Chapter IX: Part 9

Burke states, that Hare and he had often talked over the subject of murder, and had consulted upon the best mode of effecting it. It may well be credited, as their first essay seems to have been conducted with as much coolness and deliberation, as much cautious management in effecting it, and as little compunction in the execution, as if they already had been adepts in the art. It was perpetrated on an elderly woman, belonging to the village of Gilmerton, whom Hare had observed a little intoxicated on the streets. She was a pensioner to a gentleman in the New Town, from whom she received 1s. 6d. a week. Hare accosted her, and easily succeeded in enticing her into his house, here they gave her spirits to drink, and afterwards Mrs. Hare, purchased, for one shilling and sixpence, a small cann of _kitchen-fee_ which she had received at the house of the gentleman already mentioned. The price of it was also laid out in liquor, and the poor woman speedily got altogether intoxicated, and commenced singing in the exuberance of her mirth. She told them that she had a very fine young daughter at home, and, with maternal feeling, was loud in her praises. Hare represented himself as an unmarried man, and said, that upon her representation, he would marry her daughter: The poor woman readily consented to the match, when the heartless fiend, expressed great kindness for her, and alleged that his bride and he could not live without her, and that when the daughter came home, she must come to reside with them. She willingly consented to this arrangement, and expressed herself quite overjoyed at meeting with such a good provision for herself and daughter, and promised to return and get the marriage consummated. They took care to ply her well with liquor, in order that being made completely drunk, she might remain after the other lodgers had departed in the morning. Next day, the spirits had the effect, and she was sick and vomited. The monsters had not abandoned their purpose, however, and after stupifying her with more whisky, when all the others had left the house, they put her to death in the way they pursued ever afterwards, by covering and pressing upon the nose and mouth with their hands. The body was afterwards conveyed to Surgeons’ Square, and the money readily obtained for it. This happened in December 1827.

In the whole story, we see none of the hesitations and misgivings of men engaged in a first attempt, at such a horrible crime; every thing appears rather like the acts of those, whom long familiarity with a course of iniquity had rendered completely callous; and yet there does not seem any sufficient ground for supposing that either of them had been engaged in such crimes before. Burke asserts strenuously, that he never was concerned in like transactions, and expresses his belief that Hare also was guiltless up to this time, so far as he knows, of the blood of his fellow-creatures; and, after what has happened, he assuredly will not be much inclined to favour Hare. This opinion is also corroborated, when we recollect that they proceeded like novices in the disposal of the pensioner who died naturally.

The next unfortunate victim to be inserted in the horrid catalogue was an Englishman, a travelling pedlar or _packman_, who had lodged also in Hare’s house. The process which they had now ascertained to be most easy and efficacious was also gone through with him. He was enticed to drink to intoxication at night; and when the house was cleared, he was suffocated in the usual manner.

Success in these instances made them more eager, and Burke describes himself at this time as thirsting continually after his prey.

A connected or chronological account of their murders cannot now be obtained; the copartnery kept no books to which reference can be made, and were not curious in inquiring into their victims’ names or circumstances; but such distinctive marks of every one of them has been furnished, as to enable us to lay before our readers some notice of all the individuals murdered, though it may not perhaps be exactly in the order in which they occurred; even in this particular, we believe, it will be found nearly correct. They in all amounted to sixteen; fewer than what some have asserted, but far above what any one could have conceived of before this atrocious system was unveiled. One of this number was effected by Hare at the time that Burke was absent in the country; how it was accomplished, remains only known to that demon himself, as it was only by accident that Burke discovered anything of it. It has been often said, that there is honour among thieves: this does not, however, seem to hold good regarding murderers, as Hare appropriated to himself the price of this subject; and upon being challenged by Burke for his breach of contract, audaciously asserted that nothing of the kind had taken place. It was only after his comrade applied at Surgeons’ Square that the truth transpired. This is understood to have been the minister’s servant, to which public attention has been attracted.

Another, and probably the third one sacrificed, was a dissipated character, who used to infest the Grassmarket and neighbourhood, called Mary Haldane; she was enticed into the house, and fell an easy prey; her previous habits caused her readily to imbibe a sufficient quantity of ardent spirits, and little difficulty was found in despatching her.

It is singular, that among their victims should be ranked a mother and her daughter, and at different times too, but so it is that the child of this Mary Haldane was kidnapped into the house where her mother had been formerly murdered--she was unconscious of her mother’s fate, and was deprived of life in the same way. She was a woman of the town, and led a very dissolute life; one of her sisters was transported to Botany Bay not long before the murder of the mother and sister.

Among the rest, was an old man, who was usually known by the name of Joe. He had been a miller, but old age and infirmities had incapacitated him from working at his trade. In an evil hour he entered Hare’s lodging-house, and never departed from it; he was also plied with liquor, and when in a drunken slumber, his breath was stopped.

Among the other melancholy stories, there is one of a peculiarly touching description, which Burke, remorseless as he has been, often talks of, and deplores as the one that hangs heaviest upon his conscience. It is that of the poor Irishwoman, and her deaf and dumb grandson, which has been already noticed, though incorrectly, in the newspapers. The poor woman, with her helpless charge, had been met by Hare on the street, and though her circumstances as a destitute country woman, and the protectress of the helpless boy, might have melted the hardest heart, he does not seem to have felt any compunction in marking her and her child out for slaughter. She was invited to the house, and to her seeming, hospitably entertained. She seemed perfectly well pleased, and even expressed to them the satisfaction she felt at her good fortune in meeting with a kind countryman, who behaved so generously to her, and in whose house she could repose safe from the dangers of this wicked town. But their feelings could not be touched by such appeals, and the unfortunate woman was put to death at night, and allowed to remain in bed as if sick or asleep. The youth did not comprehend what had taken place, but seemed to imagine that his grandmother was unwell. Next morning he was, almost charitably, dispatched also. Burke took him upon his knee, and broke his back. He describes this murder as the one that lies most heavily upon his heart; and says that he is constantly haunted by the recollection of the piteous manner in which the boy looked in his face. The lad was laid in the bed alongside of his grandmother; and when the time arrived for conveying them to the dissecting-rooms, the bodies were tumbled into an old herring barrel.

A curious incident happened in connection with this murder which had well nigh put a stop to their career, and, in looking back upon the circumstances now, it appears astonishing that it should not have led to a complete discovery of their infamous transactions. The herring barrel containing the two bodies was placed on a cart. An old horse which Hare possessed, and which he used in his traffic in fish and crockery-ware was yoked to it, and the two set out at darkening to Surgeons’ Square with their cargo. They proceeded along the West Port, without any thing remarkable happening, but when they reached the market-place at the entrance to the Grassmarket, the horse stopped, and, notwithstanding all their efforts, would not proceed a step farther. It may be easily conceived that they were in a sad quandary, with nothing before them but instant exposure. As Burke has since said, they “thought the poor old horse had risen up in judgment against them.” Unfortunately for the public, though luckily for them, as it gave them a respite for some time longer, the assembled crowd were so much engaged in attending to the horse, that none of them thought of inquiring into the contents of the cart; and when it was ascertained that nothing could induce the horse to move forward, two porters were allowed to bear off his burden without attracting particular observation, and, like M‘Culloch, they bore their load to the dissecting-rooms without being troubled with any scruple upon the subject, or once venturing to ask either themselves or their employers what it was composed of. The miserable horse, which it is probable age and hard usage, and insufficient diet, had arrested in its progress, rather than any suspicions or unwillingness to comply with the assigned task, was, in revenge for the fright it had given its masters, and the trouble it had put them to, led to a neighbouring tannery and shot.

The subjects, however, reached their destination, and, notwithstanding this untoward event, and the imminent risk the guilty pair had incurred, the next opportunity found them as eager for slaughter as if no cause of terror or subject for reflection had occurred: indeed, by this time probably any feeling of compunction, which appears--if such ever existed--to have been of a very evanescent description, had disappeared. They had tasted the sweets of an abundant supply of money, and ample means of gratifying their sensual appetites, without the irksome operation of working for the necessary means; and it was not likely that any temporary alarm would divert them from practices which supplied all their wants. With their hearts seared, if such an operation ever was requisite, by the habitude which former crimes had given them, and assured by the impunity which had hitherto attended their speculations, it was unlikely that any scruples should assail, or any dread dismay them. Reflection was quite out of the question. Hare seems to have been both mentally, from original organization, and physically from his incessant use of ardent spirits, incapable of it; and Burke, though possessing a more active and acute mind, was yet endowed with an unstable rambling disposition, which incapacitated him from any continuous mental exertion, and besides, at this time he was in the constant habit of “steeping his senses in forgetfulness,” and at the same time banishing reflection and the warnings of conscience, by the indulgence of his inordinate appetite for stimulants.

Whatever might be their feelings, or whether they felt at all or not, the next opportunity found them actively engaged in what had now assumed the character of a regular trade. The narration must be proceeded in, and the disgusting catalogue gone through, however revolting to humanity, and we hasten to lay before our readers the remainder of the intelligence we have obtained respecting these murders.

Another one was effected upon the body of a poor old woman who had unhappily drank too freely, and not being in a condition to behave discreetly, had subjected herself to the surveillance of the police, who, as a last resource, were in the act of conveying her to the office; Burke happened to be in the way, and apparently commiserating the situation of the unfortunate woman, proffered his good offices in taking charge of her and furnishing her with a night’s lodgings. The officers were doubtless glad to get their troublesome charge so easily off their hands, and readily acceded to his request; she was conducted to the ordinary slaughter-house, Hare’s, and speedily put out of a condition to give any further annoyance to the police.

Another victim was a cinder gatherer, whose occupation caused her to wander about the streets at all hours, and while Burke prowled abroad at the early hour we have mentioned, many opportunities must have occurred to form an acquaintance with her, and we may suppose that little inducement would be requisite to cause her to leave her wretched employment for a season, and partake of his good cheer: she was destined never to return to it.

If there be any gradation in their wickedness it appears more incredible and unnatural that a near relation of the one, and connection of the other, should have been selected as a sacrifice; yet it is well ascertained and admitted by Burke, that a young woman, a cousin of M‘Dougal’s was also put to death, after having been intoxicated. Some relations, we believe her mother and sister, after the nefarious system was developed, came to Edinburgh in fearful apprehension, endeavouring to ascertain the fate of her whom they had long anxiously mourned over, and applied at the house of Constantine Burke, when her relative Helen M‘Dougal was present. She, in answer to their agonised inquiries, replied, that they need not trouble themselves about her, as she was murdered and sold long before.

One of the remaining murders was perpetrated on the body of a woman who came from the country, and took up her lodgings also in Hare’s.

We have already given, at page 125–137, a description of the murders of Mary Paterson and James Wilson, or Daft Jamie, and it will be unnecessary here to repeat what has already been inserted. Burke has admitted, that he was intoxicated when he suffocated Paterson, and that it was done in the presence of Hare, while she was in a slumber, which the excessive quantity of spirits he induced her to swallow had produced. All legal proceedings regarding her may be considered to be at an end. Should it be resolved upon, however, to indict and try Hare for the murder of Daft Jamie, a farther development of some of the circumstances connected with him may be anticipated. As it stands at present, we may assert that no additions can be made to the narrative formerly given. It is singular that he was the only individual murdered who had sense enough to refuse the liquor that was pressed upon him, and apparently the only one that they found any difficulty in dispatching. Burke has latterly, in allusion to this, remarked, “that they found more trouble with a sober fool than a drunk one.”

During the progress of this wholesale butchery, Burke and M‘Dougal removed from Hare’s, or as it was more commonly called Mrs. Log’s house, to that of a relation or connection of theirs, named Broggan, the father of the witness of that name. We cannot determine whether there had really occurred such a quarrel between Hare and them as to induce them to separate in disgust, as has been asserted, or whether it was imagined that another establishment would furnish additional opportunities for accomplishing their designs; but if a disagreement actually did take place, it had been of short continuance, and their operations appear to have suffered no interruption in consequence. It has been already stated, that Broggan’s house presented admirable capabilities for carrying on the work, provided the inmates could be relied upon, but as it only consisted of one small apartment, this was indispensable. There was also the dark passage, furnishing a place of retreat for the women, when that should be considered convenient.

Previously to occupying their new lodgings, however, they seem to have spent a short time in Constantine Burke’s house in the Canongate, as they were residing there when Paterson and Brown were enticed into it in April. Soon after Whitsunday they removed to Broggan’s house, and not long after commenced using it for the purpose that Hare’s had been formerly applied to. A decent woman, the widow of a porter, named Ostler, who lived in the Grassmarket, and who had died shortly before, was the first victim in it. She gained her living in an industrious laborious way, mainly by washing and dressing, and eked it out by any sort of work she might be employed in, and during harvest engaged in country work. She had been accustomed to frequent Broggan’s house in her vocation of a washer-woman, and was well known to the neighbours from her long residence about the neighbourhood, and from her often coming to Mrs. Law’s, where she got her clothes mangled. One day she was observed to enter Broggan’s house, and was noticed afterwards singing “Sweet Home” in company with Burke. This was the last time that she was seen. After having been persuaded to drink, she was dealt with in the usual manner.

Those who lived in the neighbourhood cannot divest themselves of the idea that Broggan, or at least his wife, was cognizant of this affair. Their characters were not good, he being a rude, brutal and drunken personage, who made the place the scene of a continued series of brawls; his wife also was not held in good estimation. The time of the murder, they argue is pretty well ascertained by the fact of Mrs. Ostler’s having been known to enter the house, and never seen to depart, and her disappearance from her usual places of resort, as well as Mrs. Law’s mangle, a place which her occupation required her often to visit; and it is alleged, that at that period, though Broggan might be out of the house, his wife could not, as she had lain in about the time. It is but justice, however, towards the Broggans to state, that Burke has never implicated them in any knowledge of his nefarious proceedings, and in this particular case, he says, that the accouchment had taken place some time before the murder, and that Mrs. Broggan, as well as her husband, was absent from the house at the time.

Some time after Burke’s coming as a lodger to this house, he became the sole occupier. Broggan had been unable to pay his rent at Martinmas, and Burke and Hare, who were cautioners for it, were under the necessity of satisfying the landlord. Broggan immediately after this decamped with his family, though it could not be to evade the landlord’s claim, or from inability to meet it, as we have seen that the rent was already paid by his sureties. He left Burke in undisturbed possession of the house, and furniture.

After his removal, it might have been supposed that no inmate would have been admitted whose presence could possibly prevent the accomplishment of their designs; yet with strange inconsistency they shortly after invited Gray and his wife to lodge with them. It could scarcely have been with the hope of mastering them, as Gray appears too stout a man to have been attempted single-handed, even by both of the villains, and the notion of his being an accomplice is equally out of the question. It is true that when a “_a shot_,” as their abominable cant termed it, was obtained, they were sent out of the way, but this must have been inconvenient, and after being felt so, it is probable that they would not have occupied their lodgings long. The girl that Hare murdered, when Burke was absent in the country, completes the number of sixteen; and this, according to Burke’s confession, makes up the whole number. The amount is sufficiently horrifying, and the details abundantly fearful.

The account of the trial, furnishes ample details of the murder of Margery Campbell, or Docherty. It was the last committed, and afforded the means of detecting and putting an end to their wicked career. It is fearful to contemplate to what lengths it might otherwise have gone, or how long it might have continued.

To the notices which have been given, we may subjoin a list of the whole; and although, as we have already premised, we cannot vouch for the order in which they happened being strictly observed, we believe that it will be found otherwise perfectly accurate.

The first subject sold was,
The pensioner who died a natural death.

The murders were,
The old woman from Gilmerton.
The English pedlar.
The old man Joe the miller.
Mary Haldane.
Her daughter.
The old Irishwoman.
Her grandson.
The Cinder Gatherer.
The old woman taken out of the police officer’s hands.
Mary Paterson.
The woman from the country.
The girl M‘Dougal.
Mrs. Ostler, the washer-woman.
Daft Jamie.
The woman Campbell, or Docherty.
The girl murdered by Hare alone.

Of these, nine were murdered in Hare’s house, and two in the cellar adjoining to it, which was used by him as a stable. Four or five of them were effected in what was first Broggan’s, and afterwards Burke’s house, and one in Constantine Burke’s, in Gibb’s Close.

We have frequently had occasion to advert to the insinuating manners, and mild deportment of Burke; and the same character attended him in his last place of residence in the West Port: Though seldom occupied at work, and almost continually drinking, he was still considered a quiet inoffensive man. The frequent squabbles that took place between M‘Dougal and he, and the beastly orgies of Hare and his wife, did not change the opinion of their neighbours. His character rather stood out favourably, when contrasted with his associates; and a scuffle in the family of Irish people of his rank, is not such an uncommon occurrence, as to excite much attention. Indeed, so little was this regarded, that the cries of murder, on the night in which Campbell was suffocated, were passed over with this single remark by one of their near neighbours, that “Nelly would surely be murdered to-night, as she was making such a noise;” but without any idea that there was any thing more serious than usual going on.

On ordinary occasions, if he chanced to meet any person in the passage when intoxicated, he would pass on with the observation of, “I am fou to-night; but I will not disturb you.”

His fondness for music has been formerly noticed, and this distinguished him to the last. It was his practice to engage some wandering minstrel--a young Savoyard, or Italian boy who plays about the streets on a hurdy-gurdy most frequently, and with his assistance to get up in his house a concert and dance among the children that could be collected about the neighbourhood; and such was his popularity, that his assemblies were generally well attended. He appears to have displayed considerable affection towards children, and to have secured their good will by joining them in such harmless sports as these dancing parties. Those who were too young to participate in the amusements were propitiated by gifts of sweetmeats, &c.

Many anxious mothers have found out since the trial, that their children were objects of regard to the murderer Burke; and in the plenitude of their parental affection, have congratulated themselves upon their escape from his clutches. Nothing could now convince them that a plot was not laid to kidnap their beloved offspring, and that if he had not been detected, they would ere this time have furnished subjects for dissection. Burke, however, alleges that he never meddled with children, and never intended to do so. There is little room to doubt, however, that had the supply of full-grown and higher priced victims failed, he would not have scrupled much to betake himself to younger ones; we cannot allow any tenderness of feeling to one who could go on butchering so unconcernedly and for such a length of time. He states, indeed, that he would have abandoned it long before, had it not been for the enticements of the monster Hare, who, whenever he proposed stopping short, incited him on by threats and fresh temptations; but although Hare may have been, and, we believe, was the greater delinquent of the two, if any distinction can be made, still Burke must be allowed to have possessed free-agency enough to have withdrawn himself, or even to have arrested the progress of his partner when he pleased, and we fear that this excuse will scarcely serve to palliate his conduct. He was all the time a sharer in the unhallowed gains, and an active co-operator, and seems to have prowled about as ruthlessly in search of miserable wretches to practise upon, as if no feeling of remorse ever entered his mind.

He has even stated, that Hare and he intended taking a journey in the way of their business next spring, they were to proceed westward from Edinburgh, and after visiting the intermediate places, travel on to Glasgow, where they expected to find a rich harvest. They were to proceed thence to Belfast, by way of Greenock, which was also to be attempted on the route, and after doing what they could in the north of Ireland, were to journey on to Dublin. They had little fear about making a successful speculation; and in all probability, with such a fine field before them, they would not have been disappointed.

It is evident from all this that a year’s impunity had produced the effect of making them consider themselves as engaged in a species of profession which had indeed, like illicit distillation, or any contraband traffic, to be concealed from the authorities, but which, except for this annoying accompaniment, was pursued with nearly as little compunction as any other profession would have been; and after some practice, they must have found it a lucrative one. The commencement was made in December 1827, about Christmas it is stated, and the woman Docherty was murdered on the 31st October 1828. Their bargain was to receive eight pounds for each subject during the summer season, and ten pounds in the winter. While novices in the profession, in the course of ten months they had massacred sixteen individuals, which must have produced about one hundred and fifty pounds, or seventy-five pounds to each, without counting the price of the first subject; no small sum for persons in their condition. Their evil-got gains seem, however, to have departed as readily as they came, and all that either of them possessed when arrested, was about two pounds received on the same day as part of the price of the corpse of Campbell. Burke’s money was upon his person, and Hare’s was hid under the door of his inner closet, where it was got and delivered to him in the jail.

Upon the evening of the day on which the body of Docherty was detected lying among the straw, and before the neighbours were apprised of it, Hare was discovered lurking in the stair leading to Burke’s room, about the time when the body was to be conveyed away, and upon being questioned as to who he was, and what induced him to lounge about in that manner, he replied that he was waiting for William Burke. By this time he was recognised, and as he was an universal object of dislike, was desired to go away. Mrs. Connoway adding, “that he would frighten the _lasses_ from coming to Mrs. Law’s mangle.” Some time after he was still found loitering along the passage, and again interrogated about his remaining so long. This time he took an effectual mode of relieving himself from his troublesome inquirers by commencing to retch and vomit. Mrs. Law shut her door violently in his face, exclaiming, “what an ill-bred fellow,” and Mrs. Connoway also followed her example. This was apparently the signal they waited for, and immediately afterwards M‘Culloch the porter carried out the tea-chest containing the body.

When the alarm was given by Gray and his wife that a dead body had been seen in the house, and that it was now removed, a great sensation was naturally created, and people flocked about the place; none of the suspected individuals, however, could be found, and the police officers, who by this time had been informed of it, and had visited the house, left the place in search of them, and the tumult in some degree subsided. After a short while, Burke and M‘Dougal were heard coming down the stair and along the passage. By this time they must have been aware of the discovery, as M‘Dougal had been informed by the Grays of their suspicions, and had made an unsuccessful attempt to tamper with them; yet there was no flurry nor precipitation perceptible in their manner, and, instead of proceeding directly into their apartment, M‘Dougal observed, “I have a candle but no light,” and entered Connoway’s house to procure one, as if there was nothing wrong. Burke leaned unconcernedly against the door-post, without speaking until Connoway said, “We have been speaking about you William;” he then replied, indifferently, “That he hoped they had not been speaking ill of him;” and upon Connoway’s answering that “It was not good they had to speak about him,” he inquired, “What ill they had to say?” After being informed that it was about a body that had been found, he affected to make light of the affair, under the pretence that it was one of their old stories about lifting the dead. He was then informed that it was not such a surmise now, but that he was suspected of murdering the little old woman with whom they all were so happy the night before, and that the police were after him. He replied with more asperity, “That he defied all the country to prove any thing against him; that he had not been long about these doors, and this was the second time such a story had been raised upon him.” Mrs. Connoway remarked, that she had heard of his being a resurrection man, but never had known of any murder being laid to his charge.

He entered into an explanation of his meaning, which as much as any thing else tends to show the cool designing nature of the man. “Do you recollect the old woman that came from the country?” he said, describing an elderly woman who had been introduced as a country friend of M‘Dougal, and had lived with them for three or four days some time before. Mrs. Connoway answered, “That she did.” “Then do you recollect,” he rejoined, “her coming in to you and shaking hands, and bidding you farewell?” Mrs. Connoway replied, “That she remembered it perfectly well.” “I made her come in and do so on purpose,” he added, “as Broggan told me that you said I had murdered her.” Whether Broggan had actually said so, or whether Burke had devised this blind to screen him when another occasion required it, we cannot say, but Mrs. Connoway had never heard of the circumstance before. The officers immediately after this colloquy entered, and seized the culprits. They were conveyed to the police office, and after examination by the sheriff, were transferred to the Calton Hill Jail, and placed among the untried prisoners. Burke’s conduct before trial was decorous, and corresponded with what has been previously said of him. His behaviour during the trial, and immediately after it, has also been described, and little remains to be added, save some short account of his demeanour since conviction.

On the first morning after his removal from the Lock-up-house to the condemned cell, which, in the Calton Jail, is under the women’s cells, and adjoining the stair which leads to them, he mentioned to the jailor who attended him, that he had heard a woman lamenting, and inquired if it would be Hare’s wife. He was informed that it could not be she, as she was confined in a distant part of the house. He asked, if there were any women in the same quarter, for he was sure that it was a woman he heard mourning. The jailor then told him that it must have been his own wife, who was kept among the women for protection. “Is the place convenient,” he said. The jailor answered, “That it was quite near.” “Poor thing,” he relied, “she has lost her only earthly provider.” On the evening before M‘Dougal left Edinburgh, she called at the jail with Constantine Burke, both requesting to see Burke, and upon this being denied them, M‘Dougal sent a message, informing him that she wanted money. He sent all that remained of his money, and a common old watch, to her. He has since expressed great affection for her, and a strong desire to see her before he suffers.

Shortly after he came to the jail, it was observed by some one that he would receive absolution from the priest, which would make all right. He answered in a serious tone, “that there was only one absolution for sin, and that it had already been made.” Any account of the spiritual conversion of a great criminal has frequently been complained of by many, under the supposition that it has a tendency to encourage sinners to continue in their iniquity, in the hope that a tardy repentance may place them in a state of grace at last. We question much the justice of their conclusions. Men engaged in a career of crime do not reason in this way, nor reason at all upon the subject; and, though they did, it would require great hardihood in a fellow-sinner to endeavour to deprive them of “the hope set before them in the Gospel.” Though we certainly do not imagine that these objectors would for a moment contemplate fettering the operation of the Spirit. We, at the same time, hold the opinion, that the utmost caution should be used in promulgating such accounts, and that the state of mind of the individual should be thoroughly sifted and rigidly inquired into before a conversion be announced. It is with some pain, therefore, that we have heard it given forth that Burke has become a true penitent. Happy should we have been had we been enabled to proclaim that “the wicked had forsaken his ways, and the unrighteous man his thoughts,” and glad should we still be to learn that it was so; but truth compels us to state, that no symptom has hitherto occurred to warrant such a conclusion. We know well that he has expressed contrition for his misdeeds, but we fear that it is rather sorrow for punishment having overtaken him, than a sense of the magnitude of his sin against God; and as for saying that he has sinned, a man who has committed fifteen cold-blooded murders, if he speaks on the subject at all, can scarcely say any thing else. He is said to be perfectly resigned to his fate, and to express himself quite calmly on the subject. We believe it all. He is a man of that stamp that would resolutely bring himself to suffer calmly what he could not avoid. As to his announcing that he would not now accept of pardon though it was offered to him, it appears to us to be a mere fiction. We would not wish to speak irreverently upon such a solemn subject, but surely we may be allowed to say, that conversion to the faith of the Gospel, and to a firm belief in the truths of Christianity, does not and ought not to bring along with it a predilection for being hanged; that while it alone prepares a man for death, it also capacitates him for worthily continuing in life. We fear if Burke has made use of such an expression, it can only be accounted for by wrong-headedness or hypocrisy. He must know well that a pardon is not likely to be granted, and if it were, that his consent would not be asked; and any observations upon the subject may therefore be spared. We repeat that we shall be happy to be assured that we are mistaken in the view we have taken of his state, but there is much fear that though a melancholy it is a just one.

Since his conviction he has been very strictly watched, lest he should find means to destroy himself, though he has never shown the slightest inclination to do so. A man sits with him night and day, and to those engaged in this duty, as well as others who are necessarily employed about him, he has been very communicative and garrulous.

As illustrative of the freedom with which he converses with those who are about him, we may mention an instance which, were it not for the melancholy and awful situation in which he is placed--standing on the brink of eternity--would bear an irresistibly ludicrous aspect. His mind seemed to have been engaged in a train of reasoning upon some subject, and at last he gave vent to it by saying, that he thought he was entitled to, and ought to get, the five pounds from Dr. Knox, which was still unpaid, on the body of the woman Docherty. It was observed to him, that Dr. Knox had lost by the transaction, as the body was taken from him. He replied, “That was not my business: I delivered the subject, and he ought to have kept it.” It was then said to him, that if the money was paid, Hare ought to get half of it. He pondered a little upon this view, and then answered, “No; that Hare had cleared himself by becoming king’s evidence, and he thought that he had justly forfeited his share of it, and that all the five pounds should go to him.” It turned out that his anxiety for the five pounds proceeded from a desire to appear in a reputable manner on the scaffold. “Since I am to appear before the public,” he said, “I should like to be respectable. I have got a tolerable pair of trousers, but have not a coat and waistcoat that I can appear in; and if I get the five pounds I would buy them.” Though it is not likely that he will receive the money, his wish will be gratified in respect to the clothes,--a topic which he has frequently adverted to. We understand that the priest who attends him has provided him with what he desires; and if he had not done so, the Magistrates would have supplied the want.

His disease has now got worse, and gives him great uneasiness. In consequence of the surgeon’s request some change has been made on his food, and in addition to the meagre diet formerly hinted at, a little soup has been allowed him daily. This day, (Tuesday) he will receive the sacrament according to the rites of the Romish church. He was removed to the Lock-up-house previous to the awful ceremonial of a public execution, at five o’clock this morning.

Since his condemnation, all intercourse with him has been strictly prohibited, except by those whose duties required their attendance, or the authorities who might wish to see him upon public business; or, finally, those who had, from their situation, the privilege of the _entrée_, and could extend the same privilege to a few of their immediate friends; but, with the exception of their visits, they seem to have been actuated by the laudable desire, that the unhappy man should not be annoyed from motives of curiosity, and the public has been rigidly excluded. Still a sufficient number found their way into his cell, to harass and tease him about confessions; and to be rid of the annoyance, as it is stated, he addressed a letter to the Lord Provost, requesting that a professional gentleman, whom he named, might be allowed access to him, for the purpose of, once for all, giving through him an authenticated confession, which might satisfy the public mind.

The public authorities appear all along to have been actuated by a decided reluctance to disclose to the public any thing connected with these transactions beyond what must necessarily appear on the regular trials; and in doing so, we have no doubt have been anxious to secure to official persons the exclusive knowledge of such circumstances as might be necessary for the ends of justice, as well as, in their opinion, to prevent the public mind being unnecessarily excited.

TOWN-COUNCIL OF EDINBURGH, WEDNESDAY, JAN. 21.

The Lord Provost stated to the Council, that they were perhaps aware that a written application had been made to him, _signed_ by Burke, the individual at present under sentence of death, for permission to be visited by a Writer in town, to whom he was desirous of making some disclosures regarding the crimes with which he had been connected, and that, acting upon the advice of the Lord Advocate, he had deemed it right to refuse the application in question.--That advice had been given by the Lord Advocate in a letter, which, of course, was not written with the view of publication; but as much misrepresentation had gone abroad regarding the matter, the Lord Provost deemed it right that the letter should be laid before the public, that they might know the true grounds on which the request had been refused. His Lordship further stated, that he had waited upon Burke, and explained to him the reason for refusing access to the individual whom he had mentioned in his letter, and by whom that letter was written, though it was certainly signed by Burke--when the unfortunate man mentioned to the Lord Provost, that he was perfectly indifferent as to the matter, and that he did not conceive that the narrative of his life, which the person already mentioned had wished to prepare for publication, was of a nature calculated to interest any one. The Lord Advocate’s letter is of the following tenor:--

“_Edinburgh, January 15, 1829._

“MY LORD PROVOST--I had the honour to receive your Lordship’s
letter of yesterday’s date, transmitting a communication to you
from William Burke, which is herewith returned.

“Your Lordship is perhaps not aware that, on the 3d instant,
Burke intimated to the Sheriff, through the Governor of the
Jail, that being harassed by inquiries, he wished once for
all to make a full confession of every thing he could say in
regard to the atrocious transactions in which he had been
engaged, to the end that he might afterwards be allowed to
remain undisturbed, and apply his mind to things fitted to his
situation. In consequence of this communication, the Sheriff, on
that same day, repaired to the jail, and took from Burke a full
and voluntary confession, which was drawn up in the shape of a
declaration, consisting of 19 pages. This declaration is now
in my possession, and I sometime ago sent a copy of it to the
Secretary of State.

“It appears to me of importance both to the individual himself,
and to the public, that no second statement, which might be
contradictory of, or inconsistent with, the first, (so solemnly
and deliberately given) ought now to be impetrated from this
man by irresponsible parties, with the avowed object of its
publication; and that the proper answer for your Lordship in
return is, that Burke having himself most properly already
selected such a mode of making his confession as was best
calculated to secure its accuracy, and to render it truly
authentic, no deviation from that mode of proceeding can now be
sanctioned; but that the Sheriff will wait upon Burke, for the
purpose of reading over to him the confession made on the 3d
current, and that that magistrate will then take down whatever
additions or alterations Burke may desire to have made upon it.”

“I have the honour, &c.
(Signed) “WM. RAE.”
“Right Honourable the Lord Provost
of Edinburgh, &c. &c. &c.”

It is difficult, however, to see how “it is of importance to the individual himself, and to the public, that no second statement, which might be contradictory of, or inconsistent with, the first,” should be given. To us it seems of great importance, that all he is willing to confess ought to be received and given to the public. So far from his wishing to remain undisturbed, it is at his own request conveyed in a letter, signed with his name, that that permission for the gentleman to visit him was asked; and his second statement could only be important, in as much as it differed from the one previously given to the Sheriff. It could only be with a view of giving a fuller account, and more minute in its details, that he was desirous of being troubled further in the matter. It is not an impossible supposition, that the declaration the Sheriff received is altogether a tissue of lies; and is the immaculacy of it still to be upheld, and all correction denied, because it would be contradictory of, or inconsistent with, the former document? Neither does it seem to us, that the avowed object of its publication makes any difference. It is only in as far as this object is concerned that the public cares a straw upon the subject. And if the Sheriff’s document is not intended to be immediately published, but is to be shut up in the archives of his office, until some future Sir Walter Scott grubs it out, and weaves for other generations a romance of thrilling interest out of the horrifying confessions of Burke, the public perhaps would have been as well pleased had all this official activity been spared.

We cannot believe that these very respectable functionaries can feel in common with those who use the silly cant, that the public mind may be contaminated by an account of his crime. The public mind has been, and is strongly excited. Some information the public requires, and will get, and it surely is better to have a correct and authentic statement than garbled and exaggerated reports. Were it a detail of the clever tricks of an ingenious and adroit rogue, there might be some colour for the above opinion; but no one is likely to be so enraptured with Burke’s narrative as to engage in such a revolting trade in imitation of him.

But while their Lordships have been deliberating upon this subject, and ultimately resolving that he should not be allowed to give an account to any but themselves, the poor man has been confessing all the time; and it is well known that several have had access to him, whose mouths cannot be stopped, and whose pens have not been idle. We are assured that not one, but several “authentic confessions of Burke” will be made public; and we have reason to know, that a duly authenticated one will appear, whether the Lord Advocate’s be published or not. Whatever is interesting, our readers may rely upon receiving.

For the present, with the exception of the following “confessions” which first appeared in the Caledonian Mercury, and which, we are assured, are perfectly authentic, we will leave the unfortunate man until the last act in the singular drama of his life closes.

CONFESSIONS OF BURKE.

The information from which the following article is drawn up, we have received from a most respectable quarter, and its perfect correctness in all respects may be confidently relied on. In truth, it is as nearly as possible a strict report, rather than the substance, of what passed at an interview with Burke; in the course of which the unhappy man appears to have opened his mind without reserve, and to have given a distinct and explicit answer to every question which was put to him relative to his connection with the late murders.

After some conversation of a religious nature, in the course of which Burke stated that, while in Ireland, his mind was under the influence of religious impressions, and that he was accustomed to read his catechism and his prayer-book, and to attend to his duties, he was asked, “How comes it, then, that you who, by your own account, were once under the influence of religious impressions, ever formed the idea of such dreadful atrocities, of such cold-blooded, systematic murders, as you admit you have been engaged in--how came such a conception to enter your mind?” To this Burke replied, that he did not exactly know; but that becoming addicted to drink, living in open adultery, and associating continually with the most abandoned characters, he gradually became hardened.

He was then asked, how long he had been engaged in this murderous traffic. To which he answered, “From Christmas 1827 till the murder of the woman Docherty in October last.” “How many persons have you murdered, or been concerned in murdering, during that time? Were they thirty in all?” “Not so many; not so many, I assure you.” “How many?” He answered the question; but the answer was, for a reason perfectly satisfactory, not communicated to us, and reserved for a different quarter.

“Had you any accomplices?” “None but Hare. We always took care, when we were going to commit a murder, that no one else should be present--that no one could swear he saw the deed done. The women might suspect what we were about, but we always put them out of the way when we were going to do it. They never saw us commit any of the murders. One of the murders was done in Broggan’s house, while he was out, but before he returned the thing was finished, and the body put into a box. Broggan evidently suspected something, for he appeared much agitated, and entreated us ‘to take away that box,’ which we accordingly did. But he was not in any way concerned in it.

“You have already told me that you were engaged in these atrocities from Christmas 1827 till the end of October 1828; were you associated with Hare during all that time?” “Yes. We began with selling to Dr. ---- the body of a woman[4] who had died a natural death in Hare’s house. We got ten pounds for it. After this we began the murders, and all the rest of the bodies we sold to him were murdered.”

“In what place were these murders generally committed?” “They were mostly committed in Hare’s house, which was very convenient for the purpose, as it consisted of a room and a kitchen. Daft Jamie was murdered there. The story told of this murder is incorrect. Hare began the struggle with him, and they fell and rolled together on the floor; then I went to Hare’s assistance, and we at length finished him, though with much difficulty. I committed one murder in the country by myself.[5] It was in last harvest. All the rest were done in conjunction with Hare.”

“By what means were these fearful atrocities perpetrated?” “By suffocation. We made the persons drunk, and then suffocated them by holding the nostrils and mouth, and getting on the body. Sometimes I held the mouth and nose, while Hare went upon the body; and sometimes Hare held the mouth and nose, while I placed myself on the body. Hare has perjured himself by what he said at the trial about the murder of Docherty. He did not sit by while I did it, as he says. He was on the body assisting me with all his might, while I held the nostrils and mouth with one hand, choked her under the throat with the other. We sometimes used a pillow, but did not in this case.”

“Now, Burke, answer me this question--Were you tutored and instructed, or did you receive hints from any one as to the mode of committing murder?” “No, except from Hare. We often spoke about it, and we agreed that suffocation was the best way. Hare said so, and I agreed with him. We generally did it by suffocation.” [Our informant omitted to interrogate him about the surgical instruments stated to have been found in his house; but this omission will be supplied.]

“Did you receive any encouragement to commit or persevere in committing these atrocities?” “Yes; we were frequently told by Paterson that he would take as many bodies as we could get for him. When we got one, he always told us to get more. There was commonly another person with him of the name of Falconer. They generally pressed us to get more bodies for them.”

“To whom were the bodies so murdered sold?” “To Dr. ----. We took the bodies to his rooms in ---- ----, and then went to his house to receive the money for them. Sometimes he paid us himself; sometimes we were paid by his assistants. No questions were ever asked as to the mode in which we had come by the bodies. We had nothing to do but to leave a body at the rooms, and go get the money.”

“Did you ever, upon any occasion, sell a body or bodies to any other lecturer in this place?” “Never. We knew no other.”