Port O' Gold Part 25

WE ARE DETERMINED THAT NO THIEF, BURGLAR, INCENDIARY OR a.s.sa.s.sIN SHALL ESCAPE PUNISHMENT EITHER BY THE QUIBBLES OF THE LAW, THE INSECURITY OF PRISONS, THE CARELESSNESS AND CORRUPTION OF POLICE OR A LAXITY OF THOSE WHO PRETEND TO ADMINISTER JUSTICE.

"And do you mean," asked Broderick, "that these men will take the law into their own hands; that they'll apprehend so-called criminals and presume to mete out punishment according to their own ideas of justice?"

"I mean just that," returned Benito.

"Why--it's extraordinary," Broderick objected. "It's mob law--organized banditti."

"You'll find it nothing of the sort," cried Windham hotly.

"How can it be otherwise?' asked Broderick. What's to prevent rascals taking advantage of such a movement--running it to suit themselves?

They're much cleverer than honest, men; more powerful.... Else do you think I'd use my political machine? No, no, Benito, this is farce--disaster."

"Read this, then," urged Benito, and he thrust into the other's hand a list of some two hundred names. Broderick perused it with growing gravity. It represented the flower of San Francisco's business and professional aristocracy, men of all political creeds, religious, social affiliations.

A few days afterward Broderick conferred with his lieutenants. Word went forth that he had cut his leading strings to city politics. Rumors of a storm were in the air. When it would break no one could say with certainty. The Committee of Vigilance had quietly established quarters on Battery street near Pine, where several secret meetings had been held and officers elected. These were not made known. Members were designated by numerals instead of names. Some said they wore masks but this was an unproven rumor.

Broderick, brooding on these things one afternoon, was suddenly aware of many people running. He descried a man hastening down Long Wharf toward the bay. "Stop thief!" some one shouted. Others took it up. Broderick found himself running, too, over the loose boards of the wharf, in pursuit of the fleeing figure. The fugitive ran rapidly, despite a large burden slung over his shoulder. Presently he disappeared from view. But soon they glimpsed him in a boat, rowing l.u.s.tily away.

A dozen boats set out in chase. Shots rang out. "He's thrown his bundle in the water," someone cried. "He's diving," called another. A silence, then "We've got him," came a hail exultingly.

Ere long a dripping figure surrounded by half a dozen captors, was brought upon the wharf. "He stole a safe from Virgin & Co.," Broderick was told. "The Vigilantes have him. They'll hang him probably. Come along and see the show."

"But where are the police?" asked Broderick. The man laughed contemptuously. "Where they always are--asleep," he answered, and went on.

Others brought the news that John Jenkins, an Australian convict, was the prisoner. He had several times escaped the clutches of the "law." He seemed to treat the whole proceeding as a bit of horseplay, joking profanely with his captors, boasting of his crimes.

At 10 o'clock the Monumental fire bell struck several deep-toned notes and fifteen minutes later eighty members of the Vigilance Committee had a.s.sembled. The door was locked. A constable from the police department knocked upon it long without avail. Everything was very still about the building; even the crowd which gathered there to await developments conversed in whispers.

At midnight several cloaked forms emerged, walking rapidly up the street. Then the California fire engine bell began to toll. James King of William, a local banker, leaving Vigilante quarters almost collided with Broderick. "What does that mean?" the latter asked; he pointed to the tolling bell.

"It means," King answered, solemnly, "that Jenkins is condemned to death. He'll be executed on the Plaza in an hour."

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

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 partic.i.p.ate 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 s.p.a.ce. 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 a.s.sociation 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."