On Sunday morning, the 19th of May, chancing be under the weather, and consequently at home sitting by a window, I saw people flocking past the house and hastening toward the jail.  We were then living on Broadway, below Montgomery Street; the jail was on Broadway, a square or two farther up the street; between us was a shoulder of Telegraph Hill not yet cut away, though it had been blasted out of shape and an attempt had been made to tunnel it.  The young Californian of that day was keen-scented and lost no opportunity of seeing whatever was to be seen.  Forgetting my distemper, I grabbed my cap and joined the expectant throngs.  We went over the heights of the hill like a flock of goats:  we were used to climbing.  On the other edge of the cliff, where we seemed almost to overhang the jail and the street in front of it, we paused and caught our breath.  What a sight it was!  It seems that on Saturday twenty-four companies of Vigilantis were ordered to meet at their respective armories, in various parts of the city, at nine o’clock on Sunday morning.  Orders were given to each captain to take up a certain position near the jail.  The jail was surrounded:  no one could approach it, no one escape from it, without leave of the commanders of the committee.

The streets glistened with bayonets.  It was as if the city were in a state of siege; so indeed it was.  The companies marched silently, ominously, without music or murmur, to their respective stations.  Citizens—­non-combatants but all sympathizers—­flocked in and covered the housetops and the heights in the vicinity.  A hollow square was formed before the jail; an artillery company with a huge brass cannon halted near it; the cannon was placed directly in front of the jail and trained upon the gates.  I remember how impressive the scene was:  the grim files of infantry; the gleaming brass of the cannon; one closed carriage within the hollow square; the awful stillness that brooded over all.

[Illustration:  Certificate of Membership, Vigilance Committee, 1856]

Two Vigilance officials went to the door of the jail and informed Sheriff Scannell that they had come to take Casey with them.  Resistance was now useless; the door of the jail was thrown open to them and they entered.  At their approach Casey begged leave to speak for ten minutes in his own defense,—­he evidently expected to be executed on the instant.  He was assured that he should have a fair trial, and that his testimony should be deliberately weighed in the balance.  This act of an outraged and disgusted people was one of the calmest, coolest, wisest, most deliberate on record.  Law, order, and justice were at bay.  Casey, under guard, walked quietly to the carriage and entered it.  In the jail at the time was Charles Cora, a man who had murdered United States Marshal Richardson.  He had been tried once; but then the jury disagreed—­as they nearly always agreed to in those barbarous days.  Hanging was almost out of the question.  Cora was invited to enter the carriage with Casey, and the two were driven under military escort to Fort Gunny Bags.