CHAPTER XLV

THE COMMITTEE STRIKES

On Sunday morning, May 18th, all of San Francisco was astir at dawn.
There was none of the usual late breakfasting, the leisurely perusal of
a morning paper.

In some mysterious fashion word had gone abroad that history would be
made this morning. The odd and feverish expectancy which rides, an
unseen herald in the van of large events, was everywhere.

A part of this undue activity resulted from the summoning of male
members out of nearly three thousand households for military duty to
begin at 9 o'clock. Long before that hour the general headquarters of
the Vigilantes swarmed with members.

* * * * *

As a neighboring clock struck noon, the Vigilantes debouched into the
street, an advance guard of riders clearing that thoroughfare of
crowding spectators. First came Captain James N. Olney commanding the
Citizens' Guard of sixty picked men, so soldierly in appearance that
their coming evoked a cheer.

Company 11, officered by Captain Donnelly and Lieutenant Frank Eastman
came next, and after them a company of French citizens, very straight
and gallant in appearance; then a German company. Followed at precise
and military intervals a score or more of companies, with their gleaming
bayonets, each standing at attention until the entire host had been
assembled. Now and then some bystander cried a greeting. On the roofs
were now a fringe of colored parasols, a fluttering of handkerchiefs.
One might have deemed it a parade save for a certain grimness, the
absence of bands. There was a hush as Marshal Doane rode all along the
line and paused at the head to review his troops. One could hear him
clearly as he raised his sabre and commanded, "Forward, march!" At the
sidelines the lieutenants chanted:

"Hup! Hup! Hup-hup-hup!"

Legs began to move in an impressive clock-work unison. Gradually the
thousands of bayonets took motion, seemed to flow along like some
strange stream of scintillating lights.

* * * * *

On the roof of the International Hotel the Governor, the Mayor,
Major-General Sherman of the State Militia, Volney Howard and a little
group of others watched the Vigilantes as they marched up Sacramento
street. The Governor seemed calm enough; only the spasmodic puffs from
his cigar betrayed agitation. Van Ness walked back and forth, cramming
his hands into his breeches pockets and withdrawing them every ten
se