AND sure enough, two or three years afterward, we did hear
him again. News came to the Pacific coast that the Vigilance
Committee in Montana (whither Slade had removed from Rocky
Ridge) had hanged him. I find an account of the affair in the
thrilling little book I quoted a paragraph from in the last
chapter—"The Vigilantes of Montana; being a Reliable Account of
the Capture, Trial and Execution of Henry Plummer's Notorious
Road Agent Band: By Prof. Thos. J. Dimsdale, Virginia City,
M.T." Mr. Dimsdale's chapter is well worth reading, as a
specimen of how the people of the frontier deal with criminals
when the courts of law prove inefficient. Mr. Dimsdale makes two
remarks about Slade, both of which are accurately descriptive, and
one of which is exceedingly picturesque: "Those who saw him in
his natural state only, would pronounce him to be a kind husband,
a most hospitable host and a courteous gentleman; on the contrary,
those who met him when maddened with liquor and surrounded by
a gang of armed roughs, would pronounce him a fiend incarnate."
And this: "From Fort Kearney, west, he was
feared a great deal more than the
almighty." For compactness, simplicity and vigor of expression, I will
"back" that sentence against anything in literature. Mr. Dimsdale's
narrative is as follows. In all places where italics occur, they are
mine:
After the execution of the five men on the 14th of January, the
Vigilantes considered that their work was nearly ended. They had
freed the
country of highwaymen and murderers to a great extent, and they
determined that in the absence of the regular civil authority they
would establish a People's Court where all offenders should be
tried by judge and jury. This was the nearest approach to social
order that the circumstances permitted, and, though strict legal
authority was wanting, yet the people were firmly determined to
maintain its efficiency, and to enforce its decrees. It may here be
mentioned that the overt act which was the last round on the fatal
ladder leading to the scaffold on which Slade perished,
was the tearing in pieces and stamping upon a writ
of this court, followed by his arrest of the Judge, Alex. Davis, by
authority of a presented Derringer, and with his own
hands.
J. A. Slade was himself, we have been informed, a Vigilante;
he openly boasted of it, and said he knew all that they knew. He
was never accused, or even suspected, of either murder or robbery,
committed in this Territory (the latter crime was never laid to his
charge, in any place); but that he had killed several men in other
localities was notorious, and his bad reputation in this respect was
a most powerful argument in determining his fate, when he was
finally arrested for the offence above mentioned. On returning
from Milk River he became more and more addicted to drinking,
until at last it was a common feat for him and his friends to "take
the town." He and a couple of his dependents might often be seen
on one horse, galloping through the streets, shouting and yelling,
firing revolvers, etc. On many occasions he would ride his horse
into stores, break up bars, toss the scales out of doors and use most
insulting language to parties present. Just previous to the day of
his arrest, he had given a fearful beating to one of his followers;
but such was his influence over them that the man wept bitterly at
the gallows, and begged for his life with all his
power. It had become quite common, when Slade was on a
spree, for the shop-keepers and citizens to close the stores and put out all the
lights; being fearful of some outrage at his hands. For his wanton
destruction of goods and furniture, he was always ready to pay,
when sober, if he had money; but there were not a few who
regarded payment as small satisfaction for the outrage, and these
men were his personal enemies.
From time to time Slade received warnings from men that he
well knew would not deceive him, of the certain end of his
conduct. There was not a moment, for weeks previous to his
arrest, in which the public did not expect to hear of some bloody
outrage. The dread of his very name, and the presence of the
armed band of hangers-on who followed him alone prevented a
resistance which must certainly have ended in the instant murder
or mutilation of the opposing party.
Slade was frequently arrested by order of the court whose
organization we have described, and had treated it with respect by
paying one or two fines and promising to pay the rest when he had
money; but in the transaction that occurred at this crisis, he forgot
even this caution, and goaded by passion and the hatred of
restraint, he sprang into the embrace of death.
Slade had been drunk and "cutting up" all night. He and his
companions
had made the town a perfect hell. In the morning, J. M. Fox, the
sheriff, met him, arrested him, took him into court and
commenced reading a warrant that he had for his arrest, by way of
arraignment. He became uncontrollably furious, and
seizing the writ, he tore it up, threw it on the
ground and stamped upon it
The clicking of the locks of his companions' revolvers was
instantly heard, and a crisis was expected. The sheriff did not
attempt his retention; but being at least as prudent as he was
valiant, he succumbed, leaving Slade
the
master of the situation and the conqueror and ruler
of the courts, law and law-makers This was a declaration of war,
and was so accepted. The
Vigilance Committee now felt that the question of social order and
the preponderance of the law-abiding citizens had then and there
to be decided. They knew the character of Slade, and they were
well aware that they must submit to his rule without murmur, or
else that he must be dealt with in such fashion as would prevent
his being able to wreak his vengeance on the committee, who
could never have hoped to live in the Territory secure from outrage
or death, and who could
never leave it without encountering his friend, whom his victory
would have emboldened and stimulated to a pitch that would have
rendered them reckless of consequences. The day previous he had
ridden into Dorris's store, and on being requested to leave, he drew
his revolver and threatened to kill the gentleman who spoke to
him. Another saloon he had led his horse into, and buying a bottle
of wine, he tried to make the animal drink it. This was not
considered an uncommon performance, as he had often entered
saloons and commenced firing at the lamps, causing a wild
stampede.
A leading member of the committee met Slade, and informed
him in the quiet, earnest manner of one who feels the importance
of what he is saying: "Slade, get your horse at once, and go home,
or there will be—to pay." Slade started and took a long look, with
his dark and piercing eyes, at the gentleman. "What do you
mean?" said he. "You have no right to ask me what I mean," was
the quiet reply, "get your horse at once, and remember what I tell
you." After a short pause he promised to do so, and actually got
into the saddle; but, being still intoxicated, he began calling aloud
to one after another of his friends, and at last seemed to have
forgotten the warning he had received and became again
uproarious, shouting the name of a well-known courtezan in
company with those of two men whom he considered heads of the
committee, as a sort of challenge; perhaps, however, as a simple
act of bravado. It seems probable that the intimation of personal
danger he had received had not been forgotten entirely; though
fatally for him, he took a foolish way of showing his remembrance
of it. He sought out Alexander Davis, the Judge of the Court, and
drawing a cocked Derringer, he presented it at his head, and told
him that he should hold him as a hostage for his own safety. As
the judge stood perfectly quiet, and offered no resistance to his
captor, no further outrage followed on this score. Previous to this,
on account of the critical state of affairs, the committee had met,
and at last resolved to arrest him. His execution had not been
agreed upon, and, at that time, would have been negatived, most
assuredly. A messenger rode down to Nevada to inform the
leading men of what was on hand, as it was desirable to show that
there was a feeling of unanimity on the subject, all along the
gulch.
The miners turned out almost
en masse,
leaving their work and forming in solid column about six hundred
strong, armed to the teeth, they marched up to Virginia. The
leader of the body well knew the temper of his men on the subject.
He spurred on ahead of them, and hastily calling a meeting of the
executive, he told them plainly that the miners meant "business,"
and that, if they came up, they would not stand in the street to be
shot down by Slade's friends; but that they would take him and
hang him. The meeting was small, as the Virginia men were loath
to act at all. This momentous announcement of the feeling of the
Lower Town was made to a cluster of men, who were deliberation
behind a wagon, at the rear of a store on Main street.
The committee were most unwilling to proceed to extremities.
All the
duty they had ever performed seemed as nothing to the task before
them; but they had to decide, and that quickly. It was finally
agreed that if the whole body of the miners were of the opinion
that he should be hanged, that the committee left it in their hands
to deal with him. Off, at hot speed, rode the leader of the Nevada
men to join his command.
Slade had found out what was intended, and the news sobered
him instantly. He went into P.S. Pfouts' store, where Davis was,
and apologized for his conduct, saying that he would take it all
back.
The head of the column now wheeled into Wallace street and
marched up at quick time. Halting in front of the store, the
executive officer of the committee stepped forward and arrested
Slade, who was at once informed of his doom, and inquiry was
made as to whether he had any business to settle. Several parties
spoke to him on the subject; but to all such inquiries he turned a
deaf ear, being entirely absorbed in the terrifying reflections on his
own awful position. He never ceased his entreaties for life, and to
see his dear wife. The unfortunate lady referred to, between whom
and Slade there existed a warm affection, was at this time living at
their ranch on the Madison. She was possessed of considerable
personal attractions; tall, well-formed, of graceful carriage,
pleasing manners, and was, withal, an accomplished
horsewoman.
A messenger from Slade rode at full speed to inform her of her
husband's arrest. In an instant she was in the saddle, and with all
the energy that love and despair could lend to an ardent
temperament and a strong physique, she urged her fleet charger
over the twelve miles of rough and rocky ground that intervened
between her and the object of her passionate devotion.
Meanwhile a party of volunteers had made the necessary
preparations for the execution, in the valley traversed by the
branch. Beneath the site of Pfouts and Russell's stone building
there was a corral, the gate-posts of which were strong and high.
Across the top was laid a beam, to which the rope was fastened,
and a dry-goods box served for the platform. To this place Slade
was marched, surrounded by a guard, composing the best armed
and most numerous force that has ever appeared in Montana
Territory.
The doomed man had so exhausted himself by tears, prayers
and lamentations, that he had scarcely strength left to stand under
the fatal beam. He repeatedly exclaimed, "My God! my God! must
I die? Oh, my dear wife!"
On the return of the fatigue party, they encountered some
friends of Slade, staunch and reliable citizens and members of the
committee, but who were personally attached to the condemned.
On hearing of his sentence, one of them, a stout-hearted man,
pulled out his handkerchief and walked away, weeping like a
child. Slade still begged to see his wife, most piteously, and it
seemed hard to deny his request; but the bloody consequences that
were sure to follow the inevitable attempt at a rescue, that her
presence and entreaties would have certainly incited, forbade the
granting
of his request. Several gentlemen were sent for to see him, in his
last moments, one of whom (Judge Davis) made a short address to
the people; but in such low tones as to be inaudible, save to a few
in his immediate vicinity. One of his friends, after exhausting his
powers of entreaty, threw off his coat and declared that the
prisoner could not be hanged until he himself was killed. A
hundred guns were instantly leveled at him; whereupon he turned
and fled; but, being brought back, he was compelled to resume his
coat, and to give a promise of future peaceable demeanor.
Scarcely a leading man in Virginia could be found, though
numbers of the citizens joined the ranks of the guard when the
arrest was made. All lamented the stern necessity which dictated
the execution.
Everything being ready, the command was given, "Men, do
your duty," and the box being instantly slipped from beneath his
feet, he died almost instantaneously.
The body was cut down and carried to the Virginia Hotel,
where, in a darkened room, it was scarcely laid out, when the
unfortunate and bereaved companion of the deceased arrived, at
headlong speed, to find that all was over, and that she was a
widow. Her grief and heart-piercing cries were terrible evidences
of the depth of her attachment for her lost husband, and a
considerable period elapsed before she could regain the command
of her excited feelings.
There is something about the desperado-nature that is wholly
unaccountable—at least it looks unaccountable. It is this. The true
desperado is gifted with splendid courage, and yet he will take the
most infamous advantage of his enemy; armed and free, he will
stand up before a host and fight until
he is shot all to pieces, and yet when he is under the gallows and
helpless he will cry and plead like a child. Words are cheap, and it
is easy to call Slade a coward (all executed men who do not "die
game" are promptly called cowards by unreflecting people), and
when we read of Slade that he "had so exhausted himself by tears,
prayers and lamentations, that he had scarcely strength left to stand
under the fatal beam," the disgraceful word suggests itself in a
moment—yet in frequently defying and inviting the vengeance of
banded Rocky Mountain cut-throats by shooting down their
comrades and leaders, and never offering to hide or fly, Slade
showed that he was a man of peerless bravery. No coward would
dare that. Many a notorious coward, many a chicken-livered
poltroon, coarse, brutal, degraded, has made his dying speech
without a quaver in his voice and been swung into eternity with
what looked liked the calmest fortitude, and so we are justified in
believing, from the low intellect of such a creature, that it was not
courage that enabled him to do it.
Then, if moral courage is not
the requisite quality, what could it have been that this stout-hearted
Slade lacked?—this bloody, desperate, kindly-mannered, urbane
gentleman, who never hesitated to warn his most ruffianly enemies
that he would kill them whenever or wherever he came across
them next! I think it is a conundrum worth investigating.