other, and had prudently kept themselves stowed away in order to escape the righteous wrath of the Vigilance Committee. One can scarcely conceive anything more grimly grotesque than the spectacle of these inexperienced reformers, in their red flannel shirts and black slouched hats with pistols and bowie-knives stuck in their leather belts, and trousers tucked into the tops of their cowhide boots, the odor of the gin palace and dance-hall clinging to their unwashed skins and clothing, as they wended their way to Pacific Wharf, where the Challenge lay moored, and demanded that Captain Waterman and his officers be delivered over to them for purposes of justice.
As might have been expected, these gentlemen had vanished and no one but a few members of the Committee knew where they were. So finding that Captain John Land had been placed in command of the ship, the mob seized this venerable seaman, and for more than an hour wrangled among themselves as to whether they should shoot, drown, or hang him in place of Captain Waterman. They, however, concluded to hold him as a hostage, and walked their white-haired prisoner up to the office of Alsop & Co., the agents of the Challenge. By this time, the crowd had been considerably augmented and numbered about two thousand men, who filled the air of California Street with yells, curses, lewd jests, and ribald songs. They again demanded from the agents that their intended victims be given up, and six of the ringleaders forced their way with crowbars and axes into the house of Alsop & Co. At this point the bell of the Monumental Fire En-
