Burke and Hare Page 8

  After a time Jamie lay down on the bed, although he was not drunk. Hare, according to Burke’s story, reclined behind or beside him with his head resting on one hand, watching. Burke was close by. Suddenly Hare, growing impatient, ‘threw his body on the top of Jamie, pressed his hand on his mouth, and held his nose with the other’. Jamie, however, was weak in his mind, not in his body, and he put up a fierce fight, struggling so desperately that he and Hare fell off the bed. Hare did not let go, and Burke then got himself across Jamie’s arms and legs, and the two fiends gripped tight until Jamie ceased to struggle and his body went limp. He was soon dead. ‘He never got up nor cried any,’ Burke said. It was not yet noon. They stripped the body naked, Hare going through the pockets and finding the snuff-box and spoon. He kept the box himself and gave the spoon to Burke. They put Jamie’s corpse into a chest which Hare kept clothes in, and carried it that afternoon to Surgeons’ Square, where they received £10.

  There is an alternative version of these events, however, which the Edinburgh Weekly Chronicle printed after the trial, claiming that it was based ‘upon the foul authority of Hare’. According to this, it was Burke who took Jamie to Hare’s house after meeting him in the Grassmarket, where Jamie was looking for his mother. After being induced to drink ‘a quantity of spirits’, Jamie fell asleep on the floor and Burke then leapt on him and tried to strangle him, but had to howl for Hare’s assistance when Jamie fought manfully. Burke threatened to stick a knife into Jamie if Hare did not help him. Hare then lent a hand by holding Jamie down.

  This version seems much less likely than Burke’s account, since neither man would have wanted to leave signs of violence on the body, and they had shown plenty of patience before in waiting for their victims to be in a suitable condition for their tried and tested method. But on the other hand, the act of murdering a well-known figure like Daft Jamie indicates a startling recklessness which might mean that, by this time, Burke and Hare thought they could get away with anything and were ready to throw all sane precautions to the winds. Subsequent events lend some substance to this probability.

  Burke and Hare normally took care to destroy their victims’ clothing, but this time Burke took Jamie’s clothes and gave them to his brother Constantine’s children, who were ‘almost naked, and when he untied the bundle they were like to quarrel about them’. Burke on this occasion refused to pay Maggie Laird the usual pound out of his share of the proceeds. After all, he was no longer a tenant there. But Maggie was so put out that she refused to speak to Burke for three weeks.

  When news of Jamie’s death broke later on, many sentimental ballads and broadsheets appeared on the streets, with excruciatingly bad verses about Daft Jamie. None of the brutal acts of murder of Burke and Hare caused more widespread horror than their premeditated killing of this happy innocent:

  He’s to be pitied, that’s such a silly3 elf,

  Who cannot speak nor wrestle for himself.

  Jamie was such a simpleton,

  He’d not fight with a boy;

  Nor did he ever curse or swear,

  At those who’d him annoy.4

  Meanwhile, at 10 Surgeons’ Square on the morning after the murder, the corpse of what David Paterson described as a ‘stout young man’ was unpacked and immediately recognised as Daft Jamie by several of Knox’s students. According to Paterson, Knox denied that the corpse was that of Jamie, but, later, when word got around that Jamie had been missed from his customary haunts, Knox ordered dissection of the corpse at once, before other corpses that had been there longer. William Fergusson promptly severed Jamie’s head and feet.

  Was Paterson telling the truth when he made these damaging allegations? By the time he made them, he had allegedly been sacked by Knox, and it is commonly believed that he wanted to avenge himself on his former employer. Nevertheless, it seems rather unlikely that he would have invented this account of the disposal of Jamie’s corpse. Jamie was stated in the trial indictment to have been living, at the time, in the house of James Downie, a porter, at Stevenlaw’s Close in the High Street. It is hardly surprising that Paterson and others recognised him. William Fergusson lived with his brother John in Charles Street, and Alexander Miller had lodgings in Clerk Street, both in the Old Town. Almost everybody in central Edinburgh must have been familiar with the appearance of this innocent youth, a figure of fun to the insensitive and an object of compassion to others. It is quite probable that Robert Knox, who lived on a different social level, did not know him, but what was he to do when he realised that he had on his slab the unburied corpse of a well-known character who had only recently been seen alive and well? Burke and Hare had by now, between them, sold to Dr Knox sixteen ‘subjects’ (fifteen of which they had murdered) in the course of a little over ten months. They must have been regarded at Surgeons’ Square as very useful contacts, and whatever dawning apprehensions may have crossed the minds of Knox or his students, such regular and reliable suppliers were not to be discouraged by awkward questions or any hesitation in paying the agreed price.

  So far from Christopher North’s monotonous ‘auld wives’ tale, their victims had now included Mary Paterson and Jamie Wilson, both teenagers, and the deaf mute child of twelve. If their evil progress had not soon been terminated, it is difficult to believe that they would not soon have begun to prey on children, easily kidnapped off the streets and more easily put to death.

  Paterson, meanwhile, now out of a job, was rumoured to be planning to move west in partnership with Burke, to procure more bodies and dispatch them to Hare, who would sell them as usual to Knox. This story seems, at first sight, wildly improbable, partly because Burke had good reason not to trust Hare with money, and partly because Hare was the last man on earth to be left in charge of public relations with educated men. But in any case, before any such plan could be put into operation, events took a different turn.

  NOTES

  1 Hugh Douglas, Burke and Hare, (London, Robert Hale, 1973), p. 136.

  2 Ibid.

  3 ‘Silly’ was used in the sense of ‘innocent’, not ‘imbecilic’.

  4 A Laconic Narrative of the Life and Death of James Wilson, known by the name of Daft Jamie, W. Smith, 1829.

  * * *

  6. CLIMAX

  * * *

  On the morning of Hallowe’en, Friday, 31 October, regarded in Scotland especially as the most perilous night of the year, when devils and other malevolent beings were abroad, Burke went to Rymer’s for his usual early dram. While he was drinking, a poor woman came in begging for charity. Burke recognised her Irish accent and asked where she was from. She told him Inishowen in Donegal, and that her name was Mary Docherty. Well, what a coincidence! Burke, buying her a dram, told her that his mother’s name was Docherty, so it was, and that she had come from Inishowen. They must be related! The woman told him that she had come from Glasgow to look for her son. She had no money, and had had no breakfast that morning. The ever-solicitous Burke persuaded her to come home with him and have some porridge and another wee dram.

  We have two rather contrasting impressions of Burke’s ‘house’ at about this time. One is Christopher North’s description:

  Burke’s room was one of the neatest and snuggest little places I ever saw – walls well plastered and washed – a good wood-floor – respectable fireplace – and light well-paned window. You reached the room by going along a comfortable, and by no means dark passage, about fifteen feet long – on each side of which was a room, inhabited, the one by Mrs. Law, and the other by Mr. and Mrs. Connoway. Another short passage (with outer and inner door) turned off into the dwelling of Mr. Burke – the only possible way of making it a room by itself – and the character of the whole flat was that of comfort and cheerfulness to a degree seldom seen in the dwellings of the poor. Burke’s room, therefore, so far from being remote or solitary, or adapted to murder, was in the very heart of life, and no more like a den than any other room in Edinburgh.1

  The other description is in Thomas Ireland’
s contemporary account of The West Port Murders:

  In approaching Burke’s you enter a respectable-looking land from the street, and proceed along a passage and then descend a stair, and turning to the right, a passage leads to the door, which is very near to Connoway’s and almost directly opposite to Mrs. Law’s; a dark passage within the door leads to the room . . . [which] presented a disgusting picture of squalid wretchedness; rags and straw, mingled with implements of shoemaking, and old shoes and boots in such quantities as Burke’s nominal profession of a cobbler could never account for. A pot full of boiled potatoes was a prominent object. The bed was a coarse wooden frame without posts or curtains, and filled with old straw and rags.2

  Perhaps Professor Wilson saw it after it had been cleared of all its contents by the police.

  Burke and Mrs Docherty, at any rate, were seen entering by both Mrs Connoway and Mrs Law, who were sitting together by Mrs Connoway’s fireside with the door open. Four others were present in Burke’s house – Nelly McDougal, and a Mr James Gray and his wife Ann, with their infant child, who were lodging there. Burke and Nelly had not been slow to sub-let the premises they now occupied. Ann Gray’s maiden name was McDougal and her father was none other than the man Nelly had lived with, bearing him two children before she left to live with Burke.

  Having introduced Mrs Docherty to everyone and settled her down with food and drink, Burke left, ostensibly to buy enough drink for the Hallowe’en party they were to have that night. But in Rymer’s shop he found Hare, and told him that he had ‘a good shot for the doctors’. Hare went to Burke’s house to have a look, saw the ‘old woman’ washing her striped shift, and left after a few minutes.

  The woman’s married name was Campbell, but she was commonly known as Docherty and repeatedly referred to as an ‘old woman’. We may again doubt if she was old. The only person who was at all specific later with regard to the woman’s age was a Mrs Stewart with whom Mrs Docherty had stayed for one night when she came to town looking for her son Michael. Mrs Stewart thought she was ‘between forty and fifty’, and in ‘as good health as any woman could be, to all appearance’. William Noble, Rymer’s shop-boy, described her as ‘middle-aged’. Professor Christison, who later carried out a post-mortem examination, testified that except for a ‘very slight incipient disorder of the liver’, all her internal organs were ‘unusually sound’ and there were no signs of any disease.

  During the afternoon, Burke told the Grays that he wanted the bed that night for Mrs Docherty, who was a relation of his, and that he would pay for them to lodge somewhere else. He fixed them up at Hare’s place. Mrs Connoway turned up briefly and was introduced to the stranger, who was sitting by the fire ‘supping porridge and milk’. Nelly McDougal told her that Mrs Docherty was a Highland woman, a friend of her husband’s.

  At about four o’clock, young Broggan, the former tenant’s son, who called Nelly McDougal ‘aunt’, came in and saw Burke and Nelly, Hare and Maggie, the Grays and two ‘strange women’, one of whom was Mrs Docherty and the other Mrs Connoway. The Grays left shortly afterwards and went to Tanner’s Close with Maggie, who must have come straight back, because Mrs Law saw her there between six and seven. Soon after dark Nelly McDougal called at Mrs Connoway’s and asked her to keep an eye on her door until she came back, as it did not lock. John Broggan left at about seven o’clock. At about nine, the Grays came back briefly to get their child’s clothes, and saw Burke and Hare drinking, their two women dancing, and Mrs Docherty singing.

  Some time later, Mr Connoway remarked to his wife that he thought someone had gone into Burke’s. His wife took a light to have a look, but found only Mrs Docherty there, somewhat the worse for drink. Mrs Docherty followed her out, saying she was going to meet someone in St Mary’s Wynd who had promised to ‘fetch her word about her son’. Mrs Connoway dissuaded her from going out in that condition, as she would get lost or be picked up by the police. Instead Mrs Docherty went into the Connoways’ house and stayed with them for about an hour and a half. She told them that her own name was Docherty and her married name Campbell, and she would not hear of it when Mrs Connoway told her Burke’s name, insisting it was Docherty like her own because he had told her so himself.

  While Mrs Docherty was with the Connoways, Hare, Maggie and Nelly turned up with a bottle. They all started drinking again and Hare, Nelly and Mrs Docherty started dancing. The others soon left, but Mrs Docherty would not go until Burke came home. Mrs Connoway was anxious for her to leave, as it was getting late and she had to be up by four in the morning to get her husband’s breakfast before he went to work. But Mrs Docherty bade her not to be cruel to strangers, and only left when Burke came home between ten and eleven o’clock. Mrs Connoway then locked her door and went to bed.

  At ten o’clock, Burke had knocked at the door of David Paterson, who lived in the Wester Ports burgh nearby, but was told by his sister that he was out. Amid all the comings and goings of the late afternoon and evening, the notable absentee was Burke. We have no account of his whereabouts between about four o’clock, when young Broggan saw him, and ten o’clock when he knocked at Paterson’s door. No one appears to have asked him what he was doing during those six hours. Meanwhile, Hare and Maggie had gone home for their supper and Nelly McDougal joined them, but they were not there long, all three leaving again before Mrs Gray went to bed at around eleven. About half an hour later, neighbours heard a disturbance in Burke’s house – not, it appears, an infrequent occurrence. Mrs Connoway thought she heard fighting. Mrs Law heard scuffling and fighting, and recognised Burke’s voice in the noise that went on for some time before she fell asleep.

  Hugh Alston, a grocer who lived in a flat above the shop which fronted the building, came home with his wife at about half-past eleven and heard a noisy quarrel between two men as well as a woman’s voice crying ‘for God sake get the police, there’s murder here’. The noise came from Burke’s house, and Mr Alston went to find a policeman, but without success. When he came back the noise had subsided and the woman had stopped crying out.

  Around midnight, David Paterson came home to find Burke rapping at his door. He told Paterson he wanted to see him at his house, so Paterson followed him there, noticing that Burke walked ‘a little drunkish ways’. Burke and Hare were there with their women. Burke told Paterson that he had ‘procured something for the doctor’, and pointed to the straw at one end of the bed. Burke was evidently hoping for some money on account, but Paterson told him that only Dr Knox could deal with that. Paterson then left.

  At two o’clock in the morning of Saturday, 1 November, John Broggan came back to find Hare and his wife in bed and Burke and Nelly standing and talking by the window. At about eight, Nelly McDougal went to Mrs Law’s and asked to borrow her bellows to get a fire started. She asked Mrs Law if she had heard Burke and Hare fighting. Mrs Law enquired about the ‘little woman’. Nelly replied that she had been ‘using too much freedom with William’, so she had ‘kicked the damned bitch’s backside out of the door’. Soon afterwards, Mrs Law was with Mrs Connoway when they heard Hare in the passage calling for Mrs Law, but they did not answer. At about nine, Burke went to see Paterson, who had sent his sister Elizabeth to fetch him. She had been directed to Burke’s door by Mrs Connoway. Paterson told Burke that if he had anything to say or do with Dr Knox, to go and settle direct with him. Burke said he would and left. Shortly afterwards, Burke went to Hare’s looking for Gray, to ‘give him a dram of spirits’, and met Gray outside with his child in his arms. Burke asked him to come back to his house for breakfast. Gray and his wife returned to Burke’s, where they found Burke and Nelly, Mrs Law and Mrs Connoway, and young Broggan. Mrs Gray and Mrs Connoway asked Nelly about the old woman, and got similar replies to the one Mrs Law had received, that she had been turned out of the house for being too familiar with Burke.

  Burke suddenly started splashing whisky about the room. He threw some from his cup towards the ceiling, and sprinkled more about the bed and the straw on
the floor, and over his own chest. This was seen by Mrs Connoway, Mrs Law, Mrs Gray and Broggan. Burke said he wanted the bottle ‘toom’ (empty) to get more. Mrs Gray, who was smoking a pipe, looked around the straw at the foot of the bed for her child’s stockings, and Burke, with an oath, told her to ‘keep out there’. Around midday, when the neighbours had left, Burke told young Broggan to sit on a chair in the corner near the straw until he came back, and not let anyone near it. But after Burke went out, Broggan left too.

  Early in the afternoon, Paterson saw either Burke or Hare – he could not remember which – standing with Dr Knox and Jones in Knox’s premises in Surgeons’ Square, telling them that he had a subject. Knox told Paterson that if they brought a package he was to take it from them.

  There were more comings and goings at Burke’s house in the afternoon, but later on, ‘in the darkening’, Mrs Gray was in the house with her husband and child when, suspicious of Burke’s strange behaviour, she lifted some of the straw at the foot of the bed and uncovered first an arm, then the naked body of a woman whom she and her husband immediately recognised as Mary Docherty. There was a little blood on the face. Mr Gray went out at once and met Nelly McDougal on the stairs. He asked her about the body. (Mrs Gray overheard the conversation outside and testified that her husband told McDougal that ‘he had found a corpse in the house’.) Nelly fell on her knees and begged him to ‘hold his tongue and she would give him a few shillings, and if he would be quiet, it might be worth £10 a week to him’. Mrs Gray then spoke to Nelly herself and got a similar offer. Mrs Gray said, ‘God forbid that my husband should be worth that for dead bodies,’ and asked McDougal what she meant by bringing her family into disgrace by it. Nelly said, ‘My God, I cannot help it,’ and Mrs Gray replied, ‘You surely can help it, or you would not stay in the house.’ Mr and Mrs Gray left with Nelly hot on their heels and met Maggie Laird in the street. Maggie tried to persuade them all to go back in the house and not attract attention by quarrelling in the street. But the Grays went to a public house for a while before Mr Gray went off to inform the police. Mrs Gray had told Mrs Connoway that a dead body had been found in the house, and later took her in, while everyone else was out, to show her the corpse, but Mrs Connoway was afraid to look and went back home.