Part 47

"I declare that this statement is all true, and contains all the facts as far as I can recollect. May knew nothing of the murder; and I do not believe that he suspected I had got the body, except in the usual way, and after the death of it. I always told him that I got it from the ground, and he never knew the contrary until I confessed to Mr. Williams since the trial. I have known May as a body-snatcher four or five years, but I do not believe he ever obtained a body except in the common course of men in that calling--by stealing from the graves. I also confess that I and Williams were concerned in the murder of a female, whom I believe to have been since discovered to be Frances Pigburn, on or about the 9th of October last. I and Williams saw her sitting about eleven or twelve o'clock at night on the step of a door in Shoreditch, near the church. She had a child, four or five years old, with her on her lap. I asked why she was sitting there? She said she had no home to go to, for her landlord had turned her out into the street. I told her she might go home with us, and sit by the fire all night; she said she would go with us, and walked with us to my house, in Nova Scotia-gardens, carrying her child with her. When we got there, we found the family in bed, and we took the woman in, and lighted a fire, by which we all sat down together. I went out for beer, and we all partook of beer and rum--(I had brought the rum from Smithfield in my pocket). The woman and her child lay down on some dirty linen on the floor, and I and Williams went to bed; about six o'clock next morning I and Williams told her to go away, and to meet us at the London Apprentice, in Old-street-road, at one o'clock: this was before our families were up. She met us again at one o'clock at the London Apprentice, without her child; we gave her some halfpence and beer, and desired her to meet us again at ten o'clock at night at the same place. After this we bought rum and laudanum at different places, and at ten o'clock we met the woman again at the London Apprentice: she had no child with her; we drank three pints of beer between us, and staid there about an hour. We should have staid there longer, but an old man came in, whom the woman said she knew, and she said she did not like him to see her there with anybody; we therefore all went out; it rained hard, and we took shelter under a doorway in the Hackney-road for about half-an-hour. We then walked to Nova Scotia-gardens, and Williams and I led her into No. 2, an empty house, adjoining my house. We had no light. Williams stepped out into the garden with the rum and laudanum, which I had handed to him; he there mixed them together in a half-pint bottle, and came into the house to me and the woman, and we gave her the bottle to drink; she drank the whole in two or three draughts; there was a quartern of rum and about half-a-phial of laudanum; she sat down on the step between the two rooms in the house, and went off to sleep in about ten minutes; she was falling back; I caught her to save her fall, and laid her back on the floor. Then Williams and I went to a public-house, got something to drink, and in about half-an-hour came back to the woman; we took her cloak off, tied a cord to her feet, carried her to the well in the garden, and thrust her into it headlong; she struggled very little afterwards, and the water bubbled a little at the top; we fastened the cord to the palings to prevent her going down beyond our reach, and left her, and took a walk to Shoreditch and back in about half-an hour; we left the woman in the well this length of time, that the rum and laudanum might run out of the body at the mouth. On our return we took her out of the well, cut her clothes off, put them down the privy of the empty house, carried the body into the wash-house of my own house, where we doubled it up, and put it into a hair-box, which we corded, and left it there. We did not go to bed, but went to Shields' house in Eagle street, Red Lion-square, and called him up; this was between four and five o'clock in the morning. We then went with Shields to a public-house near the Sessions House, Clerkenwell, and had some gin and from thence to my house, where we went in and staid a little while to wait the change of the police. I told Shields he was to carry the trunk to the London Hospital. He asked if there was a woman in the house who could walk alongside of him, so that people might not take any notice. Williams called his wife up, and asked her to walk with Shields, and to carry a hat-box, which he gave her. There was nothing in it, but it was tied up as if there were. We then put the box with the body on Shields' head, and went to the hospital, Shields and Mrs. Williams walking on one side of the street, and I and Williams on the other. At St. Thomas's Hospital I saw Mr. South's footman, and sent him up stairs to Mr. South to ask if he wanted a subject. The servant brought me word that his master wanted one, but could not give an answer until the next day, as he had not time to look at it. During this interview, Shields, Williams, and his wife were waiting at a public-house. I then went to Mr. Appleton, at Mr. Grainger's, and agreed to sell it to him for eight guineas; and afterwards I fetched it from St. Thomas's Hospital and took it to Mr. Appleton, who paid me 5_l._ then, and the rest on the following Monday. After receiving the 5_l._ I went to Shields and Williams and his wife at the public-house, when I paid Shields 10_s._ for his trouble, and we all went to the Flower-pot in Bishopsgate, where we had something to drink, and then went home. I never saw the woman's child after the first time before-mentioned. She said she had left the child with the person she had taken some of her things to, before her landlord took her goods. The woman murdered did not tell us her name; she said her age was thirty-five, I think, and that her husband, before he died, was a cabinet-maker. She was thin, rather tall, and very much marked with the small-pox.--I also confess the murder of a boy, who told us his name was Cunningham. It was a fortnight after the murder of the woman. I and Williams found him sleeping, about eleven or twelve o'clock at night, on Friday, the 21st of October, as I think, under the pig-hoards in the pig-market at Smithfield. Williams woke him, and asked him to come along with him (Williams), and the boy walked with Williams and me to my house in Nova Scotia-gardens. We took him into my house and gave him some warm beer, sweetened with sugar, with rum and laudanum in it. He drank two or three cups full, and then fell asleep in a little chair belonging to one of my children. We laid him on the floor and then went out for a little while and got something to drink, and then returned, carried the boy to the well, and threw him into it in the same way as we served the other boy and the woman. He died instantly in the well, and we left him there a little while to give time for the mixture we had given him to run out of his body. We then took the body from the well, tore off the clothes in the garden, and buried them there. The body we carried into the wash-house, and put it into the same box, and left it there till the next evening, when we got a porter to carry it with us to St. Bartholomew's Hospital; where I sold it to Mr. Smith for eight guineas. This boy was about ten or eleven years old; said his mother lived in Kent-street, and that he had not been home for a twelvemonth and better. I solemnly declare that these are all the murders in which I have been engaged, or that I know anything of; that I and Williams were alone concerned in these, and that no other person whatever knew anything about either of them; and that I do not know whether there are others who practise the same mode of getting bodies for sale. I know nothing of any Italian boy, and was never concerned in, or knew of the murder of such a boy. There have been no white mice about my house for the last six months. My son, about eight months ago, bought two mice, and I made him a cage for them. It was flat, with wires at the top. They lived two months, and were killed, I think, by a cat in the garden, when they got out of the cage. They were frequently seen running in the garden, and used to hide in a hole under the privy. I and my wife and children saw one of them killed by a cat whilst we were at tea. Until the transactions before set forth, I never was concerned in obtaining a subject by the destruction of the living. I have followed the course of obtaining a livelihood as a body-snatcher for twelve years, and have obtained and sold, I think, from five hundred to a thousand bodies; but I declare, before God, that they were all obtained after death, and that, with the above exceptions, I am ignorant of any murder for that or any other purpose.

"JOHN BISHOP.

"_Witness_, ROBERT ELLIS. U.S."

"I, Thomas Head, _alias_ Williams, now under sentence of death in Newgate, do solemnly confess and declare the foregoing statement and confession of John Bishop, which has been made in my presence, and since read over to me distinctly, is altogether true, so far as the same relates to me. I declare that I was never concerned in, nor privy to, any other transaction of the like nature; that I never knew anything of the murder of any other person whatever; that I was never a body-snatcher, nor concerned in the sale of any other body than the three murdered by Bishop and myself; that May is a stranger to me; and that I had never seen him more than once or twice before Friday, the 4th of November last; and that May is wholly innocent, and ignorant of any of those murders in which I was concerned, and for one of which I am about to suffer death.

"THOMAS HEAD.

"_Witness_, R. ELLIS."

"Newgate, 4th December, 1831.

"The above confessions, taken literally, from the prisoners, in our presence.

"T. WOOD. R. ELLIS. _Under-Sheriffs._"

It was not until subsequently to the delivery of these statements, that May was acquainted with the merciful consideration which his case had received.

Shortly after the arrival of the respite at Newgate, Dr. Cotton and Mr. Wontner went to the room in which the three prisoners were confined. The reverend gentleman opened the paper, and began to read it aloud: the most anxious attention was paid to its contents by all the prisoners; but the interest manifested by May, who must have known that the fate of his miserable companions was sealed, but had felt that there was still hope for him, was quite painful to witness--his agitation was dreadful; but no sooner had Dr. Cotton repeated the words, "that the execution of the sentence upon John May shall be respited during his Majesty's most gracious pleasure," than the poor wretch fell to the earth as if struck by lightning. His arms worked with the most frightful contortions, and four of the officers of the prison could with difficulty hold him; his countenance assumed a livid paleness, the blood forsook his lips, his eyes appeared set, and pulsation at the heart could not be distinguished. All persons present thought he could not possibly survive--it was believed, indeed, that the warrant of mercy had proved his death-blow. It was nearly a quarter of an hour before he was restored to the use of his faculties. At last, when recollection returned, he attempted to clasp his hands in the attitude of thanksgiving, but his limbs shook so violently that he found even that was impossible. His lips moved, but nothing but inarticulate sounds came from his tongue. The parties present soothed him with assurances that they knew what he meant to say, and with earnest entreaties that he would calm himself, and not attempt to speak. When restored to something like composure, May poured forth his gratitude to God, and his thanks to the humane gentlemen who had interested themselves in his behalf. He then explained, that when the reverend ordinary commenced reading the warrant, he thought that all hope was at an end--that the ceremony was to signify to him that he must die--the sudden revulsion of feeling when he heard the words we have quoted, caused him to swoon. He added, that on learning he was to be spared, he felt as if his heart had burst in his bosom. He declared most solemnly, now that he was out of jeopardy, as he had done before, that he had nothing to do with the murder for which he had been condemned to die. He had never been concerned--either directly or indirectly--in any murder; but he acknowledged he had committed many sins for which the Almighty might have justly left him to suffer on this occasion. He hoped now to lead a better life, and to evince his gratitude to God by sincere repentance.

It will hardly be credited that Bishop and Williams beheld this awful scene with an indifference approaching to apathy. The dreadful agitation of their less guilty associate seemed to have no effect upon them.

On Sunday night the criminals retired to rest at an early hour, but their efforts to obtain sleep appeared to be vain. They frequently awoke, and entered into conversation with the persons appointed to watch them. Occasionally they entered into religious observances, but generally were averse to them. Once, when the person who sat up with Williams proposed to read to him some extracts out of religious books left him by the ordinary, he roughly declined the proposal, saying, "I had religious talk enough during the day; I will have none of it to-night." He then entered into conversation with the officer upon the subject of the offence for which he was going to suffer. He solemnly assured him, that up to the time of his marriage, he had never had any connexion with resurrection-men; and even added, that it was not until his wedding-night that he had any idea that Bishop got his livelihood by that horrible trade. He told the officer, that on that night, shortly after he had got to bed, his wife conjured him not to have anything to do with the snatchers. This led to inquiries on his part, which terminated in a full disclosure by his wife of the practices by which his father-in-law (Bishop) supported his family. No communication took place between him and Bishop on the subject till some time afterwards, when he was suddenly thrown out of work. Bishop then gradually disclosed to him his mode of life, and asked him to become a partner in the trade. Williams assented. He then became a regular resurrection-man; but, being tired with the difficulties and dangers of the trade, he proposed to Bishop that, instead of disinterring, they should murder subjects. He was then asked what led him to make such a proposal, and his reply was, "the recollection of what Burke had done at Edinburgh." After some other facts, tallying with those in Bishop's account, he stated, that on the Sunday after the murder of the woman Pigburn, they attempted to "Burke" a man whom they accidentally lured into their power. The laudanum, however, which they had mixed with his liquor was not strong enough, as Bishop said, to stupify him beyond resistance, and he was, therefore, allowed to escape, partly from a fear of his struggles, and partly from Bishop's arm being palsied by a similar feeling to that which palsied _Lady Macbeth's_ arm in a similar situation--namely, the feeling that the man whom he was about to dispatch, "resembled his father as he slept." Still bent on their murderous trade, they endeavoured, on the following Tuesday, to get another subject by the same means. Again was the laudanum inefficient; and in this case, as in the former, the intended victim left the house in which he met these ruffians without any idea of his having been exposed to such great and imminent danger.

During a subsequent intermission of sleep, he wrote the following letter, addressed to Mr. Russell, the chaplain of the Penitentiary, in which prison he had once been confined for three years:--

"Newgate, 4th December, 1831.

"MR. RUSSELL--If you will be kind enough to let my brother prisoners know the awful death which I shall have suffered when you receive this, it will, through your expostulations, prevent them from increasing their crimes when they may be liberated; and tell them, bad company, and drinking, and blasphemy, is the foundation of all evil. Give my brotherly love to them, and tell them never to deviate from the paths of religion, and have a firm belief in their blessed Saviour. Give my love to John Edwards, John Justin, and John Dingle, and receive the prayers of the unfortunate and guilty--

"THOMAS HEAD." (His real name.)

Both prisoners rose at six o'clock in the morning, and were soon after visited by the reverend gentleman who had before attended them. Williams, at times, appeared fervent in his devotions, and prayed earnestly; but at intervals he would pause, and seem as if his prayer was hopeless; again he would resume his prayer, and clasp his hands in great agony. Bishop also prayed, but he by no means showed the same fervour as his companion. There was a listlessness in his manner approaching to indifference, not merely to religion, but to everything passing around him. At one time, when urged on the subject of his hope of forgiveness, he said he did hope and trust for mercy through Jesus Christ. He added, that he fully deserved what he was about to suffer, but that his case would be desperate if some greater mercy were not extended to him in the world which he was about to enter.

At half-past seven o'clock, the sheriffs, accompanied by the under-sheriffs, and several gentlemen to whom they had given permission to be present, entered the prison. The sheriffs immediately proceeded to the condemned cells, where Mr. Wontner, the governor, delivered the prisoners up to them for execution. The sheriffs then proceeded to the press-room, to which the strangers who had obtained admission to the prison were also admitted. The prisoners were soon after introduced by the sheriffs' officers. Bishop entered first. That kind of stupor which had been noticed when the verdict of the jury was pronounced, was still more strongly upon him. He advanced in rather a drooping manner, his eye fixed on the ground. His step was slow, without being firm, and his whole bearing was rather that of a man unconscious of, than indifferent to, the dreadful scene through which he was about to pass. He had got more than half-way to the upper end of the room before he looked around; when he did, a kind of half-suppressed groan escaped him, as from one who was, for a moment, roused to a quick sense of an approaching violent death.

But it was only for a moment; for at once he seemed to relapse into his former stupor: his eye was again bent on the ground, and he moved mechanically up to the officer, who stood ready to tie his hands, and stretched forth his arms, the wrists being closely pressed together. When that part of the preparation was concluded, he turned round, and allowed his arms to be pinioned. This done, he took his seat at a side bench without uttering a word. One of the under-sheriffs took a seat by his side, and, in a low tone, asked him whether he had anything more to confess. His answer was, "No, sir, I have told all." The under-sheriff remained with him for a few moments, but the only answers which could be obtained from him were to the effect that he had nothing more to tell.

Williams was next introduced, and came up the room with the same short hasty step which was noticed at the time of his sentence. Since then, however, his whole appearance had undergone the most terrible alteration. That cunning and flippant air which was noticed in him on his trial had left him. His look, as he entered the press-room on Monday, was one of downright horror--every limb trembled as he approached the officer by whom he was to be pinioned, and his hands shook to that degree, that one person was obliged to hold them up while another bound them together. While submitting to this operation, he frequently ejaculated, "Oh, I have deserved all this and more!--oh, I have deserved all I am about to suffer!" One of the under-sheriffs now asked him whether he had anything more on his mind, or wished to make any further disclosure. He replied, "Oh no, sir, I have told all--I hope I am now at peace with God. What I have told is the truth."

After the operation of pinioning had been gone through, at a few minutes before eight, the sheriffs, accompanied by their officers and the prisoners, proceeded towards the scaffold, the ordinary reciting part of the funeral service. Bishop moved on in the same gloomy and desponding manner which we have noticed. His appearance underwent no change as he approached the foot of the scaffold. Williams became more and more agitated as he advanced. Just as he came to the room which led out to the drop, he expressed a wish to see the Rev. Mr. Russell once more. That gentleman came forward, and while Bishop was being led out, seated himself near him. Mr. Russell said to him, "Now, Williams, you have another moment intervening between this and death; and, as a dying man, I implore you, in God's name, to tell the truth; have you told me the whole truth?" Williams: "All I have told you, is true." Mr. Russell: 'But, Williams, have you told me all?" Williams, (still evasive): "All I have told you is quite true." This was the last remark he made, and in a few moments he ascended the scaffold.

The scene without the prison was no less exciting than that which was passing within the jail.