Volume Two—Chapter Three.
Lynch versus Leary.
I reached Stormy’s tent about ten o’clock; and found him waiting for me. I proposed proceeding at once towards the gaol where the condemned man was kept. I was more impatient than my companion—impatient to see whether I might identify the criminal.
“Come on!” said I, “we can talk and walk at the same time.”
The old sailor followed me out of his tent, and then led the way without speaking.
“Storm along, Stormy,” cried I, “Let me hear what you have to say.”
“It’s not much,” replied he; “I’m afraid I’ve been making a fool of myself, and you too. I saw the man yesterday, who’s going to be hung to-day. I fancied that he was the same as brought you aboard the ‘Hope’ in Dublin Bay, when you first went to sea—he that you told me was your stepfather—and who you promised to larn manners if ever you should come back, and find he had been misbehaving himself. Now it may be all my own fancy. That was so many years ago that I mightn’t remember; but I couldn’t rest satisfied, without having you see him, for yourself.”
I told Stormy that he had acted right; and that I hoped, and should be pleased, to find that he was mistaken.
Stormy’s doubts had the effect of tranquillising me a little. I was now very hungry too; and at the first restaurant in our way, I went in, and ordered some breakfast, which was eaten with an appetite I hoped never to have again—a hope that was no doubt shared by the proprietor of the restaurant.
We then pursued our journey to the place where the prisoner was under guard.
The prison was merely a public-house—around which a crowd of people were beginning to assemble.
I wished to see the prisoner; but he was in an inside room, with the men who guarded him; and these were a little particular as to who was admitted into his presence. I had to wait, therefore, until he should be led out to execution.
On finding that I could not be allowed to see the murderer—and as I was anxious to learn something immediately—I determined on taking a look at his victim. It would be easy to do this: as the house where the dead woman was lying was not far distant, from that which contained her murderer.
Accompanied by Stormy, I walked over to the house; and we were admitted into the room where the corpse was lying. The face of the murdered woman was concealed under a white cloth; and while standing over the body, I was more strangely agitated than I had ever been before. Should I, on removing that slight shrouding of cotton, behold the inanimate features of my mother?
The suspense was agonisingly interesting. The covering was at length removed; and I breathed again. The body was not that of my mother; but of a young woman apparently about nineteen or twenty years of age. She had been a beautiful woman, and was still so—even in death!
Less tortured by my thoughts, I followed Stormy back to the public-house—around which the crowd had greatly increased: for it was now twelve o’clock, the hour appointed for the execution.
My heart beat audibly, as the criminal was led forth, surrounded by his guards and attendants.
Stormy was right. The murderer was Matthew Leary!
“What shall I do?” I inquired of Stormy, as we followed the criminal to the place of execution.
“You can do nothing,” answered Stormy. “Let them teach him manners. If you interfere, you’ll be larnt some yourself.”
There was truth in this. From the temper of the men, who had judged and condemned the murderer, it was evident I could do nothing to save him. Perhaps I did not contemplate trying.
The prisoner was led from the public-house he had been kept in since his condemnation, to a live oak tree, growing on the top of a high hill, about half a mile from the town. Under this tree was a grave, that had been freshly dug. The murderer, as he was conducted forward, must have seen the grave, and know it to be his final resting-place. For all that, he approached the tree without any apparent emotion!
“He is either a very good man, or a very bad one,” said one by my side, “he is going to die game!”
A cart was drawn up under the live oak; and into it climbed four or five respectable-looking men—who appeared to be taking a prominent part in the proceedings.
One of them requested silence—a request which was immediately complied with—and the man who made it, then addressed the assembly, in, as near as I can remember, the following words:—
“Gentlemen! Before commencing to execute the painful duty, we have met to perform, I deem it necessary to give you a brief description of the circumstances, under which we are called upon to act. The prisoner before you—John Mathews,—has been tried by a jury of twelve men; and found guilty of the murder of his wife—or a woman living with him as such. He has been defended by able counsel; and the trial has been conducted with all the decorum and ceremony required by an occasion so solemn and important. It has appeared in evidence against the prisoner, that he was an habitual drunkard; and that his principal means for indulging, in his unfortunate habits of dissipation, were derived from his wife—who supported herself, the prisoner, and their child, by working as a washer-woman. There has been full evidence brought before the jury, that, on the day the murder was committed, the prisoner came home drunk, and asked the woman for money. She told him that she had but three dollars in the house; and that she wanted that to procure necessaries for her child—in fine, she refused to let him have it. The prisoner demanded the three dollars, and the woman still refused to give them up. After he had made a vain attempt to extort the money by threats, he went across the room, and procured a pistol, with which he unsuccessfully made an attempt to shoot her. Finding that the weapon was unloaded, he turned it in his hand, and struck the woman two heavy blows on the head with its butt. These blows were the cause of her death—which occurred two hours afterwards. The man who committed this crime is now before you. As I do not wish to prejudice the mind of any one, I have simply stated what was proved on the trial; and the question I now put is—what shall we do with him?”
The speaker finished by putting on his hat, which was as much as to say, that his part in the solemn ceremony was performed.
The firm, earnest voice, in which the address had been delivered, convinced me that the speaker, who had thus distinguished himself, was actuated neither by prejudice nor passion.
From the tenor of the speech he had delivered, I could tell that the criminal’s fate, to a certain extent, still depended on a vote of the crowd; and in their decision I felt more interested, than even Mr Leary himself appeared to be!
Another of the men in the cart now took off his hat; and the murmuring noise once more subsided.
“Fellow citizens!” said this second speaker, “I am not here either to apologise for, or sanction the crime this man has committed. I know, as well as any man present, the necessity that exists in a land like this, or, rather, in the state of society in which we live, for the severe punishment of crime. All I ask of you is, to let this man be punished by the laws of the country. A system of government—of which you all approve—has lately been established among us; and arrangements have been made for the trial and punishment of criminals. Do not take the law into your own hands. People living in the civilised communities of Europe and our own country are crying ‘Shame! shame!’ at many transactions, similar to this, which have occurred in California; and the same words will be uttered against the proceedings that are taking place here to-day. I am a magistrate; and have with me a constable. I will pledge my life that if you will allow us to remove the prisoner, he shall be brought before a jury and tried by the laws of our country. I trust that no good citizen will make any objection to our taking that course with him.”
The magistrate then put on his hat—as a signal that he had nothing more to say.
The murmur of the crowd rose higher; and there were heard many cries of dissent from what had been last said.
“He’s had a fair trial—hang him!” exclaimed one.
“Hang him now, or he’ll escape!” vociferated another.
There were also a few voices raised on the other side. “Give him up! Let the magistrate have him!” shouted these last.
A man now stood up in the cart; and called for a show of hands.
All in favour of delivering the prisoner into the custody of the law officers were requested to hold up their right hands.
About twenty arms were extended into the air!
A number of these belonged to men who had the appearance of being what in California were called “Sydney Ducks”—old convicts from New South Wales; but most of the hands raised were those of well-known gamblers—all of whom have an instinctive horror of Justice Lynch.
Those who were in favour of the prisoner being hung, then and there, were next invited to hold up their right hands.
In an instant about three hundred arms were held aloft. All of them that I saw were terminated with strong, sinewy fists, stained only with toil, and belonging to miners—the most respectable portion of the population.
This silent, but emphatic, declaration was considered final. After it had been delivered, there commenced a scene of wild excitement.
I rushed through the crowd, towards the tree under which the criminal stood. As I came up to him, I saw that a rope had been, already noosed around his neck.
A man was climbing into the live oak—for the purpose of passing the rope over one of its branches.
“Stop!” I cried, “stop for one minute! Let me ask this man a question, before he dies.”
Mr Leary turned towards me with a stare of surprise; and for the first time, since being brought upon the ground, did he appear to take any interest in what was passing!
“I am the Rolling Stone,” I shouted to him, “Tell me, where is my mother?”
The murderer smiled, and such a smile! It was the same fiendish expression he had thrown at me, when I last saw him in the boat in Dublin Bay.
“Tell me where I can find my mother!” I again asked, nearly frantic with rage.
At this moment the slack end of the lazo, that had been passed over the branch and then slung back among the crowd, was instantly seized by a hundred hands. The condemned man seemed not to notice the movement, while, in answer to my question, the malignant expression upon his features became stronger and deeper.
“Away!” I cried, scarcely conscious of what I said or did, “Away with him!”
Those holding the rope sprang outward from the tree, and up rose Mr Leary.
A few faint kicks, and his body hung motionless from the limb of the live oak.
An empty sardine box was nailed to the tree, on which the murderer was hanging. Above it was pinned a piece of paper—on which were written the words, “For the orphan.”
Many miners stepped up to the spot, opened their purses; and slipped a few dollars’ worth of gold dust into the box.
Their example was followed by Stormy Jack; and from the quantity of yellow dust I saw him drop into the common receptacle, I could tell that his purse must have been three or four ounces lighter, when he came away from the tree!