the evening of Saturday, 24th December, for the purpose of carrying out the robbery. Arriving there, they fell to playing hazard with other members of “the club,” as it was called by the questionable characters who frequented the house, and Smith, the luck being against him, soon lost all his money. Brodie, on the other hand, was winning steadily, and refused to leave, turning a deaf ear to his friend’s repeated reminders that business should come before pleasure and their work awaited them. It was nearly four in the morning when Smith decided to wait no longer, “as the time for doing their business was going,” and started by himself upon the exploit. The lock presented no difficulties, and, by the light of his dark lantern, he was able to reap an excellent harvest. “Ten watches, five of them gold, three silver, with the whole rings, lockets, and other jewellery and gold trinkets in the show-boxes,” were all stuffed into two old black stockings and carried by Smith to the hospitable Mr. Henderson’s stable, where he hid them in a manger, and was at last free to seek the shelter of his grocery establishment in the Cowgate.
Smith was up betimes on the Sunday, and by eight o’clock was “tirling” at the door in Brodie’s Close, to inform the Deacon of what he had missed. The maid told him, however, that her master was still in bed, so Smith left a message that he wanted to see him, and returned home. Later in the day the Deacon called upon him, and Smith, having meantime fetched the black stockings from the Grassmarket, poured out upon the bed their glittering contents, remarking, “You see what luck I have been in; you might have been there, but, as you did not go, you cannot expect a full share. But there are the goods; pick out what you choose for yourself”—which certainly seems handsome behaviour on Smith’s part, although Brodie afterwards complained that he had been treated badly in the matter. The Deacon accordingly selected for his own use a gold seal, a gold watch-key set with garnet stones, and two gold rings. They valued the whole articles at £350 sterling, and must have been good judges, for that was the figure which the owners themselves subsequently put upon the goods.
That same day they walked past Bruce’s shop several times to see if the robbery had been discovered, but found everything as they had left it. Delighted at the success of his coup, Smith boldly proposed returning that night “in order,” as he said, “to sweep the shop clean,” but Brodie dissuaded him from so hazardous an attempt. They then consulted as to the safest means of disposing of the goods, with the result that, on the following Wednesday, Smith set off with them on foot to Dunbar, and from thence took the mail-coach to Chesterfield, where he parted with them to one John Tasker alias Murray—who had previously been banished from Scotland—for £105. The Deacon had advanced five and a half guineas for the expenses of the journey, and, on his return, Smith repaid this sum, and entrusted Brodie with the balance to keep for him, and give him as he required it; but Brodie “gained a great part of it at play.” The Deacon, therefore, did not do so badly after all.
It is interesting to note in passing that during this period—the winter of 1786-7—Deacon Brodie had for an opposite neighbour no less a person than Robert Burns. While the poet was sharing his friend Richmond’s lodgings in Baxter’s Close, Lawnmarket, there also dwelt in the adjacent Wardrop’s Court Alexander Nasmyth, the artist, whose portrait of Burns was painted at this time. It is probable that the poet, the painter, and the Deacon foregathered with other kindred spirits at Johnnie Dowie’s tavern in Libberton’s Wynd, the recognised resort of the Edinburgh wits of that day.
The partners seem to have rested satisfied with the substantial profits of their last transaction for a considerable time, for the next robbery of which we have any details was not carried out till 16th August, 1787. In this, for the first time, they had the advantage of Ainslie’s assistance, he being taken into their confidence for that end. The three repaired to Leith, to the shop of John Carnegie, a grocer at the foot of St. Andrew Street, which Ainslie and Smith entered by means of pick-locks—Brodie remaining without to watch—and carried off “350 pounds of fine black tea,” at that period a very valuable haul. Two wallets were filled from the chests in the shop, but “Ainslie being ill at this time and Brodie being weakly,” they were forced to abandon one of the wallets, which they hid in a shed in a field by the Bonnington Road, where it was afterwards recovered. The Deacon objected to the other wallet being taken to his house, and what became of it is not known.
In their next undertaking the company was raised to its full strength by the accession of John Brown alias Humphry Moore, whose previous experiences in England eminently qualified him to take an important part in such criminal enterprises. Brown appears to have been spending the autumn in Stirlingshire, but his visit was suddenly brought to a close in September on his banishment from that county by the Justices of the Peace for a theft committed by him within their jurisdiction. This was a more boldly conceived robbery than the gang had yet attempted—no less than the theft of the silver mace belonging to the University of Edinburgh. The Deacon, in the course of those walks with Smith, in which healthful exercise was combined with an eye to business, “carried” the latter “to the College Library, where, having observed the mace standing, Brodie said that they must have it.” Ainslie was accordingly sent to see where the mace was usually kept, and reported that it was in the Library, where the others had seen it. Accordingly, on the night of 29th October, 1787, the quartet proceeded to the University. “Having got access at the under gate, they opened the under door leading to the Library with a false key, which broke in the lock; and thereafter they broke open the door of the Library with an iron crow, and carried away the College mace.” The magistrates offered a reward of ten guineas for a discovery of the thieves, but without success. The mace was forthwith despatched to the accommodating Tasker, of Chesterfield, at the appropriate address of the “Bird in Hand,” and the macer thereof knew it no more.
Brown appears entitled to the credit of planning the next robbery, and took a leading part in its execution. In those days the merchants of Edinburgh usually resided above their business premises, and the key of the shop was hung on the inside of the door—a habit highly appreciated by the Deacon’s little band. Brown brought to Smith the key of a shop belonging to one John Tapp, which, he said, also opened the door of that gentleman’s house; and Smith, having cast a professional eye over same, assured him “there was nothing in it.” Thereafter, one evening about Christmas time, between nine and ten o’clock, Brown dropped in upon John Tapp, whom he detained in his shop over a friendly and seasonable bottle. His associates, meanwhile, opened the house door with a false key and rifled the good man’s repositories, making off with “eighteen guinea notes, and a twenty shilling one, a silver watch, some rings, and a miniature picture of a gentleman belonging to Tapp’s wife, which picture they broke for the sake of the gold with which it was backed.” One wonders if Mrs. Tapp mentioned the loss to her husband. These valuables accompanied the mace to Chesterfield, where John Tasker alias Murray seems to have driven a brisk, though illegitimate, trade, along with a letter to him, written by Brown in Smith’s name, arranging for their disposal.
Soon after this the Deacon, ever on the alert for a good stroke of business, suggested to his partners the “doing” of the shop of Messrs. Inglis & Horner, silk mercers at the Cross of Edinburgh, “as the goods there were very rich and valuable, and a small bulk of them carried off would amount to a large sum.” He and Smith frequently went to examine the padlock, “which they did most commonly on the Sunday forenoon when the people were in church.” They found this necessary, as the lock proved to be of a difficult construction. Brodie made a key for it himself, and went one night alone to test its efficacy, probably with the view of stealing a march upon the rest, and doing a little private practice outwith the knowledge of his colleagues. When he tried the key, however, although it unlocked the padlock it would not lock it again, and he had to disclose the state of matters to the others. On learning of his attempt “they were all very angry with him, and said that he had more than likely spoilt the place after all the trouble they had been about; but Brodie told them he hoped not, as he had fixed the padlock with a bit stick
