“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, nor 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, nor concerned in the sale of any other body than the three murdered by Bishop and myself; that May is a stranger to me; and that I had never seen him more than once or twice before Friday, the 4th of November last; and that May is 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, 4th December, 1831.
“The above confessions, taken literally, from the prisoners, in our presence.
“T. Wood. R. Ellis. Under-Sheriffs.”
It was not until subsequently to the delivery of these statements, that May was acquainted with the merciful consideration which his case had received.
Shortly after the arrival of the respite at Newgate, Dr. Cotton and Mr. Wontner went to the room in which the three prisoners were confined. The reverend gentleman opened the paper, and began to read it aloud: the most anxious attention was paid to its contents by all the prisoners; but the interest manifested by May, who must have known that the fate of his miserable companions was sealed, but had felt that there was still hope for him, was quite painful to witness—his agitation was dreadful; but no sooner had Dr. Cotton repeated the words, “that the execution of the sentence upon John May shall be respited during his Majesty’s most gracious pleasure,” than the poor wretch fell to the earth as if struck by lightning. His arms worked with the most frightful contortions, and four of the officers of the prison could with difficulty hold him; his countenance assumed a livid paleness, the blood forsook his lips, his eyes appeared set, and pulsation at the heart could not be distinguished. All persons present thought he could not possibly survive—it was believed, indeed, that the warrant of mercy had proved his death-blow. It was nearly a quarter of an hour before he was restored to the use of his faculties. At last, when recollection returned, he attempted to clasp his hands in the attitude of thanksgiving, but his limbs shook so violently that he found even that was impossible. His lips moved, but nothing but inarticulate sounds came from his tongue. The parties present soothed him with assurances that they knew what he meant to say, and with earnest entreaties that he would calm himself, and not attempt to speak. When restored to something like composure, May poured forth his gratitude to God, and his thanks to the humane gentlemen who had interested themselves in his behalf. He then explained, that when the reverend ordinary commenced reading the warrant, he thought that all hope was at an end—that the ceremony was to signify to him that he must die—the sudden revulsion of feeling when he heard the words we have quoted, caused him to swoon. He added, that on learning he was to be spared, he felt as if his heart had burst in his bosom. He declared most solemnly, now that he was out of jeopardy, as he had done before, that he had nothing to do with the murder for which he had been condemned to die. He had never been concerned—either directly or indirectly—in any murder; but he acknowledged he had committed many sins for which the Almighty might have justly left him to suffer on this occasion. He hoped now to lead a better life, and to evince his gratitude to God by sincere repentance.
It will hardly be credited that Bishop and Williams beheld this awful scene with an indifference approaching to apathy. The dreadful agitation of their less guilty associate seemed to have no effect upon them.
On Sunday night the criminals retired to rest at an early hour, but their efforts to obtain sleep appeared to be vain. They frequently awoke, and entered into conversation with the persons appointed to watch them. Occasionally they entered into religious observances, but generally were averse to them. Once, when the person who sat up with Williams proposed to read to him some extracts out of religious books left him by the ordinary, he roughly declined the proposal, saying, “I had religious talk enough during the day; I will have none of it to-night.” He then entered into conversation with the officer upon the subject of the offence for which he was going to suffer. He solemnly assured him, that up to the time of his marriage, he had never had any connexion with resurrection-men; and even added, that it was not until his wedding-night that he had any idea that Bishop got his livelihood by that horrible trade. He told the officer, that on that night, shortly after he had got to bed, his wife conjured him not to have anything to do with the snatchers. This led to inquiries on his part, which terminated in a full disclosure by his wife of the practices by which his father-in-law (Bishop) supported his family. No communication took place between him and Bishop on the subject till some time afterwards, when he was suddenly thrown out of work. Bishop then gradually disclosed to him his mode of life, and asked him to become a partner in the trade. Williams assented. He then became a regular resurrection-man; but, being tired with the difficulties and dangers of the trade, he proposed to Bishop that, instead of disinterring, they should murder subjects. He was then asked what led him to make such a proposal, and his reply was, “the recollection of what Burke had done at Edinburgh.” After some other facts, tallying with those in Bishop’s account, he stated, that on the Sunday after the murder of the woman Pigburn, they attempted to “Burke” a man whom they accidentally lured into their power. The laudanum, however, which they had mixed with his liquor was not strong enough, as Bishop said, to stupify him beyond resistance, and he was, therefore, allowed to escape, partly from a fear of his struggles, and partly from Bishop’s arm being palsied by a similar feeling to that which palsied Lady Macbeth’s arm in a similar situation—namely, the feeling that the man whom he was about to dispatch, “resembled his father as he slept.” Still bent on their murderous trade, they endeavoured, on the following Tuesday, to get another subject by the same means. Again was the laudanum inefficient; and in this case, as in the former, the intended victim left the house in which he met these ruffians without any idea of his having been exposed to such great and imminent danger.