El Dorado County History

Historical Souvenir of El Dorado County California with Illustrations 
and Biographical Sketches of its Prominentmen and Pioneers. 
Oakland 1883. Paolo Sioli, Publisher. Compiled by P. Sioli.

Transcribed by Peggy Hooper, Oct 2009.

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CHAPTER XXX

CRIMINAL ANNALS. 

The record of crimes committed inside the borderlines of El Dorado county, commencing from the 
earliest times, has become quite a volume of history in itself. The enormous influx of adventurous men 
of different nationalities to this very spot of land, the New El Dorado, undoubtedly had brought a good 
many daring and desperate characters, who had come for gain, in the easiest and least troublesome 
manner, but for gain under all eventualities. There were others whose intention had been to make an 
honest living and they started in accordingly ; but the weakness of mind and body, together with the bad 
exam, pies they frequently saw, led them astray, to make a fortune in an easier way than with pick and 
shovel. So we find as early as 1848 and 1849 already organized bands of desperadoes, with signs, 
passwords and grips, with chiefs and lieutenants, who would lay in wait in and around the mining camps. 
The people endeavoring to put a stop to those crimes were often enough compelled to take the law in their 
own hands, as may be seen out of the case which originated the sobriquet of Hangtown for the village of 
Placerville. (See Placerville.) 

Such summary execution had the effect at least to intimidate the rogues, and put a restriction to the 
commitment of crimes for some time. This, however, did not last very long, for no sooner those outlaws 
observed that the watchfulness of the people gave way, and smaller crimes passed by unpunished, than 
they threw off their fear, raising up their heads and growing bolder than before. The result was another 
hanging of a desperado by the name of Richard Crone, going by the name of Irish Dick, a mere boy, 
after his looks, at Placerville in October, 1850. He had crossed the plains from St. Louis in 1849, as a 
cook, but took to gambling as a profession and always was ready for shooting and fight. He used to keep a 
monte game in the El Dorado saloon, located at the site of the present Gary House, and one night a quarrel 
ensued there between two men. Crone jumped up from his game and stabbing the one, he almost 
instantly killed him. After the act he deliberately wiped the blood from his knife and left the saloon ; 
but after a long search was found hidden at Coffey's, on Sacramento street, where he was arrested. The 
murdered man had a brother mining at Chili Bar, and on account that those two hundred and more gamblers 
had always got the best of the miners, when the latter came to town, which was almost ruled by that class of 
men, the miners made up their minds that this business had to be stopped right there, and to the number 
of several hundreds came into town determined that Dick should die ; in which determination the better 
people in town concurred with them. Dick was taken from the officers of the law and tried by two Justices 
of the Peace, one was Dud. Humphrey, the other Wallace, in the presence of the excited thousands. 
While here on trial the spectators seemed to get impatient, but with the coldest blood Dick remarked to 
them : " Have patience, gentlemen ; I will give you soon a fair lay out." The verdict was guilty ; he was 
speedily taken by the crowd to a large oak tree, near where is now the Presbyterian parsonage, in spite of 
the officers. Bill Rogers, Sheriff, and Alex. Hunter and John Clark, Constables, who fought desperately 
but powerless for the possession of the prisoner, the multitude being determined to see justice done 
and not to be trifled with, as often before. The prisoner was placed under the tree with rope around 
his neck, he then begged the privilege of climbing the tree to leap down from the fatal branch, but this was 
denied him, and he was jerked up by strong and willing hands. 

	BRUTAL MURDER AT GREENWOOD VALLEY. 

On Sunday, July 23d, 1854, an old man named William Shay was most brutally murdered at Green- 
wood valley. El Dorado county, by one Samuel Allen. From the testimony adduced before the coroner's 
inquest it appeared that Shay was engaged in watering his garden, when Allen came up to him, knocked him 
down and stamping on him until he was quite dead ; after this he pounded Shay's head with stones until it 
was literally crushed to a jelly. After the perpetration of this fiendish murder Allen attempted to escape, 
but was arrested by an eyewitness of the scene, Antonio Dias, and taken before Justice Stoddard for 
examination, who ordered him to jail to await his trial. An officer started with Allen for Coloma, but had not 
proceeded far when he was overtaken by a large and excited crowd, who forcibly took the prisoner from 
his custody. An hour afterwards the dead body of the guilty man was hanging from the same oak limb, 
in the town of Greenwood, that had been used already on a similar occasion a few years ago, a solemn 
warning to malefactors. The aroused vengeance of the outraged community was not to be appeased with 
less than inflicting the most extreme punishment on the guilty. 

The first occasion where this historical oak tree had been selected to serve for the same purpose, happened 
in 1851 ; James Graham, from Baltimore, treacherously had invited an old denizen of Greenwood valley 
by the name of Lesly, a well respected gentleman, to go with him on a prospecting trip, where he filled his 
head with buckshot, and thinking his victim dead, he fled. Lesly, however, did not die on the spot; though 
fatally wounded, he crawled to the next cabin, being that of Tom Burch, in Coloma canyon, whom he 
informed of what had happened ; the people thus alarmed, turned out in pursuit of the assassin, caught 
him at Uniontown, and brought him back to Greenwood valley, where a jury of twelve men was sworn in 
before whom he was tried, found guilty and immediately taken to the mentioned oak tree, standing on 
the lot now owned by Mr. Ricci, where he was hung without ceremonies. 

Another case of mob violence occurred in the fall of 1850, in the neighborhood of Georgetown. An 
Englishman by the name of Devine, in a drunken spell, had a quarrel with his wife, and repeatedly having 
threatened her before, she attempted to run out of the door, when he reached for his gun, but she hardly 
had passed out of the door in the rear of the house, when he shot after her, killing her instantly. He was 
known as a reckless and desperate fellow, and the whole population of Oregon canyon, in a rage of in- 
dignation, gathered and decided that life had to pay for life. Devine was arrested, found guilty, and taken 
to an oak tree, which had been selected for the execution, and after less time than what is necessary to 
write this down, a dead body was hanging from the tree that may be seen yet on that spot. 

In the summer of 1855, the cases where Chinamen miners were robbed, particularly in the neighborhood 
of Placerville, became quite frequently heard, from ; The Mountain Democrat, of September 22d, 1855, 
brings the following : 

"We learn that an attempt was made last week to rob a Chinaman who supplies several companies on 
the South Fork of the American river with fresh meat, as he was returning to White Rock, by three well 
known river thieves. The attempt was made in open day on a much frequented trail. The Chinaman 
made his escape by sliding down a precipitous mountain about fifty feet, deep without other injuries than 
tearing his clothes into ribbons. These outrages are becoming quite common, and it is time that some 
stringent measures should be taken to have the scoundrels arrested." 

On the 7th of March, 1857, a man by the name of A. Noakes was murdered near Greenwood valley, and 
a notorious character going by the sobriquet of "Long John," was suspected of the murder, as he had 
publicly threatened to kill Noakes on account of an old grudge. At the same place, on the nth of the same 
month, a negro was most brutally murdered; he had been arrested as a suspicious character, and as he was 
familiar with Long John and his doings, it was supposed the latter killed him to prevent his disclosing 
some disagreeable facts. Long John had the reputation of being a bold, depraved, hardened wretch, who 
would not hesitate to commit any crime for gain. It always had been believed that he was at the head of 
the organized band of villains who had infested the county for a long time, and had particularly robbed so 
many Chinamen. 

Ah Soo, a Chinaman, on the 19th of September, 1859, stabbed one of his countrymen, Ching Sam, with 
a bowie-knife at Placerville, inflicting a wound upon him of which he died a few days later. He was arrested 
and arraigned for trial in the District Court, where the evidence clearly showed that the deed had 
been committed in cold blood and without the shadow of provocation. The jury, consisting of John R 
Ross, J. F. Cary, Samuel Center, Wm. A. White, A, O. Holmes, John E. Kunkler, Jas. Monroe, Isaac 
Withrow, W. P. Early, Wm. Pryde, Geo. W. Griffin and A. Kennedy, returned a verdict of guilty of murder 
in the first degree. But before the sentence could be pronounced upon him, the unfortunate wretch 
hanged himself, thus saving the county the expense by cheating the gallows. 

	ROBBERY AND MURDER AT PERU. 

On the evening of October 20th, 1860, while four miners of the vicinity were seated in the store of 
Messrs. Pierson & Hackamoller. engaged in a social game of cards, five men with masked faces and pistols 
in hand entered the store. The first party, supposing that they were a party of miners, bent on a little fun, 
attempted to set the dog on them, which move was responded by the robbers with a shot, fired at the card 
players, and the advice if they would remain quiet, they should not be hurt. Upon this proposition being 
agreed to, they demanded of Mr. Pierson the key to his safe. He told them it was not in the store; 
whereupon they commenced to beat him with the butt end of their pistols, he warded off the blows and tried 
to make his escape by a door leading into the family room, which they were determined not to allow him. 
He was fired upon by one of the villains, the shot entered near the eye, producing almost instant 
death. Then they took the key from his pocket, and rifled the safe of its contents, and departed. The 
safe at the time contained a thousand dollars or more. This robbery and murder, unequalled for boldness 
and daring, produced great excitement, Mr. Pierson being one of the best and most respected citizens. 
	
	STAGE ACCIDENT � A STAGE DRIVER DROWNED. 

On the morning of March 27th, 1861, the stage from Placerville to Folsom met with a very serious 
accident, at the crossing of Deer creek, on the Placerville and Sacramento stage road. Leander or "John" 
White, driving the forward stage, Mr. Crowder the second, and on reaching the crossing of Deer creek, 
White found the flood running and the bridge washed away. He hesitated a moment, and meantime the 
second coach came near. Crowder seeing what was going on advised him not to attempt to cross ; this 
warned the passengers to get out ; White, however, thought he could go over easily enough and let his 
horses plunge into the deep and rapid water. But no sooner had the coach entered the water, then it was 
swung round and overturned, uncoupling the forward running gear and enabling the horses to escape. The 
driver, though, fastened by means of the drawn-up leather apron, was floated out, rose two or three times 
in making efforts to gain the bank, but was taken away by the swift current, and he disappeared under the 
water. His body was found in some driftwood at an old dam, and in the endeavor to get it Mr. Shed 
came near enough drowning also. Mr. Leander White was one of the earliest inhabitants of El Dorado 
county, and one of the pioneer stage drivers. He left California late in 1855, going east and to Canada, 
from where he returned accompanied by his wife, who was left with two helpless children at Sacramento 
to mourn his sudden death. 

	BOLD ROBBERY. 

Spanish Camp, January 12th, 1863. 

On Saturday last, the 10th of January, this camp was visited by a band of guerrillas, who had as little 
respect for the rights of property and law as there is possible in man. About 7 o'clock four men � W. 
Porter, C. S. Smith, P. West and Ike Hitchcock, seated themselves in the store of W. E. Riebsam for 
a game of whist, Messrs. Adams and Riebsam were standing near. Suddenly four men entered, each 
armed with a large navy revolver, cocked and held at the party around the whist table. They ordered all 
in the store to remain quiet, which order it was useless to resist; one of the robbers put up his revolver, 
turned around to a coil of rope, cut off several lengths and tied the men in the store. They then searched 
each man, taking every valuable and attempted to open the safe, the key of which they had taken from 
Mr. Riebsam, but failing, they forced Mr. R. to unlock it for them. They soon rifled the safe of its contents, 
but there being but little cash in it they were greatly exasperated and departed. They took in cash and dust 
about one hundred and seventy-five dollars, and clothing and provisions to the amount of about one 
hundred and twenty-five. 

The man who opened the safe and searched our pockets was masked, and the man who tied us was 
very large, dressed in a gray frock-coat and dark pants. 

After leaving here they took the road towards Sacramento ; a short distance from E. Bryant's they met 
Mr. Brandon's teamster and robbed him of forty-five dollars in cash. 

We thought it prudent to quietly submit under the circumstances ; we were unarmed and at the mercy of 
the robbers. Whilst we were bound two Chinaman and a white man came into the store, and it was some 
time before they could comprehend affairs. They, too, were served like us. H. N. I. 

	STAGE ROBBERY. 

On June 30th, 1864, between 9 and 10 o'clock p. M., on the narrow grade about two and a-half miles 
above Sportsman's Hall, the two coaches of the Pioneer Stage line were stopped by six men, armed 
with shotguns and pistols, and eight sacks of bullion taken away from them. Ned Blair was driving the 
first team, Charles Watson the second. Blair was ordered to halt by seizing his leaders and stopping 
them. They demanded the treasure box, and Blair told them that he had none ; whereupon he was ordered 
to throw out the bullion, and he replied : " Come and get it!" And while two of them covered him with 
their guns, two others came and took out the bullion. They did not get the treasure box. Blair asked them 
not to rob the passengers, and they replied that it was not their intention, all that they wanted was the 
treasure box of Wells, Fargo & Co. 

Observing that Blair's stage had stopped, and supposing that Blair had met with an accident, Watson 
stopped his team, left his seat, and hurried to his assistance ; but when he was approaching, two of the 
robbers advanced toward him and covering him with their shotguns ordered him back and demanded the 
treasure box and bullion. Watson was forced to comply, and they took three sacks of bullion and a small 
treasure box from Genoa from his stage. Both stages were filled with passengers, but queer to say, none 
of them was armed. 

The "captain" of the band, before he parted from Watson, handed to him the following receipt : " This is 
to certify that I have received from Wells, Fargo & Co. the sum of $ cash, for the purpose of outfitting 
recruits enlisted in California for the Confederate States army. 

			R. HENRY INGRIM, 
			Captain Com'g Co. C. S. A. 

	June, 1864. 
Immediately on the arrival of the stages at Placerville. Sheriff Rogers was informed of the robbery, 
and he, accompanied by deputy Sheriff Staples, Constables Van Eaton and Ranney, policemen Bailey 
and Williamson, and several attachees of the stage company, started in pursuit of the robbers. Sheriff 
Rogers, with Taylor and Watson, arrested two men at the Thirteen Mile House, one was recognized by 
Watson as one of the robbers. They had taken supper the night before at the Mountain Ranch, but 
left and called between 12 and i o'clock in the morning at the Thirteen Mile House, asking the 
proprietor to allow them to sleep in his stable. On his answer, that he did not allow anyone to sleep in 
his stable, they declared to have no money and couldn't pay for a bed ; but he told them they might 
sleep up stairs in his house, and they accepted the proposition. For concealing their countenances they 
had drawn their hats over their faces, while talking and entering the house. In the morning they over- 
slept themselves and were arrested while in bed, brought to Placerville and lodged in jail. 

Meanwhile deputy Sheriff Staples and Constables Van Eaton and Ranney tracked the robbers to the 
head of Pleasant valley, where Van Eaton left his companions, in order to inform Sheriff Rogers of 
the route the robbers had taken, and the two continued the pursuit in the direction of the Somerset 
House, on the road to Grizzly Flat ; arriving at the latter place Staples inquired of the landlady if there 
were any men in the house, and she replied ; " Yes, six, up stairs." He rushed up stairs, seized a gun 
standing at the door of a sleeping room, burst the door open, and presenting the gun, cried : " You are 
my prisoners!" But scarcely had he uttered these words, when the robbers fired, wounding him fatally, 
he fired at the same time, hitting one of the robbers in the face. Officer Ranney, also, was dangerously 
wounded, both officers were robbed by taking their money, watches, horses and arms ; whereupon they 
decamped, leaving their wounded companion behind. On August 2d, Under-Sheriff J. B. Hume and deputy 
Sheriff Van Eaton arrested in Santa Clara county, Henry Jarboe, George Cross, J. A. Robertson, Wallace 
Clendenin, Jos. Gambill, Thos. Poole, John Ingren, H. Gately and Preston Hodges, and brought 
them to Placerville on August 4th. The above named parties were charged by Allen H. Glasby, one of 
the stage robbers, with being accomplices before and after the stage robbery, and upon his evidence the 
Grand Jury found bills of indictment against them, whereupon Judge Brockway issued warrants for their 
arrest. They were arraigned in the District Court on August 19th, attended by their counsels Messrs. 
Hurlburt & Edgerton and J. M. Williams. The case again came up in the District Court on November 22d. 
Preston Hodges was convicted of murder in the second degree, and sentenced by Judge Brockway to 20 
years' imprisonment at hard labor. Thomas Poole suffered the extreme penalty of the 
law, his execution took place September 29th, 1865, at 12 o'clock noon. 

At Pekin, in the lower part of Mud Springs township, three Chilenos became engaged in a fight on 
Sunday, March 18th, 1866, the result of which was the killing of Casas Rojas and Marcellius Bellasque 
by Pedro Pablo. The murderer was arrested by other Chilenos present, and handed over to special 
constable Bailey, who started to Shingle Springs. The night being dark and stormy, and under cover of 
the darkness the prisoner freed himself from the handcuffs, jumped from the horse and escaped. The 
sheriff was "notified, and sent Under-Sheriff Hume and Jailor Cartheche in pursuit of the murderer 
who finally was discovered by a brother of one of the murdered men in a quartz mill near Diamond 
Springs, on the following Wednesday. He informed Constables Bailey and Shrewsberry of his whereabouts, 
and they arrested and brought the culprit to Placerville; where he was examined before Justice Sherwood 
and committed to jail awaiting the action of the Grand Jury. 

A terrific and most savage fight with knives took place near Garden Valley, on the morning of April 
30th, 1866. The combatants were Joseph Eaton and Alexander Gladden ; both had been drinking 
together very hard, and became engaged in a quarrel, which resulted in the fight. Gladden cut off a 
part of Eaton's nose, besides inflicting some more wounds upon him ; but Eaton cut his assailant in a 
terrible manner, literally, to use the language of one who saw the murdered man, "slicing him up." 

	HIGHWAY ROBBERS ARREST. 

Three desperate fellows, giving their names as Faust, De Tell and Sinclair, started from Sacramento 
in the later days of July, 1867, with a determination to make money some way. They commenced by 
robbing houses along the road, and on Tuesday, August 3d, stopped a teamster on his return from 
Carson Valley, just above Sportsman's Hall, and made him shell out; then coming up the road, robbing 
houses at their pleasure, also picking up a man who was driving a water cart on the road, for ten or 
twelve dollars. Under-Sheriff Hume, with a posse of three or four men, went in their pursuit, and 
being informed of their course between the time, by Constable Watson, of Strawberry, he lay in wait for 
them at a point in the road near Osgood's toll house, which they could not well get around. About half-past 
eleven on August 5th, the robbers came up all armed with rifles. Hume ordered them to stop, 
whereupon one of them fired, the shot taking effect in the fleshy part of Hume's arm, though not hurting 
him seriously. Hume then ordered his men to fire, and when the smoke cleared away they found two of 
them lying on the ground, one being dead, the other unhurt ; the third one had been seen falling off the 
bridge, and until the next morning was believed to be drowned in the creek ; but then they found that he 
had recovered and crawled under the bridge, where he stayed until all were in the toll house, when he� 
minus two coats � started back towards Placerville. One hour after daylight the Sheriff's party struck his 
track, and he was captured a short distance above Brockless' bridge, and both the prisoners brought to 
Placerville and lodged in jail. Before Court Sinclair stated : My name is Walter Sinclair ; am one of three 
men that were in the party that fired upon the Sheriff's party; am from Arizona; served there under Gen. 
Conner; am from New York ; aged 21 years. The dead man was a German by the name of Faust ; age 
unknown ; was with deceased and another man named Hugh De Tell. Their trial ended with a sentence 
for a good long term to be sent to the State prison. 

	WHITE ROCK JACK. 

Joseph F. Rowland, a Frenchman, about 45 years of age, and a miner by occupation, was found dead in 
the bed of Weber creek, one-half mile above Webertown, and two hundred yards below his cabin, on the 
morning of January 16, 1868. He had been dead evidently several days, and had, no doubt, been 
murdered with some sharp instrument, as his skull was found fractured in several places ; this, with other 
accompanying circumstances, led the Sheriff to the conclusion that the murder had been committed by 
Indians, and Under-Sheriff Hume and Cartheche were sent out to arrest a lame Indian, who was able to talk 
English, and was supposed to know something about the affair. While in search of him, passing along a 
trail between the American river and the main road, in the vicinity of the Nine Mile House, they suddenly 
rode up on to three Indians, armed with rifles, who, as soon as they saw themselves discovered, leveled 
their rifles cocked at the officers. The recognition was so unexpected that the latter had no chance to 
draw their revolvers from underneath their overcoats and gumcoats, which wore buttoned all up, as it was 
exceedingly cold. They consequently remained stationary on their horses, as it would have been 
certain death to attack the Indians, having neither shotgun nor rifles with them, and three well armed 
Indians but a few feet from them. The latter meanwhile backed off" with their rifles leveled at the officers 
until they had passed out of range. Hume and Cartheche on reaching Sportsman's Hall telegraphed for 
an additional force, properly armed, and with their help they succeeded in securing the lame Indian and 
arresting some others. The Indians who confronted them with their rifles proved to have been 'White Rock 
Jack and two of his accomplices; the lame Indian acknowledged to having been in their company, a 
party of four who committed the murder, and his testimony was corroborated by the circumstantial 
evidence in the case. He as well as the two others, who were subsequently caught, were tried and sent to 
San Quentin ; but Jack could not be apprehended at the time. 

The Indians of the vicinity of American and Columbia Flats had a "big eating" on Irish creek, on 
Wednesday, July 27, 1870, and it seems that White Rock Jack could not withstand the temptation of 
being present and participating. He accordingly left his mountain hiding place and repaired to the place of 
feasting, where, in all probability, he would not be recognized by anyone but friends. The Indians, in 
some way, had procured liquor, and Jack's appetite again getting the better of him, he got beastly drunk. 
Two Indians then came to the storekeeper of Columbia Flat, a Mr. Anderson, informing him that Jack was 
near by and in what condition ; they also accompanied Anderson to the spot, and did not stop with pointing 
out the Indian brigand, but helped to bind him; whereupon he was brought to Placerville, and delivered 
into jail by Messrs. Anderson, Breeze, and a third gentleman. Thus, after a long series of plots, setting 
traps, etc., by the officers of the county, this savage desperado, for whose capture the Supervisors of El 
Dorado county had offered a reward of $500, with an additional $300 by Governor Haight, had been 
secured. His trial came up in the District Court on March 3, 1871, he pleaded guilty of murder in the 
second degree, and was sentenced by Judge Adams to hard labor in the State Prison for the term of his 
natural life. Jack received his sentence with the characteristic Indian stolidity, but, it is said, when 
reaching his cell, he wept at the cheerless and hopeless future of a lifelong incarceration within the walls 
of San Quentin. Jack was then 23 years of age and a superior specimen of the Digger Indian. 

A man by the name of Jesse Hendricks, an employee of the South Fork canal company, mysteriously 
disappeared from his section on the canal, some eight miles above Placerville, about May 25, 
1870, and notwithstanding the most careful search by a large number of men, no traces could be found; 
and the general supposition ran that the man had been murdered by Indians,* and suspicion rested upon 
White Rock Jack, the notorious Indian desperado. On December 19, 1876, a deer hunter discovered on 
the South Fork of the American river, about seven miles above Placerville, two sections of a human skull, 
one of which he found near the bank of the river, the other about 50 feet higher up, on top of a bluff. 
Coroner Collins, after being informed of these facts went up with a party to investigate the locality, on 
December 21st. They went to the big flume on the old Jack Johnson ranch, and thence directly down to 
the river; near the river they found the two pieces of skull and a miner's shovel. Further up they discovered 
a boot containing the bones of a human foot, and still further up another boot containing the bones of a 
foot and the leg from the knee down. Continuing their search still further up an abrupt swail, most difficult 
to climb, at various intervals, other fragments of a human skeleton were found, including quite a number 
under a tree near the flume ; here and there also particles of clothing attached to or near some of the 
bones were found, and at a point, where it appeared very likely the body had originally lain, by digging 
away the dead leaves and rubbish, a pocket-book and a few half and quarter dollars, amounting in all to 
$2 25, were discovered. The pocket knife and some strips of a woolen shirt were identified as having 
belonged to Jesse Hendricks, the ditch tender, whose mysterious disappearance in June, 1870, caused quite 
some little excitement. No doubt he had been murdered; by whom, however, never has come to 
light up to this day; but the theory that he had been killed by Indians, as strongly was suspected, seems to 
be disproved by the discovery of- his knife and money, which excluded robbery, something the Indians 
always will connect with the killing of a person. 

In 1857, the County Treasurer, F. M. Reed, after defaulting the county for the sum of $124,000, escaped, 
not to be seen or heard from afterwards. 

	*Like Judge Withrow, also ditch tender on that same section, who had been killed in 1860.

	THE DEATH PENALTY. 

The accumulation of disorderly, unruly and desperate fellows and the crimes they had committed, 
had caused the people of El Dorado county at various instances to take the law in their own hands, and deal 
with those rogues just as they deserved it. This was well enough and could be excused on account of the 
unsettled condition of the whole country ; but as the population was rapidly growing, and the courts were 
gaining strength, it became time to have the law take its own way, and the execution of the lawful sentences 
by the officers of the law. James Logan, for the murder of Fennel at Coon Hollow, and Wm. Lipsey, for 
killing Powelson at Cold Springs, were the first to be convicted of murder in the District Court of El Dorado 
county. Their execution took place, according to the sentence of Judge Howell, on Friday, November 
3d, 1854. The assemblage of people to see the unusual sight was the largest ever known in El Dorado county. 
From early morning of that day every thoroughfare leading to Coloma from all parts of the 
county, far as well as near, were thronged with one continuous line or mass of people on foot, on 
horseback, in wagons, carts and every conceivable mode of locomotion then in use in California. This pro- 
cession resembled to a certain extent a sample-carte of nationalities and races, all different shades of skin, 
from white to black, were represented, and all seemed under the same influence, as though an invisible 
power directed their steps towards Coloma ; and hours before the execution the streets of that town were 
nothing else than a dense mass of human beings, while the hillsides were covered with thousands more. 

The crowd was estimated at from six to eight thousand persons. The execution took place at Coloma, 
on the hill where the cemetery now is located ; Rev. Mr. Taylor officiating, and Drs. Taylor, of Coloma, 
and Stephenson, of Cold Springs, sworn physicians ; David E. Buell, Sheriff, and J. S. Welton, Deputy 
Sheriff. 

On October 26th, 1855, Crane, the murderer of Miss Newnham, and Micky Free, one of the murderers 
of Howe, were executed by hanging at Coloma. And again an execution took place at Coloma on 
January 23d, 1857, and was the last one that occurred amid that community, and concerned the hanging 
of Andrew Best, for the murder of an Indian squaw, and Elijah Archer for the murder of Mr. Fuller, of 
Placerville. 

John Robinson, convicted of the murder of Gregoire Aubemet, near Greenwood Valley, on the 4th of 
March, 1861, in the District Court, was sentenced to be executed on August 2d, but tiling a writ of 
supercedeas, his execution was postponed and a new trial granted, which resulted in the same conviction 
and sentence. His execution took place on July i8th, 1862. 

Jim, and Jim Patterson, Indians, indicted for the murder of Charles Gay, on June 26th, 1861, near 
Salmon Falls, found guilty of murder in the first degree, and sentenced to suffer the extreme penalty of 
the law. Their execution took place on November 1st, in the jail yard. Their bodies were permitted to 
hang twenty minutes, when they were cut down, placed in coffins and delivered to some Indians, who 
conveyed them to Gold Hill to Captain John, Chief of the tribe, who burnt them in due form. 

C. W. Smith, convicted of the murder and robbery of F. L. Smith on the Carson road, on April 23d, 
1862, was sentenced by Judge Myers to be hanged on the 9th of January, 1863, and Juan Belencia, 
convicted of the murder of a Chinaman near Pleasant Valley, to be hanged on January 16th, 1863. 

No doubt the line of those who had to give up their lives for other lives they had taken, and sacrifice 
their blood for the blood that had been shed by them, is quite a large one, but as it cannot be the 
intention of this article to give a full record of all of them, we will conclude with the last criminal who 
had to suffer the death penalty. 

James K. Page was excuted at 8:15 a. m., on August loth, 1883, in the jail-yard at Placerville, for 
the murder of an unknown man in New York ravine, near Folsom, May 10th, 1883. 

	HUMOR OF THE HIGHWAY MAN. 

On the morning of November 27th, 1863, Mr. T. A. Valentine was driving a team on the road between 
Johntown and Uniontown he was stopped by a highway man, who demanded his money, at the same 
time presenting a colt's revolver. Mr. Valentine, being unarmed, handed over his money, amounting to 
twelve dollars, saying he would much rather part with his money than his scalp. The robber politely assured 
him that he did not intend to hurt him; he stated to Mr. Valentine that he was strapped and had resorted 
to robbing to make a raise. He returned Valentine a dollar to pay toll across the Uniontown bridge and a 
bit to buy a drink, remarking that he never took bits anyhow. 

	FRATRICIDE AT GRIZZLY FLAT. 

Wednesday evening, January 9th, 1878, Constable J. B. Fisher, of Grizzly Flat, delivered David Branthover 
to Sheriff Theissen, on a charge of having killed his brother, Adam Branthover, near the above named place. 
The facts are as follows : There was some trouble between them in relation to a partnership in a quartz claim. 
Tuesday, in company of D. T. Loofbourrow, David went to the cabin of the deceased for the purpose of 
settling the dispute. While comparing accounts, according to Loofbourrow's testimony before A. J. Graham, 
Justice of the Peace, David frequently gave Adam the lie, and finally, both being much excited, they clinched. 
During the struggle, a gun in the hand of David went off, the ball striking Adam in the thigh, coming out at the 
hip; death ensued in less than an hour. Immediately after the affray, David went to the cabin of Fisher and 
Morey, stated what had occurred, and said that he expected to shoot Adam through the body, but the 
deceased knocked the gun down; he was not aware at the time that Adam was mortally wounded. 

A man by the name of F. L. Smith was murdered on April 23d, 1862, on the Ogilsby road, about 21 
miles east of Placerville. A rifle ball broke his spine, passing through his heart. Two young men 
traveling the same road on foot, heard the report of a gun, hurried to the spot, and arriving where the 
murdered, man fell, saw a man picking up his hat and a rifle. Some dispute arose between the parties, but 
the two being unarmed left after the murderer threatened to shoot them also. They went to the Goodwin 
Mountain House, to give the alarm, and on returning to the spot and searching, they discovered the 
murdered man, who had been dragged about 100 yards below the road into the chapparel. A rope was tied 
around his body. The body was brought to Placerville for burial The murderer was arrested by Deputy 
Sheriff Chapman, two days after, near Ringgold, and lodged in jail. The name of the prisoner was C. W. 
Smith, his case was tried in the District Court before Judge Myers, and as the evidence was entirely 
circumstantial, but so conclusive as to leave not the shadow of doubt of his guilt, he was convicted of 
murder in the first degree and on November 24th, 1862, sentenced to be hung on January 9th, 1863. 

_____________________________________________________


		CAPTAIN DAVIS. 
	A CALIFORNIA BALLAD BY FREDERICK COZZENS. 

All the heroes that ever were born 
Native or foreign, bearded or shorn, 
From the days of Homer to Omer Pasha 
Who mauled and maltreated the troops of the Czar ; 
And drove the rowdy Muscovite back, 
Fin and Livonian, Pole and Cossack, 
From gray Ladoga to green Ukraine, 
And other parts of the Russian domain, 
With an intimation exceedingly plain, 
That they'd better cut! and not come again. 
All the heroes of olden time 
Who have jingled alike in armor and rhyme, 
Hercules, Hector, Quintus Curtius, 
Pompey and Pegasus-riding Perseus, 
Brave Bayard, and the braver Roland, 
	Men who never a fight turned back on ; 
Charles the Swede, and the Spartan band, 
	Coriolanus, and General Jackson, 
Richard the Third, and Marcus Brutus, 
And others, whose names won't rhyme to suit us. 
Must certainly sink in the deep profound 
When Captain Davis' story gets round. 

Know ye the land where the sinking sun 
Sees the last of the earth when the day is done ; 
Where the course of empire is sure to stop, 
And the play concludes with the fifth-act drop ; 
Where, wonderful .spectacle, hand in hand 
The oldest and the youngest nations stand ? 
Where yellow Asia, withered and dry, 
Hears Young America, sharp and spry, 
With thumb in his vest, and quizzical leer, 
Singing out " Old Fogie, come over here !" 
	Know ye the land of mines and vines, 
	Of monstrous turnips and giant pines, 
	Of monstrous profits and quick declines, 
	And Howland and Aspinwall's steamship lines ? 
Know ye the land so wondrous fair 
	Fame has blown on his golden bugle. 
From Battery-place to Union Square 
	Over the Park and down McDougal ? 
Hither and thither, and everywhere. 
	In every city its name is known. 
There is not a grizzly Wall street bear  
	That does not shrink when the blast is blown. 
There Dives sits on a golden throne. 
	With Lazarus holding his shield before. 
Charged with a heart of auriferous stone, 
	And a pick-ax and spade on a field of ore. 
Know ye the land that looks on Ind ? 
	There only you'll see a pacific sailor, 
Its song has been sung by Jenny Lind, 
	And the words were furnished by Bayard Taylor. 

Seaward stretches a valley there, 
	Seldom frequented by men or women ; 
Its rocks are hung with the prickle-pear, 
	And the golden balls of the wild persimmon ; 
Haunts congenial to wolf and bear. 
Covered with thickets, are everywhere ; 
There's nothing at all in the place to attract us, 
Except some grotesque kind of cactus ; 
Glittering beetles with golden rings, 
Royal lizards with golden wings, 
And a gorgeous species of poisonous snake. 
	That lets you know when he means to battle 
By giving his tail a rousing shake. 
	To which is attached a muffled rattle. 

Captain Davis, (Jonathan R.), 
	With James McDonald, of Alabama, 
And Dr. Bolivar Sparks were thar, 
	Cracking the rocks with a miner's hammer. 
Of the valley they'd heard reports 
	"That plenty of gold was there in quartz." 
Gold in quartz they marked not there. 
But p'ints enough on the prickly pear, 
As they very soon found 
When they sat on the ground. 
	To scrape the blood from their cuts and scratches ; 
For rickety cactus had stripped them bare. 
	And cobbled their hides with crimson patches. 
Thousands of miles they are from home, 
	Hundreds from San Francisco city ; 
Little they think that near them roam 
	A baker's dozen of wild banditti. 
Fellows who prowl, like stealthy cats, 
In velvet jackets and sugar-loaf hats. 
Covered all over with trinkets and crimes. 
	Watches and crosses, pistols and feathers. 
Squeezing virgins and wives like limes. 
	And wrapping their legs in unpatented leathers ; 
Little they think how close at hand 
Is that cock of the walk � "the Bold Brigand !" 

And here I wish to make a suggestion 
	In regard to those conical, sugar-loaf hats, 
I think those bandits, beyond all question, 
	Some day will find out they're a parcel of flats ; 
For if that style is with them a passion. 
And they stick to these hats in spite of the fashion. 
Some Tuscan Leary, Genin, or Knox 
Will get those brigands in a bad box ; 
For the Chief of Police will send a " Star"' 
To keep a look-out near the hat bazar. 
And when Fra Diavolo comes to buy 
	The peculiar mode that suits his whim. 
He may find out, if the Star is spry, 
	That instead of the hat they've ironed him. 

Captain Davis, and James McDonald, 
	And Doctor Sparks together stand ; 
Suddenly like the fierce Clan Ronald 
	Bursts from the thicket the bold Brigand, 
Sudden, and never a word spoke they. 
But pulled their trigger and blazed away. 

"Music," says Halleck, "is everywhere," 
	Harmony guides the whole creation ; 
But when a bullet sings in the air 
So close to your hat that it moves your hair. 
To enjoy it requires a taste quite rare. 
	With a certain amount of cultivation. 
But never music, homely or grand, 
Grisi's "Norma" or Jungle's band, 
The distant sound of the watch dog's bark. 
	The coffee-mill's breakfast psalm in the cellar, 
	" Home, Sweet Home," or the sweet " Sky Lark," 
	Sung by Mrs. Payne, in "Cinderella;" 
	Songs, that remind us of days of yore, 
	Curbstone ditties that we have loved to hear, 
	"Brewer's Yeast !" and " Straw, Oat Straw?" 
	"Lily-white com, a penny an ear?" 
	Rustic music of chanticleer, 
	" Robert the Devil," by Meyerbeer, 
Played at the "Park " when the Woods were here, 
Or anything else that an echo brings 
From those mysterious vibrant strings. 
That answer at one, like the telegraph line, 
To notes that were written in " Old Lang Syne." 
Nothing, I say, ever played or sung, 
Organ panted, or bugle rung. 
Not even the horn on the Switzer Alp, 
	Was half so sweet to the Captain's ear 
As the sound of that bullet that passed his scalp. 
	And told him a scrimmage was awful near. 

Come, O Danger ! in any form, 
"The earthquake's shock or the ocean storm ;" 
Come, when its century's weight of snow 
The avalanche hurls on the Swiss chateau ; 
Come with the murderous Hindoo Thug, 
Come with the grizzly's fearful hug. 
With the Malay's stab, or the adder's fang, 
Or the deadly fly of the boomerang, 
But never come when the carbine's bang 
That are fired by men that must fight or hang. 

On they came with a thunderous shout 
	That made the rocky canyon ring ; 
(Canon, in Spanish, means tube or spout. 
	Gorge, or hollow, or some such thing. ) 
On they came with a thundering noise ; 
Captain Davis said, calmly, "Boys, 
I've been a waiting to see them chaps ;" 
And with that he examined his pistol-caps ; 
Then a long, deep breath he drew, 
Put in his cheek a tremendous chew. 
Stripped off his waistcoat and coat, and threw 
Them down, and was ready to die or do. 

Had I Bryant's belligerent skill, 
	Wouldn't I make this a bloody fight? 
Or Alfred Tennyson's crimson quill, 
	What thundering, blundering lines I'd write 1 
I'd batter, and hack, and cut, and stab, 
And guage, and throttle, and curse, and jab, 
I'd wade to my ears in oaths and slaughter. 
Pour out blood like brandy and water ; 
Hit 'em again if they asked for quarter, 
	And clinch and wrestle, and yell and bite. 
But I never could wield a carniverous pen 
Like either of those intellectual men. 
I love a peaceful pastoral scene, 
With drowsy mountains and meadows green. 
Covered with daisies, grass, and clover, 
	Mottled with Dorset and Southdown sheep. 
Better than fields with a red turf over. 
	And men piled up in a Waterloo heap. 
But notwithstanding, my fate cries out : 
	" Put Captain Davis in song and story ! 
That children hereafter may read about 
His deeds in the Rocky canyon foray ! " 

James McDonald, of Alabama, 
	Fell at the feel of Dr. Sparks, 
"Doctor," said he, " I'm dead as a hammer, . 
	And you have a couple of bullet marks. 
This," he gasped, "is the end of life." 
	"Yes," said Sparks, " 'tis a mighty solver. 
Excuse me a moment, just hold my knife. 
And I'll hit that brigand with my Colt's revolver." 

Then through the valley the contest rang, 
Pistols rattle and carbines bang. 
Horrible, terrible, frightful, dire, 
Flashed from the vapor the footpad's fire, 
Frequent as when in a sultry night 
Twinkles a meadow with insect-light ; 
But deadlier far, as the Doctor found. 
	When, crack ! a ball through his frontal bone 
Lands him flat on his back on the hard-fought ground, 
	And left Captain Davis to go it alone ! 

Oh ! that Roger Bacon had died ! 
Or Schwartz, the monk, or whoever first tried 
Cold iron to choke with a mortal load. 
To see if Saltpeter wouldn't explode. 
For now, when you get up a scrimmage in rhyme, 
The use of gunpowder so shortens the time, 
That just as your � Iliad " should have begun, 
Your epic gets smashed with a Paishan.gun ; 
And the hero for whom you are tuning the string 
Is dead before " arms and the man " you sing ; 
To say nothing of how you jar and shock 
Your verses with hammer and rammer and stock 
Bullet and wad, trigger and lock, 
Nipple and cap, pan and cock. 
But wouldn't I like to spread a few pages 
All over with arms of the middle ages ? 
Wouldn't I like to expatiate 
On Captain Davis in chain or plate? 
	Spur to heel, and plume to crest. 
	Visor barred, and lance in rest, 
	Long, cross-hilted brand to wield, 
	Cuirass, gauntlets, mace and shield ; 
	Cased in proof himself and horse, 
	From frontlet-spike to huckler-boss ; 
	Harness glistening in the sun, 
	Plebian foes, and twelve to one ! 
I tell you now there's a beautiful chance 
To make a hero of old romance ; 
But I'm painting his picture for after-time. 
And don't mean to sacrifice truth for rhyme. 
Cease, digression ; the fray grows hot ! 
	Never an instant stops the firing ; 
Two of the conical hats are shot, 
	And a velvet jacket is just expiring. 
Never yields Captain Davis an inch, 
For he didn't know how, if he wished, to flinch. 
Firm he stands in the rocky gorge. 
	Moved as much by those vagrant men 
As an anvil that stands by a blacksmith's forge. 
	Is moved by the sledge-hammer's ten-pound ten ! 
Firm though his shirt, with jag and rag 
Resembles an army's storming flag : 
Firm, till suddenly they give a shout. 
	Drop their shooters and clutch their knives, 
When he said, "Jackson their powder's out. 
	And I've got three barrels and that's three lives !" 

One ! and the nearest steeple-crown 
	Stood aghast, as a minster spire 
	Stand, when the church below is on fire, 
Then trembles, and totters, and tumbles down. 
Don Pasquale the name he bore. 
	Near Lecco was reared his ancestral cot. 
Close by Lago Como's shore 
	For description of which, see Claude Melnotte, 
Two, and instantly drops, with a crash, 
An antediluvian sort of mustache ; 
Such as hundreds of years had grown, 
When scissors and razors were quite unknown. 
He from the Tuscan city had come, 
Where a tower is built all out of plumb ! 
Puritani his name was hight. 
A terrible fellow to pray or fight; 
Three ! and as if his head were cheese. 
	Through Castadiva a bullet cut; 
Knocked a hole in his os unguis, 
	And bedded itself in his occiput. 
Daily to mass his widow will go, 
	In that beautiful city, a lovely moaner, 
Where those supernatural sausages grow. 
	Which we mispronounce when we style " Bellona. 

As a crowd that near a depot stands. 
	Impatiently waiting to take the cars. 
Will "clear the track " when its iron bands 
	The ponderous, fiery hippogriph jars. 
Yet the moment it stops don't care a pin. 
But hustle and bustle and go right in, 
So the half of the band that still survives, 
Comes up, with long mustaches and knives. 
Determined to mince the Captain to chowder. 
So soon as it's known he is out of powder. 

Six feet one, in trowsers and shirt. 
Covered with sweat, and blood, and dirt; 
Not very much scared, (though his hat was hurt 
And as full of holes as a garden squirt.) 
Awaiting the onslaught, behold him stand 
With a twelve inch " Bowie" in either hand. 
His cause was right, and his arms were long. 
His blades were bright, and his heart was strong; 
All he asks of the trinketed clan 
Is a bird's eye view of the foremost man;
But shoulder to shoulder they came together. 
Six sugar-loaf heads and twelve legs of leather; 
Fellows whose names you can't rehearse 
Without instinctively clutching your purse ; 
	Baldiani and Bottesimi, 
	Fierce Alboni and fat Dandini, 
	Old Rubini and Mantillini, 
	Cherubini and Paganini: 
(But I had forgot the last were shot; 
No matter, it don't hurt the tale a jot.) 

Onward come the terrible crew ! 
	Waving their poiguards high in air. 
But little they dream that seldom grew 
	Of human arms so long a pair 
As the Captain had hanging beside him there, 
	Matted from shoulder to wrist with hair. 
	Brawny, and broad, and brown, and bare. 

Crack, and his blade from point to heft 
Had cloven a skull as an egg is cleft; 
And round he swings those terrible flails. 
Heavy and swift as a grist mill sails ; 
Whack! and the loftiest conical crown 
	Falls full length in the Rocky valley; 
Smack! and a duplicate Don goes down. 
	As a ten-pin falls in a bowling alley. 

None remain but old Rubini, 
Fierce Alboni and fat Dandini; 
Wary fellows, who take delight 
In prolonging, as long as they can, a fight, 
To show the science of cut and thrust. 
	The politest method of taking life; 
As some men love, when a bird is trussed. 
	To exhibit their skill with a carving knife. 
But now with desperate hate and strength, 
They cope with those arms of fearful length. 
A scenic effect of skill and art, 
A beautiful play of tierce and carte, 
A fine exhibition it was, to teach 
The science of keeping quite out of reach. 
But they parry, and ward, and guard, and fend. 
	And rally, and dodge, and slash, and shout. 
In hopes that from mere fatigue in the end 
	He either will have to give in or give out. 

Never a Yankee was born or bred 
Without that peculiar kink in his he.id 
By which he could turn the smallest amount 
Of whatever he had to the best account. 
So while the banditti cavil and shrink, 
It gives Captain Davis a chance to think; 
And the coupled ideas shot through his brain, 
As shoots through a village an express train; 
And then ! as swift as the lightning flight, 
When the pile-driver falls from its fearful hight. 
He brings into play, by way of assister. 
His dexter leg, as a sort of ballista. 
Smash ! in the teeth of the nearest rogue. 
He threw the whole force of his hob-nailed brogue I 
And a horrible yell from the rocky chasm 
	Rose in the air like a border slogan. 
When old Rubini lay in a spasm, 
From the merciless kick of that iron brogan. 
As some old Walton, with line and hook. 
Will stand by the side of a mountain brook. 
Intent upon taking a creel of trout; 
But finds so many poking about, 
Under the roots, and stones, and sedges, 
In the middle, and near the edges. 
Eager to bite, so soon as the hackle. 
Drops in the stream from his slender tackle. 
And finally thinks it a weary sport. 
To fish where trout are so easily caught; 
So Captain Davis gets tired at last 
Of fighting with those that drop down so fast, 
And a tussle with only a couple of men 
Seems poor kind of fun, after killing often ! 
But just for the purpose of ending the play 
He puts fierce Albini first out of the way; 
And then to show Signor Dandini his skill. 
He splits him right up, as you'd split up a quill; 
Then drops his "Bowie " and rips his shirt. 
To bandage the wounds of the parties hurt; 
An act as good as a moral, to teach 
"That none are out of humanity's reach," 
An act that might have produced good fruit, 
Had the brigands survived, but they didn't do it. 

Sixteen men do depose and Say, 
" That in December, the twentieth day. 
They were standing close by when the fight occurred, 
And are ready to swear to it, word for word. 
That a bloodier scrimmage they never saw; 
That the bodies were sot on, accordin' to law; 
That the provocation and great excitement 
Wouldn't justify them in a bill of indictment; 
But this verdict they find against Captain Davis, 
That if ever a brave man lived � he brave is." 

The above ballad made its round from the Knickerbocker Magazine, referring to a desperate fight between 
three miners, prospecting after a vein of gold-bearing quartz, and eleven robbers, as had been published in 
the newspapers of El Dorado county in December, 1854, and at that time had caused quite some 
controversy on account of the credibility in the affair. The Captain's gallant deeds in Rocky Canyon are 
rendered in imperishable verse, abounding in wit, sprightliness and humor. His name will live in song, if not 
in story, long after his strong arm and undaunted heart are cold, pulseless and stiff.