May 22d, the day of King's funeral, while the immense procession was passing through Montgomery street, Casey and Cora were hanged. Two projecting beams had been rigged from the roof of the building on Sacramento street, occupied by the Committee, for the purpose. Out of two of the windows of the second story, immediately under these beams two stout planks, sixteen inches wide, were extended over the street to an equal distance. At the outer end of each plank, on the under side, were stout hinges connecting the traps upon which the two men were placed, with the ropes about their necks, suspended from the beams. Two other ropes held the traps even with the planks. The two men were led out upon the traps. Permission was given to them to speak their last words. Casey availed himself of the privilege and spoke a few minutes in clear loud voice, in somewhat excited manner, denying his guilt of murder and vindicating his action. Cora stood all the while as motionless as a statue. Not a tremor or quiver was perceptible. The white cap covered his head and face to below the chin. At the conclusion of Casey's brief speech, the cap was drawn over his face, and as the hangman pulled it down he whispered in his ear something that made the doomed man start as if to break the bands which held his arms. In an instant the signal was given, the traps sprung, by the two men on the roof cutting the ropes which upheld them, and Casey and Cora were launched for the death to quickly come. Casey struggled for a few moments; Cora showed no sign of pain or life. After death the bodies were cut down, and shortly afterward were delivered to friends who had provided for their burial. The hangman of Casey was Sterling Hopkins, a notorious character, with whom Casey once had a difficulty. He had begged the Committee to officiate in the event of Casey's condemnation to death by the rope, and the whispered words he hissed in Casey's ear, as he subsequently boasted, were of exultation over his opportunity of revenge, and of brutish import respecting the powerless victim, Casey had been foreman of Crescent Engine Company, No. 10, located on Pacific street, below Front. Cora's remains were given quiet interment. The Sunday following the execution Casey was buried. A very large procession followed his remains to the Mission Dolores Cemetery, in which a monument was in due time erected to his memory. Upon it is inscribed the manner of his death.
Governor Johnson had at first played into the hands of the Committee. He had come down from Sacramento to San Francisco, in the middle of May, and virtually caused the surrender of the county jail to the Vigilantes, for the capture of Casey and Cora. At the instance of the leading men of the Law and Order organization, he subsequently changed his course, and endeavored to undo that which he had done. It was too late. The Committee had already become the master of the situation. It was the supreme power in San Francisco, and it had erected such harmony of spirit with it in Sacramento, Marysville, Stockton, San Jose and other interior cities and towns, that it was the paramount local authority and formidable generally throughout the State. General Wool was at that time in command of this Federal military department. The Federal Arsenal was at Benicia. For the want of authority from the Federal government at Washington, neither the military nor the naval forces could interfere, and the hands of General Wool, the same of Commodore Farragut, were practically tied, The only way in which the Federal authority could be invoked was by due process of constitutional law. This required that the Governor should convene the Legislature, that that body should call out the State militia to quell the insurgent or rebellious Vigilantes; and, these being insufficient for that purpose, then the call for the aid of the Federal forces would be in order. It would take months to do all this. Prompt action was the imperative necessity. Governor Johnson did not act with promptitude. He sent on a committee of citizens to Washington. President Pierce could do nothing under the circumstances. He must first be satisfied that the Powers of the State had been inadequate to overcome the trouble. This had not been done; and it was of first importance before the strong arm of the Federal authority could be ordered.
Meantime an incident occurred which helped to fortify the Committee and to impair the power of the State, in the popular estimation. Upon order of Governor Johnson, six cases of muskets were delivered to Jas. R. Maloney, at Benicia arsenal, put aboard the schooner Julia, to be delivered at San Francisco, to the Law and Order organization. The Vigilance Committee Executive had been apprised of the transaction, and adopted means to get possession of the arms. Accordingly, on June 21st, as the Julia was on her way down from Benicia, she was boarded in San Francisco Bay by C. E. Rand and John L. Durkee, in the employ of the Committee, and the two captured the schooner, took possession of the muskets, and delivered them into the keeping of the Committee. The six cases contained 113 muskets. Action was brought against Rand and Durkee for piracy, in the United States Circuit Court, Judge M. Hall McAllister presiding, and Judge Ogden Hoffman sitting as associate. The trial came off September, 1856, and on the 23d of that month the jury returned a verdict of acquittal. Adjutant-General Kibbe, of the State militia, meantime made unavailing demand upon the Executive Committee for the arms. They were not returned to the State until after the Committee had disbanded.
The next who suffered death at the hands of the Committee were Hetherington and Brace. Hetherington was an Englishman, a man of considerable wealth. He was six feet stature, of heavy form, strong in muscular power, equally so in will and purpose; and he was overbearing in his nature, violent in his passions. He was possessed of valuable city property. In a difficulty over a lot toward North Beach, a few years before, he had shot dead Dr. Baldwin, who had located upon it and claimed it as his own. He was tried and acquitted. Hetherington had had money transactions with Dr. Randall, formerly Collector of Monterey, and owner of a large tract of land in Butte County. He had loaned a large sum of money to Randall, which Randall seemed indisposed to pay. There was some irregularity in the note or in the mortgage bond. Randall contended that these were made at the instance of Hetherington himself, and insisted upon the theory that no man can take advantage of a fault of his own; that every man was bound to do exactly that to which the law held him, and equally bound not to do anything to which the law did not bind him. Consequently, inasmuch as the fault was Hetherington's, he was therefore absolved from the payment of the note. One afternoon, Dr. Randall took quarters in the St. Nicholas hotel, on Sansome street, west side, between Sacramento and Commercial streets, kept by Colonel Armstrong, and sat in the office room, in conversation with Colonel W. W. Gift. Hetherington happened in, accosted Randall and abruptly demanded the payment of the note. Randall responded evasively. Hetherington's choler rose, and he came upon Randall in threatening manner. Randall ran behind the office small counter. Hetherington pursued him, caught him by his long beard, reaching to the middle of his breast, and threw him upon the floor. As Randall rose, Hetherington drew his pistol and fired. The shot was instantly fatal. In brief time, Hetherington was arrested by an officer of the law. A force of vigilance officers demanded his surrender, took him and hurried him to the Committee rooms. Through this action the lawful authorities were forcibly prevented passing upon his case.
Brace was a young man, almost a boy. He had killed a man miles away from the City, but within the county. I have forgotten the circumstances of the crime. The Committee had custody of him, however, and condemned him, as well as Hetherington. Notice was publicly given that the two would be hanged the afternoon Of July 29th. The gallows was erected on a vacant half block on Front street, as I remember, between California and Sacramento streets, west side. It was at least twenty feet high, with a ladder from the ground to the platform. From the top cross-beam dangled the ropes. The platform afforded standing space for half a dozen men. A large crowd had gathered to witness the execution. From a cart on the California corner, B. B. Redding and myself were onlookers. The condemned men were brought to the place under strong guard. Each of them mounted to the scaffold. Brace with quick-step; Hetherington with composure. The hangman, named Dixon, was dressed in long black gown; a black hood completely concealed his face; a clergyman, and two or three of the Vigilance officers or guards followed. A strong guard under arms was stationed about the foot of the gallows. Permission was given the two to say anything they wished. Brace broke forth in a loud rant, profane and obscene, and danced about like one demented. The clergyman felt obliged to stop his blasphemous harangue by cramming his handkerchief over his mouth. He broke away, nevertheless, and again poured forth a tirade, declaring that he was being murdered. At length he became exhausted and ceased speaking. All this time—and it was fully five minutes—Hetherington stood composed and with dignified mien, looking down upon the immense crowd, occasionally glancing at Bruce, who was to his right, and manifested horror at his ravings. When Bruce became silent he spoke. His manner was deliberate and his voice low, clear and firm. He protested against the action of he Committee in his case; in taking his life they were more guilty of murder than he was, for it was in violation of the law. He asserted that he had not committed murder. Then declaring he should die without malice or enmity toward any, he courteously bowed and indicated to the officers that he was ready for the ordeal. The nooses were adjusted, the caps drawn over their heads, the signal given. The hangman cut the rope which held the traps in place, and down plunged the pinioned bodies of the pair. Bruce writhed and struggled a few moments; then hung as lifeless until his body was taken down. He was of medium stature, slight figure and light in weight. Hetherington's body swayed, but there was no perceptible motion of his limbs. He met death with placid firmness, without bravado. Henry H. Haight, his attorney for years, stated that he was one of the most upright and honorable men in his dealings and general conduct that he had ever known. These were the last that suffered death by sentence of the Vigilance Committee.
It is now appropriate to relate some facts in relation to James King of William. He had been a clerk in a banking house in Washington, and came to California in the early years of the gold hunting. He established a bank in San Francisco, corner of Montgomery and Commercial streets, across from Davidson's. In a year or more Jacob R. Snyder became partner in the bank; but withdrew after about a year. King afterwards merged his bank in that of Adams & Co., of which J. C. Woods was manager. His name was James King. He had suffixed the "of William" to be distinguished from others of his name—as John Randolph used to sign himself "of Roanoke."
Mr. King continued with Adams & Co. as manager of the bank until the failure of that Company, He then became involved in trouble with the Company. The bank failed one afternoon. Up to noon that day King had received deposits. It was known to other banking houses in the city that the bank would be obliged to close as it did. The word had got out, and some of the depositors became alarmed, and a number withdrew their deposits, notwithstanding Mr. King's assurance that the bank was solvent and solid. Others took his word for it, allowed their deposits to remain, and lost all they had in the bank. There was some mysterious handling of the large amount of money known to be in the bank at the time of the failure. The parties in charge refused to allow Mr. King any part in their transactions as to the disposition of this money—reported to be considerably more than $100,000 in gold coin. He demanded $20,000 as his share. This was refused. He then published a statement reflecting upon the persons in charge. This was responded to by a scathing statement, published in the Alta, in which Mr. King was held up for public condemnation as a dishonest man, guilty of faithlessness and fraud. He was also accused of having swindled Page, Bacon & Co. of $400,000, by the sale of bogus gold dust as genuine.
The popular sentiment at the time was that the charges were sustained, and the feeling was strong against him. He was without means and out of business. He conceived the project of going into the newspaper business, of starting a daily evening paper, and obtained a loan of $250 for that purpose from R. D. Sinton, of the real estate and auctioneer firm of Selover & Sinton, then the leading firm in that line in the city. He started the Evening Bulletin, a small sheet, and rented the small brick building in Merchant street for the publication office. The Daily Chronicle, published by Frank Soule and William H. Newall, had taken side against the Committee, and soon afterwards ceased publication. Employed on it as a writer was James Nesbitt, an Englishman, of superior journalistic ability. King employed Nesbitt to assist him on the Bulletin. It was made the medium of attack and animadversion upon State and county and city officials, and some of its attacks were as justifiable as are the attacks of the STAR upon rascals in high places now, while others were actuated by personal spite.
The paper prospered. The multitude enjoyed its sharp, short, stinging paragraphs; its vim and vehemence. At length its columns were turned against Major Selover with unrestrained virulence. He had no equal means of reply or defence at his command, but he had at last uttered threats of personal nature, and published King as a liar, a swindler and a coward. To all this Mr. King responded in his Bulletin, by stating in that paper that he defied Selover; and he went on to state the place of his residence; the time he left home to go to his office in the morning; the route thither he usually took: and also the same details of his customary way home every afternoon. Selover, or any other person who felt aggrieved on account of anything which appeared in the Bulletin was similarly apprised, and thus dared or invited to encounter him on the street. To all of which was added the significant remark for the consideration of Selover particularly, and all others generally: "God have mercy upon my assailant." There was no mistaking this language. And the common opinion was that whatever else would be said of James King of William, he was a game and fearless man. Casey's own statement of the deplorable affair—made in his cell to a friend who had been permitted to visit him in his four by eight feet cell, the day before his death, in the presence and hearing of the guard then on duty, was substantially as follows: that after all Mr. King had said in his paper, any one who attacked him should be well prepared against the worst to himself; that, accordingly, after he had called early that afternoon upon Mr. King, in his office, and told him what would be the consequence in case the Bulletin should publish the matter against him, and it was published, he very naturally expected that King would be prepared for the encounter. But as he did not wish to take first advantage of him, but to allow him fair chance, he cried out to him to prepare, and then fired. He expected Mr. King to return the fire. He did not know whether the ball had hit King or not, because King's loose talina covered his upper body and prevented him from seeing its effect. That—to use Casey's own words—"seeing he did not fire, and believing him a dung-hill,' I did not shoot again, but turned to walk away, when I saw him falling; then I knew that I must have hit him, and I went to the City Hall to surrender myself."
To the same person, on the occasion first above referred to—and Casey knew then that his death was certain at the hands of the Committee—he remarked that he had no fear of death; that he would meet it with composure, although he did not deserve it; that which troubled him was that his aged mother should be told that her son was a murderer. This pained him. She lived in New York. He had regularly remitted money to her to maintain her in comfort in her old age; and now she must suffer privation and misery, with the great burden of the knowledge of the manner of his death to weigh her down to the grave. He wished to say something of a confidential nature to his visitor, but the guard refused to permit this, and said that he must hear everything that was uttered. He stood close to Casey all the time, and maintained the utmost severity of demeanor, the most inexorable nature, during the brief time allowed for the visit.
Casey and Cora were hanged on Thursday, May 22d. On Monday, June 2d, a meeting of the advocates of Law and Order was held in the Plaza. Thousands of the Committee members and supporters assembled about the square. Nothing effective came of it. Governor Johnson had meantime been prevailed upon by prominent citizens, on the side of Law and Order, to adopt a course calculated to suppress the Committee. It was too late. The Law and Order element had organized a military force under the State militia 1 ws. W. T. Sherman was made General. Governor Johnson issued a proclamation commanding the State militia to hold themselves in readiness for duty, and to report to General Sherman. In the city a force of about three hundred mustered. It was totally inadequate, and not enough could be expected from the country. In the harbor, in front of the city, the war-ship John Adams, Commander Bontwell, was anchored. Commodore Farragut, commandant of this naval station, was at Mare Island. It was rumored that the Adams would support the authorities in case of conflict with the Committee. Another rumor was that cannons were to be placed upon the hills and at points which commanded the city, to be used if necessary. The excitement continued and increased. A deputation was sent to Washington, at the instance of the Governor, to represent the condition of affairs to the President, and prevail upon him to order the services of the military and naval forces to the suppression of the Committee and the restoration of law and order. The deputation took the next steamer and proceeded to the national capital. President Pierce replied that the federal government had no authority to interfere until the request came from the State government after the Legislature had assembled, acted upon the matter, and the State authorities had exhausted every means to put down the Committee and failed.
While the excitement was heightened by these rumors and proceedings, an incident occurred which augmented it to frenzied quality. The armory of the Law and Order forces was in the capacious brick building, northeast corner of Dupont and Jackson streets. On Jackson street, near by, a number of its members and sympathizers were standing in groups. Sterling Hopkins, the volunteer hangman of Casey, of the Vigilance police, came up and attempted the arrest of Reub. Maloney, a notorious politician, whose impudence of speech and reckless ways in partisan devices had made him an unenviable reputation. His bravery was in his mouth; his mouth beyond his own control. Judge David S. Terry, then of the State Supreme Court, interposed to prevent the lawless arrest, and in the struggle he drew a knife and dangerously wounded Hopkins. In a few minutes word had reached the Committee headquarters, and the alarm was sounded with unexampled vigor. The Committee forces, marshalled and led by the Commander-in-chief, Charles Doane, Major General, marched in quick time to the scene. Judge Terry had gone to the armory, Maloney and others with him. The Law and Order troops were less than three hundred strong. The Vigilance force numbered several thousand. A surrender was demanded. It would have been folly to resist, and with Terry and Maloney as prisoners, and the Law and Order troops as prisoners of war, so to say, the Vigilance forces marched back to their fortified quarters. The arrest of Judge Terry wrought the excitement to its climax. What would the Committee do with him? was the question asked by every one. His residence was temporarily in Sacramento, but Stockton was his home place. Governor Johnson was devoted to him; David S. Douglass, Secretary of State, was a bosom friend. Hundreds in the capital city were prepared to go to any length to rescue him. His thousands of friends in San Joaquin, everywhere in the San Joaquin Valley, were aroused to the extremity of desperation. All over the State the feeling for Judge Terry was very strong. Harm to him would have precipitated a domestic row, which would have caused immense sacrifice of life, and the destruction of San Francisco. It would have extended into the interior, and raged there in bloodshed and devastation. The peaceful way out of the difficulty was thought the better course, if it could be accomplished. The occasion was extraordinary, and never contemplated—the exigency beyond immediate solution. As James Dows, one of the coolest in judgment and wisest in counsel of the Executive Committee, pertinently described the situation in the pithy remark, "We started in to hunt cayotes, but we've got a grizzly bear on our hands, and we don't know what to do with him." The Executive Committee were not themselves masters of the situation. Behind them, subject to them and ready to obey their commands on ordinary occasions, were the 5,000 members of the Committee who carried arms, and felt themselves superior to even the Executive Committee, if occasion should happen to test the matter. Of their number nearly one-third were of foreign nationality, and of these a considerable proportion did not very well speak English—they were of revolutionary, if not insurrectionary temper—and had participated in uprisings in their native land against the government. Many of the native born members were of similar disposition. It had been resolved by this element of the Committee, that if Hopkins should die, Terry must hang; and the only alternative of the Executive Committee would be to order the execution or spirit him away, at the peril of their own lives. To hang a Justice of the highest judicial tribunal of the State, was a very serious matter to contemplate—a most hazardous extremity in any event. If spared from the fury of their troops, by ordering the execution, their death was certain at the hands of Judge Terry's avengers. In this quandary, the Executive Committee were as anxious for a safe way out, without blood or sacrifice, as any of the friends of Terry. Secretary of State Douglass came to San Francisco. He persuaded ex-Senator Gwin to interpose on Terry's behalf. Gwin dispatched Sam. J. Bridges, Appraiser-General, to Mare Island, to request Commodore Farragut to meet him in San Francisco on Wednesday, June 25th. On the afternoon of that day, Farragut, Gwin and two others, on behalf of Law and Order, met four members of the Executive Committee, in a room on the third floor of the Custom House. Senator Gwin explained the object of the conference—to secure the release of Judge Terry. Commodore Farragut then made the proposition: that he would have a boat sent from the John Adams to a stipulated landing place on Market street wharf, at midnight; that the Executive Committee should have Judge Terry escorted to the landing place at that hour; that the Adams should immediately sail for Mare Island; and that there he (Commodore Farragut) would exact a promise from Judge Terry, before he left the vessel, that he would go into the interior of the State, not visit San Francisco inside of six months, and meantime neither excite nor encourage any popular feeling against the Vigilance organization. To this James Dows responded on behalf of the Executive Committee: that the Committee had already submitted to them a proposition from Judge Terry himself, to the effect that he would resign his place upon the Supreme Bench, consent to have the Committee put him on board the next steamer for Panama, and not return to California within the succeeding six months. He added that, although this proposition had been before the Executive Committees twenty hours, no definite action had yet been agreed upon; the recovery or death of Hopkins was the paramount factor in the case, because of the intense feeling against Terry among the larger proportion of the Committee troops. At this juncture, J. D. Farwell, also one of the Executive Committee, spoke. He was voluble and vehement. He said that the Vigilance organization acknowledged no authority to be superior to itself. "We have," he continued in loud tone and gasconading temper, "proved ourselves the superiors of the City and County, government, and of the State government; and if the Federal government dares"—He got no further. Commodore Farragut sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing fire, as electric sparks in brilliancy; his face betokening his fierce indignation; his whole frame seeming a prodigy of the grandeur of human passion highest wrought—the incarnation of the noblest majesty and sublimest patriotism. "Stop, sir!" he thundered—Farwell had stopped and sunk into his seat. And then the heroic Commodore went on to declare what the duty of a citizen was; that which he should do, if occasion required; and closed his less than five minutes burst of withering rebuke and eloquent counsel with an impressive appeal to the other members of the Committee present. The folly and rashness of Farwell had thwarted the wise intentions of the parties who invited the conference. It ended with Commodore Farragut's thrilling words. In a week or more Hopkins was considered past danger from his wound, and Judge Terry was thereupon set free. The Committee had now accomplished about all that had been contemplated at its organization. It had put to death four men. Of these at least two were not guilty of murder, as the law defines that crime. As to the other two, the course of justice in the Courts at that time gave no warrant for the presumption or belief that a fair and just trial would not have, been given them; that their conviction and the death penalty would not have followed. It is not too much to assert that, so far as escape from the penalty of murder is involved, there has been, any time these ten years, and there is now, in San Francisco, stronger cause for a Vigilance Committee than there was in 1856. The administration of the law was better then in general criminal procedure than it is now. There were fewer heinous crimes then, in the ratio of population, then the record of any year for the past ten years will show. In the category of crimes, such as forgery, perjury, embezzlement, frauds by which large sums of money or valuable property is obtained, were then infrequent; now of daily occurrence. But in crimes of violence the record is enormously against this period in comparison with that; the infliction of penalties by the Courts was then more certain than it is now. And as to ballot-box stuffing and frauds in elections, surely the worst ever charged against the manipulators of that period, pales and sinks into insignificance when compared with the colossal fraud committed in San Francisco, in 1876, by which not only the will of the people of the State was overborne, but also the will of the people of the United States. Yet the perpetrators of the unparalleled fraud have never been called to account or punished; to the contrary they are recognized as gentlemen of respectability, even by those who, in 1856, forcibly and lawlessly, as Vigilance Committee members, banishement for stuffing ballot-boxes to secure merely a local advantage by the success of a ward ticket. Straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel never had more conspicuous illustration. And the burning fact remains incredible that among the members of the Executive Committee were some who had themselves obtained office by bribery and corruption, by calling into play the stuffing of ballot-boxes, and by all the wicked and infamous means which were at that time practiced. Another member was, as I have stated before, a felon who had served his time in the Ohio State Prison; another, still living and a highly respectable church member who professes holy horror of fraud, had in early years colluded with his brother to get possession of valuable wharf property, of which the brother was agent and care-taker by appointment of the owner, who had returned to his home in the East, to be gone a year. The scheme of these brothers was a fraud of villainous conception, but it was clumsy and therefore failed. On his return the Courts restored the property to the rightful owner. I might go on and point out other members of the Executive Committee who had committed deeds which, had they been duly brought to answer in the Courts, would have put upon them the felon's brand and the convict's stripes, in some instances; in others, pilloried them as rogues and swindlers, unworthy of trust, unfit for respectable association.
But were one to trace the career of several others of that body, the tracks would be through the sloughs and conduits of shame and turpitude, rascality and crime, and finally to self-murder. It was as bad—it could hardly have been worse, except in numbers, proportioned to the greater numerical force—in the Vigilance rank and file. It is against reason and sense to expect that in a body of five thousand men, there will be none who are not good and honorable; that there will be no base and disreputable characters, no rogues and scoundrels. Therefore it was not strange that of the Committee's entire force, so many were of the vile stamp, notorious gold-dust "operators," who robbed the honest miner of his "Pile," by bare-faced fraud; mock auction sharpers, high-toned frauds and swindlers of low degree; and others who neither toiled nor spun, yet feasted and fattened. All these found in the ranks of the Committee their own security from the incarceration and banishment enforced in the case of so many less culpable than themselves. But the onus rests upon the Executive Committee—they constituted the head and front of the grave offending of the very laws they usurped; they were the counselors and administrators, the accusers and arbiters, of the fate of their powerless victims. Their's was a tribunal organized to convict—they were the prosecutors, the jurors, the judges, from whose fiat of condemnation there was no appeal; and defense was not allowed. Arrest meant death or banishment. The accused were prosecuted by the promoter or participant with them in the charged offence or crime, and convicted by the verdict in which some who had been accessories were most strenuous for conviction. It is a rule of law that the accuser shall come into Court with clean hands.
Ignoring this just rule and in defiance of law, in usurping the seat of justice, the Executive Committee gave opportunity to several of its members to "compound for sins they were inclined to, by damning those who had no mind to;" to sit in judgment on those whose testimony or confession in a Court of Justice would have turned the tables and wrought the conviction of their accusers, prosecutors and judges. But these strictures do not apply to the greater number of the Executive Committee—to only about a half dozen of its members. The Committee was composed mainly of honorable men, deservedly high in the community, in every walk and relation of life. They doubtless acted from a conscientious sense of duty, and neither intended usurpation of the law, violence to justice, nor any wrong whatever. They believed it incumbent upon them to reform what they regarded as the maladministration of public affairs, and to cleanse the city of the corruption which existed—as it has existed and always will exist in populous communities, agreeably to the sentiment of Jefferson, that "cities are scabs upon the body politic." And with the best of motives they believed that the organization of the Vigilance committee was the better and surer remedial agent to these wholesome and commendable purposes. But their action was akin to that of the thousands of citizens who refrain from voting at primary elections, where the seed is planted which will produce its kind in the fruiting on the day of the final and determining election, and subsequently complain of the incompetency or dishonesty of the incumbents whose election is largely attributable to the neglect of these very citizens, to make it their special care that only good and qualified and worthy men shall be elected at the primaries.
I shall now pass to the conduct of the Executive Committee in their arrests, their domiciling visits, and their enforced banishments. Among their victims in the category, banished from the State with the penalty of death if they returned to it, were Charles P. Duane, Billy Mulligan, Billy Carr, Reub. Maloney, Bill Lewis, Martin Gallagher, Woolley Kearney, Yankee Sullivan the pugilist, and John Crowe. These, with the exception of Charley Duane, were all Democrats, devoted to Broderick. Duane had been a Whig, was opposed to the Democrats, yet felt kindly toward Broderick. On the other side—they could not be called Republicans, but were always against the Democrats, and had at last affiliated with the Know-Nothings—were men as notorious as any named above, and of really worse character; but not one of these did the Committee molest. They were either received into its military ranks or were permitted to remain in the city. It was a noticeable discrimination; no reason for it was apparent or expressed on the part of the Executive Committee.
Charley Duane was a man of extraordinary character in his line of life. He had made reputation as a "handy man in a fight" and a very hard one to master before he came of age, in New York. He came to San Francisco early in 1850, in company with Tom Hyer, the champion prize-fighter. He had got the sobriquet of "Dutch Charley" in New York, notwithstanding his Irish blood. Hyer euphonized this into "German Charles." Hyer returned to New York, Duane remained here. He was a zealous, very active Whig, an equally zealous and active fireman; and was once elected Chief Engineer of the Department, against George Hossefross. Subsequently he was appointed one of the Sheriff's deputies. He had killed a Frenchman in a difficulty, was tried for the deed and acquitted. No charge of dishonest nature—theft, fraud, swindling, embezzlement, or anything of the kind, was ever brought against him. But he was somewhat prone to fight, and this was the worst that could be charged upon him. I am not aware that he was ever accused of crookedness in elections except in his zeal to secure the election of Delos Lake, Whig, as District Judge, in 1851. When the Vigilance Committee was organized, in 1856, he openly and boldly denounced it, and was an ardent supporter of the Law and Order side. On what charge he was arrested and banished I have never been able to ascertain. The manner of his arrest added no laurels to the parties who conspired to effect it and the participants in the arrest. It bore the tokens of jealousy and spite sprung from his election years before as Chief Engineer, more than of any present cause. He was entrapped, seized, hauled to the committee cells and banished, nevertheless.
Billy Mulligan was the incarnation of fearlessness, fight and frolic—dangerous frolic it was sometimes to any he did not like. Of low stature, slight frame, active as a cat, the expression of a bull-terrier, and as, quick to an, encounter, Mulligan was not a man to pick a quarrel with—the other party invariably second best. He had served under Colonel Jack Hays in his troop of Texan Rangers, and Colonel Hays gave the praise that he was one of the bravest, pluckiest, most daring and desperate fighters he had ever had in his command. Billy had his full share of the vices of drinking, gambling, fighting and a fast life. He was active in politics and "went in to win." But he had the virtue not to lie; and he would not betray any confidence reposed in him, turn faithless to any promise he made. He was bold, frank, manly, magnanimous except towards those he despised as well as hated, and to these he was implacable and merciless. The world's wealth couldn't seduce or bribe him from the support of the men he liked, no matter how poor they might be; and he would on every occasion interpose to protect the helpless and defenseless from the violence or maltreatment of others. Crime of any degree was never alleged to his account. He had faithfully served as collector of moneys for the County Treasurer two years, and fully accounted for every dollar that he received. Beyond his fighting bouts and his conduct in elections—about the same as prevails now—there was nothing to warrant his arrest and banishment. But the terrors of Fort Gunny Bags did not intimidate Mulligan. One of the committee remarked to me, on the occasion of his death by the rifle shot of a policeman while he was wild with delirium tremens, that he was the only prisoner ever put in the committee cells who did not "weaken." He was a character the community could well spare; but he had given the committee no offence to justify his banishment.
Yankee Sullivan's character is notorious. He was a professional prize-fighter—ready to try conclusions in the fistic ring with any in the world; but he feared a pistol or a knife as an ordinary man would fear a blow from his powerful arm. He had helped Mulligan and Casey in some of their election operations, and for that he was arrested. There was no charge of any other nature than this and his fighting quality to warrant his arrest. His courage or spirit broke down while confined in the close cell, and one morning his lifeless body was found stiff in the cell. He had opened a vein in his arm and bled to death. The rumor at the time was—and it is still believed—that he was driven to the deed by the remark made by one of the Vigilance guards outside the cell, but spoken in tone calculated for Sullivan to hear it, that he was to be hanged the next morning. To escape the ignominy of such a death, he anticipated it by his own hand.
Martin Gallagher and Billy Carr were boatmen, and active in party manipulations in the interest of Mr. Broderick in the First Ward. They were tough men to handle in a fight, and usually forced their own way in anything they undertook. With Mulligan they often sat as delegates in city, county and State conventions of the Democracy—together with several other of their associates and kind, who are still more or less prominent in city politics—some of them Democrats, some Republicans. Bill Lewis was sent out of the country none too soon. He was a great, powerful, terrorizing fellow, desperate and unscrupulous, and one to beware of. He took active part in politics, and was terrible in a "scrimmage. Of his redeeming, traits I never obtained information. Doubtless he had some. Unlest it was on account of Woolley Kearney's facial configuration, I have never been able to divine why the Committee banished him. He was the homeliest, ugliess looking mortal I ever saw. Had the Committee compelled him to go as the Veiled Prophet, with a gunny sack instead of silver veil, there would have been at least the essence of justice in their action. His battered, flattened, twisted, gnarled nose, was at every point of the compass, and more hideous at every turn. Why he didn't blow it off when he blowed it, blow'd if any could conjecture. His eyes were squinted, his mouth a monstrous curiosity. Every feature seemed in revolt at that nose. It would have struck awe to the spirit of an Ogre, Woolley was no doubt ready and willing to do any crooked deed, but none who knew him would employ him on any mission in which skill and fidelity were required. His banishment had, perhaps, a good effect upon the unborn generation, whose parents had not then entered the matrimonial state. Whatever other purpose it subserved, except to show to other communities the "latest novelty" from California, is the unfathomable conundrum. John Crowe was a noisy, blatant, meddlesome fellow, the keeper of a livery stable on Kearny street, and a fierce denouncer of the Committee. There was nothing else to his discredit, so far as I could learn at the time. Reub. Maloney was a compound character—a good deal of a knave, something of the man in his fidelity to his friends, reckless of everything except his own safety in any transaction calculated to damage the cause to which he was opposed; indifferent to what might happen to an adversary, He was a most valiant "brave"—with his mouth; the noble quality had never penetrated his cuticle. His passion when bloviating was furious and terrible to look upon; but there was nothing to it more than sound and pretense. His face would redden to congestive hue, his voice swell to sonorous volume; but the simple kindly invitation in quiet tone: "Never mind, Reub, come and take a drink," would unbind him in a moment, and coming up relaxed, smiling to "smile," he would gulf down the dram, and with stated manner remark, "Well, boys, I said about the right thing, didn't I?" He was the faithful henchman of General James A. McDougall; hated Senator Gwin, and between the two preferred Broderick.
Maloney had been a drummer for a large importing house in New York, his field of labor in the South. He had also been employed in the western states, and endowed with good address, portly figure, much volubility, unfailing check and invincible assurance, he successfully pushed his way. He came to California during the fall of '47, located in Stockton, subsequently in San Francisco, and took up "Politics" as his means of support. To gain his point in a partisan deal, he would do anything that was not personally dangerous. He cared for ends, and was utterly regardless of means. He was ceaselessly putting up jobs to promote the cause he advocated, and to break down that of the antagonists. With the courage of Babadil he had the honesty of Ancient Pistol, the habits of Falstaff, and the temptations of Anthony would have been to him as pastures green to the hungering herd. Poor old Reub, his incarceration in the Vigilance cells nearly frightened the life out of him, and his release even under banishment, was as the open door to the caged wild bird. He never did much harm to any cause or party that he opposed. The Committee would have better spared him and exiled many who were worse—some from their own ranks.
The last in the list is Edward McGowan—"Old Ned"—Chief of Police, Judge, Emigration Commissioner, politician, fugitive, "ubiquitous" soldier, retired sporting man, and still in life, nearly eighty years of age, clear in all his faculties. He was a devoted, trusted confidential friend of Broderick, and unpurchaseable in his friendship. He had been a prominent actor in many hard contests in behalf of Broderick, and aided materially in the successes which elevated that extraordinary man to the Senate of the United States. McGowan was a warm friend to Casey—his adviser on many occasions. He received intimation the night of Casey's arrest, that his own was contemplated. He was not seen again in San Francisco until his return to the State a year or more afterward, to surrender himself and demand trial upon whatever charge the Committee, or any, could prefer against him. His acquittal was the consequence.
Never was fugitive more assiduously and desperately hunted than he. Domiciliary visits, the intrusion of the Vigilance police into the homes of citizens, of every house and room in which it was suspected McGowan would be caught. Every friend of his was shadowed to get a clew to his place of concealment. Yet he was for weeks securely hidden within five miles of the city. Thence he made his escape to Santa Barbara, through the aid of true and sagacious friends; was sheltered and protected there by another—Jack Powers, one of the Stevenson's regiment, a fearless, dare-devil, desperate, wily man, accustomed to wild adventures, and hair-breadth escapes, whose own many exploits, including pursuit and search, will some day find publication, to rival the most interesting and exciting narratives of frontier life, and the daring and heroism of the men bred to such life. Jack Powers had on several occasions escaped the capture and death his Mexican pursuers had deemed inevitable. His ingenuity now came to do service on behalf of his friend McGowan. Chief of Police Curtis had got word that McGowan was in Santa Barbara. He was a zealous, Vigilance man. A schooner was chartered, and a strong, armed force sailed on her for Santa Barbara, to capture the fugitive. They landed, searched everywhere, particularly the house, premises and surroundings of Jack Powers' residence. Powers and McGowan both well knew that catching meant hanging beyond all hope. After a thorough quest Curtis and his armed band gave up the hunt and returned to San Francisco. At Powers' home they had searched every place except that in which McGowan was concealed. They had been within a toot of him; had nearly stepped on him; were so close that he heard their whisperings and cursings. But they never suspected his hiding place. He was simply rolled in a great mass of old floor matting, at one side of the house, which was covered with dust and leaves, and bits of straw, to give it the appearance of having been there, just as it seemed, for months. After the schooner sailed, McGowan succeeded in making his way out of the State and safe from the Vigilance Committee by the cunning and adroitness of his good friend Jack Powers. The Committee were foiled in their endeavor to capture the man, of all others, they were the most eager to catch and hang. There would have been short invoking of trial in his case and a hurried death by the rope. McGowan lives to relate his adventures and enjoy the narrative.
To give some idea of the manner of procedure and the discipline of the Committee, I will relate an experience of my own: One beautiful moonlight evening I was visiting the family of a prominent member of the San Francisco Bar. About nine o'clock the door bell was rung. Thinking that some friend of the family was at the door, the mistress of the house went herself to see who was there. In the doorway stood a strange man. He asked—mentioning my name—if I was in. She called to me and I went to the door. He requested me to accompany him to the rooms, of the Committee. I wished to know for what purpose, and at whose instance he came. He said he could not tell; he was ordered to request my attendance at once, and could say no more. I got my overcoat and went with him. On the way down he informed me of the diligent hunt he had made to find me—mentioning half a dozen families whom I frequently visited. At last we reached Fort Gunny Bags. He led the way to the Front street door, in the rear of the building. Two rows of guards with muskets, had position from the curb-stone to the door-way. He gave the password to these and we passed through. At the door were other guards—the same giving of pass-word there. We mounted the narrow stairs—my escort in advance. Midway on the stairs were two guards—one of them Dr. Rabe, with whom I had been intimate since 1850. Again the pass-word. And again at the head of the stairs to the four guards there. My escort opened the door of a medium-sized room, which fronted on the street, and requested me to be seated. He left me alone in the room. For an hour I had the room to myself. Then the door was opened, and I saw David C. Broderick over the head of the person who had evidently escorted him, and requested him to be seated. Broderick entered, and the door was closed, and locked from the outside. We had no more than shaken hands and mutually wondered what we were wanted for, when the key was turned, the door again opened, and in came tall Jo. McKibben, taller even than Broderick. As he entered, the door was again locked on the outside. The situation was too amusing, and we all laughed over it. But why were we there? On relating the manner of the "request" and escort, each had been served in similar manner—neither could conjecture the purpose in having us there. No other person was let in until about an hour. "Old Jim" Dows, as he was familiarly called, came to see us. We had known each other for years. He appeared surprised to see us, and McKibben and myself exchanged some pleasantries with him. I said to him, at last, that I wished the Executive Committee would hasten whatever business they had in my case and let me go, as I was eager to return to the house I had been visiting. He said he would and in ten minutes returned to apprise me that I could go right then if I wished. He accompanied me to the head of the stairs, and in loud voice ordered the guards to let me pass out—that it was "all right." With this he passed into the hall. The guard at the head of the stairs duly let me pass. At the middle of the stairs Dr. Rabe, who so well knew me, and must have heard Dows' order, demanded the pass-word, and refused to allow me to proceed. I said, "Why, Doctor, I don't know the pass-word, and you heard Jim. Dows' order to let me pass out." The guard at the head of the stairs cried out to him, "it was all right," and I was then allowed to pass down. But at the foot of the stairs the guard made similar demand, and again the word had to be shouted from above, that I was to be allowed to pass out. One of the guards then took my arm, escorted me through the file of outside guards, into the street, and I was, finally, "all right." But I felt curious in regard to Broderick and McKibben, The next day Dows told me we had all been wanted as witnesses on behalf of one of the prisoners in the custody of the Committee, but that he had got me excused. From Broderick I subsequently learned that he had given his testimony and had then come away. Also had McKibbon.
Rumors had been circulated that Broderick was to be arrested by the Committee. Whether true or false, I never learned, At all events he soon left San Francisco and made a tour of the mountain counties, to promote his canvass for the Senatorship, which he achieved the following year. His devoted friends were all violently opposed to the Committee, and any harm to him, by that body, would have been the occasion of very serious trouble.
Colonel E. D. Baker had defended Charles Cora, at his trial, as I have related. He was positive and unreserved in his denunciation of the Committee. Whether he was ever threatened with arrest I do not know; but he likewise left the city and went into the interior Northern Counties and there practiced his profession until September, when he entered into the Presidential campaign as chief orator of the Republican party, for Fremont, and in November returned to his practice in San Francisco.
The Vigilance Committee disbanded their military forces late in August. The Executive Committee held to them for future emergencies, but ceased their meetings. Fort Gunny Bags was dismantled. The rooms were abandoned; but as a closing scene, a grand review of the military was held near South Park, and the rooms were thrown open to the public. Thousands, ladies and gentlemen and children went there, and looked at the stuffed ballot-box, at the nooses and ropes used in the hanging of Casey and Cora, of Hetherington and Brace, at the shackles and gyves, at all the other instruments and paraphernalia of the gallows and the cells, into the narrow cells and their scant furniture, and at all the ghastly curios of these haunted rooms of life and death, of mental torture and bodily suffering, of forced suicide and the mocking of the crazed victim of his own despair and desperation. It was a remarkable sight for women, an astounding treat to ladies, and such an example to children, boys and girls! But comment is not required.
The city and county election was soon to follow. The Committee men did not neglect the opportunity which their powerful organization had given them. The Executive Committee became practically a self-constituted nominating convention. Their rank and file were not forgotten. General Doane was nominated for Sheriff. For every other office Vigilance men were named the candidates. None others had chance or hope. Their ticket was elected. They obtained the reward of their services in the organization, and profited accordingly. Thirty-one years have now passed since the existence of the Committee. Many of its executive members are numbered with the dead. Some of them passed away in a manner to remain as an enduring sorrow to their kindred and connexions. A few have prospered and occupy high places in community. A very few enjoy office bestowed by the party they aided so much to destroy in 1856. On the monument erected over the ashes of Casey is the scriptural admonition for all mankind. "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and I will repay." Retribution is with God alone. The generation of this period will best subserve the good of community by conformity to the divine injunction. And this would never have been written were it not for the many and frequent ex parte, and incorrect publications, which have been put forth as faithful and impartial accounts of the Vigilance Committee of 1856, of the character of those who suffered death and banishment at its hands, and of the causes which led to its organization. The task is done. May another similar to it never be required. The law of the land should suffice for every exigency. It sets no bad or dangerous example, but is always the conservator of the public welfare, the best protector of all, the voice of the people in accordance with the laws of God.