THE STORM BREAKS
The Governor of the State at this time was J. Neely Johnson, a
politician whose merits and demerits were both so slight that he would
long since have been forgotten were it not for the fact that he occupied
office during this excitement. His whole life heretofore had been one of
trimming. He had made his way by this method, and he gained the
Governor's chair by yielding to the opinion of others. He took his color
and his temporary belief from those with whom he happened to be. His
judgment often stuck at trifles, and his opinions were quickly heated
but as quickly cooled. The added fact that his private morals were not
above criticism gave men an added hold over him.
On receipt of the request for the state militia by the law party, but
not by the proper authorities, Governor Johnson hurried down from
Sacramento to San Francisco. Immediately on arriving in the city he sent
word to Coleman requesting an interview. Coleman at once visited him at
his hotel. Johnson apparently made every effort to appear amiable and
conciliatory. In answer to all questions Coleman replied:
"We want peace, and if possible without a struggle."
"It is all very well," said Johnson, "to talk about peace with an army
of insurrection newly raised. But what is it you actually wish to
accomplish?"
"The law is crippled," replied Coleman. "We want merely to accomplish
what the crippled law should do but cannot. This done, we will gladly
retire. Now you have been asked by the mayor and certain others to bring
out the militia and crush this movement. I assure you it cannot be done,
and, if you attempt it, it will cause you and us great trouble. Do as
Governor McDougal did in '51. See in this movement what he saw in
that--a local movement for a local reform in which the State is not
concerned. We are not a mob. We demand no overthrow of institutions. We
ask not a single court to adjourn. We ask not a single officer to
vacate his position. We demand only the enforcement of the law which we
have made."
This expression of intention, with a little elaboration and argument,
fired Johnson to enthusiasm. He gave his full support, unofficially of
course, to the movement.
"But," he concluded, "hasten the undertaking as much as you can. The
opposition is stronger than you suppose. The pressure on me is going to
be terrible. What about the prisoners in the jail?"
Coleman evaded this last question by saying that the matter was in the
hands of the Committee, and he then left the Governor.
Coleman at once returned to headquarters where the Executive Committee
was in session, getting rid of its routine business. After a dozen
matters were settled, it was moved "that the Committee as a body shall
visit the county jail at such time as the Executive Committee might
direct, and take thence James P. Casey and Charles Cora, give them a
fair trial, and administer such punishment as justice shall demand."
This, of course, was the real business for which all this organization
had been planned. A moment's pause succeeded the proposal, but an
instantaneous and unanimous assent followed the demand for a vote. At
this precise instant a messenger opened the door and informed them that
Governor Johnson was in the building requesting speech with Coleman.
Coleman found Johnson, accompanied by Sherman and a few others, lounging
in the anteroom. The Governor sprawled in a chair, his hat pulled over
his eyes, a cigar in the corner of his mouth. His companions arose and
bowed gravely as Coleman entered the room, but the Governor remained
seated and nodded curtly with an air of bravado. Without waiting for
even the ordinary courtesies he burst out.
"We have come to ask what you intend to do," he demanded.
Coleman, thoroughly surprised, with the full belief that the subject had
all been settled in the previous interview, replied curtly.
"I agree with you as to the grievances," rejoined the Governor, "but the
courts are the proper remedy. The judges are good men, and there is no
necessity for the people to turn themselves into a mob."
"Sir!" cried Coleman. "This is no mob!--You know this is no mob!"
The Governor went on to explain that it might become necessary to bring
out all the force at his command. Coleman, though considerably taken
aback, recovered himself and listened without comment. He realized that
Sherman and the other men were present as witnesses.
"I will report your remark to my associates," he contented himself with
saying. The question of witnesses, however, bothered Coleman. He darted
in to the committee room and shortly returned with witnesses of his own.
"Let us now understand each other clearly," he resumed. "As I understand
your proposal, it is that, if we make no move, you guarantee no escape,
an immediate trial, and instant execution?"
Johnson agreed to this.
"We doubt your ability to do this," went on Coleman, "but we are ready
to meet you half-way. This is what we will promise: we will take no
steps without first giving you notice. But in return we insist that ten
men of our own selection shall be added to the sheriff's force within
the jail."
Johnson, who was greatly relieved and delighted, at once agreed to this
proposal, and soon withdrew. But the blunder he had made was evident
enough. With Coleman, who was completely outside the law, he, as an
executive of the law, had no business treating or making agreements at
all. Furthermore, as executive of the State, he had no legal right to
interfere with city affairs unless he were formally summoned by the
authorities. Up to now he had merely been notified by private citizens.
And to cap the whole sheaf of blunders, he had now in this private
interview treated with rebels, and to their advantage. For, as Coleman
probably knew, the last agreement was all for the benefit of the
Committee. They gained the right to place a personal guard over the
prisoners. They gave in return practically only a promise to withdraw
that guard before attacking the jail--a procedure which was eminently
practical if they cared anything for the safety of the guard.
Johnson was thoroughly pleased with himself until he reached the hotel
where the leaders of the opposition were awaiting him. Their keen legal
minds saw at once the position in which he had placed himself. After a
hasty discussion, it was decided to claim that the Committee had waived
all right of action, and that they had promised definitely to leave the
case to the courts. When this statement had been industriously
circulated and Coleman had heard of it, he is said to have exclaimed:
"The time has come. After that, it is either ourselves or a mob."
He proceeded at once to the Vigilance headquarters and summoned Olney,
the appointed guardian of the jail. Him he commanded to get together
sixty of the best men possible. A call was sent out for the companies to
assemble. They soon began to gather, coming some in rank as they had
gathered in their headquarters outside, others singly and in groups.
Doorkeepers prevented all exit: once a man was in, he was not permitted
to go out. Each leader received explicit directions as to what was to be
done. He was instructed as to precisely when he and his command were to
start; from what given point; along exactly what route to proceed; and
at just what time to arrive at a given point--not a moment sooner or
later. The plan for concerted action was very carefully and skillfully
worked out. Olney's sixty men were instructed to lay aside their muskets
and, armed only with pistols, to make their way by different routes to
the jail.
Sunday morning dawned fair and calm. But as the day wore on, an air of
unrest pervaded the city. Rumors of impending action were already
abroad. The jail itself hummed like a hive. Men came and went, busily
running errands, and darting about through the open door. Armed men were
taking their places on the flat roof. Meantime the populace gathered
slowly. At first there were only a score or so idling around the square;
but little by little they increased in numbers. Black forms began to
appear on the rooftops all about; white faces showed at the windows;
soon the center of the square had filled; the converging streets became
black with closely packed people. The windows and doors and balconies,
the copings and railings, the slopes of the hills round about were all
occupied. In less than an hour twenty thousand people had gathered. They
took their positions quietly and waited patiently. It was evident that
they had assembled in the rôle of spectators only, and that action had
been left to more competent and better organized men. There was no
shouting, no demonstration, and so little talking that it amounted only
to a low murmur. Already the doors of the jail had been closed. The
armed forces on the roof had been increased.
After a time the congested crowd down one of the side-streets was
agitated by the approach of a body of armed men. At the same instant a
similar group began to appear at the end of another and converging
street. The columns came steadily forward, as the people gave way. The
men wore no uniforms, and the glittering steel of their bayonets
furnished the only military touch. The two columns reached the
convergence of the street at the same time and as they entered the
square before the jail a third and a fourth column debouched from other
directions, while still others deployed into view on the hills behind.
They all took their places in rank around the square.
Among the well-known characters of the times was a certain Colonel Gift.
Mr. Hubert H. Bancroft, the chronicler of these events, describes him as
"a tall, lank, empty-boweled, tobacco-spurting Southerner, with eyes
like burning black balls, who could talk a company of listeners into an
insane asylum quicker than any man in California, and whose blasphemy
could not be equaled, either in quantity or quality, by the most profane
of any age or nation." He remarked to a friend nearby, as he watched the
spectacle below: "When you see these damned psalm-singing Yankees turn
out of their churches, shoulder their guns, and march away of a Sunday,
you may know that hell is going to crack shortly."
For some time the armed men stood rigid, four deep all around the
square. Behind them the masses of the people watched. Then at a command
the ranks fell apart and from the side-streets marched the sixty men
chosen by Olney, dragging a field gun at the end of a rope. This they
wheeled into position in the square and pointed it at the door of the
jail. Quite deliberately, the cannon was loaded with powder and balls. A
man lit a slow match, blew it to a glow, and took his position at the
breech. Nothing then happened for a full ten minutes. The six men stood
rigid by the gun in the middle of the square. The sunlight gleamed from
the ranks of bayonets. The vast multitude held its breath. The wall of
the jail remained blank and inscrutable.
Then a man on horseback was seen to make his way through the crowd. This
was Charles Doane, Grand Marshal of the Vigilantes. He rode directly to
the jail door, on which he rapped with the handle of his riding-whip.
After a moment the wicket in the door opened. Without dismounting, the
rider handed a note within, and then, backing his horse the length of
the square, came to rest.
Again the ranks parted and closed, this time to admit of three
carriages. As they came to a stop, the muskets all around the square
leaped to "present arms!" From the carriages descended Coleman, Truett,
and several others. In dead silence they walked to the jail door,
Olney's men close at their heels. For some moments they spoke through
the wicket; then the door swung open and the Committee entered.
Up to this moment Casey had been fully content with the situation. He
was, of course, treated to the best the jail or the city could afford.
It was a bother to have been forced to shoot James King of William; but
the nuisance of incarceration for a time was a small price to pay. His
friends had rallied well to his defense. He had no doubt whatever, that,
according to the usual custom, he would soon work his way through the
courts and stand again a free man. His first intimation of trouble was
the hearing of the resonant tramp of feet outside. His second was when
Sheriff Scannell stood before him with the Vigilantes' note in his hand.
Casey took one glance at Scannell's face.
"You aren't going to betray me?" he cried. "You aren't going to give me
up?"
"James," replied Scannell solemnly, "there are three thousand armed men
coming for you and I have not thirty supporters around the jail."
"Not thirty!" cried Casey astonished. For a moment he appeared crushed;
then he leaped to his feet flourishing a long knife. "I'll not be taken
from this place alive!" he cried. "Where are all you brave fellows who
were going to see me through this?"
At this moment Coleman knocked at the door of the jail. The sheriff
hurried away to answer the summons.
Casey took the opportunity to write a note for the Vigilantes which he
gave to the marshal. It read:
"_To the Vigilante Committee_. GENTLEMEN:--I am willing to go before you
if you will let me speak but ten minutes. I do not wish to have the
blood of any man upon my head."
On entering the jail door Coleman and his companions bowed formally to
the sheriff.
"We have come for the prisoner Casey," said Coleman. "We ask that he be
peaceably delivered us handcuffed at the door immediately."
"Under existing circumstances," replied Scannell, "I shall make no
resistance. The prison and its contents are yours."
But Truett would have none of this. "We want only the man Casey at
present," he said. "For the safety of all the rest we hold you strictly
accountable."
They proceeded at once to Casey's cell. The murderer heard them coming
and sprang back from the door holding his long knife poised. Coleman
walked directly to the door, where he stopped, looking Casey in the eye.
At the end of a full minute he exclaimed sharply:
"Lay down that knife!"
As though the unexpected tones had broken a spell, Casey flung the knife
from him and buried his face in his hands. Then, and not until then,
Coleman informed him curtly that his request would be granted.
They took Casey out through the door of the jail. The crowd gathered its
breath for a frantic cheer. The relief from tension must have been
great, but Coleman, bareheaded, raised his hand and, in instant
obedience to the gesture, the cheer was stifled. The leaders then
entered the carriage, which immediately turned and drove away.
Thus Casey was safely in custody. Charles Cora, who, it will be
remembered, had killed Marshal Richardson and who had gained from the
jury a disagreement, was taken on a second trip.
The street outside headquarters soon filled with an orderly crowd
awaiting events. There was noticeable the same absence of excitement,
impatience, or tumult so characteristic of the popular gatherings of
that time, except perhaps when the meetings were conducted by the
partisans of Law and Order. After a long interval one of the Committee
members appeared at an upper window.
"It is not the intention of the Committee to be hasty," he
announced. "Nothing will be done today."
This statement was received in silence. At last someone asked:
"Where are Casey and Cora?"
"The Committee hold possession of the jail. All are safe," said the
Committee man.
With this simple statement the crowd was completely satisfied, and
dispersed quietly and at once.
Of the three thousand enrolled men, three hundred were retained under
arms at headquarters, a hundred surrounded the jail, and all the rest
were dismissed. Next day, Monday, headquarters still remained
inscrutable; but large patrols walked about the city, collecting arms.
The gunshops were picketed and their owners were warned under no
circumstances to sell weapons. Towards evening the weather grew colder
and rain came on. Even this did not discourage the crowd, which stood
about in its sodden clothes waiting. At midnight it reluctantly
dispersed, but by daylight the following morning the streets around
headquarters were blocked. Still it rained, and still apparently nothing
happened. All over the city business was at a standstill. Men had
dropped their affairs, even the most pressing, either to take part in
this movement or to lend the moral support of their presence and their
interest. The partisans of Law and Order, so called, were also abroad.
No man dared express himself in mixed company openly. The courts were
empty. Some actually closed down, with one excuse or another; but most
of them pretended to go through the forms of business. Many judges took
the occasion to leave town--on vacation, they announced. These
incidents occasioned lively comment. As our chronicler before quoted
tells us: "A good many who had things on their minds left for the
country." Still it rained steadily, and still the crowds waited.
The prisoners, Casey and Cora, had expected, when taken from the jail,
to be lynched at once. But, since the execution had been thus long
postponed, they began to take heart. They understood that they were to
have a clear trial "according to law"--a phrase which was in those days
immensely cheering to malefactors. They were not entirely cut off from
outside communication. Casey was allowed to see several men on pressing
business, and permitted to talk to them freely, although before a
witness from the Committee. Cora received visits from Belle Cora, who in
the past had spent thousands on his legal defense. Now she came to see
him faithfully and reported every effort that was being made.
On Tuesday, the 20th, Cora was brought before the Committee. He asked
for counsel, and Truett was appointed to act for him. A list of
witnesses demanded by Cora was at once summoned, and a sub-committee was
sent to bring them before the board of trial. All the ordinary forms of
law were closely followed, and all the essential facts were separately
brought out. It was the same old Cora trial over again with one
modification; namely, that all technicalities and technical delays were
eliminated. Not an attempt was made to confine the investigation to the
technical trial. By dusk the case for the prosecution was finished, and
that for the defense was supposed to begin.
During all this long interim the Executive Committee had sat in
continuous session. They had agreed that no recess of more than thirty
minutes should be taken until a decision had been reached. But of all
the long list of witnesses submitted by Cora for the defense not one
could be found. They were in hiding and afraid. The former perjurers
would not appear.
It was now falling dusk. The corners of the great room were in darkness.
Beneath the elevated desk, behind which sat Coleman, Bluxome, the
secretary, lighted a single oil lamp, the better to see his notes. In
the interest of the proceedings a general illumination had not been
ordered. Within the shadow, the door opened and Charles Doane, the Grand
Marshal of the Vigilantes, advanced three steps into the room.
"Mr. President," he said clearly, "I am instructed to announce
that James King of William is dead."
The conviction of both men took place that night, and the execution was
ordered, but in secret.
Thursday noon had been set for the funeral of James King of William.
This ceremony was to take place in the Unitarian church. A great
multitude had gathered to attend. The church was filled to overflowing
early in the day. But thousands of people thronged the streets round
about, and stood patiently and seriously to do the man honor. Historians
of the time detail the names of many marching bodies from every guild
and society in the new city. Hundreds of horsemen, carriages, and foot
marchers got themselves quietly into the line. They also were excluded
from the funeral ceremonies by lack of room, but wished to do honor to
the cortège. This procession is said to have been over two miles in
length. Each man wore a band of crêpe around his left arm. All the city
seemed to be gathered there. And yet the time for the actual funeral
ceremony was still some hours distant.
Nevertheless the few who, hurrying to the scene, had occasion to pass
near the Vigilante headquarters, found the silent square guarded on all
sides by a triple line of armed men. The side-streets also were filled
with them. They stood in the exact alignment their constant drill had
made possible, with bayonets fixed, staring straight ahead. Three
thousand were under arms. Like the vast crowd a few squares away, they,
too, stood silent and patiently waiting.
At a quarter before one the upper windows of the headquarters building
were thrown open and small planked platforms were thrust from two of
them. Heavy beams were shoved out from the flat roof directly over the
platforms. From the ends of the beams dangled nooses of rope. After this
another wait ensued. Across the silence of the intervening buildings
could be heard faintly from the open windows of the church the sound of
an organ, and then the measured cadences of an oration. The funeral
services had begun. As though this were a signal, the blinds that had
closed the window openings were thrown back and Cora was conducted to
the end of one of the little platforms. His face was covered with a
white handkerchief and he was bound. A moment later Casey appeared. He
had asked not to be blindfolded. Cora stood bolt upright, motionless as
a stone, but Casey's courage broke. If he had any hope that the boastful
promises of his friends would be fulfilled by a rescue, that hope died
as he looked down on the set, grim faces, on the sinister ring of steel.
His nerve then deserted him completely and he began to babble.
"Gentlemen," he cried at them, "I am not a murderer! I do not feel
afraid to meet my God on a charge of murder! I have done nothing but
what I thought was right! Whenever I was injured I have resented it! It
has been part of my education during twenty-nine years! Gentlemen, I
forgive you this persecution! O God! My poor Mother! O God!"
It is to be noted that he said not one word of contrition nor of regret
for the man whose funeral services were then going on, nor for the
heartbroken wife who knelt at that coffin. His words found no echo
against that grim wall of steel. Again ensued a wait, apparently
inexplicable. Across the intervening housetops the sound of the oration
ceased. At the door of the church a slight commotion was visible. The
coffin was being carried out. It was placed in the hearse. Every head
was bared. There followed a slight pause; then from overhead the
church-bell boomed out once. Another bell in the next block answered; a
third, more distant, chimed in. From all parts of the city tolled the
requiem.
At the first stroke of the bell the funeral cortège moved forward toward
Lone Mountain cemetery. At the first stroke the Vigilantes as one man
presented arms. The platforms dropped, and Casey and Cora fell into
eternity.