THE EXECUTION OF JAMES BRADY, FOR SHOOTING MURPHY, AT NEVADA.
“Murder most foul and most unnatural.”--SHAKSPEARE.
Early in the summer of 1864, the Committee were called upon to visit
the stern retribution due to those who wantonly and maliciously attempt
to assassinate a fellow-creature, upon James Brady, a resident of the
Lower-Town, more generally known as Nevada City. The case was clear,
so far as the moral guilt of the accused was concerned, as will fully
appear from the subjoined account of the transaction; but there are
not a few who measure the extent of guilt by its consequences, and
refuse to examine the act itself, on its own merits. Now, we have
always held that a man who fires at another, deliberately and with
malice prepense, inflicting upon him a wound of any kind, is as much
a murderer as if the shot had proved instantly fatal. The other
judgment of the case depends upon the relative goodness or badness
of ammunition, the efficiency of the weapon, and the expertness of
the marksman. Hence, to hit the mark is murder; but to aim at it,
and make rather a wide shot, is manslaughter only. If a ball glances
on a man’s ribs, it is manslaughter; if it goes between them, it is
murder. This line of argument may satisfy some people; and that it
does do so, we know; at the same time, it is not a doctrine that we
can endorse, being fully convinced of its utter want of foundation,
in right reason or common sense. Murphy, the victim of Brady’s shot,
was believed to be dying; the physicians declared he could not live
many hours, and for this crime Brady was executed. Some kind-hearted,
but weak-headed individuals think that the murderer ought to have been
spared, because Murphy had a strong constitution, and contrary to all
expectations, recovered; but what the state of a man’s health has to
do with the crime of the villain who shoots him, will to us, forever
remain an enigma as difficult as the unraveling of the Gordian knot.
The proper course, in such cases, seems to be, not the untying of the
knot aforesaid, but the casting on of another, in the shape of a Road
Agent’s neck-tie.
At about 11 P. M., the stillness of the summer’s night that had closed
in upon the citizens of Nevada, was broken by two pistol shots fired
in rapid succession. The executive officer of the Committee heard the
reports, as he was retiring to bed; but the sounds were too familiar
to a mountaineer to attract any special attention, and he laid down at
once, to sleep. In a few moments, however, he was startled from his
quick coming slumber by the sudden entrance of a friend who told him to
get up, for there was a man shot. Hastily dressing himself, he found
that an individual named Jem Kelly was a prisoner on the charge of
being an accomplice in the deed. Who had fired the shots was not known,
the man having run off with all speed, before he could be arrested. A
guard of two Vigilantes was left in charge of Kelly and the officer
went quickly to Brady’s saloon, where he first heard, from bystanders,
that they thought Brady himself was the criminal, but that he had
escaped. The wounded man confirmed this statement, and an examination
of the premises showed a bullet-hole in the window through which the
assassin had fired. The second shot had been fired from the door-step.
A detail of twelve men were ordered to search the town, for Brady,
while the captain and three others started for Virginia City, with the
intention of capturing him if he could be found there, or on the road
thither. On arriving at Central City, they ascertained from a citizen
whom they met on the street, that a man dressed in black clothes,
and otherwise answering the description of the fugitive, had passed
through, and that he was apparently intoxicated. They went on to
Virginia, and on arriving there, just about midnight, they found that
the only house in which a light appeared was the Beaverhead saloon, at
the corner of Idaho and Jackson streets, now John How & Co.’s store.
One of the party knew Brady personally, and on entering he at once
recognized him in the act of drinking with another man at the bar. The
captain stepped up and asked, “Is your name Brady?” “Yes,” said he.
“Then you are my prisoner,” answered the captain. On his inquiring
what was the charge against him, he was told that he was arrested for
the murder of Murphy. The prisoner immediately started off on a loud
harangue, but was stopped by the captain, who told him to keep quiet,
and added, “You will have a fair trial in the morning.”
Brady was taken down to Nevada by his captors, and confronted with his
victim, who was lying in his own house. “Murphy,” said the captain,
“is this the man that shot you?” The wounded man fixed his gaze on the
prisoner, and replied faintly, “It is.” The guard then took Brady and
marched him down town, to the house where Kelly was confined. The two
men were given into the custody of a strong and well armed party, for
the night. The death of Murphy was hourly expected by the attendant
surgeons, and all around him.
In the morning, Brady was taken before the Committee, who sat in the
Adelphi Hall, whither they had been convened for that purpose. About
fifty members were present and the charge against the prisoner was
thoroughly investigated. The trial commenced about 11 A. M.
Meanwhile, Kelly had confessed that he had kept bar for Brady, on that
day, and that he knew that there was an old quarrel, and consequently
ill-feeling existed between Brady and Murphy. The commencement of
this feud dated back as far as the preceding summer. This much of his
testimony was correct and truthful, and was corroborated by other
witnesses. He then went on to swear that he had nothing to do with
the murder himself; that the first thing he knew about the affray was
the firing of a shot through the window, followed by the discharge of
another into the door-step, and before he could see who it was that
had done the deed, the man had run away.
Brady, at first, pretended that he had shot the wrong man by mistake;
but he admitted, at his trial that he had really aimed and fired the
(supposed) fatal shot. He said that had he been sober, he would not
have committed the rash act, and he added, that after shooting, he went
next door to his cabin, and sat there for about five minutes; that he
then became uneasy, and started for Virginia, flinging his pistol away
into the gulch, on his road up. The pistol was found and produced at
the trial.
The evidence produced was so entirely conclusive as to admit of no
doubt. The offense was deliberate and cold-blooded murder, so far as
the prisoner was concerned, and he believed the same till the moment of
his execution. Sentence of death by hanging was pronounced.
With regard to Kelly, the evidence adduced at the trial had led to
some new developments concerning his share in the transaction. It was
positively sworn that he had handed the pistol to Brady, across the
bar; and that the understanding was that he was to take the assassin’s
place, inside the saloon, leaving him free to act on the outside;
that, on receiving the pistol, Brady went out with it under his coat,
and going into his cabin, he remained there for a few minutes, and
then, walking to the window he fired, with deliberate aim, through the
window, without previous words, or warning of his intention.
Kelly was sentenced to receive fifty lashes on the bare back, which
punishment he duly received, after the execution.
The prisoner (Brady,) sent for W. Y. Pemberton, now practising law at
Helena, and requested him to settle his worldly affairs, in legal form.
Accordingly, that gentleman drew his will, and the necessary deeds for
the disposal of his property, after which he said that he must have a
letter written to his daughter. He commenced to dictate it, but the
language of the epistle reminded him so forcibly of his own wretched
condition, that he was unable to proceed, and covering his face with
his hands, he ran to his bed, exclaiming, “Oh! my God! finish it
yourself.” The writer furnishes the following note of the letter:
“MY DEAR DAUGHTER: You will never see me again. In an evil hour,
being under the control and influence of whiskey, I tried to take
the life of my fellow-man. I tried to shoot him through a window. He
will in all probability die--and that, at my hands. I cannot say that
I should not suffer the penalty affixed to the violation of law. I
have been arrested, tried and sentenced to be hanged by the Vigilance
Committee. In one short hour I will have gone to eternity. It is an
awful thought; but it is my own fault. By the love I feel for you, in
this, my dying hour, I entreat you to be a good girl. Walk in the ways
of the Lord. Keep Heaven, God and the interest of your soul, before
your eyes. I commend and commit you to the keeping of God. Pray for my
soul. Farewell, forever.
Your father, JAMES BRADY.”
At four o’clock P. M., he was marched from his place of confinement to
the gallows, escorted by a guard of two hundred men, fully armed. At
least five thousand persons were present at the execution. The gallows
was about half a mile east of Nevada, and to save time and expense, a
butchers hoist was used for the purpose, a box and plank being rigged
for a drop. When the rope had been adjusted, and the fatal preparations
were all completed, he was asked if he wished to say anything to the
people. He addressed the crowd, telling them that it was the first
action of the kind that he had done; that he was intoxicated and
insane; that he hoped his execution would be a warning to others, and
that God would have mercy on his soul. The trap fell, and James Brady
ceased to exist. After hanging for half an hour, the corpse was cut
down and given to the friends of the deceased for burial.
Jem Kelly was present at the execution of his friend, and when all
was over, he was marched by the guard, down to an unfinished house in
Nevada. Here a halt was called, and the necessary arrangements for
the whipping were quickly made. Being asked to take off his shirt, he
said, “---- the shirt, leave it on;” but on being told that it would
be spoiled, he removed it. The culprit’s hands were now tied together,
and made fast to a beam overhead; after which five men inflicted the
punishment, each giving ten lashes with a raw-hide. Kelly showed no
fortitude whatever, roaring and screaming at every lash of the hide.
At the termination of the flogging, he remarked, “Boys, if I hadn’t
been so fat, I should have died sure.” Nevada was no home for this
low-minded villain, who left with all speed; and resuming the career
most congenial to a man as fond as he was, of gold without labor, and
horses without purchase, he came to the same end as his companion,
Brady; but there was this difference between them--Kelly was a thief
and murderer by trade; Brady was an honest man, and had never before
ventured into the path of crime. Many felt sorry for his fate; but the
old miners who heard of Kelly’s execution, shrugged their shoulders
and muttered, “Served him right; he ought to have gone up long ago;
I don’t believe in whipping and banishing; if a fellow ain’t fit
to live here, he ain’t fit to live nowhere by thunder--that’s so,
you bet your life,” etc., etc., which terse and technical series of
interjectional syllogisms contain more good practical common sense
than many a calf-bound folio, embodying the result of the labors of
many a charter-granting, plunder-seeking body, humorously styled a
“Legislature,” west of “the River.”