DEATH OF CHARLEY HARPER
We return now to Charley Harper, whom we left at Colville on the Upper
Columbia, a fugitive from the Vigilantes of Florence. Fear had exercised
a healthful restraint upon his conduct, and during the brief period that
had elapsed since his flight, though by no means a model citizen, he had
been guilty of no offences of an aggravated character. He was, however,
known to be a favorite with the roughs, a gambler, a drunkard, and a man
of desperate resources. Good men shunned and watched him. Had there been
a Vigilante organization in existence then, he would have received its
closest observation. But in a condition of society where all classes
intermingled, he contrived to slip along without molestation.
New Year’s Day brought with it the customary ball, to which all were
invited. The preparations were on a scale commensurate with the wishes
and means of the miners, who generally, upon such occasions, spare no
expense while their money holds out. Everybody in the town was in
attendance, Charley Harper among the number. Attracted at an early hour
of the evening by the sparkling eyes and voluptuous person of a
half-breed woman, he devoted to her his entire attention, dancing with
her often, and bestowing upon her many unmistakable civilities. As the
evening wore on, Charley became boisterous, swaggering, and noisy. His
inamorata declined his further attentions, and refused his hand for a
dance. Incensed to madness by this act, crazy with liquor, he knocked
her down, and beat and kicked her in a most inhuman manner after she had
been prostrated. This roused the indignation of the by-standers, and
Charley, seeing vengeance in their demonstrations, fled in terror before
them. They pursued him through the streets, he retreating and firing
upon them until he had emptied his revolver. The pursuit ended in his
capture, a rope was procured, and a few moments afterwards the lifeless
form of the wretched desperado was swinging in the cold night wind from
a limb of the tree nearest the place of his arrest. Thus ended the life
of one who, among his own associates, bore the name of being the meanest
scoundrel of their gang.
After the affray which terminated in the death of Cherokee Bob and
Willoughby, the Vigilantes of Florence met, passed congratulatory
resolutions, and renewed their measures for the effective suppression of
crime in their midst. Their Executive Committee was instructed to warn
all suspicious characters to leave the place immediately,—and they
determined to visit with condign punishment those who disobeyed. The
leading men among the offenders had fled in anticipation of some public
demonstration, so that those who remained were few and powerless. Among
these was a tall, lean, cadaverous individual, derisively called “Fat
Jack,” who, like Happy Harry, belonged to that class of negative
scoundrels, whose love for crime is confined by fear to petty thefts.
Fat Jack obeyed the order to leave, and went to Walla Walla. Brooding
over his expulsion with increasing indignation, and encouraged in the
belief that he could return without molestation, after a short period he
went back to Florence, muttering by the way violent threats against
those who had banished him. Two months had elapsed since his hegira. It
was late in the afternoon of a cold, stormy, March day when he entered
the town. At his first appearance he was promptly waited upon by the
members of the Executive Committee, who ordered him to retrace his steps
at once, or he would be hanged. Hard as this order may seem to the
casual reader, to have neglected it would have endangered the efficiency
of the committee and opened a way for a return of the roughs to their
old haunts.
The poor wretch turned his face to the storm, and wandered through the
darkness, sleet, and wind, despairingly, from cabin to cabin, in search
of food and lodging. Every door was closed against him, and he was
rudely and unpityingly told to “Be gone,” by all from whom he sought
relief. At a distance of four miles from Florence he stopped at a late
hour of the night at the door of a worthy man by the name of Neselrode.
Jack answered frankly the old man’s questions. Neselrode admitted him,
gave him supper, and a bed by his cabin fireside. A hired man was the
only other occupant of the house.
At a later hour of the night, two men roused Mr. Neselrode, and demanded
the person of Fat Jack. Neselrode, on being told that they had no
authority, refused to surrender him to an irresponsible party, as to do
so would be on his part a violation of the laws of hospitality. His
refusal was followed by the instant discharge of two double-barrelled
shotguns which riddled the door with buckshot, and stretched in
death-throes both the kind-hearted host and his criminal guest. The one
surviving man threw open the door, and bade the dastardly ruffians to
enter, telling them the murderous effects of their shots. They availed
themselves of the darkness to flee without recognition. None of the
citizens of Florence were more indignant when told of this cruel
assassination than the Vigilantes themselves. A meeting was held
denouncing the perpetrators, and pledging the citizens to the adoption
of every possible means for their early detection and punishment. Alas!
the criminals remain to this day undiscovered. They belonged, doubtless,
to that class of officious individuals, of whom there are many in the
mining camps, who in point of moral character and actual integrity are
but a single remove from the criminals themselves,—men who live a
cheating, gambling, dissipated life, and seek a cover for their own
iniquities by the energy and vindictiveness with which they pursue
others accused of actual guilt. If the various protective societies
which at one time and another have sprung up in the mining regions to
preserve peace and good order are liable to any charge of wrong, it was
their neglect to punish those men who used the organization to promote
their own selfish purposes, and in the name of Vigilante justice
committed crimes which on any principle of ethics were wholly
indefensible. The fact that in some instances wrongs of this kind have
occurred, only adds to the proof, that in all forms of society, whether
governed by permanent or temporary laws, there are always a few who are
adroit and cunning enough to escape merited punishment.