I reached Stormy's tent about ten o'clock; and found him waiting for me.
I proposed proceeding at once towards the gaol where the condemned man
was kept. I was more impatient than my companion--impatient to see
whether I might identify the criminal.
"Come on!" said I, "we can talk and walk at the same time."
The old sailor followed me out of his tent, and then led the way without
speaking.
"Storm along, Stormy," cried I, "Let me hear what you have to say."
"It's not much," replied he; "I'm afraid I've been making a fool of
myself, and you too. I saw the man yesterday, who's going to be hung
to-day. I fancied that he was the same as brought you aboard the `Hope'
in Dublin Bay, when you first went to sea--he that you told me was your
stepfather--and who you promised to larn manners if ever you should come
back, and find he had been misbehaving himself. Now it may be all my
own fancy. That was so many years ago that I mightn't remember; but I
couldn't rest satisfied, without having you see him, for yourself."
I told Stormy that he had acted right; and that I hoped, and should be
pleased, to find that he was mistaken.
Stormy's doubts had the effect of tranquillising me a little. I was now
very hungry too; and at the first restaurant in our way, I went in, and
ordered some breakfast, which was eaten with an appetite I hoped never
to have again--a hope that was no doubt shared by the proprietor of the
restaurant.
We then pursued our journey to the place where the prisoner was under
guard.
The prison was merely a public-house--around which a crowd of people
were beginning to assemble.
I wished to see the prisoner; but he was in an inside room, with the men
who guarded him; and these were a little particular as to who was
admitted into his presence. I had to wait, therefore, until he should
be led out to execution.
On finding that I could not be allowed to see the murderer--and as I was
anxious to learn something immediately--I determined on taking a look at
his victim. It would be easy to do this: as the house where the dead
woman was lying was not far distant, from that which contained her
murderer.
Accompanied by Stormy, I walked over to the house; and we were admitted
into the room where the corpse was lying. The face of the murdered
woman was concealed under a white cloth; and while standing over the
body, I was more strangely agitated than I had ever been before. Should
I, on removing that slight shrouding of cotton, behold the inanimate
features of my mother?
The suspense was agonisingly interesting. The covering was at length
removed; and I breathed again. The body was not that of my mother; but
of a young woman apparently about nineteen or twenty years of age. She
had been a beautiful woman, and was still so--even in death!
Less tortured by my thoughts, I followed Stormy back to the
public-house--around which the crowd had greatly increased: for it was
now twelve o'clock, the hour appointed for the execution.
My heart beat audibly, as the criminal was led forth, surrounded by his
guards and attendants.
Stormy was right. The murderer was Matthew Leary!
"What shall I do?" I inquired of Stormy, as we followed the criminal to
the place of execution.
"You can do nothing," answered Stormy. "Let _them_ teach him manners.
If you interfere, you'll be larnt some yourself."
There was truth in this. From the temper of the men, who had judged and
condemned the murderer, it was evident I could do nothing to save him.
Perhaps I did not contemplate trying.
The prisoner was led from the public-house he had been kept in since his
condemnation, to a live oak tree, growing on the top of a high hill,
about half a mile from the town. Under this tree was a grave, that had
been freshly dug. The murderer, as he was conducted forward, must have
seen the grave, and know it to be his final resting-place. For all
that, he approached the tree without any apparent emotion!
"He is either a very good man, or a very bad one," said one by my side,
"he is going to die game!"
A cart was drawn up under the live oak; and into it climbed four or five
respectable-looking men--who appeared to be taking a prominent part in
the proceedings.
One of them requested silence--a request which was immediately complied
with--and the man who made it, then addressed the assembly, in, as near
as I can remember, the following words:--
"Gentlemen! Before commencing to execute the painful duty, we have met
to perform, I deem it necessary to give you a brief description of the
circumstances, under which we are called upon to act. The prisoner
before you--_John Mathews_,--has been tried by a jury of twelve men; and
found guilty of the murder of his wife--or a woman living with him as
such. He has been defended by able counsel; and the trial has been
conducted with all the decorum and ceremony required by an occasion so
solemn and important. It has appeared in evidence against the prisoner,
that he was an habitual drunkard; and that his principal means for
indulging, in his unfortunate habits of dissipation, were derived from
his wife--who supported herself, the prisoner, and their child, by
working as a washer-woman. There has been full evidence brought before
the jury, that, on the day the murder was committed, the prisoner came
home drunk, and asked the woman for money. She told him that she had
but three dollars in the house; and that she wanted that to procure
necessaries for her child--in fine, she refused to let him have it. The
prisoner demanded the three dollars, and the woman still refused to give
them up. After he had made a vain attempt to extort the money by
threats, he went across the room, and procured a pistol, with which he
unsuccessfully made an attempt to shoot her. Finding that the weapon
was unloaded, he turned it in his hand, and struck the woman two heavy
blows on the head with its butt. These blows were the cause of her
death--which occurred two hours afterwards. The man who committed this
crime is now before you. As I do not wish to prejudice the mind of any
one, I have simply stated what was proved on the trial; and the question
I now put is--what shall we do with him?"
The speaker finished by putting on his hat, which was as much as to say,
that his part in the solemn ceremony was performed.
The firm, earnest voice, in which the address had been delivered,
convinced me that the speaker, who had thus distinguished himself, was
actuated neither by prejudice nor passion.
From the tenor of the speech he had delivered, I could tell that the
criminal's fate, to a certain extent, still depended on a vote of the
crowd; and in their decision I felt more interested, than even Mr Leary
himself appeared to be!
Another of the men in the cart now took off his hat; and the murmuring
noise once more subsided.
"Fellow citizens!" said this second speaker, "I am not here either to
apologise for, or sanction the crime this man has committed. I know, as
well as any man present, the necessity that exists in a land like this,
or, rather, in the state of society in which we live, for the severe
punishment of crime. All I ask of you is, to let this man be punished
by the laws of the country. A system of government--of which you all
approve--has lately been established among us; and arrangements have
been made for the trial and punishment of criminals. Do not take the
law into your own hands. People living in the civilised communities of
Europe and our own country are crying `Shame! shame!' at many
transactions, similar to this, which have occurred in California; and
the same words will be uttered against the proceedings that are taking
place here to-day. I am a magistrate; and have with me a constable. I
will pledge my life that if you will allow us to remove the prisoner, he
shall be brought before a jury and tried by the laws of our country. I
trust that no good citizen will make any objection to our taking that
course with him."
The magistrate then put on his hat--as a signal that _he_ had nothing
more to say.
The murmur of the crowd rose higher; and there were heard many cries of
dissent from what had been last said.
"He's had a fair trial--hang him!" exclaimed one.
"Hang him now, or he'll escape!" vociferated another.
There were also a few voices raised on the other side. "Give him up!
Let the magistrate have him!" shouted these last.
A man now stood up in the cart; and called for a show of hands.
All in favour of delivering the prisoner into the custody of the law
officers were requested to hold up their right hands.
About twenty arms were extended into the air!
A number of these belonged to men who had the appearance of being what
in California were called "Sydney Ducks"--old convicts from New South
Wales; but most of the hands raised were those of well-known gamblers--
all of whom have an instinctive horror of Justice Lynch.
Those who were in favour of the prisoner being hung, _then and there_,
were next invited to hold up their right hands.
In an instant about three hundred arms were held aloft. All of them
that I saw were terminated with strong, sinewy fists, stained only with
toil, and belonging to miners--the most respectable portion of the
population.
This silent, but emphatic, declaration was considered final. After it
had been delivered, there commenced a scene of wild excitement.
I rushed through the crowd, towards the tree under which the criminal
stood. As I came up to him, I saw that a rope had been, already noosed
around his neck.
A man was climbing into the live oak--for the purpose of passing the
rope over one of its branches.
"Stop!" I cried, "stop for one minute! Let me ask this man a question,
before he dies."
Mr Leary turned towards me with a stare of surprise; and for the first
time, since being brought upon the ground, did he appear to take any
interest in what was passing!
"I am the Rolling Stone," I shouted to him, "Tell me, where is my
mother?"
The murderer smiled, and such a smile! It was the same fiendish
expression he had thrown at me, when I last saw him in the boat in
Dublin Bay.
"Tell me where I can find my mother!" I again asked, nearly frantic
with rage.
At this moment the slack end of the lazo, that had been passed over the
branch and then slung back among the crowd, was instantly seized by a
hundred hands. The condemned man seemed not to notice the movement,
while, in answer to my question, the malignant expression upon his
features became stronger and deeper.
"Away!" I cried, scarcely conscious of what I said or did, "Away with
him!"
Those holding the rope sprang outward from the tree, and up rose Mr
Leary.
A few faint kicks, and his body hung motionless from the limb of the
live oak.
An empty sardine box was nailed to the tree, on which the murderer was
hanging. Above it was pinned a piece of paper--on which were written
the words, "For the orphan."
Many miners stepped up to the spot, opened their purses; and slipped a
few dollars' worth of gold dust into the box.
Their example was followed by Stormy Jack; and from the quantity of
yellow dust I saw him drop into the common receptacle, I could tell that
his purse must have been three or four ounces lighter, when he came away
from the tree!
Volume Two, Chapter IV.