His Bloody Project

by Graeme Macrae Burnet

  The evening editions of the newspapers carried colourful accounts of the exchanges between the advocates and Dr Munro, and the Inverness Courier reported that ‘no other topic was discussed at the inns and street corners of the town. Those who had been fortunate enough to be present at the trial held court like great sages and arguments raged long into the night about whether the unfortunate prisoner was for the gibbet.’

  Among the reporters, opinion appeared to be similarly divided. The Scotsman’s account of the day’s proceedings concluded that ‘the glimmer of hope provided by his advocate’s masterful demolition of Dr Munro was immediately extinguished by the declaration, from the prisoner’s own lips, that he was indeed of sound mind. It would now require a quite astonishing reversal to convince the jury that the wretched crofter is innocent of the crimes charged.’

  For John Murdoch writing in the Courier, however, the case was not so clear cut: ‘While there can be no questioning the skill with which Mr Gifford has presented the Crown’s case, the jury will have heard enough along the way about the peculiar behaviour of the accused, to sow some seeds of doubt about his soundness of mind.’

  In the following morning’s edition of The Times, Mr Philby wrote:

  It is a most irregular occurrence for the defence in such a case to rest on a single witness, but it must be admitted that the trial of Roderick Macrae is no ordinary event. What is at issue are not the facts of the case, but the contents of the perpetrator’s mind and, thus far, this is something few, if any, could truthfully presume to know. The prisoner has at all times conducted himself in a respectful and modest manner, such that it is quite impossible to imagine him carrying out the brutal crimes with which he is charged. Yet carry them out he did, and that one capable of such a frenzy could then sit quietly as a mouse for two days, speaks, to this observer, of a kind of lunacy not enumerated by Dr Hector Munro. A great weight thus rests on the shoulders of the eminent James Bruce Thomson, in whose hands the fate of Roderick Macrae rests.

  Third day

  Mr Philby was not alone in grasping the importance of Mr Thomson’s evidence. His arrival in the court-room was anticipated with more excitement than any point since the first appearance of the prisoner himself. Mr Thomson, dressed in a tight-fitting black suit with the chain of a gold fob watch traversing his midriff, took his place in the witness box with an air of great solemnity. According to The Times’ man, he ‘cast a haughty gaze over the public gallery and then fixed, in turn, the judges, the Crown and defence with a no less arrogant air. The renowned alienist made it quite clear that he thought himself the principal player of this particular piece of theatre.’

  The Lord Justice-Clerk brought the court to order and, once the formalities had been completed, Mr Sinclair commenced his examination by asking the witness to state his profession.

  Mr Thomson: ‘I am Resident Surgeon to the General Prison for Scotland at Perth.’

  ‘And for how long have you held that position?’

  ‘Some fourteen years.’

  ‘And in that time how many prisoners have you examined?’

  ‘Around six thousand.’

  ‘And you have examined both the physical and mental condition of these prisoners?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘And would it be correct to say that you have given particular attention to the psychological state of the prisoners under your care?’

  ‘It would be correct.’

  ‘And would you say that you have some expertise in the study of the mental condition of criminals?’

  ‘Modesty aside, I would say so, yes.’

  ‘On what basis would you claim this expertise?’

  ‘In addition to my experience in examining prisoners, I have made an extensive study of the literature on this subject. I have been elected as a member of the Medico-Psychological Association and been invited by this body to read a paper on the psychological effects of prison on the inmate. My article on epilepsy among prisoners has been published in the Edinburgh Monthly Journal and I will shortly publish further works on the psychological and hereditary aspects of crime in the Journal for Mental Science.’

  ‘That is most impressive, sir,’ said Mr Sinclair. ‘And would I also be correct in saying that those criminals found unfit to stand trial on the basis of insanity are accommodated in your institution?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘So, as well your large experience with what might be termed the general prison population, you have had a good deal of contact with the criminally insane.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And would you draw any distinction between the general prison population and those deemed to be criminally insane?’

  ‘There is a similarity in that criminals of both creeds to a great extent are without the moral sense. However, the habitual criminal is generally disposed towards crime by heredity, and is for the most part incurable. There now exists a criminal class which dwells in the over-crowded slums of our cities. These people are born into crime, reared, nurtured and instructed in it. It might thus be argued that such criminals cannot truly be held responsible for their actions, since they are born to them and are powerless to resist the tyranny of their circumstances.’

  There was, observed Mr Murdoch, ‘something of the incantatory quality of the Free Church preacher in the rhythm and intonation of the alienist’s oration’.

  ‘And is it possible,’ asked Mr Sinclair, ‘to identify members of this hereditary criminal class of which you speak?’

  ‘Most assuredly.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Due to the filthy conditions in which these colonies breed and their lack of regard for the rules on consanguinity, there is often found among them abnormal states, such as spinal deformities, stammering, imperfect organs of speech, club feet, cleft-palates, hare-lips, deafness, congenital blindness, epilepsy, scrofula, and so on. All this usually accompanied by weakness of mind or imbecilism. Those born in crime are as distinct from an honest working man as a black-faced sheep is from the Cheviot breed.’§§§

  ‘Now, is it correct that you travelled to Inverness to examine the accused in the present case?’

  ‘At your request, sir, I did.’

  ‘And did you examine the prisoner?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And what were the results of this examination?’

  ‘I found that in certain respects, he exhibited the low physical characteristics of the hereditary criminal class.’

  ‘In which respects?’

  ‘He is of less than average height; his skull is misshapen; his ears are abnormally large and pendulous. The eyes are small and close-set, and, as any observer can see, his brow is heavy and protruding. The skin is pallid and unhealthy, although this I would attribute to a deficiency of diet, rather than to any hereditary factors.’

  ‘And in your investigation into whether the prisoner should be regarded as a criminal through heredity, did you undertake any enquiries beyond this physical examination?’

  ‘I did. In your company, I travelled to the prisoner’s domicile in the village of Culduie in Ross-shire.’

  ‘And why did you feel it necessary to carry out this journey?’

  ‘As I believe I stated at the time, if one finds that one’s glass of water is foul, one must check the well.’

  The Lord Justice-Clerk here intervened to request that the psychiatrist explain what he meant by this figure of speech.

  ‘I mean simply,’ said Mr Thomson, ‘that one cannot ascertain whether an individual’s characteristics have been passed to him by heredity merely from a physical examination. One must also check the source from which he has issued.’

  Mr Sinclair: ‘And what were the findings of your visit to Culduie?’

  ‘The inhabitants there are generally of low physical stock, small in stature and generally unattractive in
appearance, this no doubt engendered by the prevalence of inter-breeding attested to by the high incidence of certain family names in the area. The living conditions of the prisoner and his family I found quite unfit for human habitation, their hovel – I would hesitate to call it a home – lacking ventilation or sanitation and being shared with livestock. The father, with whom I conversed for some minutes, I found to be dull-witted to the point of idiocy. The prisoner’s mother died in childbirth, a likely indicator in our modern era of some congenital frailty. The prisoner’s sister had committed suicide, which is suggestive of some infirmity of mind running in this unfortunate clan. I did not have the opportunity to examine the younger siblings of the accused, those having been taken away to be cared for elsewhere. In summation, I would say without hesitation that the prisoner is derived from substandard physical stock.’

  ‘So you would conclude that he belongs to the hereditary criminal class which you previously described so eloquently?’

  ‘I am quite conscious, given the defence which you are putting forward in this case, that you wish me to answer in the affirmative. However, while the prisoner bears a certain resemblance to the urban criminal brood and this is undoubtedly due to his low breeding, I would not classify him as a member of the criminal classes; that is those classes who are born into crime and over whom crime exerts an irresistible pull.’

  At this point, Mr Sinclair ‘gave every indication that the rug had been forcefully yanked from beneath his feet’. In a somewhat faltering fashion, he asked Mr Thomson to account for his conclusion.

  ‘It is quite straightforward, Mr Sinclair. One must look for the causes of crime not only in the hereditary material of the criminal, but also in his environment. While to educated men like ourselves, the Highland settlement might seem a squalid shanty, it is a paradise compared to the slums inhabited by the urban villain. The air is clean and free-flowing and, while the population lives in poverty, the vast majority of people labour honestly on the land or in some other low work. Petty thievery and swindling is to a great degree unknown in these parts. Thus the individual, no matter how base in their physical make-up or limited their mental capacity, is not brought up or nurtured in an atmosphere of criminality. The prisoner here may have been born into a life which would make a civilised man baulk, but he was not born into crime.’

  There was a pause in proceedings while Mr Sinclair consulted with his assistant. Mr Gifford, it was reported, ‘leaned back in his seat, and, had it not been unseemly to do so, would likely have rested his feet on the table before him’. Those in the public gallery, perhaps not yet fully grasping the significance of the exchange, whispered among themselves. The Lord Justice-Clerk seemed content to allow a moment’s hiatus, before he asked Mr Sinclair if he had concluded his examination of the witness.

  The advocate indicated that he had not and hastily put his next question to the witness: ‘We have heard the testimony of Dr Hector Munro, a general practitioner, who stated that the prisoner exhibits none of the normal outward markers of insanity or imbecility. Would you agree with this assessment?’

  ‘I would.’

  ‘But would you also agree that it is possible for a person who does not exhibit such signs to be regarded as insane?’

  ‘I would, yes.’

  ‘How could this be?’

  ‘Over these last decades our understanding of the functioning – or dysfunctioning – of the mind has been greatly augmented by the labours of my continental and English colleagues, such that there is now a general acceptance in the field of Criminal Anthropology of the condition of moral insanity, or “mania without delirium” as it is sometimes termed.’

  ‘Could you describe what is meant by this condition?’

  ‘Briefly put, it consists of a morbid perversion of the affections without any concomitant impairment of the intellectual faculties. Thus an individual might appear to be fully cognisant of reality and entirely rational in his discourse, and yet be entirely without the moral sense. This is manifested by the habitual nature of the petty criminal who is quite powerless to refrain from thievery and, in the higher criminal – those guilty of murder, ravishment or infanticide – of a complete absence of remorse. The morally insane are entirely incapable of resisting their violent or criminal urges. These unfortunates are distinguished by the prevalence of malicious feelings, which often arise at the most trivial provocation. They see enmity where none exists and indulge themselves in great fantasies of revenge and mischief; fantasies which they are then powerless to resist acting upon.’

  ‘Would you thus aver that such individuals are not responsible for the deeds which they commit?’

  ‘I cannot speak to the legal point of view, but from the perspective of the student of Criminal Psychology, they cannot be regarded as responsible in the normal way, for such individuals are born – for whatever reason – without the moral sense. They do not have within their make-up the normal checks and balances of civilised men and women. As such they cannot be regarded as fully responsible for their actions. They are moral imbeciles and no more culpable for their condition than a cretin is for his.’

  At this point, the Lord Justice-Clerk intervened to prompt Mr Sinclair to progress his examination of the witness from these ‘no doubt fascinating’ generalities to the present case. Mr Sinclair acquiesced, although not without first remarking on the necessity of acquainting the jurymen with current thinking in the field of Criminal Psychology.

  ‘Now,’ he continued, ‘the court has been read a statement in which the prisoner freely declares himself to be of sound mind. In your long experience of dealing with the criminal population, is it possible that a person who might make such a statement could still be regarded as insane?’

  ‘Quite possible, yes,’ replied Mr Thomson.

  ‘How could that be so?’

  ‘If a prisoner is labouring under some delusion, that delusion is as real to him as this court-room is to us. If a person is insane, he is, by definition, unable to recognise himself as such.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mr Sinclair, pausing to allow the jury time to absorb this statement. ‘With that in mind, what value would you place on the prisoner’s own declaration about his state of mind?’

  ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘“None whatsoever”,’ Mr Sinclair repeated with a meaningful look to the jury.

  The Lord Justice-Clerk here intervened: ‘For the sake of clarity, Mr Thomson, is it your evidence, that the prisoner is insane?’

  ‘My evidence is merely that if the prisoner were insane, he would not be aware of the fact. Indeed, were he to express the idea that he was insane, it would imply the opposite, since such a view would imply a degree of self-knowledge entirely absent from those not in possession of their reason.’

  The Lord Justice-Clerk conferred for a moment with Lord Jerviswoode and then indicated that Mr Sinclair should proceed with his examination. He thanked him and continued. ‘Now, Mr Thomson, you have examined the prisoner with a view to ascertaining the state of his mind, have you not?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘And what form did this examination take?’

  ‘I conversed with him at length on the subject of his crimes.’

  ‘And what were your findings?’

  ‘The prisoner is certainly of reasonable intelligence and he displayed a grasp of language exceeding what would be expected of one of such low breeding. To a large extent he conversed freely with me and without apparent discomfort. In common with the higher rank of criminal I have described, he showed no remorse for his acts; indeed, I would venture to say that he displayed a perverse pride in admitting them.’

  ‘And would you say that this is characteristic of those individuals suffering from the condition of moral insanity?’

  ‘This behaviour is indeed common to the moral imbecile, but it does not in itself signify moral insanity.’

  ‘I
n your answer to my previous question, you described the morally insane as ...’ – he here read from a note handed to him by his assistants – ‘... harbouring “malicious feelings, which often arise at the most trivial provocation”.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now, we have heard here in evidence testimony describing the provocations caused to the prisoner and his family by the deceased Mr Mackenzie.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Whether one regards these provocations as trivial or otherwise, would you regard the prisoner’s desire to avenge himself against Mr Mackenzie as indicative of this condition of moral insanity?’

  ‘If one was to accept the prisoner’s own version of events, then one could reasonably conclude that he was labouring under this condition, yes.’

  This ‘being a point of utmost significance’, the Lord Justice-Clerk asked the witness to clarify his answer.

  Addressing himself directly to the judge, Mr Thomson continued. ‘It is quite commonplace in many disciplines, my own included, for ideas to become accepted as fact merely by virtue of being oft-repeated. In the present case, I fear that a certain narrative – namely, that the prisoner committed these acts in order to deliver his father from what he perceived to be the oppressive acts of Mr Mackenzie – has, through force of repetition, been unthinkingly accepted by the court and various witnesses. And yet this story is entirely dependent on the statements of a solitary witness: the prisoner himself. I, myself, see no particular reason to accept that version of events, or at least not to subject it to thorough scrutiny.’

  The Lord Justice-Clerk: ‘And have you subjected it to such scrutiny?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘And what is your opinion?’

  ‘My opinion is that there is no reason to believe the words of an individual who, by his own admission, has committed the most sanguinary deeds. And furthermore, that an alternative explanation provides a more plausible account of his actions.’