THE “SIX HUNDRED AND ONE.”
In the spring of 1871, there sprang into existence in Virginia City, a
secret organization known as “Six Hundred and One.” It was a “Vigilance
Committee” similar to that organized in San Francisco in the early days.
The object of the organization in Virginia City, as far as is known,
appears to have been the speedy execution of persons guilty of
cold-blooded murder, and the banishment of dangerous men from the city.
At the time “601” made its appearance, there were frequent incendiary
fires, many murders had been committed, robberies were common, and there
prevailed an unusual amount of lawlessness. The idea of those belonging
to the organization seems to have been to strike terror to the hearts of
evil-doers by the summary punishment of desperate characters who, with
little or no provocation, killed peaceable citizens.
“Six Hundred and One” was so quietly and secretly organized that it
appeared to spring into existence in a single night. The first that was
publicly known of the organization was on the night of March 24, 1871,
when Arthur Perkins Heffernan, who, a short time before, had shot down a
man in cold blood at the bar of the saloon in the principal hotel of the
town, was taken from the County Jail and hanged.
In the morning, when the coroner went to cut down the body of Arthur
Perkins, as he was commonly called, there was found pinned upon it a
paper on which were the figures “601.” This was taken to be the name of
the “vigilante” organization, and “601” it has ever since been called.
It is supposed to be still in existence, and it is said that meetings
are frequently held, in which the “situation” is discussed. The members
are supposed to be leading citizens and business men of the town, but
just who they are is not certainly known, as they always appear in masks
when out on business. Perkins was taken from the jail and hanged, at
about 1 o’clock in the morning. The majority of the residents of the
city knew nothing of the occurrence until they arose, yet many persons
were still on the streets and lingering about the saloons and other
places of public resort, and not a few met “601” face to face, greatly
to their astonishment.
The meaning of the appearance of armed and masked men in the streets at
such a time in the night was rightly guessed by most persons, as soon as
they had time for reflection. The members of the organization had
quietly taken possession of the armory of one of the military companies
of the town, where they armed themselves with muskets and bayonets, drew
on their white masks, and suddenly sallied forth.
Their first move was to place a strong guard at the four corners of the
streets round the block in which stood the jail. The appearance of these
guards at the street corners was the first intimation that the people of
the town had that anything unusual was transpiring. Men started to go to
their homes, when they suddenly found themselves confronted by a score
of masked men, who brought to bear upon them a row of glittering
bayonets, and said; “Go back!” Most persons went “back” without a word,
but a few wanted to know “what’s up!” and “what was the reason they
could not pass?” when they were again told to go back or they would
“find out what was up!”
Some persons after being thus turned back, went round the block and
tried at the next street corner, where they were again met by a
glittering array of bayonets and the stern order: “Go back!”
A woman who happened to be scouting about the town at the unseemly hour
when the net was drawn about the block, found herself caught in it. She
tried every corner and, at each, found a row of bayonets held in front
of her.
Not a word was spoken anywhere, and this silence and the sight of the
arms and masks so frightened her that she galloped about at a very
lively rate for a time, then suddenly disappeared, no one knew whither.
Some printers also going home from their work on a morning paper, were
halted, and their foreman, a fussy, fidgetty old fellow, recently from
San Francisco, was frightened nearly out of his wits. When he found half
a dozen bayonets at his breast, and saw before him the masked faces, he
was sure he had fallen into the hands of robbers.
“Don’t shoot! for God’s sake don’t shoot!” he cried. “I’m a poor
miserable old printer and haven’t got a cent!”
Said a voice: “We know you, you old fool. You only want to go two doors
above here. I guess we’ll just escort you!” Then turning to the
printers, who stood back, heartily enjoying the fright of their foreman,
the same masked man said: “Come on boys, you lodge in the same house, I
believe!”
Four or five men stepped out and marched the printers within the lines,
seeing them to and through their own door.
“Gentlemen, will we be quite safe here?” asked the still anxious
foreman, thrusting his head out at the door, after it was thought he was
secured within.
“You are safe inside,” said one of the masked men, “but if you come out
again we’ll blow the whole top of your head off!”
The head instantly disappeared.
Every few minutes some belated citizen was halted and turned back, at
one or another corner of the beleaguered block, giving him an
opportunity of returning to his favorite saloon, telling of the wonder
and taking another drink. The armed and masked men at the corners were
all that any one saw; what was going on within the guarded square no one
knew, but all were able to make a tolerably correct guess.
Suddenly the heavy boom of a cannon shook the town and disturbed the
stillness of the night. Instantly, and as though by magic, the armed and
masked men disappeared from the streets, going no one knew whither. The
boom of the cannon, which was fired in the eastern part of the city, at
an old military post occupied during the rebellion by a provost guard,
told that Arthur Perkins was no more.
While the masked men stood on guard at the corners of the streets,
Perkins was hanged in the western suburb of the city. It appears that
twenty or thirty members of “601” who were within the lines, quietly
went to the Court-house, and, with a crow-bar, wrenched open the front
door. They then quickly advanced to the private office and
sleeping-apartment occupied by the sheriff and a deputy. These officers
were surprised in their beds, their weapons were secured, and the keys
of the jail and cells taken from them. All the rest was now easily done.
Arthur Perkins and a man who, in a fit of jealousy, had shot and wounded
his wife, occupied the same cell. When the heavy tramp of the vigilantes
was heard in the outer room, Perkins suspected its meaning—
“They have come for me,” said he to his companion. “I may as well bid
you good-bye; this is my last night on earth!”
When the masked men entered the room in which were ranged the cells,
they advanced to that occupied by Perkins, and unlocking the door, said:
“Come out, we want you.”
The man who was in the cell with Perkins was terribly frightened. He
supposed that he, also, was wanted—indeed thought a clean sweep of all
in the jail was to be made. He started to march out with Perkins, but
was pushed back, one of the men saying: “Go back! we don’t want you.”
These, the man afterwards said, were the most comforting words he ever
heard in his life. In his excitement Perkins was unable to get on one of
his boots. “Never mind the boot,” said one of the vigilantes, “where you
are going you will not need boots!”
Perkins was marched by the back way through the Court-house, was hurried
to a point near the old Ophir works, and there, when a convenient timber
was found, was hanged. He stood on a plank placed across the mouth of a
tunnel and, when the fatal moment came, did not wait for the plank to be
pulled from under his feet, but sprang into the air as high as he could
leap, in order to fall with as much force as possible and thus end his
life quickly and with little pain.
[Illustration: CAPTURE OF PERKINS.]
[Illustration: EXECUTION OF PERKINS.]
On the 26th of September, 1846, the ship _Thomas H. Perkins_ sailed from
New York, having on board a portion of Stevenson’s regiment of
California volunteers. The _Perkins_ was commanded by Captain Arthur,
and Arthur Perkins Heffernan was born on the vessel during her passage
between New York and Rio de Janeiro. He was named after the vessel and
her captain. His father was a corporal in Company F; F. J. Lippite
commanding; his mother was a sister of the notorious robber, Jack
Powers, who was also at that time a member of company F. A girl was born
on the ship _Thomas H. Perkins_ about the same time that young Heffernan
first saw the light, and it was an understood thing by those on board
the vessel that this girl, called Alta California, should, at the proper
age, become the wife of Arthur Perkins Heffernan,—an event that never
came to pass. Both children were baptized at Rio, at the American
Embassy, by the chaplain of the United States’ ship _Columbia_, then
lying in Brazilian waters.
On the 18th of July, 1871, “601” hanged George B. Kirk, a man who was
considered a very bad character, who had killed a man in California, and
who had lately been released from the Nevada State Prison. He had
received a note (ticket of leave, as these notes came to be called) from
“601,” ordering him to leave the city. He left, but after being gone
some time ventured back. Acquaintances told him that to attempt to
remain in the town would cost him his life, but he thought otherwise.
The first night he was in the city he was found at the house of a female
acquaintance, and, at about 11 o’clock, he was captured by “601,” placed
in a buggy, and taken out to the north end of the town, to the Sierra
Nevada mining works, and there hanged from the timbers of a flume. Again
the cannon in the eastern part of the city boomed, and as the single,
heavy shot echoed through the mountains those who heard it said: “Ha!
Six Hundred and One! Another man gone!” Had Kirk remained away from the
city he would not have been harmed. When he came back in defiance of the
order he had received, commanding him to absent himself from the city,
the vigilantes found it necessary to make an example of him, as
otherwise all who had received “tickets of leave” would have flocked
back to the town.
Since the hanging of Kirk, “601” has not found it necessary to “deal
with” any others of the desperadoes of the country. A wholesome fear of
the organization is felt. All know that a man who behaves himself in
even a half-way decent manner is in no danger from the vigilantes.
As the reader may desire to know what the regularly constituted
authorities do in the case of an execution of the irregular character of
those of “601,” I give the verdict of the coroner’s jury in the case of
Kirk:
“We find the deceased was named Geo. B. Kirk; was a native of Jackson
county, Missouri, aged about 36 years; that he came to his death on
the 18th day of July, 1871, by being hanged by parties unknown to us.”
The morning after the hanging, when Kirk’s remains were lying at an
undertaking establishment, a man who appeared to be a stranger in the
city, observing something of a crowd about the door, approached, and
looked in at the body lying in the coffin.
“Man dead?” asked he of a person standing near.
“Yes, sir;” shortly answered the person questioned.
Fidgetting a little the stranger tried it again: “How did he die?”
“Hung.” was the laconic reply.
“Hung! Ah, hung himself?”
“No sir, he was hanged by ‘601‘—by the Vigilantes.”
“What did they hang him for?”
“He had been notified to leave town, but after leaving he came back.”
“When a man has been notified to leave the town, can’t he never come
back here again and stay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes? Then how is this?”
“Well he came back and”—pointing to the coffin—“you see _he stayed_.”
[Illustration]