Part 20

Now taking into view the picturesque spectacle that a few dead men dabbled in blood must present to the eye on a fine morning, and the chances of a miscellaneous ball carrying away the top of one’s cranium, or penetrating the thin board wall and ranging upward through his body as he lies in bed, I considered it best to seek a more secluded neighborhood, where the scenery was of a less stimulating character and the hail-storms not quite so heavy. By the kind aid of a friend I secured comparatively agreeable quarters in a private lodging-house kept by a widow lady. The rooms were good and the beds clean, and the price not extravagant for this locality--$12 a week without board.

So much for the famous hotels of Virginia. If there are any better, neither myself, nor some fellow-travelers who told me their experiences, succeeded in finding them. The concurrent testimony was that they are dirty, ill-kept, badly attended by rough, ill-mannered waiters--noisy to such a degree that a sober man can get but little rest, day or night, and extravagantly high in proportion to the small comfort they afford. One of the newspapers published a statement which the author probably intended for a joke, but which is doubtless founded upon fact--namely, that a certain hotel advertised for 300 chickens to serve the same number of guests. Only one chicken could be had for love or money--a very ancient rooster, which was made into soup and afterward served up in the form of a fricassee for the 300 guests. The flavor was considered extremely delicate--what there was of it; and there was plenty of it such as it was.

Still if we are to credit what the Virginia newspapers say--and it would be dangerous to intimate that they ever deal in anything save the truth--there are other cities on the eastern slope of the Sierras which afford equally attractive accommodations. On the occasion of the recent Senatorial contest at Carson City, the prevailing rates charged for lodgings, according to the Virginia _Enterprise_, were as follows: “For a bed in a house, barn, blacksmith-shop, or hay-yard (none to be had--all having been engaged shortly before election); horse-blanket in an old sugar hogshead per night, $10; crockery-crate, with straw, $7 50; without straw, $5 75; for cellar door, $4; for roosting on a smooth pole $3 50; pole, common, rough, $3; plaza fence, $2 50; walking up and down the Warm Springs road--if cloudy, $1 50; if clear, $1 25. (In case the clouds are very thick and low $1 75 is generally asked.) Very good roosting in a pine-tree, back of Camp Nye, may still be had free, but we understand that a company is being formed to monopolize all the more accessible trees. We believe they propose to improve by putting two pins in the bottom of each tree, or keep a man to boost regular customers. They talk of charging six bits.”

I could scarcely credit this, if it were not that a friend of mine, who visited Reese River last summer, related some experiences of a corroborative character. Unable to secure lodgings elsewhere, he undertook to find accommodations in a vacant sheep corral. The proprietor happening to come home about midnight found him spread out under the lee of the fence. “Look-a-here, stranger!” said he gruffly “that’s all well enough, but I gen’rally collect in advance. Just fork over four bits or mizzle!” My friend indignantly mizzled. Cursing the progressive spirit of the age, he walked some distance out of town, and was about to finish the night under the lee of a big quartz boulder, when a fierce-looking speculator, with a six-shooter in his hand, suddenly appeared from a cavity in the rock, saying, “No yer don’t! Take a fool’s advice now, and git! When you go a prospectin’ around ov nights agin, jest steer ov this boulder ef you please!” In vain my friend attempted to explain. The rising wrath of the squatter was not to be appeased by soft words, and the click of the trigger, as he raised his pistol and drew a bead, warned the trespasser that it was time to be off. He found lodgings that night on the public highway to Virginia City and San Francisco.

ALDER GULCH

NATHANIEL P. LANGFORD

1863

From “Vigilante Days and Ways.” Reprinted by permission of the publishers, A. C. McClurg and Company, Chicago.[21]

In May, 1863, a company of miners, while returning from an unsuccessful exploring expedition, discovered the remarkable placer afterwards known as Alder Gulch. They gave the name of one of their number, Fairweather, to the district. Several of the company went immediately to Bannack, communicated the intelligence, and returned with supplies to their friends. The effect of the news was electrical. Hundreds started at once to the new placer, each striving to outstrip the other, in order to secure a claim. In the hurry of departure, among many minor accidents, a man whose body, partially concealed by the willows, was mistaken for a beaver, was shot by Mr. Arnold. Discovering the fatal mistake, Arnold gave up the chase and bestowed his entire attention upon the unfortunate victim until his death, a few days afterwards. The great stampede with its numerous pack-animals, penetrated the dense alder thicket which filled the gulch, a distance of eight miles, to the site selected for building a town. An accidental fire occurring, swept away the alders for the entire distance in a single night. In less than a week from the date of the first arrival, hundreds of tents, brush wakiups, and rude log cabins, extemporized for immediate occupancy, were scattered at random over the spot, now for the first time trodden by white men. For a distance of twelve miles from the mouth of the gulch to its source in Bald Mountain, claims were staked and occupied by the men fortunate enough first to assert an ownership. Laws were adopted, judges selected, and the new community was busy in upheaving, sluicing, drifting, and cradling the inexhaustible bed of auriferous gravel, which has yielded under these various manipulations a greater amount of gold than any other placer on the continent.

The Southern sympathizers of the Territory gave the name of Varina to the new town which had sprung up in Alder Gulch, in honor of the wife of President Jefferson Davis. Dr. Bissell, one of the miners’ judges of the gulch, was an ardent Unionist. Being called upon to draw up some papers before the new name had been generally adopted, and requested to date them at “Varina City,” he declared, with a very emphatic expletive, he would not do it, and wrote the name “Virginia City,”--by which name the place has ever since been known.

The road agents were among the first to follow in the track of the miners. Prominent among them were Cyrus Skinner, Jack Gallagher, Buck Stinson, and Ned Ray,--the last three as deputies of Plummer in the sheriffalty. Ripe for the commission of any deed, however atrocious, which gave the promise of plunder, jackal-like they watched the gathering crowd and its various industries, marking each and all for early and unceasing depredation.

The Hon. Washington Stapleton who had been at work in the Bannack mines from the time of their discovery, a miner named Dodge, and another man, each supposed to possess a considerable amount of gold, having determined to go to Virginia City, Dodge was privately informed by Dillingham, one of Plummer’s deputies, on the eve of their intended departure, that Buck Stinson, Hayes Lyons, and Charley Forbes had laid plans for robbing them on the way, and had requested him (Dillingham) to join them in the robbery. When the time for their going came, Dodge expressed his fear of an attack, and announced his determination to remain. His friends rallied him, until, smarting under their taunts, he revealed the information given by Dillingham. Stinson, Lyons, and Forbes heard of it, and determined to kill the informer. Stapleton left his companions, and started for Virginia City alone. At Rattlesnake he encountered Hayes Lyons, who rode up and asked him if he had heard of the robbery which Dillingham alleged had been planned against him. Stapleton replied in the negative; but when telling the story since, says that he has felt more comfortable even when sleeping in church, than when he saw that scoundrel approaching him. He told him, he says, that this was the first he had heard of it, adding, “If you want my money, I have only one hundred dollars in greenbacks. You had better take that, and let me go.”

Lyons replied with an oath that the story was a lie, and that he was then on his way to kill Dillingham for putting such a story in circulation, but he feared Dillingham had heard of his intention and left the country.

Stapleton accomplished his trip without molestation. Lyons and Forbes rode on to Virginia City, also, and finding Dillingham there, they, in company with Stinson, met the next day and arranged for his assassination.

A miners’ court for the trial of a civil case was in session the following morning near the bank of the creek fronting the town. To the observation of a person unaccustomed to the makeshifts and customs of a mining community, the picture presented by this court of justice would have exhibited many amusing features--not the least of which was the place wherein it was held. The Temple of Justice was a wakiup of brush and twigs, gathered from the different coppices of willow and alder growing upon the banks of the creek, thrown together in conical form, and of barely sufficient capacity to accommodate the judge, clerk, parties, and jurors. Spectators were indebted to the interstices in this primitive structure for a view of the proceedings; and as no part of the person except the eyes was visible to those within, the appearance of those visual orbs bore no inapt comparison to a constellation in a brush heap.

Dr. Steele, president of the gulch, acted as judge. He united with much native good sense, great modesty of demeanor. He was not a lawyer. On his trip from the States, while crossing the plains, an unfriendly gust had swept his only hat beyond recovery, and he came into Montana with his brows bound in a parti-colored cotton handkerchief, which, for want of something more appropriate, not obtainable at the stores, he had worn until some friendly miner possessing an extra hat presented him with it. Proving too small to incase his intellectual organs, the doctor had, by a series of indented slits encircling the rim, increased its elasticity, so that, saving a succession of gaps, through which his hair bristled “like quills upon the fretful porcupine,” it answered the purpose of its creation. With this upon his head he sat upon the bench, an embodiment of the dignity, law, and learning of this little mountain judiciary.

In the progress of the trial, the defendant’s counsel asked for a nonsuit, on account of some informality of service.

“A what?” inquired the judge with a puzzled expression, as if he had not rightly understood the word.

“A nonsuit,” was the rejoinder.

“What’s a--” The question partly asked, was left incomplete. The judge blushed, but reflecting that he would probably learn the office of a nonsuit in the course of the argument, he broke through the dilemma by asking,

“Upon what ground?”

The argument followed, and the judge, soon comprehending the meaning of a nonsuit, decided that unless the defendant could show that he had suffered by reason of the informal service, the case must proceed. Some of the friends of the magistrate, seated near the door, understanding the cause of his embarrassment, enjoyed the scene hugely, and as it presented an opportunity for returning in kind some of the numerous jokes which he had played at their expense, one of them, thinking it too good to be lost, with much mock sobriety of manner and tone, arose and said,

“Most righteous decision!”

All eyes were turned upon the speaker, but before they could comprehend the joke at the bottom, another arose, and with equal solemnity, exclaimed,

“Most just judge!”

Dr. Steele, though embarrassed by his ill-timed jocularity, was so well satisfied with his sagacity in finding out what a nonsuit meant, without betraying his legal unlearnedness, that the joke was taken in good part, and formed a subject of frequent merriment in after times.

Charley Forbes was the clerk of the court, and sat beside the judge taking notes of the trial. After the decision denying the motion, the plaintiff passed around a bottle of liquor, of which the court and jury partook. Not to be outdone, the defendant circulated a box of cigars. And it was while the spectators were giving expression in various forms to their approval of the decision, that Stinson and Lyons came into the court, and proceeding to the seat occupied by Forbes, engaged with him in a whispered conversation inaudible to the bystanders. After a few moments, Forbes suddenly rose in his place, and, with an oath, exclaimed,

“Well, we’ll kill the scoundrel then, at once,” and accompanied Stinson and Lyons out of the wakiup. The audience, startled by the announcement, hurriedly followed. Dillingham had come over from Bannack in his capacity as deputy sheriff, to look for some stolen horses. He had come on the ground a moment before, in search of Mr. Todd, the deputy at Virginia City, for assistance.

An assemblage of a hundred or more miners and others was congregated in and about the place where the court was in progress,--some intent upon the trial, others sauntering through the crowd and along the bank of Alder Creek. The three ruffians, after a moment’s conversation, approached in company the spot where Dillingham stood.

“We want to see you,” said Lyons, addressing him. “Step this way a moment.”

Stinson advanced a few paces, and looking over his shoulder said to his companions,

“Bring him along. Make him come.”

Dillingham waited for no second invitation. Evidently supposing that they had some matter of business to communicate, he accompanied them to an open spot not more than ten paces distant. There they all stopped, and facing Dillingham, with a muttered curse Lyons said to him,

“Take back those lies,” when with the quickness of thought, they drew their revolvers,--Charley Forbes at the same time exclaiming, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,”--and fired upon him simultaneously. The groan which Lyons’ ball drew from the poor victim as it entered his thigh, was hushed by the bullet of Forbes, as it passed through his breast, inflicting a mortal wound. He fell, and died in a few moments. Jack Gallagher, who was in the plot, rushed up, and in his capacity as a deputy sheriff, seized the pistols of the three ruffians, one of which, while unobserved, he reloaded, intending thereby to prevent the identification of the villain who fired the fatal shot.

The deed was committed so quickly that the bystanders hardly knew what had happened till they saw Dillingham stretched upon the ground in the death agony. The court broke up instantly, and the jury dispersed. Aghast at the bloody spectacle, for some moments the people surveyed it in speechless amazement. The ruffians meanwhile sauntered quietly away, chuckling at their own adroitness. They had not gone far, until several of the miners, by direction of Dr. Steele, arrested them. The reaction from terror to reason was marked by the adoption of vigorous measures for the punishment of the crime, and but for the calm self-possession of a few individuals, the murderers would have been summarily dealt with. An officer elected by the people, with a detail of miners, took them into custody, and having confined them in a log building, preparations were made for their immediate trial.

Here again, as at the trial of Moore and Reeves, the difficulty of a choice between a trial by the people, and by a jury of twelve, occasioned an obstinate and violent discussion. The reasons for the latter, though strongly urged, were finally overcome by the paramount consideration that the selection of a jury would devolve upon a deputy sheriff who was in league with the prisoners, and, as it was afterwards ascertained, an accomplice in the crime for which they were arrested.

The people assembled _en masse_ upon the very spot where the murder had been committed. Dr. Steele, by virtue of his office as president of the gulch, was appointed judge, and at his request Dr. Bissell, the district judge, and Dr. Rutar, associates, to aid with their counsel in the decisions of such questions as should arise in the progress of the trial. E. R. Cutler, a blacksmith, and James Brown acted as public prosecutors, and H. P. A. Smith, a lawyer of ability, appeared on behalf of the prisoners.

A separate trial was assigned to Forbes, because the pistol which Gallagher had privately reloaded, was claimed by him, a fact of which he wished to avail himself. In fact, however, the pistol belonged to Stinson. It was midday when the trial of Lyons and Stinson commenced. At dark it was not concluded, and the prisoners were put under a strong guard for the night. They were confined in a small, half-roofed, unchinked cabin, overlooking Daylight Creek, which ran through a hollow filled with willows. Dr. Six and Major Brookie had charge of the prisoners. Soon after dark their attention was attracted by the repeated shrill note of a night-hawk, apparently proceeding from the willows. After each note, Forbes commenced singing. This being noticed by the guard, on closer investigation they discovered that the note was simulated by some person as a signal for the prisoners. They immediately ordered Forbes to stop singing. He refused. They then proposed to chain the prisoners, they objecting, and Forbes remarking,

“I will suffer death before you shall do it.”

He receded, however, under the persuasion of six shotguns drawn upon a line with his head, and in a subdued tone, said,

“Chain me.”

During the night Lyons sent for one of the citizens, who, under cover of the guns of the guard, approached and asked him what he wanted.

“I want you,” said he, “to release Stinson and Forbes. I killed Dillingham. I came here for that express purpose. They are innocent. I was sent here by the best men in Bannack to kill him.”

“Who sent you?” inquired the citizen.

After naming several of the best citizens of Bannack, who knew nothing of the murder until several days after it was committed, he added,

“Henry Plummer told me to shoot him.” It was afterwards proven that this was true.

Hayes Lyons was greatly unnerved, and cried a great part of the night; but Buck Stinson was wholly unconcerned and slept soundly.

The trial was resumed the next morning. At noon, the arguments being concluded, the question of “guilty or not guilty,” was submitted to the people, and decided almost unanimously in the affirmative.

“What shall be their punishment?” asked the president of the now eager crowd.

“Hang them,” was the united response.

Men were immediately appointed to erect a scaffold, and dig the graves of the doomed criminals, who were taken into custody to await the result of the trial of Forbes. This followed immediately; and the loaded pistol, and the fact that when the onslaught was made upon Dillingham, he called out, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” were used in evidence with good effect. When the question was finally put, Forbes, who was a young man of fine personal appearance, and possessed of good powers as a speaker, made a personal appeal to the crowd, which so wrought upon their sympathies, and was so eloquent withal, that they acquitted him by a large majority. In marked contrast with the spirit which they had exhibited a few hours before while condemning Stinson and Lyons to a violent death, the people, upon the acquittal of Forbes, crowded around him with shouts and laughter, eager to shake hands with and congratulate him upon his escape. Months afterwards, when the excitement of the occasion, with the memory of it, has passed from men’s minds, Charley Forbes was heard vauntingly to say that he was the slayer of Dillingham. He was known to deride the tender susceptibilities of the people, who gave him liberty to renew his desperate career, and chuckle over the exercise of powers of person and mind that could make so many believe even Truth herself to be a liar. Among the villains belonging to Plummer’s band, not one, not even Plummer himself, possessed a more depraved nature than Forbes; and with it, few, if any, were gifted with as many shining accomplishments. He was a prince of cut-throats, uniting with the coolness of Augustus Tomlinson all the adaptability of Paul Clifford. On one occasion he said to a gentleman about to leave the Territory,

“You will be attacked on your way to Salt Lake City.”

“You can’t do it, Charley,” was the reply. “Your boys are scattered, we are together, and will prove too many for you.” Nevertheless, the party drove sixty miles the first day out, and thus escaped molestation.

His early life was passed in Grass Valley, California. While comparatively a youth, he was convicted of robbery. On the expiration of his sentence, he visited his old friends, and on his promise of reformation, they obtained employment for him in McLaughlin’s gas works. For a while his conduct was unexceptionable, and he was rapidly regaining the esteem of all; but in an evil hour he indulged in a game of poker for money. From that moment he yielded to this temptation, until it became a besetting vice. Not long after he entered upon this career, he provoked a quarrel with one “Dutch John,” who threatened to kill him.

Forbes told McLaughlin, saying in conclusion, “When Dutch John says so, he means it.”

“Take my revolver out of the case,” said McLaughlin, “put it in your breast-pocket, and defend yourself as occasion may require.”

Forbes obeyed. Soon after, as he was passing along with a ladder on his shoulder, an acquaintance said to him,

“Dutch John is looking for you to kill you.”

“So I hear,” replied Forbes. “He’ll find me sooner than he wants to.”

A few rods farther on he saw John coming from the Magnolia saloon, where he had been looking for Forbes. Forbes sprang towards him, exclaiming with an oath,

“Here I am,” and immediately fired four shots at him. John fired once in return, and throwing up his hands in affright at the rapid firing of Forbes, ejaculated,

“_O mein Gott!_ Will I be murdered?”

A bystander who had witnessed the meeting, and saw that John, who had expected an easy victory, was paralyzed with fear, called to him,

“Turn your artillery loose!”

Forbes was tried for this crime, and acquitted. He was afterwards convicted of crime of some kind in Carson City, and imprisoned. On New Year’s day he succeeded in removing his handcuffs, broke jail, and went to the sheriff’s house, as he said upon entering, “to make a New Year’s call.” The officer returned him to prison. From this time, his career of crime knew no impediment.

On his first arrival in the mountains he corresponded for some of the California and Nevada papers. His letters were highly interesting. His true name was Edward Richardson.