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of the two, if any distinction can be made, still Burke must be allowed to have possessed free-agency enough to have withdrawn himself, or even to have arrested the progress of his partner when he pleased, and we fear that this excuse will scarcely serve to palliate his conduct.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.