Читать книгу WEST PORT MURDERS (True Crime Classic) - Various Authors - Страница 5

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We have heard a great deal of late concerning “the march of intellect” for which the present age is supposed to be distinguished; and the phrase has been rung in our ears till it has nauseated us by its repetition, and become almost a proverbial expression of derision. But we fear that, with all its pretended illumination, the present age must be characterized by some deeper and fouler blots than have attached to any that preceded it; and that if it has brighter spots, it has also darker shades and more appalling obscurations. It has, in fact, nooks and corners where every thing that is evil seems to be concentrated and condensed; dens and holes to which the Genius of Iniquity has fled, and become envenomed with newer and more malignant inspirations. Thus the march of crime has far outstripped “the march of intellect,” and attained a monstrous, a colossal development. The knowledge of good and evil would seem to have imparted a fearful impulse to the latter principle; to have quickened, vivified, and expanded it into an awful and unprecedented magnitude. Hence old crimes have become new by being attended with unknown and unheard-of concomitants; and atrocities never dreamt of or imagined before have sprung up amongst us to cover us with confusion and dismay. No one who reads the following report of the regular system of murder, which seems to have been organised in Edinburgh, can doubt that it is almost wholly without example in any age or country. Murder is no novel crime; it has been done in the olden time as well as now; but murder perpetrated in such a manner, upon such a system, with such an object or intent, and accompanied by such accessory circumstances, was never, we believe, heard of before, and, taken altogether, utterly transcends and beggars every thing in the shape of tragedy to be found in poetry or romance. Even Mrs. Radcliffe, with all her talent for imagining and depicting the horrible, has not been able to invent or pourtray scenes at all to be compared, in point of deep tragical interest, with the dreadful realities of the den in the West Port. To show this, we shall endeavour to exhibit a faint sketch of the more prominent circumstances attending the murder of the woman Campbell or Docherty, as proved in evidence at the trial.

In the morning of a certain day in October last (the 31st) Burke chances to enter the shop of a grocer, called Rymer; and there he sees a poor beggar woman asking charity. He accosts her, and the brogue instantly reveals their common country. The poor old woman’s heart warms to her countryman, and she tells him that her name is Docherty, and that she has come from Ireland in search of her son. Burke, on the other hand, improves the acquaintance, by pretending that his mother’s name was also Docherty, and that he has a wondrous affection for all who bear the same euphonous and revered name. The old woman is perfectly charmed with her good fortune in meeting such a friend in such a countryman, and her heart perfectly overflows with delight. Burke, again, seeing that he has so far gained his object, follows up his professions of regard by inviting Mrs. Docherty to go with him to his house, at the same time offering her an asylum there. The poor beggar woman accepts the fatal invitation, and accompanies Burke to that dreadful den, the scene of many previous murders, whence, she is destined never to return. Here the ineffable ruffian treats her to her breakfast, and as her gratitude rises, his apparent attention and kindness increase. This done, however, he goes in search of his associate and accomplice Hare, whom he informs that he has “got a shot in the house,” and invites to come over at a certain time and hour specified “to see it done.” Betwixt eleven and twelve o’clock at night is fixed upon by these execrable miscreants for destroying the unhappy victim whom Burke had previously seduced into the den of murder and death; and then Burke proceeds to make the necessary arrangements for the commission of the crime. Gray and his wife, lodgers in Burke’s house, and whom the murderers did not think it proper or safe to entrust with the secret, are removed for that night alone: another bed is procured for them, and paid for, or offered to be paid for, by Burke. By and by the murderers congregate, and females, cognisant of their past deeds, as well as of the crime which was to be perpetrated, mingle with them in this horrid meeting. Spirituous liquor is procured and administered to the intended victim; they all drink mere or less deeply; sounds of mirth and revelry are heard echoing from this miniature pandæmonium; and a dance, in which they all, including the beggar woman, join, completes these infernal orgies. This is kept up for a considerable while, and is the immediate precursor of a deed which blurs the eye of day, and throws a deeper and darker shade around the dusky brow of night.

At length the time for “doing it” arrives. Burke and Hare got up a sham fight, to produce a noise of brawling and quarrelling, common enough in their horrid abode; and when this has been continued long enough as they think, Burke suddenly springs like a hungry tiger on his victim, whom one of his accomplices had, as if by accident, thrown down,—flings the whole weight of his body upon her breast,—grapples her by the throat,—and strangles her outright. Ten minutes or a quarter of an hour elapse while this murderous operation is going on, and ere it is completed; during the whole of which time Hare, by his own confession in the witness-box, sat upon the front of the bed, a cool spectator of the murder, without raising a cry or stretching out a hand to help the unhappy wretch thus hurried into eternity by his associate fiend Burke. As to the women (Helen M‘Dougal, Burke’s helpmate, and the wife of the miscreant Hare) they seem to have retreated into a passage closed in by an outer door, “when they saw him (Burke) on the top of her” (Docherty), and to have remained there while he was perpetrating the murder; without, however, uttering a single sound or doing a single act, calculated to interrupt the murderer in his work of blood, or to procure assistance to the dying victim. These she-devils were familiar with the work of death; and one of them, the wife of Hare, confessed it in the witness-box. She had seen, she said, such “tricks” before.

No language can add to the impression which these facts are calculated to produce. The succeeding events, however, are not less picturesquely horrifying. The murder was committed at eleven o’clock, and in an hour after, or at twelve, Burke fetches Paterson, the assistant or servant of a teacher of Anatomy in Edinburgh, to whom he was in the habit of selling the bodies of his victims, to the spot—the murdered body being by this time stuffed under the bed and covered with straw; and, pointing to that truly dreadful place, tells him that he has got a subject for him there, which will be ready for him in the morning. The demons then appear to have recreated themselves with fresh dozes of liquor; and about four or five in the morning, the two women already mentioned, with a fellow of the name of Broggan who had joined the party, after the deed was done,—laid down in the bed, beneath which the murdered body of Docherty, not yet cold in death, had been crammed, and went to sleep, some of them at least, as coolly as if nothing of the kind had occurred. When daylight returned, the tea-box, so often mentioned in the course of the trial, was procured, and the slaughtered body crammed into it, and sent off by the porter M‘Culloch, to Surgeons’ Square; after which Burke and his accomplice Hare set off for Newington to obtain the whole or part of the price of the subject they had procured by murder, and actually got five pounds, being one-half of the price agreed upon.1

Such is an imperfect and feeble outline of the facts of this case, in the course of which was disclosed the horrid and appalling fact, that, in certain holes and dens, both in the heart and in the outskirts of this city, murder had been reduced into a system, with the view of obtaining money for the bodies murdered; and that it was perpetrated in the manner least likely to leave impressed upon the body any evident or decisive marks of violence, being invariably committed by means of suffocation or strangling, during partial or total intoxication. The public is therefore to consider the present as only one out of many instances of a similar nature which have occurred. Hare’s wife admitted that she had witnessed many “tricks” of the same kind; and Hare himself, when undergoing the searching cross-examination of Mr. Cockburn—a cross-examination such as was never before exemplified in any Court of Justice—durst not deny that he had been concerned in other murders besides that of Docherty;—that a murder had been committed in his own house in the month of October last;—that he himself was a murderer, and his hands steeped in blood and slaughter: we say he durst not deny it, and only took refuge in “declining to answer” the questions put to him; which the Court of course apprised him he was entitled to do in regard to questions that went to criminate himself so deeply, and but for which caution we have little doubt that he would have confessed not merely accession, but a principal share in several murders. In fact, this “squalid wretch,” as Mr. Cockburn so picturesquely called him, from the hue and look of the carrion-crow in the witness-box, was disposed to be extremely communicative, and apparently had no idea that any thing he had stated was at all remarkable or extraordinary. Daft Jamie was murdered in this miscreant’s house, and he has mentioned some circumstances connected with the destruction of this poor innocent, calculated to form a suitable pendant to the description we have already given of the murder of Docherty. Jamie was enticed into Hare’s house by Burke, the usual decoy-duck in this traffic of blood (the appearance of Hare himself being so inexpressibly hideous that it would have scared even this moping idiot,) and he was plied with liquor for a considerable time. At first he refused to imbibe a single drop; but by dint of coaxing and perseverance, they at last induced him to take a little; and after he once took a little, they found almost no difficulty in inducing him to take more. At length, however, he became overpowered, and laying himself down on the floor, fell asleep. Burke, who was anxiously watching his opportunity, then said to Hare, “Shall I do it now?” to which Hare replied, “He is too strong for you yet; you had better let him alone a while.” Both the ruffians seem to have been afraid of the physical strength which they knew the poor creature possessed, and of the use he would make of it, if prematurely roused. Burke, accordingly, waited a little, but getting impatient to accomplish his object, he suddenly threw himself upon Jamie, and attempted to strangle him. This roused the poor creature, and, muddled as he was with liquor and sleep, he threw Burke off and got to his feet, when a desperate struggle ensued. Jamie fought with the united frenzy of madness and despair, and Burke was about to be overpowered, when he called out furiously to Hare to assist him. This Hare did by tripping up Jamie’s heels; after which both the ruffians got upon him, and, at length, though not even then without the greatest difficulty, succeeded in strangling him.

And all this has happened and has been carried on in a Christian country, and in the Metropolis of Scotland, without a breath of suspicion having been excited as to the existence of such hellish atrocities, till Gray lodged information at the Police Office of the murder of the woman Campbell or Docherty. It was said at the trial, that the public mind had been excited and inflamed on the subject to a degree wholly unprecedented; but how is it conceivable or possible that even the lightest whisper of such infernal deeds—of an organised system of murder—could find its way to the public, without producing this excitement, without kindling up every feeling of horror and indignation which the darkest and most unheard-of atrocities could possibly rouse in virtuous and untainted minds? This was a natural result of a great and unparalleled crime, or rather system of crimes; it was a result which no power or influence could prevent; it was a result which, even if it had been possible, ought not to have been prevented. But as this excitement existed—as it had more or less pervaded every mind—and as it might eventually, if not controlled, have interfered with and affected the administration of stern justice, it was right, nay it was necessary, both for the sake of public justice and also for the satisfaction of the country, that the prisoners should be ably and powerfully defended. Under this conviction, the head of the Bar of Scotland, in conjunction with some other of its brightest ornaments, came forward to offer their gratuitous services on the occasion; and certainly never was there a defence in any case conducted with more consummate ability—never perhaps was there a trial in which higher talent, greater experience, or more splendid and overmastering eloquence were displayed. And we rejoice that such has been the case. Conduct like this reflects eternal honour on the Bar; because there are instances in which it may throw a shield around innocence; while, in every case, it is calculated to preserve the course of justice pure and undefiled, as well to give additional satisfaction to the country, to create additional confidence in the purity of the law, and to beget a stronger feeling of security in the protection which it affords. The most atrocious crimes are precisely those which ought to be most cautiously and fully investigated; where prejudice of all sorts ought to be most anxiously excluded or counteracted; where every facility in the power of the Court to give, ought to be afforded to the prisoner, both in preparing for his defence and on his trial; where the rules of evidence ought to be most strictly adhered to, in so far as regards either the admissibility or credibility of testimony; where the accused should have the fullest benefit of every presumption in his favour; and where his defence, ought if possible, to be conducted with the greatest legal ability. Now Burke had all these advantages. The Court, in the exercise of the discretion with which it is entrusted, adjudged the trial of the prisoner to proceed upon only one of three separate acts of murder charged against him in the indictment; while the splendid array of Counsel, who voluntarily and gratuitously undertook the conduct of his defence, exerted their whole skill, talents, and eloquence, in his behalf. And we repeat that we rejoice at this; for, as was well observed by the Lord Advocate in addressing the Jury for the Crown upon the evidence which had been led, if the prisoner had any good defence, it was thus sure to have ample justice done to it; and if a conviction was obtained, it would be more satisfactory to the country, and infinitely more important to the purity and efficacy of the law.

In these circumstances, however, a conviction has been obtained against the pannel Burke—the prime murderer—the immediate and direct agent by whom the crime charged was committed—the agent also, we firmly believe, by whom not three but thirteen persons were slaughtered, with the intent of excambing their murdered bodies for gold; this monster, we say, has been convicted, and adjudged to suffer the highest punishment of the law: and, with a sort of poetical justice, he who made subjects of others, is to be made a subject himself, and he now knows that his vile carcass, when the hangman is done with it, will be subjected to the same process with the bodies of his murdered victims. The idea of hanging him in chains would have been out of all keeping with his crime; and hence, though once entertained, it was most properly and judiciously abandoned. But the conviction of Burke alone will not satisfy either the law or the country. The unanimous voice of society in regard to Hare is, Delendus est; that is to say, if there be evidence to convict him, as we should hope there is. He has been an accessory before or after the fact in nearly all of these murders; in the case of poor Jamie he was unquestionably a principal; and his evidence on Wednesday only protects him from being called to account for the murder of Docherty. We trust, therefore, that the Lord Advocate, who has so ably and zealously performed his duty to the country upon this occasion, will bring the “squalid wretch” to trial, and take every other means in his power to have these atrocities probed and sifted to the bottom.