Specialized criminal courts for juveniles attacked this problem. The pioneer was an Illinois law (1899), which applied to Cook County only (Chicago and its suburbs). The law covered "dependent, neglected and delinquent children": specifically, any child who "is dest.i.tute or homeless or abandoned," or who "habitually begs or receives alms," or who "is found living in any house of ill fame or with any vicious or disreputable person"; also, any "child under the age of 8 years who is found peddling or selling any article or singing or playing any musical instrument upon the street or giving any public entertainment"; and any child "whose home, by reason of neglect, cruelty or depravity on the part of its parents ... is an unfit place for such a child."86 The law, in short, continued the trend of lumping bad and bad-off children together. Under its terms, a circuit-court judge would sit in a separate courtroom, and keep separate records. The judge had power to put the court's wards into the proper inst.i.tution or to give them probation. Timothy Hurley, president of the Chicago Visitation and Aid Society, praised the act as a "return to paternalism," words that have a somewhat ironic ring today. But to him the "paternalism" was exceedingly welcome; it meant the "acknowledgment by the State of its relationship as the parent to every child within its borders." Civilization, Hurley felt, had lost sight of this relationship, and consequently faced "utter demoralization."87 For him, then, the juvenile court movement was a form of interventionism-made necessary because the pillars on which society rested, including the family, had weakened so in the late nineteenth century. The movement thus dovetailed neatly with the other reforms of the period, and with the upsurge in interest in traditional morality. The full story of the juvenile court movement, however, belongs to the twentieth century. For him, then, the juvenile court movement was a form of interventionism-made necessary because the pillars on which society rested, including the family, had weakened so in the late nineteenth century. The movement thus dovetailed neatly with the other reforms of the period, and with the upsurge in interest in traditional morality. The full story of the juvenile court movement, however, belongs to the twentieth century.

Local Jails The newfangled devices and reform inst.i.tutions were at the cutting edge of American penology. They were reforms that affected, on the whole, the great northern penitentiaries and certain special categories of offenders-notably, children. But they left virtually untouched the huge squalid ma.s.s of county and local prisons: the end of the line for thousands of men and women who were picked up for drunkenness or vagrancy, as well as brawlers, petty thieves, and countless others.

The local jails, in the aggregate, housed a considerable number of prisoners. The 1880 census counted 58,609 prisoners (not including juveniles in reformatories). Of these, 30,659 were found in penitentiaries, 7,865 in workhouses and houses of correction, 12,691 in county jails, 1,666 in city prisons, 499 in military prisons, 350 in hospitals for the insane, and 4,879 leased out to private parties as laborers.88 In the local jails, confusion was king, along with plain dirt and humiliation. These were the sewers and toilets of humanity. At best they were simply chaotic and neglected. In 1880, Enoch Wines described Michigan's jails as follows: "no work, no instruction, no discipline, no uniformity of structure." He pointed out, as so many had, that the innocent and the depraved were thrown together in "intimate and continuous a.s.sociation," the "old offender" boasting of his exploits to the "wayward youth," who drank in "the fatal poison, ... burning with desire for similar adventures."89 In rural Iowa, the local lockup, or jail-called the "calaboose"-was a tiny, simple building used to store drunks and tramps; offenders waited here to be dragged off to county jails, in the days before paved roads, when snow or mud made the long trip a torture. In Grand Mound, Iowa, the lockup was even used as a makeshift hotel, rented out to travelers as "an occasional low cost bed." In rural Iowa, the local lockup, or jail-called the "calaboose"-was a tiny, simple building used to store drunks and tramps; offenders waited here to be dragged off to county jails, in the days before paved roads, when snow or mud made the long trip a torture. In Grand Mound, Iowa, the lockup was even used as a makeshift hotel, rented out to travelers as "an occasional low cost bed."90 In the cities, most people who were arrested never got further than a local jail; the "big house" was for serious crimes. If a person could not make bail, the first stop was a cell in a police station house. George Walling, writing in 1887 about New York, has vividly described the experience. Most of the men (and women) are hauled to the cells "in a state of beastly intoxication. They shout and scream and curse worse than any furies." Dumped in a "loathsome" room, cramped, with foul air, the prisoner has to spend the night on a "hard board," where "his limbs become lame and paralyzed" in a vain attempt to sleep. All around him, in other cells, are other objects of misery: a "howling Jezebel, ... mad with liquor"; a "tender, refined, intelligent woman" who sinned out of "weakness" and who "moans and groans in her grief"; a "sobbing boy" spending his first night in jail, thinking of his mother; an old man, "half maniacal through the constant habit of drinking," tortured by "delirium tremens, and the strange creatures of his vision."91 The next stop for a convicted criminal in New York City might be the Ludlow Street Jail. This lacked the stern uniformity of the great prisons. One cla.s.s of inmates, the "aristocrats of the jail," paid the warden fifteen dollars a week; this gave them a "respectable room" instead of a cell, and the privilege of sitting at the warden's table, "eating the luxuries of the market." A few rich prisoners paid between fifty and a hundred dollars a week; this bought a "nicely furnished room with all the luxuries"; their meals were served in their rooms and, in general, they lived "in royal style."92 The "non-paying boarder" was locked in a cell from seven-thirty at night, to six-thirty in the morning, when he "takes up his slop-pail and carries it down to the sink." Breakfast is brought to the cell: hunks of bread, which the prisoner grabs through the cell door as best he can, followed by coffee in a tin cup. Dinner is bread and a kind of soup, served at noon. Supper is tea and another hunk of bread.93 But the worst and most notorious of the jails in New York City was the prison usually known as "the Tombs." This ma.s.sive building was finished in 1838, in a crazy style of architecture that vaguely resembled someone's idea of an Egyptian tomb. It had cells for both men and women. It, too, was divided into cla.s.ses: there were five or six "comfortable cells," rooms with a view (of the street) for "aristocratic rogues" who could afford to "live in style."94 Most of the prisoners, however, were far from "aristocratic"; they were, instead, members of the "disorderly or vagrant cla.s.s." They appeared first in the police court, in the Tombs. Here they were, generally, found guilty and sentenced, in an "awful smelling court-room amid the dull and brutish stare of the a.s.sembled sc.u.m of the lower city wards." The cell that received them was small and damp, with a cement floor. The regimen was much the same as at Ludlow Street. Most of the prisoners, however, were far from "aristocratic"; they were, instead, members of the "disorderly or vagrant cla.s.s." They appeared first in the police court, in the Tombs. Here they were, generally, found guilty and sentenced, in an "awful smelling court-room amid the dull and brutish stare of the a.s.sembled sc.u.m of the lower city wards." The cell that received them was small and damp, with a cement floor. The regimen was much the same as at Ludlow Street.

The Tombs was four stories high, and each floor was specialized. On the ground floor were "lunatics, delirium tremens delirium tremens cases, and ... sentenced prisoners." The second tier was "Murderers' Row"; it also housed burglars, highway robbers, and "other desperate criminals." The third tier was for "prisoners arrested for grand larceny"; the fourth for "minor misdemeanors." cases, and ... sentenced prisoners." The second tier was "Murderers' Row"; it also housed burglars, highway robbers, and "other desperate criminals." The third tier was for "prisoners arrested for grand larceny"; the fourth for "minor misdemeanors."95 The local jails in the South were scandalous in their own right. Here is the county "prison" of Cleveland County, North Carolina, as of 1870, as it appeared to a contemporary: The county prison is built of brick, and is thirty by twenty-six feet in size. It is three stories high, and has four cells for prisoners, including debtor's room; iron cage, etc. The iron cage is eight feet square and six feet high, the other part of the room twelve feet by fifteen. The other rooms for prisoners, fifteen by ten and fifteen by seven. There is one window in each room and cell, four and a half by three feet in size. There is no way of heating the prison except that of giving the prisoners in cold weather, a heated rock. There have been some of the prisoners frost-bitten during extremely cold weather. Each prisoner has allowed him, a straw bed and three blankets. The males and females are confined in different apartments. They have fresh water as often as they want it, and just as much food as they wish. The excrement is removed from the prison, and tar is often burned in the cells to take away the offensive smell.96 Even so, prisoners in such jails were lucky, compared to those in the work camps and chain gangs, where, as we have seen, the prisoners died like flies. In general, prison and jail conditions everywhere in the country were a scandal-hidden lesions and sores on society. They were also a lesson on the meaning of race, poverty, and lack of power-and the terrible indifference of respectable people to the miseries of life underneath their feet.

Capital Punishment in the Late Nineteenth Century The formal formal use of the death penalty continued to decline in the late nineteenth century. Michigan had abolished it, as a territory, in 1847, except for treason (not a major offense in Michigan); Maine got rid of it in 1876, restored it in 1883, then got rid of it for good in 1887. use of the death penalty continued to decline in the late nineteenth century. Michigan had abolished it, as a territory, in 1847, except for treason (not a major offense in Michigan); Maine got rid of it in 1876, restored it in 1883, then got rid of it for good in 1887.97 Some states and localities continued to allow public executions, but a trend against it began in the 1830s, as we have noted. In California, public executions were banned in the 1850s; the hangman was supposed to do his dirty work discreetly, behind the sheltered walls of prisons and jails. Some states and localities continued to allow public executions, but a trend against it began in the 1830s, as we have noted. In California, public executions were banned in the 1850s; the hangman was supposed to do his dirty work discreetly, behind the sheltered walls of prisons and jails.

Executions still fascinated the public. Public executions, where they existed, were tremendous box-office hits. "Private" executions were also popular. The word private private has to be taken with a grain of salt. These executions were, of course, not carried out in the public square, but neither were they well screened, at first, from the curious. The execution of Sam Steenburgh, on April 19, 1878, in the village of Fonda, New York, attracted about fifteen thousand visitors. "Two special trains from the east, aggregating 12 cars, and one of 7 cars, from the west" pulled in, jammed with "curiosity seekers" dressed in "holiday attire" whose ages ranged "from the ... bent old man or woman of 70 to the child in arms"; the "s.e.xes were quite evenly divided." has to be taken with a grain of salt. These executions were, of course, not carried out in the public square, but neither were they well screened, at first, from the curious. The execution of Sam Steenburgh, on April 19, 1878, in the village of Fonda, New York, attracted about fifteen thousand visitors. "Two special trains from the east, aggregating 12 cars, and one of 7 cars, from the west" pulled in, jammed with "curiosity seekers" dressed in "holiday attire" whose ages ranged "from the ... bent old man or woman of 70 to the child in arms"; the "s.e.xes were quite evenly divided."98 Fonda had made elaborate preparations for this great event. The jail itself was a "small rectangular building of unhewn stone," located between the railroad track and the river. A high board fence had been built, enclosing a plot of turf 138 by 108 feet, on the western side of the jail. Inside this enclosure was the gallows, "a plain, upright structure ... painted black." The condemned man was to be "jerked into the air by the fall of an iron weight of 310 pounds." The hanging "machine" had been built in 1871, and had been used in a number of New York executions. Near the river was a house with a peaked roof, and from here you could have "an excellent view of the scene." The owner, it was said, had rented out all the s.p.a.ce, though "at fair rates."99 Steenburgh, a black man, had been convicted of the murder of a farmer named Jacob S. Parker; he confessed to this and many other crimes. On the morning of the execution, there was a scene of pandemonium outside the jail, beginning at nine o'clock. The weather was fine: a "gentle breeze tempered the rays of the sun." The area was "blackened with people. Stands had been erected for the sale of sandwiches, ginger-bread, chewing gum and ginger-pop.... Hundreds of boys were dodging among the mult.i.tude crying out copies of the 'Confession.'"

Steenburgh had "slept soundly" until nine-thirty. After he dressed and "performed his ablutions," he said a prayer. His "mistress and their child" appeared at the gate; officials refused to let the woman in "for fear of unduly exciting the prisoner"; but "little Susie" did get to see her father one last time. For the execution, Steenburgh was given a "new suit of clothes and a linen shirt." At 12:50 P.M., a drum began beating and a "procession made its appearance around the corner of the jail." Soldiers marched on either side of the doomed man. At the scaffold, two priests prayed for Steenburgh's soul. Steenburgh's wrists, thighs, and ankles were bound by leather straps. Shouts and noises came from the "more disorderly of the mob" of onlookers. The sheriff asked Steenburgh if he wanted to make a last statement; Steenburgh spoke briefly, and said he was ready to die.

The noose was fitted around his neck and a black cap placed on his head. Steenburgh begged for five minutes' grace, then for ten. The crowd wanted blood. At one o'clock, the black cap was put on again; the sheriff's a.s.sistant touched "the lever with his foot," the iron weight fell with a crash, "and Steenburgh's body was jerked sideways and upward about five feet.... As he came down he swung and swayed from left to right for a few seconds." The newspaper lovingly recorded every twitch and contraction of the body, every detail of Steenburgh's pulse rate, until (after ten minutes) the doctors p.r.o.nounced him dead. The body was lowered at 1:23 P.M. and placed in a coffin; the crowd pressed forward to look at the body.100 Crowds were present, in fact, at many "private" executions. Charles Guiteau, the a.s.sa.s.sin of President Garfield, went to the gallows on July 1, 1882; according to a newspaper account, the "representation of morbid sightseers was remarkably small"; yet over two hundred people crowded into the jail to watch, and hundreds more stood outside the jail, "staring."101 When Lloyd Majors was executed in the jail yard in Oakland, California, in 1884, the streets were full of people who hoped to catch a glimpse of the show. Some of the spectators climbed on roofs; a few from atop the Sagehorn Building might have been actually able to see the event itself. The jail yard was jammed with viewers. Outside, "several boys had climbed into a tall poplar tree in front of the jail, in full view of the scaffold." When Lloyd Majors was executed in the jail yard in Oakland, California, in 1884, the streets were full of people who hoped to catch a glimpse of the show. Some of the spectators climbed on roofs; a few from atop the Sagehorn Building might have been actually able to see the event itself. The jail yard was jammed with viewers. Outside, "several boys had climbed into a tall poplar tree in front of the jail, in full view of the scaffold."102 When an execution took place "in private" at the Tombs, in New York City, "the neighboring buildings are black with people, seeking to look down over the prison walls and witness the death agonies of the poor wretch who is paying the penalty of the law." When an execution took place "in private" at the Tombs, in New York City, "the neighboring buildings are black with people, seeking to look down over the prison walls and witness the death agonies of the poor wretch who is paying the penalty of the law."103 Of course, when all is said and done, not many people could climb trees or roofs, or watch an execution with opera gla.s.ses; but millions could read all about it in the daily press. The newspapers of the late nineteenth century adored executions; they described the major executions in lip-smacking detail. When Nathan Sutton was hanged in California, in January 1888, the Oakland Tribune Oakland Tribune delivered to the breathless public a blow-by-blow account. People had climbed to the housetops in a desperate attempt to watch Sutton die an agonizing death. When Sutton was dropped, the rope cut deeply into his neck; his head almost separated from his body. According to the delivered to the breathless public a blow-by-blow account. People had climbed to the housetops in a desperate attempt to watch Sutton die an agonizing death. When Sutton was dropped, the rope cut deeply into his neck; his head almost separated from his body. According to the Tribune Tribune a "noise was heard ... like the gurgle of wind"; blood was "spurting from the left side of his neck ... bubbling from the right side ... welling from in front-rushing in a thick crimson torrent ... forming a sanguinary pool on the ground which sucked it voraciously.... The crowd stood spell-bound with horror." a "noise was heard ... like the gurgle of wind"; blood was "spurting from the left side of his neck ... bubbling from the right side ... welling from in front-rushing in a thick crimson torrent ... forming a sanguinary pool on the ground which sucked it voraciously.... The crowd stood spell-bound with horror."104 At least the crowd was not bored; and neither, one guesses, were the At least the crowd was not bored; and neither, one guesses, were the Tribune's Tribune's readers. In a sense, then, the death penalty was perhaps as public as ever. Lynchings in the South, and vigilante executions in the West, were also often public events, where thousands watched people die. readers. In a sense, then, the death penalty was perhaps as public as ever. Lynchings in the South, and vigilante executions in the West, were also often public events, where thousands watched people die.

Were executions even marginally more discreet, less primitive? It is hard to say. There was, however, a move to bring the methods up to date. New York pioneered in scientific death when it introduced the "electrical chair" in 1888, to replace the hangman, the gallows, and the noose. Experiments throughout the 1880s proved the awesome power of electricity; these experiments showed that electricity could kill animals swiftly and smoothly. Why not human beings as well?105 The governor of New York sent a message to the legislature in 1885, proposing the use of electricity. Hanging, he said, was a remnant of the "dark ages"; now "science" showed the way to put criminals to death "in a less barbarous manner." The governor of New York sent a message to the legislature in 1885, proposing the use of electricity. Hanging, he said, was a remnant of the "dark ages"; now "science" showed the way to put criminals to death "in a less barbarous manner."106 The law of 1888 provided that the "punishment of death must, in every case, be inflicted by causing to pa.s.s through the body of the convict a current of electricity of sufficient intensity to cause death." The law of 1888 provided that the "punishment of death must, in every case, be inflicted by causing to pa.s.s through the body of the convict a current of electricity of sufficient intensity to cause death."107 The electric chair was also a step in the direction of true privacy; it was housed in a small chamber in the prison, and needed considerably less s.p.a.ce than a good, old-fashioned hanging. But the coming of "the chair" did not, of course, dampen public curiosity; it only whetted the appet.i.te of yellow journalists. The electric chair was also a step in the direction of true privacy; it was housed in a small chamber in the prison, and needed considerably less s.p.a.ce than a good, old-fashioned hanging. But the coming of "the chair" did not, of course, dampen public curiosity; it only whetted the appet.i.te of yellow journalists.

William Kemmler had the dubious honor of being first to die in "the chair." This was in 1890. The first woman executed by this "progressive" method was Mrs. Martha Place, in 1899. Her eyes closed, and clutching a Bible, she was guided into the chamber "dressed in a black gown with big sleeves and a few fancy frills at the bosom.... She wore russet slippers." Her hair was braided, but a spot had been clipped near the crown to make room for the electrode. Another electrode was fastened to her leg. A current of 1,760 volts went through her body. It was all over in a short time; the doctors p.r.o.nounced her dead and took the Bible from her motionless hand. The execution, we are told, "had been successful in every way."108

8.

LAWFUL LAW AND LAWLESS LAW: FORMS OF AMERICAN VIOLENCE.

A PHRASE IN THE t.i.tLE OF THIS CHAPTER-"LAWLESS LAW"-MUST STRIKE the reader as oddly contradictory. But it has a lot of concrete meaning. In this society, and in all modem societies, there is an ideal form or image of criminal justice. Only the state, the law, has the right to use force. The state is supposed to have a "monopoly of legitimate violence." And the only rightful use of force is against force; the only proper use of violence is against violence; the only proper use of law, is against the lawless.

The reality, of course, is another story. American history is rich in forms of lawlessness, and not all of them stand outside the legal system as enemies of "law and order." Many, in fact, take place "inside" the legal system itself, or are aspects of that system-police brutality, for example. There lawlessness masquerades as law, or acts as a secret supplement to law, or replaces law. Most forms of lawlessness are "private"; ordinary crime comprises the bulk of it. Other "private" forms of lawlessness have a collective aspect: urban riots, lynchings, vigilante movements. Sometimes these outbreaks of violence claim to be reactions against official neglect, corruption, or incompetence; sometimes they imitate law (holding "trials" and pa.s.sing judgment); sometimes they set themselves up as rivals to the official system and its norms.

A Violent Society n.o.body seems to doubt that the United States is, comparatively speaking, a violent society. The murder rate, as I write this, is orders of magnitude higher than those of other developed countries. Violence, it is said, is as American as cherry pie. American cities are much more violent and dangerous places than European or African cities, on the whole. Cherry pie was not invented yesterday; and neither was the notion that American society is drenched with innocent blood. Most people who think about it at all seem convinced that America is a violent society by tradition, by inheritance, by ingrained habit. How far back can we trace this blot of blood?

In part, violence violence is a matter of definition, or at least of perspective. Even the definition of murder shifts over time: consider euthanasia, or abortion. Not many people today are willing to come out in favor of wife beating; battering a wife counts as violent (and illegal) behavior. But this was not always the case. (See chapter 10.) In many societies, vengeance and blood feuds are considered normal, possibly even a good thing. is a matter of definition, or at least of perspective. Even the definition of murder shifts over time: consider euthanasia, or abortion. Not many people today are willing to come out in favor of wife beating; battering a wife counts as violent (and illegal) behavior. But this was not always the case. (See chapter 10.) In many societies, vengeance and blood feuds are considered normal, possibly even a good thing.

Every society defines a sphere of legitimate private private violence-spanking a child, for example. Of course, the boundary between lawful and unlawful spanking, between discipline and child abuse, is blurred; and it fluctuates. There were fathers in the past who were proud that they beat their children mercilessly-for the children's sake, of course; today these same fathers might be in danger of going to jail. A teacher who caned a third-grader would quickly lose her job. violence-spanking a child, for example. Of course, the boundary between lawful and unlawful spanking, between discipline and child abuse, is blurred; and it fluctuates. There were fathers in the past who were proud that they beat their children mercilessly-for the children's sake, of course; today these same fathers might be in danger of going to jail. A teacher who caned a third-grader would quickly lose her job.

Nonetheless, there is broad consensus about what is and what is not murder, so that we know how to label most most violent deaths; and the same is true for robbery and a.s.sault. The small colonial settlements were not violent places, on the whole; there was rankling and quarreling, and violent deaths; and the same is true for robbery and a.s.sault. The small colonial settlements were not violent places, on the whole; there was rankling and quarreling, and some some crime, but not very much of it was violent. The system, of course, used violence itself. Whipping was an ordinary weapon of government. These were authoritarian societies, and "correction" was an important part of the social structure. Slaveholders beat their slaves. Slavery was, in a sense, violence made into an inst.i.tution; it rested, ultimately, on force. But then, so do all societies-to a degree. crime, but not very much of it was violent. The system, of course, used violence itself. Whipping was an ordinary weapon of government. These were authoritarian societies, and "correction" was an important part of the social structure. Slaveholders beat their slaves. Slavery was, in a sense, violence made into an inst.i.tution; it rested, ultimately, on force. But then, so do all societies-to a degree.

The cities and towns of the nineteenth century had more raw violence than colonial settlements. The invention of the police was, in part, a response to the violence of cities-especially to urban rioting. Violence and brutality, as we have seen, were epidemic on southern plantations; after the Civil War, violence against blacks continued in another form. We will discuss this violence later in this chapter. In this country, apparently, there was also a good deal of random, sporadic violence, private violence, violence that was unorganized, individual, idiosyncratic.

What brought this violence about? Every human being is a private and unique story; every crime is one of a kind. But there are patterns and aggregates. In the aggregate sense, American violence must come from somewhere deep in the American personality. And the American personality-that is, the distinctive patterns patterns of personality one finds in this country-cannot be accidental; nor can it be genetic. The specific facts of American life make it what it is. In this sense, crime has been perhaps part of the price of liberty; of a society that had loosened some of the strings, taken off the suffocating gag. When this happened, a small but important number of people ran wild. Put in another way, as autocracy loosened, as mobility increased, as rural life gave way to urban life, as community disintegrated, there were more and more unattached, normless men, men who were out of control. Loss of control, the failure of collective discipline, was the great social fear of the century. This fear explains many of the developments in the criminal justice system, as we have already seen. It cuts like a knife through the tangle of legal detail. of personality one finds in this country-cannot be accidental; nor can it be genetic. The specific facts of American life make it what it is. In this sense, crime has been perhaps part of the price of liberty; of a society that had loosened some of the strings, taken off the suffocating gag. When this happened, a small but important number of people ran wild. Put in another way, as autocracy loosened, as mobility increased, as rural life gave way to urban life, as community disintegrated, there were more and more unattached, normless men, men who were out of control. Loss of control, the failure of collective discipline, was the great social fear of the century. This fear explains many of the developments in the criminal justice system, as we have already seen. It cuts like a knife through the tangle of legal detail.

As we have noted, one of the great master-trends in the history of criminal justice is the shift from private private to to public; public; and from lay to professional. Pauline Maier, writing about riots and mobs in the colonial period, refers to the mob as the "extralegal arm of the community's interest." She points out that the line between public and private use of force was extremely fuzzy. and from lay to professional. Pauline Maier, writing about riots and mobs in the colonial period, refers to the mob as the "extralegal arm of the community's interest." She points out that the line between public and private use of force was extremely fuzzy.1 There was the old tradition of the "posse"-lay citizens scooped up ad hoc into law enforcement-and the tradition of the "hue and cry," in which ordinary citizens joined in the chase after criminals. There were occasional uses of the "posse" in eastern states, but as everyone who has seen "westerns" knows, the posse survived best on the frontier, that is, in places where law enforcement had not grown as professional as it had in the East. There was the old tradition of the "posse"-lay citizens scooped up ad hoc into law enforcement-and the tradition of the "hue and cry," in which ordinary citizens joined in the chase after criminals. There were occasional uses of the "posse" in eastern states, but as everyone who has seen "westerns" knows, the posse survived best on the frontier, that is, in places where law enforcement had not grown as professional as it had in the East.

In any event, in the eighteenth century, "disorder," as Maier puts it, "was seldom anarchic," and rioters often "acted to defend law and justice rather than to oppose them." Att.i.tudes changed in the nineteenth century. The tolerance for ma.s.s action declined. There was a long, slow retreat from legitimate public partic.i.p.ation in law enforcement. This was true symbolically as well as literally. Hangings, we recall, took place in open air, before crowds, in the eighteenth century and well into the nineteenth. Then they retreated, first to the courtyards of prisons, then to smaller, more secret rooms. Why did all of this happen? For many reasons: but surely one of them was the sense that society did not dare let loose the uncontrolled pa.s.sions of the many. The "monopoly of violence" was the only way to keep violence scarce.

Or relatively scarce. Violence, like vice, never went away. American violence is still a historical puzzle. Other societies, as they modernized, lost much of their violent edge. There is some evidence that the police actually succeeded in taming, more or less, the slums of great cities like London. Economic growth, no doubt, helped. People who voted and had a bit of money and security were less p.r.o.ne to violent crime. This may have been the case in the United States as well. There is some evidence that serious crime did decline in the nineteenth century.2 But the level of crime remained higher than in other countries. Perhaps (some people think) this was because the society was more mobile, more open; less bound to traditional ties of family, church, and town; or because of the frontier, or the "fatal liberty" of American society. But the level of crime remained higher than in other countries. Perhaps (some people think) this was because the society was more mobile, more open; less bound to traditional ties of family, church, and town; or because of the frontier, or the "fatal liberty" of American society.

What makes the problem so intractable is the scarcity of facts. They were, of course, even scarcer in the nineteenth century itself. Still, it was commonplace, among conservatives of the time, that the radical democracy of America must, and did, lead to "anarchy and ma.s.s murder." In the 1830s, "thoughtful men were disturbed by a spirit of violence and brutality which seemed to be spreading across the nation."3 The riots and disorders in the big cities were certainly an alarming fact of life in the first half of the century, as was labor unrest in the second. The New York City draft riots of July 1863, in the middle of the the Civil War, were perhaps the bloodiest riots ever experienced in the history of the country. The riots and disorders in the big cities were certainly an alarming fact of life in the first half of the century, as was labor unrest in the second. The New York City draft riots of July 1863, in the middle of the the Civil War, were perhaps the bloodiest riots ever experienced in the history of the country.4 In 1850, a man who signed his name as "Veritas" wrote a letter to a newspaper, calling Philadelphia "The Murder City"; the homicide rates then were nothing compared to what they are now; but they were large enough to disturb respectable citizens. In 1850, a man who signed his name as "Veritas" wrote a letter to a newspaper, calling Philadelphia "The Murder City"; the homicide rates then were nothing compared to what they are now; but they were large enough to disturb respectable citizens.5 Violence and the Frontier Tradition When people talk about the roots of American violence, they almost always invoke the frontier, or the frontier tradition.

There are, of course, frontiers and frontiers. After all, the Puritans in Boston, in 1650, were pioneers, and they lived on a frontier. Similarly, the Mormons in the "State of Deseret," beyond the reach of mainstream American law, were pioneers, living on the rim of society, or beyond it; but they ran a tight ship, and a nonviolent one, all things considered. John Philip Reid, in a remarkable study of behavior on the wagon trains of the overland trail in the middle of the nineteenth century-in absolute wilderness, in a place far outside the grasp of the long arm of the law-found very little violence and an enormous amount of respect for law and order.6 All this, however, does not do away completely with the image of a raw and lawless "frontier," or the romantic Wild West. The Wild West is, of course, interesting in its own right; it is the stuff of thousands of movies, books, and television shows. Americans seem to love the saga of sheriffs, gunfighters, badmen; Dodge City, Tombstone, Wyatt Earp, Billy the Kid, and the rest are part of American mythology. But is there really a tradition tradition of violence? That is, did frontier life, frontier conditions, create or nourish a b.l.o.o.d.y way of life for which we still pay the price? of violence? That is, did frontier life, frontier conditions, create or nourish a b.l.o.o.d.y way of life for which we still pay the price?

To begin with, it is not self-evident that the western frontier was violent. Scholars of the West are split on this issue. The West, in any event, was not a monolith. As Richard White has pointed out, no one contends that "Norwegian farmers in North Dakota habitually squared off with Colt .45s to settle the ownership of an ox ... or that German Mennonites in Kansas regulated their farm boundaries by slicing each other with bowie knives."7 The wild part of the West meant the mining and cattle towns. The wild part of the West meant the mining and cattle towns.

Roger McGrath studied two such towns: Aurora, Nevada, and Bodie, California, both in the Sierras. These frontier towns, he feels, were "unmistakably violent and lawless, but only in special ways."8 There were plenty of shoot-outs, but not much robbery or rape. The violence was "men fighting men," that is, fistfights and gunfights. The towns were crowded with "young, healthy, adventurous, single males who adhered to a code of conduct that required a man to stand and fight." There were plenty of shoot-outs, but not much robbery or rape. The violence was "men fighting men," that is, fistfights and gunfights. The towns were crowded with "young, healthy, adventurous, single males who adhered to a code of conduct that required a man to stand and fight."9 For the rest of the population, there was relative safety; women, unless they were prost.i.tutes, were treated with respect; property was generally safe from depredations. (We shall return to this point.) For the rest of the population, there was relative safety; women, unless they were prost.i.tutes, were treated with respect; property was generally safe from depredations. (We shall return to this point.) The frontier did attract some kinds of violence. The rootless killer was often a frontier killer, if only because the frontier, like the darkest slums of the cities, was full of places to lurk, to hide, and to flee. American ma.s.s murderers made good use of the country's frontiers. Starting about 1800, the Harpe brothers, "Big Harpe" (Micajah) and "Little Harpe" (Wiley), carved a trail of blood along the Wilderness Road, in Kentucky. They were robbers, but they also murdered, wantonly, sometimes almost without motive.10 It is the twentieth century, of course, that has become the golden age of the "serial killer," but the Harpes can hold their own with most. It is the twentieth century, of course, that has become the golden age of the "serial killer," but the Harpes can hold their own with most.

The point is that the frontier, as a place, is not to blame; neither is the frontier as a kind of settlement. The frontier did attract rootless, deracinated men; and these these are the ones who carry the germ of violence. What is to blame are situations in which uprooted men (and sometimes women) lose or lack control. Their gyroscopes gone haywire, their personalities bent out of shape, they suffer from profound character disorders, and no social force is strong enough to control or reshape them. Such people are the detritus of mobility. Individual acts of violence that come out of such a background can be sporadic, unpredictable. It may be sudden and senseless violence against strangers, though this kind of crime became far more common in the twentieth century. It is, perhaps, the kind of crime that criminal justice can do the least about. are the ones who carry the germ of violence. What is to blame are situations in which uprooted men (and sometimes women) lose or lack control. Their gyroscopes gone haywire, their personalities bent out of shape, they suffer from profound character disorders, and no social force is strong enough to control or reshape them. Such people are the detritus of mobility. Individual acts of violence that come out of such a background can be sporadic, unpredictable. It may be sudden and senseless violence against strangers, though this kind of crime became far more common in the twentieth century. It is, perhaps, the kind of crime that criminal justice can do the least about.

Ritualized Violence: The Duel Violence can also be patterned and ritualized. This is the case with the blood feud or the duel. It is an open question whether ritualized violence bears any relation to other kinds of violence. Is ritualized violence an outlet outlet and a and a subst.i.tute subst.i.tute for spontaneous violence? Or does it, in fact, breed more of it? for spontaneous violence? Or does it, in fact, breed more of it?

Dueling was an ancient custom, based on codes of male honor. At some point in the eighteenth century it crossed the Atlantic and found its way into American codes of honor as well. The most famous American duel took place on July 11, 1804, when Aaron Burr killed Alexander Hamilton on a field in Weehawken, New Jersey.

The official att.i.tude, especially in the North, was one of horror and outrage: dueling was a crime. In 1784, Ma.s.sachusetts enacted a strong statute against this "detestable and infamous practice." Anyone who engaged in a duel "with rapier or small sword, back-sword, pistol or any other dangerous weapon" was guilty of a crime, even if no one was killed. Dueling, according to the statute, expressed contempt for G.o.d, "the Supreme Giver and Disposer of life," and was based on "false notions of honour." The statutory punishment, therefore, maximized dis dishonor: the convict was to be "carried publickly in a cart to the gallows with a rope about his neck," to sit there for an hour, and then to go to jail for a year, or, "in lieu of the said imprisonment," to be publicly whipped, up to "thirty-nine stripes."11 Even more extreme were the provisions if death occurred: the body of the victim victim was to be buried "without a coffin, with a stake drove through the body at or near the usual place of execution"; or it might be delivered to any "surgeon ... to be dissected and anatomized." The killer was guilty of murder. If convicted and executed, his body, too, would either be dissected or buried coffinless, with a stake driven through it. was to be buried "without a coffin, with a stake drove through the body at or near the usual place of execution"; or it might be delivered to any "surgeon ... to be dissected and anatomized." The killer was guilty of murder. If convicted and executed, his body, too, would either be dissected or buried coffinless, with a stake driven through it.

The statute has an archaic ring, but the point was to try to nullify the positive image of dueling as n.o.ble, honorable, and even aristocratic. In an interesting case in the mayor's court of New York City, in 1818, a man named George F. Norton had challenged one William Willis to a duel. His letter of challenge began: "I Expect You will give mee the satisfaction of a gentleman For the insult you have put upon Mee." The mayor told the jury that this "offence had hitherto been supposed to be confined to that cla.s.s in society denominated gentlemen." Norton's case, he said, showed that "this fashionable crime was ... diffusing itself among the lower and, perhaps, the most useful cla.s.ses in society." Though Norton "has a.s.sumed the character and etiquette of a gentleman, there is scarcely a word in his letters spelled right. Even the monosyllable me me he had spelt he had spelt mee mee." He exhorted the jury to nip this spread of dueling in the bud; Norton was convicted, sentenced to a month in jail, and ordered "to find security to keep the peace for one year from the expiration of his imprisonment."12 Dueling flourished in the southern states. Andrew Jackson's mother told him that law "affords no remedy that can satisfy the feelings of a true man."13 In other words, a true man vindicated his honor outside the law. Dueling was illegal in the South as well as in the North-in Virginia as early as 1776, in Tennessee and North Carolina in 1802, in Georgia in 1809, in South Carolina in 1812. But these laws were totally ineffective. In other words, a true man vindicated his honor outside the law. Dueling was illegal in the South as well as in the North-in Virginia as early as 1776, in Tennessee and North Carolina in 1802, in Georgia in 1809, in South Carolina in 1812. But these laws were totally ineffective.14 Although officeholders in a number of states (Alabama and Kentucky, for example) had to swear that they had never fought a duel, in or out of the state, legislatures simply exempted, by resolution, those who could not take the oath without telling a lie. Many prominent men in the southern and border states had duels on their records. In January 1809, Henry Clay and Humphrey Marshall were on opposite sides of a heated debate in the Kentucky legislature. Clay called Marshall a demagogue; Marshall called Clay a liar. The result was a duel, fought with pistols at ten paces. Three rounds were fired; each man was "cool, determined and brave," and neither was seriously injured. Although officeholders in a number of states (Alabama and Kentucky, for example) had to swear that they had never fought a duel, in or out of the state, legislatures simply exempted, by resolution, those who could not take the oath without telling a lie. Many prominent men in the southern and border states had duels on their records. In January 1809, Henry Clay and Humphrey Marshall were on opposite sides of a heated debate in the Kentucky legislature. Clay called Marshall a demagogue; Marshall called Clay a liar. The result was a duel, fought with pistols at ten paces. Three rounds were fired; each man was "cool, determined and brave," and neither was seriously injured.15 Dueling had a specific place in the social structure of the South. In the South, only gentlemen fought duels, and one only fought a duel with a social equal. Dueling was thus one brick in a structure of stratification, an unwritten code, in which every member of society knew his or her place and stuck to it. It was part of the southern code of honor. This code "discouraged the growth of strong law enforcement agencies," and "lessened the effectiveness of the state courts."16 It was, in short, pre-legal, prerational, aristocratic. It was also tenacious. Dueling as an inst.i.tution lasted in the South much longer than in the North; indeed, it persisted till the late nineteenth century. The end of the southern aristocracy and the rise of a new cla.s.s, the white populists and smallholders, was perhaps the cause of its decline. It was, in short, pre-legal, prerational, aristocratic. It was also tenacious. Dueling as an inst.i.tution lasted in the South much longer than in the North; indeed, it persisted till the late nineteenth century. The end of the southern aristocracy and the rise of a new cla.s.s, the white populists and smallholders, was perhaps the cause of its decline.

The code of honor, despite its aristocratic tang, was, at bottom, nothing more than the common macho code in fancy dress. In the North, the dominant ethos stressed rigid morality and self-control. This was the message of the penal code, and the message from the pulpit. Working-cla.s.s culture had a different flavor. There was a kind of code of violence and honor among unattached laborers and artisans-and also among family men who left wives and children at home when they made the rounds of saloons and gambling dens. Elliott Gom, writing about the culture of workingmen in mid-century New York City, described the code as a "fighting c.o.c.k's valor in the face of death, a bulldog's relentless charge into a bear's grasp, or a prizefighter's capacity to give and take punishment." These men followed a "combative, physical" way of life; they found "their deepest sense of individual ident.i.ty" in the "strut and swagger of leisure-time activities," centered on "saloons, theaters, boxing matches, pleasure gardens, sporting houses, boardinghouses, and brothels."17 One purpose of the criminal justice system was to control this energy, to keep this rampant physicality within limits, and to patrol, violently if necessary, the borders of respectability, protecting it from too many of these eruptions. This kind of patrol was, for example, one of the roles of the police. Unlike the South, the North never accepted or condoned this macho code-at least, not offically.

The true blood feud crops up mainly in the mountain regions of the South. The feud between the Hatfields and the McCoys has entered into American legend. In Williamson County, Illinois ("b.l.o.o.d.y Williamson"), between 1868 and 1876, a "b.l.o.o.d.y vendetta" broke out, initially over a card game. The county had a history of violence and homicide. Perhaps, as one contemporary thought, what festered in this county was the contact between the "code of the South" and the "knock-down style of the West."18 Some of these feuds "rubbed nerves raw in animosities bred by the Civil War, others in obscure conflicts whose precise origins had long been forgotten." Some of these feuds "rubbed nerves raw in animosities bred by the Civil War, others in obscure conflicts whose precise origins had long been forgotten."19 The feuds seemed archaic in their adherence to an ancient code of honor defined along precise family or clan lines. The feuds seemed archaic in their adherence to an ancient code of honor defined along precise family or clan lines.

The Vigilante Movement This is one of the most familiar chapters in the history of American justice (or injustice). An enormous amount has been written about the vigilantes, some of it true. Despite all the books, novels, and movies (perhaps because because of some of them), there are many issues about the history and meaning of the movement that are still not resolved. of some of them), there are many issues about the history and meaning of the movement that are still not resolved.

Richard Maxwell Brown, probably the leading expert on the subject, has defined vigilantism as "organized, extralegal movements, the members of which take the law into their own hands."20 This definition is as good as any. Some eruptions that fit this definition occurred as early as the eighteenth century-notably, the South Carolina Regulator movement in the late 1760s-and in the early part of the nineteenth as well. It is no accident that the prime examples seem to come from the South. Formal law was weak in the South, and vigilantism flourishes in a culture where the formal law is flabby and where rival "codes" enjoy legitimacy. There was, for example, a vigilante group in Montgomery, Alabama, in the 1820s called the "Regulating Horn." Their specialty was to tar and feather "guilty" people and run them out of town. This definition is as good as any. Some eruptions that fit this definition occurred as early as the eighteenth century-notably, the South Carolina Regulator movement in the late 1760s-and in the early part of the nineteenth as well. It is no accident that the prime examples seem to come from the South. Formal law was weak in the South, and vigilantism flourishes in a culture where the formal law is flabby and where rival "codes" enjoy legitimacy. There was, for example, a vigilante group in Montgomery, Alabama, in the 1820s called the "Regulating Horn." Their specialty was to tar and feather "guilty" people and run them out of town.21 In South Carolina, abolitionists were the main target of vigilantes in the 1840s. In South Carolina, abolitionists were the main target of vigilantes in the 1840s.

By any measure, however, these were only curtain raisers. The golden age of the vigilante movement came later. It began in the 1850s and continued until roughly the turn of the century; and the dry and rocky states of the American West were the natural habitat of the movement. The two San Francisco "vigilance committees" of the 1850s were the most famous of them all, and were perhaps the immediate source of the term, vigilante vigilante. The vigilantes of Montana have earned themselves a solid second place.

San Francisco in 1851 was raw and new-a boom town, transformed from almost nothing to a big city in a few short years. When an American ship, the Portsmouth Portsmouth, entered the great harbor in 1846, during the Mexican War, the conquerors found a miserable little town of some two hundred residents, huddled in rude houses between the beach and the wilderness.22 San Francisco had a magnificent setting and a magnificent location; the city was certain to grow under American rule. But the discovery of gold in 1848 stampeded the process. It let a jinni of fantastic size loose from its bottle. The city exploded. San Francisco had a magnificent setting and a magnificent location; the city was certain to grow under American rule. But the discovery of gold in 1848 stampeded the process. It let a jinni of fantastic size loose from its bottle. The city exploded.

San Francisco in the gold rush years was an exciting, strange, turbulent place, a city on the move in every way, growing, bursting at the seams, vibrant, alive. But was it also a festering center of crime? Historians have by no means made up their minds; but the local merchants had, along with many ordinary citizens. To them the city was in the grip of a colossal crime wave.

On February 19, 1851, C. J. Jansen's store on the corner of Montgomery and Washington streets, in the middle of the business district, was robbed. A man had demanded a dozen blankets, and as Jansen stooped down to get the blankets, he was beaten on the head and knocked unconscious. Two thousand dollars was later discovered missing from his desk.23 The police arrested two suspects, both Australians. A great, angry crowd gathered in Portsmouth Square; a young merchant, William T. Coleman, got the crowd's attention and recommended that a popular court be set up immediately. The crowd held a "trial" of sorts, choosing three judges from among themselves. Coleman acted as prosecutor, and twelve citizens served as an ad hoc jury. The police arrested two suspects, both Australians. A great, angry crowd gathered in Portsmouth Square; a young merchant, William T. Coleman, got the crowd's attention and recommended that a popular court be set up immediately. The crowd held a "trial" of sorts, choosing three judges from among themselves. Coleman acted as prosecutor, and twelve citizens served as an ad hoc jury.

The two Australians were lucky; they escaped with their necks. At the "trial," some local lawyers defended them; they pointed out that Jansen could not really identify the robbers, and the "jury" deadlocked, voting nine to three for conviction. A few men "yelled out that the prisoners should be hanged anyway"; but most of the crowd "drifted off. The prisoners were returned to the legal authorities, who tried and convicted both of them."24 This was the prelude. In June of the same year, a "Committee of Vigilance" was formed. The committee was active for about a month before it disbanded, but it was a busy month indeed. It directed its attention to the "Sydney coves"-Australian criminals-and ended up hanging four of them. One of them was John Jenkins, a man of bad reputation who had been caught in the act of stealing a safe. He was given a "trial" at the vigilante headquarters and sentenced to death. Jenkins was marched to the Custom House, where the locals put a noose around his neck and hanged him on the spot.25 The committee got rid of other bad characters in a less extreme way; twenty-eight of them were simply tossed out of town. The committee got rid of other bad characters in a less extreme way; twenty-eight of them were simply tossed out of town.26 For five years or so, there were no vigilantes at work in San Francisco. The second vigilance committee took form in 1856. In the background was an incident that occurred in November 1855: an "Italian gambler" named Charles Cora shot and killed a U.S. marshal by the name of Richardson. Cora was arrested and tried, but, as William T. Coleman (a prominent merchant, later a vigilante leader) put it, "all efforts to convict him ... failed." Some elements in the city were outraged over the general lawlessness, as they saw it, and the "impotence" of the regular law courts. The straw that broke the camel's back was another dramatic incident: James P. Casey shot and killed a newspaper editor, James King of William, who had been "boldly a.s.sailing all evildoers." At this point, "the engine-bell on the Plaza was rung-the familiar signal of the old Vigilance Committee." According to an eyewitness report, the mob seized both Casey and Cora, and hanged the two of them from projecting beams rigged on the roof of a building on Sacramento Street.27 The second vigilance committee was a much bigger affair than the first; it had more than six thousand members. The leaders took aim not only at "lawlessness" but also at the local political machine, which was under the thumb of David Broderick, president of the California Senate and "boss" of the Democratic Party, which drew its strength from the Irish (and Catholic) workingmen of the city. Two more men were dispatched at the end of a rope, and thirty "rowdies" or so were forced out of the city. The committee entered politics, and its candidates defeated the men of the Broderick regime. It ended its work, in other words, by seeking official power for itself.

The political nature of these vigilance committees seems plain. "Taking the law into one's own hands" is a phrase that expresses two thoughts: first, that the action is private private, the action of individuals or groups (or mobs) who seize for themselves the state's role as enforcer of law. But equally important is the second idea, that it is law law that one is taking into one's hands-not vengeance, not whim, not personal opinion, but law. Thus the vigilantes came, as they saw it, not in defiance of law, but in fulfillment. The Vigilance Committee of Payette, Idaho, drew up a const.i.tution and bylaws. It gave all accused persons the right to a trial by a jury of seven members; a majority could "render a verdict-which was final." Three punishments were allowed: banishment, horsewhipping ("to be publicly administered"), and capital punishment. Vigilantes, as we noted, sometimes ran "trials," heard witnesses, and reached verdicts. There were, to be sure, not many acquittals at these "trials." that one is taking into one's hands-not vengeance, not whim, not personal opinion, but law. Thus the vigilantes came, as they saw it, not in defiance of law, but in fulfillment. The Vigilance Committee of Payette, Idaho, drew up a const.i.tution and bylaws. It gave all accused persons the right to a trial by a jury of seven members; a majority could "render a verdict-which was final." Three punishments were allowed: banishment, horsewhipping ("to be publicly administered"), and capital punishment. Vigilantes, as we noted, sometimes ran "trials," heard witnesses, and reached verdicts. There were, to be sure, not many acquittals at these "trials."28 The vigilante movements enjoyed, in the main, rave reviews from those who wrote about them at the time; mixed to bad reviews in our day.29 Hubert Bancroft, the nineteenth-century author of Hubert Bancroft, the nineteenth-century author of Popular Tribunals, Popular Tribunals, was a devoted fan of the vigilantes; he called the movement a "keen knife in the hands of a skilful surgeon, removing the putrefaction"; he even dedicated one of the volumes of his work to William T. Coleman, leader of the San Francisco vigilantes. To Bancroft, the law had been "sick," and his "beloved rough-necks" had brought about a "speedy and almost bloodless cure." was a devoted fan of the vigilantes; he called the movement a "keen knife in the hands of a skilful surgeon, removing the putrefaction"; he even dedicated one of the volumes of his work to William T. Coleman, leader of the San Francisco vigilantes. To Bancroft, the law had been "sick," and his "beloved rough-necks" had brought about a "speedy and almost bloodless cure."30 Another famous account of the vigilantes, Thomas Dimsdale's Vigilantes of Montana Vigilantes of Montana (1866) is another out-and-out apologia, written in a style that manages somehow to be both stilted and purple. Dimsdale was an Englishman who landed in Virginia City, Montana, in 1863. By the following year he had become superintendent of public instruction for Montana Territory. In Montana, "swift and terrible retribution was the only preventive of crime"-this was Dimsdale's faith. The vigilantes put an end to the "reign of terror" and restored law and order, which once had been "as powerless as a palsied arm." In the process, admittedly, more than a hundred lives were "pitilessly sacrificed and twenty-four miscreants ... met a dog's doom." (1866) is another out-and-out apologia, written in a style that manages somehow to be both stilted and purple. Dimsdale was an Englishman who landed in Virginia City, Montana, in 1863. By the following year he had become superintendent of public instruction for Montana Territory. In Montana, "swift and terrible retribution was the only preventive of crime"-this was Dimsdale's faith. The vigilantes put an end to the "reign of terror" and restored law and order, which once had been "as powerless as a palsied arm." In the process, admittedly, more than a hundred lives were "pitilessly sacrificed and twenty-four miscreants ... met a dog's doom."31 Dimsdale's book recounts these various "dooms" in detail. He gives us, for example, the arrest and execution of Captain J. A. Slade, a bad-tempered, foul-mouthed h.e.l.l-raiser who made himself unpopular by galloping through the streets with his buddies, breaking up bars and using "insulting language to parties present." Once, Slade led his horse into a saloon, and, "buying a bottle of wine, he tried to make the animal drink it." The vigilance committee warned him to behave himself, but Captain Slade paid no attention. Finally, in a fit of foolish bravado, he threatened a prominent vigilante, c.o.c.king a derringer at his head.

This was too much for the committee. They "arrested" Slade, who realized, too late, what deep trouble he was in, begged for his life and invoked "his dear wife" in a plea for sympathy. A friendly messenger rode "at full speed" to Slade's ranch to warn his wife of what was about to happen. She sprang into the saddle and "urged her fleet charger over the twelve miles of rough and rocky ground." But it was too late: "stern necessity" had dictated the execution of Slade, and he was hanged. The body was carried to the Virginia Hotel and laid out "in a darkened room." At that point, Slade's wife arrived "at headlong speed, to find ... that she was a widow." According to Dimsdale, the execution of Slade "had a most wonderful effect upon society.... Reason and civilization ... drove brute force from Montana."32 John Clay, who wrote reminiscences of life on the range in Wyoming and Montana, had a similar reading of what "reason and civilization" required. He describes a rare event: the lynching of a woman, Ella Watson, also known as "Cattle Kate." This woman, who had appeared in Casper, Wyoming, "was a prost.i.tute of the lowest type, ... common property of the cowboys for miles around. If they could not pay her the price of virtue in cash, they agreed to brand a maverick or two for her behoof." This was cattle rustling, plain and simple, but it "was impossible to get a conviction." Finally, in summer 1889, after repeated warnings "that the objectionable cla.s.s of business must stop," Cattle Kate and her henchman, Jim Averill, were hanged. "The man wilted and begged for mercy; the woman died game. This of course was a horrible piece of business, more especially the lynching of the woman, and in many ways indefensible, and yet what are you to do? Are you to sit still and see your property ruined with no redress in sight?"33 Modem historians, on the other hand, are not so sure about how to a.s.sess the vigilantes. They see much more ambiguity and diversity, a lot more dross among the gold. They see cla.s.s conflict and elitism; they see the clash between law and "law and order." Vigilante movements were diverse, and had diverse motives, sought diverse ends.

Sometimes the good guys and the bad guys seem fairly obvious. In the days of the Klondike gold rush, the town of Skagway, in Alaska Territory, was terrorized by Jefferson ("Soapie") Smith. In 1898, Smith was murdered by vigilantes, who then, in a "frenzy of excitement," invaded "dive after dive, slugging, shooting, and intimidating." But the net result was law and order.34 Vigilante groups typically complained of failure or corruption of the laws, or