CHAPTER VI. Where the common rabble, armed with stones and axes, will succumb to organized resistance, the cool foresight and calm resolution of the better element, when it engages with the rabble in the accomplishing of a purpose, presents an appalling picture. The latter uses the former as a tool. There is a twinge of conscience, a nervousness resulting from revolting manhood, that causes the finger to tremble which pulls the trigger on a dauntless breast, actuated in design by an honest desire to make crime a terror-to invest it with horrors that the scaffold renders comparatively tame. Summary punishment is more effective as example than that born of the slow incubation of the law. The law is the servant of society. As such, it may be betrayed, cheated, bribed. This is a possibility inseparable from a condition of servitude. The master lays down rules by which the servant is to be guided. When great urgency is required, he thrusts the servant aside and does the work himself, because it is his own affair, concerning him vitally. The officers of the law had, on this occasion, arrayed against them a far more dangerous element than bravery. It was cunning. They did not dream of that; for who ever knew a mob that displayed cunning! It is a flood, rushing blindly on, crushing, drowning, sweeping away, until stopped and hurled back upon itself by a mountain; depending alone upon its momentum. It was about noon that Casserly found himself powerless. He was compelled to admit it. With that self-consciousness of superior power that raises up a commander, Casserly felt his strength, and assumed control of the defense. It is true that the Sheriff was the proper guardian of the jail; but, though a man of suf ficient nerve for ordinary occasions, he was inferior to Casserly in qualifications for general ship. He cheerfully, therefore, placed himself and his twenty deputies at Casserly's command. The captain of the military company did not even ask a question as to Casserly's authority when ordered to guard the approaches to the jail. Casserly had attempted to disperse a second. mass-meeting, held at the corner of First and Santa Clara Streets. He knew that many were armed. Indignation and excitement ran at a high pitch, increasing with the mob. Casserly burst into this crowd, scattered the men right and left, and plowed his way through the stormy sea of humanity, ordering the rioters to leave. But it had no effect. Not a hand was laid upon him, for he was feared. He pushed a speaker from a box, and mounted it. "Go to your homes!" he shouted. "I promise you that Howard shall receive the full penalty of the law. What are you about to do? Are you devils, or men? If there's a brave man in this crowd, I challenge him to mount this box and stand beside me, my companion in the preservation of the peace." Not a man moved. All remained sullen. "Then, if you are cowards, there may be some honest men among you. I will give the first honest man one minute to start for his home." He held his watch in his hand. A half minute rolled by. No one stirred. "A half minute has gone." The second-hand rapidly marked thirty seconds more. Still no one moved. "You are a set of cowards and outlaws. In five minutes I will charge you with the militia, twenty sheriffs, and thirty policemen. I give you fair warning. There's not a blank cartridge in the lot." This caused a howl of mingled curses and hisses to rise from the mob. Casserly's position was perilous. He choked down his choler and chagrin, descended from the box, and slipped away. Then it was that Casserly saw he was powerless on the street. He would immediately concentrate at the jail, and, armed and intrenched, defy the mob, were it ten thousand strong. During this time the unusually large force of policemen had not been idle. The majority were men who had never served in that capacity, and were, consequently, more zealous than prudent. They mingled with the mob in sets of four. Several times had they attempted the arrest of the more turbulent individuals of the riot, but as often were their prisoners rescued. Shortly after Casserly left the box, two sharp taps of the fire-bell were heard. Every policeman suddenly disappeared. It was the signal to concentrate. Then Casserly resorted to a ruse that deserved success. If he could introduce a sufficient counter excitement there was a possibility that by the time it should die away the spirit of outlawry would have had its back broken. He sent a man to a barn near Market Plaza, with instructions to fire it. The barn was dry and inflammable. In a short time dense volumes of smoke were seen in that quarter of the city. Market Plaza is about as far from Santa Clara Street on the south as is the jail on the north. The fire-alarm was sounded, and the engines tore noisily through the streets, deadening the clamor of the mob. There was a momentary wavering of the crowd, and a few boys left for the scene of the fire, but the ruse failed; the mob could not be diverted from its object. In his heart, Casserly did not wish to avert the attack. When he threatened a charge, it was far from his intention to make one, and thus precipitate a collision in which the law would be the aggressor. He felt perfectly secure; and it was only an over-estimate of his power that had led him into the error of thinking to intimidate the mob, and quell the riot in its incipiency. His grounds for security were these: In addition to the militia (a company numbering some sixty men), the deputies, and the policemen, there were many volunteers, including nearly all the city and county officials; and the constables had multiplied themselves, after the manner of certain infusoria. In this way there were about three hundred men gathered together to protect the jail-all fully armed with rifles, shotguns, or revolvers. With the exception of a few blank-loaded guns held convenient, each barrel of every shotgun was loaded with three and a half drachms of powder and twenty buckshot-loaded to kill. At close range the shotgun is the most deadly of weapons. Suppose, then (reasoned Casserly), that by some improbable turn of events the mob, numbering nearly two thousand, should overpower the resistance, what would result? Nothing. The outer wall might be torn down, the jail might be invaded, but the impregnability of the Tank was an insurmountable obstacle. No axe, nor sledge-hammer, nor crowbar, nor file could effect an entrance to this stronghold. There would be no time to employ blastingpowder. But might not the jailer be robbed of his keys? Certainly not; for Casserly had taken charge of them, and concealed them. He had cause afterward to regret this, as the sequel will show. Thoughtful as he was, he could not foresee everything. less, a few knowing persons detected one suspicious circumstance. The great iron slidingdoors at the entrance to the court-house were drawn and barred. The thirty-two windowsand especially the sixteen on the side next the hotel-had their iron shutters nearly closed, leaving an opening only a few inches wide. Through these interstices nothing could be seen in the darkness of the interior. The building was wrapped in gloomy silence-an unusual occurrence, and one that boded danger. All the attention of the mob was directed to the passage between the hotel and the courthouse, for the reason that it was the wider and the first arrived at. With the exception of a space of sufficient width to admit a carriage, there are chains stretched, from post to post, across the entrance to this passage. They were probably placed there to protect the grass and shrubbery occupying the ground not taken by the graveled drive. Now, that portion of the chain fence, always left open for carriages, was on this particular day closed. This fence was by no means a trifling obstacle to the mob. There were two chains, one below and the other above, the upper chain striking a man's leg just above the knee. The chains were not stretched taut, but hung rather loose, making a treacherous object over which to step, especially if the least haste should be exercised. The posts were large, and were sunk deep in the ground, which is paved with asphaltum, and the chains were strong. The mob halted in front of the court-house, and endeavored to organize, but no leader showed himself. After some minutes of loud talking, and hurrying to and fro, about seventy men, armed with axes, formed in front of the fence of chains. Then the great iron door opened sufficiently to permit one man to pass out. Casserly advanced alone and undaunted. He crossed the broad stone floor, shaded by the stately Corinthian columns of the piazza, descended the steps half way, and stood upon the granite landing there. He removed his hat, and raised his right hand high above his head, palm outward. This gesture and pose, in which respect was indicated by the bared head, and attention de The mob soon found itself moving by impulse upon the jail. Strange to say, although it had no plan, no organization, it was controlled and sustained by a few stern men, who, by going hither and thither, assiduously aggravated the spirit of outlawry that animated nearly every breast. The mob had no plan, but it had an object to take the prisoner from his cell, and hang him. This lack of preparation and organization was not accidental, as will present-manded by the uplifted arm, sent silence ly appear. through the crowd. "Men," said Casserly, his voice penetrating to the farthest limits of the densely packed throng, deep, powerful, and deliberate, "you are about to attempt...a deed...of violence and bloodshed. Are you...mad? You would... The mob rolled along First Street toward the jail, with shouts, cries, and curses. It maintained solidity, as contact sustained courage. When it arrived at the court-house, everything seemed deserted, and nothing appeared to prevent a consummation of the deed. Neverthe-vindicate justice by...trampling it...under foot. Leave the law... to take its course. I speak to you...as a friend. And I give... this...solemn ...warning... once...and for all: That if you enter...that passage...the roof of yonder jail ...and these sixteen windows... will pour down upon you...volleys of leaden death...that will strew the ground. . . with your...dead bodies... and render...your firesides desolate...and your children...fatherless. Heed that warning. Go quietly...to your homes. If you...disregard it ...God have mercy...on you! I will do...my duty." Having finished, he watched the effect. An awful silence followed. At this moment, when the conflict might have been averted, and when order seemed about to be restored, a man was seen running along the street, bearing aloft a large piece of canvas, stretched upon a frame. The profound silence that prevailed allowed his voice to ring through the throng like a bell, as he shouted: "Read! read! read!" All eyes were turned upon him. The canvas bore this startling announcement, in large letters, daubed hastily with a marking-brushcoming from none knew what source, nor by whose authority: "At nine strokes of the Fire-bell Howard will be hanged." The man continued to shout: "At nine strokes he will be hanged! Read! read! At nine strokes! Hanged! hanged!" What did it mean? Perhaps nothing. Men stared at it. Many shuddered. There stood the jail, and in it was the murderer. The mob had only this to do: to crush the shell, take out the kernel, and roast it. Perhaps the notice was intended to impart zest to the undertaking, to pour oil upon the fire that was threatened with being smothered by Casserly's broad hand. The man was surrounded. "What do you mean?" was breathlessly asked by a hundred voices. Casserly. Finding that he could proceed no farther, he picked up a small stone, wrapped a narrow strip of paper around it, inclosed this in a larger piece, making the whole firm and solid, and threw the ball at Casserly. It struck one of the stone steps behind Casserly, and bounded to his feet. At first he thought it was a missile, but the fact that a paper ball should strike with such force attracted his attention, and he picked it up. He removed the outer covering, secured the narrow slip, and read the following, written hastily with a pencil: "Keep them at bay thirty minutes longer. If necessary, give them a volley of blank cartridges. Above all, we warn you, in the name of the people, not to harm a hair of their heads. If they crowd past you, let them attack the jail; you know it can't be broken open. By that time we will come to your assistance. "A HUNDRED CITIZENS." Casserly was sore perplexed at the appearance of the mysterious notice; he was troubled at reading the note. He was in utter ignorance as to who was the sender, and why it was sent. His anxiety amounted almost to despair. Was it a trick? The jail certainly was strong enough to resist an attack; and, after all, it would be terrible to sacrifice human life in the manner contemplated by him. If it was a snare, what was to be gained? The note said, "It can't be broken open." No one was more fully aware of that fact than Casserly, and the strength of the jail was increased a hundred fold by Casserly's muskets. He turned, and disappeared through the door, which closed behind him, swallowing him up. Then he reflected seriously. Perhaps the note came from friends, who were organizing; but why was no name signed? He saw that his position was a grave one. He resolved to follow the advice of the note to this extent: he would fire blank volleys, and, if that failed, he would Occupy the windows in the rear of the courthouse, and with powder and ball prevent the demolition of the jail. For (he reasoned), admit that the man is deserving of death, is that a circumstance to be taken into account in this emergency? No. The grand idea, that preponderated against all others, was the prevention of an outrage upon the sanctity of the law. Casserly was a conscientious officer-if, in all truth, there is such a thing. There is no popular idea so erroneous as that an officer of the law is the servant of the people. He is the under-servant of the law, which is the real servant of the people. In other words, he is a bloodhound employed by the law. The law is just; it is the concentrated wisdom of ages. Sitting only in judgment, not in condemnation-search and the increasing noise showed that the lion had couched to spring. The front advanced, pushed from behind, furious, loud, and bloodthirsty. The chains were reached. Forty or fifty men attempted to step over, but the crowd their balance, and others tumbled over them, tripped to the ground; the crowd pressed on, not allowing sufficient time for those in front to clear the treacherous barrier of chains. At this moment, when this unforeseen accident had caused some confusion to arise, a paper ball suddenly flew from the window that Casserly had recently vacated, struck the hotel, bounded into a small tree near the barrier, and fell at the feet of the mob. ing neither for crime nor for virtue, but waiting patiently until it shall be called upon to decide what is right and what is wrong-it scorns to be called by any other name than Justice. Between the law and its minister there is this difference the law presumes innocence till guilting from the rear caused some of them to lose is proved; the officer acts on the presumption of guilt till innocence is established. The law is the theory; the officer is the practice. Why is this? The answer is simple: the law is wise, the officer is something less-he is merely human; the one has intelligence, the other a heart; the one is devoid of pride and vanity, the breast of the other rankles with these infirmities. The officer, being less honest than the law, betrays it to society and his own vanity. It is pride that leads him to seek conviction rather than justice. The modern district-ing attorney is the most striking example of this incongruity between the name and the thing, the idea and the reality. He draws his salary in the name of justice, but secretly looks upon it as blood-money. But the officer's aim is to hang according to law. In this lies his pride, and to this end will he exert his energies. Consequently, although he will preserve a malefactor from the jaws of a hungry mob, he will the next moment cheerfully adjust the hangman's noose under a proper judicial edict. Some time was required to relieve the mob of the dampening effect of Casserly's terrible warning and the surprise of the mysterious notice, and it saw death lurking behind the iron shutters of the sixteen windows. The moments flew rapidly. The air seemed stifling with the sickening odor of warm blood. The advance was finally made upon the fence of chains. The upper front window was flung wide open, and Casserly again appeared to give a final warning; but before he had time to utter a word, a shot was fired from below, full at his breast. It was the first shot of the conflict. The ball struck that side of the double shutter that opened toward the jail, glanced upward, and buried itself in the window-casing, leaving an elongated grayish spot on the iron shutter. It had passed within six inches of Casserly's head. It was too late to say anything more. Casserly closed the shutter. The battle had opened. The cowardly shot and Casserly's retreat had the effect of counteracting all hesitancy on the part of the mob, which yelled wildly, and which began to condense and to press forward. The men with axes occupied the front, but their ranks had been decimated by Casserly's impressive warning; their places, however, were immediately filled by men armed with all manner of strange weapons, snatched hastily here and there. The gradual rising of excitement "I wonder what this is," said a rioter, stoopto pick it up. His hand had not reached it when there came a terrific crash from the sixteen windows; the paper ball was a signal. Casserly had poured his fire into the mob. The effect was wonderful: the mob fell back upon itself, crushing and grinding, howling, cursing, and paralyzed with terror; the wildest confusion reigned. Presently, however, it was discovered that not a man had received a scratch. Many who were fleeing in wild dismay checked their flight. After some delay order was restored; but there was an absence of that reckless and fearful determination that had heretofore characterized the attack. Men sustained and encouraged one another by incendiary utterances. The crowd, which had been scattered over a large area, embracing the greater part of First Street, between St. John and St. James, again began to assume close order and to concentrate toward the front. One man, who had dropped his axe, more hardy than the others, advanced stealthily to recover it; but a single shot, the ball from which struck the pavement at his feet, caused him to beat a hasty retreat. The shot was aimed to miss. Then came a reaction-one quite natural, and that might have been expected. The terror inspired by the blank volley gradually gave way to anger. The idea diffused itself that Casserly was endeavoring to frighten men as he would children. Manhood rebelled against such indignity. The impression took root that Casserly dared not fire upon them; that the stake for which he played did not warrant a wholesale slaughter. Casserly knew the man was guilty, and that he deserved to suffer the direst vengeance of outraged society. Casserly was but as other men; he also had a home, was an integer of society; he should naturally concur in steps taken to remove a cancer from the body politic. Therefore, while, for the sake of de cency, he ostentatiously interposed his opposi- | tion to irregular chastisement for a heinous crime, he must at heart have sympathized with this movement, which met no hinderance elsewhere. By this course of reasoning, the mob was led into a serious error. The crowd again bubbled and seethed, its venom returned. Much valuable time had already been lost. Two men were standing in St. James Square, anxiously watching the result of the attack, and pale with expectation. One of these was Judge Simon. He remarked to his companion: "They are preparing to renew the attack." "It is terrible!" "See! They are advancing again." "Casserly will shoot them down like dogs." They stood thus, painfully absorbed in the preparations for the second advance. Suddenly Judge Simon violently started, the pallor of his cheeks changing to the hue of death. "Listen," he said, hardly above a whisper. "What is it?" up from two thousand voices: "The murderer is dead!" All eyes were turned upon a ghastly spectacle, that displayed its hideousness under the very eyes of the riot. A body swung by the neck from a beam that ran out horizontally from the ridge of the roof of the old San José Theater. This building is situated on First Street, near the corner of St. James. It is an old barnlike wooden building, erected about twenty-five years ago by James Stark, the actor. It was the first theater built in San José. It was a famous place of amusement in bygone days, and many actors of renown have trod its rattling boards. It is now used for a carriage factory. The old planks are overlapped-the way in which houses were built in early days—and in some places they are warped and twisted with age. It is not more than three or four hundred yards from the court-house. Hence, the body, that swung so limp and helpless, was in plain view of the mob, which rushed pellmell to the scene. There it hung, slowly turning from side to side. The head and face were entirely concealed by a cap, or cowl. The body was neatly dressed in black. A rope was wrapped around the legs, and the arms were pinioned to the sides by another rope that encircled the body several times. Two placards were attached to it-one upon the breast and the other upon the back. They were made of large pieces of white pasteboard, with irregular letters daubed upon them, large enough to be read a considerable distance, and each bearing this notice: "Howard, the Woman-Murderer." The placard upon the back was secured by a string passed through the upper edge, the loop being thrown around the neck. That upon the breast was differently attached, and in a manner so cruel, so revolting, that upon seeing the sickening spectacle a shudder ran through the crowd. It was pinned to the breast with a hunter's knife, driven straight in to the hilt. At the moment when Judge Simon's companion suggested that the sounding of the bell was Casserly's ruse, the latter remarked to a friend: They waited in breathless silence for another stroke. They listened in vain. Had Casserly in reality acted on the notice, and, to mislead the mob, sounded the alarm that tolled the Ideath of Howard? The alarm had risen above the tumult of the riot. The mob was stupefied, but uncertain. It groped in the dark, fearing treachery, yet hopeful that the bell had clanged out the alarum of the people's vengeance. A loud cheering was heard in the direction of Santa Clara Street. It flew from mouth to mouth, entered the mob, and was there taken | mob." up and swelled a thousand fold. It scattered the mob like a fire-brand among wolves. The attack was abandoned, and the cry went up "That is very strange." "It is." "It must be somebody's ruse to draw of the The man looked knowingly at Casserly, and said: "I suppose you did it." "I did not." |