wicked perish there is shouting.”

Our sentiments concerning the character of the unhappy wretch, and his crimes, has been explicitly stated in the foregoing part of this narrative, but it may not be unacceptable to our readers that a brief view of the opinions of others should be furnished. We subjoin, therefore, the following observations, the merit of which may well justify their insertion.

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The atrocious murderer, Burke, whose hands were more deeply dyed in innocent blood than those of any other homicide recorded in the calendar of crimes, has undergone the sentence of the law; and from the narrative of the concomitants of the tragedy, it will be seen that the circumstances attending his exit were as extraordinary as his guilt was transcendant and unprecedented. Essentially and in his real character an ignoble, base, mean-spirited wretch, this wholesale assassin, by the mere extinction or obliteration of every moral principle and feeling of his nature, and by a consequent abandonment of the faculties bestowed upon him to the commission of crime, has succeeded in obtaining “a bad pre-eminence,” even among those who had prostituted and degraded far higher endowments to the ways of iniquity; and a name which ought never to have been heard of beyond the precincts of the lowest and meanest compartment of society, is now damned to immortal infamy, and stands out in strong relief from the long and black catalogue of those who have most signalised themselves by their daring violation of the laws both of God and of man. In fact, it was reserved for this incredible monster and his associate fiends to reduce murder to a system, and to establish a regular traffic in the bodies of their victims. Ordinary homicides slay from passion or revenge; the murders they commit are the product of an ungovernable and overmastering impulse, which hurls reason from her seat, and, in the wild conflict of guilty passion, precipitates them into the commission of acts which are no sooner done than they would perhaps give the universe were they undone. But Burke and his crew possess the horrid and anomalous distinction of having, without the palliation of passion, or of any other motive which a just view of human infirmity can admit in extenuation, and from a base and sordid love of gain, and of acquiring the means of rioting in profligacy and iniquity of every sort, established a traffic in blood upon principles of cool calculation, and an utter recklessness of either God or man, which would have done no discredit to Mammon himself. Hence it is, that Burke is perhaps the only criminal who has died, not only without exciting an emotion of pity in a human bosom, but amidst the curses, both loud and deep, of the assembled thousands who witnessed the ignominious termination of his guilty career. The wild shouts of exultation which saluted him upon his appearance on the scaffold, and which rung in his ears with still fiercer acclamations when the world was closing on him for ever, must have appalled even the heart of ice within his worthless bosom, and sounded as the knell of a judgment to come, where the spirits of the slain would rise up before him to demand a just retribution. Yet at that awful moment, when his deeds of blood must have arisen before him, and when the unknown future must have presented itself to his mind as the past was about to close, the wretch seemed almost calm, and looked defiance, nay, scorn at those who, yielding to their overpowering sense of his crimes, blasted his last moments with their shouts of wild triumph and exultation.

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It will be long ere such a scene as this occur again, unless, indeed, as is the devout wish of every one, a similar spectacle be produced by the execution of Hare. There never, perhaps, was such a signal and appalling expression of a whole populace’s indignation as on this occasion. The nature of the feeling by which they were actuated, indeed, could only be estimated by looking at the species of crime, at once so novel and so aggravated, of which the wretch has been convicted. History, even in its blackest record, the _Newgate Calendar_, has disclosed nothing similar or equal in atrocity to the late transactions at the West Port, if we except one or two straggling and doubtful cases, which the progress of inquiry, stimulated by the recent events, has since elicited. The commission of such horrors, and the state of mind and feeling which could bend to their commission, formed, as it were, a new era in the history of human nature and of human crime. A proportionate impression was communicated to the multitude, who literally stood for a season “in pitiless horror fixed.” Found guilty of a tissue of enormities, at the very least, of which one would require to be something more or less than human to refrain from shuddering, the execution of this monster was anticipated by thousands without any of those sentiments of commiseration which usually accompany such spectacles. After all was granted that the advocates of science could demand, still the bare _species facti_, and no sophistry could pervert or soften that, was narrowed and nailed down to this, that Burke had done a deed which stands highest in the code of crime, by the laws both of God and man,--that he had done so, not from any of these various motives or temptations which the indulgence of mankind is often apt to admit as palliatives to guilt, but from the basest of all considerations, the procurement of a paltry pittance,--and that he had contracted this heavy villany, not once or twice, or from sudden or casual impulses, but coolly and deliberately had gone about exercising the work of murder as a trade--dealing with human creatures as a butcher deals with cattle--shedding their blood and selling their flesh for bread.