No help from Heydenfeldt.
Parsons said, "Many witnesses could be brought to testify in a court of law, stating the innocence of James Casey, a duly elected county commissioner. They will not come forward here, fearing for their very lives. We therefore petition this tribunal to arraign this prisoner into proper custody and to hold him over for trial by a duly seated state judge."
No help from Heydenfeldt.
Coleman leaned back and consulted privately with the judge, maybe a full minute. He turned back with a conciliatory tone. "Mr. Parsons, we agree with the spirit and legal merit of your petition. However, it has been made clear during the days following the shooting of James King of William that, upon his death, the city hall and jail would have been burned to the ground to get at this prisoner.
“After a lengthy debate with this city's mayor, Henry Teschemacher, and with this city's first chief of police, James Curtis, with State Assemblyman John Downey, with City Alderman John Myerson . . ." He nodded to his left and right, the men seated next to him. "And with many others, we determined the best possible course of action was to take this prisoner into custody and to try him immediately. Any other course would have certainly brought about wide-spread rioting, the violent death of this prisoner, and the insertion of United States Marines, who are now stationed aboard a Naval vessel in the bay.
"We must, therefore, perform our duty to the overall peace and tranquility of this city. Your petition is denied." He gaveled once.
Parsons said, "As I have already stated, no defense witnesses were willing to appear before this tribunal, fearing this unruly mob would tear them limb from limb.
"In our client's defense, we will state for the record what is obvious to any lawful, open-minded citizen. The accused, James Casey, is an upright citizen in good standing, a prominent member of the County Board of Supervisors, and the editor of one of this city's leading newspapers, the Sunday Times.
"Although he was slandered by the editor of the Evening Bulletin, the now-deceased James King of William, an admittedly beloved citizen of this city, it is unthinkable that he would be shot by James Casey, a man of words. Any such accusation would be false and libelous." Parsons sat.
Coleman said, "Thank you, Mr. Parsons. We will now call our first witness, Kenneth Bolton."
A burly man in a tight fitting, dark brown suit climbed onto the stage, took the oath, and sat.
Coleman said, "For the record, state your name and occupation."
"I'm Kenny Bolton. I work over at the new steel mill in the Mission District."
"How long have you lived in San Francisco?"
"Since July of last year. I came across Panama from New York."
"So, you are formerly a resident of that state, New York?"
"Yes sir. New York City."
"What did you do there?"
"You mean as work, before I was . . ."
"Sure. Tell us your former occupation."
"I tended bar in lower Manhattan."
"I see. Can you identify anyone in this hall that you knew in New York?"
"Yes sir. I knew James Casey." He pointed in the direction of the defense table.
"That's a lie." Casey's angry voice brought vivid memories of the day Casey had gunned down James King of William.
Coleman said, "Mr. Felton, Mr. Parsons, please control your client. If you wish, he may testify in his own defense after we've heard from all of our prosecution witnesses." He turned his attention back to Bolton. "Now, Mr. Bolton, from where and under what circumstances did you come to know James Casey, this prominent member of the County Board of Supervisors?"
"We were roommates for five years, sir."
"Where was this?"
"Sing-Sing State Penitentiary, sir."
"That's a dirty lie!" shouted Casey.
Coleman glared in the direction of the defense table and held up a document. "I have here a response to an inquiry made by the editor of the Bulletin. It is an officially sealed copy of the sentencing and imprisonment of one James Casey. We will place this into evidence at this time." He slapped the document onto the table with the flat of his hand, angry over Casey's second outburst. "If your client is unable to control his vile temper, we will be forced to remove him from this tribunal."
Coleman turned back to the witness. "Where were we?" He looked at his notes. "Oh, yes. You two were cellmates at the New York State Penitentiary at Sing-Sing?"
"Yes sir."
"Just for the record, why were you there?"
"I hit a man in a fight, sir."
"You spent five years in prison just for hitting a man?"
"Well, sir, he said some bad things about my lady friend and I hit him so hard, it killed him."
A few nervous chuckles spread across the hall and fell away to silence.
"I see. So, did he ever talk about the reasons for his imprisonment?"
"Yes sir, nearly every day. I got tired hearing about it. It was some kind of stock scheme he cooked up with a New York City councilman—something about embezzling money from the city fund."
"Yes!" Coleman slapped the document he'd just placed into evidence, confirming the testimony of the witness. He turned to the defense table. "You have any questions for this witness?"
"Yes," said Felton, too short a man for Mikhail to see. "Mr. . . Bolton, was it?"
"Yes."
"You say the defendant, James Casey, spoke with you on a daily basis about the reasons for his incarceration."
"You mean, why he was at Sing-Sing?"
"Exactly."
"Yes sir. Nearly every day."
"I assume, like most inmates, he was testifying as to his innocence. Did you never think he might be telling the truth?"
"I always knew he was telling the truth."
"So, you believe him to be innocent of the crimes for which he was convicted?"
"No sir."
"Was he or was he not attesting to his innocence?"
"No sir. He was more bragging about the brilliance of his scheme; of how it was the councilman's fault for him getting caught."
Soft laughter and murmuring crossed the hall.
Coleman gaveled for silence.
Felton said, "I have no further questions for this witness."
Coleman turned to Bolton. "You may step down."
Bolton stood and climbed down from the stage.
Coleman said, "We now call William Cahill."
Young Billy climbed onto the stage wearing a new suit, probably purchased by Molly. He spotted Warner's tall plug hat and smiled at Mikhail. He raised his right hand, took his oath, and sat in the witness chair.
Coleman looked through some papers, then looked at Billy. "For the record, tell us your name and occupation."
"I'm Billy Cahill. I work over at the Daily Evening Bulletin."
"What is it you do there?"
"I set type in the press."
"How long have you worked there?"
"Since last year, sir."
"So, you knew James King of William?"
"Yes sir. He's the one who hired me."
"How was it he came to hire you? You're just a boy."
"Yes sir. He's friends with Mike Zabel. Count Mike."
Many men turned to look at Mikhail. He did not know them.
Billy said, "He's the one who got me the job. He's the one who taught me to read and write in the first place."
"How long have you known Michael Zabel?"
"More than a year; since he was taken in by Mrs. O'Brien. He was near dead at the time. Some of the men were betting on whether or not he'd pull through."
"So, you would know Michael Zabel if you saw him?"
"Yes sir." Billy looked and pointed. "That's him standing with Monkey Warner."
"I think you mean Abe Warner."
"Yes sir. Some people call him Monkey Warner because he's got two monkeys over at the Cobweb Palace."
"Have you ever seen Michael Zabel and James King of William together?"
&nbs
p; "Yes sir. They were good friends."
"When was the last time you saw them together, and where?"
"Late yesterday. I was up at Mr. King's apartment when Mr. Warner and Count Mike came up for a visit."
"Did you ever see them together before Mr. King was shot?"
"Yes sir."
"When and where . . . the last time before he was shot?"
"It was that Sunday afternoon at the Bulletin. We just put the first run onto the street and were loading the wagons in back for the second distribution."
"Which Sunday was that, son?"
"Oh, sorry, sir. It was May 4th."
"What time?"
"Count Mike came in around 4:30 in the afternoon. I told him Mr. King was in his office. They came out to the loading dock together and watched us leave on the last wagon."
"Was that on the same afternoon that James King of William was shot?"
"Yes sir."
Coleman looked toward the defense table, inviting them to ask questions. "No? Okay. Let the record show that the defense has no questions for this witness at this time."
He nodded to Billy, "You may step down."
Billy left the stage.
Coleman said, "We now call Michael Zabel."
Men gave way as Mikhail went forward and ascended the stage. He placed his left hand on a Bible and raised his right hand.
The clerk said, "Do you swear to tell the truth?"
"I do." They both sat.
James Casey sat between tall and slender Parson's and short, fat Felton. Both lawyers dressed well. Casey stared angry hate at Mikhail.
I don't mind.
Mikhail's stare caused Casey to look away.
Coleman said, "For the record, tell us your name and occupation."
Not wanting to add confusion, Mikhail said, "I am Michael Zabel. I work at the Palace on Meigg's Wharf."
"Are you now known or have you ever been known by any other name?"
"Yes. I am Major, the Count Mikhail Diebitsch-Zabalkansky, former artillery officer in the armies of Czar Alexander Nikolaievich, emperor of all Russia."
A rush of chatter filled the crowded hall.
Near the back wall, behind Abe Warner, two large men pushed quickly through the crowd, both wearing gray coats with fur collars, too warm for this day in May. They both donned black fox caps and stopped near the door to look at Mikhail before they left.
Chapter Twenty
Shortly before 10:00 a.m. on May 22, 1856, Billy Cahill, one of several ushers, met Mikhail and Molly on the crowded front steps of the City of Gold Baptist Church. He ushered them to reserved seats in the second row, having been honored by Charlotte King to join James King's family and closest friends.
The crowded sanctuary overflowed into the throng of citizens along California Street, suffering cold, drizzling rain to pay tribute to one of San Francisco's true champions.
The pastor finished reading from the Gospel of John, the passage about faith and salvation, and stepped down.
The first speaker, U.S. Senator David C. Broderick, rumored to be the virtual dictator of San Francisco, extolled King's contributions to the city, his unimpeachable integrity, and his blistering editorials, often having been directed against the senator for past coining practices. The senator claimed the federal mint now followed the same coining practices previously condemned in editorials by the deceased. He liked himself more than he liked James King of William.
Unhappy murmurs rumbled through the sanctuary.
Mikhail doubted the senator's objectionable comments.
The senator ignored the negative reaction and extolled Jim's courageous editorial expositions of scoundrels, both public and private.
". . . such as James P. Casey, who is to be hung by the neck from the roof of the mining exchange immediately following Jim's inhumation."
State Assemblyman John Downey spoke of the contributions and influence James King conveyed during debates over a public currency; of how his steadfast integrity led to the establishment of one of the most trusted and stable currencies in the world, the gold-backed U.S. dollar.
Colonel William Tell Coleman spoke of King's influence on local justice and how his untimely death would serve as a righteous banner to bring about lawful change. He also credited Jim with having helped to create the People's Party, which had already affiliated with the emerging national Republican Party, a party dedicated to the abolition of slavery. Coleman promised this movement would eventually stem the flood of immigrant slaves from China.
In closing, he said, "I'm sure, from our long years of friendship, Jim would have approved of the way the Committee of Vigilance conducted themselves during the recent expulsion of many of this city's worst elements, and how we also showed a small measure of charity by allowing Charles Cora to wed his beloved Belle. They were married yesterday and were allowed to spend his last day in guarded rooms at the Presidio."
The pastor gave a brief prayer and Charlotte climbed onto the altar to stand by Jim's casket. She looked at Mikhail. "Will the following men please carry Jim out?" She read from a list. "Mr. Michael Zabel, Mr. C.O. Gelberding . . ." (Gelberding was the publisher and owner of the Bulletin.) "Abe Warner, William Tell Coleman, John Downey, William Cahill, Dr. Richard Beverly Cole, and Mayor Henry F. Teschemacher."
C.O. Gelberding and Senator Broderick had purchased a beautifully polished Brazilian rosewood casket with cast gold handles, hinge straps, and corners, the finest coffin Mikhail had ever seen, fit for even the House of Romanov.
Four men on each side carried the heavy casket through the front doors of the church and slid it into the back of a polished black hearse.
Rain drizzled on Charlotte and their six children, all dressed in black, riding in an open carriage with the pastor. The hearse followed close behind.
Walking four abreast, Mikhail, Warner, Billy, and Coleman followed close behind the hearse. Gelberding, Downey, Teschemacher, and Dr. Cole followed close behind them. The cortege of men, women, and children marching four abreast, was more than a kilometer in length.
A few gravestones and wooden crosses under scattered pine trees stepped up the grassy hillside known as Lone Mountain Cemetery. Bundles of fresh flowers surrounded an open grave near the top. The horse-drawn hearse stopped near the grave and the poll bearers slid the coffin out, struggling across four wood planks laid over the grave until Coleman whispered, "About here is fine."
They watched each other and moved together, squatting together to set the casket on white canvas straps stretched across the wooden planks. Coleman nodded and they all stepped back.
They waited for the throng of followers to gather around.
The pastor said, "James King of William, travel well, good friend. We hope to visit you once again in that house not built by human hands; that house that stands eternal in the heavens, where our Father's house has many mansions." He opened one of two leather pouches and sprinkled blackened ashes onto the casket. He nodded.
The poll bearers gripped the canvas straps. Coleman nodded, they lifted the casket, and four other men slid the planks out of the way.
The pastor nodded.
The poll bearers lowered the casket into the ground and tossed the strap ends onto it.
The pastor opened his second pouch and sprinkled dirt onto the coffin. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. As from it we came, to it we must all return. In Jesus name, rest in peace, my friend."
Charlotte and her children showered the open grave with flowers.
James King of William had come to rest.
In a low gravelly voice, Coleman said, "Come on. There's work to be done."
COLD WIND DROVE LIGHT rain across the roof of the mining exchange under a gray sky. A heavy black storm approached off the Pacific Ocean, fitting to the occasion.
Thousands of men crowding the plaza below had been surrounded by ranks of armed vigilante volunteers at parade rest. All eyes stared at the roof parapet.
Belle Cora stood apart from the crowd, w
earing a black dress and veil.
Charlotte King and Jim's children had decided not to attend.
Two steel flagpoles had been tied across the roof parapet, properly braced and weighted on the rooftop. Lengths of rope had been secured to the ends of both, two meters past the parapet.
Warner and Coleman held the ends, each knotted with 13 wraps of rope; proper hangman's nooses.
John Drury and Police Chief Curtis brought the prisoners up, hands bound behind their backs. Charlies Cora blinked, eyes wild in disbelief over where his life had taken him.
The priest of Molly's Catholic Church followed them onto the roof. He nodded grimly at Mikhail. He'd already delivered their last rights.
Coleman stepped in front of Cora to slide a black hood over his head.
Cora dropped to his knees, fell sideways, and kicked at Coleman.
John Drury yanked Cora to his feet and Coleman pushed the hood over his dodging head. Drury walked Cora to the parapet.
Coleman draped the noose around Cora's neck.
Drury lifted him onto the parapet.
Warner adjusted the noose and checked the drape of the rope. Enough for a proper drop.
Cora's hooded head yanked sideways as he felt the weight of the rope around his neck. He raked his left foot across the edge of the parapet and tried to back away against John Drury's strength. He shrieked, "God, it was self defense. He stalked me for three days. I was acquitted. This shouldn't be happening."
Drury held his shoulders and waited.
Coleman moved to place a hood over James Casey's head.
Casey turned away and shook it off, defiant. He tried to spit at Mikhail, but had nothing to spit. "We'll see each other again. I promise you that."
Coleman and Chief Curtis dragged Casey onto the parapet.
Warner looped the noose around his neck.
Mikhail stepped in and synched the noose from behind. He checked the loop for drop.
Drury and Curtis held the prisoners and Coleman nodded.
Mikhail and Warner pushed them off.
"I promise you," shouted Casey, spinning in midair, glaring at Mikhail.
Both men reached rope's end, the flagpoles dipped slightly with audible snaps from below, and the poles sprang back. They'd both reached their end.
DELIBERATE JUSTICE: The American Way Page 19