'To kill as by suffocation, so as to leave no or few signs of violence,' says one of the dictionary's darkest and most lurid phrases, 'burking,' which means 'to murder as by suffocation, so as to leave no or few marks of violence.' The act was named after one half of one of Britain's most notorious murdering duos, William Burke and William Hare. The fact that the duo's method of operation was named after one of its associates speaks much about the duo's continuous prominence.
William Burke and William Hare, on the other hand, have become a vivid embodiment of the 'body snatcher' over time, despite the fact that neither man is likely to have ever actually muddied themselves in the heinous act of grave robbing; instead, they grotesquely chose to create their own corpses through cold-blooded murder. Despite this, the gruesome pilfering plague that devastated rest stops for years is key to the mythology that casts two Irishmen as the archetypal corpse snatchers.
The nineteenth century saw groundbreaking developments in surgery and anatomy. Doctors' understanding of illness and deformity causes was growing, and medical treatments were becoming more sophisticated. The medical profession has long relied on the dissection of human corpses to promote continuous developments, therefore a steady stream of carcasses was necessary for the surgeons' slabs. Only the remains of hanged murderers, suicides, or orphans were legally provided for dissection in eighteenth-century Britain due to strong religious and societal concerns.
The Murder Act of 1752 mandated that the body of a convicted murderer be handed to a 'party of surgeons,' who would 'dissect and anatomize' the body. This mandate might therefore provide a proportion of bodies to anatomists, but the demand for the dead vastly outstripped the number of hangings taking place. Furthermore, as a result of the Murder Act, there were frequent confrontations and brawls between relatives and friends of the deceased, all in an attempt to prevent the transportation of their cherished body from the scaffold to the surgeons. The Tyburn riots of 1749 were a prime example of retaliatory violence.
Specimens for anatomists did, in a morbid literal sense, grow on gallow trees, but this was a restricted source that couldn't keep up with the demand for new material, leaving the medical community with an unacceptable deficiency in their quest to discover new breakthroughs in anatomical research. As a result, finding a supply to fill this yawning emptiness became a profitable business, spawning the abhorrent'resurrectionists' - effectively corpse snatchers who acted within the bounds of the law, despite the fact that the bodies of the deceased were not legally 'owned' by anybody.
Throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, this deathly murky area of legislation allowed the trade to thrive. It had to since medicine was growing at a rapid pace; by the 1820s, Edinburgh University alone was teaching 1,000 medical students. Dr. Alexander Monro, an anatomist and medical instructor at Edinburgh's medical school, oversaw these developing pupils. Monro was a student of Charles Darwin, who was less than flattering of his former instructor, noting that 'Monro rendered his lectures on human anatomy as uninteresting as he was himself'.
In 1826, the unhappy and boring professor, who had slept on his laurels for a long time, was presented with a new task, larger than any dissection that had gone before him. It arrived in the form of a young upstart named Dr. Robert Knox, whose name would forever elicit a puzzled look as to his involvement in Burke and Hare's crimes. He began a course of lectures from the Museum of Comparative Anatomy in Edinburgh's Surgeons' Square, a post he had succeeded in following the death of Dr. Barclay. Knox's anatomy hall became a Mecca for medical students from all across the country, who flocked to see his practical dissection lectures.
Knox's lively and colorful manner stood in stark contrast to Dr. Monro's bland education, to the point that Knox's morning sessions necessitated an evening repetition to accommodate the significant overflow of demand they produced. While Knox was well-known for his eloquence and unquestionable ability, his popularity was bolstered by the seemingly unending supply of new dissection material he had at his disposal — his providers were plainly skilled. As a result, we've arrived at the piece's main characters.
William Burke was born in the Irish county of Tyrone in the year 1792. While this portrayal of Burke in hindsight undoubtedly suits his crimes, he was known to be a man of pleasant temperament, cordial, and an example of amenity. He wasn't afraid of hard labor however, exploring a variety of occupations until joining the Donegal militia in 1809. He was born into a Catholic family and had a natural religious bent, yet he was not tied to any one religion. When his regiment was disbanded, he married a young woman from Ballina and moved in with his wife and family. Things appeared to be irreversibly unraveling at this point; a feud between Burke and his father-in-law resulted in Burke relocating to Scotland, abandoning his wife and family in the process. He would never return to his own country.
In 1818, William Burke landed in Scotland. Burke found work as a laborer on the Union Canal between Edinburgh and the Forth and Clyde Canal, which was under construction at the time. The sweat and toil of many an Irish navvy contributed significantly to the canal's construction. Indeed, one of Burke's coworkers was one William Hare, likewise of Irish ancestry and a man of comparable age to Burke, but with a totally different constitution. He was largely regarded as an ignorant and amoral guy with a boisterous and quarrelsome personality.
Burke became connected with a shady character named Helen MacDougal during this period, who was described as a "loose and dissolute lady with a dull and melancholy demeanor." The unusual duo quickly merged their little fortunes, residing at several places throughout Edinburgh and living a very unpleasant existence punctuated by frequent binge drinking that fuelled many a violent brawl. Burke resorted to a past occupation, that of a cobbler, when the canal was constructed. He'd go out and acquire old boots and shoes, then fix them before selling them to the city's poorer citizens. It wasn't lucrative employment, but it was far more healthy than Burke's eventual occupation.
Of course, if fate had dealt a different hand, things might have turned out differently, but this is just speculation. William Burke and William Hare met for the first time in the fall of 1827, while working on the harvest near Penicuik. Their names would become inextricably linked with the fear of a vile wickedness that would haunt the annals of Scottish history for the rest of their lives.
William Hare and his wife Margaret shared a lodging house in Edinburgh's Tanner's Close. Mrs Hare looked after the house while her husband worked as a hawker on the streets of Edinburgh. Hare was a hard-drinking Irishman with an equally harsh temper, which became intolerable when he was drunk. Burke and MacDougal first met Margaret Hare in early November 1827, and after drinking a dram with her, the pair was encouraged to stay in the Hares' rooming-house. Burke and MacDougal agreed since he would have everything he needed to continue his cobbling business here, and Burke established up shop in a cellar next to the home. The arrangement, however, was far from lavish in terms of creature comforts and pleasant company; both Hare and his wife were equally eager to participate in excessive drinking, followed by boisterous and ferocious cruelty.
Tanner's Close did attract renters despite the hosts' fairly stormy preferences. An old retiree named 'Donald' has been living here for a while. The elderly man died in the home on November 29, perhaps the last natural death within its walls, but he did so in debt to his landlords, owing £4. The large quantity of money was evident enough that the man had lived on credit, most likely thanks to Margaret rather than the harsh Hare. Furthermore, as if to emphasize this facet of his personality, Hare swiftly informed the authorities of the death, eliminating the chance of his incurring an unwelcome burial expenditure.
Donald was then scheduled for a 'parish burial.' Before nailing down the coffin lid, the parish delegates delivered the casket to the lodging home and placed their departed person inside. As the preparations for the transfer of the old man's bones to their kindred dust progressed, William Hare had an insight of the kind that should never be revealed for fear of tarnishing one's reputation, though this was of little concern to Hare. Furthermore, because old Donald's untimely death had burdened Hare with debts that he would struggle to pay off, it was at this point, according to Burke's later confession, that Hare proposed that instead of burying the veteran, they sell the body to the city surgeons, promising Burke a share of the proceeds as an enticement. Burke consented to the plan after some reluctance, and the two were soon chiselling through the coffin lid and removing the lifeless old body, which they hid in his bed. The two quickly bolted from the home, amassing mounds of bark to serve as a clever substitute for Donald's body. The casket was subsequently carried and burial with all the pomp allowed by the parish in such matters in the West Church Yard.
The two men headed off for Surgeons' Square after securely completing the fictitious entombment.
When the mysterious-looking duo arrived at Old College, a medical student noticed them and asked what they were up to, to which they replied that they 'had a subject to dispose of.' The young student directed the sellers to Dr Knox's office at No. 10 Surgeons' Square. This was more proof that Knox's name was on everyone's lips in the medical community, and it was also proof that the ponderous Dr Monro was a spent force. Burke and Hare arrived at Knox's address to find the doctor's three helpers waiting for them. Burke said that he had a topic for sale once more, this time with an increasing sense of comfort. The assistants didn't want to know 'how they got it,' but they did urge Burke and Hare to return with their prize under the cover of night, warning them to 'be on your alert so no one sees you.' And they did it with a sense of urgency. They headed forth in the dark, laden with their cadaverous cargo, towards Surgeons' Square.
As the couple awkwardly pulled a sack holding Donald's remains through the streets, the revolting scene, evocative of some absurd Hammer Horror, took some comprehension. It's doubtful that Burke and Hare were very irritated by their behavior at this stage. Hare was entitled to the revenues of the Donald estate, which now just consisted of the dead man himself, because the elderly man had died naturally, but he had also owing Hare money. As a result, the natural order was restored, which, in their opinion, entirely legitimized the transaction.
Burke and Hare were unaware of delivery arrangements when they arrived, so they just left the bag at the door of a cellar before returning inside to their new friends. They were then instructed to lay Donald's body on the dissecting table. Dr Knox entered the room as the guys gazed at the old man, who was luckily oblivious to the humiliation of their leering over him. Before ordering his assistant to'settle with them,' he examined the body and recommended a price of £7 10 shillings. According to Burke's story, Hare received the larger money — £4 5 shillings – while Burke received £3 5 shillings.
Whatever the case may be, the enterprising couple had both made money with relative ease, and any reservations about additional similar conversations in the future were completely dispelled as they left the premises with the words 'we would be delighted to see you again when you have any other body to dispose of.' Burke and Hare's heinous criminal spree had officially begun. The pair's problem was exacerbated by the success of their initial deal with the physicians. 'Securing the remnants of their fellow animals,' as the old retiree demonstrated, was a lot simpler manner of obtaining a comfortable existence than their typical boring lines of employment.
Though access to a naturally expiring body is rare, with their thoughts now fully engaged in a putrid decaying process, even the knowledge that committing the most heinous crime in the land may deliver them the coveted commodity did not dissuade them. The guys were satisfied with the location in which they could conduct such crimes, and Hare's lodging house was, of course, the setting for the most of the crimes. Many a wretched traveller seeking sanctuary there and suffering the ultimate destiny was lured inside by a 'Beds to let' ticket.
The house provided the setting for these heinous crimes, as well as where the plan was devised; we may infer that the two ladies, MacDougal and Mrs Hare, were aware of the crimes as they occurred, but it is unlikely that they were involved in the creation of the plot. Hare was released onto the streets, wandering the alleyways of the ancient town looking for a weak soul to fall in with. Burke's confession on 3 January 1829 states that Hare encountered a heavily drunk lady in the Grassmarket one day.
Abigail Simpson was a suitable subject, as she was elderly and feeble, with little left mental or physical strength, weakened further by her sodden state. If Hare could only get her to the boarding house, he'd be well on his way to making more money. In her adoring condition, she quickly struck up a discussion with her devious suitor and was soon accompanying him to his home. She was presented to Burke and treated as though she had been a long-lost friend once she arrived. With everyone now drenched in liquor, the woman was soon crooning the musical recollections of her youth, with everyone now soaked in liquor. Mrs Simpson was asked to stay the night at the residence, which she gladly agreed to in her professional role. Burke and Hare's wicked intentions may have been thwarted by their own drunkenness, but the opportunity seems to have presented itself. It's tempting to assume that an intense doctrinal 'U-turn' was the driving force behind Mrs Simpson's clemency that night, but that's wishful thinking.
Hare placed his hand over her mouth and nose to keep her from breathing, while Burke laid himself on her ill body to suffocate any resistance the following morning. She was dead in minutes and being wrapped up into a chest for the medical staff, and the 'burking' movement had been devised. Burke detailed the approach graphically in his own confession:
When they kept the mouth and nose shut a very few minutes, they [the victims] could make no resistance, but would convulse and make a rumbling noise in their bellies for some time; after they ceased crying and making resistance, they [the murderers] left them to die by themselves; but their bodies would often move afterwards, and for some time they would have long breathings before life went away. The body was conveyed to Surgeons’ Square where Knox approved of its freshness but did not ask any questions, instead paying the murderers £10 for the corpse. The work of wholesale murder was now well-established and the conspirators were gaining confidence as well as wealth. Any qualms of conscience were speedily drowned in drink, and even the fear of discovery evaporated when they realised how easily and quietly they could ‘work.’
At least sixteen persons were murdered by Burke and Hare during the following eleven months, however we will only discuss the killings that involved the legal system in these pages. The acts are hard to categorize chronologically, let alone with any accuracy, from this point forward, but the heinous massacre of the vulnerable continued. Only the aged and the'silly in body and mind' were chosen to practice their terrible talent, never a strong or capable man. The team sank even further on one occasion, committing possibly their most terrible murder, one that, according to Burke, tormented him for the rest of his life and so deserves to be told, if only to demonstrate the evil lengths to which they were now willing to go for monetary gain.
Burke befriended an old Irishwoman and her grandson in the summer of 1828. Burke couldn't have asked for a more vulnerable couple than the child, who was 'around twelve years old' and deaf and dumb. Burke cheerfully led them to the lair, his mind no likely pondering the worth of two bodies. A bottle was supplied as usual, and the woman was encouraged to partake. Her senses were quickly drained by the wine, leading her to collapse on the bed. In her prone posture, she was brought to a premature and horrible end in the typical method at some time throughout the night. Unaware of the horrible job going on in the next room, the poor kid became concerned about his grandmother's departure and expressed himself as 'as his dumbness would permit.'
The conspirators were now left with the problem of what to do with the child; it would be foolish to transport two killed bodies to Surgeons' Square at the same time, they reasoned, but what else could they do with him? They considered releasing him onto the streets of Edinburgh, but after much deliberation, a more heinous ending was chosen, and the tragedy becomes even more horrific.
Burke brought the youngster into the rear room where his grandmother lay the next morning, and 'took him upon his knee, and shattered his back,' as Burke put it. It's little surprise that this sight was the 'one that laid most heavily upon his heart,' with Burke stating that he was tormented by the'rememberance of the piteous expression of the yearning eyes, as the victim stared in his face.' The pair was then thrown into an old herring-barrel and brought to Surgeons' Square, where they would be subjected to Dr Knox's well-worn scalpel.
While the march of devilment moved along with apparent ease, matters between Burke and Hare, as well as their despicable women, were not always so smooth. The four people who had been linked together by this joint commission of terror were starting to fight. It's crucial to note the role of the two females at this point, since even if they didn't directly kill the victims, they clearly helped them get into a position where they could be easily negated and destroyed.
Burke and MacDougal left Hare's lodging house in Tanner's Close and moved to a property owned by John Broggan, whose wife was Burke's cousin, after one of the most vocal clashes between the men — spurred by Burke's suspicion that his accomplice was short-changing him. The home was not far from the previous quarters, but Burke's room was the embodiment of humility; it was a little space that was "more like a dungeon than a human being's habitation," with "ancient straw and rugs" covering the two beds. This chamber would eventually, in all its bareness, play its own part in this horrific voyage, but first to one of Burke and Hare's most notable victims.
Perhaps none of the killings elicited as much public outrage as that of James Wilson, who was dubbed 'Daft Jamie' throughout the terrible story. He was one of those 'wandering naturals known to everyone,' with a lack of intelligence but a big heart and a reputation as a universal favorite. This murder, more than any other, elicited the greatest visceral fear in the public imagination. Jamie's name was also included among 'the cries into the ears of Burke on the scaffold during his final minutes on earth' — there was no question that Jamie's death left Edinburgh in mourning.
However, Burke and Hare's suffocation of the simpleton is an important aspect of the Irishmen's bleak trip. While they had established a very clinical and efficient system of dispatch, they were not immune to making mistakes. Jamie had a cult following in Edinburgh, so when his lifeless corpse was discovered on Dr Knox's dissecting table, many in the audience recognized him. Following word of Jamie's disappearance, it was swiftly confirmed around the community that one of Knox's students had seen him on the dissection table, implying that at least one of these men of science recognized him. Burke and Hare may have begun to fear the catastrophic implications of their reign of villainy as the story became a matter of great public wonder, a worry that Edinburgh would not allow to quietly fade into idle gossip. If suspicion had been aroused in the aftermath of Daft Jamie's murder, the murder of Mary Docherty - the last victim – sparked an outburst of cynicism that would finally cement the two men's doom.
Burke noticed Mrs Docherty at a grocery shop on the morning of October 31, an acceptable and diabolical day for the pair's planned acts, and, her being in every way perfect for his malicious aim, struck up a discussion with the old darling. His approach had become so developed that he was soon off to his wicked cave with his new acquaintance in tow, completely ignorant to the fact that she was on her way to her death. Mrs Docherty was greeted warmly by mistress MacDougal, who extended an invitation to breakfast provided by the accommodating Burke. Burke then departed to find his accomplice in crime, whom he found at a nearby alehouse, after exchanging pleasantries and making Mrs Docherty comfortable.
Burke eagerly told his colleague over a gill of whisky that he had 'a terrific shot to take to the physicians' at home. The obedient Hare, who had never shied away from a hard day's labor in this gruesome profession, was delighted to join in, and the two were soon heading off to the newly obtained reward. When MacDougal and the intended quarry arrived at the home, they were busy tidying Burke's shabby room in preparation for an evening of partying, which would be followed by the traditional tragedy. Unfortunately, there was a major stumbling barrier that had to be overcome before any burking could take place.
Burke shared the residence with an elderly veteran called James Gray and his wife Ann. The Grays had only been in the residence for a week, but it was evident that they needed to be removed without causing suspicion. Burke then deftly stated that the elderly woman was a relative of his mother, and Docherty's Irish ancestry very certainly added credence to the myth in the Grays' imaginations. With this in mind, it was deemed uncharitable for Mrs Docherty to be the one to seek other lodging. Burke, of course, could offer alternate lodgings for the pair in the form of Hare's lodging house, and the Grays quickly consented to the notion. As evening approached, the unwelcome couple left for their new abode, inadvertently freeing up the henchmen to perform their monstrous work at their own pleasure. Burke indulged his musical inclinations with versions of his favorite songs, and dancing was gladly engaged in, quite the oxymoron of a prologue to the approaching main event.
Between ten and eleven o'clock, the neighbors heard a huge commotion from Burke's boisterous home, and some were tempted to peep through the keyhole to satisfy their curiosity. Helen MacDougal was spotted pouring alcohol down the old woman's throat, effectively lubricating the victim into oblivion. Mrs Docherty was already beyond tipsy, her senses significantly compromised, and this surely worked with the end goal in mind. Hare took advantage of the situation quickly, knocking the woman to the ground. She was unable to get to her feet after falling heavy after consuming a large amount of alcohol. Mrs Hare and MacDougal, who had been enjoying the festivities just minutes before, made a quick retreat, leaving their vicious beaus to resume their merciless work on the hapless woman.
Burke used the standard approach this time, and another body was ready for Knox in no time. Burke undressed the body and placed it alongside the bed among some straw. Mrs Hare and MacDougal had both returned to the home, knowing that the act would have already been completed and that the doctors would have another issue to deal with. For the last time, the four connivers resumed their debauchery, spending a wild night together. The gang eventually laid down to bed as the clock turned into the following morning, the body of the slain woman beside them, a horrible reminder of the labour that had allowed them to enjoy such hedonistic evenings during their lucrative 'career.'
The assembly awakened as daylight dawned on Saturday, November 1st, aching from the excesses of only hours before. They would soon, however, have a considerably more important issue to deal with. Burke went to Hare's house at 9 p.m., hospitably checking in on his lodgers, who had been rudely ejected from his home the night before. He invited the Grays back to his house for breakfast, and they gladly accepted because they didn't have any at their temporary lodgings. Burke's offer betrays an irrational desire for self-destruction. Knowing that Mrs Docherty's body was at that little lodge where he stayed, there was a huge risk of being discovered. Perhaps he yearned to be exposed, the weight of his acts weighing on him, or perhaps his decisions were simply influenced by the amount of booze he had consumed, giving him a more laid-back attitude than he might otherwise have had.
Whatever the case, when Mr and Mrs Gray arrived to Burke's residence, they were unable to see the elderly woman for whom they had been relocated, causing Mrs Gray to inquire as to where the 'little old lady' had gone. MacDougal's response implied that she had been 'thrown out' of the party due to her inebriated behavior. The Grays apparently accepted the allegation at first since they had seen the woman appear to be in bad shape. Burke became agitated at this point, as though the subtle sobering of his mind was beginning to reveal the precarious situation in which he and his colleagues found themselves.
After all, the newest gift for the surgeons was proudly placed in the corner of the room, barely disguised by a few lengths of straw. Mrs Gray had cause to check the room for a sack of potatoes, which raised Burke's suspicions even more. Burke grew very anxious about her rummaging around the room and ordered that she leave it alone. Mrs Gray's suspicions were aroused by these events, and she anxiously awaited a chance to explain them. She didn't waste any time when the opportunity arose. Mrs Gray took advantage of the fact that Burke and Hare had both left the home. She walked straight to the straw in the corner since it had caught her eye.
When she carefully lifted the straw, the first thing she grabbed was a texture that was incomparably different from dry straw — she was clutching the icy arm of a dead lady. Mr Gray ran over, instantly recognizing the body as the woman Burke had brought there the day before. The terrified pair hurriedly placed the straw back over the body and bolted from the scene. Mr Gray ran into MacDougal on the stairwell as he was leaving. When MacDougal questioned her about what they had just discovered in the room, she went to her knees and pleaded with him to keep quiet about what he had witnessed, even giving him money in exchange for his silence.
She persuaded the Grays to join her for a drink at a nearby bar, where she intended to persuade them that Docherty's death was not connected to anything untoward. She bombarded the pair with a barrage of arguments aimed at absolving them of any fault, including assigning blame to Mrs Docherty herself, alleging that her death was caused by an alcohol overdose. Mr Gray asserted that his conscience would not allow him to keep silent, despite MacDougal's deceptive tongue's best efforts. MacDougal hastily exited the tavern, brimming with dread and panic.
The Grays were adamant about notifying the authorities about what they had seen. Meanwhile, Burke and Hare were busy arranging for the body's transportation to Dr. Knox. It's unclear that either guy was aware of the Grays' previous discovery and consequent threat of exposure at this time; definitely, the duo went about their business prepping the body for the dissecting table, and showed no signs of concern of approaching discovery. Burke had obtained the help of a street porter, John McCulloch, to bring a box to the home and have it delivered to Surgeons' Square.
The shrouded body of old Mrs Docherty was among the contents of the box, which we now know with horrible familiarity. Her ultimate voyage, bundled and trussed inside an inconspicuous box, was a discourteous dumping in a gloomy dungeon near Surgeons' Square, rather than a graceful laying to eternal rest. Mr Gray followed through on his threat and went to the police station to report what he had witnessed at Burke's house. Mr Gray was taken to Burke's residence by Sergeant-Major John Fisher and a Constable Finlay. He questioned Burke and MacDougal about what had happened to their lodger.
Because the two gave contradictory statements, the sergeant decided to capture them both and transport them to the police station right away. Later that evening, the officer and his superior went to Burke's den with Dr. Black, the police medic, with the intention of carefully searching it. They discovered blood-soaked straw under the bed and a striped bed-gown that appeared to belong to the dead woman. A case was emerging around the likelihood of some heinous deed, and Dr Knox's involvement became clear during interviews with the accused. Fisher went to Surgeons' Square and Knox's premises on November 2nd in the hopes of uncovering further proof. He would not be let down. He came across a box holding the body of a woman while stumbling through the wet and dimly lighted cellar. Mr Gray was summoned to assist in a hasty identification of the body, which he dutifully performed, quickly recognizing the deceased as elderly Mrs Docherty, whom he had seen in Burke's house.
When the authorities arrived to apprehend Hare and his wife, they were still in bed. Mrs Hare pretended to be amused by the arrest, perhaps in an attempt to project a demeanor that was at odds with their situation, but this did not prevent them from being apprehended. The two were arrested and placed in separate cells at the police station. The four were now all taken into jail, with the finish in sight and a horrific crescendo looming.
The news of the tragedy spread quickly; on Monday, November 3rd, the Edinburgh Evening Courant headlined a 'Extraordinary Occurrence,' which, while in essence reporting accuracies in the Docherty case, only whetted a public appetite for more, culminating in a flurry of incredible rumours and speculation regarding further grim discoveries made by the police. Meanwhile, the officials were busy with their investigations.
In the first instance, a cause of death was necessary – especially in light of MacDougal's ridiculous theories for Mrs Docherty's death – so they had Docherty's body inspected by numerous physicians, mercifully before our foremost Dr Knox became involved. The findings demonstrated without a shadow of a doubt that she died violently by suffocation, a discovery that was crucial in both damaging MacDougal and bolstering the Crown's case. Burke and MacDougal both made statements before Sheriff George Tait on November 3rd. Burke's original narrative was plagued with improbability and discrepancies — he eventually presented two different accounts.
It is undoubtedly the product of a skilled storyteller, who claims that an unknown figure clad in a greatcoat 'whose cloak was pulled up around his face,' came to his house and asked him to fix some shoes. As he returned to his former trade, the guy appeared to walk the room, commenting on how peaceful it was and how ideal it would be for storing a box for a short period. Burke agreed to accommodate the box, which the man then deposited on the floor near the foot of the bed to recover later. Burke was paid sixpence for his scribbling, and the stranger walked away.
Burke proceeded to inspect the contents of the mystery box, but when he discovered it was empty, he peered beneath the bed in the straw and discovered a body, but he was unclear of its gender. Later, the guy returned to the residence, where Burke chastised him for "carrying such an object into his house." The stranger promised to remove the body in a short time, but it wasn't until the next evening that he did so. The letter as a whole has some credible aspects, and his rendition of the body's arrival was not entirely incompatible with an age where a man might make money by accepting a resurrectionist delivery.
Regardless of whether you believe Burke's account, his presentation of it was blundering and, ultimately, damning. Burke is enlightened by the unexpected acquisition of identity regarding the odd guy who delivered the body, pronouncing him to be none other than William Hare, as his statement proceeds. According to Burke, Hare returned with a street porter to deliver the body to "anyone in Surgeons' Square who will receive it." Burke was re-examined privately in front of Sheriff Tait on November 10th, a week after his original declaration. In various ways, he proclaimed his original assertion to be erroneous.
Mrs Docherty was smothered by throwing herself down in the straw in a condition of drunkenness, according to his altered version, which said that he had not caused her death. He said that he and Hare discovered her amid the straw, her face twisted up and'something resembling vomit' seeping from her lips. 'No violence was done to the woman while she was alive, but it took a lot of energy to get the body into the chest because it was rigid; and they had to bend the head forward and to one side in particular, which may have injured the neck a little,' he continued.
Burke and MacDougal's claims were paradoxical in and of themselves, and directly opposite to the fabrication made a week before. Despite the obviously dismal situation in which William Burke now found himself, Lord Advocate Sir William Rae faced a challenge. Of course, the Grays' evidence was valuable, but it was totally circumstantial and may lead to a miscarriage of justice. Murder had been committed, and according to the authorities, at least one of the four was responsible. Understanding the lay of the land, the crafty and ever-shrewd Hare, on the other hand, reacted in a way that would have far-reaching consequences in the distribution of justice.
The Lord Advocate was terrified of failing to win a conviction in the case, not least because of the rising tide of public outrage in Edinburgh. For a month, the authorities worked nonstop on the case before determining that the only way to get a successful conviction was to persuade Hare to flip King's evidence. This would include Hare confessing to his role in the killings and testifying as a Crown witness against the very accomplice with whom he had shared ill-gotten money. Hare asked that he and his wife be granted immunity from prosecution in exchange for this. This relieved the Lord Advocate's difficulties, and he cheerfully accepted the terms; a solitary conviction was better to a widespread avoidance of justice.
William Burke and Helen MacDougal were issued a citation on December 8, 1828, 'charging them to appear before the High Court of Justiciary, convened at Edinburgh on Wednesday 24 December, at 10 a.m. to underlie the law for the crime of murder.' As the trial date approached, the public's interest heightened in intensity. The rage against the criminals was palpable, probably heightened by the news that Hare and his wife would be welcomed as informers, which was met with inevitable disapproval.
The trial and its potential results became the topic of conversation, and the impending discoveries were eagerly anticipated. Burke and MacDougal were taken from the Carlton Hill jail and placed in the cells underneath the High Court in Parliament Square in the early hours of Christmas Eve 1828, in preparation for the case's hearing. The square would play witness to this explosive drama, gathering the Scottish Bar's elite as well as Edinburgh's city people, all of whom would arrive early to secure entry to the courtroom. The Edinburgh Evening Courant reported the next day that "no trial in recent years has elicited such extraordinary and intense interest; all the entrances and corridors to the court were correspondingly besieged at an early hour, even before dawn."
At nine o'clock, the courtroom was bursting at the ceremonial seams, with members of the faculty and, of course, the eager jury, all streaming to their places above the loathsome couple who awaited their destiny with trepidation. The couple were taken up and placed in the dock shortly before 10 o'clock, with people straining every sinew to see the apparent epitomes of wickedness. Burke, who was short and heavy, was dressed in a faded blue surtout coat. Nothing in his physiognomy indicated an inclination to act harshly or cruelly, elements that were undoubtedly present in the crimes for which he was being prosecuted. The concept that criminals might be detected by bodily abnormalities that verified their brutality was widespread at the time. It was formerly considered that chronic killers might be detected by their 'bloodshot eyes and large noses,' both of which Burke would undoubtedly have. The audience, having avidly surveyed the captives, was no doubt shocked by the lack of such distinguishing marks, but that did not stop the staring eyes from focusing on them, monitoring their every move as if they were still a menace.
When the judges climbed the bench and the lordships took their seats, the clock had moved just past 10 o'clock. Sir William Rae, Lord Advocate, represented the Crown, while William Burke's lawyers included the Dean of Faculty, Messrs Patrick Robertson, Duncan McNeil, and David Milne. Messrs. Henry Cockburn, Mark Napier, Hugh Bruce, and George Paton sided with Helen MacDougal, the female prisoner who appeared'more troubled' than her more collected counterpart. The finest men of the Scottish Bar were gathered together in one single melting pot of sensationalism in the above roll-call of distinction.
The sitting judge, Lord Justice Clerk David Boyle, then requested that the inmates pay close attention to the long indictment read against them. The indictment generated significant consternation since it linked Helen MacDougal to the killings Burke had committed. Prejudice was certain to emerge as a result, but no evidence was presented in court to substantiate the allegation against her. Burke was accused of committing 'just' three murders: Mary Paterson, Daft Jamie, and Mary Docherty. Of fact, the authorities were aware that the death toll was far more than three, but proof had been difficult to gather, particularly due to the lack of physical corpses.
In terms of justice as a platform for revenge, however, the consequence for the duo if proven guilty would be the same, regardless of statistics. In light of the indictment's inconsistencies, changes were made to the effect that "the charges be independently proceeded with," with the Lord Advocate having the authority to choose which accusation would be tried first. He then indicated his intention to pursue the third allegation in the indictment, Mary Docherty's murder. Both inmates were subsequently called to enter pleas to the new indictment, and they both pleaded 'not guilty.' The trial might commence now that preliminary objections have been overcome.
Burke and MacDougal's trial was accompanied by a lengthy 'cast' list. Fifty-five people were given instructions to serve as witnesses, albeit not all of them were utilised. The testimony of William Hare, the second half of the homicidal duo, was perhaps the most eagerly anticipated. Hare's appearance caused quite a stir when he was brought forward. This was an unusual circumstance since the Crown's case was built on evidence presented by both Hare and his wife; 'expectation waited on tiptoe' to hear the tale he would depict in which he himself was a significant actor.
His role as an informer necessitated some clarification, and he was reassuringly warned that "whatever share you may have had in the transaction, if you now speak the truth, you can never be questioned in a court of justice afterwards." However, if he tries to hide something, he will face the proper punishment. Hare was then taken under oath and interrogated about Mrs Docherty's death. In response to the Lord Advocate, Hare's description of the murder ought to be printed, since it provides an astonishing first-hand account of 'burking' in action:
He [Burke] stood on the floor; – he then got stride-legs on top of the woman on the floor, and she cried out a little, and he kept her in breath.
Did he lay himself upon her? Yes; he pressed down her head with his breast.
She gave a kind of cry, did she? Yes.
Did she give that more than once? She moaned a little after the first cry.
How did he apply his hand towards her? He put one hand under the nose, and the other under her chin, under her mouth.
He stopped her breath, do you mean? Yes.
Did he continue this for any length of time? I could not exactly say the time; ten or fifteen minutes.
Did he say anything when this was going on? No, he said nothing.
Did he then come off her? Yes; he got up off her.
Did she appear dead then? Yes; she appeared dead a wee.
Did she appear to be quite dead? She was not moving; I could not say whether she was dead or not.
What did he do then? He put his hand across her mouth.
Did he keep it there for any length of time? He kept it two or three minutes.
What were you doing all this time? I was sitting on the chair.
What did he do with the body? He stripped off the clothes. He took it and threw it at the foot of the bed, doubled her up, and threw a sheet over her; he tied her head to her feet.
Hare's testimony sparked a lot of commotion in the courtroom. His provision of a gruesome glimpse into a realm rarely visited by the general public may have pleased the curious, but his wife's presence was to provoke comparable levels of interest. Mrs Hare was ushered into the witness box while holding her young child in her arms, adding to the already tragic scenario. Her testimony was also notable in that it almost totally corroborated with her husband's. They had most likely rehearsed the scenario before to their arrest, implying that they were well aware of their predicament.
Following the Hares' testimony, it was the turn of the police surgeon, who would declare decisively that Mrs Docherty had died from suffocation or strangling, not from drunkenness. The prosecution case was closed by the convicts' declarations, while the defense presented no proof. The Lord Advocate began his statement to the fifteen-member jury immediately after the declarations were read. In his introductory words, he clearly portrayed the general sentiment and dread that had pervaded Edinburgh: This is one of the most unusual and original cases ever brought before this or any other court, and it has sparked widespread fear and panic. I'm not shocked by the fervor, since the charges are so heinous that human nature recoils and revolts.
After reviewing the vast amount of evidence in the case, the Lord Advocate addressed the issue of Hare's admissibility and, of course, credibility. He agreed that a case against the accused would have been hard to prove without Hare's aid. His Lordship claimed that the testimony he had given was completely believable, especially because it was backed up by other independent evidence.
The trial had now extended into Christmas Day, but nothing – no matter how festive – could detract from the fascination that the case had sparked. The Lord Justice Clerk began summarizing the evidence to the jury, who would now be asked to put their own indelible stamp on the proceedings. The trial had started at ten o'clock the day before, and it was now half past eight on Christmas morning. The jurors took a break for 50 minutes to contemplate their decision, which seemed like an eternity by today's standards.
The jury returned to the courtroom, leaving the spectators stunned and waiting. 'The jury find the pannel, William Burke, guilty of the third charge in the indictment; and find the indictment not proven against the pannel, Helen MacDougal,' said the foreman, Mr John McFie. For William Burke, there would be no Christmas miracle. The news was quickly relayed to the massive audience outside in Parliament Square, who erupted in exuberant applause.
According to Scottish law, "the individual guilty of intentional and premeditated murder shall be put to death." 'The prisoner be imprisoned in the tollbooth of Edinburgh until the 28th day of January next, when he shall die on a gibbet by the hands of the common executioner, and his corpse subsequently delivered for dissection,' was the recommended punishment. Of course, this last proposal that his corpse suffer the same fate as his victims is laced with dark irony, likely to elicit laughter and good humour from the crowd.
William Burke could do nothing but prepare most adequately for his appearance before 'the throne of almighty God' as they dispersed from Parliament Square to celebrate the merriest of Christmases. Indeed, he went to great lengths to prepare for death, meeting with priests of several churches and praying to a God he had never met before. Burke looked to be calm as he faced his impending destiny. He apparently stated that if he were offered a pardon, he would turn it down. Though unlikely, the very suggestion would send shivers up the spines of the populace, who still felt betrayed that Hare and the women had escaped punishment.
Despite the fact that one out of four was not ideal, they eagerly anticipated Wednesday, January 28, 1829. The preparations at the Lawnmarket execution site were extensive, bringing spectators who delighted in seeing the scaffold being built, roaring enthusiastically as the structure took shape. The pelting rain did not stop people eager to see Burke punished for his misdeeds, who began to arrive 'about two o'clock in the morning.' By 7:00 p.m., the immediate area around the scaffold was completely packed by one of the densest crowds ever seen in Edinburgh, with an estimated 25,000 people in attendance. Windows with even a partial view of the location had been purchased days ahead of time, an enterprising venture that Burke himself may be pleased of.
Before being met by executioner Thomas Williams, who began pinioning him, the condemned man began his final devotional exercises. Burke expressed his thanks to the courts and prison authorities who had shown him kindness beyond his worthy throughout his incarceration, realizing that his time had come. After that, the solemn march from the prison to the scaffold started. He strolled along Liberton's Wynd towards the Lawnmarket, flanked on all sides. When the parade came into view, the cacophony of voices let forth an overwhelming and synchronized yell, as if it had been practiced. Burke was understandably moved by the mob's vehement hate for him; had the throng overrun the barricades that had packed them so closely, he would have been ripped to shreds. As a result, he hurriedly approached the scaffold. His display of terror had little effect on the crowd's rage; in fact, his presence just added to the tensions.
‘Burke him, choke him!’ yelled the crowd. Reverend Marshall offered short prayers with Burke kneeling at his feet, which only ignited greater animation; in this position, Burke became obscured from view, and this was one execution that could not be missed. The desire to see Burke hang was total, but the other players had not been forgotten. ‘Hare, Hare, bring out Hare! Hang Knox too!’ they pleaded. But on this day, Burke had to suffice and now was his time. Williams prepared his man, amid shouts of, ‘You’ll see Daft Jamie in a minute!’, a sobering reminder of his next destination. With the noose around Burke’s neck, Williams hesitated. He struggled to loosen Burke’s neckerchief, as it seemed the knot was in the wrong place; positioning at the side of the head would result in a clean break of the neck.
‘The knot’s behind,’ uttered Burke instructively; no final words of redemption or solace, merely advice upon administering death – yet who better to advise upon this than the greatest murderer of his time? The counsel, on the other hand, was unwelcome — given Burke's sins, the executioner may have wished to guarantee a long and agonizing death. He was successful if this was the case. Burke'struggled a good deal, and put out his legs as if catching something with his feet; but some of the undertaker's men, who were below the drop, took him by the feet, and sent him spinning round – a motion which was continued until he was drawn up above the level of the scaffold,' according to a witness.
The body was dissected, and the man who had been so active in providing so many subjects for issection had now become one himself, albeit one of greater 'ordinary interest' than any before him.
Professor Monro openly dissected his corpse on February 1st. The notoriety of Monro's'subject' insured that he, not the disgraced Knox, would finally have a packed lecture hall. Monro dipped his quill pen into Burke's blood during the two-hour surgery and wrote, "This is written with the blood of William Burke, who was hung in Edinburgh." His skull was drained of blood.' Burke's skeleton was sent to the Edinburgh Medical School's Anatomical Museum, where it is still on display today, indicating that his legacy extends beyond the lexicon.