The Man Who Was Jekyll and Hyde

by Rick Wilson

  That craftwork was said to have been still in place when the crumbling old building was demolished – along with the adjoining block of shops and residential tenement buildings known as ‘the Luckenbooths’ – in 1817. And not before time. In an era that had no concern for conservation of historic architecture, their destruction had been desired by the populace for literally centuries. Why? Since coming into being, the buildings were considered an ‘ugly encumbrance and deformity to the High Street’, causing an unwanted obstruction and inhibiting flow of people, horses, carts and sedan chairs in the centre of the High Street to a narrow passage only 14ft wide in places. But that was only one of its negative points.

  Although it can look medievally handsome today in old prints, the Old Tollbooth had long been a little-loved edifice among Brodie’s fellow Edinburghers and their forebears and – by any technical assessment – should have been knocked down long before its fourth century, when Brodie was forced to regard it as his second home on the High Street. Today its one-time existence is marked by a heart shape made of cobbles – ‘the heart of Midlothian’ – and the locals’ tourist-shocking modern habit of spitting on it is probably more than the good-luck gesture they believe it to be; it no doubt dates back to the time when the building was held in total disdain for several reasons.

  To compound the ghastliness of the sky-high house of horrors, its exterior had provided the blood-curdling stage for judicial torture and executions. The gallows were attached to the west gable on a protruding platform high enough to give rubber-necking spectators the most open view of the gory proceedings. And on the upper reaches of the jail’s walls rusty old spikes were fixed into the mossy stone to facilitate display of the various body parts of those punished with the heaviest penalties. Such as the head of the Charles I loyalist hero James Graham, 1st Marquis of Montrose, which was exhibited there for over ten years from 1650 to 1661, after he was deserted by Charles II and hanged at the Mercat Cross.

  Having grown out of its various earlier purposes – as a toll collection booth, a centre where the city’s trading regulations would be sorted out by merchants, a meeting place of the town councillors and the grudging venue for the white-wigged grumblers of the Court of Session – it was eventually rejected by all its users in favour of what had become its primary purpose: the incarceration and brutal treatment of thieves, rogues and murderers in unimaginably squalid conditions. They would be chained by one leg to an iron bar, along which they could minimally walk (though Brodie was allowed a longer chain than was regular, as well as pen and ink, and occasional visits from friends).

  Many such prisoners would be held here before being executed or, if lucky, transported off to work on the American plantations. And by the time Brodie was keen to get away, to anywhere at all that was not the scaffold, the now independent Americans had closed the door – while a new one had opened at Australia’s Botany Bay, discovered nearly two decades before by Captain Cook. With that escape route in mind, the Deacon had another couple of cards up his sleeve. But time was tight. With only two weeks left to live, he wrote appealingly to a pair of very important persons in the vain hope that their influence could, even at this late stage, change the course of his court-decided fate. Datelined the Tolbooth, 10 September 1788, the first letter was to the Right Hon Henry Dundas (Viscount Melville) and it read:

  Right Honble, Sir

  You are no doubt acquainted with my misfortunes. Extracts of the proceedings against me are sent to London by my friends to endeavour to procure a Remission or an Alteration of my Sentence. But I believe little respect is paid to such Aplications unless supported by respectable Personages. With which view I now most humbly beseech your interposition and interest in support of this application making in London in my behalf and if possible prevent me from suffering an Ignomnious Death to the disgrace of my numerous conections, even if it were to end my days at Bottony Bay.

  As the time appointed for my Disolution approaches fast, I most earnestly intreat no time may be lost in writing to London on my behalf.

  I now most humbly Beg that you will pardon this Presumption in one of the most unfortunate of the Human Race and whatever may be the result of this Aplication, I shall ever pray for your welfare and happiness.

  I am with the greatest respect Right Honble Sir

  Your most obdt and huble Sert but most unfortunate

  Will Brodie

  The second letter, with the same dateline, was to Her Grace the Duchess of Buccleuch, and read:

  Madam,

  Lett me beseech your Ladyship to pardon My Boldness in making the present address.

  The wretched can only fly to the Humane and the powerfull for Relief. As my triall is printed, it would ill suit me to make any reflections on the unfortunate Issue; and this much I am convinced of, that the Current of Popular prejudice is so strong against me, that it will be well with me if I can Rescue my Life on any terms; and though my friends are making aplication above, I have little hopes of the success, unless some Respectable Characters who have had an opportunity of knowing something of those I have come of, and of my former life, Interest themselves in my behalf.

  With all the fortitude of a man, I must confess to you, Madam, that I feel the Natural horror at Death, and particularly a violent Ignominious Death, and would willingly avoid it even on the condition of spending my Future years at Bottony Bay.

  In that Infant Collony I might be usefull, from my knowledge in several Mechanical branches beside my own particular Profession; and if your Ladyship and your most Respectable friend The Right Honble Henry Dundas, would Deign to Patronise my Suit, I would have little Reason to Doubt the Success. Capt John Hamilton too I think would be ready to assist in any measure Sanctified by your Ladyship.

  Lett me again intreat you to Pardon my Boldness. My time flies apace, and the hand of Death presses upon me. Think for one moment, but no longer, what it is to be wretched, doomed to Death, helpless and in Chains, and you will excuse an effort for life from the most Infatuated and miserable of Men, who can confer no Compliment insubscribing Himself.

  Madam,

  Your Ladyships Devoted

  Huble Sert

  Will:m Brodie

  To stress the misery of his situation, he added to his sign-off: ‘Edinr Tolbooth in the Iron Room and in Chains’. But even without such a note, it was obvious that, all in all, the Old Tolbooth was not a wonderfully cheering spot in which to spend your last days and hours while fighting off depression, especially while the clock ticked on inexorably and the ensuing silence spoke loudly of the futility of appeals.

  What of the good French doctor, then? His visit to this forbidding place – if it happened at all – was said to have concerned more body than mind or soul. It was reported that he had undertaken, presumably for a good price, to revive Brodie after his body’s release from the rope and that, to effect helpful bleeding, he had pencil-marked the condemned man’s arms and temples to indicate where he would make the cuts.

  It is tempting to conclude that Brodie’s puzzlingly relaxed manner on the scaffold in defiance of his bleak future had something to do with such an apparently reassuring strategy, though this unexpected behaviour at that critical juncture may also have reflected his perverse enjoyment of the limelight after all these dark days lurking and hiding from people down damp, pitch-black closes with only fearful accomplices and a small flickering lantern to relieve the gloom.

  So where was his big farewell speech to the thousands of onlookers? Such an egotist would surely have wanted to speak out boldly (yet humbly) in his own defence and take his leave with something of a swagger. The absence of such a piece of theatre seemed to confirm that he intended to return from his appointment with the Grim Reaper.

  The nearest he got to that kind of showing off was when – just before pulling the nightcap over his face – he took a nearby friend by the hand, bade him farewell and requested that he acquaint the world with the view that he was still the same and that he died like a man.


  To other friends whom he had seen more privately that morning, he had seemed remarkably self-possessed, cool, contained and almost indifferent to his fate, speaking of it light-heartedly as ‘a leap in the dark’. He had shown real emotion only when visited, for the last time, by his pretty 10-year-old daughter Cecill on the Friday before his execution, ‘and here nature and the feelings of a father were superior to every other consideration; and the falling tear which he endeavoured to suppress gave strong proofs of his sensibility – he embraced her with emotion and blessed her with the warmest affection’. That observation was courtesy of The Scots Magazine, an extract from the first of two contemporary accounts, reprinted below, that described the dramatic moments and circumstances around the execution of Brodie and his accomplice George Smith:

  When Mr Brodie came to the scaffold, he bowed politely to the magistrates and the people. He had on a full suit of black – his hair dressed and powdered. Smith was dressed in white linen, trimmed with black. Having spent some time in prayer, with seeming fervency, with the clergymen, Mr Brodie then prayed a short time by himself.

  Having put on white nightcaps, Brodie pointed to Smith to ascend the steps that led to the drop, and, in an easy manner, clapping him on the shoulder, said: ‘George Smith, you are first in hand.’ Upon this, Smith, whose behaviour was highly penitent and resigned, slowly ascended the steps and was immediately followed by Brodie, who mounted with briskness and agility, and examined the dreadful apparatus with attention, and particularly the halter designed for himself. The ropes being too short-tied, Brodie stepped down to the platform and entered into conversation with his friends. He then sprang up again but the rope was still too short; and he once more descended to the platform showing some impatience.

  During this dreadful interval Smith remained on the drop with great composure and placidness. Brodie having ascended a third time, and the rope being at last properly adjusted, he deliberately untied his neckcloth, buttoned up his waistcoat and coat, and helped the executioner to fix the rope. He then pulled the nightcap over his face and placed himself in an attitude expressive of firmness and resolution.

  Smith, who during all this time had been in fervent devotion, let fall a handkerchief as a signal, and a few minutes before three they were launched into eternity, almost without a struggle.

  Brodie on the scaffold neither confessed nor denied his being guilty, and the justice of his sentence, and showed in all his conduct proper expressions of penitence, humility, and faith. Smith, with great fervency, confided in prayer his being guilty, and the justice of his sentence, and showed in all his conduct the proper expressions of penitence, humility, and faith.

  ‘This execution was conducted with more than usual solemnity; and the great bell tolled during the ceremony, which had an awful and solemn effect. The crowd of spectators was immense.

  Considering his long-term antipathy towards Brodie, juryman William Creech’s report of the hanging – published within days and within his Account of the Trial of William Brodie and George Smith – might not have been entirely objective; indeed it was nuanced with a touch of Schadenfreude, though it also gave an occasionally sympathetic summing up of the raw atmosphere that prevailed among key characters at the time, beginning as it did with the condemned man’s trying days in the Old Tolbooth jail before the big event:

  On the Sunday preceding his execution a respite of six weeks arrived for Falconer and Bruce [fellow-prisoners condemned for robbing a 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. – Smith said, six weeks is but a short period. Brodie, with emotion answered, George, What would you and I give for six weeks longer? Six weeks would be an age to us.

  On Tuesday morning, the day before his execution, a gentleman who was visiting him occasionally remarked on the fatal consequences of being connected with bad women, and in how many instances it had proved ruinous. – Yes, said Brodie, ’Tis woman that seduces all mankind [from The Beggars’ Opera]. The gentleman reproved this levity; but he sung out the song:

  ’Tis woman that seduces all mankind

  By her we first were taught the wheedling arts

  Her very Eyes can cheat; when most she’s kind,

  She tricks us …

  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, and declared that, if poison was placed on one hand, and a dagger at the other, he would refuse them both – he would submit to the sentence of the laws of his country. Late in the evening he was suddenly agitated by hearing some noise; and turning to Smith, he said – George, do you know what that noise 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 tomorrow – 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. At nine (Wednesday, October 1.) he had his hair fully dressed and powdered. Soon after, a clergyman entered, and offered to pray with him. He desired that it might be as short as possible. At eleven o’clock he wrote the following letter to the Lord Provost in a strong, firm hand:

  Edinburgh, Tolbooth,

  Oct 1. 1788, Eleven o’clock.

  My Lord

  As none of my relations can stand being present at my dissolution, I humbly request that your Lordship will permit [name deleted] to attend, it will be some consolation in my last hour; and that your Lordship will please give order that my body after be delivered to [name deleted] and by no means to remain in jail; that he and my friends may have it decently dressed and interred. This is the last favour and request of

  Your most obedient

  But most unfortunate

  [Signed] Will. Brodie

  Much to his relief, this request was granted, and he considered it one of the more humane acts he had encountered of late; it would certainly soften the blow that was about to fell him … or not. Creech’s account continued:

  At 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, &c.

  At two o’clock the guard marched up and surrounded the place of execution; 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 slaves, and followed by the clergymen in black gowns and bands, proceeded from the Council Chamber to the prison, attended by the proper officers.

  The Magistrates reached the scaffold at about ten minutes after two. The criminals were soon brought out –

  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, with black trimming. They were assisted in their devotions by the Rev. Mr Hardie, one of the ministers of the city, the Rev. Mr Cleeve of the Episcopal, and Mr Hall of the Burgher persuasion. They spend some time in praying with seeming fervency. Brodie kneelt, 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 art a merciful God, and that, as I am a great sinner, thou wilt have mercy upon me, through the merits of they Son Jesus Christ! O Lord, receive my soul! Into they 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. The criminals put on white caps, and Smith, whose behaviour was highly peni
tent 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 was at this point that Brodie tapped his accomplice 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.

  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. He then sprung up again upon the platform, 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. Having again ascended, he deliberately untied his cravat, buttoned up his waistcoat and coat, and helped the executioner to fix the rope; then pulling the night-cap over his face, he folded his arms and placed himself in an attitude expressive of firmness and resolution.

  Some aspects of the whole affair were so murky it was hardly surprising that rich conspiracy stories kept emerging and circulating – such as the widespread suspicion that the hangman had been bargained with to arrange for a short fall, thus the inordinate time spent fiddling with the rope. Thus also perhaps the showy condemnation of the man’s ‘stupidity’ – to suggest that someone so maligned by Brodie could not possibly have been in league with him. In any case, ‘the excess of caution exercised by the executioner, in the first instance, in shortening the rope, proved fatal by his inadvertency in making it latterly too long’, observed one witness to the scene.