THE HANGING OF JENKINS
Mayor Brenham pushed his way forward. "Did I understand you rightly, Mr.
King?" he questioned. "This committee means to lynch a man--to
murder him?"
King turned upon him fiery-eyed. "I might accuse you of a hundred
murders, sir, with much more justice. Where are your police when our
citizens are slain? What are your courts but strongholds of political
iniquity?" He raised his arm and with a dramatic gesture, pointed toward
the city hall. "Go, Mayor Brenham, rouse your jackals of pretended
law.... The people have risen. At the Plaza in an hour you shall see
what Justice means."
Several voices cheered. Brenham, overwhelmed, inarticulate before this
outburst, turned and strode away. Broderick walked on thoughtfully. It
was evident that the people were aroused past curbing. As he neared the
city hall, Constable Charles Elleard approached him anxiously.
"There's going to be trouble, isn't there?" he asked. "What shall we do?
We've less than a hundred men, Mr. Broderick. Perhaps we could get
fifty more."
"Whatever happens, don't use firearms," Broderick cautioned. "One shot
will set the town afire tonight." He came closer to the officer and
whispered, "Make a show of interference, that's all.... If possible see
that Sheriff Hayes' pistols don't go off.... You understand? I know
what's best."
Elleard nodded. Broderick went on. Soon he heard the tramp of many feet.
A procession headed by men bearing torches, was proceeding down the
street toward the Plaza. As they neared he saw Jenkins, hands tied
behind his back, striding along in the midst of his captors. A rope was
about his neck; it extended for a hundred feet behind him, upheld by
many hands.
Diagonally across the Plaza the procession streamed. At the flagstaff a
halt was made. Samuel Brannan mounted a sand-heap and addressed
the crowd.
"I have been deputed by the Vigilance Committee," he began, "to tell you
that John Jenkins has been fairly tried; he was proven guilty of grand
larceny and other crimes." He paused dramatically. "The sentence of the
People's Court is death through hanging by the neck. It will be executed
here at once, with your approval. All who are in favor of the
committee's action, will say 'Aye.'"
"Aye! Aye!" came a thunder of voices, mingled with a few desultory
"noes." Sheriff Jack Hayes rode up importantly on his prancing black
charger. "In the name of the law I command this proceeding to cease."
"In the name of what law?" mocked Brannan, "the law you've been giving
us for six months past?"
A roar of laughter greeted this retort. The sheriff, red-faced, held up
a hand for silence. "I demand the prisoner," he shouted.
Instantly there was a quiet order. Fifty men in soldierly formation
surrounded Jenkins. "Take him, then," a voice said pleasantly. It was
William Coleman's. The guards of the forward ranks threw back their
cloaks, revealing a score of business-like short-barrelled shotguns.
Before this show of force, the gallant Hayes retreated, baffled. He was
a former Texan ranger, fearless to a fault; but he was wise enough to
know when he was beaten.
"I've orders not to shoot," he said, "but I warn you that all who
participate in this man's hanging will be liable for murder."
Again came Brannan's sneer. "If we're as safe as the last hundred men
that took human life in this town, we've nothing to fear." Again a
chorus of derision. The sheriff turned, outraged, on his tormentor. "You
shall hear from me, sir," he said indignantly, and wheeling his horse,
he rode off.
"String him up on the flagpole," suggested a bystander. But this was
cried down with indignation. Several members who had been investigating
now advanced with the recommendation that the hanging take place at the
south-end of the old Custom House.
"We can throw the rope over a beam," cried a tall man. He was one of
those who had pursued and caught Jenkins on the bay. Now he seized the
rope and called, "Come on, boys."
There was a rush toward the southwest corner of the Plaza, so sudden
that the hapless prisoner was jerked off his feet and dragged over the
ground. When the improvised gallows was reached he was half strangled,
could not stand. Several men supported him while others tossed the rope
across the beam. Then, with a shout, he was jerked from his feet into
space. His dangling figure jerked convulsively for a time, hung limp.
* * * * *
After the inquest Brannan met William Coleman at Vigilante headquarters.
"They were very hostile," he declared; "the political gang is hot on our
trail. They questioned me as to the names on our committee. I told them
we went by numbers only," he laughed.
"There have been threats, veiled and open," said Coleman, soberly. "King
has lost several good banking accounts and my business has fallen off
noticeably. Friends have advised me to quit the committee--or worse
things might happen."
Brannan took a folded paper from his pocket; it was a printed scrawl
unsigned, which read:
"Beware; or your house will be burned. We mean business."
A newsboy hurried down the street crying an extra on the inquest.
Brannan snatched one from his hand and the two men perused it eagerly.
The finding, couched in usual verbiage, recited the obvious facts that
Jenkins, alias Simpson, perished by strangulation and that "an
association of citizens styling themselves a Committee of Vigilance,"
was responsible.
"Eight of us are implicated, besides myself," said Brannan finally,
"they'll start proceedings probably at once."
"And they'll have the courts to back their dirty work," added Coleman,
thoughtfully. "That will never do," his teeth shut with a little click.
"I'm going to the _Herald_ office."
"What for?" asked Brannan, quickly.
"To publish the full list of names," Coleman responded. "We're all in
this together; no group must bear the brunt."
"But," objected Brannan, "is that wise?"
"Of course.... in union there is strength. These crooks will hesitate to
fight two hundred leading citizens; if they know them all they can't
pick out a few for persecution."
"Well, I'll go along," said Brannan. "Eh, what's that? What's happened
now?"
The Monumental engine bell was tolling violently. Coleman listened. "Its
not a fire," he declared, "it's the Vigilante signal. We'll wait here."
A man came running toward them from the bay. "They've captured James
Stuart," he shouted. "Bludgeoned a captain on his ship but the man's
wife held on to him and yelled till rescue came."
"But Stuart's in the Auburn jail, awaiting execution for the murder of
the sheriff," Coleman said bewildered.
"No," cried the man, "this is the real one. The other's Tom Berdue, his
double."
"Then there'll be another hanging," Coleman muttered.