THE EXECUTION OF “THE GREASER” (JOE PIZANTHIA,) AND DUTCH JOHN,
(WAGNER.)
Hope withering fled, and mercy sighed, farewell.--CAMPBELL.
A marked change in the tone of public sentiment was the consequence
of the hanging of the blood-stained criminals whose deserved fate is
recorded in the preceding chapters. Men breathed freely; for Plummer
and Stinson especially were dreaded by almost every one. The latter
was of the type of that brutal desperado whose formula of introduction
to a Western bar-room is so well known in the Mountains: “Whoop! I’m
from Pike County, Missouri; I’m ten feet high; my abode is where lewd
women and licentious men mingle; my parlor is the Rocky Mountains. I
smell like a wolf. I drink water out of a brook, like a horse. Look
out you ----, I’m going to turn loose,” etc. A fit mate for such a
God-forgotten outlaw was Stinson, and he, with the oily and snake-like
demon, Plummer, the wily, red-handed, and politely merciless chief, and
the murderer and robber, Ray, were no more. The Vigilantes organized
rapidly. Public opinion sustained them.
On Monday morning, it was determined to arrest “the Greaser,” Joe
Pizanthia, and to see precisely how his record stood in the Territory.
Outside of it, it was known that he was a desperado, a murderer and
a robber; but that was not the business of the Vigilantes. A party
started for his cabin, which was built in a side-hill. The interior
looked darker than usual, from the bright glare of the surrounding
snow. The summons to come forth being disregarded, Smith Ball and
George Copley entered, contrary to the advice of their comrades, and
instantly received the fire of their concealed foe. Copley was shot
through the breast. Smith Ball received a bullet in the hip. They both
staggered out, each ejaculating, “I’m shot.” Copley was led off by two
friends, and died of his wound. Smith Ball recovered himself, and was
able to empty his six-shooter into the body of the assassin, when the
latter was dragged forth.
The popular excitement rose nearly to madness. Copley was a much
esteemed citizen, and Smith Ball had many friends. It was the instant
resolution of all present that the vengeance on the Greaser should be
summary and complete.
A party whose military experience was still fresh in their memory,
made a rush at the double-quick, for a mountain howitzer, which lay
dismounted, where it had been left by the train to which it was
attached. Without waiting to place it on the carriage, it was brought
by willing hands, to within five rods of the windowless side of the
cabin, and some old artillerists, placing it on a box, loaded it with
shell, and laid it for the building. By one of those omissions so
common during times of excitement, the fuse was left uncut, and, being
torn out in its passage through the logs, the missile never exploded,
but left a clean breach through the wall, making the chips fly. A
second shell was put into the gun, and this time, the fuse was cut,
but the range was so short that the explosion took place after it had
traversed the house.
Thinking that Pizanthia might have taken refuge in the chimney,
the howitzer was pointed for it, and sent a solid shot through it.
Meanwhile the military judgment of the leader had been shown by the
posting of some riflemen opposite the shot-hole, with instructions to
maintain so rapid a fire upon it, that the beleaguered inmate should
not be able to use it as a crenelle through which to fire upon the
assailants. No response being given to the cannon and small-arms, the
attacking party began to think of storming the dwelling.
The leader called for volunteers to follow him. Nevada cast in her lot
first, and men from the crowd joined. The half dozen stormers moved
steadily, under cover, to the edge of the last building, and then
dashed at the house, across the open space. The door had fallen from
the effects of the fusilade; but, peeping in, they could see nothing,
until a sharp eye noticed the Greaser’s boots protruding. Two lifted
the door, while Smith Ball drew his revolver and stood ready. The
remainder seized the boots.
On lifting the door, Pizanthia was found lying flat, and badly hurt.
His revolver was beside him. He was quickly dragged out, Smith Ball
paying him for the wound he had received by emptying his revolver into
him.
A clothes line was taken down and fastened round his neck; the leader
climbed a pole, and the rest holding up the body, he wound the rope
round the top of the stick of timber, making a jam hitch. While aloft,
fastening all securely, the crowd blazed away upon the murderer
swinging beneath his feet. At his request--“Say, boys! stop shooting
a minute”--the firing ceased, and he came down by the run. Over one
hundred shots were discharged at the swaying corpse.
A friend--one of the four BANNACK ORIGINALS--touched the leader’s arm,
and said, “Come and see my bon-fire.” Walking down to the cabin, he
found that it had been razed to the ground by the maddened people, and
was then in a bright glow of flame. A proposition to burn the Mexican
was received with a shout of exultation. The body was hauled down and
thrown upon the pile, upon which it was burned to ashes so completely
that not a trace of a bone could be seen when the fire burned out.
In the morning some women of ill-fame actually panned out the ashes, to
see whether the desperado had any gold in his purse. We are glad to say
that they were not rewarded for their labors by striking any auriferous
deposit.
The popular vengeance had been only partially satisfied, so far as
Pizanthia was concerned; and it would be well if those who preach
against the old Vigilance Committee would reflect upon the great
difference which existed between the prompt and really necessary
severity which they exercised and the wild and ungovernable passion
which goads the masses of all countries, when roused to deeds of
vengeance of a type so fearful, that humanity recoils at the recital.
Over and over again, we have heard a man declaring that it was “A
---- shame,” to hang some one that he wished to see punished. “----,
he ought to be burnt; I would pack brush three miles up a mountain
myself.” “He ought to be fried in his own grease,” etc., and it must
not be supposed that such expressions were mere idle bravado. The
men said just what they meant. In cases where criminals convicted of
grand larceny have been whipped, it has never yet happened that the
punishment has satisfied the crowd. The truth is, that the Vigilance
Committee simply punished with death, men unfit to live in any
community, and that death was, usually, almost instantaneous, and only
momentarily painful. With the exceptions recorded (Stinson and Ray) the
drop and the death of the victim seemed simultaneous. In a majority of
cases, a few almost imperceptible muscular contortions, not continuing
over a few seconds, were all that the keenest observer could detect;
whereas, had their punishment been left to outsiders, the penalty would
have been cruel and disgusting in the highest degree. What would be
thought of the burning of Wagner and panning out his ashes, BY ORDER OF
THE VIGILANTES. In every case where men have confessed their crimes to
the Vigilantes of Montana, they dreaded the vengeance of their comrades
far more than their execution at the hands of the Committee, and clung
to them as if they considered them friends.
A remarkable instance of this kind was apparent in the conduct of John
Wagner. While in custody at the cabin, on Yankee Flat, the sound of
footsteps and suppressed voices was heard, in the night. Fetherstun
jumped up, determined to defend himself and his prisoner to the last.
Having prepared his arms, he cast a look over his shoulder to see what
Dutch John was doing. The Road Agent stood with a double-barrelled gun
in his hand, evidently watching for a chance to do battle on behalf of
his captor. Fetherstun glanced approvingly at him, and said, “That’s
right, John, give them ----.” John smiled grimly and nodded, the muzzle
of his piece following the direction of the sound, and his dark eyes
glaring like those of a roused lion. Had he wished, he could have shot
Fetherstun in the back, without either difficulty or danger. Probably
the assailants heard the ticking of the locks of the pieces, in the
still night, and therefore determined not to risk such an attack, which
savages of all kinds especially dislike.
The evening after the death of Pizanthia, the newly organized Committee
met, and, after some preliminary discussion, a vote was taken as to the
fate of Dutch John. The result was that his execution was unanimously
adjudged, as the only penalty meeting the merits of the case. He had
been a murderer and a highway robber, for years.
One of the number present at the meeting was deputed to convey the
intelligence to Wagner; and, accordingly, he went down to his place of
confinement and read to him his sentence of death, informing him that
he would be hanged in an hour from that time. Wagner was much shocked
by the news. He raised himself to his feet and walked with agitated and
tremulous steps across the floor, once or twice. He begged hard for
life, praying them to cut off his arms and legs, and then to let him
go. He said, “You know I could do nothing then.” He was informed that
his request could not be complied with, and that he must prepare to die.
Finding death to be inevitable, Wagner summoned his fortitude to his
aid and showed no more signs of weakness. It was a matter of regret
that he could not be saved for his courage, and (outside of his
villainous trade) his good behaviour won upon his captors and judges
to an extent that they were unwilling to admit, even to themselves.
Amiability and bravery could not be taken as excuses for murder and
robbery, and so Dutch John had to meet a felon’s death and the judgment
to come, with but short space for repentance.
He said that he wished to send a letter to his mother, in New York, and
inquired whether there was not a Dutchman in the house, who could write
in his native language. A man being procured qualified as desired, he
communicated his wishes to him and his amanuensis wrote as directed.
Wagner’s fingers were rolled up in rags and he could not handle the
pen without inconvenience and pain. He had not recovered from the
frost-bites which had moved the pity of X. Beidler when he met John
before his capture, below Red Rock. The epistle being finished, it was
read aloud by the scribe; but it did not please Wagner. He pointed out
several inaccuracies in the method of carrying out his instructions,
both as regarded the manner and the matter of the communication; and at
last, unrolling the rags from his fingers, he sat down and wrote the
missive himself.
He told his mother that he was condemned to die, and had but a
few minutes to live; that when coming over from the other side, to
deal in horses; he had been met by bad men, who had forced him to
adopt the line of life that had placed him in his present miserable
position; that the crime for which he was sentenced to die was
assisting in robbing a wagon, in which affair he had been wounded
and taken prisoner, and that his companion had been killed. (This
latter assertion he probably believed.) He admitted the justice of his
sentence.
The letter, being concluded, was handed to the Vigilantes for
transmission to his mother. He then quietly replaced the bandages
on his wounded fingers. The style of the composition showed that he
was neither terrified nor even disturbed at the thought of the fast
approaching and disgraceful end of his guilty life. The statements were
positively untrue, in many particulars, and he seemed to write only as
a matter of routine duty; though we may hope that his affection for his
mother was, at least, genuine.
He was marched from the place of his confinement to an unfinished
building, where the bodies of Stinson and Plummer were laid out--the
one on the floor and the other on a work bench. Ray’s corpse had been
handed over to his mistress, at her special request. The doomed man
gazed without shrinking on the remains of the malefactors, and asked
leave to pray. This was of course, granted, and he knelt down. His
lips moved rapidly; but he uttered no word audibly. On rising to his
feet, he continued, apparently to pray, looking round, however, upon
the assembled Vigilantes all the time. A rope being thrown over a
cross-beam, a barrel was placed ready for him to stand upon. While the
final preparations were making, the prisoner asked how long it would
take him to die, as he had never seen a man hanged. He was told that
it would be only a short time. The noose was adjusted; a rope was tied
round the head of the barrel and the party took hold. At the word, “All
ready,” the barrel was instantly jerked from beneath his feet, and he
swung in the death agony. His struggles were very powerful, for a short
time; so iron a frame could not quit its hold on life as easily as a
less muscular organization. After hanging till frozen stiff, the body
was cut down and buried decently.