strategic points about the jail and elsewhere. The Governor was informally notified of a state of insurrection and was requested to send in the state militia. By evening all the forces of organized society were under arms, and the result was a formidable, apparently impregnable force.
Nor was the widespread indignation against the shooting of James King of William entirely unalloyed by bitterness. King had been a hard hitter, an honest man, a true crusader; but in the heat of battle he had not always had time to make distinctions. Thus he had quite justly attacked the _Times_ and other venal newspapers, but in so doing had, by too general statements, drawn the fire of every other journal in town. He had attacked with entire reason a certain Catholic priest, a man the Church itself would probably soon have disciplined, but in so doing had managed to enrage all Roman Catholics. In like manner his scorn of the so-called “chivalry” was certainly well justified, but his manner of expression offended even the best Southerners. Most of us see no farther than the immediate logic of the situation. Those perfectly worthy citizens were inclined to view the Vigilantes, not as a protest against intolerable conditions, but rather as personal champions of King.
In thus relying on the strength of their position the upholders of law realized that there might be fighting, and even severe fighting, but it must be remembered that the Law and Order party loved fighting. It was part of their education and of their pleasure and code. No wonder that they viewed with equanimity and perhaps with joy the beginning of the Vigilance movement of 1856.
The leaders of the Law and Order party chose as their military commander William Tecumseh Sherman, whose professional ability and integrity in later life are unquestioned, but whose military genius was equaled only by his extreme inability to remember facts. When writing his _Memoirs_, the General evidently forgot that original documents existed or that statements concerning historical events can often be checked up. A mere mob is irresponsible and anonymous. But it was not a mob with whom Sherman was faced, for, as a final satisfaction to the legal-minded, the men of the Vigilance Committee had put down their names on record as responsible for this movement, and it is upon contemporary record that the story of these eventful days must rely for its details.
CHAPTER XIV
THE STORM BREAKS
The Governor of the State at this time was J. Neely Johnson, a politician whose merits and demerits were both so slight that he would long since have been forgotten were it not for the fact that he occupied office during this excitement. His whole life heretofore had been one of trimming. He had made his way by this method, and he gained the Governor’s chair by yielding to the opinion of others. He took his color and his temporary belief from those with whom he happened to be. His judgment often stuck at trifles, and his opinions were quickly heated but as quickly cooled. The added fact that his private morals were not above criticism gave men an added hold over him.
On receipt of the request for the state militia by the law party, but not by the proper authorities. Governor Johnson hurried down from Sacramento to San Francisco. Immediately on arriving in the city he sent word to Coleman requesting an interview. Coleman at once visited him at his hotel. Johnson apparently made every effort to appear amiable and conciliatory. In answer to all questions Coleman replied:
“We want peace, and if possible without a struggle.”
“It is all very well,” said Johnson, “to talk about peace with an army of insurrection newly raised. But what is it you actually wish to accomplish?”
“The law is crippled,” replied Coleman. “We want merely to accomplish what the crippled law should do but cannot. This done, we will gladly retire. Now you have been asked by the mayor and certain others to bring out the militia and crush this movement. I assure you it cannot be done, and, if you attempt it, it will cause you and us great trouble. Do as Governor McDougal did in ’51. See in this movement what he saw in that–a local movement for a local reform in which the State is not concerned. We are not a mob. We demand no overthrow of institutions. We ask not a single court to adjourn. We ask not a single officer to vacate his position. We demand only the enforcement of the law which we have made.”
This expression of intention, with a little elaboration and argument, fired Johnson to enthusiasm. He gave his full support, unofficially of course, to the movement.
“But,” he concluded, “hasten the undertaking as much as you can. The opposition is stronger than you suppose. The pressure on me is going to be terrible. What about the prisoners in the jail?”
Coleman evaded this last question by saying that the matter was in the hands of the Committee, and he then left the Governor.
Coleman at once returned to headquarters where the Executive Committee was in session, getting rid of its routine business. After a dozen matters were settled, it was moved “that the Committee as a body shall visit the county jail at such time as the Executive Committee might direct, and take thence James P. Casey and Charles Cora, give them a fair trial, and administer such punishment as justice shall demand.”
This, of course, was the real business for which all this organization had been planned. A moment’s pause succeeded the proposal, but an instantaneous and unanimous assent followed the demand for a vote. At this precise instant a messenger opened the door and informed them that Governor Johnson was in the building requesting speech with Coleman.
Coleman found Johnson, accompanied by Sherman and a few others, lounging in the anteroom. The Governor sprawled in a chair, his hat pulled over his eyes, a cigar in the corner of his mouth. His companions arose and bowed gravely as Coleman entered the room, but the Governor remained seated and nodded curtly with an air of bravado. Without waiting for even the ordinary courtesies he burst out.
“We have come to ask what you intend to do,” he demanded.
Coleman, thoroughly surprised, with the full belief that the subject had all been settled in the previous interview, replied curtly.
“I agree with you as to the grievances,” rejoined the Governor, “but the courts are the proper remedy. The judges are good men, and there is no necessity for the people to turn themselves into a mob.”
“Sir!” cried Coleman. “This is no mob!–You know this is no mob!”
The Governor went on to explain that it might become necessary to bring out all the force at his command. Coleman, though considerably taken aback, recovered himself and listened without comment. He realized that Sherman and the other men were present as witnesses.
“I will report your remark to my associates,” he contented himself with saying. The question of witnesses, however, bothered Coleman. He darted in to the committee room and shortly returned with witnesses of his own.
“Let us now understand each other clearly,” he resumed. “As I understand your proposal, it is that, if we make no move, you guarantee no escape, an immediate trial, and instant execution?”
Johnson agreed to this.
“We doubt your ability to do this,” went on Coleman, “but we are ready to meet you half-way. This is what we will promise: we will take no steps without first giving you notice. But in return we insist that ten men of our own selection shall be added to the sheriff’s force within the jail.”
Johnson, who was greatly relieved and delighted, at once agreed to this proposal, and soon withdrew. But the blunder he had made was evident enough. With Coleman, who was completely outside the law, he, as an executive of the law, had no business treating or making agreements at all. Furthermore, as executive of the State, he had no legal right to interfere with city affairs unless he were formally summoned by the authorities. Up to now he had merely been notified by private citizens. And to cap the whole sheaf of blunders, he had now in this private interview treated with rebels, and to their advantage. For, as Coleman probably knew, the last agreement was all for the benefit of the Committee. They gained the right to place a personal guard over the prisoners. They gave in return practically only a promise to withdraw that guard before attacking the jail–a procedure which was eminently practical if they cared anything for the safety of the guard.
Johnson was thoroughly pleased with himself until he reached the hotel where the leaders of the opposition were awaiting him. Their keen legal minds saw at once the position in which he had placed himself. After a hasty discussion, it was decided to claim that the Committee had waived all right of action, and that they had promised definitely to leave the case to the courts. When this statement had been industriously circulated and Coleman had heard of it, he is said to have exclaimed:
“The time has come. After that, it is either ourselves or a mob.”
He proceeded at once to the Vigilance headquarters and summoned Olney, the appointed guardian of the jail. Him he commanded to get together sixty of the best men possible. A call was sent out for the companies to assemble. They soon began to gather, coming some in rank as they had gathered in their headquarters outside, others singly and in groups. Doorkeepers prevented all exit: once a man was in, he was not permitted to go out. Each leader received explicit directions as to what was to be done. He was instructed as to precisely when he and his command were to start; from what given point; along exactly what route to proceed; and at just what time to arrive at a given point–not a moment sooner or later. The plan for concerted action was very carefully and skillfully worked out. Olney’s sixty men were instructed to lay aside their muskets and, armed only with pistols, to make their way by different routes to the jail.
Sunday morning dawned fair and calm. But as the day wore on, an air of unrest pervaded the city. Rumors of impending action were already abroad. The jail itself hummed like a hive. Men came and went, busily running errands, and darting about through the open door. Armed men were taking their places on the flat roof. Meantime the populace gathered slowly. At first there were only a score or so idling around the square; but little by little they increased in numbers. Black forms began to appear on the rooftops all about; white faces showed at the windows; soon the center of the square had filled; the converging streets became black with closely packed people. The windows and doors and balconies, the copings and railings, the slopes of the hills round about were all occupied. In less than an hour twenty thousand people had gathered. They took their positions quietly and waited patiently. It was evident that they had assembled in the role of spectators only, and that action had been left to more competent and better organized men. There was no shouting, no demonstration, and so little talking that it amounted only to a low murmur. Already the doors of the jail had been closed. The armed forces on the roof had been increased.
After a time the congested crowd down one of the side-streets was agitated by the approach of a body of armed men. At the same instant a similar group began to appear at the end of another and converging street. The columns came steadily forward, as the people gave way. The men wore no uniforms, and the glittering steel of their bayonets furnished the only military touch. The two columns reached the convergence of the street at the same time and as they entered the square before the jail a third and a fourth column debouched from other directions, while still others deployed into view on the hills behind. They all took their places in rank around the square.
Among the well-known characters of the times was a certain Colonel Gift. Mr. Hubert H. Bancroft, the chronicler of these events, describes him as “a tall, lank, empty-boweled, tobacco-spurting Southerner, with eyes like burning black balls, who could talk a company of listeners into an insane asylum quicker than any man in California, and whose blasphemy could not be equaled, either in quantity or quality, by the most profane of any age or nation.” He remarked to a friend nearby, as he watched the spectacle below: “When you see these damned psalm-singing Yankees turn out of their churches, shoulder their guns, and march away of a Sunday, you may know that hell is going to crack shortly.”
For some time the armed men stood rigid, four deep all around the square. Behind them the masses of the people watched. Then at a command the ranks fell apart and from the side-streets marched the sixty men chosen by Olney, dragging a field gun at the end of a rope. This they wheeled into position in the square and pointed it at the door of the jail. Quite deliberately, the cannon was loaded with powder and balls. A man lit a slow match, blew it to a glow, and took his position at the breech. Nothing then happened for a full ten minutes. The six men stood rigid by the gun in the middle of the square. The sunlight gleamed from the ranks of bayonets. The vast multitude held its breath. The wall of the jail remained blank and inscrutable.
Then a man on horseback was seen to make his way through the crowd. This was Charles Doane, Grand Marshal of the Vigilantes. He rode directly to the jail door, on which he rapped with the handle of his riding-whip. After a moment the wicket in the door opened. Without dismounting, the rider handed a note within, and then, backing his horse the length of the square, came to rest.
Again the ranks parted and closed, this time to admit of three carriages. As they came to a stop, the muskets all around the square leaped to “present arms!” From the carriages descended Coleman, Truett, and several others. In dead silence they walked to the jail door, Olney’s men close at their heels. For some moments they spoke through the wicket; then the door swung open and the Committee entered.
Up to this moment Casey had been fully content with the situation. He was, of course, treated to the best the jail or the city could afford. It was a bother to have been forced to shoot James King of William; but the nuisance of incarceration for a time was a small price to pay. His friends had rallied well to his defense. He had no doubt whatever, that, according to the usual custom, he would soon work his way through the courts and stand again a free man. His first intimation of trouble was the hearing of the resonant tramp of feet outside. His second was when Sheriff Scannell stood before him with the Vigilantes’ note in his hand. Casey took one glance at Scannell’s face.
“You aren’t going to betray me?” he cried. “You aren’t going to give me up?”
“James,” replied Scannell solemnly, “there are three thousand armed men coming for you and I have not thirty supporters around the jail.”
“Not thirty!” cried Casey astonished. For a moment he appeared crushed; then he leaped to his feet flourishing a long knife. “I’ll not be taken from this place alive!” he cried. “Where are all you brave fellows who were going to see me through this?”
At this moment Coleman knocked at the door of the jail. The sheriff hurried away to answer the summons.
Casey took the opportunity to write a note for the Vigilantes which he gave to the marshal. It read:
“_To the Vigilante Committee_. GENTLEMEN:–I am willing to go before you if you will let me speak but ten minutes. I do not wish to have the blood of any man upon my head.”
On entering the jail door Coleman and his companions bowed formally to the sheriff.
“We have come for the prisoner Casey,” said Coleman. “We ask that he be peaceably delivered us handcuffed at the door immediately.”
“Under existing circumstances,” replied Scannell, “I shall make no resistance. The prison and its contents are yours.”
But Truett would have none of this. “We want only the man Casey at present,” he said. “For the safety of all the rest we hold you strictly accountable.”
They proceeded at once to Casey’s cell. The murderer heard them coming and sprang back from the door holding his long knife poised. Coleman walked directly to the door, where he stopped, looking Casey in the eye. At the end of a full minute he exclaimed sharply:
“Lay down that knife!”
As though the unexpected tones had broken a spell, Casey flung the knife from him and buried his face in his hands. Then, and not until then, Coleman informed him curtly that his request would be granted.
They took Casey out through the door of the jail. The crowd gathered its breath for a frantic cheer. The relief from tension must have been great, but Coleman, bareheaded, raised his hand and, in instant obedience to the gesture, the cheer was stifled. The leaders then entered the carriage, which immediately turned and drove away.
Thus Casey was safely in custody. Charles Cora, who, it will be remembered, had killed Marshal Richardson and who had gained from the jury a disagreement, was taken on a second trip.
The street outside headquarters soon filled with an orderly crowd awaiting events. There was noticeable the same absence of excitement, impatience, or tumult so characteristic of the popular gatherings of that time, except perhaps when the meetings were conducted by the partisans of Law and Order. After a long interval one of the Committee members appeared at an upper window.
“It is not the intention of the Committee to be hasty,” he announced. “Nothing will be done today.”
This statement was received in silence. At last someone asked:
“Where are Casey and Cora?”
“The Committee hold possession of the jail. All are safe,” said the Committee man.
With this simple statement the crowd was completely satisfied, and dispersed quietly and at once.
Of the three thousand enrolled men, three hundred were retained under arms at headquarters, a hundred surrounded the jail, and all the rest were dismissed. Next day, Monday, headquarters still remained inscrutable; but large patrols walked about the city, collecting arms. The gunshops were picketed and their owners were warned under no circumstances to sell weapons. Towards evening the weather grew colder and rain came on. Even this did not discourage the crowd, which stood about in its sodden clothes waiting. At midnight it reluctantly dispersed, but by daylight the following morning the streets around headquarters were blocked. Still it rained, and still apparently nothing happened. All over the city business was at a standstill. Men had dropped their affairs, even the most pressing, either to take part in this movement or to lend the moral support of their presence and their interest. The partisans of Law and Order, so called, were also abroad. No man dared express himself in mixed company openly. The courts were empty. Some actually closed down, with one excuse or another; but most of them pretended to go through the forms of business. Many judges took the occasion to leave town–on vacation, they announced. These incidents occasioned lively comment. As our chronicler before quoted tells us: “A good many who had things on their minds left for the country.” Still it rained steadily, and still the crowds waited.
The prisoners, Casey and Cora, had expected, when taken from the jail, to be lynched at once. But, since the execution had been thus long postponed, they began to take heart. They understood that they were to have a clear trial “according to law”–a phrase which was in those days immensely cheering to malefactors. They were not entirely cut off from outside communication. Casey was allowed to see several men on pressing business, and permitted to talk to them freely, although before a witness from the Committee. Cora received visits from Belle Cora, who in the past had spent thousands on his legal defense. Now she came to see him faithfully and reported every effort that was being made.
On Tuesday, the 20th, Cora was brought before the Committee. He asked for counsel, and Truett was appointed to act for him. A list of witnesses demanded by Cora was at once summoned, and a sub-committee was sent to bring them before the board of trial. All the ordinary forms of law were closely followed, and all the essential facts were separately brought out. It was the same old Cora trial over again with one modification; namely, that all technicalities and technical delays were eliminated. Not an attempt was made to confine the investigation to the technical trial. By dusk the case for the prosecution was finished, and that for the defense was supposed to begin.
During all this long interim the Executive Committee had sat in continuous session. They had agreed that no recess of more than thirty minutes should be taken until a decision had been reached. But of all the long list of witnesses submitted by Cora for the defense not one could be found. They were in hiding and afraid. The former perjurers would not appear.
It was now falling dusk. The corners of the great room were in darkness. Beneath the elevated desk, behind which sat Coleman, Bluxome, the secretary, lighted a single oil lamp, the better to see his notes. In the interest of the proceedings a general illumination had not been ordered. Within the shadow, the door opened and Charles Doane, the Grand Marshal of the Vigilantes, advanced three steps into the room.
“Mr. President,” he said clearly, “I am instructed to announce that James King of William is dead.”
The conviction of both men took place that night, and the execution was ordered, but in secret.
Thursday noon had been set for the funeral of James King of William. This ceremony was to take place in the Unitarian church. A great multitude had gathered to attend. The church was filled to overflowing early in the day. But thousands of people thronged the streets round about, and stood patiently and seriously to do the man honor. Historians of the time detail the names of many marching bodies from every guild and society in the new city. Hundreds of horsemen, carriages, and foot marchers got themselves quietly into the line. They also were excluded from the funeral ceremonies by lack of room, but wished to do honor to the cortege. This procession is said to have been over two miles in length. Each man wore a band of crepe around his left arm. All the city seemed to be gathered there. And yet the time for the actual funeral ceremony was still some hours distant.
Nevertheless the few who, hurrying to the scene, had occasion to pass near the Vigilante headquarters, found the silent square guarded on all sides by a triple line of armed men. The side-streets also were filled with them. They stood in the exact alignment their constant drill had made possible, with bayonets fixed, staring straight ahead. Three thousand were under arms. Like the vast crowd a few squares away, they, too, stood silent and patiently waiting.
At a quarter before one the upper windows of the headquarters building were thrown open and small planked platforms were thrust from two of them. Heavy beams were shoved out from the flat roof directly over the platforms. From the ends of the beams dangled nooses of rope. After this another wait ensued. Across the silence of the intervening buildings could be heard faintly from the open windows of the church the sound of an organ, and then the measured cadences of an oration. The funeral services had begun. As though this were a signal, the blinds that had closed the window openings were thrown back and Cora was conducted to the end of one of the little platforms. His face was covered with a white handkerchief and he was bound. A moment later Casey appeared. He had asked not to be blindfolded. Cora stood bolt upright, motionless as a stone, but Casey’s courage broke. If he had any hope that the boastful promises of his friends would be fulfilled by a rescue, that hope died as he looked down on the set, grim faces, on the sinister ring of steel. His nerve then deserted him completely and he began to babble.
“Gentlemen,” he cried at them, “I am not a murderer! I do not feel afraid to meet my God on a charge of murder! I have done nothing but what I thought was right! Whenever I was injured I have resented it! It has been part of my education during twenty-nine years! Gentlemen, I forgive you this persecution! O God! My poor Mother! O God!”
It is to be noted that he said not one word of contrition nor of regret for the man whose funeral services were then going on, nor for the heartbroken wife who knelt at that coffin. His words found no echo against that grim wall of steel. Again ensued a wait, apparently inexplicable. Across the intervening housetops the sound of the oration ceased. At the door of the church a slight commotion was visible. The coffin was being carried out. It was placed in the hearse. Every head was bared. There followed a slight pause; then from overhead the church-bell boomed out once. Another bell in the next block answered; a third, more distant, chimed in. From all parts of the city tolled the requiem.
At the first stroke of the bell the funeral cortege moved forward toward Lone Mountain cemetery. At the first stroke the Vigilantes as one man presented arms. The platforms dropped, and Casey and Cora fell into eternity.
CHAPTER XV
THE VIGILANTES OF ’56
This execution naturally occasioned a great storm of indignation among the erstwhile powerful adherents of the law. The ruling, aristocratic class, the so-called chivalry, the best element of the city, had been slapped deliberately in the face, and this by a lot of Yankee shopkeepers. The Committee were stigmatized as stranglers. They ought to be punished as murderers! They should be shot down as revolutionists! It was realized, however, that the former customary street-shooting had temporarily become unsafe. Otherwise there is no doubt that brawls would have been more frequent than they were.
An undercurrent of confidence was apparent, however. The Law and Order men had been surprised and overpowered. They had yielded only to overwhelming odds. With the execution of Cora and Casey accomplished, the Committee might be expected to disband. And when the Committee disbanded, the law would have its innings. Its forces would then be better organized and consolidated, its power assured. It could then safely apprehend and bring to justice the ringleaders of this undertaking. Many of the hotheads were in favor of using armed force to take Coleman and his fellow-conspirators into custody. But calmer spirits advised moderation for the present, until the time was more ripe.
But to the surprise and indignation of these people, the Vigilantes showed no intention of disbanding. Their activities extended and their organization strengthened. The various military companies drilled daily until they went through the manual with all the precision of regular troops. The Committee’s book remained opened, and by the end of the week over seven thousand men had signed the roll. Loads of furniture and various supplies stopped at the doors of headquarters and were carried in by members of the organization. No non-member ever saw the inside of the building while it was occupied by the Committee of Vigilance. So cooking utensils, cot-beds, provisions, blankets, bulletin-boards, arms, chairs and tables, field-guns, ammunition, and many other supplies seemed to indicate a permanent occupation. Doorkeepers were always in attendance, and sentinels patrolled in the streets and on the roof. Every day the Executive Committee was in session for all of the daylight hours. A blacklist was in preparation. Orders were issued for the Vigilante police to arrest certain men and to warn certain others to leave town immediately. A choice haul was made of the lesser lights of the ward-heelers and chief politicians. A very good sample was the notorious Yankee Sullivan, an ex-prize-fighter, ward-heeler, ballot-box stuffer, and shoulder-striker. He, it will be remembered, was the man who returned Casey as supervisor in a district where, as far as is known, Casey was not a candidate and no one could be found who had voted for him. This individual went to pieces completely shortly after his arrest. He not only confessed the details of many of his own crimes but, what was more important, disclosed valuable information as to others. His testimony was important, not necessarily as final proof against those whom he accused, but as indication of the need of thorough investigation. Then without warning he committed suicide in his cell. On investigation it turned out that he had been accustomed to from sixty to eighty drinks of whiskey each day, and the sudden and complete deprivation had unhinged his mind. Warned by this unforeseen circumstance, the Committee henceforth issued regular rations of whiskey to all its prisoners, a fact which is a striking commentary on the character of the latter. It is to be noted, furthermore, that liquor of all sorts was debarred from the deliberations of the Vigilantes themselves.
Trials went briskly forward in due order, with counsel for defense and ample opportunity to call witnesses. There were no more capital punishments. It was made known that the Committee had set for itself a rule that capital punishment would be inflicted by it only for crimes so punishable by the regular law. But each outgoing ship took a crowd of the banished. The majority of the first sweepings were low thugs–“Sydney Ducks,” hangers-on, and the worst class of criminals; but a certain number were taken from what had been known as the city’s best. In the law courts these men would have been declared as white as the driven snow; in fact, that had actually happened to some of them. But they were plainly undesirable citizens. The Committee so decided and bade them depart. Among the names of men who were prominent and influential in the early history of the city, but who now were told to leave, were Charles Duane, Woolley Kearny, William McLean, J.D. Musgrave, Peter Wightman, James White, and Edward McGowan. Hundreds of others left the city of their own accord. Terror spread among the inhabitants of the underworld. Some of the minor offenders brought in by the Vigilante police were turned over by the Executive Committee to the regular law courts. It is significant that, whereas convictions had been almost unknown up to this time, every one of these offenders was promptly sentenced by those courts.
But though the underworld was more or less terrified, the upper grades were only the further aroused. Many sincerely believed that this movement was successful only because it was organized, that the people of the city were scattered and powerless, that they needed only to be organized to combat the forces of disorder. In pursuance of the belief that the public at large needed merely to be called together loyally to defend its institutions, a meeting was set for June 2, in Portsmouth Square. Elaborate secret preparations, including the distribution of armed men, were made to prevent interference. Such preparations were useless. Immediately after the appearance of the notice the Committee of Vigilance issued orders that the meeting was to be in no manner discouraged or molested.
It was well attended. Enormous crowds gathered, not only in and around the Square itself, but in balconies and windows and on housetops. It was a very disrespectful crowd, evidently out for a good time. On the platform within the Square stood or sat the owners of many of the city’s proud names. Among them were well-known speakers, men who had never failed to hold and influence a crowd. But only a short distance away little could be heard. It early became evident that, though there would be no interference, the sentiment of the crowd was adverse. And what must have been particularly maddening was that the sentiment was good-humored. Colonel Edward Baker came forward to speak. The Colonel was a man of great eloquence, so that in spite of his considerable lack of scruples he had won his way to a picturesque popularity and fame. But the crowd would have little of him this day, and an almost continuous uproar drowned out his efforts. The usual catch phrases, such as “liberty.” “Constitution,” “habeas corpus,” “trial by jury,” and “freedom,” occasionally became audible, but the people were not interested. “See Cora’s defender!” cried someone, voicing the general suspicion that Baker had been one of the little gambler’s hidden counsel. “Cora!” “Ed. Baker!” “$10,000!” “Out of that, you old reprobate!” He spoke ten minutes against the storm and then yielded, red-faced and angry. Others tried but in vain. A Southerner, Benham, inveighing passionately against the conditions of the city, in throwing back his coat happened inadvertently to reveal the butt of a Colt revolver. The bystanders immediately caught the point. “There’s a pretty Law and Order man!” they shouted. “Say, Benham, don’t you know it’s against the law to go armed?”
“I carry this weapon,” he cried, shaking his fist, “not as an instrument to overthrow the law, but to uphold it.”
Someone from a balcony nearby interrupted: “In other words, sir, you break the law in order to uphold the law. What more are the Vigilantes doing?”
The crowd went wild over this response. The confusion became worse. Upholders of Law and Order thrust forward Judge Campbell in the hope that his age and authority on the bench would command respect. He was unable, however, to utter even two consecutive sentences.
“I once thought,” he interrupted himself piteously, “that I was the free citizen of a free country. But recent occurrences have convinced me that I am a slave, more a slave than any on a Southern plantation, for they know their masters, but I know not mine!”
But his auditors refused to be affected by pathos.
“Oh, yes you do,” they informed him. “You know your masters as well as anybody. Two of them were hanged the other day!”
Though this attempt at home to gain coherence failed, the partisans at Sacramento had better luck. They collected, it was said, five hundred men hailing from all quarters of the globe, but chiefly from the Southeast and Texas. All of them were fire-eaters, reckless, and sure to make trouble. Two pieces of artillery were reported coming down the Sacramento to aid all prisoners, but especially Billy Mulligan. The numbers were not in themselves formidable as opposed to the enrollment of the Vigilance Committee, but it must be remembered that the city was full of scattered warriors and of cowed members of the underworld waiting only leaders and a rallying point. Even were the Vigilantes to win in the long run, the material for a very pretty civil war was ready to hand. Two hundred men were hastily put to filling gunnybags with sand and to fortifying not only headquarters but the streets round about. Cannon were mounted, breastworks were piled, and embrasures were cut. By morning Fort Gunnybags, as headquarters was henceforth called, had come into existence.
The fire-eaters arrived that night, but they were not five hundred strong, as excited rumor had it. They disembarked, greeting the horde of friends who had come to meet them, marched in a body to Fort Gunnybags, looked it over, stuck their hands into their pockets, and walked peacefully away to the nearest bar-rooms. This was the wisest move on their part, for by now the disposition of the Vigilante men was so complete that nothing short of regularly organized troops could successfully have dislodged them.
Behind headquarters was a long shed and stable In which were to be found at all hours saddle horses and artillery horses, saddled and bridled, ready for instant use. Twenty-six pieces of artillery, most of them sent in by captains of vessels in the harbor, were here parked. Other cannon were mounted for the defense of the fort itself. Muskets, rifles, and sabers had been accumulated. A portable barricade had been constructed in the event of possible street fighting–a sort of wheeled framework that could be transformed into litters or scaling-ladders at will. Mess offices and kitchens were there that could feed a small army. Flags and painted signs carrying the open eye that had been adopted as emblematic of vigilance decorated the main room. A huge alarm bell had been mounted upon the roof. Mattresses, beds, cots, and other furniture necessary to accommodate whole companies on the premises themselves, had been provided. A completely equipped armorers’ shop and a hospital with all supplies occupied the third story. The forces were divided into four companies of artillery, one squadron and two troops of cavalry, four regiments and thirty-two companies of infantry, besides the small but very efficient police organization. A tap on the bell gathered these men in an incredibly short space of time. Bancroft says that, as a rule, within fifteen minutes of the first stroke seven-tenths of the entire forces would be on hand ready for combat.
The Law and Order people recognized the strength of this organization and realized that they must go at the matter in a more thorough manner. They turned their attention to the politics of the structure, and here they had every reason to hope for success. No matter how well organized the Vigilantes might be or how thoroughly they might carry the sympathies of the general public, there was no doubt that they were acting in defiance of constituted law, and therefore were nothing less than rebels. It was not only within the power, but it was also a duty, of the Governor to declare the city in a condition of insurrection. When he had done this, the state troops must put down the insurrection; and, if they failed, then the Federal Government itself should be called on. Looked at in this way, the small handful of disturbers, no matter how well armed and disciplined, amounted to very little.
Naturally the Governor had first to be won over. Accordingly all the important men of San Francisco took the steamer _Senator_ for Sacramento where they met Judge Terry, of the Supreme Court of California, Volney Howard, and others of the same ilk. No governor of Johnson’s nature could long withstand such pressure. He promised to issue the required proclamation of insurrection as soon as it could be “legally proved” that the Vigilance Committee had acted outside the law. The small fact that it had already hanged two and deported a great many others, to say nothing of taking physical possession of the city, meant little to these legal minds.
In order that all things should be technically correct, then, Judge Terry issued a writ of habeas corpus for William Mulligan and gave it into the hands of Deputy Sheriff Harrison for service on the Committee. It was expected that the Committee would deny the writ, which would constitute legal defiance of the State. The Governor would then be justified in issuing the proclamation. If the state troops proved unwilling or inadequate, as might very well be, the plan was then to call on the United States. The local representatives of the central government were at that time General Wool commanding the military department of California, and Captain David Farragut in command of the navy-yard. Within their command was a force sufficient to subdue three times the strength of the Vigilance Committee. William Tecumseh Sherman, then in private life, had been appointed major-general of a division of the state militia. As all this was strictly legal, the plan could not possibly fail.
Harrison took the writ of habeas corpus and proceeded to San Francisco. He presented himself at headquarters and offered his writ. Instead of denying it, the Committee welcomed him cordially and invited him to make a thorough search of the premises. Of course Harrison found nothing–the Committee had seen to that–and departed. The scheme had failed. The Committee had in no way denied his authority or his writ. But Harrison saw clearly what had been expected of him. To Judge Terry he unblushingly returned the writ endorsed “prevented from service by armed men.” For the sake of his cause, Harrison had lied. However, the whole affair was now regarded as legal.
Johnson promptly issued his proclamation. The leaders, in high feather, as promptly turned to the federal authorities for the assistance they needed. As yet they did not ask for troops but only for weapons with which to arm their own men. To their blank dismay General Wool refused to furnish arms. He took the position that he had no right to do so without orders from Washington. There is no doubt, however, that this technical position cloaked the doughty warrior’s real sympathies. Colonel Baker and Volney Howard were instructed to wait on him. After a somewhat lengthy conversation, they made the mistake of threatening him with a report to Washington for refusing to uphold the law.
“I think, gentlemen,” flashed back the veteran indignantly, “I know my duty and in its performance dread no responsibility!” He promptly bowed them out.
In the meantime the Executive Committee had been patiently working down through its blacklist. It finally announced that after June 24 it would consider no fresh cases, and a few days later it proclaimed an adjournment parade on July 4. It considered its work completed and the city safe.
It may be readily imagined that this peaceful outcome did not in the least suit the more aristocratic members of the Law and Order party. They were a haughty, individualistic, bold, forceful, sometimes charming band of fire-eaters. In their opinion they had been deeply insulted. They wanted reprisal and punishment.
When therefore the Committee set a definite day for disbanding, the local authorities and upholders of law were distinctly disappointed. They saw slipping away the last chance for a clash of arms that would put these rebels in their places. There was some thought of arresting the ringleaders, but the courts were by now so well terrorized that it was by no means certain that justice as defined by the Law and Order party could be accomplished. And even if conviction could be secured, the representatives of the law found little satisfaction in ordinary punishment. What they wanted was a fight.
General Sherman had resigned his command of the military forces in disgust. In his stead was chosen General Volney Howard, a man typical of his class, blinded by his prejudices and his passions, filled with a sense of the importance of his caste, and without grasp of the broader aspects of the situation. In the Committee’s present attitude he saw not the signs of a job well done, but indications of weakening, and he considered this a propitious moment to show his power. In this attitude he received enthusiastic backing from Judge Terry and his narrow coterie. Terry was then judge of the Supreme Court; and a man more unfitted for the position it would be difficult to find. A tall, attractive, fire-eating Texan with a charming wife, he stood high in the social life of the city. His temper was undisciplined and completely governed his judgment. Intensely partisan and, as usual with his class, touchy on the point of honor, he did precisely the wrong thing on every occasion where cool decision was demanded.
It was so now. The Law and Order party persuaded Governor Johnson to order a parade of state troops in the streets of San Francisco. The argument used was that such a parade of legally organized forces would overawe the citizens. The secret hope, however, which was well founded, was that such a display would promote the desired conflict. This hope they shared with Howard, after the Governor’s orders had been obtained. Howard’s vanity jumped with his inclination. He consented to the plot. A more ill-timed, idiotic maneuver, with the existing state of the public mind, it would be impossible to imagine. Either we must consider Terry and Howard weak-minded to the point of an inability to reason from cause to effect, or we must ascribe to them more sinister motives.
By now the Law and Order forces had become numerically more formidable. The lower element flocked to the colors through sheer fright. A certain proportion of the organized remained in the ranks, though a majority had resigned. There was, as is usual in a new community, a very large contingent of wild, reckless young men without a care in the world, with no possible interest in the rights and wrongs of the case, or, indeed, in themselves. They were eager only for adventure and offered themselves just as soon as the prospects for a real fight seemed good. Then, too, they could always count on the five hundred Texans who had been imported.
There were plenty of weapons with which to arm these partisans. Contrary to all expectations, the Vigilance Committee had scrupulously refrained from interfering with the state armories. All the muskets belonging to the militia were in the armories and were available in different parts of the city. In addition, the State, as a commonwealth, had a right to a certain number of federal weapons stored in arsenals at Benicia. These could be requisitioned in due form.
But at this point, it has been said, the legal minds of the party conceived a bright plan. The muskets at Benicia on being requisitioned would have to cross the bay in a vessel of some sort Until the muskets were actually delivered they were federal property. Now if the Vigilance Committee were to confiscate the arms while on the transporting vessel, and while still federal property, the act would be piracy; the interceptors, pirates. The Law and Order people could legally call on the federal forces, which would be compelled to respond. If the Committee of Vigilance did not fall into this trap, then the Law and Order people would have the muskets anyway.[7]
[7: Mr. H.H. Bancroft, in his _Popular Tribunals_, holds that no proof of this plot exists.]
To carry out this plot they called in a saturnine, lank, drunken individual whose name was Hube Maloney. Maloney picked out two men of his own type as assistants. He stipulated only that plenty of “refreshments” should be supplied. According to instructions Maloney was to operate boldly and flagrantly in full daylight. But the refreshment idea had been rather liberally interpreted. By six o’clock Rube had just sense enough left to anchor off Pueblo Point. There all gave serious attention to the rest of the refreshments, and finally rolled over to sleep off the effects.
In the meantime news of the intended shipment had reached the headquarters of the Vigilantes.
The Executive Committee went into immediate session. It was evident that the proposed disbanding would have to be postponed. A discussion followed as to methods of procedure to meet this new crisis. The Committee fell into the trap prepared for it. Probably no one realized the legal status of the muskets, but supposed them to belong already to the State. Marshal Doane was instructed to capture them. He called to him the chief of the harbor police. “Have you a small vessel ready for immediate service?” he asked this man. “Yes, a sloop, at the foot of this street.” “Be ready to sail in half an hour.”
Doane then called to his assistance a quick-witted man named John Durkee. This man had been a member of the regular city police until the shooting of James King of William. At that time he had resigned his position and joined the Vigilance police. He was loyal by nature, steady in execution, and essentially quick-witted, qualities that stood everybody in very good stead as will be shortly seen. He picked out twelve reliable men to assist him, and set sail in the sloop.
For some hours he beat against the wind and the tide; but finally these became so strong that he was forced to anchor in San Pablo Bay until conditions had modified. Late in the afternoon he was again able to get under way. Several of the tramps sailing about the bay were overhauled and examined, but none proved to be the prize. About dark the breeze died, leaving the little sloop barely under steerageway. A less persistent man than Durkee would have anchored for the night, but Durkee had received his instructions and intended to find the other sloop, and it was he himself who first caught the loom of a shadow under Pueblo Point.
He bore down and perceived it to be the sloop whose discovery he desired. The twelve men boarded with a rush, but found themselves in possession of an empty deck. The fumes of alcohol and the sound of snoring guided the boarding-party to the object of their search and the scene of their easy victory. Durkee transferred the muskets and prisoners to his own craft; and returned to the California Street wharf shortly after daylight. A messenger was dispatched to headquarters. He returned with instructions to deliver the muskets but to turn loose the prisoners. Durkee was somewhat astonished at the latter order but complied.
“All right,” he is reported to have said. “Now, you measly hounds, you’ve got just about twenty-eight seconds to make yourselves as scarce as your virtues.”
Maloney and his crew wasted few of the twenty-eight seconds in starting, but once out of sight they regained much of their bravado. A few drinks restored them to normal, and enabled them to put a good face on the report they now made to their employers. Maloney and his friends then visited in turn all the saloons. The drunker they grew, the louder they talked, reviling the Committee collectively and singly, bragging that they would shoot at sight Coleman, Truett, Durkee, and several others whom they named. They flourished weapons publicly, and otherwise became obstreperous. The Committee decided that their influence was bad and instructed Sterling Hopkins, with four others, to arrest the lot and bring them in.
The news of this determination reached the offending parties. They immediately fled to their masters like cur dogs. Their masters, who included Terry, Bowie, and a few others, happened to be discussing the situation in the office of Richard Ashe, a Texan. The crew burst into this gathering very much scared, with a statement that a “thousand stranglers” were at their heels. Hopkins, having left his small posse at the foot of the stairs, knocked and entered the room. He was faced by the muzzles of half a dozen pistols and told to get out of there. Hopkins promptly obeyed.
If Terry had possessed the slightest degree of leadership he would have seen that this was the worst of all moments to precipitate a crisis. The forces of his own party were neither armed nor ready. But here, as in all other important crises of his career, he was governed by the haughty and headstrong passion of the moment.
Hopkins left his men on guard at the foot of the stairs, borrowed a horse from a passer-by, and galloped to headquarters. There he was instructed to return and stay on watch, and was told that reinforcements would soon follow. He arrived before the building in which Ashe’s office was located in time to see Maloney, Terry, Ashe, McNabb, Bowie, and Howe, all armed with shot-guns, just turning a far corner. He dismounted and called on his men, who followed. The little posse dogged the judge’s party for some distance. For a little time no attention was paid to them. But as they pressed closer, Terry, Ashe, and Maloney turned and presented their shot-guns. This was probably intended only as a threat, but Hopkins, who was always overbold, lunged at Maloney. Terry thrust his gun at a Vigilante who seized it by the barrel. At the same instant Ashe pressed the muzzle of his weapon against the breast of a man named Bovee, but hesitated to pull the trigger. It was not at that time as safe to shoot men in the open street as it had been formerly. Barry covered Rowe with a pistol. Rowe dropped his gun and ran towards the armory. The accidental discharge of a pistol seemed to unnerve Terry. He whipped out a long knife and plunged it into Hopkins’s neck. Hopkins relaxed his hold on Terry’s shot-gun and staggered back.
“I am stabbed! Take them, Vigilantes!” he said.
He dropped to the sidewalk. Terry and his friends ran towards the armory. Of the Vigilante posse only Bovee and Barry remained, but these two pursued the fleeing Law and Order men to the very doors of the armory itself. When the portals were slammed in their faces they took up their stand outside; and alone these two men held imprisoned several hundred men! During the next few minutes several men attempted entrance to the armory, among them our old friend Volney Howard. All were turned back and were given the impression that the armory was already in charge, of the Vigilantes. After a little, however, doubtless to the great relief of the “outside garrison” of the armory, the great Vigilante bell began to boom out its signals: _one, two, three_–rest; _one, two, three_–rest; and so on.
Instantly the streets were alive with men. Merchants left their customers, clerks their books, mechanics their tools. Draymen stripped their horses of harness, abandoned their wagons, and rode away to join their cavalry. Within an incredibly brief space of time everybody was off for the armory, the military companies marching like veterans, the artillery rumbling over the pavement. The cavalry, jogging along at a slow trot, covered the rear. A huge and roaring mob accompanied them, followed them, raced up the side-streets to arrive at the armory at the same time as the first files of the military force. They found the square before the building entirely deserted except for the dauntless Barry and Bovee, who still marched up and down singlehanded, holding the garrison within. They were able to report that no one had either entered or left the armory.
Inside the building the spirit had become one of stubborn sullenness. Terry was very sorry–as, indeed, he well might be–a Judge of the Supreme Court, who had no business being in San Francisco at all. Sworn to uphold the law, and ostensibly on the side of the Law and Order party, he had stepped out from his jurisdiction to commit as lawless and as idiotic a deed of passion and prejudice as could well have been imagined. Whatever chances the Law and Order party might have had heretofore were thereby dissipated. Their troops were scattered in small units; their rank and file had disappeared no one knew where; their enemies were fully organized and had been mustered by the alarm bell to their usual alertness and capability; and Terry’s was the hand that had struck the bell!
He was reported as much chagrined.
“This is very unfortunate, very unfortunate,” he said; “but you shall not imperil your lives for me. It is I they want. I will surrender to them.”
Instead of the prompt expostulations which he probably expected, a dead silence greeted these words.
“There is nothing else to do,” agreed Ashe at last.
An exchange of notes in military fashion followed. Ashe, as commander of the armory and leader of the besieged party, offered to surrender to the Executive Committee of the Vigilantes if protected from violence. The Executive Committee demanded the surrender of Terry, Maloney, and Philips, as well as of all arms and ammunition, promising that Terry and Maloney should be protected against persons outside the organization. On receiving this assurance, Ashe threw open the doors of the armory and the Vigilantes marched in.
“All present were disarmed,” writes Bancroft. “Terry and Maloney were taken charge of and the armory was quickly swept of its contents. Three hundred muskets and other munitions of war were carried out and placed on drays. Two carriages then drove up, in one of which was placed Maloney and in the other Terry. Both were attended by a strong escort, Olney forming round them with his Citizens’ Guard, increased to a battalion. Then in triumph the Committee men, with their prisoners and plunder enclosed in a solid body of infantry and these again surrounded by cavalry, marched back to their rooms.”
Nor was this all. Coleman, like a wise general, realizing that compromise was no longer possible, sent out his men to take possession of all the encampments of the Law and Order forces. The four big armories were cleaned out while smaller squads of men combed the city house by house for concealed arms. By midnight the job was done. The Vigilantes were in control of the situation.
CHAPTER XVI
THE TRIUMPH OF THE VIGILANTES
Judge Terry was still a thorny problem to handle. After all, he was a Judge of the Supreme Court. At first his attitude was one of apparent humility, but as time went on he regained his arrogant attitude and from his cell issued defiances to his captors. He was aided and abetted by his high-spirited wife, and in many ways caused the members of the Committee a great deal of trouble. If Hopkins were to die, they could do no less than hang Terry in common consistency and justice. But they realized fully that in executing a Justice of the Supreme Court they would be wading into pretty deep water. The state and federal authorities were inclined to leave them alone and let them work out the manifestly desirable reform, but it might be that such an act would force official interference. As one member of the Committee expressed it, “They had gone gunning for ferrets and had coralled a grizzly.” Nevertheless Terry was indicted before the Committee on the following counts, a statement of which gives probably as good a bird’s eye view of Terry as numerous pages of personal description:
Resisting with violence the officers of the Vigilance Committee while in the discharge of their duties.
Committing an assault with a deadly weapon with intent to kill Sterling A. Hopkins on June 21, 1856.
Various breaches of the peace and attacks upon citizens while in the discharge of their duties, specified as follows:
1. Resistance in 1853 to a writ of habeas corpus on account of which one Roach escaped from the custody of the law, and the infant heirs of the Sanchez family were defrauded of their rights.
2. An attack in 1853 on a citizen of Stockton named Evans.
3. An attack in 1853 on a citizen in San Francisco named Purdy.
4. An attack at a charter election on a citizen of Stockton named King.
5. An attack in the court house of Stockton on a citizen named Broadhouse.
Before Terry’s case came to trial it was known that Hopkins was not fatally wounded. Terry’s confidence immediately rose. Heretofore he had been somewhat, but not much, humbled. Now his haughty spirit blazed forth as strongly as ever. He was tried in due course, and was found guilty on the first charge and on one of the minor charges. On the accusation of assault with intent to kill, the Committee deliberated a few days, and ended by declaring him guilty of simple assault. He was discharged and told to leave the State. But, for some reason or other, the order was not enforced.
Undoubtedly he owed his discharge in this form to the evident fact that the Committee did not know what to do with him. Terry at once took the boat for Sacramento, where for some time he remained in comparative retirement. Later he emerged in his old role, and ended his life by being killed at the hands of an armed guard of Justice Stephen Field whom Terry assaulted without giving Field a chance to defend himself.
While these events were going forward, the Committee had convicted and hanged two other men, Hetherington and Brace. In both instances the charge was murder of the most dastardly kind. The trials were conducted with due regard to the forms of law and justice, and the men were executed in an orderly fashion. These executions would not be remarkable in any way, were it not for the fact that they rounded out the complete tale of executions by the Vigilance Committee. Four men only were hanged in all the time the Committee held its sway. Nevertheless the manner of the executions and the spirit that actuated all the officers of the organization sufficed to bring about a complete reformation in the administration of justice.
About this time also the danger began to manifest itself that some of the less conscientious and, indeed, less important members of the Committee might attempt through political means to make capital of their connections. A rule was passed that no member of the Committee of Vigilance should be allowed to hold political office. Shortly after this decision, William Rabe was suspended for “having attempted to introduce politics into this body and for attempting to overawe the Executive Committee.”
After the execution of the two men mentioned, the interesting trial of Durkee for piracy, the settlement by purchase of certain private claims against city land, and the deportation of a number of undesirable citizens, the active work of the Committee was practically over. It held complete power and had also gained the confidence of probably nine-tenths of the population. Even some of the erstwhile members of the Law and Order party, who had adhered to the forms of legality through principle, had now either ceased opposition, or had come over openly to the side of the Committee. Another date of adjournment was decided upon. The gunnybag barricades were taken down on the fourteenth of August. On the sixteenth, the rooms of the building were ordered thrown open to all members of the Committee, their friends, their families, for a grand reception on the following week. It was determined then not to disorganize but to adjourn _sine die_. The organization was still to be held, and the members were to keep themselves ready whenever the need should arise. But preparatory to adjournment it was decided to hold a grand military review on the eighteenth of August. This was to leave a final impression upon the public mind of the numbers and powder of the Committee.
The parade fulfilled its function admirably. The Grand Marshal and his staff led, followed by the President and the Military Commanding General with his staff. Then marched four companies of artillery with fifteen mounted cannon. In their rear was a float representing Fort Gunnybags with imitation cannon. Next came the Executive Committee mounted, riding three abreast; then cavalry companies and the medical staff, which consisted of some fifty physicians of the town. Representatives of the Vigilance Committee of 1851 followed in wagons with a banner; then four regiments of infantry, more cavalry, citizen guards, pistol men, Vigilante police. Over six thousand men were that day in line, all disciplined, all devoted, all actuated by the highest motives, and conscious of a job well done.
The public reception at Fort Gunnybags was also well attended. Every one was curious to see the interior arrangement. The principal entrance was from Sacramento Street and there was also a private passage from another street. The doorkeeper’s box was prominently to the front where each one entering had to give the pass-word. He then proceeded up the stairs to the floor above. The first floor was the armory and drill-room. Around the sides were displayed the artillery harness, the flags, bulletin-boards, and all the smaller arms. On one side was a lunch stand where coffee and other refreshments were dispensed to those on guard. On the opposite side were offices for every conceivable activity. An immense emblematic eye painted on the southeast corner of the room glared down on each as he entered. The front of the second floor was also a guard-room, armory, and drilling floor. Here also was painted the eye of Vigilance, and here was exhibited the famous ballot-box whose sides could separate the good ballots from the bad ballots. Here also were the meeting-rooms for the Executive Committee and a number of cells for the prisoners. The police-office displayed many handcuffs, tools of captured criminals, relics, clothing with bullet holes, ropes used for hanging, bowie-knives, burglar’s tools, brass knuckles, and all the other curiosities peculiar to criminal activities. The third story of the building had become the armorer’s shop, and the hospital. Eight or ten workmen were employed in the former and six to twenty cots were maintained in the latter. Above all, on the roof, supported by a strong scaffolding, hung the Monumental bell whose tolling summoned the Vigilantes when need arose.
Altogether the visitors must have been greatly impressed, not only with the strength of the organization, but also with the care used in preparing it for every emergency, the perfection of its discipline, and the completeness of its equipment. When the Committee of Vigilance of 1856 adjourned subject to further call, there must have been in most men’s minds the feeling that such a call could not again arise for years to come.
Yet it was not so much the punishment meted out to evil-doers that measures the success of the Vigilante movement. Only four villains were hanged; not more than thirty were banished. But the effect was the same as though four hundred had been executed. It is significant that not less than eight hundred went into voluntary exile.
“What has become of your Vigilance Committee?” asked a stranger naively, some years later.
“Toll the bell, sir, and you’ll see,” was the reply[8].
[8: Bancroft, _Popular Tribunals_, 11, 695.]
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
California has been fortunate in her historians. Every student of the history of the Pacific coast is indebted to the monumental work of Hubert H. Bancroft. Three titles concern the period of the Forty-niners: _The History of California_, 7 vols. (1884-1890); _California Inter Pocula, 1848-56_ (1888); _Popular Tribunals_, 2 vols. (1887). Second only to these volumes in general scope and superior in some respects is T.H. Hittell’s _History of California_, 4 vols. (1885-1897). Two other general histories of smaller compass and covering limited periods are I.B. Richman’s _California under Spain and Mexico, 1535-1847_ (1911), and Josiah Royce’s _California, 1846-1856_ (1886). The former is a scholarly but rather arid book; the latter is an essay in interpretation rather than a narrative of events. One of the chief sources of information about San Francisco in the days of the gold fever is _The Annals of San Francisco_ (1855) by Soule and others.
Contemporary accounts of California just before the American occupation are of varying value. One of the most widely read books is R.H. Dana’s _Two Years before the Mast_ (1840). The author spent parts of 1835 and 1836 in California. _The Personal Narrative of James O. Pattie_ (1831) is an account of six years’ travel amid almost incredible hardships from St. Louis to the Pacific and back through Mexico. W.H. Thomes’s _On Land and Sea, or California in the Years 1843, ’44, and ’45_ (1892) gives vivid pictures of old Mexican days. Two other books may be mentioned which furnish information of some value: Alfred Robinson, _Life in California_ (1846) and Walter Colton, _Three Years in California_ (1850).
Personal journals and narratives of the Forty-niners are numerous, but they must be used with caution. Their accuracy is frequently open to question. Among the more valuable may be mentioned Delano’s _Life on the Plains and among the Diggings_ (1854); W.G. Johnston’s _Experience of a Forty-niner_ (1849); T.T. Johnson’s _Sights in the Gold Region and Scenes by the Way_ (1849); J.T. Brooks’s _Four Months among the Gold-Finders_ (1849); E.G. Buffum’s _Six Months in the Gold Mines_ (1850)–the author was a member of the “Stevenson Regiment”; James Delevan’s _Notes on California and the Placers: How to get there and what to do afterwards_ (1850); and W.R. Ryan’s _Personal Adventures in Upper and Lower California, in 1848-9_ (1850).
Others who were not gold-seekers have left their impression of California in transition, such as Bayard Taylor in his _Eldorado_, 2 vols. (1850), and J.W. Harlan in his _California ’46 to ’88_ (1888). The latter was a member of Fremont’s battalion. The horrors of the overland journey are told by Delano in the book already mentioned and by W.L. Manly, _Death Valley in ’49_ (1894).
The evolution of law and government in primitive mining communities is described in C.H. Shinn’s _Mining Camps. A Study in American Frontier Government_ (1885). The duties of the border police are set forth with thrilling details by Horace Bell, _Reminiscences of a Ranger or Early Times in Southern California_ (1881). An authoritative work on the Mormons is W.A. Linn’s _Story of the Mormons_ (1902).
For further bibliographical references the reader is referred to the articles on _California, San Francisco, The Mormons_, and _Fremont_, in _The Encyclopaedia Britannica_, 11th Edition.
INDEX
Alvarado, Governor of California, 15-16, 18, 23 “Arcadian Age,” 58-62
Ashe, Richard, 251, 252
Baker, Edward, Colonel, 236, 244
“Bear Flag Revolution,” 32-36
Benton, T.H., father-in-law to Fremont, 29; exerts influence in Fremont’s behalf, 40 Bluxome, Isaac, 202, 204
Bovee, 253
Bowie, 251, 252
Brannan, Sam, 56-57, 155, 189
Cahuenga, Treaty of (1847), 42
California, inhabitants, 1
occupation by Spain, 2 et seq
classes, 5-6
life of early settlers, 6 et seq advent of foreign residents, 13 et seq population in 1840, 16-17
arrival of two parties of settlers (1841), 17 Fremont’s expedition, 29
military conquest by U.S., 30 et seq. Mexican laws in, 46-50;
constitutional convention (1849), 50-52 influence of discovery of gold, 52-54 overland migration to, 67 et seq
journey by way of Panama to, 96 et seq life in the gold fields, 107 et seq
city life in 1849, 119 et seq
law, 174-176; politics, 176-180
financial stringency (1855), 181-183 _California Star_, the, 123
Carson, Kit, 38
Casey, J.P., 191, 192 et seq, 220 et seq Chagres in 1849, 99-100
Cole, Beverly, 202
Coleman, W.T., 201, 202, 204, 205, 211 et seq, 251 Cora, Charles, trial of, 189-191
re-trial by Vigilantes, 225-226
_Daily Evening Bulletin_, 184-188, 190 Delano, 75
Dempster, Clancey, 201, 202, 204
Den, Nicholas, 14
Doane, Charles, 219
Donner party, 26
Dows, James, 202
Duane, Charles, 235
Durkee, John, 249-251
Farragut, David, 242
Farwell, 201
Fremont, J.C., expedition, 29 et seq personal characteristics, 40-41, 44-45 negotiates treaty with Californians, 42 appointed Governor of California, 42
asks permission to form expedition against Mexico, 43-44 court-martialed and dismissed from service, 44 Gatun in 1849, 100-01
Gavilan Peak, U.S. flag raised at, 30 Gift, Colonel, 218
Gillespie, Lieutenant, 30, 31-32
Gold, influence of discovery upon life in California, 52-54; discovered by Marshall (1848), 55;
news brought to East, 62;
influence in Europe, 65-66;
the diggings, 106 et seq.
Graham, Isaac, 15-16
Green, Talbot, 172
Harlan, William, account of overland journey, 68-69; quoted, 121;
experience in San Francisco, 128; Hartnell, 14
_Herald_, 200
Hittell, T.H., recounts incidents of overland journey, 70, 72 Hopkins, Sterling, 251, 252
Hossefross, 202
“Hounds,” The, 137-39
Howard, Volney, 241, 244, 245, 246
Ide, W.B., 34
Indian menace to immigrant trains, 71
Jenkins, John, trial of, 153-156
Johnson, J.N., Governor of California, 210 et seq. Johnston, Captain, 38
Kearny. General Stephen Watts, 37 et seq. Kearny, Woolley, 235
Kelly, John, 115
King, James, of William, 183, 184 et seq., 207-08, 227
Larkin, T.O., 28-29
“Law and Order” party, 179, 208;
clash with Vigilantes, 236 et seq. Leese, Jacob, 33
McGlynn, J.A., 129-30
McGowan, Edward, 195-96, 235
McLean, William, 235
McNabb, 252
Maloney, Rube, 248, 251, 252
Marshall, James, discovers gold, 55 Mason, Colonel R.B., 46
Meiggs, Harry, 172
Merritt, 33
Mesa, Battle of the, 41
Mexican government in California, attitude toward settlers, 17-19, 27
Mexican War, influence upon affairs in California, 35 Missions established by “Sacred Expedition,” 3 Montgomery, Lieutenant, 35
Mormons, 19-20, 56-57, 77 et seq. Mountain Meadows massacre, 95
Musgrave, J.D., 235
Oregon question, effect upon Western migration, 20-21, 55 Oregon Trail, 21-22
Panama as a route to California, 96 et seq. Panama, city of, in 1849, 102-103
Pattie, James, 14
Pico, Andres, 37
Portola, 2
Pratt, P.P., 80
“Regulators,” the, 136-37
Richardson, William, 189
Rigdon, Sidney, 80
Rowe, 252
Ryan, W.R., quoted, 7, 120-21
“Sacred Expedition,” 2
San Diego, first mission founded (1769), 13 San Francisco,
before discovery of gold, 123;
effect of discovery of gold, 123-24; in 1849, 124 et seq.;
fire of Dec. 4, 1849, 141;
later fires, 142;
Volunteer Fire Department, 143-46; civic progress, 146-49;
population in 1851, 150-51;
in the mid-fifties, 159 et seq.
San Gabriel River, Battle of (1847), 41 San Pascual, Battle of, 38
Santa Fe, 14
Semple, 33
Serra, Father Junipero, 2
Sherman, W.T., 208-09, 242-243, 245 Sloat, Commodore J.D., 35, 36
Smith, Growling, 48
Smith, Jedediah, 15
Smith, Joseph, Jr.,
founder of the Mormon Church, 77-79; as a leader, 79-80;
death, 85
Smith, Peter, claims against city of San Francisco, 170 Sonoma captured, 32-35
Spain,
religious occupation of California, 2 et seq.; discourages immigration into, 13
Spence, David, 14
Stockton, Robert, Commodore, 36 et seq.; quarrels with Kearny, 38-39
Stuart, James, 151-52
_Sunday Times_, the, 192
Sutler, Captain J.A., 23-26
Sutter’s Fort, 24, 25, 29, 30, 33, 106 “Sydney Ducks,” 136, 234
Terry, Judge, 241, 242, 243, 245-46, 251, 252 Thomes, W.H., quoted, 9
_Three Weeks in the Gold Mines_, Simpson, 64 Truett, 201, 220, 251
Vallejo, General, 18
Vigilantes,
of 1851, 150 et seq.;
of 1856, 231 et seq.
Walker, Joseph, 29, 30
White, James, 235
Wightman, Peter, 235
Wool, General, 242
Yerba Buena, _see_ San Francisco
Young, Brigham, 85-88, 89, 90, 91