The Gray Dawn

S >> Stewart Edward White >> The Gray Dawn

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She paid no attention to this, but advanced two steps into the room.

"Which side are you on, anyway?" she asked abruptly and a little harshly.

Sansome raised his eyebrows in faint and fastidious surprise.

"Dear lady, what do you mean?"

"The only thing I can mean in these times: are you with the Law and Order,
or with the Committee of Vigilance?"

Sansome shrugged his shoulders whimsically and sank back into his chair.

"How can you ask that, dear lady?" he begged pathetically. "You would not
class me with the rabble, I hope."

But Nan did not in the slightest degree respond to the lightness of his
tone. Her own was cold and detached.

"I do not know how to class you," she said. "But I asked you a question."

Sansome arose to his feet again. His manner now became sympathetic, but
into it had crept the least hint of resentment,

"I don't understand your mood" he told her. "You are overwrought."

Nan's self-control slipped by ever so little. She did not actually stamp
her foot, but her delivery of her next speech achieved that for her.

"Will you answer me?" she demanded. "Which side, are you on?"

"I am on the side every gentleman is on," replied Sansome, a trifle stung.
"The side of the law."

"Then," she cried, with a sudden intensity, "why weren't you there--on your
side--defending the jail?' Why are you here?"

Ben Sansome's knowledge of women was wide, and he therefore imagined it
profound. Here he recognized the symptoms of hysteria; cause unknown. He
adopted the lightly soothing.

"I thought I was asked here!" he cried with quizzical mock pathos.

She stared at him a contemplative instant so steadily that he coloured. She
was not seeing him, however; she was seeing Keith, standing with his
fellows in the open, under the walls of the jail and its hidden guns. With
a short laugh she turned away.

"You were," said she. "Help yourself to tea. As you say, I am overwrought.
I am going to lie down."

Her one compelling instinct now was to get away from him before something
in her brain snapped. He became soothing.

"Won't you have a cup of tea first?" he urged. "It will do you good."

"A cup of tea!" she repeated with deadly calm. It seemed such an ending to
such a day! She tried to laugh, but strangled in her throat; and she bolted
wildly from the room, leaving Ben Sansome staring.

LXII

Nan's high exaltation of spirit, which still soared at the altitude to
which the events of the afternoon had lifted it, next expressed itself in a
characteristically feminine manner: she picked flowers in the garden,
arranged them, placed them effectively, set the table herself, lighted the
lamps, touched a match to the wood fire always comfortable in San Francisco
evenings, slightly altered the position of the chairs, visited Wing Sam
with fresh instructions. Gringo, who looked on all this as for his especial
benefit, took his place luxuriously before the grate. It was a cozy,
homelike scene. Then she dressed slowly and carefully in her most becoming
gown--the only gown Keith had ever definitely singled out for individual
praise--took especial pains with her hair, and finally descended to join
Gringo. The latter, as a greeting intended to show his entire confidence,
promptly rolled over to expose his vitals to her should it be her pleasure
to hurt a poor defenceless dog. He was a ridiculous sight, upside down, his
tongue lolling out, his eye rolled up at her adoringly. She laughed at him
a little, then leaned swiftly over to confide something in his ear.

But that evening Keith was late. The clock on the mantel chimed clearly the
hour, then the quarter and the half. Wing Sam came to protest aggreivedly
that "him glub catchum cold--you no wait!" Nan was severe with Wing Sam and
his suggestion--so unwontedly severe that Wing Sam returned to the kitchen
muttering darkly. He had caught the atmosphere of celebration, somehow, and
on his own-initiative had frosted with wonderful white a cake not yet cut,
and on the cake had carefully traced pink legends in Chinese and English
characters. The former was one of those conventional mottoes seen on every
laundry, club, and temple which would have translated "Health, long life,
and happiness"; the other Wing Sam had copied from a lithograph he much
admired. It read "Use Rising Sun Stove Polish." Glowering with resentment,
Wing Sam scraped the frosting from the cake.

At eight o'clock a small boy delivered a note at the door and scuttled back
to the centre of excitement. It was a scrawl from Keith, saying that he was
detained, would not be home to dinner, might not be in at all. Nan sat down
to a cold, belated meal served by a loftily disapproving Chinaman. She
tried to think of her pride in Keith, and the work he, in company with his
fellows, was doing for the city; to recall some of her exaltation of the
afternoon; but it was very difficult. Her little preparations were so much
nearer. The table, the flowers, the shaded lamps, the fire on the hearth,
her gown, the twist of her hair, all mocked her anticipations. In spite of
herself her spirits went down to zero. She could not eat, she could not
even sit at the table through the service of the various courses. Midway in
the meal she threw aside her napkin and returned abruptly to the drawing-
room. The fire was snapping merrily on the hearth. Gringo opened his eyes
at her entrance, recognized his beloved mistress, and rolled over as usual,
all four legs in the air, his tender stomach confidingly exposed, for Who
could be so brutal as to hurt a poor, defenceless dog? Nan kicked him
pettishly in the ribs. Gringo stopped panting, and drew in his tongue, but
otherwise did not shift his posture. This was, of course, a mistake. Nan
kicked him again. Gringo rose deliberately and retired with dignity to the
coldest, darkest, most cheerless corner he could find, where he sat and
looked dejected.

"You look such a silly fool!" Nan told him relentlessly.

Thus passed the moment of exaltation and expansion. If Keith had come home
to dine, it is probable that the barrier between them--of which he was only
dimly conscious--would have been broken. But by midnight Nan had, as she
imagined, "thought out" the situation. She was able to see him now through
eyes purged of self-pity or self-thought. She came to full realization,
which she formulated to herself, that she was not now the central point of
his interest--that she was "no longer" the central point, as she expressed
it. She was right also in her conclusion that all day long he hardly gave
her more than a perfunctory thought. So far, her facts were absolutely
correct. But Nan was, in spite of her natural good mind and married
experience, too ignorant of man psychology to draw the true conclusion.
Indeed, very few women ever realize man's possibilities of single-minded
purpose and concentration to the temporary exclusion of other things.
Keith's whole being was carried by this moral movement in which he was
involved. He simply took Nan for granted; and that is something a woman
never gets used to, and always misinterprets.

"He no longer loves me!" she said to herself, in this hour of plain
thinking. She faced it squarely; and her heart sank to the depths; for she
still loved him, and the sight of him that afternoon amid the guns had told
her how much.

But her next thought was not of herself, but of him, and the situation in
which, he was working out his destiny. "How can I best help?" she asked
herself, which showed that the spirit aroused in her that afternoon had not
in reality died. And her intellect relentlessly pointed out to her that her
only aid would come from her self-effacement, her standing one side. When
the great work was done, then, perhaps--

So affairs in the Keith household went on exactly as before. Nobody but
Gringo knew that anything had happened; and he only realized that the
universe had suffered an upheaval, so that now mistresses might kick their
poor defenceless dogs in the stomach.

LXIII

Casey was safely in custody. Cora also had been taken on a second trip to
the jail. They had been escorted into the headquarters, the doors of which
had closed behind them and behind the armed men who guarded them. The
streets were filled with an orderly crowd. They waited with that same
absence of excitement, impatience, or tumult so characteristic of all the
popular gatherings of that earnest time, save when the upholders of the law
were gathered. After a long interval one of the committeemen, Dows by name,
appeared at an upper window. He did not have to appeal for attention, and
had barely to raise his voice.

"It is not the intention of the committee to be hasty," he announced.
"Nothing more will be done to-day."

Silence greeted this statement. At last some one spoke up:

"Where are Casey and Cora?" he asked.

"The committee holds possession of the jail; all are safe," replied Dows.

With this assurance the crowd was completely satisfied, as it proved by
dispersing quietly and at once.

Of the three thousand enrolled men, three hundred were retained under arms
at headquarters; a hundred surrounded and watched the jail; the rest were
dismissed. About midnight a dense fog descended on the city. The streets
were deserted. But on the roofs of the jail and the adjacent buildings
indistinct figures stalked to and fro in the misty moonlight.

All next day, which was Monday, headquarters remained inscrutable. Small
activities went forward. Guards and patrols were changed. The cannon was
brought from before the jail. Early in the day a huge crowd gathered,
packing the adjacent streets, watching patiently far into the night to see
what would happen. Nothing happened.

But about the city at large patrols of armed men moved on mysterious
business. Gun shops were picketed, and their owners forbidden to sell
weapons. Evidently the committee was carrying out a considered plan.

Toward evening the weather thickened and a rain came on. It turned colder.
Still the crowd did not disperse. It stood in its sodden shoes, hugging its
sodden cloaks to its shoulders, humped over, waiting. About eight o'clock
several companies in rigid marching formation appeared. A stir of interest,
shivered through the crowd, but died as it became evident that this was
only a general relief for those on duty during the day. At midnight, or
thereabouts, the crowd went home; but again by first daylight the streets
for blocks were jammed full. Still it rained with a sullen, persistence.
Still nothing happened.

And all over the city business was practically at a stand. Knots of men
stood conferring on every corner. Conversation in mixed company was very
wary indeed. No man dared express himself too openly. The courts were
empty. Some actually closed, on one excuse or another, but most went
through a form of business. Some judges took the occasion to go to White
Sulphur Springs on vacations, long contemplated, they said. These things
occasioned lively comment. It was generally known that the Sacramento
steamer of the evening before had carried several hundred passengers, all
with pressing business at the capitol, or somewhere else. As our chronicler
tells it: "A good many who had things on their minds left for the country."
Still it rained; still the crowd waited; still the headquarters of the
Committee of Vigilance remained closed and inscrutable.

LXIV

During all this time the Executive Committee sat in continuous session, for
it had been agreed that no recess of more than thirty minutes should be
taken until a decision had been reached. The room in which they sat was a
large one, lighted by windows on one side only. Coleman sat behind a raised
desk at one end. Below it stood a small table accommodating two. On either
side six small tables completed three sides of a hollow square. No
ornament, no especial comforts--the desk, the thirteen pine tables, the
twenty-eight pine chairs, the wooden walls, the oil lamps, the four long
windows--that was all.

The prisoners, who, when they had seen the thousands before the jail, had
expected nothing less than instant execution by lynch law, began to take
heart. After a man has faced what he thinks is the prospect of immediate
and unavoidable death, such treatment as this arouses real hope. The
prisoners were strictly guarded and closely confined, it is true, but they
understood they were to have a fair trial "according to law." That last
phrase cheered them immensely. They knew the law. Nor were they entirely
cut off from the outside. Casey was allowed to see several men in regard to
certain pressing business matters, and was permitted to talk to them
freely, although always in the presence of a member of the committee. Cora
received visits from Belle. She had spent thousands in his legal defence;
now she came to see him faithfully, and tried to cheer him, but was plainly
cowed. Her self-control had vanished. She clung to him passionately,
weeping. He was forced to what should have been her role; and in cheering
her he managed to gain a modicum of self-confidence for himself. She left
him at midnight, much reassured.

But on Monday morning Cora's cell door was thrown open, and he was motioned
forth by a grave man, who conducted him through echoing gloomy corridors to
the committee room, where he was left facing the tables and the men who sat
behind them. Cora's natural buoyancy vanished. The men before him met his
gaze with rigid, unbending solemnity. The rain beat mournfully against the
windows, blurring the glass, casting the high apartment in a half gloom.
Nobody moved or spoke. All looked at him. The echo of his footsteps died,
and the room was cast in stillness except for the soft dashing of the
storm.

"Charles Cora," at last pronounced Coleman in measured tones, "you are here
on trial for your life, accused with the murder of United States Marshal
Richardson."

Cora, who was a plucky man, had recovered his wits. He must have realized
that he was in a tight place, but he kept his head admirably. His demeanour
took on alertness, his manner throughout was respectful, and his voice low.

"Do I get no counsel?" he inquired.

"Counsel will be given you."

He put in an earnest plea for counsel outside the tribunal--impartial
counsel.

"Our members are impartial," Coleman told him.

Cora hesitated; locking about him.

"If Mr. Truett will act for me," he suggested; "and I beg you earnestly,
gentlemen, that the excitement of the time may not be prejudicial to my
interests, that I may have a chance for my life!"

"Your trial will be fair," he was assured.

"I shall undertake the defence," Truett agreed briefly; "and petition that
Mr. Smiley be appointed as my assistant."

This being granted, the three men drew one side for a consultation. In a
short time Truett handed to the sergeant-at-arms--the same man who had
conducted Cora to the tribunal--a list of the witnesses Cora wished to
summon. These were at once sought by a subcommittee outside. In the
meantime, witnesses for the prosecution were one by one admitted, sworn,
and examined. All ordinary forms of law were closely followed. All
essential facts were separately brought out. It was the historic Cora trial
over again, with one difference--gone were the technical delays. By dusk
Keith, who had been called at three, had all but completed the long tale of
his testimony, had finished recounting, not only what he had seen of the
quarrel and the subsequent shooting, but also a detailed account of the
trial, the adverse influences brought to bear on the prosecution, and his
investigations into the question of "undue influence." No attempt was made
to confine the investigation to the technical trial.

Keith was the last witness for the prosecution. And the witnesses for the
defence, where were they? Of the list submitted by Cora not one could be
found! In hiding, afraid, the perjurers would not appear!

The dusk was falling in earnest now. The corners of the room were in
darkness. Beneath Coleman's desk Bluxome, the secretary, had lighted an oil
lamp the better to see his notes. In the interest of Keith's testimony the
general illumination had not been ordered. Outside the tiny patch of yellow
light the men of Vigilance sat motionless, listening, their shadows dim and
huge against the wall.

The door opened, and Charles Doane, the Grand Marshal of the Vigilantes,
advanced three steps into the room.

"Mr. President," he said clearly, his voice cutting the stillness, "I am
instructed to announce that James King of William is dead."

LXV

Thursday noon was set for the funeral of the man who had given his life
that a city might live. In the room where he had made his brave fight
against death he now lay in state. On Wednesday ten thousand people visited
him there. Early Thursday morning his remains were transferred to the
Unitarian Church where, early as it was, a great multitude had gathered to
do him honour. Now through the long morning hours it sat with him silently.
The church was soon filled to over-flowing; the streets in all directions
became crowded with sober-faced men and women. They knew they would be
unable to get into the church, to attend nearer his last communion with his
fellowmen, but they stayed, feeling vaguely that their mere presence
helped--as, indeed, perhaps it did. Marching bodies from every guild or
society in the city stood in rank after rank, extending down the street as
far as the eye could reach. Hundreds of horsemen, carriages, foot marchers,
quietly, orderly, were already getting into line. They, too, were excluded
from the funeral ceremonies by lack of room; they, too, waited to do honour
to the cortege. This procession was over two miles in length. Each man wore
a band of crepe around his left arm. The time set for the funeral ceremony
was yet hours distant.

It seemed that all the city must be there. But those who, hurrying to the
scene, had occasion to pass near the Vigilante headquarters found the
vacant square guarded on all sides by a triple line of armed men. The side
streets, also, were filled with them. They stood in exact alignment, rigid,
bayonets fixed, their eyes straight ahead. Three thousand of them were
there. Hour after hour they stood, untiring, staring at the building, which
gave no sign; just as the other multitude, only a few squares away, stood
hour after hour, patiently waiting in the bright sun.

At quarter before one the upper windows of the headquarters building were
thrown open, and small platforms, extending about three feet, were thrust
from two of them. An instant later two heavy beams were shoved out from the
flat roof directly over the platforms. From the ends of the beams dangled
nooses of rope. A dead wait ensued. Across the silence could be heard
faintly from the open windows of the distant church the chords of an organ,
the rise and fall of a hymn, then the measured cadence of oration. The
funeral services had begun.

As though this were a signal, the blinds that had partly closed the window
openings were swung back, and Charles Cora was conducted to the end of one
of the little platforms. His face was covered with a white handkerchief,
and his arms and legs were bound with cords. The attendant adjusted the
noose, then left him. An instant later Casey appeared. He had petitioned
not to be blindfolded, so his face was bare. Cora stood bolt upright,
motionless as a stone. Casey's nerve had left him; his face was pale and
his eyes bloodshot. As the attendant placed the noose, the murderer's eyes
darted here and there over the square. Did he still expect that the
boastful promises of his friends would be fulfilled, did he still hope for
rescue? If so, that hope must have died as he looked down on those set,
grim faces staring straight ahead, on that sinister ring of steel. He began
to babble.

"Gentlemen!" he cried at them, "I am not a murderer! I do not feel afraid
to meet my God on a charge of murder! I have done nothing but what I
thought was right! To-morrow let no editor dare call me a murderer!
Whenever I was injured I have resented it. It has been part of my education
during twenty-nine years! Gentlemen, I forgive you this persecution! O God!
My poor mother! O God!"

Not one word of contrition; not one word for the man who lay yonder in the
church; not one syllable for the heartbroken wife kneeling at the coffin!
He ceased. And his words went out into the void and found no echo against
that wall of steel.

They waited. For what? Across the intervening housetops the sound of
speaking ceased to carry. The last orator had given place. At the door of
the sanctuary was visible a slight, commotion: the coffin was being carried
out. It was placed in the hearse. Every head was bared. There ensued a
slight pause; then from overhead the great bell boomed once. Another bell
in the next block answered. A third, more distant, chimed in. From all
parts of the city tolled the solemn requiem.

At the first stroke the long cortege moved forward toward Lone Mountain; at
the first stroke the Vigilantes, as one man, presented arms; at the first
stroke the platforms dropped and Casey and Cora fell into the abyss of
eternity.

LXVI

This execution occasioned a great storm of indignation among the adherents
of law and order. Serious-minded men, like Judge Shattuck, admitted the
essential justice rendered, but condemned strongly the method.

"Of course they were murderers," cried the judge, "and of course they
should have been hung, and of course the city is better off without either
of them. I'm not afraid of their friends, and I don't care who knows what I
think! And some very worthy citizens, wrongly, are involved in this, some
citizens whom otherwise I greatly respect. It is better that a hundred
criminals should escape than that the whole law of California should be
outraged by an act that denies at once the value and the authority of our
government. The energy, the talent for organization, that this committee
has displayed in the exercise of usurped authority, might have been
directed in aid of the courts, consistently with the constitution and the
laws, with, equal if not greater efficiency."

But very few were able to see it in this calm spirit. The ruling class, the
"chivalry," the best element of the city had been slapped in the face. And
by whom? By a lot of "Yankee shopkeepers," assisted by renegades like
Keith, Talbot Ward, and others. The committee was a lot of stranglers; they
ought to be punished as murderers; they ought to be shot down, egad, as
revolutionaries! It was realized that street shooting had temporarily
become unsafe; otherwise, there is no doubt that the hotheads would have
gone forth deliberately abrawling. There were many threats made against
individuals, many condign--and lawless--punishments promised them.

As an undercurrent, nowhere expressed or even acknowledged, was a strong
feeling of relief. Any Law and Order would have fought at the mere
suggestion; but every one of them felt it. After all, the law had been
surprised and overpowered. It had yielded only to overwhelming odds. With
the execution of Cora and Casey accomplished, the committee might be
expected to disband. And, of course, when it did disband, then the law
would have its innings. Its forces would be better organized and
consolidated, its power assured. It could then apprehend and bring to
justice the ringleaders of this unwarranted undertaking. Like dogs at the
heels of a retreating foe, the hotheads became bolder as this secret
conviction gained strength. They were in favour of using an armed force to
take Coleman and his fellow-conspirators into the custody of the law.
Calmer spirits held this scheme in check.

"Let them have rope," advised Blatchford. "I know mobs. Now that they've
hung somebody, their spirit will die down. Give them a few days."

But to the surprise, and indignation of these people, the Vigilantes showed
no of an intention to disband. On the contrary, their activities extended
and their organization tightened. The various companies drilled daily until
they went through evolutions and the manual of arms with all the perfection
of regular troops. The committee's books remained open; by the last of the
week over seven thousand men had signed the rolls. Vanloads of furniture
and various supplies were backed up before the doors of headquarters, and
were carried within by members of the organization--no non-member ever saw
the inside of the building while it was occupied by the Vigilantes. The
character of these furnishings and supplies would seem to argue an
intention of permanence. Stoves, cooking utensils, cot beds, provisions,
blankets, bulletin boards, arms, chairs, tables, field guns, ammunition,
were only some items. Doorkeepers were always in attendance. Sentinels
patrolled the streets and the roof. The great warehouse took on an
exceedingly animated appearance.

The Executive Committee was in session all of each day. It became known
that a "black list" of some sort was in preparation. On the heels of this
orders came for the Vigilante police, instructing them to arrest certain
men and to warn certain others to leave town immediately. It was evident
that a clean sweep was contemplated.

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