VIRGINIA CITY EXECUTIONS
While the events I have just recorded were in progress at Bannack, the
Vigilantes of Virginia City were not inactive. Alder Gulch had been the
stronghold of the roughs ever since its discovery. Nearly all their
predatory expeditions had been fitted out there. Being much the largest,
richest, and most populous mining camp in the Territory, the
opportunities it afforded for robbery were more frequent and promising,
and less liable to discovery, than either Bannack or Deer Lodge. It was
also filled with saloons, hurdy-gurdies, bagnios, and gambling-rooms,
all of which were necessities in the lives of these free rangers of the
mountains. At the time of which I write there was a population of at
least twelve thousand, scattered through the various settlements from
Junction to Summit, a distance of twelve miles. It was essentially a
cosmopolitan community,—American in preponderance, but liberally
sprinkled with people from all the nations of Europe. Some were going,
and others coming, every day. Gold dust was abundant, and freedom from
social and moral restraint characterized all classes, to an extent
bordering upon criminal license.
The Vigilantes, more than ever, after it was decided to execute Plummer,
comprehended the necessity for prompt and vigorous measures, as that
event of itself would be the signal for all the guilty followers of that
chief to fly the Territory. Accordingly, having ascertained that six of
the robber band were still remaining in Virginia City, the Executive
Committee decided upon effectual means for their immediate arrest. On
the thirteenth day of January, three days after Plummer was executed, an
order was quietly made for the Vigilantes to assemble at night in
sufficient force to surround the city. Not a man was to be permitted to
leave the city after the line of guards was established. Bill Hunter,
one of the six marked for capture, suspecting the plot, effected his
escape by crawling beyond the pickets in a drain ditch. The city was
encircled, after nightfall, by more than five hundred armed men, so
quietly that none within, except the Vigilantes, knew of it until the
next morning. All that long winter night, while that cordon of iron men
was quietly stretching along the heights overlooking the city, the
Executive Committee sat in council, deliberating upon the evidences of
guilt against the men enmeshed in their toils.
At the same time another small band was assembled around a faro table in
the chamber of a gambling saloon. Jack Gallagher suddenly broke the
silence of the game with the remark,
“While we are here betting, those Vigilantes are passing sentence of
death upon us.”
Wonderful prescience! He little knew or realized the truth which this
observation had for him and his comrades in iniquity.
Morning broke, cold and cloudy, discovering to the eyes of the citizens
the pickets of the Vigilantes. The city was like an intrenched camp.
Hundreds of men, with guns at the shoulder, were marching through the
snow on all the surrounding hillsides, with military regularity and
precision. The preparation could not have been more perfect if made to
oppose an invading army. There was no misunderstanding this array.
People talked with bated breath to each other of the certain doom which
awaited the villains who had so long preyed upon their substance, and
spread terror through the country.
Messengers were sent to the different towns in the gulch to summon the
Vigilantes to appear forthwith, and take part in the trial of the
ruffians. At the same time parties were detailed to arrest and bring the
criminals before the Committee. Boone Helm, Jack Gallagher, Frank
Parish, Hayes Lyons, George Lane, and Bill Hunter were known to be in
the city at the time the picket guard was stationed. Of these, Hunter
had escaped. The Vigilantes from Nevada, Junction, Summit, Pine Grove,
and Highland marched into town in detachments, and formed in a body on
Main Street. The town was full of people.
Frank Parish, the first prisoner brought in, was quietly arrested in a
store. He exhibited little fear. Taking an executive officer aside,
“What,” he inquired, “am I arrested for?”
“For being a road agent, thief, and an accessory to numerous robberies
and murders on the highway.”
“I am innocent of all,—as innocent as you are.”
When, however, he was put upon his examination before the Committee, and
facts were brought home to him, he receded from his position of
innocence, and confessed to more and greater offences than were charged
against him.
“I was,” said he, “one of the party that robbed the coach between
Virginia City and Bannack.”
This confession took the Committee by surprise. He then admitted that he
had been guilty of horse-stealing for the robbers, and had butchered
stolen cattle to supply them with food. He was fully cognizant of all
their criminal enterprises, and shared with them as a member of the
band. Upon this confession he was condemned to suffer death. He gave
directions concerning his clothing and the settlement of his debts. His
case being disposed of, he was committed to the custody of a strong
guard.
George Lane (Clubfoot George), who has figured conspicuously in this
history, was next introduced into the presence of the Committee. He was
arrested without trouble, at Dance and Stuart’s store. Perfectly calm
and collected, he inquired,
“Why am I arrested?”
On receiving the same answer that had been given to Parish, he replied,
“If you hang me, you will hang an innocent man.”
“We have positive proof of your guilt,” was the response of the
examining officer. “There is no possibility of a mistake.”
“What will you do with me?”
“Your sentence is death,” was the answer.
His eyes dropped, and his countenance wore an expression of deep
contrition. For some moments he covered his face with his hands,
seemingly overcome by the dreadful announcement. At length, dropping his
hands, and looking into the face of the officer, he inquired,
“Can I have a minister, to pray for and talk with me?”
“One shall be immediately sent for.”
And when the clergyman appeared, Lane, in care of the guard, spent his
remaining hours of life in attending to the affairs of his soul.
While his examination was progressing, parties came in with Boone Helm
and Jack Gallagher. The former had been arrested by strategy, while
standing in front of the Virginia Hotel. With an armed man on either
side, and one behind with a pistol presented to his head, this veteran
scoundrel, bloodier far than any of his comrades, was marched into the
presence of his judges.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, “if I’d only had a show, if I’d known what you were
after, you would have had a gay old time in taking me.”
His right hand was wounded, and supported by a sling. With much apparent
serenity, he sat down on a bench, and looked defiantly into the faces of
the members of the Committee.
“What do you want of me here?” he inquired, affecting entire ignorance
of the cause of his arrest.
“We have proof that you belong to Plummer’s band of robbers, that you
have been guilty of highway robbery and murder, and wish to hear what
you have to say to these charges.”
“I am as innocent,” replied the miscreant, in a deliberate tone, “as the
babe unborn. I never killed any one, nor robbed or defrauded any man. I
am willing to swear it on the Bible.”
Less for any more important purpose than that of testing the utter
depravity of the wretch, the interrogator handed him a Bible. With the
utmost solemnity of manner and expression, he repeated the denial,
invoking the most terrible penalties upon his soul, in attestation of
its truthfulness, and kissed the volume impressively at its close.
The Committee regarded this sacrilegious act of the crime-hardened
reprobate with mingled feelings of horror and disgust.
“This denial,” said the president, “can avail you nothing. Your life for
many years has been a continuous career of crime. It is necessary that
you should die. You had better improve the little time left you in
preparation.”
Helm looked hopelessly around, but saw no glance of sympathy in the
stern features of his judges. Beckoning to a person standing near, he
whispered,
“Can I see you alone for a few minutes?”
The man, supposing that he was desirous of obtaining spiritual counsel,
replied,
“I will send for a clergyman.”
“No,” was the instant rejoinder. “I want no clergyman. You’ll do as
well.”
Stepping into the inner room, Helm closed the door, and, turning to the
man, in an anxious tone asked,
“Is there no way of getting out of this scrape?”
“None. No power here is available to save you. You must die.”
“Well, then,” said he, “I’ll admit to you that I did kill a man by the
name of Shoot, in Missouri. When I left there I went to California, and
killed another chap there. I was confined in jail in Oregon, and dug my
way out with tools given me by my squaw.”
“Now,” said his confessor, “having told me thus much, will you not give
me what information you can concerning the band to which you belong,
their names, crimes, and purposes?”
“Ask Jack Gallagher. He knows more than I do.”
Gallagher, who had been brought into an adjoining apartment, separated
from the one in which this conversation occurred by a thin board
partition, on hearing this reference to himself, poured forth a torrent
of profane abuse upon the head of his guilty confederate.
“It is just such cowardly rascals and traitors as you,” said he, “that
have brought us into this difficulty. You ought to die for your
treachery.”
“I have dared death in all its forms,” said Helm, “and I do not fear to
die. Give me some whiskey.”
The guilty wretch, having been consigned to the custody of keepers,
steeped what little sensibility he possessed in whiskey, and passed the
time until the execution in ribald jesting and profanity.
Jack Gallagher bounded into the committee-room, swearing and laughing,
as if the whole affair was intended as a good joke.
“What,” said he, with an oath and epithet appended to every word, “is it
all about? This is a pretty break, isn’t it?”
On being informed of the charges against him, and the sentence of the
Committee, he dropped into a seat and began to cry. In a few moments he
jumped up, and with much expletive emphasis demanded the names of the
persons who had informed against him.
“It was ‘Red,’ who was hanged a few weeks ago on the Stinking Water.”
Gallagher cursed the dead ruffian for a traitor, liar, and coward, in
the same breath.
“My God!” said he, “must I die in this way?” He was taken out of the
committee-room while uttering the most terrible oaths and blasphemies.
Hayes Lyons, the only remaining ruffian, had not yet been arrested. The
party detailed for that object, while searching for him at the Arbor
Restaurant, had found and captured Gallagher, on learning which the
Gallagher pursuers immediately took up the hunt for Lyons. Foiled at
several points, they accidentally learned that he had crossed the crags
overhanging the gulch, and, after wandering in a circuit of several
miles through the mountains, had come back to a miner’s cabin but half a
mile distant from his point of departure. Proceeding with all possible
speed to the cabin, the leader threw open the door, and, bringing his
pistol to a deadly aim, exclaimed,
“Throw up your hands.”
Lyons, who was in the act of raising a piece of a griddlecake to his
mouth, dropped the fork instantly, and obeyed the order.
“Come out here, and surrender at once,” was the next command.
He was in his shirt-sleeves, and, as he stepped out into the biting
atmosphere, he asked in an undertone,
“Will some one get my coat?”
A member of the party brought it to him, and assisted him in putting it
on. He trembled so much with fear that it was with difficulty he could
get his arms into the sleeves. While the party was searching him to
ascertain if he was armed, he said,
“You disturbed me in the first meal I have sat down to with any appetite
in six weeks.”
“Finish your dinner,” said the leader. “We will wait for you.”
“Thank you; you are very kind, but I can eat no more. What do you intend
doing with me? Will I be hung?”
“We are not here to promise you anything. You had better prepare for the
worst.”
“My friends advised me to leave two or three days ago.”
“You would probably have done well had you followed their advice. Why
didn’t you go?”
“Because I had done nothing wrong, and did not wish to leave.”
It is probable that but for the blandishments of a fascinating mistress,
the memory of Dillingham’s murder would have dictated to this ruffian an
earlier and more successful effort at escape.
“Have you heard of the execution of Plummer, Stinson, and Ray?” asked
the leader.
“Yes; but I don’t believe the report is true.”
“You may bet your sweet life on’t.”
“Did they make any resistance?”
“No; they had no opportunity.”
Arriving at the committee-room, the prisoner was immediately confronted
with the officers.
“We have condemned you to death for the murder of Dillingham, and being
associated in membership with Plummer’s band of road agents. Have you
anything to say in extenuation?”
“That I am not guilty. I have committed no crimes, and formed no
associations that call for such severity. I am as innocent as you are.”
And yet, but a short time before, the wretched man had confessed to a
leader of one of the police committees, in presence of several
witnesses, that he was the murderer of Dillingham. His complicity with
Plummer’s band was known to all.
Scarcely was Lyons’s examination concluded, when word was brought to the
Committee that two suspicious persons, who had gone hurriedly to
Highland district, three miles above Virginia City, the evening before,
were concealed in one of the unoccupied cabins there. An officer with
fifteen men was sent to arrest them. They were disarmed, and brought
before the Committee, but, no evidence appearing against them, they were
discharged.
The examination being over, preparations were made for the execution of
the convicts. These were very simple. The central cross-beam of an
unfinished log store, cornering upon two of the principal streets, was
selected for a scaffold. The building was roofless, and its spacious
open front exposed the interior to the full view of the crowd. The
ropes, five in number, were drawn across the beam to a proper length,
and fastened firmly to the logs in the rear basement. Under each noose
was placed a large, empty dry-goods box, with cord attached, for the
drops.
Beside the large body of armed Vigilantes, a great number of eager
spectators had assembled from all parts of the gulch to witness the
execution. Six or eight thousand persons, comprehending the larger
portion of the population of the Territory, gathered into a compact
mass, when the prisoners, with their armed escort, marched from the
committee-rooms into the street, and were ranged in front of the guard.
“You are now,” said the president, addressing them, “to be conducted to
the scaffold. An opportunity is given you to make your last requests and
communications. You will do well to improve it by making a confession of
your own crimes, and putting the Committee in possession of information
as to the crimes of others.”
The prisoners separately declined to make any communication. When the
guard were about to fasten their arms, Jack Gallagher, with an oath,
exclaimed,
“I will not be hung in public,” and, drawing his pocket-knife, he
applied the blade to his throat, saying, “I will cut my throat first.”
The executive officer instantly cocked and presented his pistol.
“If you make another move of your arm,” said he, “I will shoot you like
a dog. Take the knife from him, and pinion him at once,” he continued,
addressing the guard. The ruffian cursed horribly, all the while his
arms were being tied.
Boone Helm, with customary adjective profanity, said to Gallagher in a
consolatory tone,
“Don’t make a fool of yourself, Jack. There’s no use or sense in being
afraid to die.”
After the process of binding was completed, each prisoner was seized by
the arm on either side, by a Vigilante who held in the hand not thus
employed a navy revolver, ready for instant use. The large body of armed
Vigilantes were then formed around the prisoners, into a hollow square,
four abreast on each side, and a column in front and rear. A few men
with pistols were dispersed among the crowd of spectators, to guard
against any possible attempt at rescue. Thus formed, the procession
marched in the direction of the scaffold with slow and solemn pace. The
silence of the great throng was unbroken by a whisper, and, more
eloquently than language could have done, declared the feelings of
anxiety and suspense by which all were animated. Some little delay being
necessary to complete the preparations at the scaffold, the procession
halted in front of the Virginia Hotel, on the corner diagonally from it
across Main Street. While waiting there, Clubfoot George called to his
side Judge Dance, and said to him,
“You have known me ever since I came to Virginia City, more intimately
than any other man. We have had dealings together. Can you not in this
hour of extremity say a good word for my character?”
“It would be of no use, George. Your dealings with me have always been
fair and honorable; but what you have done outside, I only know from the
evidence, and that is very strong against you. I can do you no good.”
“Well, then,” said the penitent ruffian, “will you pray with me?”
“Willingly, George; most willingly,” and, suiting the action to the
word, the judge dropped upon his knees, and, with George and Gallagher
kneeling beside him, offered up a fervent petition in behalf of the
doomed men. Boone Helm was irritated at this request, and, raising his
sore finger, exclaimed,
“For God’s sake, if you’re going to hang me, I want you to do it, and
get through with it; if not, I want you to tie a bandage on my finger.”
While the prayer was in progress, Hayes Lyons requested that his hat
should be removed. Frank Parish gave abundant evidence of deep
contrition, but Boone Helm continued, as from the first, to treat all
the proceedings with profane and reckless levity.
Gallagher, at one moment cursing, and at the next crying, seemed the
least composed of any of the prisoners. He wore a handsome cavalry
overcoat, trimmed with beaver.
“Give me that coat, Jack,” said Helm, as Gallagher rose from his knees.
“You never yet gave me anything.”
“It’s little use you’ll make of it now,” responded Gallagher with an
oath, and, catching at the moment the eye of an acquaintance, who was
regarding him from a window of the hotel, he called to him in a loud
tone,
“Say, old fellow, I’m going to heaven. I’ll be there in time to open the
gate for you.”
“Halloo, Bill!” said Boone Helm to one in the crowd, “they’ve got me
this time; got me, sure, and no mistake.”
Hayes Lyons begged of his captors the privilege of seeing his mistress.
“Let me bid her good-bye and restore this watch to her, which is her
property.” The request was refused, only to be repeated, and on being
made a third time he received for answer,
“Hayes! bringing women to the place of execution ‘played out’ in ’63,
when they interfered with your trial for killing Dillingham.”
The unhappy wretch ceased further importunity.
When the arrangements at the scaffold were completed, the guard crossed
the street, opened ranks, and the prisoners were conducted through into
the building, each as he entered stepping upon one of the dry-goods
boxes. Ranged side by side, Clubfoot George was first on the east side
of the room; next to him was Hayes Lyons, then Jack Gallagher, then
Boone Helm, and near the west wall Frank Parish. The area in front of
them was occupied by the guard and the members of the Executive
Committee. The two streets in front and at the side of the building were
crowded with armed Vigilantes and spectators. The order being given to
remove the hats of the prisoners, Clubfoot George, whose hands were
loosely fastened, contrived to reach his hat, which he threw spitefully
on the floor, the hats of the others being at the same time removed by
the guard.
After the nooses were adjusted, the chief of the Committee said to the
prisoners,
“You are now about to be executed. If you have any dying requests to
make, this is your last opportunity. You may be assured they shall be
carefully heeded.”
Jack Gallagher broke in upon this address with a leer,
“How do I look, boys,” he asked, “with a halter around my neck?” The
grim effort failed to elicit a smile.
“Your time is very short,” said the chief, again reminding them that
their requests would be listened to.
“Well, then,” said Gallagher, “I want one more drink of whiskey before I
die.”
The loathing which this request excited was apparent in the expression
of the countenances of all who heard it. Some men exchanged meaning
glances, revealing thereby the shock their sensibilities had received by
this exhibition of depravity. Others craned their necks over the crowd,
as if they had not heard aright. For a few minutes no one seemed to know
what answer to make to a man whose last moments were given to the
gratification of his evil appetites. This silence was soon broken,
however, by an old miner.
“We told ’em,” said he, “that we’d do whatever they asked. Give him the
liquor.”
A man appeared in a moment with a tumbler nearly full. Raising it as
high as he could, the prisoner bent his head, but was restrained by the
rope from touching the glass with his lips. Throwing his head back, he
turned on the box, and, looking back upon the fastenings of the rope to
the basement log at the rear of the building, in a loud and imperious
tone he launched a profane and vulgar epithet at the guard, saying,
“Slacken that rope, quick, and let a man take a parting drink, won’t
you?”
The rope was loosed, while the depraved wretch drained the tumbler at a
draught. While the guard was refastening it, he exclaimed,
“I hope Almighty God will strike every one of you with forked lightning
and that I shall meet you all in the lowest pit of hell.”
The Committee decided that the executions should be single, commencing
with Clubfoot George, and concluding with Hayes Lyons, who stood next to
him in order. At the words “Men, do your duty,” the men holding the
cords attached to the box on which the prisoner in turn stood, were, by
a sudden jerk, to pull the footing from under him. A fall of three feet
was deemed sufficient to dislocate the neck, and avoid the torture of
protracted strangulation.
No more requests being made, the men laid hold of the cords attached to
the box occupied by George Lane. Just at that moment the unhappy wretch
descried an old friend clinging to the building, to obtain sight of the
execution.
“Good-bye, old fellow,” said he. “I’m gone,” and, without waiting for
the box to be removed, he leaped from it, and died with hardly a
struggle.
“There goes one to hell,” muttered Boone Helm.
Hayes Lyons, who stood next, was talking all the while, telling of his
kind mother; that he had been well brought up, but evil associations had
brought him to the scaffold.
Gallagher cried and swore by turns.
“I hope,” said he, “that forked lightning will strike every strangling
villain of you.” The box, flying from under his feet, stopped an oath in
its utterance, and the quivering of his muscles showed that his guilty
career was terminated.
“Kick away, old fellow,” said Boone Helm, calmly surveying the struggles
of the dying wretch. “My turn comes next. I’ll be in hell with you in a
minute.” Shouting in a loud voice, “Every man for his principles! Hurrah
for Jeff Davis! Let her rip,” his body fell with a twang that killed him
almost instantly.
Frank Parish maintained a serious deportment from the moment of his
arrest until his execution. At his request his black necktie was dropped
like a veil over his face. He “died and made no sign.”
Hayes Lyons was the only one remaining. Looking right and left at the
swaying bodies of his companions, his anxious face indicated a hope of
pardon. His entreaties were incessant, but when he found them
unavailing, he requested that his mistress might have the disposition of
his body; that the watch of hers which he wore might be restored to her,
and that he might not be left hanging for an unseemly time. He died
without a struggle.
Two hours after the execution the bodies were cut down, and taken by
friends to Cemetery Hill for burial.
X. Beidler officiated as adjuster of the ropes at this execution. Jack
Gallagher had killed a friend of his. Some time afterwards, when he was
relating the circumstances attending the execution, in a mixed crowd, a
gentleman present, who was greatly interested in the narrative, and
whose sympathy for the ruffians was very apparent, asked, at the close
of the narrative, in a lachrymose tone,
“Well, now, when you came to hang that poor fellow, didn’t you
sympathize with him, didn’t you feel for him?”
Beidler regarded the man for a moment with great disgust, and, imitating
his tone, replied slowly,
“Yes, I did. I felt for him a little, I felt for his left ear.”