THE COMMITTEE DISBANDS
Alice Windham and her little son, named Robert for his grandfather, were
passing Coleman's store, en route to Benito's office; it was a pleasant,
quiet afternoon, almost windless. The infant Robert toddled manfully
along on his five-year legs, holding tightly to his mother's hand.
Men began to rush by, jostling them in their haste. The child drew
closer to his mother. More men passed. Some of them were carrying guns.
Coleman, emerging hurriedly, stopped at sight of Mrs. Windham.
"Better go inside," he advised, "there's trouble afoot." He picked up
the now frightened child and escorted the mother to his office. "Sit
down," he invited. "It's comfortable here ... and safe."
Before she could thank him he was off. At the door Miers Truett hailed
him. "Hopkins stabbed," she heard him pant. He had been running. "May
die ... Terry did it."
They went off together. Other men stood in the doorway. "By the
Eternal!" one was saying. "A Judge of the Supreme Court! What will
Coleman do? They can't arrest Terry."
There was a silence. Then the Monumental Fire Engine bell began to toll.
"Come on," the second man spoke with a kind of thrill. "That's
Coleman's answer."
* * * * *
Terry, Ashe and their companions ran pell mell up Jackson street until
they reached the armory of the San Francisco Blues. It was rather an
ornate building, guarded by iron doors. These stood open as the
fugitives entered, but were immediately closed and guarded by a posse
of pursuing Vigilantes, effectually preventing Law and Order
reinforcements from the outside.
Meanwhile the wounded Hopkins, screaming that he was murdered, had been
carried into the Pennsylvania Engine House close by. Dr. Beverly Cole,
the Vigilante surgeon chief, was summoned and pronounced the wound a
serious one. Thereupon the bell was tolled.
Half an hour later several thousand men under Marshal Doane marched to
the armory. In front of it he drew up his forces and knocked on the
inner portal.
"What d'ye want?" came the heavy bass of David Terry, a little less
arrogant than usual.
"The committee has ordered the arrest of yourself and your party,"
answered Doane. "Will you come quietly?"
There was excited murmuring; then Terry's heavy tones once more: "Do you
mean that you will attack the person of a Supreme Court Justice?" he
asked half incredulous.
"We will arrest all those who commit or attempt murder."
More whispering.
"Very well," said Terry. "I will not subject my friends to violence....
But I warn you that the consequences will be serious."
Doane ignored this, waiting quietly until the door was opened. Then he
detailed a guard for the prisoners. At 4 o'clock--an hour after Hopkins
had been wounded--Terry, Ashe and half a dozen others were locked in
cells at Fort Vigilance. Once more the town was quiet.
"It is all over," Benito told his wife, whom he found in Coleman's
office. "We can go home now." Little Robert slept. His mother picked him
up gently.
"What will they do with Judge Terry?" she asked in an excited whisper.
"If Hopkins dies they'll hang him sure as shooting," said Benito.
Sterling Hopkins did not die, despite the serious nature of his wound.
Had he done so many a different chapter might have been recorded in the
history of San Francisco. Hopkins lived to pass into inconsequence.
Terry was released to wreak once more his violent hatred on a fellow
being, to perish in a third and final outburst of that savagery which
marred his whole career.
Captain Ashe and others taken in the Terry raid were soon released upon
parole. The Supreme Court Judge remained a prisoner in Fort Vigilance
for many weeks.
After days and nights of wrestling with the situation, the Committee
judged the prisoner guilty of assault. As the usual punishment within
their power to inflict was not applicable in this case, the prisoner was
discharged. It was pointedly suggested that the best interests of the
State demanded his resignation. To this, however, Terry paid no heed.
Broderick, who had been out of town, campaigning, met Ike Bluxome on
Montgomery street.
"I thought you folks were going to disband," he spoke half-banteringly.
And Bluxome answered with, his usual gravity. "We thought so, too ...
but Terry jumped into the picture. Now he's boasting that the Committee
didn't dare to hold him longer." Bluxome smiled faintly. "He was meek
enough till Hopkins had recovered ... offered to resign and quit the
State forever."
"I believe in Terry," Broderick remarked. "He's quarrelsome, but
brave--and honest as a judge. I spent a lot of money in a newspaper
fight to help him through this mess."
Bluxome eyed him keenly. "Yes, I know you did. I know you were sincere,
too, Broderick. That's why we didn't bother you for bribing the editors.
But you will get no thanks from Terry. He's against you on the slavery
question. He'd kill you tomorrow if he got a chance. You or any other
man that's in his way. Watch out for him."
"Nonsense," said Broderick, and walked away.
* * * * *
On August 18th the Vigilantes paraded for the last time. There were four
artillery batteries with an armament of fifteen cannon. Then came the
Executive Committee followed by two companies of dragoons, each preceded
by a band; the medical staff of fifty members, the Committee of 1851,
some half a hundred strong, and four regiments of infantry.
San Francisco was ablaze with decorations, vibrant with enthusiasm. Men,
women, children, turned out to do the Vigilantes honor. A float symbolic
of Fort Gunnybags was wildly cheered.
Benito Windham, Adrian Stanley and their families stood at the window of
an office which had "B. Windham, Attorney and Counselor," inscribed upon
its door. Benito had but recently passed his law examination and Alice
was accordingly proud.
Broderick, who stood near her with an arm about young Robert, looked out
at the pageant.
"They have been my enemies," he said, "but I take off my hat to your
Committee. They have done a wondrous work, Benito lad."