After leaving the office where they had made their report to their
employers, Rube Maloney and his two friends visited all the saloons.
There they found sympathetic and admiring audiences. They reviled the
committee collectively and singly; bragged that they would shoot
Coleman, Truett, Durkee, and some others at sight; flourished weapons,
and otherwise became so publicly and noisily obstreperous that the
committee decided they needed a lesson. Accordingly they instructed
Sterling Hopkins, with four others, to rearrest the lot and bring them
in. Hopkins was a bulldog, pertinacious, rough, a faithful creature.
News of these orders ran ahead of their performance. Rube and his
satellites dropped everything and fled to their masters like threatened
dogs. Their masters, who included Terry, Bowie, Major Marmaduke Miles,
and a few others, happened to be discussing the situation in the office
of Richard Ashe, a Texan, and an active member of "the chivalry." The
three redoubtables burst in on this gathering, wild-eyed, scared, with,
the statement that a thousand stranglers were at their heels.
"Better hide 'em," suggested Bowie.
But hot-headed Terry, seconded by equally hot-headed Ashe, would have
none of this.
"By gad, let them try it!" cried the judge. "I've been aching for this
chance!"
Therefore when Hopkins, having left his small _posse_ at the foot of
the stairs, knocked and entered, he was faced by the muzzles of half a
dozen pistols, and profanely told to get out of there. He was no fool,
so he obeyed. If Terry had possessed the sense of a rooster, or a
single quality of leadership, he would have seen that this was not the
moment to precipitate a crisis. The forces of his own party were
neither armed nor ready. But here, as in all other important actions of
his career, he was governed by the haughty and headstrong passions of
the moment--as when later he justified himself in attempting to shoot
down an old and unarmed man. Hopkins left his men at the foot of the
stairs, borrowed a horse from Dr. Beverly Cole, who was passing, and
galloped to headquarters. There he was instructed to return, to keep
watch, that reinforcements would follow. He arrived at the building in
which Ashe's office was located, in time to see Maloney, Terry, Ashe,
McNabb, Bowie, and Rowe all armed with shotguns, just turning the far
corner. He dismounted and called on his men to follow. The little
_posse_ dogged the judge's party for some distance. For a time no
attention was paid to them, but as they pressed closer Terry, Ashe, and
Maloney whirled and presented their shotguns. The movement was probably
intended only as a threat; but Hopkins, always bold to the point of
rashness, made a sudden rush at Maloney. Judge Terry thrust his gun at
the Vigilante officer who seized it by the barrel. At the same instant
Ashe pressed the muzzle of his weapon against one Bovee's breast, but
hesitated to pull the trigger. It was getting to be unhealthy to shoot
men in the open street.
"Are you a friend?" he faltered.
"Yes," replied Bovee, and by a rapid motion struck the barrel aside.
Another of the Vigilantes named Barry covered Rowe with a pistol.
Rowe's "chivalry" oozed. He dropped his gun and fled toward the
armoury. The others struggled for possession of weapons, but nobody
fired. Suddenly Terry whipped out a knife and plunged it into Hopkins's
neck. Hopkins relaxed his hold on Terry's shotgun and staggered back.
"I am stabbed! Take them, Vigilantes!" he cried.
He sank to the pavement. Terry and his friends dropped everything and
ran toward the armoury. Of the Vigilante _posse_ only Bovee and Barry
remained, but these two pursued the fleeing Law and Order men to the
very portals of the armoury itself. When the door was slammed in their
faces, they took up their stand outside, they two holding within
several hundred men! At the end of ten minutes a pompous, portly
individual came up under full sail, cast a detached and haughty glance
at the two quiet men lounging unwarrantedly in his path, and attempted
to pass inside.
"You cannot enter here," said Bovee grimly, as they barred his way.
The pompous man turned purple.
"Do you know who I am?" he demanded.
"I don't give a damn who you are," replied Bovee, still quietly.
"I am Major-General Volney E. Howard!"
"You cannot enter here," repeated Bovee, and this time he said it in a
tone of voice that sent the major-general scurrying away.
After a short interval another man dashed up very much in a hurry.
Mistaking Bovee and Barry for sentinels, he cried as he ran up:
"I am a lieutenant in Calhoun Bennett's company, and I have been sent
here to--"
"I am a member of the Committee of Vigilance," interrupted Barry, "and
you cannot enter."
"What!" cried the officer, in astonishment. "Have the Vigilance
Committee possession of this building?"
"They have," was the reply of the dauntless two.
The lieutenant rolled up his eyes and darted away faster than he had
come. A few moments later, doubtless to the vast relief of the "outside
garrison" of the armoury within which five or six hundred men were held
close by this magnificent bluff, the great Vigilante bell boomed out:
_one, two, three_, rest; then _one, two, three_, rest; and repeat.
Immediately the streets were alive with men. Merchants left their
customers, clerks their books, mechanics their tools. Dray-men stripped
their horses of harness, abandoned their wagons where they stood, and
rode away to their cavalry. Clancey Dempster's office was only four
blocks from headquarters. At the first stroke of the bell he leaped
from his desk, ran down the stairs, and jumped into his buggy. Yet he
could drive only three of the four blocks, so dense already was the
crowd. He abandoned his rig in the middle of the street and forced his
way through afoot. Two days later he recovered his rig. In the building
he found the companies, silently, without confusion, falling into line.
"All right!" he called encouragingly. "Keep cool! Take your time about
it!"
"Ah, Mr. Dempster," they replied, "we've waited long! This is the clean
sweep!"
James Olney was lying in bed with a badly sprained ankle when the alarm
bell began to toll. He commandeered one boot from a fellow-boarder with
extremely large feet, and hobbled to the street. There he seized by
force of arms the passing delivery wagon of a kerosene dealer, climbed
to the seat, and lashed the astonished horse to a run. San Francisco
streets ran to chuck holes and ruts in those days, and the vehicle
lurched and banged with a grand rattle and scatteration of tins and
measures. The terrified driver at last mustered courage to protest.
"You are spilling my kerosene!" he wailed.
"Damn your kerosene, sir!" bellowed the general; then relenting: "I
will pay you for your kerosene!"
Up to headquarters he sailed full tilt, and how he got through the
crowd without committing manslaughter no one tells. There he was
greeted by wild cheering, and was at once lifted bodily to the back of
a white horse, the conspicuous colour of which made it an excellent
rallying point.
Within an incredibly brief space of time they were off for the armoury;
the military companies marching like veterans; the artillery rumbling
over the rude pavements; the cavalry jogging along to cover the rear. A
huge roaring mob accompanied them, followed them, raced up the parallel
streets to arrive before the armoury at the same moment as the first
files.
The armoury square was found to be deserted except for the intrepid
Barry and Bovee, who still marched back and forth before the closed
door. No one had entered or left the building.
Inside the armoury the first spirit of bravado and
fight-to-the-last-ditch had died to a sullen stubbornness. Nobody had
much, to say. Terry was very contrite as well he might be. A judge of
the Supreme Court, who had no business being in San Francisco at all,
sworn to uphold the law, had stepped out from his jurisdiction to
commit as lawless and idiotic a deed of passion as could have been
imagined! Whatever chances the Law and Order party might have had,
could they have mobilized their forces, were dissipated. Their troops
were scattered in small units; their rank and file were heaven knew
where; their enemies, fully organized, had been mustered by the alarm
bell to full alertness and compactness. And Terry's was the hand that
had struck that bell! For the only time in his recorded history David
Terry's ungoverned spirit was humbled. Until he found that nothing
immediate was going to happen to him, and while under the silent but
scathing disapprobation of his companions, he actually talked of
resigning! Parenthetically, the fit did not last long, and he soon
reared, his haughty crest as high as ever. But now, listening to the
roar of the mob outside, peeping at the grim thousands of armed men
deploying before the armoury, he regretted his deed.
"This is very unfortunate; very unfortunate!" he said, "But you shall
not imperil your lives for me. It is I they want. I will surrender to
them."
Instead of the prompt expostulation he expected, a dead silence greeted
these words.
"There is nothing else to do," agreed Ashe at last.
An officer was sent to negotiate.
"We will deliver up the armoury if you will agree not to give us over
to the mob," he told the committee.
"We hold, and intend to hold, the mob under absolute control. We have
nothing in common with mobs," was Coleman's reply.
The doors were then thrown open, and a company of the Vigilante troops
marched in. Within ten minutes, the streets were cleared. The six
hundred prisoners, surrounded by a solid body of infantry with cavalry
on the flanks, were marched to headquarters. The city was jubilant.
This, at last, was the clean sweep! Men went about with shining faces,
slapping each other on the back. And Coleman, the wise general,
realizing that compromises were useless, peace impossible, came to a
decision. Shortly from headquarters the entire Vigilante forces moved
in four divisions toward the cardinal points of the compass. From them
small squads were from time to time detached and sent out to right or
left. The main divisions surrounded the remaining four big armouries;
the smaller squads combed the city house by house for arms. In the
early morning the armouries capitulated. By sun-up every weapon in the
city had been taken to Fort Gunnybags.