THE OPENING OF THE BALL--GEORGE IVES.
They mustered in their simple dress,
For wrongs to seek a stern redress.
As a matter of course, after the failure of Justice in the case of the
murderers of Dillingham, the state of society, bad as it was rapidly
deteriorated, until a man could hardly venture to entertain a belief
that he was safe for a single day. We have been repeatedly shown
places where bullets used to come through the chinks between the logs
separating one of the stores in town from a saloon. Wounded men lay
almost unnoticed about the city, and a night or day without shooting,
knifing or fighting would have been recognized as a small and welcome
instalment of the millennium. Men dared not go from Virginia to Nevada
or Summit after dark. A few out of the hundreds of instances must
suffice. A Dutchman, known as Dutch Fred, was met by one of the band,
who ordered him to throw up his hands, as usual. Finding he had $5 in
Treasury Notes with him, the robber told him he would take them at
par, and added with a volley of curses, “If ever you come this way with
only $5, I’ll shoot you; ---- you, I’ll shoot you anyhow,” and raising
his pistol, he shot him in the arm. Another man was robbed of two or
three dollars, about two or three miles below Nevada, and was told that
if ever he came with as little money again they would kill him.
George Ives was a young man of rather prepossessing appearance,
probably twenty-seven years old. His complexion and hair were light,
and his eyes blue. He wore no whiskers. His height was nearly six
feet, and he wore a soldier’s overcoat and a light felt hat. The
carriage of this renowned desperado was sprightly, and his coolness
was imperturbable. Long practice in confronting danger had made him
absolutely fearless. He would face death with an indifference that had
become constitutional, and the spirit of reckless bravado with which he
was animated made him the terror of the citizens. He would levy black
mail under the guise of a loan and as a matter of sport, and to show
the training of his horse, he would back the animal into the windows of
a store, and then ride off laughing. In looking at Ives a man would, at
first sight, be favorably impressed; but a closer examination by any
one skilled in physiognomy, would detect in the lines of the mouth and
in the strange, fierce and sinister gleam of the eye, the quick spirit
which made him not only the terror of the community, but the dread of
the band of ruffians with whom he was associated.
As before mentioned, he was with Henry Plummer when he started to rob
Langford and Hauser; he assisted at the robbery of the coaches in
October and November, and, after that, he figured as a highwayman with
Aleck Carter, down on Snake River, under the alias of Lewis.
In company with a friend, he visited his comrades, Hunter and Carter,
at Brown’s Gulch, and on their way back, among the hills which form,
as it were, the picket line of the Ramshorn Mountains, the two met
Anton M. Holter, now a citizen of Virginia. They politely invited him
to replenish their exchequers by a draft on his own, which, under the
circumstances, he instantly did; but he was able at the moment to honor
only a small check. They read him a lecture upon the impropriety of
travelling with so small a sum in his possession, and then, as an
emphatic confirmation of their expressed displeasure, George drew his
revolver, and, aiming at his head, sent a ball through his hat, grazing
his scalp. A second shot, with more deliberate aim, was only prevented
by the badness of the cap. After this failure, this “Perfect gentleman”
went his way, and so did Holter, doubtless blessing the cap maker.
Tex was a frequent companion of Ives, who was also intimate with
Plummer, and George used frequently to show their letters, written in
cypher, to unskilled if not unsuspecting citizens. He spent a life of
ceaseless and active wickedness up to the very day of his capture.
Perhaps the most daring and cold blooded of all his crimes was the
murder which he committed near the Cold Spring Ranch. A man had been
whipped for larceny near Nevada, and to escape the sting of the lash,
he offered to give information about the Road Agents. Ives heard of
it, and meeting him purposely between Virginia and Dempsey’s, he
deliberately fired at him with his double-barrelled gun. The gun was so
badly loaded, and the man’s coat so thickly padded that the buckshot
did not take effect, upon which he coolly drew his revolver and,
talking to him all the time, shot him dead. This deed was perpetrated
in broad daylight, on a highway--a very Bloomingdale Road of the
community--and yet, there, in plain view of Daley’s and the Cold Spring
Ranch, with two or three other teams in sight, he assassinated his
victim, in a cool and business like manner, and when the murdered man
had fallen from his horse, he took the animal by the bridle and led it
off among the hills.
Ives then went to George Hilderman and told him that he should like to
stay at his wakiup for a few days, as he had killed a man near Cold
Spring Ranch, and there might be some stir and excitement about it.
In about half an hour after, some travellers arrived at the scene
of murder. The body was still warm, but lifeless, and some of the
neighbors from the surrounding ranches dug a lonely grave in the
beautiful valley, and there, nameless, uncoffined and unwept, the poor
victim:
“Life’s fitful fever over,
Sleeps well.”
The passer-by may even now notice the solitary grave, where he lies,
marked as it still is by the upheaved earth, on the left side of the
road as he goes down the valley, about a mile on the Virginia side of
the Cold Spring Ranch.
All along the route the ranchmen knew the Road Agents, but the
certainty of instant death in case they revealed what they knew
enforced their silence, even when they were really desirous of giving
information or warning.
Nicholas Tbalt had sold a span of mules to his employers, Butschy &
Clark, who paid him the money. Taking the gold with him, he went to
Dempsey’s Ranch to bring up the animals. Not returning for some time,
they concluded that he had run away with the mules, and were greatly
grieved that a person they had trusted so implicitly should deceive
them. They were, however, mistaken. Faithful to his trust, he had gone
for the mules, and met his death from the hand of George Ives, who
shot him, robbed him of his money, and stole his mules. Ives first
accused Long John of the deed; but he was innocent of it, as was also
Hilderman, who was a petty thief and hider, but neither murderer nor
Road Agent. His gastronomic feats at Bannack had procured him the name,
the American Pie-Eater. Ives contradicted himself at his execution,
stating that Aleck Carter was the murderer; but in this he wronged his
own soul. His was the bloody hand that committed the crime. Long John
said, on his examination at the trial, that he did not see the shots
fired, but that he saw Nicholas coming with the mules, and George Ives
going to meet him; that Ives rode up shortly after with the mules, and
said that the Dutchman would never trouble anybody again.
The body of the slaughtered young man lay frozen, stiff and stark,
among the sage brush, whither it had been dragged, unseen of man; but
the eye of Omniscience rested on the blood-stained corpse, and the
fiat of the Eternal Judge ordered the wild bird of the mountains to
point out the spot, and, by a miracle, to reveal the crime. It was the
finger of God that indicated the scene of the assassination, and it was
His will stirring in the hearts of the honest and indignant gazers on
the ghastly remains of Tbalt that organized the party which, though not
then formally enrolled as a Vigilance Committee, was the nucleus and
embryo of the order--the germ from which sprang that goodly tree, under
the shadow of whose wide-spreading branches the citizens of Montana can
lie down and sleep in peace.
Nicholas Tbalt was brought into Nevada on a wagon, after being missing
for ten days. William Herren came to Virginia and informed Tom Baume,
who at once went down to where the body lay. The head had been pierced
by a ball, which had entered just over the left eye. On searching the
clothes of the victim, he found in his pocket a knife which he had lent
him in Washington Gulch, Colorado, two years before, in presence of J.
X. Beidler and William Clark.
The marks of a small lariat were on the dead man’s wrists and neck. He
had been dragged through the brush, while living, after being shot, and
when found lay on his face, his right arm bent across his chest and his
left grasping the willows above him.
William Palmer was coming across the Stinkingwater Valley, near the
scene of the murder, ahead of his wagon, with his shot-gun on his
shoulder. A grouse rose in front of him, and he fired. The bird dropped
dead on the body of Tbalt. On finding the grouse on the body, he went
down to the wakiup, about a quarter of a mile below the scene of the
murder, and seeing Long John and George Hilderman there, he told them
that there was the body of a dead man below, and asked them if they
would help him to put the corpse into his wagon, and that he would take
it to town, and see if it could be identified. They said “No; that is
nothing. They kill people in Virginia every day, and there’s nothing
said about it, and we want to have nothing to do with it.”
The man lay for half a day exposed in the wagon, after being brought
up to Nevada. Elk Morse, William Clark and Tom Baume got a coffin made
for him; took him up to the burying ground above Nevada; interred him
decently, and, at the foot of the grave, a crotched stick was placed,
which is, we believe still standing.
The indignation of the people was excited by the spectacle. The same
afternoon, three or four of the citizens raised twenty-five men, and
left Nevada at 10 P. M. The party subscribed an obligation before
starting, binding them to mutual support, etc., and then travelled
on, with silence and speed, towards the valley of the Stinkingwater.
Calling at a Ranch on their way, they obtained an accession to their
numbers, in the person of the man who eventually brought Ives to bay,
after he had escaped from the guard who had him in charge. Several men
were averse to taking him with them, not believing him to be a fit man
for such an errand; but they were greatly mistaken, for he was both
honest and reliable, as they afterwards found.
Avoiding the travelled road, the troop rode round by the bluff, so as
to keep clear of Dempsey’s Ranch. About six miles further on, they
called at a cabin and got a guide, to pilot them to the rendezvous.
At about half-past three in the morning, they crossed Wisconsin Creek,
at a point some seven miles below Dempsey’s, and found that it was
frozen, but that the ice was not strong enough to carry the weight of
man and horse, and they went through one after another, at different
points, some of the riders having to get down, in order to help their
horses, emerging half drowned on the other side, and continuing
their journey, cased in a suit of frozen clothes, which, as one of
them observed, “Stuck to them like death to a dead nigger.” Even the
irrepressible Tom Baume was obliged to take a sharp nip on his “quid,”
and to summon all his fortitude to his aid to face the cold of his
ice-bound “rig.”
The leader called a halt about a mile further on, saying, “Every one
light from his horse, hold him by the bridle, and make no noise till
day break.” Thus they stood motionless for an hour and a half. At the
first peep of day the word was given, “Boys, mount your horses, and
not a word pass, until we are in sight of the wakiup.” They had not
travelled far when a dog barked. Instantly they put spurs to their
horses, and breaking to the right and left, formed the “surround,”
every man reining up with his shot-gun bearing on the wakiup. The
leader jumped from his horse, and seeing eight or ten men sleeping on
the ground in front of the structure, all wrapped up in blankets, sang
out, “The first man that raises will get a quart of buckshot in him,
before he can say Jack Robinson.” It was too dark to see who they were,
so he went on to the wakiup, leaving his horse in charge of one of the
party, half of whom had dismounted and the others held the horses. “Is
Long John here?” he asked. “Yes,” said that longitudinal individual.
“Come out here; I want you.” “Well,” said he, “I guess I know what
you want me for.” “Probably you do; but hurry up; we have got no time
to lose.” “Well,” said John, “Wait till I get my moccasins on, won’t
you?” “Be quick about it then,” observed his captor. Immediately after
he came out of the wakiup, and they waited about half an hour before
it was light enough to see distinctly. The captain took four of his
men and Long John, and walked to the place where the murder had been
committed, leaving the remainder of the troop in charge of the other
men. They went up to the spot, and there Long John was charged with
the murder. Palmer showed the position in which the body was found.
He said, “I did not do it, boys.” He was told that his blood would be
held answerable for that of Nicholas Tbalt; for that, if he had not
killed him, he knew well who had done it, and had refused to help to
put his body into a wagon. “Long John,” said one of the men, handling
his pistol as he spoke, “You had better prepare for another world.”
The leader stepped between and said, “This won’t do; if there is
anything to be done, let us all be together.” Long John was taken aside
by three of the men, and sat down. They looked up, and there, in the
faint light--about a quarter of a mile off--stood Black Bess, the mule
bought by X. Beidler in Washington Gulch. Pointing to the animal, they
said, “John, whose mule is that?” “That’s the mule that Nick rode down
here,” he answered. “You know whose mule that is, John. Things look
dark. You had better be thinking of something else now.” The mule was
sent for, and brought before him, and he was asked where the other two
mules were. He said he did not know. He was told that he had better
look out for another world, for that he was played out in this. He
said, “I did not commit that crime. If you give me a chance, I’ll clear
myself.” “John,” said the leader, “You never can do it; for you knew of
a man lying dead for nine days, close to your house, and never reported
his murder; and you deserve hanging for that. Why didn’t you come to
Virginia and tell the people?” He replied that he was afraid and dared
not do it. “Afraid of what?” asked the captain. “Afraid of the men
round here.” “Who are they?” “I dare not tell who they are. There’s one
of them round here.” “Where?” “There’s one of them here at the wakiup,
that killed Nick.” “Who is he?” “George Ives.” “Is he down at the
wakiup?” “Yes.” “You men stand here and keep watch over John, and I’ll
go down.” Saying this he walked to the camp.
On arriving at the wakiup, he paused, and picking out the man answering
to the description of George Ives, he asked him, “Is your name George
Ives?” “Yes,” said that worthy. “I want you,” was the laconic reply.
“What do you want me for?” was the natural query. “To go to Virginia
City,” was the direct but unpleasing rejoinder. “All right,” said
George, “I expect I have to go.” He was at once given in charge of the
guard.
So innocent were some of the troop, that they had adopted the “Perfect
gentleman” hypothesis, and laid down their arms in anger, at the arrest
of this murderous villain. A little experience prevented any similar
exhibition of such a weakness, in the future.
Two of the party went over to Tex, who was engaged in the highly
necessary operation of changing his shirt. “I believe we shall want you
too,” said one of them; Tex denuded himself of his under garment, and
throwing it towards Tom Baume, exclaimed, “There’s my old shirt and
plenty of graybacks. You’d better arrest them too.” He was politely
informed that he himself, but neither the shirt nor its population,
was the object of this “unconstitutional restraint,” and was asked if
the pistols lying on the ground were his, which he admitted, and was
thereupon told that they were wanted, also, and that he must consider
himself “under arrest”--a technical, yet simple, formula adopted by
mountaineers, to assure the individual addressed that his brains will,
without further warning, be blown out, if he should attempt to make a
“break.” Tex dressed himself and awaited further developments.
There appeared to be a belief on the part of both Tex and Ives that
they should get off; but when they saw the party with Long John, they
appeared cast down, and said no more.
The other men who were lying round the wakiup, when the scouting
party rode up, were Aleck Carter, Bob Zachary, Whiskey Bill, Johnny
Cooper, and two innocent strangers, whose prolonged tenure of life
can only be accounted for by the knowledge of the circumstance that
they were without money at the time. Of the fact of the connection of
the others with the band, the boys were ignorant, and were drinking
coffee with them, laying down their guns within the reach of the
robbers, on their bed clothes. Had the Road Agents possessed the nerve
to make the experiment, they could have blown them to pieces. One of
the party, pointing to Aleck Carter, said to the leader, “There’s one
good man among them, any way. I knew him on the ‘other side,’” (west
of the Mountains.) The captain’s view of the state of things was not
altered by this flattering notice. He sang out, in a tone of voice
that signified “something’s up,” “Every man take his gun and keep it.”
In after expeditions, he had no need to repeat the command. Five men
were sent into the wakiup, and the rest stood round it. The result
of their search was the capture of seven dragoon and navy revolvers,
nine shot-guns and thirteen rifles. These were brought out, and in
laying them down, one of them went off close to Tom Baume’s head. Leroy
Southmayde’s pistol--taken from him at the time of the robbery of the
coach--was one of the weapons. It was recognized at the trial of Ives,
by the number upon it. About half an inch of the muzzle had been broken
off, and it had then been fixed up smoothly.
All being now ready, the party started for Dempsey’s, and George, who
was mounted on his spotted bob-tailed pony, went along with them. He
had determined to escape and in order to carry out his design, he
expressed a wish to try the speed of his horse against the others, and
challenged several to race with him. This was foolishly permitted, and,
but for the accidental frustration of his design to procure a remount
of unsurpassed speed, a score of names might have been added to the
long list of his murdered victims.
At Dempsey’s Ranch there was a bridge in course of construction, and
two of the men riding ahead, saw George Hilderman, standing on the
center, at work. He was asked if his name was George Hilderman, and
replied “Yes,” whereupon he was informed that he was wanted to go up
to Virginia City. He inquired whether they had any papers for him,
and being told that they had not any, he declared that he would not
leave the spot; but the leader coming up, told him to go “Without
any foolishness,” in a manner that satisfied him of the inutility of
resistence, and he prepared to accompany them; but not as a volunteer,
by any means. He said he had no horse. Tom Baume offered him a mule.
Then he had no saddle. The same kind friend found one, and he had
to ride with them. His final effort was couched in the form of a
declaration that the beast would not go. A stick was lying on the
ground, and he received an instruction, as the conventions word it,
either to “whip and ride,” or “walk and drive.” This practically
speaking, reconciled him to the breach of the provisions of Magna
Charta and the Bill of Rights involved in his arrest, and he jogged
along, if not comfortably, yet, at all events, in peace.
In the meantime, the arch villain in custody of the main body was
playing his ROLE with much skill and with complete success. He declared
his entire innocence of the awful crime with which he was charged, and
rather insinuated than expressed his wish that he might be taken to
Virginia, where his friends were, and that he might be tried by civil
authorities, (Plummer to empannel the jury,) and incidentally remarked
that he should not like to be tried at Nevada, for that he once killed
a dog there, which had scared his horse, and for that reason, they had
prejudices against him, which might work him serious injury in the
event of his trial at that place.
There is no doubt that the seeming alacrity with which he apparently
yielded to the persuasions of his captors, threw them off their guard,
and he was permitted to ride unarmed, but otherwise unrestrained, along
with the escort.
So large a troop of horsemen never yet rode together, mounted on fleet
cayuses, on the magnificent natural roads of Montana, without yielding
to the temptation presented to try the comparative merits of their
horses, and our company of partizan police were no exception to this
rule. Scrub races were the order of the day, until, in one of them,
Geo. Ives, who was the winner, attracted the attention of the whole
party, by continuing his race at the top of his horse’s speed; but
not until he was at least ten rods ahead of the foremost rider, did
the guard (?) realize the fact that the bird had flown from the open
cage. Twenty-four pairs of spurs were driven home, into the flanks of
twenty-four horses, and with a clatter of hoofs never since equalled on
that road, except when the deluded cavalry of Virginia rode down the
valley:
“To see the savage fray;”
or at the reception given to the Hon. J. M. Ashley and party--they
swept on like a headlong rout.
For awhile, the fugitive gained gradually, but surely, on his pursuers,
heading for Daley’s Ranch, where his own fleet and favorite mare was
standing bridled and saddled, ready for his use, (so quickly did
intelligence fly in those days.) Fortune, however, declared against
the robber. He was too hotly pursued to be able to avail himself of
the chance. His pursuers seeing a fresh horse from Virginia and a mule
standing there, leaped on their backs and continued the chase. Ives
turned his horses’ head towards the mountains round Bivens’ Gulch, and
across the plain, in that race for life, straining every nerve, flew
the representatives of crime and justice. Three miles more had been
passed, when the robber found that his horses’ strength was failing,
and every stride diminishing. The steeds of Wilson and Burtchey were in
no better condition; but the use of arms might now decide the race, and
springing from his horse, he dashed down a friendly ravine, whose rocky
and boulder strewn sides might offer some refuge from his relentless
foes. Quick as thought, the saddles of his pursuers were empty, and
the trial of speed was now to be continued on foot. On arriving at
the edge of the ravine, Ives was not visible; but it was evident
that he must be concealed within a short distance. Burtchey quickly
“surrounded” the spot, and sure enough, there was Ives crouching behind
a rock. Drawing a bead on him, Burtchey commanded him to come forth,
and with a light and careless laugh he obeyed. The wily Bohemian was
far too astute, however, to be thus overreached, and before Ives could
get near enough to master his gun, a stern order to “stand fast,”
destroyed his last hope, and he remained motionless until assistance
arrived, in the person of Wilson.
Two hours had elapsed between the time of the escape and the recapture
and return of the prisoner. A proposition was made to the captain to
raise a pole and hang him there, but this was negatived. After gaily
chatting with the boys, and treating them, the word was given to
“Mount,” and in the centre of a hollow square, Ives began to realize
his desperate situation.
Tidings of the capture flew fast and far. Through every nook and dell
of the inhabited parts of the Territory, wildly and widely spread the
news. Johnny Gibbons, who afterwards made such sly and rapid tracks for
Utah, haunted with visions of vigilance committees, joined the party
before they reached the canyon at Alder Creek, and accompanied them
to Nevada. At that time he was a part owner of the Cottonwood Ranch,
(Dempsey’s,) and kept the band well informed of all persons who passed
with large sums of money.
The sun had sunk behind the hills when the detachment reached Nevada,
on the evening of the 18th of December, and a discussion arose upon
the question whether they should bring Ives to Virginia, or detain him
for the night at Nevada. The “conservatives” and “radicals” had a long
argument developing an “irrepressible conflict;” but the radicals, on
a vote, carried their point--rejecting Johnny Gibbon’s suffrage on the
ground of mixed blood. It was thereupon determined to keep Ives at
Nevada until morning, and then to determine the place of trial.
The prisoners were separated and chained. A strong guard was posted
inside and outside of the house, and the night came and went without
developing anything remarkable. But all that weary night, a “solitary
horseman might have been seen” galloping along the road at topmost
speed, with frequent relays of horses, on his way to Bannack City. This
was Lieut. George Lane alias Club-Foot, who was sent with news of the
high-handed outrage that was being perpetrated in defiance of law, and
with no regard whatever to the constituted authorities. He was also
instructed to suggest that Plummer should come forthwith to Nevada;
demand the culprit for the civil authorities, enforce that demand by
what is as fitly called HOCUS POCUS as HABEAS CORPUS, and see that he
had a fair (?) trial.
As soon as it was determined that Ives should remain at Nevada, Gibbons
dashed up the street to Virginia, meeting a lawyer or two on the way--
“Where the carrion is, there will the vultures,” etc.
At the California Exchange, Gibbons found Messrs. Smith and Ritchie,
and a consultation between client, attorney and PROCH EIN AMI, resulted
in Lane’s mission to Bannack, as one piece of strategy that faintly
promised the hoped for rewards. All of Ives’ friends were notified to
be at Nevada early the next morning.
The forenoon of the 19th saw the still swelling tide of miners,
merchants and artizans wending their way to Nevada, and all the morning
was spent in private examinations of the prisoners, and private
consultations as to the best method of trial. Friends of the accused
were found in all classes of society; many of them were assiduously at
work to create a sentiment in his favor, while a large multitude were
there, suspicious that the right man had been caught; and resolved, if
such should prove to be the case, that no loop-hole of escape should be
found for him, in any technical form of the law.
Although on the eve of “Forefathers’ Day,” there was in the atmosphere
the mildness and the serenity of October. There was no snow, and but
little ice along the edges of sluggish streams; but the Sun, bright
and genial, warmed the clear air, and even thawed out the congealed
mud in the middle of the streets. Little boys were at play in the
streets, and fifteen hundred men stood in them, impatient for action,
but waiting without a murmur, in order that everything might be done
decently and in order.
Messrs. Smith, Richie, Thurmond and Colonel Wood were Ives’ lawyers,
with whom was associated Mr. Alex. Davis, then a comparative stranger
in Montana.
Col. W. F. Sanders, at that time residing at Bannack City, but
temporarily sojourning at Virginia, was sent for to conduct the
prosecution, and Hon. Charles S. Bagg was appointed his colleague, at
the request of Judge Wilson, Mr. Bagg being a miner, and, then, little
known.
In settling upon the mode of trial, much difference of opinion was
developed; but the miners finally determined that it should be held in
presence of the whole body of citizens, and reserved to themselves the
ultimate decision of all questions; but lest something should escape
their attention, and injustice thereby be done to the public, or to
the prisoner, a delegation composed of twelve men from each district
(Nevada and Junction) was appointed to hear the proof, and to act as
an advisory jury. W. H. Patton, of Nevada, and W. Y. Pemberton, of
Virginia, were appointed amanuenses. An attempt to get on the jury
twelve men from Virginia was defeated, and late in the afternoon, the
trial began and continued till nightfall. The three prisoners, George
Ives, George Hilderman and Long John (John Franck) were chained with
the lightest logging chain that could be found--this was wound round
their legs, and the links were secured with padlocks.
In introducing testimony for the people, on the morning of the 21st,
the miners informed all concerned that the trial must close at three
P. M. The announcement was received with great satisfaction.
It is unnecessary to describe the trial, or to recapitulate the
evidence. Suffice it to say that two alibis, based on the testimony
of George Brown and honest Whiskey Joe, failed altogether. Among the
lawyers, there was, doubtless, the usual amount of brow-beating and
technical insolence, intermingled with displays of eloquence and
learning; but not the rhetoric of Blair, the learning of Coke, the
metaphysics of Alexander, the wit of Jerrold, or the odor of Oberlin,
could dull the perceptions of those hardy Mountaineers, or mislead
them from the stern and righteous purpose of all this labor, which was
to secure immunity to the persons and property of the community, and
to guarantee a like protection to those who should cast their lot in
Montana in time to come.
The evidence was not confined to the charge of murder; but showed,
also, that Ives had been acting in the character of a robber, as well
as that of a murderer; and it may well be doubted whether he would have
been convicted at all, if developments damaging to the reputations
and dangerous to the existence of some of his friends had not been
made during the trial, on which they absented themselves mysteriously,
and have never been seen since. There was an instinctive and unerring
conviction that the worst man in the community was on trial; but it was
hard work, after all the proof and all this feeling, to convict him.
Prepossessing in his appearance; brave, beyond a doubt; affable in
his manners; jolly and free among his comrades, and with thousands of
dollars at his command; bad and good men alike working upon the feeling
of the community, when they could not disturb its judgment--it seemed,
at times, that all the labor was to end in disastrous failure.
The crowd which gathered around that fire in front of the Court, is
vividly before our eyes. We see the wagon containing the Judge, and
an advocate pleading with all his earnestness and eloquence for the
dauntless robber, on whose unmoved features no shade of despondency can
be traced by the fitful glare of the blazing wood, which lights up,
at the same time, the stern and impassive features of the guard, who,
in every kind of habiliments, stand in various attitudes, in a circle
surrounding the scene of Justice. The attentive faces and compressed
lips of the Jurors show their sense of the vast responsibility that
rests upon them, and of their firm resolve to do their duty. Ever and
anon a brighter flash than ordinary reveals the expectant crowd of
miners, thoughtfully and steadily gazing on the scene, and listening
intently to the trial. Beyond this close phalanx, fretting and shifting
around its outer edge, sways with quick and uncertain motion, the
wavering line of desperadoes and sympathizers with the criminal; their
haggard, wild and alarmed countenances showing too plainly that they
tremble at the issue which is, when decided to drive them in exile from
Montana, or to proclaim them as associate criminals, whose fate could
neither be delayed nor dubious. A sight like this will ne’er be seen
again in Montana. It was the crisis of the fate of the Territory. Nor
was the position of prosecutor, guard, juror, or Judge, one that any
but a brave and law-abiding citizen would chose, or even except. Marked
for slaughter by desperadoes, these men staked their lives for the
welfare of society. A mortal strife between Colonel Sanders and one of
the opposing lawyers was only prevented by the prompt action of wise
men, who corraled the combatants on their way to fight. The hero of
that hour of trial was avowedly W. F. Sanders. Not a desperado present
but would have felt honored by becoming his murderer, and yet, fearless
as a lion, he stood there confronting and defying the malice of his
armed adversaries. The citizens of Montana, many of them his bitter
political opponents, recollect his actions with gratitude and kindly
feeling. Charles S. Bagg is also remembered as having been at his post
when the storm blew loudest.
The argument of the case having terminated, the issue was, in the first
place, left to the decision of the twenty-four who had been selected
for that purpose, and they thereupon retired to consult.
Judge Byam, who shouldered the responsibility of the whole proceeding,
will never be forgotten by those in whose behalf he courted certain,
deadly peril, and probable death.
The Jury were absent, deliberating on their verdict, but little less
than half an hour, and on their return, twenty-three made a report that
Ives was proven guilty; but one member--Henry Spivey--declined to give
in any finding, for unknown reasons.
The crisis of the affair had now arrived. A motion was made, “That
the report of the committee be received, and it discharged from
further consideration of that case,” which Mr. Thurmond opposed; but
upon explanation, deferred pressing his objections until the motion
should be made to adopt the report, and to accept the verdict of the
Committee as the judgment of the people there assembled; and thus the
first formal motion passed without opposition.
Before this, some of the crowd were clamorous for an adjournment, and
now Ives’ friends renewed the attempt; but it met with signal failure.
Another motion, “That the assembly adopt as their verdict the report
of the Committee,” was made, and called forth the irrepressible and
indefatigable Thurmond and Col. J. M. Wood; but it carried, there being
probably not more than one hundred votes against it.
Here it was supposed by many that the proceedings would end for the
present, and that the Court would adjourn until the morrow, as it was
already dark. Col. Sanders, however, mounted the wagon, and, having
recited that Ives had been declared a murderer and a robber by the
people there assembled, moved, “That George Ives be forthwith hung by
the neck until he is dead”--a bold and business-like movement which
excited feeble opposition, was carried before the defendant seemed to
realize the situation; but a friend or two and some old acquaintances
having gained admission to the circle within which Ives was guarded, to
bid him farewell, awakened him to a sense of the condition in which he
was placed, and culprit and counsel sought to defer the execution. Some
of his ardent counsel shed tears, of which lachrymose effusions it is
well to say no more than that they were copious. The vision of a long
and scaly creature, inhabiting the Nile, rises before us in connection
with this aqueous sympathy for an assassin. Quite a number of his old
chums were, as Petroleum V. Nasby says: “Weeping profoosly.” Then came
moving efforts to have the matter postponed until the coming morning,
Ives giving assurances, upon his honor, that no attempt at rescue or
escape would be made; but already, Davis and Hereford were seeking a
favorable spot for the execution.
Our Legislative Assembly seem to have forgotten that Mr. A. B. Davis
had any of these arduous labors to perform but none who were present
will ever forget the fearless activity which he displayed all through
those trials. A differently constituted body may yet sit in Montana,
and vote him his five hundred dollars.
The appeals made by Ives and Thurmond for a delay of the execution,
were such as human weakness cannot well resist. It is most painful
to be compelled to deny even a day’s brief space, during which the
criminal may write to mother and sister, and receive for himself
such religious consolation as the most hardened desire, under such
circumstances; but that body of men had come there deeply moved by
repeated murders and robberies, and meant “business.” The history of
former trials was there more freshly and more deeply impressed upon the
minds of men than it is now, and the result of indecision was before
their eyes. The most touching appeal from Ives, as he held the hand
of Col. Sanders, lost its force when met by the witheringly sarcastic
request of one of the crowd, “Ask him how long a time he gave the
Dutchman.” Letters were dictated by him and written by Thurmond. His
will was made, in which the lawyers and his chums in iniquity were
about equally remembered, to the entire exclusion of his mother and
sisters, in Wisconsin. Whether or not it was a time for tears, it was
assuredly a time of tears; but neither weakness nor remorse moistened
the eyes of Ives. He seemed neither haughty nor yet subdued; in fact,
he was exactly imperturbable. From a place not more than ten yards from
where he sat during the trial, he was led to execution.
The prisoner had repeatedly declared that he would never “Die in his
boots,” and he asked the sergeant of the guard for a pair of moccasins,
which were given to him; but after a while, he seemed to be chilled,
and requested that his boots might again be put on. Thus, George Ives
“Died in his boots.”
During the whole trial, the doubting, trembling, desperate friends of
Ives exhausted human ingenuity to devise methods for his escape, trying
intimidation, weak appeals to sympathy, and ever and anon exhibiting
their abiding faith in “Nice, sharp quillets of the law.” All the time,
the roughs awaited with a suspense of hourly increasing painfulness,
the arrival of their boasted chief, who had so long and so successfully
sustained the three inimical characters of friend of their clan, friend
of the people, and guardian of the laws.
Not more anxiously did the Great Captain at Waterloo, sigh for “Night
or Blucher,” than did they for Plummer. But, relying upon him, they
deferred all other expedients; and when the dreaded end came, as come
it must, they felt that the tide in the affairs of villains had not
been taken at its flood, and, not without a struggle, they yielded to
the inevitable logic of events, and because they could not help it they
gave their loved companion to the gallows.
Up to the very hour at which he was hanged, they were confident of
Plummer’s arrival in time to save him. But events were transpiring
throughout the Territory which produced intense excitement, and rumor
on her thousand wings was ubiquitous in her journeying on absurd
errands.
Before Lane reached Bannack news of Ives’ arrest had reached there,
with the further story that the men of Alder Gulch were wild with
excitement, and ungovernable from passion; that a Vigilance Committee
had been formed; a number of the best citizens hanged, and that from
three hundred to five hundred men were on their way to Bannack City
to hang Plummer, Ray, Stinson, George Chrisman, A. J. McDonald and
others. This last “bulletin from the front” was probably the offspring
of Plummer’s brain. It is also likely that Lane and perhaps, Ray and
Stinson, helped in the hatching of the story. Suffice it to say that
Plummer told it often, shedding crocodile tears that such horrible
designs existed in the minds of any, as the death of his, as yet,
unrobbed friends, Chrisman, McDonald and Pitt.
His was a most unctious sorrow, intended at that crisis, to be seen
of men in Bannack, and quite a number of the good citizens clubbed
together to defend each other from the contemplated assault, the
precise hour for which Plummers’ detectives had learned, and all night
long many kept watch and ward to give the attacking party a warm
reception.
There is no doubt that Plummer believed that such a body of men were
on their way to Bannack City, after him, Ray, Stinson and company. The
coupling of the other names with theirs was his own work, and was an
excellent tribute paid in a backhanded way, to their integrity and high
standing in the community.
“Conscience doth make cowards of us all.”
and Lane found Plummer anxious to look after his own safety, rather
than that of George Ives.
The rumors carried day by day from the trial, to the band in different
parts of the Territory, were surprising in their exactness, and in the
celerity with which they were carried; but they were changed in each
community, by those most interested; into forms best suited to subserve
the purposes of the robbers; and, in this way, did they beguile into
sympathy with them and their misfortunes, many fair, honest men.
Ives’ trial for murder, though not the first in the Territory, differed
from any that had preceded it.
Before this memorable day, citizens, in the presence of a well
disciplined and numerous band of desperadoes, had spoken of their
atrocities with bated breath; and witnesses upon their trial had
testified in whispering humbleness. Prosecuting lawyers, too, had, in
their arguments, often startled the public with such novel propositions
as, “Now, gentlemen, you have heard the witnesses, and it is for you
to say whether the defendant is or is not guilty; if he is guilty, you
should say so; but if not, you ought to acquit him. I leave this with
you, to whom it rightfully belongs.” But the counsel for the defense
were, at least, guiltless of uttering these last platitudes; for a
vigorous defense hurt no one and won hosts of friends--of a CERTAIN
KIND. But on Ives’ trial, there was given forth no uncertain sound.
Robbery and honesty locked horns for the mastery, each struggling for
empire; and each stood by his banner until the contest ended--fully
convinced of the importance of victory. Judge Byam remained by the
prisoner from the time judgment was given, and gave all the necessary
directions for carrying it into effect. Robert Hereford was the
executive officer.
An unfinished house, having only the side-walls up, was chosen as
the best place, near at hand, for carrying into effect the sentence
of death. The preparations, though entirely sufficient, were both
simple and brief. The butt of a forty-foot pole was planted inside
the house, at the foot of one of the walls, and the stick leaned over
a cross beam. Near the point, was tied the fatal cord, with the open
noose dangling fearfully at its lower end. A large goods box was the
platform. The night had closed in, with a bright, full moon, and around
that altar of Vengeance, the stern and resolute faces of the guard
were visible, under all circumstances of light and shade conceivable.
Unmistakable determination was expressed in every line of their bronzed
and weather-beaten countenances.
George Ives was led to the scaffold in fifty-eight minutes from the
time that his doom was fixed. A perfect Bable of voices saluted the
movement. Every roof was covered, and cries of “Hang him!” “Don’t
hang him!” “Banish him!” “I’ll shoot!” “----their murdering souls!”
“Let’s hang Long John!” were heard all around. The revolvers could
be seen flashing in the moonlight. The guard stood like a rock.
They had heard the muttered threats of a rescue from the crowd, and
with grim firmness--the characteristic of the miners when they mean
“business”--they stood ready to beat them back. Woe to the mob that
should surge against that living bulwark. They would have fallen as
grass before the scythe.
As the prisoner stepped on to the fatal platform, the noise ceased,
and the stillness became painful. The rope was adjusted, and the usual
request was made as to whether he had anything to say. With a firm
voice he replied, “I am innocent of THIS crime; Aleck Carter killed the
Dutchman.”
The strong emphasis on the word “this” convinced all around, that he
meant his words to convey the impression that he was guilty of other
crimes. Up to this moment he had always accused Long John of the murder.
Ives expressed a wish to see Long John, and the crowd of sympathizers
yelled in approbation; but the request was denied, for an attempt at a
rescue was expected.
All being ready, the word was given to the guard, “Men do your duty.”
The click of the locks rang sharply, and the pieces flashed in the
moonlight, as they came to the “Aim;” the box flew from under the
murderer’s feet, with a crash, and George Ives swung in the night
breeze, facing the pale moon that lighted up the scene of retributive
justice.
As the vengeful click! click! of the locks sounded their note of
deadly warning to the intended rescuers, the crowd stampeded in wild
affright, rolling over one another in heaps, shrieking and howling with
terror.
When the drop fell, the Judge, who was standing close beside Ives,
called out, “His neck is broken; he is dead.” This announcement,
and the certainty of its truth--for the prisoner never moved a
limb--convinced the few resolute desperadoes who knew not fear, that
the case was hopeless, and they retired with grinding teeth, and with
muttered curses issuing from their lips.
It is astonishing what a wonderful effect is produced upon an angry mob
by the magic sound referred to. Hostile demonstrations are succeeded
by a mad panic; rescuers turn their undivided attention to their own
corporal salvation; eyes that gleamed with anger, roll wildly with
terror; the desire for slaughter gives way to the fear of death,
and courage hands the craven fear his scepter of command. When a
double-barrelled shot-gun is pointed at a traveller by a desperado, the
feeling is equally intense; but its development is different. The organ
of “acquisitiveness” is dormant; “combativeness” and “destructiveness”
are inert; “caution” calls “benevolence” to do its duty; a very large
lump rises into the way-farer’s throat; cold chills follow the downward
course of the spine, and the value of money, as compared with that of
bodily safety, instantly reaches the minimum point. Verily, “All that a
man hath will he give for his life.” We have often smiled at the fiery
indignation of the great untried, when listening to their account of
what they would have done, if a couple of Road Agents ordered them to
throw up their hands; but they failed to do anything towards convincing
us that they would not have sent valor to the rear at the first onset,
and appeared as the very living and breathing impersonations of
discretion. We felt certain that were they “loaded to the guards” with
the gold dust, they would come out of the scrape as poor as Lazarus,
and as mild and insinuating in demeanor as a Boston mamma with six
marriageable daughters.
At last the deed was done. The law abiding among the citizens breathed
more freely and all felt that the worst man in the community was
dead--that the neck of crime was broken, and that the reign of terror
was ended.
The body of Ives was left hanging for an hour. At the expiration of
this period of time, it was cut down, carried into a wheel-barrow shop,
and laid out on a work bench. A guard was then placed over it till
morning, when the friends of the murderer had him decently interred.
He lies in his narrow bed, near his victim--the murdered Tbalt--to
await his final doom, when they shall stand face to face at the grand
tribunal, where every man shall be rewarded according to his deeds.
George Ives, though so renowned a desperado, was by no means an ancient
practitioner in his profession. In 1857-58, he worked as a miner,
honestly and hard, in California, and though wild and reckless, was not
accused of dishonesty. His first great venture in the line of robbery
was the stealing of Government mules, near Walla Walla. He was employed
as herder, and used to report that certain of his charge were dead,
every time that a storm occurred. The officer of the Post believed
the story, and inquired no further. In this way George ran off quite
a decent herd, with the aid of his friends. In Elk City, he startled
his old employer, in the mines of California by riding his horse into
his saloon, and when that gentlemen seized the bridle, he drew his
revolver, and would certainly have killed him, but fortunately he
caught sight of the face of his intended victim in time, and returning
his pistol he apologized for his conduct. When leaving the city, he
wished to present his splendid gray mare to his friend, who had for old
acquaintance sake supplied his wants; but the present, though often
pressed upon this gentleman, was as often refused; for no protestations
of Ives’ could convince him that the beautiful animal was fairly his
property. He said that he earned it honestly by mining. His own account
of the stealing of the Government mules, which we have given above, was
enough to settle that question definitively. It was from the “other
side” that Ives came over to Montana--then a part of Idaho--and entered
with full purpose upon the career which ended at Nevada, so fatally and
shamefully for himself, and so happily for the people of this Territory.
A short biographical sketch of Ives and of the rest of the gang will
appear at the end of the present work.
The trial of Hilderman was a short matter. He was defended by Judge
(?) H. P. A. Smith. He had not been known as a very bad man; but was a
weak and somewhat imbecile old fellow, reasonably honest in a strictly
honest community, but easily led to hide the small treasure, keep the
small secrets and do the dirty work of strong-minded, self-willed,
desperate men, whether willingly or through fear the trial did not
absolutely determine. The testimony of Dr. Glick, showed him to be
rather cowardly and a great eater. He had known of the murder of Tbalt
for some weeks, and had never divulged it. He was also cognizant of
the murder near Cold Spring Ranch, and was sheltering and hiding the
perpetrators. He had concealed the stolen mules too; but, in view of
the disclosures made by many, after Ives was hung, and the power of
the gang being broken, such disclosures did not so much damage men in
the estimation of the honest mountaineer. Medical men were taken to
wounded robbers to dress their wounds; they were told in what affray
they were received, and the penalty of repeating the story to outsiders
was sometimes told; but to others it was described by a silence more
expressive than words. Other parties, too, came into possession of
the knowledge of the tragedies enacted by them, from their own lips,
and under circumstances rendering silence a seeming necessity. To be
necessarily the repository of their dreadful secrets was no enviable
position. Their espionage upon every word uttered by the unfortunate
accessory was offensive, and it was not a consolatory thought that, at
any moment, his life might pay the penalty of any revelation he should
make; and a person placed in such a “fix” was to some extent a hostage
for the reticence of all who knew the same secret.
If stronger minded men than Hilderman could pretend to be, had kept
secrets at the bidding of the Road Agents, and that too in the populous
places, where there were surely some to defend them--it was argued that
a weak minded man, away from all neighbors, where by day and by night
he could have been killed and hidden from all human eyes, with perfect
impunity--had some apology for obeying their behests.
Mr. Smith’s defense of Hilderman was rather creditable to him. There
was none of the braggadocio common to such occasions, and the people
feeling that they had caught and executed a chief of the gang--felt
kindly disposed towards the old man.
Hilderman was banished from Montana, and was allowed ten days time for
the purpose of settling his affairs and leaving. When he arrived at
Bannack City, Plummer told him not to go; but the old man took counsel
of his fears, and comparing the agile and effeminate form of Plummer
with those of the earnest mountaineers at Nevada, he concluded that he
would rather bet on them than on Plummer, and being furnished by the
latter with a poney and provisions, he left Montana forever.
When found guilty and recommended to mercy, he dropped on his knees,
exclaiming, “My God, is it so?”
At the close of his trial, he made a statement, wherein he confirmed
nearly all Long John had said of Ives.
Thus passed one of the crises which have arisen in this new community.
The result demonstrated that when the good and law abiding were banded
together and all put forth their united strength, they were too strong
for the lawlessness which was manifested when Ives was hung.
It has generally been supposed and believed, that Plummer was not
present at the trial of Ives, or at his execution. We are bound,
however, to state that Mr. Clinton, who kept a saloon in Nevada at the
time, positively asserts that he was in the room when Plummer took a
drink there, a few minutes before the roughs made their rush at the
fall of Ives, and that he went out and headed the mob in the effort
which the determination of the guard rendered unsuccessful.
Long John having turned States’ evidence was set free, and we believe
that he still remains in the Territory.
One thing was conclusively shown to all who witnessed the trial of
Ives. If every Road Agent cost as much labor, time and money for his
conviction, the efforts of the citizens would have, practically, failed
altogether. Some shorter, surer, and at least equally equitable method
of procedure was to be found. The necessity for this, and the trial
of its efficiency when it was adopted, form the ground-work of this
history.