undoubtedly true, that before the V.C. was organised,
theft was usual and murder common,
early every morning, corpses of men killed in
the dark by slung shot were found in the streets.
I, like others, had had more than one escape
from such assassination, and I owe my life
probably to the possession of a feeble-minded pistol,
which, though declining to go off above once in
six times, had a highly-burnished barrel, easily
seen; and a noisy lock, easily heard; which
weapon I always cocked and handled
ostentatiously when passing dangerous corners at
night, on my way home to Happy Valley. It is
also true that the police were thought, to be
aiders and abettors of crime. But better—a
thousand times better—even this, than the open
day murdering by the "Vigilance," who had
gone on from one excess to another, until some
of its more sanguinary members openly
announced their intention to hang any one, even
for the theft of a "red cent," or, as we should
say at home, of a brass farthing.

Yet on the evening of the day on which I
read the before cited paragraph, I entered
myself as a member of the Vigilance Committee!
Yes. Inconsistent as the act may seem,
considering my opinion of that body, I not only
joined it, but also persuaded a good friend
of mine to do the same. His Christian name
was "Dave." He was a stalwart hunter from
Texas, who, if he had had brains in proportion
to his inches, would have been a prodigy; but as
he hadn't, he wasn't.

Our committee consisted of several hundred
men, well armed, who were compelled each to
take his turn of duty when it came round, and
fulfil to the letter the orders of the "almighty
majority." They were chiefly American
residents of San Francisco, and were popularly
supposed to be the most, well-to-do and respectable
merchants in the city. "We, that is my friend
Dave and I, entered the premises of the V.C.
with considerable curiosity, and found them to
consist of a large wooden building of two
stories, which had formerly been a store.
Business was transacted in the top story: a long
naked-looking room, with two doors at the front
instead of windows, over which were placed
outside, a couple of small cranes fitted with
pulleys and ropes, formerly used to hoist goods out
of the street. They were now used to hoist men
into another world. In a word, they were the
ready-to-hand gallows of the Vigilance
Committee. At the end of the room opposite these
doors, was a post to which were then chained
two miserable objects, the prisoners Holmes and
M'Kenzie. Six armed men, regularly relieved,
kept guard over them night and day.

A few days passed away, during which, as
usual, "sensation" articles on the "new"
prisoners appeared in the papers, which were
eagerly read by the public. In fact, other
amusements being fearfully expensive, the
public—that is, the American element of it—owed
at that period its chief and cheapest excitement
to the enterprising operations of the V.C. If
the men of other nations did not relish this sort
of literature, their disgust is partly to be
referred to the fact that they were called upon to
furnish the hangable material. But as the
V.C. used great delicacy in meddling with
representatives of its own nation, the American
public breakfasted cheerfully, witli a "sensation"
for relish at ten cents: that being the
price of a morning paper. The confessions of
the prisoners were continued from day to day,
and consisted chiefly of rambling reminiscences
of highway robberies, burglaries, and petty
larcenies. In giving them to the public, the
V.C. had no doubt a certain end in view, and
that was, to excuse or palliate its own
proceedings.

"But," the reader may inquire, " were these
confessions valid?" To this query, as a
respectable ex-member of the V.C., I reply that
they were as valid as the witch confessions of
old times, and as confessions generally are, when
wrung out by torture.

If I were a hapless prisoner, not knowing
from one minute to another when a cruel death
would overtake me, and if, while I lay in this
anguish, a mob of drunken rowdies were in the
habit of invading my prison at all hours—
midnight for choice—and putting a rope round my
neck, and dragging me about the floor, swearing
with horrible imprecations that they would there
and then put me to death if I did not confess
something; would that be torture? The V.C.
did this to their prisoners, when I and Dave
were present. At length, no more confessions
were to be got out of them. Their memories or
their imaginations failed. So much the worse
for them. "Nothing now remained," as an
eloquent morning paper remarked, "but for the
majesty of the people's justice to assert itself."
In other words, the prisoners were to be
hanged, and execution, was accordingly ordered
for the morrow.

That evening I secretly held "deep converse"
with a certain middle-aged determined-looking
American gentleman. Dave also was present,
and might have held deep converse too if he
liked; but being in nowise deep, he didn't.
Nevertheless, he paid great heed to what was
going on. Here is the lag end of our interview.

"At what time do you go on guard
tonight?" asked the Determined One.

"At ten o'clock, and are relieved at six in
the morning."

"Good; at two o'clock I shall be with you.
That will give you plenty of time for your
operations. And lookee hy'ar," added the speaker,
waxing star and stripy in his accent as he became
excited, "if so be you do your parts, gentlemen,
sure as shooting I shall do mine. Yes, sir.
I guess they reckon up my men pretty
considerable mean in this bar city; but if I
wasn't short of hands—which I am, dreadful—
I want to know whose got the grit to work well
and risk his skin, when his salary's paid in city
scrip at seventy-five cents discount, as my poor
fellows' salaries air? Wal, sir! I reckon a few
hours will jest figure up whether they kin do
their duty or kin not. I'm bound to hev them