Port O' Gold

by Louis J. Stellman

"No, no," she nestled closer. "It isn't money that I crave. We are happyhere. But"--she looked up at the portrait of Francisco Garvez, andBenito followed her glance. "What would he have you do?"

  "I promised him in thought," her husband said, "that I would help tobuild the city he loved. It was a prophecy," his tone grew dreamy, "aprophecy that he and his--the Garvez blood--should always stir in SanFrancisco's heart." Swiftly he rose and, standing very straight beforethe picture, raised his right hand to salute. "You are right," he said."He would have wanted me to be a soldier."

  But Alice shook her head. "The conquest is over," she told him. "SanFrancisco needs no gun nor saber now. In our courts and legislatures liethe future battlegrounds for justice. You must study law, Benito.... Iwant"--quick color tinged her face--"I want my--son to have afather who--"

  "Alice!" cried Benito. But she fled from him. The door of her bedroomclosed behind her. But it opened again very softly--"who makes hiscountry's laws," she finished, fervently.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  THE VIGILANCE COMMITTEE

  About 8 o'clock on the evening of February 19, 1851, two men entered thestore of C.J. Jansen & Co., a general merchandise shop on Montgomerystreet. The taller and older presented a striking figure. He was of suchheight that, possibly from entering many low doorways, he had acquired aslight stoop. His beard was long and dark, his hair falling to thecollar, was a rich and wavy brown. He had striking eyes, an aquilinenose and walked with a long, measured stride. Charles Jansen, alone inthe store, noted these characteristics half unconsciously and paidlittle attention to the smaller man who lurked behind his companion inthe shadows.

  "Show me some blankets," said the tall man peremptorily. Jansen did notlike his tone, nor his looks for that matter, but he turned toward ashelf where comforters, sheets and blankets were piled in orderly array.As he did so he heard a quick step behind him; the universe seemed tosplit asunder in a flash of countless stars. And then the worldturned black.

  Hours afterward his partner found him prone behind the counter, a greatbleeding cut on his head. The safe stood open and a hasty examinationrevealed the loss of $2,000 in gold dust and coin. Jansen was revivedwith difficulty and, after a period of delirium, described what hadoccurred. The next morning's Alta published a sensational account of theaffair, describing Jansen's assailant and stating that the victim'srecovery was uncertain.

  As Adrian, Benito and Samuel Brannan passed the new city hall on themorning of February 22, they noticed that a crowd was gathering. Peopleseemed to be running from all directions. Newsboys with huge armfuls ofmorning papers, thrust them in the faces of pedestrians, crying, "Extra!Extra! Assassins of Jansen caught." Adrian tossed the nearest lad atwo-bit piece and grasped the outstretched sheet. It related in heavyblackfaced type the arrest of "two scoundrelly assassins," one of whom,James Stuart, a notorious "Sydney Duck," was wanted in Auburn for themurder of Sheriff Moore. This was the man identified by Jansen. Heclaimed mistaken identity, however, insisting that his name wasThomas Berdue.

  "They'll let him go on that ridiculous plea, no doubt," remarkedBrannan, wrathfully. "There are always a dozen alibis and falsewitnesses for these gallows-birds. It's time the people were doingsomething."

  "It looks very much as though we _were_ doing something," said Benito,with a glance at the gathering crowd.

  There were shouts of "Lynch them! Bring them out and hang them to atree!" Someone thrust a handbill toward Benito, who grasped itmechanically. It read:

  CITIZENS OF SAN FRANCISCO

  The series of murders and robberies that have been committed in the city seems to leave us entirely in a state of anarchy. Law, it appears, is but a nonentity to be sneered at; redress can be had for aggression but through the never-failing remedy so admirably laid down in the Code of Judge Lynch.

  All those who would rid our city of its robbers and murderers will assemble on Sunday at 2 o'clock on the Plaza.

  "This means business," commented Adrian grimly. "It may mean worseunless their temper cools. I've heard this Stuart has a double. Theyshould give him time--"

  "Bosh!" cried Brannan, "they should string him up immediately." Hewaved the handbill aloft. "Hey, boys," he called out loudly, "let us goand take them. Let us have a little justice in this town."

  "Aye, aye," cried a score of voices. Instantly a hundred men rushed upthe stairs and pushed aside policemen stationed at the doors. Theystreamed inward, hundreds more pushing from the rear until the courtroom was reached. There they halted suddenly. Angry shouts broke fromthe rear. "What's wrong ahead? Seize the rascals. Bring them out!"

  But the front rank of that invading army paused for an excellent reason.They faced a row of bayonets with determined faces behind them. SheriffHayes had sensed the brewing troubles and had brought the WashingtonGuards quietly in at a rear entrance.

  So the crowd fell back and the first mob rush was baffled. Outside thepeople still talked angrily. At least a thousand thronged the courthouse, surrounding it with the determined and angry purpose of lettingno one escape. Mayor Geary made his way with difficulty through thepress and urged them to disperse. He assured them that the law wouldtake its proper course and that there was no danger of the prisoners'release or escape. They listened to him respectfully but very few lefttheir posts. Here and there speakers addressed the multitude.

  The crowd, the first fever abated, had resolved itself into asemi-parliamentary body. But no real leader had arisen. And so itarrived at nothing save the appointment of a committee to confer withthe authorities and insure the proper guarding of the prisoners. Brannanwas one of these and Benito another.

  "Windham's getting to be a well-known citizen," said a bystander toAdrian, "I hear he's studying law with Hall McAllister. Used to be adreamy sort of chap. He's waking up."

  "Yes, his wife is at the bottom of it," Stanley answered.

  Sunday morning 8,000 people surrounded the courthouse. Less turbulentthan on the previous day, their purpose was more grimly certain.

  Mayor Geary's impressive figure appeared on the balcony of the courthouse. He held out a hand for silence and amid the hush that followed,spoke with brevity and to the point.

  "The people's will is final," he conceded, "but this very fact entailsresponsibility, noblesse oblige! What we want is justice, gentlemen.Now, I'll tell you how to make it sure. Appoint a jury of twelve menfrom among yourselves. Let them sit at the trial with the presidingjudge. Their judgment shall be final. I pledge you my word for that."

  He ceased and again the crowd began murmuring. A tall, smooth-shavenyouth began to talk with calm distinctness.

  There was about him the aspect of command. People ceased their talk tolisten. "I move you, gentlemen," he shouted, "that a committee of twelvemen be appointed from amongst us to retire and consider this situationcalmly. They shall then report and if their findings are approved, theyshall be law."

  "Good! Good!" came a chorus of voices. "Hurray for Bill Coleman. Makehim chairman."

  Coleman bowed. "I thank you, gentlemen," he said, then crisply, like somany whip-cracks, he called the names of eleven men. One by one theyanswered and the crowd made way for them. Silently and in a bodythey departed.

  "There's a leader for you," exclaimed Adrian to his brother-in-law.Benito nodded, eyes ashine with admiration. Presently there was a stiramong the crowd. The jury was returning. "Well, gentlemen," the mayorraised his voice, "what is the verdict?"

  Coleman answered: "We recommend that the prisoners be tried by thepeople. If the legal courts wish to aid they're invited. Otherwise weshall appoint a prosecutor and attorney for the prisoners. The trialwill take place this afternoon."

  "Hurray! Hurray!" the people shouted. The cheers were deafening.

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE PEOPLE'S JURY

  Benito, as he elbowed his way through a crowd which ringed the city hallthat afternoon, was impressed by the terrific tight-lipped determinationof those faces all about him. It was as though San
Francisco had but onethought, one straight, relentless purpose--the punishment of crime byMosaic law. The prisoners in the county jail appeared to sense this waveof retributive hatred, for they paced their cells like caged beasts.

  It was truly a case of "The People vs. Stuart (alias Berdue) andWindred," charged with robbery and assault. Coleman and his Committee ofTwelve were in absolute charge. They selected as judges, three popularand trusted citizens, J.R. Spence, H.R. Bowie and C.L. Ross. W.A. Joneswas named the judge's clerk and J.E. Townes the whilom sheriff.

  While the jury was impaneling, Brannan spoke to Benito: "Twelve good menand true; the phrase means something here. Lord, if we could have suchjurymen as these in all our American courts."

  Benito nodded. "They've appointed Bill Coleman as public prosecutor;that's rather a joke on Bill."

  Judge Spence, who sat between his two colleagues, presiding on thebench, now spoke:

  "I appoint Judge Shattuck and--er--Hall McAllister as counsel for thedefendants."

  There was a murmur of interest. Judge Shattuck, dignified, a trifleponderous, came forward, spectacles in hand. He put them on, surveyedhis clients with distaste, and took his place composedly at the table.Hall McAllister, dapper, young and something of a dandy, advanced withless assurance. He would have preferred the other side of the case, forhe did not like running counter to the people.

  Amid a stir the prisoners were led forward to the dock. Judge Spence,looking down at them over his spectacles, read the charges. "Are youguilty or not guilty?" he asked.

  Windred, the younger, with a frightened glance about the court room,murmured almost inaudibly, "Not guilty." The other, in a deep andpenetrating voice, began a sort of speech. It was incoherent, agonized.Benito thought it held a semblance of sincerity.

  "Always, your honor," he declared, "I am mistaken for that scoundrel;that Stuart.... I am a decent man ... but what is the use? I say it'sterrible...."

  "Judge" Spence removed his eyeglasses and wiped them nervously; "doesanyone in the courtroom recognize this man as Thomas Berdue?"

  There was silence. Then a hand rose. "I do," said the voice of awaterfront merchant. "I've done business with him under that name."

  Immediately there was an uproar. "A confederate," cried voices. "Put himout." A woman's voice in the background shrieked out shrilly, "Hanghim, too!"

  McAllister rose. "There must be order here," he said, commandingly andthe tumult subsided. McAllister addressed Berdue's sponsor. "Can youbring anyone else to corroborate your testimony?"

  The merchant, red and angry, cried: "It's nothing to me; hang him and bedamned--if you don't want the truth. I'm not looking for trouble." Heturned away but the prisoner called to him piteously. "Don't desert me.Find Jones or Murphy down at the long wharf. They'll identify me....Hurry! Hurry! ... or they'll string me up!"

  "All right," agreed the other reluctantly. He left the court room andJudge Shattuck moved a postponement of the case.

  "Your honor," William Coleman now addressed the court, "this is noordinary trial. Ten thousand people are around this courthouse. They arethere because the public patience with legal decorum is exhausted;however regular and reasonable my colleague's plea might be in ordinarycircumstances, I warn you that to grant it will provoke disorder."

  Judge Shattuck, startled, glanced out of the window and conferred withHall McAllister.

  "I withdraw my petition," he said hurriedly. The case went on.

  Witnesses who were present when the prisoners were identified by Jansengave their testimony. There was little cross-examination, thoughMcAllister established Jansen's incomplete recovery of his mentalfaculties when the men were brought before him. Coleman pointed out thestriking appearance of the older prisoner; there was little chance toerr he claimed in such a case. The record of James Stuart was then dweltupon; a history black with evil doing, red with blood. The jury retiredwith the sinister determined faces of men who have made up their minds.

  Meanwhile, outside, the crowd stood waiting, none too patiently. Now andthen a messenger came to the balcony and shouted out the latest aspectof the drama being enacted inside. The word was caught up by the firstauditor, passed along to right and left until the whole throng knew andspeculated on each bit of information.

  Adrian, caught in the outer eddies of that human maelstrom, foundhimself beside Juana Briones. "The jury's out," she told him. "Jury'sout!" the word swept onward. Then there came a long and silent wait.Once again the messenger appeared. "Still out," he bellowed, "havingtrouble." "What's the matter with them?" a score of voices shouted.Presently the messenger returned. His face was angry, almost apoplectic.One could see that he was having difficulty with articulation. He wavedhis hands in a gesture of impotent wrath. At last he found his voice andshouted, "Disagreed. The jury's disagreed."

  An uproar followed. "Hang the jury!" cried an irate voice. A rush wasmade for the entrance. But two hundred armed, determined men opposed theonslaught. The very magnitude of the human press defeated its own ends.Men cried aloud that they were being crushed. Women screamed.

  Soon or late the defenders must have fallen. But now a strange diversionoccurred. On the balcony appeared General Baker, noted as the city'sgreatest orator. In his rich, sonorous tones, he began a politicalspeech. It rang even above the excited shouts of the mob. Instantlythere was a pause, an almost imperceptible let-down of the tension.Those who could not see asked eagerly of others, "What's the matter now?Who's talking?"

  "It's Ed Baker making a speech."

  Someone laughed. A voice roared. "Rah for Ed Baker." Others took it up.

  Impulsive, variable as the wind, San Francisco found a new adventure. Itlistened spellbound to golden eloquence, extolling the virtues of afavored candidate. Meanwhile Acting Sheriff Townes rushed his prisonersto the county jail without anyone so much as noticing their departure.

  Presently three men came hurrying up and with difficulty made their wayinto the court room.

  "Good God! Are we too late?" the leader of the trio asked, excitedly. Hewas the waterfront merchant who had recognized Berdue.

  "Too late for the trial," returned Coleman; "it's over; the jury'sdismissed. Disagreed."

  "And what are they doing outside?" cried the other, "are they hangingthe prisoners?"

  "No, the prisoners are safe," returned Coleman, "though they had aclose enough shave, I'll admit." He laid a hand upon Benito's shoulderand there came a twinkle to his eyes. "Our young friend here had aninspiration--better than a hundred muskets. He sent Ed Baker out tocharm them with his tongue."

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  THE RECKONING

  It was June on the rancho Windham. Roses and honeysuckle climbed thepillars and lattices of the patio; lupin and golden poppies dotted thehillsides. Cloud-plumes waved across the faultless azure of a Californiasummer sky and distant to the north and east, a million spangled flecksof sunlight danced upon the bay.

  David Broderick sat on a rustic bench, his eyes on Alice Windham. Hethought, with a vague stirring of unrecognized emotion that she seemedthe spirit of womanhood in the body of a fay.

  "A flower for your thoughts," she paraphrased and tossed him a rose.Instinctively he pressed it to his lips. He saw her color rise andturned away. For a moment neither spoke.

  "My thoughts," he said at length, "have been of evil men and trickeryand ambition. I realize that, always, when I come here--when I see you,Alice Windham. For a little time I am uplifted. Then I go back to mydevious toiling in the dark."

  A shadow crossed her eyes, but a smile quickly chased it away. "You area fine man, David Broderick," she said, "brave and wonderful and strong.Why do you stoop to--"

  "To petty politics?" his answering smile was rueful. "Because I must--togain my ends. To climb a hill-top often one must go into a valley.That is life."

  "No, that is sophistry," her clear, straight glance was on himsearchingly. "You tell me that a statesman must be first a politician;that a politician must consort with rowdies, ballot-box stuffers,ga
mblers--even thieves. David Broderick, you're wrong. Women have theirintuitions which are often truer than men's logic." She leaned forward,laid a hand half shyly on his arm. "I know this much, my friend: Assurely as you climb your ladder with the help of evil forces, just sosurely will they pull you down."

  It was thus that Benito came upon them. "Scolding Dave again?" Hequestioned merrily, "What has our Lieutenant-Governor been doing now?"

  "Consorting with rowdies, gamblers, ballot-box stuffers--not to mentionthieves, 'twould seem," said Broderick with a forced laugh. AliceWindham's eyes looked hurt. "He has accused himself," she saidwith haste.

  "You're always your own worst critic, Dave," Benito said. "I want totell you something: The Vigilance Committee forms this afternoon."

  The other's eyes flashed. "What is that to me?" he asked, with someasperity.

  "Only this," retorted Windham. "The committee means business; it's goingto clean up the town--" Broderick made as if to speak but checked hisutterance. Benito went on: "I tell you, Dave, you had better cut loosefrom your crowd. Some of them are going to get into trouble. You can'tafford to have them running to you--calling you their master."

  He took from his pocket a folded paper. "We've been drafting aconstitution, Hall McAllister and I." He read the rather stereotypedbeginning. Broderick displayed small interest until Benito reached theconclusion:

  WE ARE DETERMINED THAT NO THIEF, BURGLAR, INCENDIARY OR ASSASSIN 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.