Dec 22.—Rainy––Today is “Forefathers day” at home, and there it is celebrated in the most pleasing manner and the evening and night passes off with balls, parties &c, but here we celebrated it in a far different manner––Just after daylight I went down to my camp & took a cup of coffee, after which I went immediately back again, where I found none but Dr Quimby had arrived from below on the gulsh and nothing was said about starting in pursuit of the Mexican rascals––I had great difficulty in raising a small crowd to go with me over to the Mexican camp on the north gulsh to search for them, but after arguing the case and talking on the subject some time, and daring two men of them to go with me, I managed to get some half a dozen to go with me––We went over there and searched all the camps till we came to one where we found a Mexican lying rolled up in his blankets––We looked at him very suspiciously, but he said he had bad fever and was very sick, and as neither Chinn, Everbeck, Dixon or Flynn, who were with me, could swear to his identity, we thought it a pity to trouble a sick man, therefore we did not look to see if he had a ball in his hip, although we afterwards found that he was the rascal himself––The whole outrage was committed so quick, and, as the lights were blown out immediately, there was no chance to examine countenances closely––but Chinn had put a mark on him that was not easily got rid of. While we were searching the camps, a man came out of a tent just on the outskirts on the village and fired a pistol up the gulsh, which we rightly judged was a signal to one or two camps a little farther up the gulsh––We immediately went up there and came to the tent of three Mexican acquaintances of ours, two of them brothers by the name of Lopez. They sat on the bed playing cards but as they assured us that the rascals were not there, we did not search their camp but returned to Guadalupe’s tent––We had been there but a short time when a boy told us of an old Mexican who knew where the rascals were hid. We went to him and by threatening him with instant death we forced him to go with us, after tying his hands and leading him with string. This time we mustered a pretty strong crowd, well armed, and went back to the North gulsh. He told us that one of them was hid under the bed in Lopez’s camp. We went there and found them sitting on the bed playing cards, with the blanket hanging over the edge, just as they were before, and on looking under the bed we found the villain there, stowed away as snug as a bug. We ordered him out and identified him as the one that Alex shoved away from the bar and the worst of the rascals. He trembled from head to foot as we tied his hands, still protesting his entire ignorance of the affair––We escorted him down to the old rish gulsh and seeing him stowed safely away in Perry’s store and securely guarded, we started back for the other one who was wounded in the hip. At Perry’s we heard that Alex had just died. He died about 10 o’clock AM. He was sensible to the last and died without a struggle, sinking calmly into his last long sleep––We went back to the North gulsh and found our good friend the Mexican who pretended to have a bad fever, still lying where he was, and soon found that his principal ailment was an impediment in his locomotion occasioned by a ball in his hip––He knew that it was about a gone case with him. He limped very bad, but we treated him to a ride on a jackass, and soon had the pair of the murderers sitting under a strong guard in Perry’s store––Early this morning Mr Crawford started post haste for Columbia bar on the Mokelumne, about 15 miles off, for Dave Keller and some other friends of Alex. About 2 PM the boys brought old uncle Jimmy down to his camp just as they were bringing down the corpse of poor Alex, Dave Keller arrived, having outrode his companions. Just as he sprang from his horse, someone told him that Alex was dead and the murderers were taken and were in Perry’s store. Dave gave a glance at the party who were bringing the corpse of his dear friend Alex––that look was enough. He turned pale as a ghost and drawing his revolver, cocked it, and rushed like a madman towards Perry’s store. We saw him coming and his murderous intent depicted on his countenance and by all of us crowding together and preventing him from entering, we saved the lives of the murderers for the present. But such a scene as this. Oh my God may I never look upon such another––Poor Dave––he begged us, prayed us, to let him shoot them. “Oh, let me kill them with my own hands,” “Alex was my last partner and I loved him as a brother”––“He fought for his country! You are all enjoying the fruits of his labours and now you will let his murderers get away”––“Oh! ’twas just a year ago last evening that Figot was shot, just about the same hour, and on just such a night, and they let his murderers get away.” (He alluded to another friend of his by the name of William Figot, who was killed over at Winter’s bar at this time last year––) Poor Dave. When he found we would not let him shoot the prisoners, he dropped his pistol and laying his head on Chinn’s shoulder and cried like a child. All he could say was “Oh Jake! Alex! Alex! Alex!” The scene was indeed affecting and from very sympathy I cried too and many a rough hardy miner turned away from the scene to wipe away their tears which came rolling down their bronzed and manly cheeks. We assured him that these murderers were safely in our hands and could never leave the store alive unless they were taken out to be hung. We immediately chose a jury of twelve men (I was one of the jury) and after examining some half dozen witnesses, who all swore point blank as to the identity of the prisoners, and gave the most incontestible evidence as to these being the murderers, the jury cried out. “enough, this is evidence enough.” We had not brought in more than half of our evidence, but as this was considered enough, the jury retired––About this time the rest of those friends of Alex who started from Columbia bar and whom Dave Keller left behind, arrived. They were fierce for blood, but as the jury had just retired, they committed no violence, although they said it mattered not what the jury said, the prisoners must die before morning––The jury were out but about 15 minutes. We agreed that according to the evidence the prisoners were guilty of willful murder and should be hung, and as the prisoners would not be allowed to live till morning, they should be hung immediately––We brought in this verdict about 7 o’clock in the evening––The evening was dark and stormy and the fierce wind roaring among the tall pines seemed to howl the death song of the two murderers––We asked them what they had to say against the verdict. They said they were not guilty, and one of them swore that he was ignorant of the whole affair, although he was the very one whom Alex pushed from the bar––Some of the people wished to have them put up as a mark to shoot at, others wanted to burn them, but the jury had decided that they should be hung. We formed a guard of 20 men, well armed men, and taking Bill Fenton’s riatta from his horse and making a hangman’s knot at each end of it we put it about their necks and led them forth to execution under escort of the guard. The one who was shot in the thigh hobbled badly and finally gave out and two of the guard had to carry him. A candle put in an old tin cracker case served us for a lantern––We took them just across the gulsh opposite to the town, and throwing the bite of the riatta over the limb of an old pine tree, we ran them both up together, but one of them being very heavy, his end of the rope broke and he dropped down. His hands were tied but his feet were not but as soon as he touched the ground more than a dozen sprang upon him. He got on his knees and cried “pardon!! Pardon!!! Santiago,” but he was in another moment swinging by the rope again. This time he did not break down, but hung there––He was the one whom Alex pushed; he was a desperate villain and a noted highway robber and murderer in Mexico. Both he and his companion were hated and feared by the other Mexicans here, who were glad when they heard that they were hung––They made no confession at all and when time was given to them to say their prayers or to leave word for their friends, if they had any, they said that they didn’t wish to do anything of the kind, and so as there is no priest here, they died “without benefit of the clergy.” After they had hung about half an hour, we left them to swing in the wind till morning and we all dispersed––I slept at my camp with James Flynn and John (a Mexican boy) for company––The wounded one hardly moved after he was run up and seemed to die easy, but the other one writhed about and seemed to die hard––The taking of the murderers, the trial and execution was carried on in the most quiet and orderly manner throughout––The night was dark and fearful and together with the howling and roaring of the wind through the tall pines and the warring of the elements rendered the scene awful and terrific in the extreme and on that will never be effaced from the memory of those who witnessed it––

Source: From The Journals of Alfred Doten, 1849–1903, edited by Walter Van Tilburg Clark. Copyright ©1973 by University of Nevada Press. All rights reserved. Reproduced with the permission of the University of Nevada Press.