A friend—one of the four Bannack originals—touched the leader’s arm, and said, “Come and see my bon-fire.” Walking down to the cabin, he found that it had been razed to the ground by the maddened people, and was then in a bright glow of flame. A proposition to burn the Mexican was received with a shout of exultation. The body was hauled down and thrown upon the pile, upon which it was burned to ashes so completely that not a trace of a bone could be seen when the fire burned out.
In the morning some women of ill-fame actually panned out the ashes, to see whether the desperado had any gold in his purse. We are glad to say that they were not rewarded for their labors by striking any auriferous deposit.
The popular vengeance had been only partially satisfied, so far as Pizanthia was concerned; and it would be well if those who preach against the old Vigilance Committee would reflect upon the great difference which existed between the prompt and really necessary severity which they exercised and the wild and ungovernable passion which goads the masses of all countries, when roused to deeds of vengeance of a type so fearful, that humanity recoils at the recital. Over and over again, we have heard a man declaring that it was “A —— shame,” to hang some one that he wished to see punished. “——, he ought to be burnt; I would pack brush three miles up a mountain myself.” “He ought to be fried in his own grease,” etc., and it must not be supposed that such expressions were mere idle bravado. The men said just what they meant. In cases where criminals convicted of grand larceny have been whipped, it has never yet happened that the punishment has satisfied the crowd. The truth is, that the Vigilance Committee simply punished with death, men unfit to live in any community, and that death was, usually, almost instantaneous, and only momentarily painful. With the exceptions recorded (Stinson and Ray) the drop and the death of the victim seemed simultaneous. In a majority of cases, a few almost imperceptible muscular contortions, not continuing over a few seconds, were all that the keenest observer could detect; whereas, had their punishment been left to outsiders, the penalty would have been cruel and disgusting in the highest degree. What would be thought of the burning of Wagner and panning out his ashes, by order of the Vigilantes. In every case where men have confessed their crimes to the Vigilantes of Montana, they dreaded the vengeance of their comrades far more than their execution at the hands of the Committee, and clung to them as if they considered them friends.
A remarkable instance of this kind was apparent in the conduct of John Wagner. While in custody at the cabin, on Yankee Flat, the sound of footsteps and suppressed voices was heard, in the night. Fetherstun jumped up, determined to defend himself and his prisoner to the last. Having prepared his arms, he cast a look over his shoulder to see what Dutch John was doing. The Road Agent stood with a double-barrelled gun in his hand, evidently watching for a chance to do battle on behalf of his captor. Fetherstun glanced approvingly at him, and said, “That’s right, John, give them ——.” John smiled grimly and nodded, the muzzle of his piece following the direction of the sound, and his dark eyes glaring like those of a roused lion. Had he wished, he could have shot Fetherstun in the back, without either difficulty or danger. Probably the assailants heard the ticking of the locks of the pieces, in the still night, and therefore determined not to risk such an attack, which savages of all kinds especially dislike.
The evening after the death of Pizanthia, the newly organized Committee met, and, after some preliminary discussion, a vote was taken as to the fate of Dutch John. The result was that his execution was unanimously adjudged, as the only penalty meeting the merits of the case. He had been a murderer and a highway robber, for years.
One of the number present at the meeting was deputed to convey the intelligence to Wagner; and, accordingly, he went down to his place of confinement and read to him his sentence of death, informing him that he would be hanged in an hour from that time. Wagner was much shocked by the news. He raised himself to his feet and walked with agitated and tremulous steps across the floor, once or twice. He begged hard for life, praying them to cut off his arms and legs, and then to let him go. He said, “You know I could do nothing then.” He was informed that his request could not be complied with, and that he must prepare to die.
Finding death to be inevitable, Wagner summoned his fortitude to his aid and showed no more signs of weakness. It was a matter of regret that he could not be saved for his courage, and (outside of his villainous trade) his good behaviour won upon his captors and judges to an extent that they were unwilling to admit, even to themselves. Amiability and bravery could not be taken as excuses for murder and robbery, and so Dutch John had to meet a felon’s death and the judgment to come, with but short space for repentance.
He said that he wished to send a letter to his mother, in New York, and inquired whether there was not a Dutchman in the house, who could write in his native language. A man being procured qualified as desired, he communicated his wishes to him and his amanuensis wrote as directed. Wagner’s fingers were rolled up in rags and he could not handle the pen without inconvenience and pain. He had not recovered from the frost-bites which had moved the pity of X. Beidler when he met John before his capture, below Red Rock. The epistle being finished, it was read aloud by the scribe; but it did not please Wagner. He pointed out several inaccuracies in the method of carrying out his instructions, both as regarded the manner and the matter of the communication; and at last, unrolling the rags from his fingers, he sat down and wrote the missive himself.
He told his mother that he was condemned to die, and had but a few minutes to live; that when coming over from the other side, to deal in horses; he had been met by bad men, who had forced him to adopt the line of life that had placed him in his present miserable position; that the crime for which he was sentenced to die was assisting in robbing a wagon, in which affair he had been wounded and taken prisoner, and that his companion had been killed. (This latter assertion he probably believed.) He admitted the justice of his sentence.
The letter, being concluded, was handed to the Vigilantes for transmission to his mother. He then quietly replaced the bandages on his wounded fingers. The style of the composition showed that he was neither terrified nor even disturbed at the thought of the fast approaching and disgraceful end of his guilty life. The statements were positively untrue, in many particulars, and he seemed to write only as a matter of routine duty; though we may hope that his affection for his mother was, at least, genuine.