The particular subjects at issue, on each side, were the status of the
Committee, the authority of the Governor to command its disbandment. The
Committee had expressed the desire or the intention to have Casey
committed to their custody, alleging that his escape from the jail was
not unlikely for certain reasons. The Governor at length acceded in
general terms to the propositions of the Committee, and measurably
assured them his support. The Law and Order leaders were amazed,
incensed and disgusted at the weakness of Governor Johnson. He had as
good as surrendered the jail to them, and they had only to go and seize
it, and capture the prisoners. This was known in the city on Saturday,
and the Law and Order body prepared for the expected emergency--the
defence of the jail from the assault of the Committee. Steps were taken
for the defence of the jail by the Law and Order men, who volunteered
for the occasion. The Committee had likewise made preparations.
A digression of amusing nature will not be out of place here: The
steamboats from Sacramento then landed at Pacific street wharf, and
arrived usually about 9:30. The Oakland ferry boat made her last trip
over a few minutes after the Sacramento boat landed her passengers.
Governor Foote had his residence at Clinton. Saturday morning one of his
daughters called at my office and said that her father was at Benicia,
and they expected him home that night. "But," she continued, "you know
what a terrible excitement there is in the city, and how likely father
is to take active part in anything which enlists his sympathies or stirs
his feelings; and we all fear that he will do something imprudent. I
know he will be very strong on the Law and Order side, and it will be
better for us all if he will come directly home and not stay in the city
to get mixed up in these terrible troubles." She requested me,
therefore, to be at the boat that night when she landed, and to prevail
upon her father, if he were otherwise disposed, to take the boat for
Oakland. I promised, and that night I took a hack for the wharf, a
quarter of an hour before the usual time of the boat's arrival. As the
hack turned from Montgomery street into Washington, I noticed a crowd at
the door-way of the Bank Exchange. Calling to the driver to stop a
moment, I entered the saloon. I learned that the boat had already
arrived, a half hour ahead of ordinary time. My disappointment was in a
moment sunk in my surprise. I heard Governor Foote's voice in loud
tones, toward the front of the room. It was a surprise to see him in a
barroom, for he was not addicted to drinking, and except in the Orleans
at Sacramento during the Legislature, when he was candidate for United
States Senator, I had never seen him in a saloon. But that which most
astonished me was the Governor's warmth of approval of the Vigilance
Committee, and his animadversions and regrets in regard to some of his
friends, who had taken active part on the Law and Order side. He stood
the centre figure of the crowd close about him, declaiming with his
accustomed fluency and energy. I left the saloon, dismissed the hack,
and walked to my own quarters, ruminating on the common saying that,
"white man is mighty uncertain." Thence on Governor Foote was a red-hot
"Vigilante."
Sunday morning, May 18th, there were, besides the Sheriff and his
deputies, the officers and guards, a force of 106 Law and Order men,
armed with muskets, inside the County Jail, ready to defend it against
the expected attack of the Vigilance troops. Before noon they came from
every part of the city, several thousand strong. A piece of artillery
was trained in front of the jail entrance, with men to handle it. The
armed force in the jail and upon the wall appeared ready for the
encounter. The Commander of the Committee forces demanded from the
Sheriff the surrender of Casey and Cora. It was refused. There was some
parleying. It ended in the withdrawal of the jail guard, and of the Law
and Order forces also, the admission of the Vigilance officers into the
jail, and the surrender to them of Casey and Cora, who were taken to the
rooms of the Committee, and put in the separate cells prepared for them.
The whole affair occurred within the space of an hour. The State and
City and County authorities had succumbed to the Committee without
resistance, and the law was usurped by the new and self-constituted
power. The Courts were virtually overborne and ignored, if not derided;
and the will of the Vigilance Committee became the supreme law in San
Francisco.
In the County Jail at the time was Rod. Backus, a young man of good
family, cousin of Phil. Backus, an auctioneer of considerable prominence
in mercantile and social circles. Rod. Backus had shot dead a man whose
face he had never seen until the moment before he shot him, a dozen
paces distant. It was in Stout's alley. It was a murder, a wanton
murder, without provocation, excuse, extenuation or palliation whatever.
Rod. Backus was a frequent visitor at a house of the demi-monde in the
alley, and one Jennie French was his favorite. As he came to visit her
one evening, at dusk, she was standing in the doorway, at the head of
the iron stairway which led to the entrance on the second floor. On the
opposite side of the alley, walking slowly toward Jackson street, was a
man of ordinary appearance. As Rod met her on the top platform, Jennie
said to him: "Rod, that fellow has insulted me; shoot the ----." At
the word Backus drew his pistol and fired. The man fell. He had turned
his face the moment Backus fired. It was an instantly fatal shot. Backus
had influential friends among business men and politicians. The Coroner
held an inquest. A jury to hold Backus blameless had been secured, but
they overshot their mark--the thing was too transparent, too
bare-faced. The murdered man was a German much respected by his
countrymen. They determined to press the matter to justice. Backus was
indicted, tried, convicted of murder and sentenced to death. None of
just mind questioned the righteousness. But his case was appealed, and
at last he had his crime reduced in degree, and received sentence of a
short term--three or five years in San Quentin prison. This easy
let-off did not satisfy him; he wanted a verdict of acquittal, and
expected still to get it. Accordingly he again appealed his case, and
while in the County Jail awaiting the action of the Supreme Court upon
his appeal, the Committee had seized and taken away Casey and Cora. He
was not molested; nevertheless, his fear of consequences impelled him to
withdraw his appeal, submit to his sentence, and serve his term at San
Quentin. He even begged to be taken there at once, and he was. The
explanation made by the Committee leaders for not taking Backus was that
the law had already passed judgment in his case, and the Committee was
not disposed to interfere with the judgments of the Courts. The
explanation was puerile and inconsistent with their action in the case
of Cora, who was also in the hands of the Court and was awaiting another
trial. A portion of the jury, among this portion Front street merchants
and other respectable business men, had held him to be not guilty; and
surely this was more than any juror had expressed in the case of Backus.
Moreover, Backus had himself demonstrated his dissatisfaction with the
very mild verdict in his last trial, and was, the same as Cora, awaiting
the issue of another trial. The common belief was that Backus owed his
exemption from the grasp of the Committee and from the dread penalty
which Casey and Cora suffered, not to any doubt as to his guilt, but
solely on account of his relationship and his social standing. He had
been boon companion of many of the young men of the Committee before he
committed the murder in Stout's alley.
Now, as to Casey: he has been described as a ruffian and villain of
irredeemable depravity--desperate to the last degree. James P. Casey
was a young man of bright, intelligent and rather prepossessing face,
neat in his person, inclined to fine clothes, but not flashy or gaudy in
his attire. He was of low stature, slender frame, lithe and compact,
sinewy, nervous, and very agile. His eyes were blue and large, of bold
expression. His voice was full and sonorous. He had served as Assistant
County Treasurer for two years, handled a large aggregate of money in
that capacity, and his accounts squared to a cent when he handed over
the books to his successor. He was twice Supervisor. His record in that
office will favorably compare with that of any who have succeeded him.
During his lifetime in San Francisco he was never accused of crime;
never suspected of criminal offence. Ballot box stuffing was charged to
his account; also fraudulent counting in elections. Doubtless there was
foundation for each charge. But there were members of the Executive
Committee who had been associated with him in these gross wrongs, and at
least one of them had gained place and profit therefrom; and these
equally or more guilty men voted to hang their former associate in evil
deeds. It may be remarked, further, that in the face of the colossal
frauds of Returning Boards and Canvassing Boards within the last dozen
years, in States South and in the States North, by which the people were
defrauded of their choice for President on two occasions, the offences
of Casey in the comparatively small matter of a municipal election, are
better left unmentioned. Even now, in San Francisco, how many are there
in local office who can with clear conscience declare their innocence of
crookedness or corruption, or fraud in elections? When it comes to
throwing the stone at the staked sinner, conscience palsies the arm of
many who feel disposed to throw it. Casey was once in the city prison
for riotous conduct. At a very hotly contested democratic primary
election, in the early fall of 1855, between the Broderick and Gwin
wings of the party, Casey got into trouble. The polls were on Kearny
near Pine street. Toward the close nearly all on each side who had
participated in the election were in inflamed condition. Casey had gone
to the polling place to ascertain the result. He carried no weapon.
Immediately he was set upon by five of the wing, to which he was
opposed--Bob Cushing, J. W. Bagley, and three others, all armed with either
knife or pistol--two of them with both. Casey did not know fear; he was
game from crown to toe. One ball grazed his forehead on the right side,
another the occiput just behind the left ear, and shot off his hat. His
shiney bald head made that a conspicuous mark, but the range was too
short and the shooters were too excited for accurate aim. Casey had been
taken by surprise, but the slight creasing of the bullets, abrading the
skin and stinging, instantly impelled him to rapid and desperate action.
He rushed upon one of his assailants and wrested a knife from his grasp.
With this he turned upon Cushing, plunged it in his body just above the
lower ribs, and as Cushing was sinking to the ground, he turned the
knife and cut upwards with such power as to cleave the rib the blade
struck against. One of the five had become so nerveless at the sight,
that he dropped his pistol. Casey leaped and secured it. He shot at
Barley and the ball penetrated his breast. As he fell, Casey likewise
secured his pistol. The two others were game, but confused and shot
wildly. The bullets went through Casey's coat and vest, riddling each in
a dozen places; but not one of them did so much as to graze his skin.
The third man had been paralyzed with fright after the first clash.
After emptying their revolvers ineffectually the two others left the
ground; Casey remained the master of it. Not for long, however. A
policeman who had watched the affray from a safe distance then rushed
up, arrested Casey, took him to the City prison, and booked him for
assault with a deadly, weapon. That evening I met Colonel Baillie
Peyton, Colonel Jo. P. Hoge, and Colonel Ed. Beale on Kearny street.
They had been told of the encounter, and expressed the desire to see
Casey to compliment him for his bravery, and congratulate him upon his
miraculous escape. Accordingly we visited the prison and saw Casey, with
his clothes shot to shreds from the left shoulder pit down to his waist,
and no wounds other than the slight creases upon his forehead and
occiput, neither of these so deep as to draw blood. All of us expressed
surprise that the policeman had arrested him--attacked and fighting for
his life in clear self-defence, as he had been--and letting his
assailants go free. Colonel Hoge and Colonel Peyton volunteered to act
as counsel for him in Court; and bidding him go good-night, whit hearty
shake of hands, we all came away. Next morning no one appeared to
prosecute him, and Casey was discharged.
It will serve to state the offence for which Casey was sentenced to
State Prison in New York, before he left for California. He had, the
same as many other young men, taken up with a girl of loose character,
whose chastity had been spoiled by another, and hired and furnished an
apartment for her. The two lived as man and wife--much as too many live
in that same relation, for they quarreled and separated. In his hot
temper one day, he saw her upon the street, and instantly the thought
flashed upon his mind that he would go to her apartment and have the
furniture taken from it. He still kept a key to the door. He hired a
wagon, and carried out his determination. The landlady supposed it to be
all right. He had paid the rent in advance and she was that much the
gainer. He took the furniture to a second-hand furniture dealer, sold it
and kept the money. As he bought it, he felt that it was his to sell. On
the return of the girl, the landlady told her what had occurred. In
taking the furniture, he had also carried away some articles which
belonged to the girl. She hurried to the police Court, made charge
against him, and he was arrested. He made no defence and was convicted.
The sentence was eighteen months in Sing Sing prison. He served his time
and came to California. This was the damning record which James King of
William had threatened to publish in his Bulletin. He did not publish
the facts of the case; but only the fact of the indictment, the
conviction, the sentence and imprisonment. King had been told all this
by a man who had been clerk to the District Attorney, and was cognizant
of all the facts. He was a prominent Broderick man, hated Casey for
having left that wing of the party and joined the other wing, and
adopted this means to blast him in reputation. Casey was morbidly
sensitive on the subject. He had been apprised that King intended to
publish the matter; and early in the afternoon of the day of the
shooting he called upon Mr. King in his office, and warned him to desist
from the publication. King gave no heed to the warning; the matter
appeared in the Bulletin that day. Casey was exasperated to madness. He
armed himself, watched for King on Montgomery street, but he did not
conceal himself. It was King's invariable custom to leave his office in
the small one-story brick building which so long obstructed Merchant
street on the east side of Montgomery, soon after the Bulletin was
issued, walk to the cigar store on the north-west corner of Washington
and Montgomery streets, and thence out Washington street homeward. He
usually wore a talma of coarse fabric, loose and reaching to his hips.
It was sleeveless, concealing his arms and hands. As he came out of the
cigar store, Casey hailed him. The distance between the two was about
forty feet. Casey shouted to him, "Prepare yourself!" and fired. King
tottered and sunk upon the sidewalk. He had frequently made notice in
his paper that any whom he denounced in its columns had the privilege of
adopting their own mode of recourse; stated the route he usually took to
and from his office, and with the significant hint, "God help any one
who attacks me," defied that method of redress. Casey took him at his
word. King was borne to the room in Montgomery block, in which he died a
few days afterward. The ball had penetrated his body from the left side
of his breast, just below the line of the arm pit, and ranging upward
and outward to the back of the left shoulder. The surgeons pronounced it
a dangerous but not a mortal wound. Dr. Beverly R. Cole was
Surgeon-General to the Committee brigade, and a member of the Committee.
Months afterward he declared in a public statement of the case that King
died from the unskillful treatment of the surgeons, and maintained that
with proper treatment he would have recovered. Still it was the wound
which superinduced his death; and Casey had fired the ball which made
it.