Bishop entered into a minute description, most horrible in its details, of the mode by which he had perpetrated the inhuman murders, and then made the following confession:—
Newgate, December 4.
'I, John Bishop, do hereby declare and confess, that the boy supposed to be the Italian boy was a Lincolnshire boy. I and Williams took him to my house about half-past ten o'clock on the Thursday night, the 3d of November, from the Bell in Smithfield. He walked home with us. Williams promised to give him some work. Williams went with him from the Bell to the Old Bailey watering-house, whilst I went to the Fortune of War. Williams came from the Old Bailey watering-house to the Fortune of War for me, leaving the boy standing at the corner of the court by the watering-house in the Old Bailey. I went directly with Williams to the boy, and we walked then all three to Nova Scotia Gardens, taking a pint of stout at a public-house near Holywell-lane, Shoreditch, on our way, of which we gave the boy a part; we only stayed just to drink it, and walked on to my house, where we arrived at about eleven o'clock. My wife and children, and Mrs. Williams, were not gone to bed, so we put him in the privy, and told him to wait there for us. Williams went in and told them to go to bed, and I stayed in the garden. Williams came out directly, and we both walked out of the garden a little way, to give time for the family getting to bed; we returned in about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, and listened outside at the window to ascertain whether the family were gone to bed. All was quiet, and we then went to the boy in the privy, and took him into the house; we lighted a candle, and gave the boy some bread and cheese, and after he had eaten, we gave him a cup full of rum, with about half a small phial of laudanum in it. (I had bought the rum the same evening at the Three Tuns, in Smithfield, and the laudanum also in small quantities at different shops.) There was no water or other liquid put in the cup with the rum and laudanum. The boy drank the contents of the cup directly in two draughts, and afterwards a little beer. In about ten minutes he fell asleep on the chair on which he sat, and I removed him from the chair to the floor, and laid him on his side. We then went out and left him there. We had a quartern of gin and a pint of beer at the Feathers, near Shoreditch church, and then went home again, having been away from the boy about twenty minutes. We found him asleep as we had left him. We took him directly, asleep and insensible, into the garden, and tied a cord to his feet to enable us to pull him up by, and I then took him in my arms, and let him slide from them headlong into the well in the garden, whilst Williams held the cord to prevent the body going altogether too low in the well. He was nearly wholly in the water of the well—his feet just above the surface. Williams fastened the other end of the cord round the paling to prevent the body getting beyond our reach. The boy struggled a little with his arms and legs in the water, and the water bubbled for a minute. We waited till these symptoms were past, and then went in doors, and afterwards I think we went out, and walked down Shoreditch to occupy the time, and in about three-quarters of an hour we returned and took him out of the well, by pulling him by the cord attached to his feet: we undressed him in the paved yard, rolled his clothes up, and buried them where they were found by the witness who produced them. We carried the boy into the wash-house, laid him on the floor, and covered him over with a bag. We left him there, and went and had some coffee in Old-street-road, and then (a little before two o'clock on the morning of Friday) went back to my house. We immediately doubled the body up, and put it into a box, which we corded, so that nobody might open it to see what was in it, and then went again, and had some more coffee at the same place in Old-street-road, where we stayed a little while, and then went home to bed—both in the same house, and to our own beds, as usual. We slept till about ten o'clock on Friday morning, when we got up, took breakfast together with the family, and then went both of us to Smithfield, to the Fortune of War. We had something to eat and drink there, and after we had been there about half an hour, May came in. I knew May, but had not seen him for about a fortnight before. He had some rum with me at the bar, Williams remaining in the tap-room. May and I went to the door, I had a smockfrock on, and May asked me where I had bought it; I told him "in Field-lane;" he said he wanted to buy one, and asked me to go with him; I went with him to Field-lane, where he bought a frock at the corner shop; we then went into a clothes-shop in West-street to buy a pair of breeches, but May could not agree about the price; May was rather in liquor, and sent out for some rum, which we and the woman in the shop drank together; May said he would treat her because he had given her a good deal of trouble for nothing. We then returned to the Fortune of War, and joined Williams, and had something more to drink; we waited there a short time, and then Williams and I went to the west end of the town, leaving May at the Fortune of War. Williams and I went to Mr. Tuson's, in Windmill-street, where I saw Mr. Tuson, and offered to sell him a subject, meaning the boy we had left at home. He said he had waited so long for a subject which I had before undertaken to procure, that he had been obliged to buy one the day before. We went from there to Mr. Carpue's, in Dean-street, and offered it to him in the lecture-room with other gentlemen; they asked me if it was fresh; I told them, yes; they told me to wait. I asked them ten guineas, and, after waiting a little, a gentleman there said they would give eight guineas, which I agreed to take, and engaged to carry it there the next morning at ten o'clock. I and Williams then returned to the Fortune of War; we found May in the tap-room, this was about a quarter before four o'clock in the afternoon; we had something to drink again, and I called May out to the outside of the house, and asked what was the best price given for "things"—he said he had sold two the day before for ten guineas each, I think. I told him I had a subject; he asked what sort of one; I said, a boy about fourteen years old, and that I had been offered eight guineas for it: he said if it was his, he would not take it; he could sell it where he sold his for more. I told him that all he could get above nine guineas he might have for himself; we agreed to go presently and get a coach. I and May then went to the bar, had something more to drink; and then, leaving Williams at the Fortune of War, we went and tried to hire a cab in the Old Bailey; the cab-man was at tea at the watering-house, and we went in and spoke to him about a fare, and had also tea there ourselves. Whilst we were at tea, the cab-driver went away, and we found him gone from the stand when we came out; we then went to Bridge-street, Blackfriars, and asked a coachman if he would take such a fare as we wanted; he refused, and we then went to Farringdon-street, where we engaged a yellow chariot. I and May got in, drove to the Fortune of War, and (Williams joining us by the George, in the Old Bailey, on our way) at the Fortune of War we drank something again, and then (about six o'clock) we all three went in the chariot to Nova Scotia Gardens; we went into the wash-house, where I uncorded the trunk, and showed May the body. He asked, "How are the teeth?" I said I had not looked at them. Williams went and fetched a brad-awl from the house, and May took it and forced the teeth out: it is the constant practice to take the teeth out first, because, if the body be lost, the teeth are saved. After the teeth were taken out, we put the body in a bag and took it to the chariot; May and I carried the body, and Williams got first into the coach, and assisted in pulling the body in; we all then drove off to Guy's Hospital, where we saw Mr. Davis, and offered to sell the body to him; he refused, saying that he had bought two the day before of May. I asked him to let us leave it there till the next morning; he consented, and we put it in a little room, the door of which Mr. Davis locked. Williams was, during this, left with the chariot: I told Mr. Davis not to let the subject go to any body unless I was there, for it belonged to me, and May also told him not to let it go unless he was present, or else he should be money out of pocket; I understood this to mean the money paid by May for our teas at the Old Bailey, (about four shillings) and the coach fare, which we had agreed with the coachman should be ten shillings. May had no other interest or right to the money to be obtained for the body, except for such payment, and for what he could get above nine guineas, as I had promised him. May paid the coachman ten shillings on our leaving the hospital, but before we discharged the coach, May and I ran to Mr. Appleton, at Mr. Grainger's school, leaving Williams with the coach. We offered the subject to Mr. Appleton, but he declined to buy it, and May and I then joined Williams, discharged the coach, and went to a public-house close by, and had something to drink. After this we got into a coach in the Borough, and drove again to the Fortune of War, where we had something more to drink; this was about eight o'clock in the evening. We all three stayed there about one hour, and then went out, got a coach in Smithfield, and went towards Old-street-road, stopped in Golden-lane with the coach and drank something, and then on to Old-street. At the corner of Old-street (the Star corner) May got out of the coach and said he was going home, and I and Williams drove to the corner of Union-street, Kingsland-road, where we got out and paid the coach-fare out of money lent us by May (he having advanced to each of us three shillings). We then walked home, and went to bed that night as usual. We had agreed with May on his leaving us to meet him at Guy's Hospital at nine o'clock the next morning (Saturday). I and Williams went at eight o'clock on Saturday morning to the Fortune of War, where we met Shields, the porter, and engaged him to go with us over the water to carry a subject. I asked him to go to St. Bartholomew's Hospital for a hamper which I had seen there; he refused, and I fetched it myself. We had a pint of beer there, and I, and Williams, and Shields, went to Guy's Hospital, Shields carrying the hamper. We met May there. Williams and Shields went to a public-house, whilst I and May went to Mr. Appleton, and offered him the subject again. He again refused to buy it, stating that he did not want it. May and I then joined Shields and Williams, and had some drink, and then left them again, crossed the water in a boat to the King's College, where we inquired of Mr. Hill, the porter, if he wanted a subject; he said he was not particularly in want, but would speak to Mr. Partridge, the demonstrator. Mr. Partridge came, and asked what the subject was. May said, 'a male subject.' Mr. Partridge asked the price. May said, 'twelve guineas.' Mr. Partridge said he could not give so much, and went away. Mr. Hill asked us to stay a few minutes whilst he went after Mr. Partridge, to speak to him again. Hill returned, and said Mr. Partridge would give nine guineas. May said, 'he would be d—d if it should go under ten guineas.' He was in liquor, and on his moving a little way off, I took the opportunity of saying to Hill, that he should come in at nine guineas. I told May, directly after, that I had sold it for nine guineas, and that I would, out of it, pay him what I had of him, and give him something besides. We then got into a cabriolet, and went back to Williams and Shields, at the public-house, where all four had some beef-steaks and beer, and afterwards went to Guy's Hospital, packed the body in the hamper, and put it on Shields' head, telling him to take it to the King's College, where he went, Williams and Shields walking, and I and May riding part of the way in a cab. On reaching the King's College we carried the body into the theatre, and then into a little room, where we took the body out. Mr. Hill looked at it, and asked what it died of. May answered, that he did not know, and it did not concern him. Mr. Hill asked how a cut, which was on the forehead, came. I told him that it was done by May throwing it out of the sack on the stones, which was the truth. Hill told us to remain in the other room, and he would bring in the money. We went into the other room, and waited for some time, when Mr. Partridge came to us, and showed me a fifty pound note, and said he must go and get it changed, for he had not sufficient money without; and he pulled out his purse, and counted three or four sovereigns. I said he might let us have that, and he could give us the remainder on Monday. He said no, he would rather pay it altogether, and went away. We waited some time, when the police-officers came, and took us into custody.
'John Bishop.'
'Witness, Robert Ellis.'
'I declare that this statement is all true, and contains all the facts, as far as I can recollect. May knew nothing of the murder, and I do not believe he suspected that I had got the body except in the usual way, and after the death of it. I always told him that I got it from the ground; and he never knew to the contrary until I confessed it to Mr. Williams since the trial. I have known May as a body snatcher four or five years, but I do not believe he ever obtained a body except in the common course of men in that calling, by stealing from the graves. I also confess that I and Williams were concerned in the murder of a female, whom I believe to have been since discovered to be Fanny Pigburn, on or about the 9th of October last. I and Williams saw her sitting, about eleven or twelve o'clock at night, on the step of a door in Shoreditch, near the church. She had a child, four or five years old, with her, on her lap. I asked why she was sitting there. She said she had no home to go to, for her landlord had turned her out into the street. I told her that she might go home with us, and sit by the fire all night. She said she would go with us; and she walked with us to my house, in Nova Scotia Gardens, carrying her child with her. When we got there, we found the family in bed; and we took the woman in and lighted a fire, by which we all sat down together. I went out for beer, and we all partook of beer and rum (I had brought the rum from Smithfield in my pocket). The woman and her child lay down on some dirty linen on the floor, and I and Williams went to bed. About six o'clock next morning I and Williams told her to go away, and to meet us at the London Apprentice, in Old-street-road, at one o'clock; this was before our families were up. She met us again at one o'clock at the London Apprentice, without her child. We gave her some halfpence and beer, and desired her to meet us again, at ten o'clock at night, at the same place. After this we bought rum and laudanum at different places, and at ten o'clock we met the woman again at the London Apprentice. She had no child with her. We drank three pints of beer between us there, and stayed about an hour. We should have stayed there longer, but an old man came in, whom the woman said she knew; and she said she did not like him to see her there with anybody; we therefore all went out. It rained hard, and we took shelter under a doorway in the Hackney-road for about half an hour. We then walked to Nova Scotia Gardens, and Williams and I led her into No. 2, an empty house, adjoining my house. We had no light. Williams stepped out into the garden with the rum and laudanum, which I had handed to him. He there mixed them together in a half-pint bottle, and came into the house to me and the woman, and gave her the bottle to drink. She drank the whole at two or three draughts. There was a quartern of rum and about half a phial of laudanum. She sat down on the step between two rooms in the house, and went off to sleep in about ten minutes. She was falling back; I caught her, to save her fall, and she lay with her back on the floor. Then Williams and I went to a public-house, got something to drink, and in about half an hour came back to the woman. We took her cloak off, tied a cord to her feet, carried her to the well in the garden, and thrust her into it headlong. She struggled very little afterwards, and the water bubbled a little at the top. We fastened the cord to the palings to prevent her going down beyond our reach, and left her, and took a walk to Shoreditch, and came back in about half an hour; we left the woman in the well for this length of time, that the rum and laudanum might run out of the body at the mouth. On our return, we took her out of the well, cut her clothes off, put them down the privy of the empty house, carried the body into the wash-house of my own house, where we doubled it up, and put it into a hat-box, which we corded, and left it there. We did not go to bed, but went to Shields' house, in Eagle-street, Red-lion-square, and called him up; this was between four and five o'clock in the morning. We then went with Shields to a public-house near the Sessions House, Clerkenwell, and had some gin, and from thence to my house, where we went in and stayed a little while, to wait the change of the police. I told Shields he was to carry that trunk to St. Thomas' Hospital. He asked if there was a woman in the house who could walk alongside of him, so that people might not take any notice. Williams called his wife up, and asked her to walk with Shields, and to carry the hat-box which he gave her to carry. There was nothing in it, but it was tied up as if there were. We then put the box with the body on Shields' head, and went to the hospital, Shields and Mrs. Williams walking on one side of the street, and I and Williams on the other. At St. Thomas' Hospital I saw Mr. South's footman, and sent him upstairs to Mr. South to ask if he wanted a subject. The footman brought me word that his master wanted one, but could not give an answer till the next day, as he had not time to look at it. During this interview, Shields, Williams, and his wife, were waiting at a public-house. I then went alone to Mr. Appleton, at Mr. Grainger's, and agreed to sell it to him for eight guineas; and afterwards I fetched it from St. Thomas' Hospital, and took it to Mr. Appleton, who paid me five pounds then, and the rest on the following Monday. After receiving the five pounds I went to Shields, and Williams and his wife, at the public-house, where I paid Shields ten shillings for his trouble, and we then all went to the Flower Pot, in Bishopsgate, where we had something to drink, and then went home. I never saw the woman's child after the first time before mentioned. She said she had left the child with the person she had taken some of her things to, before her landlord took her goods. The woman murdered did not tell us her name; she said her age was thirty-five, I think, and that her husband, before he died, was a cabinet-maker. She was thin, rather tall, and very much marked with the smallpox. I also confess the murder of a boy, who told us his name was Cunningham. It was a fortnight after the murder of the woman. I and Williams found him sleeping, about eleven or twelve o'clock at night, on Friday, the 21st of October, as I think, under the pig-boards in the pig-market at Smithfield. Williams woke him, and asked him to come along with him (Williams), and the boy walked with Williams and me to my house in Nova Scotia Gardens. We took him into my house, and gave him some warm beer, sweetened with sugar, with rum and laudanum in it. He drank two or three cups full, and then fell asleep in a little chair, belonging to one of my children. We laid him on the floor, and went out for a little while and got something to drink, and then returned, carried the boy to the well, and threw him into it, in the same way as we had served the other boy and the woman. He died instantly in the well, and we left him there a little while, to give time for the mixtures we had given him to run out of the body. We then took the body from the well, took off the clothes in the garden, and buried them there. The body was carried into the wash-house, and put into the same box, and left there till the next evening, when we got a porter to carry it with us to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, where I sold it to Mr. Smith for eight guineas. This boy was about ten or eleven years old, said his mother lived in Kent-street, and that he had not been home for a twelvemonth and better. I solemnly declare that these are all the murders in which I have been concerned, or that I know anything of; that I and Williams were alone concerned in these, and that no other person whatever knew anything about either of them, and that I do not know whether there are others who practise the same mode of obtaining bodies for sale. I know nothing of any Italian boy, and was never concerned in, or knew of, the murder of such a boy. There have been no white mice about my house for the last six months. My son, about eight months ago, bought two mice, and I made him a cage for them. It was flat, with wires at the top. They lived about two months, and were killed, I think, by a cat in the garden, where they got out of the cage. They were frequently seen running in the garden, and used to hide in a hole under the privy. I and my wife and children saw one of them killed by a cat in the garden whilst we were at tea. Until the transactions before set forth, I never was concerned in obtaining a subject by destruction of the living. I have followed the course of obtaining a livelihood as a body-snatcher for twelve years, and have obtained and sold, I think, from five hundred to one thousand bodies; but I declare, before God, that they were all obtained after death, and that, with the above exceptions, I am ignorant of any murder for that or any other purpose.
'John Bishop.'
'Witness, Robert Ellis,
Under-Sheriff.'
'I, Thomas Head, alias Williams, now under sentence of death in Newgate, do solemnly confess and declare the foregoing statement and confession of John Bishop, which has been made in my presence, and since read over to me distinctly, is altogether true, so far as the same relates to me. I declare that I was never concerned in, or privy to, any other transaction of the like nature—that I never knew anything of the murder of any other person whatever—that I was never a body-snatcher, or concerned in the sale of any other body than the three murdered by Bishop and myself—that May was a stranger to me, and I had never seen him more than once or twice before Friday the 4th of November last—and that May was wholly innocent and ignorant of any of those murders in which I was concerned, and for one of which I am about to suffer death.
'Thomas Head.'
'Witness, R. Ellis,
'Newgate, December 4, 1831.''The above confessions taken literally, from the prisoners, in our presence,
'T. Wood, } } Under-Sheriffs. 'R. Ellis, }
| 'T. Wood, } | |
| } | Under-Sheriffs. |
| 'R. Ellis, } |
In regard to this confession of Bishop, we may be allowed to offer a few cursory remarks, and particularly as we have, on another occasion, laid before the public the confessions of Holloway, two of which were given, as he himself expressly declares, for the express purpose of misleading the judicial authorities of the country, with the avowed aim of saving the life of his guilty accomplice, and in which, with shame be it spoken, he too well succeeded. A voluntary confession of a criminal, standing almost at the foot of the scaffold, ought to be received with the utmost degree of caution and distrust; but in the case of the confession of Bishop, the most singular feature of the case is, that part of it has actually been believed and acted upon, whilst another part is wholly rejected, and declared to be false, although no documentary evidence has been brought forward to prove it such. In regard, however, to confessions in general, it really appears to us, that every magistrate, who has a prisoner to examine, thinks it his duty to set himself, with all his skill, to prevent the discovery of the truth from the only person, who, although he may strive to disguise, knows completely the facts of the case. This custom has no sanction in law, is repugnant to common sense, and contrary to the practice of all other nations, whose criminal codes are, generally speaking, in a more perfect state, and are certainly much more humane than our own. A man charged with an offence ought not to be compelled to confession by the promise of pardon; but is there no difference between this and actually urging him to silence against his will, as a method of escape, though he may have committed the offence? We are really sick of reading examinations, every part and portion of which are made up of injunctions to the accused, to do and say nothing whatever that can by any possibility injure his chance of eluding justice. The following, in our opinion, ought to be the practice:—All hints of advantage to the accused from confession—all recommendations to confess being cautiously abstained from; what he has to say, or chooses voluntarily to say, should be received in silence, and no obstruction thrown in his way; and, after all, what do these confessions amount to? They are but too frequently a tissue of falsehood and truth, calculated to mislead the jury, and cast a doubt upon the positive facts of the case. In all cases of confession, however, after conviction, the circumstances under which the confession is given should be particularly taken into consideration before any decisive opinion is formed as to its falsity or truth. From the nature of these circumstances a clue may be obtained to the motive which prompts the individual to make the confession, and on which depends, in a great degree, its claim to our credibility and confidence. The motive which prompted Bishop to make his confession could not have had any relationship with the hope of its saving him from an ignominious death; and it is not rational to believe that a man, under his circumstances, would make a confession for the mere purpose of deceiving, when he must have been fully conscious to himself, that not the slightest benefit could accrue to him. In the confession of Bishop there is an evident attempt to shake the verdict of the jury, to throw a doubt upon the administration of justice, and to agitate the public mind, and, as such, we would receive it with the utmost distrust; but the most striking peculiarity of the case is, that the main circumstances of it are corroborated by an accomplice, who could not have been actuated by any flattering motive to confirm the testimony already given, and who was actually ignorant at the time of the exact tenor of the circumstances detailed in the confession as given by Bishop. The confessions of Williams and Bishop were given to different individuals, in different places, but nearly at the same time, the chief question then to be decided is, had any previous agreement been entered into between these individuals as to the nature of the confession which they were to make? for unless such agreement had been entered into, the statement put forth by one of them, and corroborated in every particular by the other, supposing no previous collusion to exist, is certainly entitled to a great share of our belief. It is certain that the confession of Bishop made a very strong impression on the public mind, and to qualify the effect of it, Mr. Corder put forth a written statement to the public, which will be given in another part of the work; and the aim of which was to demonstrate, that the last words of Bishop and Williams were false. The whole gist of Mr. Corder's statement rests on the following syllogism:—
Bishop confesses to the murder of a Lincolnshire boy,
No Lincolnshire boy has been missing;