"Violent Land" by David T. Courtwright

A reading of Eternity Street, the excellent study published early this year on early Los Angeles criminal justice by John Mack Faragher, included an observation of some of the books cited in the bibliography that were definitely worth checking out.

One of these is David T. Courtwright's Violent Land:  Single Men and Social Disorder from the Frontier to the Inner City.  Well, here's a book, published in 1996, which covers exactly some of the sentiments expressed in this blog and previous articles, essays and presentations related to Trembling on the Brink.  Violent Land clearly and cogently explains the conditions that fostered violence in places like Los Angeles, due in large measure to the presence of young men inclined to commit acts of murder and other crimes on the frontier.

While Courtwright doesn't specifically address Los Angeles, his fourth chapter, "The Altar of the Golden Calf," did cover the Gold Rush years in California and the particular and exceptional conditions that applied there.  He started with this compelling statement:  "From the standpoint of social order nearly everything that could have gone wrong on the American frontier did go wrong."  He lists some key ingredients in the recipe for violence: alcohol, racism, and an over-sensitive code of honor.  The new availability of the Colt revolver, revolutionizing violence in volume, was another major element, as it became available in 1849, just in time for the Gold Rush.

Moreover, he continued, "institutional restrains like efficient police, predictable justice, permanent churches, and public schools were lacking, as were the ordinary restrains of married life."  It could be said that, though places like Los Angeles had churches, these were generally attended by women, which partly explains why the Roman Catholic Church was well-established, given that there were plenty of Latino women in town.  Protestant churches, however, struggled to survive, because, especially in the first half of the 1850s, there were so few women to be congregants.

Courtwright identifies another important element:  men who were in trouble elsewhere fled to "the current rogue's haven."  He cited an example of the phrase "gone to Texas" as symbolic of fleeing law enforcement and creditors, but it is also true that a great many Texans hightailed it to California, if not to flee, then to join the hordes of Gold Rush migrants, but those conditions of violent behavior often came with them.

Naturally, Gold Rush California was attractive because there was both money and vice in ample supply.  Young men in mining towns as well as the larger cities and towns outside the gold regions brought more gambling houses, saloons and taverns, brothels and more.  Drunken brawls, fights over insults, cheating (perceived or real) or losses incurred at cards, and many others resulted.

Courtwright pointed out that of the nearly 90,000 persons who poured into California in 1849, the ratio of men to woemn was about 20 to 1.  He also cited a fact that, within six months, 20% of the new arrivals had died, due mainly to endemic illnesses, such as cholera, which swept through the gold fields.  Poor nutrition, abysmal sanitation, over-indulgence in alcohol, and addictions to gambling were also huge problems.  The latter two could also lead to gross excesses in violence.

Hinton Helper, who wrote about California at the time, estimated there were over 4,000 murders in six years (along with 3,000 suicides and deaths due to insanity) and these were almost certainly over-inflated, but, as Courtwright noted, "California was a brutal and unforgiving place."  It was also, he continued "the most unfettered and individualistic place in the world."

This early 1850s magazine illustration of a "Miner on a Prospecting Tour" does show the man packing a long-barrelled pistol in a holster.  Weapons were essential equipment for miners, along with picks, shovels and pans, and were necessary accesories in Gold Rush Los Angeles for many men, as well.

In a section titled "Counting Bodies," Courtwright looked at homicide statistics, noting that "for ease of comparison the result are expressed in the modern Uniform Crime Reports format of so many homicides per 100,000 persons per year."  While comparing numbers, even accounting for missing information, exaggerations, inaccurate reporting on what might be a murder relative to another form of homicide and so on, can be useful, such analyses should be viewed with caution.  Giving some examples of mining towns with astronomical rates of homicides compared to Boston, Philadelphia or a rural Illinois county, Courtwright correctly stated that "the western mining frontier was an exceptionally violent place," though he also pointed out that railroad towns were also notoriously violent.

Still, a mining town, railroad town, or a place like Los Angeles existed in a particularly specific and unique condition not replicable elsewhere, so comparisons to an established eastern metropolis or a remote rural county in the Midwest is, to a significant extent, questionable.  This is largely so because, as Courtwright commented, the former examples involved "abnormally male and youthful populations" subject to vice and violence.  The lack of money to effectively fund policing and court operations, the lack of women as mothers, sisters, and spouses to tamp down male aggression, a dearth of religion and other social institutions, and other factors were significant.

Again, Courtwright did not mention Los Angeles anywhere in this section of his book, though he did so later in discussions in talking about modern violence in the city, but his general discussion of Gold Rush California is useful in looking at how a southern "cow town" with business links to the gold fields and which was a transit point to emigrant trails from the east and roads leading to the gold country, has much food for thought.

The Los Angeles Common Council and Criminal Justice, 1856

In the seventh year of its operations, the Los Angeles Common Council started off 1856 with relatively little excitement when it came to law enforcement and criminal justice.  The only significant incident of note was when Marshal Alfred Shelby had to refunded $460 in mid-March "for money lost through and by his deputy George Sexton."

These funds were almost certainly license fees and fines collected by Sexton and Shelby's behalf, but how exactly the monies were misplaced was not explained.  Whether this incident had any effect of Shelby's failed attempt at reelection in May is not known.  The election on the 10th found Shelby tallying 124 votes to William C. Getman's 167, but there could have been a more important reason for the marshal's defeat.

On 14 April, less than a month before the election, Shelby was involved in a confrontation with two men, one of whom was killed and the other seriously wounded by the marshal.  El Clamor Público in its 19 April edition didn't have much detail to offer about the shooting of Burgess, which also involved the serious wounding of a man named Tate.  The paper did say that Shelby "uso tan libremente de su pistola [freely used his pistol]" in the confrontation, the circumstances of which went unexplained.

A portion of an article from El Clamor Público, 19 April 1856, covering the killing of William Burgess and the wounding of a man named Tate by Los Angeles marshal Alfred Shelby.  When it came time for Shelby, who lost a bid for reelection in May, to appear for trial in late July, he skipped bail, evidently for Sonora in northern Mexico.  Thanks to Paul Bryan Gray for providing microfilm of this paper.

Shelby was arrested and, after a preliminary hearing, was released on his own recognizance without bail by District Judge Benjamin Hayes.  This was later reconsidered and Shelby was arraigned and posted $2500 bail using saddler John M. Foy, lawyer and former district attorney Ezra Drown, former mayor Thomas Foster, and jailer Francis Carpenter as his bondsmen.

But, when it came time for him to appear in court on 28 July for his trial, Shelby was nowhere to be found.  Getman engaged in a concerted search for his predecessor, but found that Shelby skipped town (and bail) and was, evidently, high-tailing it to Sonora in northern Mexico.

Another interesting development came in mid-May when the council resolved that the finance committee "with the Marshal arrange with the Sheriff of Los Angeles County [David W. Alexander, who was newly elected], [for] the future support and care of city prisoners."

This editorial, from the 5 April 1856 edition of the Los Angeles Star, was critial of the common [city] council's handling of dinances, including large expenditures to the town's jailer, calling such spending mismanagement.

At the next meeting, on 26 May, the finance committee reported "that it had contracted with the Sheriff of Los Angeles County for the support and future care of the City prisoners" at 25 cents per person "until the prisoner shall be sentenced, which shall take place within twenty-four hours after entrance in the City Jail."  Moreover, the report continued, "all prisoners that remain [in] the City Jail after their receiving sentence, the jailor shall be allowed fifty cents per day for each so remaining."  It is notable that "if any prisoner should come into the City Jail on Satirday night and remain Sunday, for each the jailor shall receive 50 cts. each one, although not sentenced."  This seemed to refer to the regular flow of intoxicated persons who were taken to jail after benders on Saturday evenings.

A likely reason for the policy change, came with an announcement in a 19 June letter to the council by Stephen C. Foster, who in the May election was returned to the mayoralty that there were "two suits, which have been commenced against the Corporation [city] by the City Jailor, in the aggregate for the sum of $280."  This amount appears to have represented costs he was charging the city for his services and which led to the policy change of having the sheriff care for prisoner maintenance.

In any event, the finance committee was charged with investigating whether it was Carpenter or the city treasurer, Samuel Arbuckle, who was responsible for the disputed sum and to resolve the issue amicably.  The result was that, four days later, the committee reported that both officials agreed to pay half the $280 and settle the matter.

A portion of listings of city and county expenses, published in El Clamor Público, 14 June 1856.  Note the $800 annual salary of the marshal, relative to other officials, the $500 in the Jail Fund, and another $500 expended towards "maintenance of the prisoners and other costs of the jail in the fiscal year."

A month later, a crisis rocked Los Angeles when a deputized citizen, William W. Jenkins, was charged with serving a writ of attachment for a $50 debt on Antonio Ruiz.  When Jenkins seized a guitar in Ruiz' household, the latter's live-in girlfriend grabbed the instrument, claiming a letter from her mother was in it.  Jenkins pulled a gun and, when Ruiz seized him from behind, Jenkins fired over his shoulder delivering a fatal chest wound to Ruiz.

Spanish-speaking residents gathered on a hill overlooking the town and demanded justice. Rumors of a mob of these individuals looking to storm the jail and lynch Jenkins was met by a popular meeting and an organization of citizens to forestall any potential violence.  Consequently, at an extraordinary session of the council on the same night as the meeting, 23 July, the body received a statement from Mayor Foster about "the propriety of making an appropriation for the maintenance of peace & public order, and to take such measures, as the present circumstances may demand.

In response, the council resolved

that in view of the present critical circumstances, the Corporation upon its part, in conjunction with the County of Los Angeles, does hereby make an appropriation of a sum not to exceed five hundred dollars, for the present to be applied exclusively to the support and maintenance of public order.

William H. Peterson, a former special police officer and deputy sheriff, was appointed the disbursing agent of these funds, but the outlay was not detailed with respect to who would receive monies.  Moreover, the council issued another resolution in which

the Common Council repudiates and condemns all the irregular proceedings that have taken place in this City lately by acts of insubordination and will give its aid and support in suppressing the same and it is further resolved that the foregoing resolutions [this and the previous about the financial appropriation] be read at the public meeting now assembled in front of the Montgomery house [Hotel] on Main Street in the City of Los Angeles.

More will be featured on this blog about the Jenkins-Ruiz affair, but any large-scale violence was avoided.  Still, on 4 August, Peterson appeared before the council to report that about 60% of the appropriation for the suppression of civil unrest was spent--almost certainly on citizen patrols during the tensest moments of the crisis.   Though a week later Peterson was asked to present a full report on the disbursement of funds, there is no surviving record of his statement, if any was given.

The remainder of the year was relatively quiet for the council.  Mayor Foster resigned in mid-September, with El Clamor Público reporting that it was for business reasons and lionizing him for his efficient work.  A special election, presided over by council member and ex-mayor Antonio Franco Coronel, resulted in the elevation of John G. Nichols to the office.

At the end of the month, the council admomished Marshal Getman in a resolution calling his attention to fulfulling his duties by maintaining regular office hours at city hall and to attending council sessions, as per the town's ordinances.

Other than that, 1856 ended on a mundane note, especially considering the problems with yet another marshal in Alfred Shelby and in the concerns expressed by the council about the tension and emotion involved in the Jenkins-Ruiz affair.

Steven Pinker's "The Better Angels of Our Nature"

This book was purchased at the local library's bookstore for $1 in early February and has proven to be a real eye-opener on the subject of this blog, in terms of the broad context of violence.

Pinker, Harvard College Professor of Pyschology at Harvard University, has been named one the 100 most influential people in the world by Time magazine, as well as one the top 100 global thinkers by the journal Foreign Policy (his The Stuff of Thought is now in reading mix right now).

The Better Angels of Our Nature, which appeared in 2011, is massive, at a weighty 700 pages of text, but it takes on a large context of violence towards gays, ethnic minorities women, and animals and looks at the deep psychological aspects of violent behavior, including predatory, dominant, vengeful, sadistic and ideological motivations.

 
It looks how empathy, self-control, morality and reason are measured in comparison and contrast to what is referred to as the "civilizing process," as adapted from the work of Norbert Elias.  The thrust of the book is that, despite the millions of deaths caused by the two World Wars, genocidal actions by Turkey, the Nazis, and the Cambodian Khmer Rouge, and other atrocities, violence has actually declined significantly over time and, in recent decades, has lead to what Pinker calls "the Long Peace."

Pinker is careful to say that he is not suggesting that the trends in the decline of violence will continue as they have been or that there won't be large-scale atrocities in our future, but is compelling in working with an array of studies that show just how much violent behavior has been mitigated of late.

In his third chapter, Pinker discusses violence in the American South and its "culture of honor," in which violent actions were part of a masculine code of "self-help justice" and a denial of allowing government "a monopoly on the legitimate use of force."  He quotes Eric Monkonnen, whose work has been alluded to in this blog relating to homicide statistics, and his statement that "the South had a deliberately weak state, eschewing things such as pentitentiaries in favor of local, personal violence."

For Southerners, "self-help justice depends on the credibility of one's prowess and resolve" and "an obsession with credible deterrence, otherwise known as a culture of honor."  That is, men in the South codified the idea that violence was legitimate "after an insult or other mistreatment."  Northerners were more likely to commit murder during robberies, but Southerners "in those sparked by quarrels" and "to protect home and family."

Notably, Pinker alludes to the fact that the Southern colonies were populated by large numbers of Scots-Irish "who hailed from the mountainous periphery of the British Isles beyond the reach of the central government" and that many came from a sheepherding economy, which may have facilitated the development of the "code of honor."  He notes that "herders all over the world cultivate a hairtrigger for violent retaliation."

Even if later Southerners were no longer heders, he continues, "cultural mores can persist long after the ecological circumstances that gave rise to them are gone."  He does note, though, that "the immediate trigger for self-help justice, then, is anarchy" in the absence of effective legal institutions or the acceptance of them.  Moreover, "honor has staying power because the first man who dares to abjure it would be heaped with contempt for cowardice and treated as an easy mark."

The discussion then turns to the American West and the fact that, even more than the South, it "was a zone of anarchy until well into the 20th century." Here the sheepherder is manifested as the cowboy with the culture of honor transplanted to the wide-open spaces of the western states and territories.  The self-help attitude based on honor also involved "drinking, gambling, whoring, and brawling."

Pinker writes that "in the American Wild West, annual homicide rates were fifty to several hundred times higher than those of eastern cities and midwestern farming regions."  More germane to the subject of this blog, "the criminal justice system was underfunded, inept, and often corrupt."

In this context, "self-help justice was the only way to deter horse thieves, cattle rustlers, highwaymen, and other brigands" and "the guarantor of its deterrent threat was a reputation for resolve that had to be defended at all costs."

Gold Rush California, Pinker continues, citing David Courtright's Violent Land, had "an average annual homicide rate at the time of 83 per 100,000."  An accompanying figure built on statistics from Randolph Roth's American Homicide showed that rates peaked in California at over 100 per 100,000 and then began a long decline that can be attributed largely to the "civilizing process."

A figure from Steven Pinker's The Better Angels of Our Nature, adapted from American Homicide by Randolph Ross shows the peaking astronomical rate of homicide in California during the Gold Rush years of the 1850s and the dramatic decline since.

Meantime, as Courtwright noted, the staggering violence of the Gold Rush era "was exacerbated by a combination of demography and evolutionary psychology."  Significantly,

these regions were peopled by young, single men who had fled impoverished farms and urban ghettoes to seek their fortune in the harsh frontier.  The one great universal in the study of violence is that most of it is committed by fifteen-to-thirty-year-old men.

There is also the matter of having some mitigation by the presence of women, be they mothers, sisters, aunts, or wives and the latter become especially important as Pinker highlights the concept of "cads versus dads."  That is, as young men marry and have families, they distance themselves from the competition from other males that leads to so much violent confrontation.

Then comes neurobiology through the pervasive influence of liquor on the weakening of self-control and Pinker observes that "many studies have shown that people with a tendency toward violence are more likely to act on it when they are under the influence of alcohol."

One element Pinker did not discuss was the technological advances in weaponry, specifically the introduction, just in time for the Gold Rush, of the Colt revolver in 1849.  Elsewhere in the book, though, he suggested that the weapon was not so much a factor in increase or decline of violence as the human characteristics that led to the decision to engage in or step back from violent activity.  It is true that among Spanish-speaking Californians, the weapon of choice was often more likely to be a knife or a sword, but the growing inventory of guns is certainly a factor in the prevasivenes of violence.

Pinker, despite the opportunity to play off the title of his book, did not mention Los Angeles in his book, but, clearly, many of the conditions that he discussed applied to this brawling little village as well as to other frontier communities he referenced including Abilene, Dodge City, Wichita, Leadville, Bodie and others.

Los Angeles from the 1850s to the 1870s had plenty of the saloons and grog shops, gambling dens, brothels and other institutions that fomented so much of the staggering levels of violence that wracked the town for so long.

It also, which would have played well to his other point about the "code of honor," as the region had a large proportion of Southerners in its populace.  As will be discussed in this blog in future posts, there was no shortage of incidents involving Southern men defending their honor through duels, brawls and gunfights.

El Monte, settled mainly by families from southern states who migrated over in the early 1850s and onward, was ground zero for much of this, whether it meant family feuds that happened in that community or elsewhere.  These included the King-Johnson feud of 1855 and the King-Carlisle gunbattle in Los Angeles a decade later.

However, it is worth noting that there was a change by the 1870s.  For example, the township of Los Nietos, straddling the San Gabriel River where today's cities of Downey, Santa Fe Springs, Whittier and Pico Rivera are located, saw a significant influx of Southerners by 1870--to the extent that the English-surnamed population leapt from two dozen in 1860 to over 1,100 a decade later, most of them from southern states.

Yet, there is little indication that violence there was anywhere close to what was experienced in El Monte or among its population, twenty or so years before.  Perhaps the anarchic conditions of the Gold Rush era had been replaced enough by the "civilizing process" so that its results could already be witnessed in Los Nietos.  Schools, churches, a greater proportion of women--these could be among a range of factors that were involved.

In any case, Pinker's book was a revelation when it came to thinking about the big picture dynamics of how violence has declined over the centuries.  For anyone who wants to know more about the role of violent behavior over time, though it will take a while, The Better Angels of Our Nature is definitely worth checking out.

William Lewis Manly and Early Los Angeles Crime

The Death Valley '49ers were among the best-known migrants to California of the masses of gold seekers and others who came to the Pacific coast in the early stages of Gold Rush.  Among their number was William Lewis Manly, whose memoir, Death Valley in '49, first appeared in print in 1894.

The horrors of the trip across Death Valley are the focus of the work, but, for the purposes of this blog, the interest is more related to Manly's arrival in Los Angeles in early 1850, after surviving the ordeal in the desert and then a return visit a little more than two years later.

It was March 1850, when he straggled into town, noting that

the houses were only one story high and seemed built of mud of a gray color, the roofs flat, and the streets almost deserted . . . we could not see any way to make a living here.  There was no land cultivated and not a fence, nothing to require labor of any kind . . . in our walk about this city of mud we saw many things that seemed strange to us.  There were more women than men, and more children than grown-up people, while the dogs were plenty.

There was an explanation, of course, for the demographic oddities that Manly discerned, as "the majority of the male inhabitants of this town had gone to the mines, and this accounted for the unusual proportion of women."  Then, before winter set in, he continued, "we learned that they would return in November, and then the gambling houses would start up in full blast . . ."

Evidently Manly did not stay around long enough on his first visit to Los Angeles to find out what "full blast" in the gambling dens of town could often lead to, but on his return to the City of Angeles in summer 1852, he did.

First, though, he discovered that one of the members of his expedition had arrived in Los Angeles a couple of months ahead of him.  In January 1850, Lewis Granger came to the town and quickly disavowed any idea of heading for the mines.  Instead, he became part-owner of a boarding house, before deciding to follow the occupation he had before coming to California—being an attorney.

In fact, when Manly returned to Los Angeles, he stated: "[Jonathan R.] Scott and Granger were lawyers.  Granger was the same man who read the preamble and resolutions that were to govern our big train as we were about to start from Utah Lake [Salt Lake City].  Scott was quite a noted member of the bar . . ."

What attracted Manly's attention more, though, was the fact that

the country was overstocked with desperate and lawless renegades in Los Angeles, and from one to four dead men was about the number picked uyp in the streets each morning.  They were low class, and there was no investigation, simply a burial at public expense.

As discussed in this blog previously, the statement that there was about a murder a day in Los Angeles during the time Manly was talking about, or slightly afterward, was expressed in print by other memorists, including merchant Harris Newmark and Horace Bell, whose colorful and embellished recollections have been recounted here at some length.

Other sources indicate that, while the homicide rate was astronomically high by modern or even contemporary standards, there was nowhere near the level of violence recorded by these writers, who may have inflated their figures to further dramatize their recollections.

This 1843 drawing purports to show what "Mexican Gentlemen" looked like.  William Lewis Manly, in his 1894 memoir, lauded the honesty, benevolence, and charity of Californios.

In any case, it is interesting to read how Manly saw the ethnic mixture in Los Angeles, writing, "the permanent Spanish [that is, Californio] population seemed honest and benevolent, but there were many bad ones from Chile, Sonora, Mexico, Texas, Utah, and Europe, who seemed always on an errand of mischief, a murder, thieving, or robbery."

Manly also had kind words to say about the Californios because of the assistance he was given by them after his travails during his trip to the region, stating

I became well acquainted with many of these old California natives, and found them honest in their dealings, good to the needy, and in all my travels never found more willing hands to bestow upon relatives, friends, or strangers ready relief than I saw among these simple natives.

Many American and European writers of the era expressed outright hostility and racism towards Spanish-speakers in California, so it is notable to see Manly's views, even if "simple" could be construed as paternalistic, or merely as "salt of the earth".

Several months before the murder of Joshua Bean, a former Indian-fighting militia general turned saloon owner, in the mission town of San Gabriel, Manly related a different event related to popular justice in that community.

Evidently, there were four men observed near the mission and acting suspiciously, so based 

on this information the Vigilance Committee arrested the man [the other three apparently having escaped] in camp and brought him to a private room, where he was tried by twelve men, who found him guilty of horse stealing and sentenced [him] to be hung at once, for horse stealing was a capital offense in those days

It was true that, for a time, grand larceny could be punishable by death after a trial, but there was no such example found in Los Angeles County during the brief time the statute was in effect.  More likely, the Vigilance Committee [where a standing or an ad hoc one] was applying its own stautory standards.

Manly continued,

To carry out the sentence they procured a car, put a box on it for a seat, and with a rope around his neck and seated on the box, the condemned man was dragged off by hand to an oak tree not far away, whither he was followed by all the men, women, and children of the place, who were nearly all natives [Californios, probably].

After some of the unnamed man's friends were alerted to the situation, they arrived

to try to save his life.  They talked and inquired around a little and then proposed the question whether to hang him or to turn him over to the lawful authorities for regular trial.  This was put to a vote and it was decided to spare him now.  So the rope was taken off his neck, and he was turned over to Mr. [J.S.] Mallard, the mission justice of the peace, much to the relief of the fellow who saw death staring him in the face.

Manly's description of this narrowly-averted lynching is not found elsewhere and, obviously, cannot be corroborated.  If true, however, it is a rare example of a popular tribunal electing to rescind its own verdict and death sentence.

Also rare is to find first-person sources of life in early American-era Los Angeles and particularly that dealing with crime, violence and the administration of justice.  Manly's memoir is an interesting one on many grounds and well-worth including and considering in any accounting of these issues.

L.A. Times "Eternity Street" Review

Yesterday's Los Angeles Times has a nearly full-page review (click here) of John Mack Faragher's Eternity Street: Violence and Justice in Frontier Los Angeles.  The reviewer is Jill Leovy, a Times reporter whose book, Ghettoside, examines the modern crisis of black male homicide and the abysmal rate at which these crimes are solved.

It helps to know this (this blogger had to look up this information) before reading the review, because so often, book reviews are revealing about the reviewer as well as the reviewed.  Leovy's main point of analysis is that Faragher asks the right question relating to why people were, in frontier Los Angeles 140 and more years ago, murdered with impunity and protection.

This question of justice denied is crucial for Leovy as she eloquently and passionately discusses why Faragher's excellent book does so many things well--to the point where she repeats at the beginning and end the positive affirmation: "Now we're talking."

What is interesting to this blogger in Leovy's review is what might be termed a variation on a common theme; that is, the attempt to directly, concretely and specifically link violence and criminal justice issues from frontier Los Angeles to later periods and events.

This has been done, for example, by historians in comparing the Chinese Massacre of 1871 to mob violence in Los Angeles in 1943 (Zoot Suit Riots), 1965 (Watts Riots) and 1992 (the civil unrest in the aftermath of the trial involving officers from the Rodney King beating).

In Leovy's review, she links frontier Los Angeles to the modern Gaza Strip, South Africa and Compton and suggests Faragher's analysis might help "dissect" such issues as gang and drug violence, honor and witch killings, and counter-insurgency and state-building.

Without trying to review a review, a core question is: how readily can we compare and contrast types of violence in modern places to those of frontier Los Angeles?

This blogger has, in the twenty years studying and writing on this topic, been very wary of making ready connections between that era and later ones, except in broad brush with broadly-sweeping strokes.

If you've read Faragher's book and Leovy's very interesting review, leave a comment here about what you think!

Barton Massacre Podcast from KUCI Radio, Part Two

The second and final part of an interview on the Barton Massacre of 1857 conducted with Ellen Bell of the KUCI radio program, "Irvine History Today" is up on her blog: http://irvinehistorytoday.blogspot.com/.

The Barton Massacre of 1857, Part Nine: The Trial and Lynching of Pancho Daniel

The final major event in the aftermath of the Barton Massacre of 1857 was the capture and trial of co-leader of the gang who committed the depredations: Pancho Daniel.

Daniel was said to have been wounded in the ambush that slaughtered Barton and three members of his posse searching for what was called the Flores-Daniel Gang.  The injury was, evidently, serious enough to put Daniel out of action and he quietly slipped out of the Los Angeles region and headed north.

It was not until just after the new year dawned in 1858 that Daniel was captured by Sheriff John E. Murphy of Santa Clara County.  As reported in the 23 January edition of El Clamor Público, Murphy had received word that Daniel was hiding nearby.  Going to the location that was identified, Murphy found "a Californio or Mexican that was there, but this person said he knew nothing of Daniel's whereabouts, and even that he knew him."

At that, Murphy called out for his companions and, when they walked up, "ordered the hanging of the Mexican, who, at the moment of suffocation, confesed that Pancho Daniel was hiding within a pile of straw very close to where they were."  The sheriff called out to Daniel to surrender "when he [Daniel] stuck his head out of the straw and seeing that there was no way to escape, he surrendered."

It was said that Daniel had three pistols with him when seized and then he was taken to the jail at San Jose and held there until Murphy could bring him down on the next steamer to Los Angeles, where the prisoner arrived on the 19th.  The article concluded that "he was accused of having committed many crimes, and, among these, of having taken part in the deal of Sheriff Barton."

Reporting on the capture of Francisco "Pancho" Daniel, El Clamor Público, 23 January 1858.  Thanks to Paul Bryan Gray for making copies of this paper available.  Click on any image to see enlarged views in a new window.

Daniel was indicted on 10 February before the county's Court of Sessions, headed by County Judge William G. Dryden, easily the most colorful judicial figure of the era, on the charge of murder in the deaths of Barton and his three posse members.  The district attorney representing the state was Ezra Drown, who had been an attorney since his arrival in Los Angeles in 1853, and Daniel's counsel was E.J.C. Kewen, a noted lawyer, orator and Southern firebrand.  Because this was a murder case, it was transferred to the District Court, presided over by Judge Benjamin Hayes, who was nearing the end of his six-year term, assigned number 498, and then continued to the March term.

Daniel was being held in the Los Angeles County jail when, on 15 February, his fellow bandit, Luciano Tapia (a.k.a., Leonardo Lopez) was executed after his conviction for his role in the killing of George Pflugardt.  

On 15 March, Daniel was arraigned and then pled not guilty in the murders of San Juan Capistrano merchant George Pflugardt, for which there was one indictment, and of Charles Baker and Charles Daly, two of Barton's posse members, which were reflected in the second indictment.  A trial date was set for the 22nd.  Kewen then stepped down from his representation of Daniel, for reasons unknown, and Kimball H. Dimmick, stepped in.  Dimmick, who came to California in the Mexican-American War, was alcalde (mayor) of San Jose, a judge and a signer of the California constitution of 1849, before migrating to Los Angeles, where he was a member of the Assembly, a district attorney, and attorney.

When the case came up for trial, Dimmick was "discharged by consent of defendant" and a new attorney, Columbus Sims, a resident and lawyer in town since 1852, took on the defense of Daniel.  A venire (call) for ninety-six jurors had been made, but Sims quickly moved for a change of venue, which Hayes denied.  As the hearing proceeded, twenty-eight jurors were excused and the rest ordered to return the following day.

But, as reported in El Clamor on 27 March, "the accused submitted a petition that the matter be continued until the next sesion of the court, so that there would be time to bring certain witnesses from Santa Clara County who would testify that he was not in Los Angeles County at the time of the crime of which he is accused."  Judge Hayes ruled that "the defendant had given sufficient evidence to grant the time requested, and consequently, continued the matter until the next session on the third week of July."

The next District Court term arrived and the Daniel case came up.  On 19 July, the case was called up, evidently late in the day, and was continued the following day.  Sims was out ill, and Cameron E. Thom, long-time district attorney, was appointed associate counsel and Hayes assigned the case to be heard on the 28th, with a new venire of ninety-six jurors also ordered.

The account of the lynching of Daniel, Los Angeles Star, 4 December 1858.

On the 28th, the case came up, twenty-four jurors were excused for cause and a new twist emerged, as reported in the Los Angeles Star, in its edition of 31 July.  A group of jurors had been called by the sheriff, as required by law, but Sims challenged the selection "on the ground of alleged bias on the part of the sheriff."  A panel of three triers, composed of former county judge Agustín Olvera, merchant Francis Mellus, and merchant John Schumacher, were appointed by Judge Hayes to hear evidence of bias on the part of Sheriff James Thompson, who had recently been voted in as sheriff after a special election, following the on-duty death (the second consecutive after Barton) of William Getman in January.  This was because Thompson was one of the captains of citizen cavalry members seeking the Flores-Daniel Gang after the massacre and was stationed at Simi Pass when Flores was captured and had publicly expounded on Daniel's guilt.

Upon an objection, though it is not known by whom, Olvera, Mellus and Schumacher were discharged "for cause shown" and another trio: ranchers Gerónimo Ybarra and Santiago Carrillo, and carriage maker Daniel McLaren [identified only as "McCleran" in the Star] were appointed by Hayes and accepted by the attorneys.

The triers heard the matter, with witnesses including Kewen, Thompson, jailer Francis Thompson, prominent doctor John S. Griffin  and two other men.  Even though the defense filed an exception to Hayes' charge to the triers, on unknown grounds, the trio were sent off to deliberate with the presence of county coroner J.C. Welsh and "agreed that vias existed—panel discharged."  Hayes then "ordered, that a venire [call] issue for ninety-six persons to serve as jurors, returnable by the Welsh on the 9th of August, at 10 o'clock."  The coroner had, in fact, already conducted court business on behalf of the sheriff, having conducted a "sheriff's sale" of the Rancho Palos Verdes by order from Hayes in March.

Yet, when the court reconvened on 9 August, Sims was ready with another maneuver.  After Welsh  returned a list of ninety-six jurors he summoned to the court, Sims challenged the coroner on what the Star described as "implied bias" of some unstated type.  Unknown triers heard this latest accusation with witnesses including Drown, Kewen, Welsh and a fourth man, upon which "the Court finds that said bias does exist," as reported by the Star.  This finding disqualified Welch from performing the role of selecting jurors, the group he summoned were discharged and the case continued to the 10th.  At that time, on a motion from Sims and an order by Hayes, the case, once more, was continued until the next term in November.

Meantime, Hayes ran for a second six-year term as county judge and his competitor was none other than Sims.  The election results, published on 4 September, showed Hayes trouncing Sims 1229-209, but whether the Daniel case and any public anger at Sims for his creative defense strategy were factors cannot be known.

On 15 November, reported the Star twelve days later, the case was called and Hayes set it for trial on the 22nd.  Drown motioned that Welsh be ordered to call another ninety-six jurors to appear the next day, but then, the paper noted, "coroner resigned, and Court appointed an Elisor," this being a term for someone who acted in lieu of the sheriff or coroner.  This was Manuel F. Coronel, whose father Ygnacio was a former common (city) council member and whose brother Antonio was an assesor, council member, and mayor of Los Angeles and later treasurer of California.  Manuel went on, from 1869-71, to represent Los Angeles in the state Assembly.

A portion of El Clamor Publico's coverage and editorial of the Daniel lynching, 4 December 1858.

Sims returned to his playbook and ran the same attack: accusing Coronel of bias.  Hayes then called Kewen, attorney and future council member and District Court Judge Murray Morrison, and prominent Californio Juan Padilla, to be triers.  This time, fifteen witnesses were called, and after a two full days, "the Elisor was declared, on Friday morning, free from bias."

Then, another tack was taken by Sis who filed a motion for a change of venue.  From two o'clock until the closing of court for the day, arguments were made, after which "te Court granted the motion, and the trial of Daniel is transferred to Santa Barbara county."  Notably, the Star, while praising Drown for his "energy, fidelity and perseverence" while he "ably sustained the cause of the prosecution" avoided crediting Sims for his handiwork, instead noting that Cameron Thom "projected a novel and skilful course, which has proved successful."  Years later, as district attorney, Thom was on the other side of the bar, prosecuting the cases of nine men accused of involvement in the Chinese Massacre of October 1871.

With the knowledge that the Daniel trial was being moved to Santa Barbara and fueled by the frustration felt after the many delays in the case, a group of citizens acted.  According to the 4 December edition of El Clamor, the jailer, Francis Carpenter, stated that, as he was leaving early in the morning to do his usual shopping for supplies, he was confronted by a mob and forced to yield his keys.  After he ran to find Judge Hayes, he returned to find Daniel hung from the crossbeam of the jailyard gate.

The paper said that a witness "declared that the death of this unfortunate was one of the most brutal examples that could be."  It was said the rope used was too thick and the gate not high enough to allow for a drop that would break Daniel's neck so that "he suffocated in the midst of the most horrifying despair."  The witness said that when he arrived the body was still twitching, but that he could not identify the ringleaders.

El Clamor went out of its way to say that it was not defending Daniel, calling him "one of the worse evildoers who has existed as a shame of humanity."  But, it went on, "if we have a duly constituted government and laws to obey and respect, why do we avail ourselves of violence and brutal force?"  Moreover, it went on to note that Daniel was a miserable and defenseless victim of those looking to "destroy public tranquility."

To the ringleaders, the paper stated, "Daniel was an assassin . . . and justice was too tardy with its rulings--so then, there is no sense of guilt to take him and hang him!"  Asking, "what is the result of these rationalizations?" El Clamor answered that it was "for them, in place of one type of crime, there was committed one larger."  Observing that "the death of Pancho Daniel does not merit the word 'lynching'," the paper claimed that, rather than represent the larger community, the killing of Daniel was the result of "a few men gathered for the sole purpose of perpetrating an unprecedented act of violence and cruelty."

Rising in its indignation, El Clamor went on:

Town of Los Angeles!  Bow your head in humiliation, and confess that in your time is here sacrificed prisoners without a word of defense!  There is no sensitivity, no emotion, on the homicidal breast, which hears the tearful appeal of an unfortunate who will expire on an ignominious gallows, asking for the consolations of religion, or wanting to see his wife or his young children!

Noting that Los Angeles was a place favored by nature and material progress, here was another instance in which "it is hoped that the reputation of the country is not tarnished by such a dark blot."  Moreover, the paper claimed, "We are among the first to say to the town: patience and hope!"  It asked "if a criminal of another nationalty falls into the hands of justice, will those who carried off Pancho Daniel give evidence that they are impartial with criminals?"

Observing that "almost all of the citizens of this county regarded Daniel as a criminal and this makes it less horrifying that revenge has been taken on him," the paper concluded by aserting that "we thought that they had seen the pernicious effects of lynchings."  Without equality of the law, the community becomes "governed by the will of a few individuals."  In such a circumstance, El Clamor exclaimed, "raise high the banner of anarchy and treason."

By contrast, as usual, the Star was far more sanguine in its reports, also on 4 December.  It professed that, on the day of Daniel's lynching, "the good people of our city were somewhat astonished on waking up from their peaceful slumbers, by the rumor that Pancho Daniel was then hanging by the neck from the cross beam of the gate of the county jail yard."

Stating that it was "probably a committee acting on behalf of a larger body of citizens" that perpetrated the hanging while Sheriff Thompson was out of town, the paper matter of factly reported the confrontation with Carpenter and his yielding of the keys and the fact that Daniel was led "to mount an office stool" which was knocked from underneath him.  For the Star, the shock was that, "as the morning cleared, it revealed the terrible spectacle of a human body hanging dead."

It claimed the citizens who had gathered to see "the body executed in so quiet and mysterious a manner" dispersed and that, only a half hour later, one would not have thought that "so fearful a tragedy had been enacted in our midst."  There was a vague allusion to "some feeling [that] was exhibited during the day, but nothing to indicate that the respectable portion of the Californians were dissatisfied with the result."

While tame in comparison to the expostulations of El Clamor, this editorial in the Star marked a turning point in the English-language press's views on popular justice, 4 December 1858.

However, an editorial in the same edition did mark a noted, if somewhat muted, change in attitude by the Star about lynching.  Writing that the event was something "which we cannot permit to pas without notice," the paper stated that "it was the execution without the sanction or form of law, of a fellow being; one who—even admitting his guilt—was entitled, by the constitution, to the benefit of a fair and impartial trial.

While the paper maligned that "technicalities of law" which "may have been taken advantage of, to defeat the ends of justice," it was asserted that the evidence was such that "we have no doubt that justice would have eventually been meted out to him, and the majesty of the law vindicated."

The editorial continued:

We cannot express too strongly our disapprobation of this act.  At the same time, we have no desire to give expression to harsh or exciting language on this occasion.  The deed has been done.  It has, we admit, met with the general approval of the people; but we must nevertheless, give expression to our utter disapproval of mob law . . . if we are to have anarchy and confusion prevail, let the announcement be made, so that all may take warning . . . We had hoped that the good sense of the people had long since discovered the pernicious effects of such exhibitions.   We had hoped that all looked to the laws for the punishment of evil doers; and that the day of mob law had passed away.  But we were mistaken.

The lynching of Daniel, the piece went on. "will reflect disgrace upon the community, which years will not obliterate.  Our reputation abroad was none of the brightest, as a law-abiding community; there will now be a foundation for such charges."  Noting that it had no sympathy whatever for Daniel and certain that justice would have resulted from his trial, the Star concluded:

We had no right to turn executioner and no desire to soil ourselves with the blood of our fellow [being.]

It was hardly the righteous indignation of El Clamor, but the feelings of the Star did reveal a market change from attitudes expressed by the English-language press in the nearly eight years since the first issue of the Star made its debut in May 1851.  This also reflected a growing change in sentiment more broadly in the United States during the 1850s, which was the apogee of popular justice in the nation.  A slow, but growing confidence in policing, the courts, and the general administration of justice, along with what might be called "the civilizing process" (Steven Pinker's The Better Angels of Our Nature is now being read in this context), were part of the transformation.  Vigilantism and lynching were still to be resorted to on occasions in Los Angeles County until the mid-1870s, but they were less frequent and the administration of justice did improve.

But, at the end of 1858, that transition was still very much in its early stages, as evidenced by a statement written in the first book of the Register of Actions for the District Court as he ended the listing for the Pancho Daniel case:

The Gentleman who was defendant in this case, was accidentally hung, through the carelessness of some American citizens on Tuesday morning, November 30th A.D. 1858.

Barton Massacre Podcast from KUCI Radio, Part One

Last Wednesday afternoon, I sat down with Ellen Bell, host of KUCI's Irvine History Today to talk about the Barton Massacre of 1857.  The first of two parts aired yesterday from 4 to 4:30 p.m., though the public station's signal strength is pretty much localized to the Irvine area.

However, a podcast of that first segment is available through Ellen's blog of the same name and can be accessed here.

The discussion ranged from the specifics of the incident, in which county sheriff James Barton and three member of his posse were gunned down by the Flores-Daniel Gang, to what the Irvine area was like 150 years ago, to the racial tension, fear, and revenge that drove those who responded to the killings as they hunted down gang members, and more.

Ellen had attended my presentation on the Barton massacre to the Orange County Historical Society about a month ago involving a lecture and group discussion with over 60 participants and invited me for the interview.

The second part will air next Wednesday the 9th at 4 p.m., if you happen to be close enough to the campus at UC Irvine to pick up that signal.

Otherwise, head over to Ellen's blog to hear the podcast!

Meanwhile, we're nearing the end of the series on this blog about the massacre with the next post concerning the trial and lynching of Francisco "Pancho" Daniel, so check back for that!

The Barton Massacre of 1857, Part Eight: The Trial and Execution of Luciano Tapia/Leonardo López

With the lynching of Juan Flores on 7 February 1857, the aftermath of the killings of Los Angeles County Sheriff James R. Barton and three members of his posse hunting the bandit gang led by Flores and Pancho Daniel reached its peak in terms of its activity, vengefulness and excess.

Most of the known bandits had been killed by posses of citizens in the Santa Ana Mountains near the Barton murders, at Ventura, and in Los Angeles.  Two main figures, however, remained at large, though both were captured in the San José region.

One of these was tried as Luciano Tapia, though he was commonly identified, including by one of the other members, Jesús Espinosa, as Leonardo López.  Tapia's trial for his role in the killing of San Juan Capistrano merchant George Pflugardt, whose murder led Barton and his posse to head out to find the killers, was held in mid-December 1857 and he was represented by public defender Kimball H. Dimmick, who was a veteran of the Mexican-American War, a signer of California's 1849 constitution, a member of the state legislature and former Los Angeles County district attorney.

The indictment against Tapia was presented by the Grand Jury on 14 December, and a venire (call) for jurors issued the following day.  The trial jurors secured (there being one Latino, Jesús López, among the 12 men seated), the case proceeded on the 16th with Dimmick filing a motion to continue the case to the next term of the court because he needed to procure the testimony of Rafael Martinez of San Luis Obispo, which was going to state that, in January, the month of the Barton massacre, Tapia was working for Martinez.  District Attorney Ezra Drown submitted an affidavit that this attempt to delay the trial was unfounded, because of the evidence ready to be presented at trial.

An interesting document from the case file (case 337 in the District Court records, now at the Huntington Library, where this material was researched some fifteen years ago) was submitted by District Court Judge Benjamin Hayes, who was presiding over the trial.  Hayes stated that "the motion for continuance in this case does not shew [show] that there is no other witness by whom the defendant can prove the same facts which, it is alleged, Rafael Martinez will testify to.  This omission I consider fatal in his affidavit."

Not only this, Hayes continued, but "nor does the affidavit state any definite and certain period within which he lived and worked in San Luis Obispo, but merely that he lived and worked there" in January and February.  Hayes went on to observe that "defendant may well have committed the crime with which he is charged, and have worked in San Luis Obispo, both in the month of January" and then overruled Dimmick's motion.

A summary of the trial of Luciano Tapia (a.k.a., Leonardo Lopez), Los Angeles Star, 19 December 1857.

A third affidavit was signed by six Latino men stating that they knew Tapia was in San Juan Capistrano in January 1857 and at the time of the crime.  The testimony of some of these men was taken on the day of the trial, starting on behest of the prosecution with Fernando Pérez, Pflugardt's partner, who stated, as recorded in the shorthand style of minute-taking:"Knew Geo Pflugard [sic] . . . saw him after he was dead . . . after he was dead I picked him up, he had three Ball wounds."

Pérez continued that he had been overtaken by some of the gang while riding towards San Juan Capistrano near the Coyotes rancho in what is today northwestern Orange County two days prior to the murder.  On the day of the killing, he went on, "those men arrive at dusk, those who robbed the house, knew them by sight and after the robbery learned their names, Juan Flores, Juan Catabo, Chino Barelas, one joined them afterwards, Francisco el Ardillero . . . saw at the time of their arrival the decd [deceased] at the door, the dcsd then ran into another room of the same house, then I saw them shoot three consecutive shots at him . . . I came to the door, and they pointed at me again and w/pistol, I made one step forward, and told them I surrendered and not to shoot."

Noting that the captain was Juan Flores, Pérez stated that Flores "asked me, if all that [merchandise] belonged to Pflugart . . . I told them that all that was there belonged to dcsd, then they commenced taking all that was there, and after they had taken all, went away. . . prisoner was one of the men robbing the store."

On questioning from the defense, Pérez replied that he and Pflugardt loaded guns "because they [the gang] had gone into the store of Don Miguel [Garcia] the night before."  He also noted that "prisoner was called Manila [Manilla], among them, it was a disguise used by them to avoid being discovered, I never knew prisoner as Luciano Tapia."

With the prosecution back for more questioning, Pérez added the detail that "after the shots were fired, it was an hour afterwards that I saw dcsd, he was in the back yard.  After they went away I went to look for Pflugart, and found him apparently as he had fallen in attempting to get away."

The next witness was Teodocio Yorba, who testified for the prosecution that "I have seen Prisoner at my house, at the time they had him Prisoner at my rancho, they said at the time that Juan Flores, Leonardo Lopez and Espinoza were there also."  Replying to a defense question, Yorba observed that "some Americans from the Monte had them in charge" also noting that a witness present at the trial, Pedro Rivera, and one of the jury, Alexander Nelson, was one of those in that group.

Yorba denied ever having seen Tapia before that time or since, because "they tied them [Tapia, Flores and Espinosa] prisoner when at my rancho and they escaped."

Next up was Felipe Jimenez, a servant of Pflugardt, who stated that he saw the body after death and that there were three bullet wounds.  He also recalled Tapia being near the tavern and store the day of the killing and then again the next day, wearing clothes "such as dcsd had in his store for sale."  Jimenez confirmed Pérez's testimony about meeting the bandits on the road towards San Juan before the killing, noting "there were nine on horseback, one riding double on the road, saw five in San Juan before the killing."

Notably, Jimenez testified after a defense query that "the night of the killing don't know what Prisoner was doing, he was on foot outside the house" and, when questioned by Judge Hayes on this, answered, "when Prisoner was 10 yds outside the house, the rest were robbing inside."

José Buelna testified next and, on questioning by the prosecution, stated that "[I] know Prisoner, a littel over year, going up the bank of the River of Los Angeles near my house, Santos was with him, who was killed at San Gabriel [again, this might be Miguel Soto, whose brutal slaying by Americans has been covered here]."  Buelna went on to say, "knew him again when they assaulted me . . . this was about 15 or 16 Jany 1857," several days before the Pflugardt murder and something not apparently known before the trial.  He went on to say that "after they assaulted me, they took the road for San Gabriel."

During cross-examination by the defense, Buelna added that "it was in the morning abuot 8 o'clock that I saw Prisoner, they staid [sic] about one hour, those who entered my house at night were not marked."

Henry Charles, another San Juan merchant, was sworn in and questioned by Drown.  He, however, said "Can't swear to identity of Prisoner, they were all in my store the day previous to killing, am near sighted, can't say positively as to Prisoner."  However, Charles did state that "after they had done it [killed Pflugardt], they came in front of Forster's house and said they could all the San Juan."  Charles also noted that "they robbed me and Miguel after robbing Pflugardt."

Manuel Avila of a long-time San Juan family said little in his testimony other than that, "[I] know Prisoner, saw him the first time in San Juan, month January, after death of Pflugart" and then three days later with Flores and others.  Avila concluded by noting that "Priosner was called at that time Leonardo Lopez."

Having been identified by Yorba as being in the American posse that captured and then lost Flores, Tapia and Espinosa, Alexander Nelson was called by the prosecution and testified that "[I] know nothing about the San Juan affair, saw Prisoner in a Cañada above Santa Ana, we were after the party."  Noting that Andrés Pico had originally discovered the three and then they were seized by the Americans, Nelson continued that "we took them and took thjem to Teodocio Yorba's, tied them, and they escaped."

Similarly, Pedro Rivera was called for his identification of Tapia at Yorba's ranch house.  He repeated Nelson's account, adding "we took them in the Plain, we galloped upon them and they jumped into a ravine and we took them."  On defense cross-examination, Rivera added, "Prisoner was the first who came out, and asked for a cigar and water, had no conversation with them more than related."  He stated that the place of capture was "about 2 leagues" or about 7 miles from Yorba's place.

With Rivera's testimony completed, the prosecution rested.  All the defense did was call Los Angeles marshal William Getman, then the Sheriff-elect [he would be killed just weeks into his term, on 7 January 1858, by a mentally-ill man].  Getman was sent to San Jose to bring the defendant back for trial and noted that "in San Jose Prisoner went by any name.  I called him Lopez, and he answered, but denied the name."  With this the defense rested.

The jury then retired and returned with a verdict, with foreman J.R. Evertsen of San Gabriel, reading to the court that Tapia was found guilty.  The following day, evidently set for sentencing, Dimmick failed to appear, leading Judge Hayes to send a summons requiring him to appear before the bench and demonstrate why he should not be held in contempt for his no-show.  On the 19th, then, Hayes formally sentenced Tapia to death, setting the date for 16 February 1858, at which time he would be hung with Thomas King, who was convicted of murder about two weeks before Tapia.

Tapia's remarks to the court at his sentencing, Los Angeles Star, 26 December 1857.

What was not in the case file, but what was reported in the 26 December issue of the Los Angeles Star during the sentencing was that Tapia was asked if he had anything to say prior to the pronouncement.  The paper reported that the prisoner had something of a lawyer in him, as he

replied that although a number of witnesses had been examined nothing was proved against him . . . they might hang him if they pelased, but the examination was illegal.  The witnesses had visited him, and then returned and gave their testimony.  That was not right.  They should have given their evidence and their description of him before seeing him . . . Mexicans have frequently been hung on the testimony of men who had never seen them before.  Men come and look at one in prison, and then go and swaer against him.  This has often occurred.  There is no testimony against me—no one has proved that I committed the murder, only that I was in the town at the time.  You may sentence if [you] please, but the testimony is not sufficient.

Hayes replied that Tapia received a full and fair trial, with appointed counsel and 12 men in the jury who rendered a verdict, to which Hayes added, he fully concurred (it should be noted that King also denied that he committed murder, but rather killed in self-defense).  As reported by the Star

Judge Hayes then addressed the prisoner, reminding him of the short time before him, and hoped that he would spend it as to secure repentance for the errors of his past life, and by the efficacy of his religion secure everlasting happiness.

After sentencing Tapia to death, the paper noted that "the prisoner was then removed.  He seemed very weak and was assisted in walking by two officers.  He is a tall man, and in full vigor must have been a formidable foe, and indeed his acts prove him to have been."  It was not explained how Tapia became so weak while in custody, but it can be imagined that the county jail was hardly conductive to maintaining health.

A portion of the coverage of the execution of Tapia and Thomas King, El Clamor Público, 20 February 1858.  Thanks for Paul Bryan Gray for providing microfilm of this paper.

On the day of the execution, the 20 February 1858 edition of El Clamor Público observed that Tapia was 22 years old "tall and well formed.  It seems he had received a good education.  Tapia possessed an iron constitution and carried well with little visible of the dangers and terrible difficulties he encountered."  Noting that Tapia denied a role in the Pflugardt murder when brought down from San Jose, the paper continued to discuss his and King's last moments.  They bathed, spent time with ministers, drank a little wine and then looked out the window of the jail at the gallows.  Here, "Tapia often remained motionles, looking with attention at the multitude attracted by morbid curiosity.  His attention was directed to the presence of soldiers, and he said these were the first he had seen in the country."  Tapia was then reported to have remarked to jailer Eli Smith, "who quick he [King] and I could run from here if we had a pair of rifles."

As they headed to the gallows, Tapia "mounted the stairs, apparently with a certain air of happiness."  After a moment seated on the platform, "after smoking a cigar, Tapia rose, and said some words to the effect that he forgave and hoped they would forfive him."  Then, Tapia said "I advise my compatriouts to leave this country, as this was no place to live as a man."  He then offered advise to the parents and mothers of this countrymen "to direct their children by the path of virtue and that they should take example by his death.  That he had been strayed by the evil counsels of bad men and that they should prevent the imitation" by their own children.  Finally, Tapia stated that "he also decalred that Incarnacion Garcia had sold him out in San Jose for the sum of a hundred dollars."

El Clamor reported that the jailyard was crowded with residents and the aforementioned soldiers, with citizen companies, including the Southern Rifles, the French company and the California Lancers present, including a new piece of artillery on display.

New sheriff James Thompson read the order of execution and his deputies William H. Peterson and Frank Baker tied the arms of the two men before placing the nooses over the necks and covering their faces.  At ten minutes to three in the afternoon, the paper continued, "the sign was given and their souls were launched into eternity."  The deed was done efficiently, "so that their deaths were instantaneous, and although for some moments convulsive movements were observed, they must have died the instant they fell."  After twenty minutes, the two bodies were cut down and placed into coffins ready and at hand.  While King's remains were taken to the county cemetery on Fort Moore Hill, "that of Tapia was delivered to friends who took charge of giving him burial."

Notably, the paper offered details of Tapia's origins, namely that he was from Mezquital del Oro in the Mexican state of Jalisco (though that town is in the far soutwestern corner of Zacatecas now) and that his parents lived in Amatitan, closer to Guadalajara.  El Clamor observed that Tapia worked in San Luis Obispo "when Flores passed through and he convinced to set out with him for Los Angeles.  Before this he was very industrious and honest.  When in jail, he frequently spoke of his mother and country."

Part of the reporting on the Tapia/King executions, Star, 20 February 1858.

The account of the execution by the Star was briefer and more was reported on King's last remarks than those of Tapia, whose advice to "Sonoranians," as the paper expressed it, was to "take warning by his fate—and to leave this country, as it was no place for them, adding that he was called on to suffer for crimes perpetrated by others."  Both men were described as "calm and collected," while also engaged "fervently in the sacred services" led by ministers.  The paper did, though, include a summary of remarks by Father Blas Raho of the Plaza Church and his exhorations in Spanish and English for "all to take warning by the awful example now before them."

This left one more "awful example" in the matter of the justice exacted on those involved in the Barton massacre--this being the subject of the next post.

The Barton Massacre of 1857, Part Six: The Lynching of Juan Flores

On 14 February 1857, the same day that the two weekly newspapers of Los Angeles, the English-language Star and the Spanish-language El Clamor Público were issued, the fate of Juan Flores, determined to be one of the two leaders of the gang of men which killed Sheriff James R. Barton and three members of his posse hunting for the bandits just under a month before, was decided.

As noted here previously, Flores and two of his compatriots, Jesús Espinosa and Leonardo López (a.k.a. Tiburcio Tapia) were able to escape capture by a posse in the Santa Ana Mountains of today's eastern Orange County, through spectacular maneuvers down steep slopes in the range.  They then split up, with Espinosa captured at Ventura and lynched there, after making his confession (also described in this blog), while Lopez vanished.  The other bandit leader, Pancho Daniel, who was wounded in the Barton massacre, also made his escape.

Flores, however, was detained on 3 February while trying to slip through Simi Pass, after five days of rapid riding in what appears to have been a route along the San Gabriel Mountain foothills and through the upper San Fernando Valley.  He remained confined in jail from the 5th, along with at least some of the more than fifty others who were arrested during the house-to-house search of a portion of Los Angeles, for a liitle over a week.

But, on the 14th, as reported in the following week's edition from the 21st of the Star, "the people of this city, and a large number from the principal towns of the county, assembled together for the purpose of what should be done with Flores, and the other prisoners in jail."  The paper did not provide any detail of the meeting other than to say that, "after a good deal of talking, a vote was taken, and it was resolved, without a dissenting voice, that Flores should be executed forthwith."

The other prisoners were left to the authorities, evidently because they had been confined "only [for] attempts at murder, burglaries, and horsestealing."  Curiously, the Star went on to state that "we had intended to make some remarks how this decision was secured—to notice the inference justly deducible therefore—but we have had so much of this of late, that we have no disposition to return to the subject."

El Clamor Público, however, did report that each of the other inmates were questioned at length, particularly about whether "they had committed an offense for which they were punished."  Jonathan R. Scott, an attorney and former justice of the peace, who was presiding over the gathering called for their remanding to the processes of the law.

While there were some who spoke about the alleged guilt of at least some of the confined men, a vote was taken of over 650 present.  It was stated that nearly 400 of them voted for leaving the prisoners to the operations of the criminal justice system and one source stated that the majority of these were not Americans.  That is, of the 250-plus who signaled a desire for more extralegal hanging, the plurality were Americans.  El Clamor did state, though, that "the larger majority of thoughful persons rejected using violence."

Article on the lynching of Juan Flores, Los Angeles Star, 21 February 1857.

With the quick determination out of the way, "the people marched to the jail, and took possesion of Flores."  The bandit leader "had been expecting this visit" and he was taken out to the gallows "by Capt. Twist's company" and followed by the French and Californio militias, along with a large group of residents.

As the procession made it way to the hill where so many lynchings took place, the Star reported that Flores "walked with firmness, and seemed as composed as anyone in the crowd."  Interestingly, the paper made note of his "pleasing countenance" and observed that "there was nothing in his appearance to indicate the formidable bandit which he had proved himself to be."  His days on the run, his haggard state when captured, and the nine days in jail probably had a good deal to do with that.

Also of note was that, once everyone arrived at the gallows, Flores was accompanied by the two priests from the Plaza Church and "the armed men forming a hollow square, supported by the cavalry in the rear."  With his arms bound securely, Flores "firmly ascended the drop" and "he expresed a wish to address the people."  These were interpreted for English speakers and he stated "that he had committed many crimes—that he died without having ill-will against any man" and wished the same in return."  After noting twice that he was prepared or death, Flores left instructions to some in the crowd regarding the disposition of his remains.

He handed over a white kerchief to have his face covereed, after which his legs were restrained and the rope, reportedly a reata taken from one of those killed in the Barton massacre,  placed and adjusted around his neck, during which Flores calmly remained in conversation with those nearby.  As soon as others left the scaffold "immediately after the plank was drawn from under him, and the body of Flores swung in the air."

As soon as Flores was dropped, however, it quickly became obvious that the distance of the drop was "too short, and the unfortunate wretch struggled in agony for a considerable time."  This means that there was not enough distance for Flores to fall from the gallows so that the his weight would cause massive asphyxiation or the breaking of his neck.  Consequently, "in his last, despairing efforts, the rope around his arms slipped above his elbows and he grasped the rop by which he was suspended."

Amidst this chaos, officials had to rush over to do something and "it required considerable effort to release his hold."  Even still, Flores continued flailing in what one observer described as aking to being "hung very much like a dog."  The Star observed that "after a protracted struggle, very painful to behold, the limbs became quiet, and finally stiff in death.  Thus ended the brief but stormy life of the bandit captain, Juan Flores."  The body was left hanging for another hour before it was cut down.  There seems little question that Flores' lynching was undertaken without the slightest concern for what can only be termed, if clincially, as "efficiency."  The use of the reata and the insufficient length of the drop were, beyond the method itself, perhaps willfully.  As much of a criminal as Flores was, shooting by firing squad would have been more humane.

In the jail, the paper continued, the two men who were subjected to a vote of the mob about their fate had, it was reported, still prepared themselves for death "whether from a consciousness of guilt, or a dread of popular fury, we leave to the inference of the reader," opined the Star.  One of them got dressed as if ready for a lynching, while the other had his clothing organized and ready.  But, the paper continued, "the people, more benignant than the malefactors had dared to hope, spared their lives, and they still remain in prison."  El Clamor Público reported that there were still eleven men in jail (some forty, it appears, having been released in preceding days) awaiting their appearance in court.

Notably, El Clamor reported that there was an attempt the evening after Flores's lynching by some citizens to persuade the jailer, Francis Carpenter, to allow them access to the remaining prisoners, presumably so they could exact more executions—"such is the nature of personal revenge," as it was put.  But, the paper went on, Carpenter stood fast and refused to entertain any requests by these individuals.  For this, he was lauded, as it was stated "we allude to this circumstance because we cannot lose any opportunity to commemorate facts of fidelity and humanity among those in public positions."  Moreover, said El Clamor, "by pure compasion, we do not mention the names of those who withdrew, ashamed, in view of the firmness of this noble jailer."

While the Star once more demonstrated support for "the people" and the use of popular justice in lynching Flores, the horrific nature of the botched methods used in the hanging did seem to have an effect, though this was somewhat muted.  On the other hand, El Clamor, previously supportive of using extralegal means to deal with the Flores-Daniel gang, made a very concerted and direct about-face in its views.

"Americans!  Californios!" El Clamor Público, 21 February 1857.

Typically, Francisco P. Ramirez used his elegant prose and idealistic sentiments to not only criticize the concept of lynching, but to discuss the larger issue of community.  For example, in an editorial titled "Americans !  Californians!" he asked, "Do we not all belong to the same republic?  Do we not all have the same equal rights and protection of the laws?"  He went on to inquire, "if the past has caused innumerable wrongs amongst us, when would be a better time than now to have a perfect agreement of faith?" when it came to the observance of law.  He asked "which is the real nature of the illness that our society and politics suffers?  Is it an incurable cancer, or a tumor that can be cured with the aid of science?" meaning, presumably, the science of government and law.

Calling for "an honest and candid discussion" among the Picos, Olveras, Dominguezes and other prominent Californios, Ramirez looked for "measures that find ways to promote the common welfare" and which would "unite the two or more races (in a manner of speaking) that form the body of our population."  He went on to sugges that, "if the Californios have not complied with their duty . . . we expect that their lacks be declared clearly, so that they are remedied, and all the fears, and threats (if such exist) can disappear and be forgotten."  Again calling for the respecting of the laws and their "firm administratoin characterized by equality and purity," Ramirez concluded by noting that "thus alone, in our humble opinion, can we advance with the prosperity of a free town."

"Thoughts on the Past," El Clamor Público, 21 February 1857.

In a separate editorial, "Thoughts on Past Events," Ramirez wrote that, "the majority of the town generally avoids committing gross excesses" and that "a notable test of this truth was presented last Saturday," presumably referring to the mass meeting vote about the fate of the eleven men jailed with Flores.  He went on, though, to write, "nevertheless, we have been sufficiently correct to distrust the few when . . . [using] the internal fire of their own exaltation while they have the opportunity to gratify their passions without limit."  These individuals "can ignore the motives and counsels of the majority of the town, and very falsely interpret the feeling and general will."

For those disposed to act extralegally, Ramirez continued, "if they are not counteracted by fear of public execration or some other worse result, they could use their efforts to carry out so much of their malice until they employ 'fire and sword.'"  It was, however, "in times of revolution or some public calamity or the great exaltation of spirit, that the worst men are the first to come out from the shadows" and fall prey to anger and revenge.  Ramirez referred to the unnamed men found murdered near Los Nietos and then made allusion to "respectable people who took the initiative," citing Andres Pico's lynching of Ardillero and Silvas and "also the brave but discreet gentlemen sent to Ventura," that is Coopwood and his small posse, where Espinosa and Berryesa were hung.

In these references, Ramirez seemed to be equally criticizing Pico and Coopwood, who were more or less public in their vigilante activity, with the unknown parties at Los Nietos.  He also made allusion to the decisions of a few regarding the lives of alleged or real criminals, noting "we desire that the voice and the vote of all the town be heard before a man is condemned to suffer the final penalty."  He also rhetorically inquired, "Who will be able to reckon the value of the life of a human being?"

More provocatively, Ramirez continued: "Think on this, fellow citizens.  If an American were taken in hung in San Jose or Santa Ana, or in San Juan, where the population is composed entirely of Californios; would this not be the cause of a general uprising?" Once again, he went back to assert that "we are obliged to ask for an explanation of the deaths at Los Nietos."

Looking back to earlier events, Ramirez noted that "when the voice of the majority of the town is heard patiently, it seems that there is something similar to the administration of justice," though he did note that these instances sometimes smacked of stating that "the voice of the town is the voice of God!"  The matter of the late 1852 lynching of Doroteo Zavaleta and Jesús Rivas, that of David Brown in early 1855, and the 1851 (Ramirez stated 1850) slaughter of the Irving Gang by Cahuilla Indians were brought up in this connection.  In this latter, Ramirez observed that "a respectable Coroner's jury pronounced the facts as justified," even the slaughter of white bandits by Indians.  He also claimed "in these events the great majority of the town gave its decision of approval" and "thus has it been with the execution of the bandits of San Juan Capistrano."

However, he went on, "will it no longer be that order will be established and that there be the peaceful administration of laws in this county?" and he once again called for support for the law and the peace officers of the county.

"Thoughts on the Future," El Clamor Público, 21 February 1857.

Not to be content with this, Ramirez issued a third editorial on that day, called "Thoughts on the Future."  He started by stating that, "the past should be recalled as a guide to the future" and that "we need to mae an effort to remove some of the wrongs that we have witnessed."  Claiming that "the Californios are the ones that have suffered most by the thieves," Ramirez mused on the fact that, for the most part, the reaction to the murders of Barton and his posse were "harmonious," but he also pointed out "the excesses that are too apparent."  Employing a metaphor of a fire lit in the heart of the town that could mean that "the useful tree is consumed along with the ivy," Ramirez noted that, while "without a doubt a salutary terror has been felt by the criminals," there was a concern that "we do not expect in vain that all the seeds of crime have perished."

Another metaphor followed.  Sowing the region "with the fruitful grain of universal education, and to water it with the perennial sources of religion" would mean that "all the harmful plants would disappear forever."  Still, he went on, "nevertheless we know very well, by the experience of the whole world, that the lowest passions often destroy those that are the most powerful barriers opposed to violence."  With this in mind, Ramirez continued, "for this reason we cannot be so simple and candid to suppopse that the community has been regenerated, only because we have seen the spectale of military executions, in times of peace, and in a country that should be governed by laws and civil judges."

Noting that, "there still remains a lot to do," Ramirez entreated his fellow Spanish-speakers: "Californios, we entreat you to pledge more for the education of your beloved children in their tender age, and with the lessons of divine and human wisdom."  Should this not be the case, the situation would only be "dark and sadder in proportion that we abandon and ignore this."  Looking at the ages of Flores, Juan Catabo, and Espinosa, Ramirez stated "it is painful that the great majority of the criminals in our courts are comparatively young" and that many are not even twenty before "the flowers of virtue have dried in the heart."

Ramirez pointed to a recent example oin which three teenagers barely sixteen years old were involved "in cards, in wine, in libertinage, and are hardnening to the last degree of shame!"  He cited the examples of Zavaleta, Rivas, Felipe Alvitre (hung legally before Brown was lynched), Ygnacio Herrera, the sole legal execution in the county when he was hung in 1854, and Flores and noted that their ill-gotten gains "were lost on playing tables a moment after the robberies took place" and set an example for some of the youth in the community:  "We will say it with frankess: you youths are too much inclined to blindly imitate the bad dealings of others . . . be careful of those despicabvle vices.  Surely they will carry you to your ruin.  You are surrounded by greater dangers and have more temptations, right now, then your parents when they were young.

Notably, Ramirez pointed to recently Gold Rush wealth, observing that "it should be feared that the wealth some have obained, since many of you have been born, has left you a custom of idleness" and then asked "California was happier when all were poor—is that not so?"  He counseled younger people to "ask the old settlers.  Wealth is the mother of pride, extravagance and the aversion of work; the final abandonment and loss of fine customs.  Idleness is the origin of crime in the town."

For Ramirez, "a kind Providence has given us a rich land, a delicious climate, and all the resources to achieve an honest life.  All should be employed in what is useful for them and their family."  It was far better to "sow corn, what, and et cetera—do anything that will have you useful and busy, instead of passing the time in those detestable bars and gambling houses."  In this idealistic and lyrical vein, he continued that "wealth is not the greatest happiness to which we can aspire.  Often it is a curse and a misfortune.  A good character in humble poverty is worth more than the gold of California had with a bad reputation."

Concluding, Ramirez said "if we direct these words to you it is not because they would not be able to applied to others.  Crime is found everywhere, and is produced by the same causes.  We should not forget that, in every age and nation, religious is the soul of virtue, education conducts us to wisdom, and industry carries itself with honor."  Those three elements "remain as the solid base of private and public happiness."