An Account of the Execution of the Prisoners, and their
Behaviour after their Conviction.
(From Contemporary Sources.)

William Brodie appears to have been a man of a most singular and unaccountable character. During his confinement, and from the time of his receiving sentence till his execution, which was thirty-four days, he showed a mixture of character almost incredible. At times serious and sensible of his situation; and the next moment displaying jocularity and humour. He appeared to possess an undaunted resolution and at times even a daring boldness, frequently turning to ridicule his situation and the manner of his exit, by calling it “a leap in the dark.” This disposition continued with him till almost the last moment of his existence.

He declared that, notwithstanding the censures and opinion of the world he was innocent of every crime excepting that for which he was condemned; and endeavoured to extenuate his guilt by saying that the crime for which he suffered was not a depredation committed on an individual, but on the public, who could not be impressed by the small trifle the Excise was robbed of. The hopes of obtaining a pardon or an alteration of his sentence to transportation seems strongly to have impressed his mind. In this view he immediately occupied himself in writing letters, and many of them were sensible, forcible, and well written; in particular, one to the Duke of Buccleugh, requesting his interest to be sent to Botany Bay. He complained much or the interruption he met with from the ministers attending him, and his fellow-convicts’ singing of psalms, &c. Applications were also made to the jury, to the magistrates, and counsel, and many others, to second this view; and it was natural and commendable in his friends to use every exertion in his favour. The examples, however, of a Lord Ferrers, a Dr. Dod, the Perreaus, and Ryland, the King’s engraver, are convincing proofs that the laws are not to be infringed with impunity, and that justice is impartial.

The situation of criminals in the prison of Edinburgh, after condemnation, is, from unavoidable circumstances, peculiarly irksome. They are chained by one leg to a bar of iron, along side of which they may walk; and their bed is made by the side of it. Mr. Brodie was allowed a longer chain than usual, a table and chair, with pen, ink, and paper; and the visits of any of his friends and acquaintances he wished to see, till the night before his execution, when none were permitted to visit him but clergymen.

To the same bar of iron on which he was chained, were, on this singular occasion George Smith, and two men condemned for robbing the Dundee Bank. Brodie was offered a separate room, but declined it.

Smith was uniformly devout and penitent—relished the conversation of clergymen, and joined fervently in religious exercises. Brodie said, upon some of these occasions, that he was so much employed with his temporal concerns he could not attend to them; but, when his business was finished, he would hear the clergymen. He remarked that the best of men had not thought it improper to employ even their last moments in the concerns of this world; that he was standing on his last legs, and it behoved him to employ his time sedulously; that he was determined to die like a man, and recommended the same to his fellow-sufferers. At times, however, he conversed with the clergy, and joined in their devotions. His conversation upon these occasions was directed to the principles of natural religion, not to the doctrines of revelation.

He lamented to a friend the impropriety of his first pursuits in life; that his inclinations at an early period led him to wish to go to sea; and though he did not possess much bodily strength, yet his courage and resolution were undaunted; that, instead of being in that disgraceful situation, his country might have looked up to him with admiration, and he might have been an honour to himself and family.

In the course of this trial he appears to have been naturally mild tempered and humane, but without principles of conduct, and easily led to crime. He writes in his letters affectionately of his children.

On the Friday before his execution he was visited by his daughter, Cecil, a fine girl of about ten years of age. The feelings of a father were superior to every other consideration, and the falling tears, which he endeavoured to suppress, gave strong proofs of his sensibility; he embraced her with emotion, and blessed her with the warmest affection.

On the Sunday preceding his execution a respite of six weeks arrived for Falconer and Bruce, the two people condemned for robbing the Dundee Bank. The news made Brodie more serious for a little time than he had before been, and he expressed his satisfaction at the event, declaring that it gave him as much pleasure as if mercy had been extended to himself. On Smith observing, “Six weeks is but a short period,” Brodie, with some emotion, cried out, “George, what would you and I give for six weeks longer? Six weeks would be an age to us!”

He made frequent inquiries about the alterations that were making at the place of execution, which his friends declined answering out of tenderness. He observed that the noise made by the workmen was like that of shipbuilders; but for the short voyage he was going to make he thought so much preparation was unnecessary. On being visited by a friend on the Sunday evening he, with great calmness and composure, gave the needful directions respecting his funeral, and acknowledged with gratitude the attention that had been paid him during his confinement.

On the Monday preceding his death, at the request of George Smith, the two prisoners, Falconer and Bruce, for whom a respite had been obtained, were removed from the room in which they had all been confined. They parted from their companions in misery with great feeling and sensibility, and during the process of taking off their chains, Mr. Brodie, with great calmness, remained an unaffected spectator. Nothing appeared capable of shaking that fortitude which had attended him during the whole of his confinement.

On Tuesday morning, the day before his execution, a gentleman, who was visiting him, occasionally remarked the fatal consequences of being connected with bad women, and in how many instances it had proved ruinous. He began singing, with the greatest cheerfulness, from the “Beggar’s Opera”—“’Tis woman that seduces all mankind.” The gentleman reproved this levity, but he sang out the song.

On the Tuesday evening, the 30th of September, the magistrates gave an order that none should be admitted to him but clergymen—a report having prevailed that there was an intention of putting self-destruction in his power. But of this order he complained, appearing to have full conviction of the dreadful consequences attending the crime of suicide; and declared that if poison was placed on one hand and a dagger at the other he would refuse them both, and not launch into eternity with the horrid crime of self-murder to account for—he would submit to the sentence of the laws of his country, and would wait his fate with calmness and composure.

The nearer the fatal moment approached the greater his resolution and fortitude appeared, without any adventitious aid, his manner of living being rather abstemious. He astonished every one that conversed with him, and his courage and magnanimity would have rendered his name immortal had he fallen in a good cause.

Late in the evening, while he was inveighing with some acrimony on the cruelty of not admitting his friends to him, he was suddenly agitated by hearing some noise, and, turning to Smith, he said, “George do you know what noise that is?” “No,” said Smith. “Then I’ll tell you; it is the drawing out of the fatal beam on which you and I must suffer to-morrow! I know it well.” Soon after eleven he went to bed, and slept till four in the morning, and continued in bed till near eight o’clock without discovering any symptoms of alarm at his approaching fate.

At nine o’clock the next morning (Wednesday, 1st October) he had his hair fully dressed and powdered. Soon after a clergyman entered and offered to pray with him. Mr. Brodie desired he might use despatch, and make it as short as possible. During the remainder of his time he was employed in the most painful of all trials—parting with his friends, which he did with the utmost fortitude and composure.

At eleven o’clock he wrote the following letter to the Lord Provost, in a strong, firm hand:—

About eleven o’clock the chains which had been on Mr. Brodie’s legs since his condemnation were taken off. He was then visited by a few select friends, with whom he conversed with the greatest composure.

About one o’clock he ate a beef-steak and drank some port wine, and during this last repast he made some ludicrous remarks to Smith.

At two o’clock the guard marched up and surrounded the place of execution, at the west end of the Luckenbooths, and soon after the captain on duty informed the magistrates, in the Council Chamber, that all was ready. The magistrates then put on their robes of office; with white gloves and white staves, and followed by the clergymen in black gowns and bands, proceeded from the Council Chamber to the prison, attended by the proper officers.

At two o’clock a message came from the magistrates that they were in waiting, upon which Mr. Brodie said he was ready. He accordingly went downstairs, insisting that Smith should go first. Upon passing the room that Bruce and Falconer were in he took his farewell of them through the grate of the door, observing that, as His Majesty had given them a respite of six weeks, he did not doubt but he would at last grant them a pardon. When he entered the west stair a glass of cinnamon water was given him by some of his friends, with whom he still conversed most familiarly.

The magistrates reached the scaffold about ten minutes after two. The two senior magistrates only attended, as the other two gentlemen in the magistracy happened to have been on the jury of the unfortunate criminals; and in this singular case it was certainly a very becoming delicacy to excuse their attendance.

About a quarter past two the criminals appeared on the platform. When Mr. Brodie came on his scaffold he bowed politely to the magistrates and the people.

Brodie, at the first view of the immense multitude of spectators and the dreadful apparatus, said, “This is awful!” On passing a gentleman he asked how he did, and said he was glad to see him. The gentleman answered he was sorry to see Mr. Brodie in that situation. Brodie replied, “It is fortune de la guerre.”

Brodie had on a full suit of black, his hair dressed and powdered; Smith was dressed in white linen with black trimming. They were assisted in their devotions by the Rev. Mr. Hardie, one of the ministers of the city, and the Rev. Mr. Cleeve, of the Episcopal, and Mr. Hall, of the Burgher persuasion. They spent some time in prayer, with seeming fervency. Brodie knelt, laying a handkerchief under his knees. He prayed by himself, nearly as follows:—“O Lord,-I acknowledge Thee as the Great Ruler of the world; although I lament much that I know so little of Thee, This much, however, I know, that Thou are a merciful God, and that, as I am a great sinner, Thou wilt have mercy upon me, through the merits of Thy Son Jesus Christ. O Lord, receive my soul! Into Thy hands I resign it. Amen.”

When the devotions were over the great bell began to toll at half-minute pauses, which had an awful and solemn effect. When the executioner proceeded to bind his arms, Mr. Brodie requested that it might not be done too tight, as he wished to have the use of his hands, at the same time assuring his friends that he should not struggle. The criminals put on white night-caps; and Smith, whose behaviour was highly penitent and resigned, slowly ascended the platform, raised a few feet above the scaffold, and placed immediately under the beam where the halters were fixed. It is said Brodie tapped Smith on the shoulder, saying, “Go up, George; you are first in hand.” He was followed by Brodie, who mounted with alertness, and examined the dreadful apparatus with attention, particularly the halter designed for himself, which he pulled with his hand. It was found that the halters had been too much shortened, and they were obliged to be taken down to alter. During this dreadful interval Smith remained on the platform trembling, but Brodie stepped briskly down to the scaffold, took off his night-cap, and again entered into conversation with his friends, till the ropes were adjusted. And though the dreadful moment of death was thus prolonged, he did not complain, but apologised himself by saying that it was on a new construction, and wanted nothing but practice to make it complete. He then sprang up again upon the platform, which was raised much higher than on former executions, but the rope was still improperly placed, and he once more descended, showing some little impatience, and observed that the executioner was a bungling fellow, and ought to be punished for his stupidity—but that it did not much signify.

Before he ascended the platform the last time he was addressed by his fellow-sufferer, George Smith; they then shook hands, and parted. Having again ascended, he deliberately untied his cravat, buttoned up his waistcoat and coat, and helped the executioner to fix the rope. He then took a friend, who stood close by him, by the hand, bade him farewell, and requested he would acquaint the world that he was still the same, and that he died like a man. Then pulling the night-cap over his face, he folded his arms, and placed himself in an attitude expressive of firmness and resolution. Smith (who during the interruption, had been in fervent devotion), soon after the adjustment of the halters, let fall a handkerchief as a signal, and a few minutes before three o’clock the platform dropped, and they, were launched into eternity, almost without a struggle.

The crowd of spectators within the street, in view of the place of execution, it has been calculated, could not have been less than 40,000, great numbers having come from all parts of the country. Luckily no accident of any consequence happened, which was much to be feared from the greatness of the crowd. One of the city officers fell from the platform to the top of the building where it was erected, and was considerably cut and bruised, but we hear not dangerously.

Brodie neither confessed nor denied the crime for which he suffered. To a gentleman who visited him the day before the execution, he said he thought it was hard to suffer for such a paltry sum, and appealing to Smith, he said, “George, it was not more than four pounds a piece.” Smith answered he did not think it was so much, but he (Brodie) should know, for he counted the money.

Smith, with great fervency, confessed in prayer his being guilty and the justice of his sentence.

Much anxiety was shown that Brodie’s body might not be detained in prison, and after the magistrates retired a vein was opened. It is said other means of recovery were used after it was taken away, but the neck was found to be dislocated.

Thus fell William Brodie, a just sacrifice to the laws of his country, and whilst we lament his fate we cannot but admire that impartiality, that integrity with which justice is administered; for however great, respected, or exalted the culprit, it affords no shield to protect from punishment or save from disgrace. This feeling would here suggest to bury with his bones his crimes, his follies, and his errors; and whilst we profit by his example, we cannot but lament how improperly those abilities were applied which might have done an honour to himself and family. His untimely fate claims the tribute of a tear, for if those who possess fortitude, courage, benevolence, and humanity claim our admiration, such was William Brodie.