Читать книгу Trial of Deacon Brodie - Группа авторов - Страница 4

Foot of Brodie’s Close, Cowgate. (From a Drawing by Bruce J. Home.)

to his father’s trade, and in due time became associated with him in his thriving business. In those days no self-denying ordinance obtained in the Town Council, and Francis Brodie’s municipal connection secured for him and his son the most of the city work. The young man had the ball at his foot, as the saying goes, and only good behaviour and application to business were required for the attainment of an assured position. Unhappily for himself, however, he soon exhibited that taste for dissipation which ultimately led to such dire results; and while his days were occupied in following his respectable employment, in which he speedily obtained proficiency, his nights were largely devoted to gambling and kindred pursuits.

The social customs of the time were not conducive to steadiness and sobriety among the youthful citizens. It was the Edinburgh of Humphrey Clinker and of Topham’s Letters; the “Auld Reikie” of Fergusson’s convivial muse—

Auld Reikie! wale o’ ilka town

That Scotland kens beneath the moon;

Whare couthy chiels at e’ening meet

Their bizzing craigs and mou’s to weet:

And blythly gar auld Care gae bye

Wi’ blinkit and wi’ bleering eye.

The early hours of the evening were at that period universally spent by Edinburgh tradesmen in one or other of the innumerable taverns of the old town. So soon as the business of the day was over, as Fergusson tells us—

When auld Saunt Giles, at aught o’clock,

Gars merchant louns their shopies lock,

There we adjourn wi’ hearty fock

To birle our bodies,

And get wharewi’ to crack our joke,

And clear our noddles.

“All the shops in the town,” says Chambers, “were then shut at eight o’clock, and from that hour until ten—when the drum of the Town Guard announced at once a sort of licence for the deluging of the streets with nuisances, and a warning of the inhabitants home to their beds—unrestrained scope was given to the delights of the table.” At the latter hour the more reputable roysterers sought their homes; but it was then that the clubs, which formed so prominent a feature of the old city life, began the business of the evening. Fergusson, who has given us in his incomparable “Auld Reikie” a glowing picture of the Edinburgh of his day, thus alludes to the subject—

Now Night, that’s cunzied chief for fun,

Is wi’ her usual rites begun;

Thro’ ilka gate the torches blaze,

And globes send out their blinking rays.

Now some to porter, some to punch,

Some to their wife, and some their wench,

Retire, while noisy ten-hours drum

Gars a’ your trades gae dandring home.

Now mony a club, jocose and free,

Gi’e a’ to merriment and glee;

Wi’ sang and glass, they fley the pow’r

O’ care that wad harass the hour.

But chief, O Cape! we crave thy aid,

To get our cares and poortith laid:

Sincerity, and genius true,

Of Knights have ever been the due:

Mirth, music, porter deepest dy’d,

Are never here to worth deny’d;

And health, o’ happiness the queen,

Blinks bonny, wi’ her smile serene.

Of this, the most famous of the Edinburgh social clubs, Brodie was admitted a member on 25th February, 1775. The Cape Club usually held its festivals in James Mann’s tavern, facetiously known as “The Isle of Man Arms,” situated in Craig’s Close. The roll of the Knights Companions of the Cape contains many celebrated names, including those of David Herd, the antiquarian; Robert Fergusson, the poet; Alexander Runciman, the painter; and Sir Henry Raeburn—William Brodie’s election occurring four months after Fergusson’s death. Each member was required to assume some fanciful title, Brodie taking that of “Sir Lluyd.” On the margin of the roll prefixed to the minute-book an ingenious member has drawn a representation of his last public appearance on the new drop, some thirteen years later. The insignia of the Sovereign of the Cape are in the possession of the Society of Antiquaries, together with the club records, excerpts from which relating to Deacon Brodie will be found in the Appendix.

Had young Brodie been satisfied with the legitimate and very ample convivialities afforded by the Cape Club it would have been better for himself. But he became a frequenter of a disreputable tavern kept by James Clark, vintner, at the head of the Fleshmarket Close, where gambling by means of

Cock-fighting Match between the Counties of Lanark and Haddington in 1785, at which Deacon Brodie was present. (After Kay.)

dice was nightly practised in a select company of sharpers and their dupes. It is probable that this house still survives in the truncated portion of the close remaining between the High Street and Cockburn Street. He also developed, among other “gentlemanly vices,” a passion for cock-fighting, at that time a fashionable recreation among the young bloods of the capital, and was a regular attender at the mains held in the cock-pit belonging to Michael Henderson, stabler in the Grass-market, of whom we shall hear further in the sequel. Brodie, who is said to have lost large sums in betting on his favourite sport, was present, among other “eminent cockers,” at the historic match between the counties of Lanark and Haddington, of which an account is given in “Kay’s Portraits.” In allusion to this contest, Kay observes—“It cannot but appear surprising that noblemen and gentlemen, who upon any other occasion will hardly show the smallest degree of condescension to their inferiors, will, in the prosecution of this barbarous amusement, demean themselves so far as to associate with the very lowest characters in society.” Brodie himself kept game-cocks in a pen in his woodyard, and retained to the last his attachment to the “art of cocking.” Between his bets at the cock-pits and his gambling at Clark’s, the young man must have got rid of a good deal of money; and it is believed that he had already begun to supplement his income by the nefarious means which later he certainly employed.

One night in August, 1768, the counting-house of Johnston & Smith, bankers in the Exchange, was entered by means of a false key, and upwards of £800 in bank notes carried off. Two nights afterwards £225 of the money was found, wrapped in paper, at the door of the Council Chamber; but the balance was never recovered, and no clue to the delinquent could be obtained. The discovery, many years afterwards, of Deacon Brodie’s exploits induced a strong suspicion that he was concerned in the affair. It was then recollected that, prior to the robbery, the Deacon had been employed in making various repairs on the premises, and had frequent occasion to be in the bank. The key of the outer door, from which it was ascertained he had taken an impression in putty, usually hung in the passage, a custom of which the Deacon, as we shall find, often afterwards took unscrupulous advantage.

At this time, however, no one dreamt of suspecting Brodie, whose secret dissipations were known only to his disreputable associates. Outwardly he was following worthily in his father’s footsteps, and, on 9th February, 1763, was, like him, made a Burgess and Guild Brother of Edinburgh. In September, 1781, he also became a member of the Town Council as Deacon of the Incorporation of Wrights, and his connection with the Council continued from that date till the year before his apprehension, as follows:—Deacon of the Wrights in 1782 and 1783; Trades Councillor in 1784, and, again, Deacon of the Wrights in 1786 and 1787. In 1785 he was not a member of the Town Council. Robert Fergusson, in his poem, “The Election,” has, with his usual felicity, portrayed the humours of an Edinburgh municipal election according to the old mode, when—

... Deacons at the counsel stent

To get themsel’s presentit:

For towmonths twa their saul is lent,

For the town’s gude indentit.

The minute of Deacon Brodie’s last election, on 20th September, 1786, will be found in the Appendix, together with other excerpts from the Council records, bearing upon his official life.

In the new Deacon’s first year of office occurred the political contest between Sir Laurence Dundas, who had represented the city in Parliament from 1760 to 1780, and William Miller, afterwards Lord Glenlee. The Town Council was divided into two hostile camps, and extraordinary efforts were made by each party to secure the return of its own candidate. Both claimed to have been duly elected member for Edinburgh; but, as the result of a parliamentary inquiry, Sir Laurence retained the seat. Deacon Brodie made a conspicuous figure in this election by keeping back his promise to vote for either party, in consequence of which he became a man of great moment to both the candidates, because upon his vote the election turned.

On 1st June, 1782, Convener Francis Brodie “died of the Palsy att his own house in Edinburgh, att 5 o’clock afternoon, in the 74th year of his age”; and William, his son, reigned in his stead. We read in the Annual Register for 1788—“However extraordinary it may appear, it is a certain fact that Mr. Brodie at the death of his father, which happened about six years ago, inherited a considerable estate in houses in the city of Edinburgh, together with £10,000 in specie; but by an unhappy connection and a too great propensity to that destructive, though too predominant passion, gaming, he is reduced to his present deplorable situation.” That the Deacon owned some heritable property other than the family mansion in Brodie’s Close, appears from a statement by the author of “Kay’s Portraits” (1877, vol. I., pp. 141-2). It is there said that a house in Gourlay’s Land, Old Bank Close, was purchased from the trustee for the Deacon’s creditors in 1789 by William Martin, bookseller and auctioneer in Edinburgh, who subsequently sold the property to the Bank of Scotland in 1793. From the state of affairs, which he prepared at a later date as aftermentioned, it is evident that Brodie owned, in addition to this property, three other tenements, respectively situated in Horse Wynd, at the Nether Bow, and in World’s End Close. We also find from the Council records that, in 1785, he was speculating in the building lots of the New Town.

The “unhappy connection” above mentioned refers to the Deacon’s two mistresses, Anne Grant and Jean Watt. Anne Grant resided in Cant’s Close, and her relations with William Brodie must have been long continued, for she had borne three children to him, the eldest, Cecil, being a girl of twelve at the time of his trial. To Anne Grant he addressed one of the letters written after his escape from Scotland, by which, as will be seen, he was traced and brought to justice. Jean Watt, by whom he had two boys, lived in Libberton’s Wynd, close to his own house, and was the principal witness to the alibi attempted to be set up for him at his trial. Each of these women was presumably ignorant of the other’s existence, and the Deacon’s connection with both appears to have been unknown to his family and friends. After his father’s death his sister, Jean Brodie, presided over his household; his other sister, Jacobina, to whom he refers in his letters as “Jamie,” having married Matthew Sheriff, an upholsterer in Edinburgh.

It seems incredible, regard being had to the confined and crowded stage on which the old city life was played, that Deacon Brodie’s protracted peccadilloes escaped the notice of those “stairhead critics,” who, Fergusson tells us—

Wi’ glowring eye,

Their neighbours’ sma’est faults descry.

But, if the facts were generally known, the estimable reputation which he nevertheless enjoyed is characteristic of the social conventions of his day.

Had it not been for the Deacon’s unhappy propensity for gambling and dissipation, his circumstances at this time should have been highly satisfactory. During his term of office he was regularly employed by his fellow-Councillors to execute wrightwork in connection with the town—his accounts for the year 1782-3, for instance, amounting to upwards of £600. In addition to the city work, his social and official position had secured for him the best cabinetmaking business in Edinburgh; but, notwithstanding these advantages, he was frequently at a loss for money.

Deacon Brodie was already, in Stevenson’s striking phrase, “a man harassed below a mountain of duplicity,” and to one so circumstanced it is not surprising that the idea occurred of putting his professional opportunities to an unlawful use. He knew the locks and bolts of all the houses of his customers; was familiar with their internal arrangements and the habits of the owners; and could, without incurring remark, exhibit in such matters a professional interest in the houses of his friends and acquaintances. No doubt he was sometimes consulted, at a later stage, as to the best means of defence against his own infraction. He was shortly, as we shall see, to become the leader of a gang of robbers, whose mysterious depredations, under his skilful conduct, were, during eighteen months, to baffle the authorities and strike terror to the hearts of wealthy burgesses; but at the outset of his career of crime the Deacon worked alone.

“Many a citizen,” says Stevenson, “was proud to welcome the Deacon to supper, and dismissed him with regret at a timeous hour, who would have been vastly disconcerted had he known how soon, and in what guise, his visitor returned. Many stories are told of this redoubtable Edinburgh burglar, but the one I have in my mind most vividly gives the key of all the rest. A friend of Brodie’s, nesting some way towards heaven in one of these great ‘lands,’ had told him of a projected visit to the country, and afterwards, detained by some affairs, put it off and stayed the night in town. The good man had lain some time awake; it was far on in the small hours by the Tron bell; when suddenly there came a creak, a jar, a faint light. Softly he clambered out of bed and up to a false window which looked upon another room, and there, by the glimmer of a thieves’ lantern, was his good friend the Deacon in a mask.”

Another story, illustrative of the methods of this pioneer of amateur cracksmen, is as follows:—One Sunday an old lady, precluded by indisposition from attending the kirk, was quietly reading her Bible at home. She was alone in the house—her servant having gone to church—when she was startled by the apparition of a man, with a crape over his face, in the room where she was sitting. The stranger quietly lifted the keys which were lying on the table beside her, opened her bureau, from which he took out a large sum of money, and then, having locked it and replaced the keys upon the table, retired with a respectful bow. The old lady, meanwhile, had looked on in speechless amazement, but no sooner was she left alone than she exclaimed, “Surely that was Deacon Brodie!”—which subsequent events proved to be the fact.

On both of these occasions it is to be noted that, although the Deacon was recognised, no action was taken by his victims. In the first instance the man hesitated to denounce his friend; in the second the old lady preferred to doubt the evidence of her senses—a striking proof of the advantages conferred by a respectable reputation.

Apart altogether from the question of gain, it is probable that Deacon Brodie, in adopting these criminal courses, was influenced by the dramatic possibilities of his new part. The minor duplicities which hitherto he had so successfully practised would thus be capable of development upon a larger stage; and, to one of his peculiar temperament, the prospect doubtless afforded fascinating opportunities for deception. To rob a friend’s house of an evening, and in the morning condole with him upon his loss; to carry through some daring burglary overnight, and gravely deliberate next day in the Council Chamber as to offering a reward for discovery of the perpetrator—these were situations after the Deacon’s heart.

Throughout the whole course of the robberies which we are about to consider, it is to be kept in view that Deacon Brodie retained the respect and esteem of his fellow-citizens—for his reputation among the associates of his secret life is immaterial; daily pursued his lawful avocations; and regularly attended the meetings of the Council, taking his share in the conduct of the town’s affairs. And so masterly was his performance of this dual rôle that no suspicion of the Deacon’s integrity was aroused, until the failure of the “last fatal” business of the Excise Office and the treachery of an accomplice shattered, at once and for ever, the elaborate fabric of his deceit.

We can form a vivid impression of the appearance of Deacon Brodie about this time from the description of him which was circulated some two years later. From this it appears that he was a small man—“about 5 feet 4 inches”—of a slender build, and looking younger than his age. He had “dark brown, full eyes, with large black eyebrows, and a cast with his eye that gave him somewhat the look of a Jew,” a sallow complexion, and a peculiar manner of speaking, “which he did full and slow.” From the minute details of his dress and toilet it is evident that the Deacon was something of a dandy, or, in the language of the day, “a macaroni.” He had also “a particular air in his walk, and moved in a proud, swaggering sort of style,” while the advertisement includes such particulars as the size of his ankles and the turn of his calves. We shall afterwards find that this very candid portrait was not appreciated by its original.

About the month of July, 1786, there arrived in Edinburgh a man who was to exercise a powerful influence for evil upon the Deacon’s fortunes. This was George Smith, a native of Boxford, near Newburgh, in Berkshire, who was travelling the country as a hawker with a horse and cart. He was a stranger to Edinburgh, and put up at Michael Henderson’s house in the Grassmarket, having heard it mentioned on the road as a traveller’s inn. Soon after his arrival he fell sick, and, his illness lasting for some four months, he was reduced to selling his goods, and finally his horse, in order to support himself and his wife, for whom he had meanwhile sent into England to join him. Among the frequenters of Michael Henderson’s tavern were two men, Andrew Ainslie and John Brown alias Humphry Moore, of whom, prior to their doings in connection with the robbing of the Excise Office, but little is known. Ainslie is designed in the Crown list of witnesses as “sometime shoemaker in Edinburgh,” but his attention to his professional practice was less marked than his addiction to dicing and the company of cheats. Brown—like Smith, an Englishman—was a noted sharper, and had been convicted of theft at the Old Bailey in April, 1784, and sentenced to transportation beyond the seas for a term of seven years. He had, however, contrived to escape from justice, and was then lurking in Edinburgh, ready for any villainy that might prove remunerative.

With these two agreeable acquaintances Smith beguiled the tedium of convalescence in various games of hazard, in which, owing to the skill of the players, but little was left to the blindness of Fortune; and at this time he first made the acquaintance of Deacon Brodie, who, in connection with his cock-fighting proclivities, had long been a patron of the house. It is probable that, at this juncture, the Deacon’s resources were at a low ebb. Notwithstanding the income he derived from his varied interests and pursuits, his passion for gambling was a constant drain upon his purse, and the expense of maintaining no less than three establishments at once must also have been considerable, while the success of his earlier robberies doubtless induced him to extend his future operations by the assumption of a partner.

Be that as it may, we have it from Smith’s second declaration that Brodie, early in the intimacy which, in spite of the disparity in their social positions, speedily sprang up between them, suggested to him in the course of conversation “that several things could be done in this place, if prudently managed, to great advantage, and proposed that they should lay their heads together for that purpose.” Smith is said to have been at one period of his career a locksmith in Birmingham, and his abilities in this direction may have first led the Deacon to select him as an accomplice. From the readiness with which Smith embraced this proposition we may assume that his past record was not so blameless as he would have us believe.

In the following account of the burglaries (other than that of the Excise Office) committed by Deacon Brodie and his associates, the details are given from the various statements made by Smith, and, so far as possible, in his own words; but there is good reason for believing that these by no means disclose the full extent of the depredations for which the gang was responsible.

When the invalid was sufficiently recovered, the new friends, “in consequence of this concert, were in use to go about together in order to find out proper places where business could be done with success.” In the course of these interesting excursions, Smith relates that one evening in November, 1786, they visited a hardware shop in Bridge Street belonging to Davidson M‘Kain, armed with false keys, an iron crow, and a dark lantern. Having opened the outer door, Smith entered the shop, his companion remaining outside to watch. Smith was inside for about half-an-hour, and Brodie, becoming impatient, called out what made him stay so long—was he taking an inventory of the shop? The result appears to have been disappointing; but among the goods removed was a red pocket-book, which Smith presented, as a token of gratitude, to “Michael Henderson, stabler in Grassmarket, his daughter.”

About a fortnight later the two worthies again repaired to M‘Kain’s shop with the view of making a more thorough clearance. The same methods were adopted; but before Smith could get to work he was disturbed by movements in a neighbouring room, and fled, shutting the shop door after him. Brodie had already beaten a retreat. A little later, however, the pair walked arm-in-arm down Bridge Street to reconnoitre the premises, but, seeing a man on the watch, “and a guard soldier standing opposite at the head of the stair which goes down to the Fleshmarket, they passed along the bridge, and afterwards went to their several homes, as nothing could be done further that night.” This, according to Smith, was their first joint depredation; but there is reason to believe that a much more important robbery, which was committed on 9th October, the previous month—when a goldsmith’s shop near the Council Chambers was broken into and many valuable articles carried off—was also the Deacon’s handiwork.

An ostensible occupation had been found for Smith, and he was established in a house in the Cowgate, where his wife and he kept a small grocery shop. Brodie had now introduced his new friend to his own favourite “howff”—Clark, the vintner’s at the head of the Fleshmarket Close—where it was their habit to foregather nightly for the purpose of gambling and discussing future opportunities for the exercise of their felonious talents. Hither, also, came Ainslie and Brown, from the lodging which they occupied together at the foot of Burnet’s Close, but who were not yet admitted to share the others’ councils. On 8th December, we read that “the shop of John Law, tobacconist in the Enchange, was broken into, and a cannister containing between ten and twelve pounds of money carried off.” This robbery, though not confessed to by Smith, was probably committed by him and Brodie.

Stimulated to further efforts by the inadequate results of these operations, the Deacon now proposed to Smith a more important undertaking. He had recently been employed by the magistrates, in consequence of the lowering of the streets, to alter the door of the shop in Bridge Street belonging to Messrs. John & Andrew Bruce, jewellers, there. This, he said, “would be a very proper shop for breaking into,” as it contained valuable goods, and his familiarity with the lock would make it an easy matter to effect an entrance. It was accordingly agreed that they should meet at Clark’s on the evening of Saturday, 24th December, for the purpose of carrying out the robbery. Arriving there, they fell to playing hazard with other members of “the club,” as it was called by the questionable characters who frequented the house, and Smith, the luck being against him, soon lost all his money. Brodie, on the other hand, was winning steadily, and refused to leave, turning a deaf ear to his friend’s repeated reminders that business should come before pleasure and their work awaited them. It was nearly four in the morning when Smith decided to wait no longer, “as the time for doing their business was going,” and started by himself upon the exploit. The lock presented no difficulties, and, by the light of his dark lantern, he was able to reap an excellent harvest. “Ten watches, five of them gold, three silver, with the whole rings, lockets, and other jewellery and gold trinkets in the show-boxes,” were all stuffed into two old black stockings and carried by Smith to the hospitable Mr. Henderson’s stable, where he hid them in a manger, and was at last free to seek the shelter of his grocery establishment in the Cowgate.

Smith was up betimes on the Sunday, and by eight o’clock was “tirling” at the door in Brodie’s Close, to inform the Deacon of what he had missed. The maid told him, however, that her master was still in bed, so Smith left a message that he wanted to see him, and returned home. Later in the day the Deacon called upon him, and Smith, having meantime fetched the black stockings from the Grassmarket, poured out upon the bed their glittering contents, remarking, “You see what luck I have been in; you might have been there, but, as you did not go, you cannot expect a full share. But there are the goods; pick out what you choose for yourself”—which certainly seems handsome behaviour on Smith’s part, although Brodie afterwards complained that he had been treated badly in the matter. The Deacon accordingly selected for his own use a gold seal, a gold watch-key set with garnet stones, and two gold rings. They valued the whole articles at £350 sterling, and must have been good judges, for that was the figure which the owners themselves subsequently put upon the goods.

That same day they walked past Bruce’s shop several times to see if the robbery had been discovered, but found everything as they had left it. Delighted at the success of his coup, Smith boldly proposed returning that night “in order,” as he said, “to sweep the shop clean,” but Brodie dissuaded him from so hazardous an attempt. They then consulted as to the safest means of disposing of the goods, with the result that, on the following Wednesday, Smith set off with them on foot to Dunbar, and from thence took the mail-coach to Chesterfield, where he parted with them to one John Tasker alias Murray—who had previously been banished from Scotland—for £105. The Deacon had advanced five and a half guineas for the expenses of the journey, and, on his return, Smith repaid this sum, and entrusted Brodie with the balance to keep for him, and give him as he required it; but Brodie “gained a great part of it at play.” The Deacon, therefore, did not do so badly after all.

Head of Brodie’s Close, Lawnmarket. (From a Drawing by Bruce J. Home.)

It is interesting to note in passing that during this period—the winter of 1786-7—Deacon Brodie had for an opposite neighbour no less a person than Robert Burns. While the poet was sharing his friend Richmond’s lodgings in Baxter’s Close, Lawnmarket, there also dwelt in the adjacent Wardrop’s Court Alexander Nasmyth, the artist, whose portrait of Burns was painted at this time. It is probable that the poet, the painter, and the Deacon foregathered with other kindred spirits at Johnnie Dowie’s tavern in Libberton’s Wynd, the recognised resort of the Edinburgh wits of that day.

The partners seem to have rested satisfied with the substantial profits of their last transaction for a considerable time, for the next robbery of which we have any details was not carried out till 16th August, 1787. In this, for the first time, they had the advantage of Ainslie’s assistance, he being taken into their confidence for that end. The three repaired to Leith, to the shop of John Carnegie, a grocer at the foot of St. Andrew Street, which Ainslie and Smith entered by means of pick-locks—Brodie remaining without to watch—and carried off “350 pounds of fine black tea,” at that period a very valuable haul. Two wallets were filled from the chests in the shop, but “Ainslie being ill at this time and Brodie being weakly,” they were forced to abandon one of the wallets, which they hid in a shed in a field by the Bonnington Road, where it was afterwards recovered. The Deacon objected to the other wallet being taken to his house, and what became of it is not known.

In their next undertaking the company was raised to its full strength by the accession of John Brown alias Humphry Moore, whose previous experiences in England eminently qualified him to take an important part in such criminal enterprises. Brown appears to have been spending the autumn in Stirlingshire, but his visit was suddenly brought to a close in September on his banishment from that county by the Justices of the Peace for a theft committed by him within their jurisdiction. This was a more boldly conceived robbery than the gang had yet attempted—no less than the theft of the silver mace belonging to the University of Edinburgh. The Deacon, in the course of those walks with Smith, in which healthful exercise was combined with an eye to business, “carried” the latter “to the College Library, where, having observed the mace standing, Brodie said that they must have it.” Ainslie was accordingly sent to see where the mace was usually kept, and reported that it was in the Library, where the others had seen it. Accordingly, on the night of 29th October, 1787, the quartet proceeded to the University. “Having got access at the under gate, they opened the under door leading to the Library with a false key, which broke in the lock; and thereafter they broke open the door of the Library with an iron crow, and carried away the College mace.” The magistrates offered a reward of ten guineas for a discovery of the thieves, but without success. The mace was forthwith despatched to the accommodating Tasker, of Chesterfield, at the appropriate address of the “Bird in Hand,” and the macer thereof knew it no more.

Brown appears entitled to the credit of planning the next robbery, and took a leading part in its execution. In those days the merchants of Edinburgh usually resided above their business premises, and the key of the shop was hung on the inside of the door—a habit highly appreciated by the Deacon’s little band. Brown brought to Smith the key of a shop belonging to one John Tapp, which, he said, also opened the door of that gentleman’s house; and Smith, having cast a professional eye over same, assured him “there was nothing in it.” Thereafter, one evening about Christmas time, between nine and ten o’clock, Brown dropped in upon John Tapp, whom he detained in his shop over a friendly and seasonable bottle. His associates, meanwhile, opened the house door with a false key and rifled the good man’s repositories, making off with “eighteen guinea notes, and a twenty shilling one, a silver watch, some rings, and a miniature picture of a gentleman belonging to Tapp’s wife, which picture they broke for the sake of the gold with which it was backed.” One wonders if Mrs. Tapp mentioned the loss to her husband. These valuables accompanied the mace to Chesterfield, where John Tasker alias Murray seems to have driven a brisk, though illegitimate, trade, along with a letter to him, written by Brown in Smith’s name, arranging for their disposal.

Soon after this the Deacon, ever on the alert for a good stroke of business, suggested to his partners the “doing” of the shop of Messrs. Inglis & Horner, silk mercers at the Cross of Edinburgh, “as the goods there were very rich and valuable, and a small bulk of them carried off would amount to a large sum.” He and Smith frequently went to examine the padlock, “which they did most commonly on the Sunday forenoon when the people were in church.” They found this necessary, as the lock proved to be of a difficult construction. Brodie made a key for it himself, and went one night alone to test its efficacy, probably with the view of stealing a march upon the rest, and doing a little private practice outwith the knowledge of his colleagues. When he tried the key, however, although it unlocked the padlock it would not lock it again, and he had to disclose the state of matters to the others. On learning of his attempt “they were all very angry with him, and said that he had more than likely spoilt the place after all the trouble they had been about; but Brodie told them he hoped not, as he had fixed the padlock with a bit stick in a way that it would not be discovered, and upon looking at the place afterwards, which they all did, they found the lock to be just as it was.” Eventually Smith made a key that was more reliable, and on the night of 8th January, 1788, an entry was effected, and silks and cambrics to the value of between £300 and £400 successfully removed.

Next day a reward of £100 was offered by the Procurator-Fiscal for the discovery of the criminals, but, as usual, without success. The owners, however, did not let the matter rest there, and on their representations the Government, on 25th January, offered an increased reward of £150 to any one who, within six months, would give such information as should lead to the discovery and conviction of the perpetrators, and twenty guineas for the names of the offenders whether they should be convicted or not. In addition, “His Majesty’s gracious pardon” was promised to any accomplice who should within the like period procure the apprehension of the guilty parties. Though this offer elicited no information at the time, it was, ultimately, as we shall see, the means of breaking up that dangerous association from whose depredations the inhabitants of the good town of Edinburgh had so long and severely suffered.

From the spoils of Inglis & Horner’s shop Smith tells us that Brown selected “a piece of plain white sattin, a piece of variegated ditto, and a lead-coloured silk, in quantity about ten yards, which he gave to a girl, an acquaintance of his of the name of Johnston.” One is pleased to notice in passing this indication of a gentler element in Mr. Brown’s rugged nature. The remainder of the goods were concealed in a cellar which Ainslie had hired for the purpose in Stevenlaw’s Close, and were subsequently despatched in two trunks—one by the Berwick carrier and the other by the Newcastle waggoner—to our old friend at the “Bird in Hand,” Chesterfield. We shall hear more of them later.

The reader must have been struck, in following the account of the robberies committed by Deacon Brodie, with the singular incapacity displayed by the official guardians of the public safety. These were the Old Town Guard, a body of armed police which existed in Edinburgh from an early date until 1817, when it was finally disbanded. The corps was composed of some hundred and twenty veterans, chiefly drawn from the Highland regiments, who were in continual conflict with the youth of the capital. Fergusson, in his poems, has many a hit at the peculiarities of this “canker’d pack”—

And thou, great god of aqua vitæ! Wha sways the empire of this city— When fou we’re sometimes capernoity— Be thou prepar’d To hedge us frae that black banditti, The City Guard.

Indeed, so frequently does he refer to them that Scott, in “The Heart of Midlothian,” calls him their poet laureate. Evidently these antiquated warriors were no match for the Deacon and his merry men.

Notwithstanding the many calls upon his time, owing to the varied character of his engagements and pursuits, Deacon Brodie managed to drop in at the club in the Fleshmarket Close of an evening as frequently as ever, and, in spite of the magnitude of his recent operations, was not above winning a few guineas from any one foolish enough to lose them. On the night of the 17th of January, therefore, Brodie, Smith, and Ainslie were at Clark’s, according to their own account, “innocently amusing themselves with a game of dice over a glass of punch,” when their privacy was intruded upon by John Hamilton, a master chimney-sweep in Portsburgh, who insisted on joining them at play. This person was, within a surprisingly short time, relieved by the trio of “five guinea notes, two half guineas in gold, and six shillings in silver,” and being apparently a bad loser, he promptly seized the dice, which, on examination, were found to be “loaded, or false dice, filled at one end or corner with lead.” Here was a pretty scandal for the respectable Deacon to be mixed up in! Outraged innocence was of no avail—the dice spoke for themselves.

But the master sweep’s blood was up, and the matter was not allowed to end there. Hamilton forthwith presented to the magistrates of Edinburgh a petition and complaint against Brodie, Smith, and Ainslie, setting forth his meeting with them at Clark’s, and his being invited to join them in a friendly game, with the result above narrated. The petitioner concluded with praying for a warrant to apprehend and incarcerate the said persons until they should repeat the sum of which he had been so defrauded, and pay a sum over and above in name of damages and expenses. Answers were lodged for Brodie, and separate answers for Smith and Ainslie, in which it was stated that if false dice were used it was unknown to the defenders, as the dice they played with belonged to the house; that Brodie had only gained seven and sixpence; and that “the petitioner himself was a noted adept in the science of gambling, and it was not very credible that he would have allowed himself to be imposed upon in the manner he had alleged.”

Hamilton’s replies to these answers are conceived in a fine vein of irony—“Mr. Brodie knows nothing of such vile tricks—not he! He never made them his study—not he! Mr. Brodie never haunted night houses, where nothing but the blackest and vilest arts were practised to catch a pigeon, nor ever was accessory, either by himself or others in his combination, to behold the poor young creature plucked alive, and not one feather left upon its wings—not he, indeed! He never was accessory to see or be concerned in fleecing the ignorant, the thoughtless, the young, and the unwary, nor ever made it his study, his anxious study, with unwearied concern, at midnight hours, to haunt the rooms where he thought of meeting with the company from which there was a possibility of fetching from a scurvy sixpence to a hundred guineas—not he, indeed! He is unacquainted altogether either with packing or shuffling a set of cards—he is, indeed!” This, one would think, must have been painful reading for the Deacon’s fellow-Councillors; but nothing further appears to have been done in the matter, and the affair blew over without damaging the worthy man’s repute: a singular comment on the moral standard of the time.

In spite of the consummate skill with which Deacon Brodie had hitherto sustained his double character, one is hardly prepared, in view of his manner of life, to find him figuring in a criminal trial in any other capacity than that of the central figure. Strange as it may seem, however, his next public appearance was in the jury-box of the High Court of Justiciary, when, on 4th February, 1788, Allan M‘Farlane, officer of Excise, and Richard Firmin, soldier in the 39th Regiment of Foot, were placed at the bar charged with the murder of Dougald Fergusson, ferryman at Dunoon, Argyllshire.

The facts brought out at the trial were, briefly, as follows:—A party of Excise officers, accompanied by some soldiers, had, in the previous July, gone to Dunoon and seized certain illicit stills, which they put on board their boat. Fergusson, a zealous freetrader, had rung the kirk bell, assembled a mob, who pelted the officers with stones, and, boarding the boat, had knocked down the two boatmen and attempted to carry off the stills. In these circumstances, M‘Farlane ordered Firmin to fire, which he did, killing Fergusson on the spot. The charge against Firmin was abandoned by the Lord Advocate in his address, as it was proved that he had only acted under orders; and the point for the jury to consider was whether M‘Farlane was justified in giving the order to fire in self-defence, in view of the danger to which the Excise party were exposed from the hostile mob behind them, had Fergusson succeeded in carrying off the boat. The jury unanimously found both panels not guilty.

Thus did the Deacon, at the very time when all Edinburgh trembled at his depredations and the authorities were straining

The Old Excise Office, Chessel’s Court, Canongate. (From a Drawing by Bruce J. Home.)

every nerve to discover the guilty author, calmly officiate upon a jury to judge of the crimes of others. But, although he may have laughed in his sleeve at this ironical situation—for he had a pretty wit, and doubtless relished the humour of it keenly—fate had prepared for him one yet more dramatic. A few months later he himself would sit in that dock on trial for his life, the same counsel would conduct the prosecution, the same judges occupy the bench; but the verdict would be a different one, and the sentence to follow upon it, death.

Undisturbed by any shadow of coming disaster, and emboldened by his previous successes, Deacon Brodie now decided to carry out a robbery upon a grander scale than any he had previously attempted, the daring and danger of which were commensurate with the advantages to be gained. The General Excise Office for Scotland was at that period kept in a large mansion, enclosed by a parapet wall and iron railing, situated in Chessel’s Court, Canongate. The building had formerly been occupied as a dwelling-house, and was by no means a secure repository for the great sums of money which in those days were collected there from all parts of the country. The Deacon, in his professional capacity, was familiar with the arrangements of the office, his men having at various times executed repairs on the premises. A connection of his, Mr. Corbett, of Stirling, too, was in the habit of coming to Edinburgh frequently on Excise business, and Brodie took the opportunity of accompanying him upon these occasions with a view to studying how the land lay.

Having learned all that was necessary for his purpose, the Deacon went one day to the office with Smith, on pretence of inquiring for Mr. Corbett, and while he thus engaged the attention of the cashier, Smith took an impression in putty of the key of the outer door, which, according to the prevailing ingenuous custom, was hung upon a nail inside it. From this Brodie prepared a drawing of the wards, and Smith filed a key of similar pattern. The next step was to ascertain the habits of the watchman who guarded the premises, and for this purpose Ainslie—whose department seems to have been scouting—was deputed to observe the office on several successive nights. He found that it was usually closed for the day at eight o’clock; that when all the clerks had left the outer door was locked, and the key taken to Mr. Dundas, “the housekeeper,” who lived in the court, and that the night watchman did not come on duty until ten o’clock. The Excise Office was thus left wholly unguarded between the hours of eight and ten at night.

Smith and Brown had already tried the efficiency of the new key, which readily opened the outer door, but the lock of the inner door to the cashier’s room refused to yield to their persuasive methods. Smith was of opinion that its resistance could only be overcome by violence, observing that the coulter of a plough would be a suitable instrument for that purpose. Accordingly, on the afternoon of Friday, 28th February, Ainslie and Brown repaired to Duddingston as a likely spot for picking up such an implement. Having refreshed themselves after their walk with a bottle of porter at a house in the village, they entered a field in the neighbourhood, where they had seen a man ploughing, and, when his back was turned, removed the coulter of the plough and two iron wedges, which on their way home by the King’s Park they hid in Salisbury Crags. Unfortunately for themselves and Smith, they were accompanied upon this country ramble by a black dog, belonging to the latter, named “Rodney,” which, curiously enough, was at a later stage to bear testimony against its master before the Sheriff.

On Tuesday, 4th March, a final consultation was held by the four desperadoes at Smith’s house in the Cowgate to arrange the details of the attack upon the Excise Office, which was fixed for the following night, when, as they had ascertained, it was the turn of an old man, who watched night about with the other porter, to be on guard. According to Smith’s second declaration, “it was concerted by Brodie, in case of interruption by the man coming into the office before the business was accomplished, to conceal themselves quietly until he was gone to rest, and then to secure him; and they were, if this happened, to personate smugglers who came in search of their property that had been seized; and the declarant had a wig of Brodie’s father in his pocket in order to disguise himself.” Little did that decent old gentleman dream to what base uses his respectable wig would one day be assigned by his cynical and degenerate offspring. The Deacon also furnished Smith with a coil of rope to be knotted into a ladder, so that if taken by surprise they could lock the outer door of the office and make good their escape by the back windows into the garden behind. Having decided upon their plan of campaign, the meeting adjourned till the following afternoon.

Wednesday, the 5th of March, 1788, was a busy day for the Deacon. Between two and three o’clock he was back at Smith’s, attired in “the white-coloured clothes he usually wore,” with various requisites for the night’s adventure—pick-locks, false keys, an ivory whistle, “a strong chisel with a brass virral,” and a spur, which was to be left on the scene of the robbery, “to make it believed it had been done by some person on horseback, in order that it might appear, when found, to have dropped from the foot by its being torn by accident at the buckle.”

By three o’clock he was presiding in his own dining-room, with the panel painting and the great arched window, at a dinner-party consisting of his aunt, his two sisters, Matthew Sheriff, his brother-in-law, and “a stranger gentleman” whose identity was not disclosed. “We drank together,” says Mr. Sheriff, “from dinner to tea, which I think was brought in about six o’clock, and then the stranger gentleman went away.” Probably he thought discretion the better part of valour. The brothers-in-law, however, continued the sederunt till shortly before eight o’clock, when Sheriff retired to his residence in Bunker’s Hill—the name by which St. James’ Square was then known. The moment his guest had gone the Deacon, hastily attiring himself in an old-fashioned black suit, a cocked hat, and a light-coloured great-coat, put his pistols and dark lantern in his pocket, and hurried off to the business of the evening.

It had been arranged that the gang should assemble at Smith’s house at seven o’clock, since which hour the others had been impatiently awaiting their leader’s arrival. The Deacon was in a merry mood; his spirits were high as his hopes, and the potations of the afternoon had doubtless contributed to their elation. He burst in upon his anxious friends with a pistol in his hand, singing a stave from his favourite “Beggar’s Opera”—