Contra Costa County CA Archives History - Books .....Homicides Of Contra Costa County 1882
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Joy Fisher sdgenweb@gmail.com November 23, 2005, 12:00 am

Book Title: History Of Contra Costa County, California

HOMICIDES OF CONTRA COSTA COUNTY.

People vs. Wempett and Wampett—Homicides of Aparicio Morales—Ignacio Flores
alias Figaro—James M. Gordon—Terence H. McDonald—Doctor John Marsh—Nicholas
Brenzel—An Unknown — Edward Norris — Sadella Catiyo — Guadalupe Tapia—N.
Nathan—Patrick Finnegan—James Magee—Louis D'Alencon—An Unknown—John Pete—Martine
Berryessa—Aravena—"Jo"—Jesus Diana—Valencia—Mrs. Elizabeth Robinson—Sacramento
Leibas—Enoch J. Davis—William Nesbit—S. A. Carpenter— Mrs. Laura Walker—Jose
Vaca—George Minchell—Herman Heyder—James Fergusson —Silveria Monjas—Patrick
Sullivan—Peter Peters—Valentine Eischler—Jamiens— Michael Duffy—Martin
Gersbach—George Muth—Eamon Chaves—Ah Hung—Jose Arrayo—James Mills—George
Mitchell—Reyes Berryessa—An Unknown—Langhhen Children—A Chinawoman—Thomas
Sheridan—Manuel Sibrian—Louis Farreri—Patrick Sullivan—Sheridan—Christian Smith.

   "And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is thy brother? And he said, I know not:
am I my brother's keeper? And he said, what hast thou done? The voice of thy
brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground. And now art thou cursed from the
earth, which had opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand;
when thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield to thee her
strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth." Thus is
graphically given us on the page of divine history the record of the first
murder that ever the sun shone upon or the eye of God looked upon, and the woful
curse pronounced upon the author of that foulest of all crimes by the Supreme
Judge of the universe. And how tenaciously has that curse followed the
generations of life-takers down from Cain to the present day. "A fugitive and a
vagabond shalt thou be in the earth!" How natural when a man has taken that from
a fellow-man which no power of his can restore, no amends make any adequate
reparation, has taken his life and shed his blood, to become a fugitive! The
first impulse is to flee. A power he knows not of until the horrid deed is done
impels him on, and ere he is aware he has become a fugitive. And he becomes a
vagabond, too! No matter if the lax operations of the Courts allow him to return
to society, the deed has been committed, the blood is on his hands just the
same, and all who know him can see it. He can see it, too, far more plainly than
others, for it is burned into his consciousness by the flaming tongue of
conscience, a chasm is riven between him and human society, and wherever he
goes, if it is known that he has blood upon his hands, the ringer of humanity is
pointed at him, and he hears the voice of outraged and, oftentimes, cheated
justice, exclaiming in loudest tones: "He is a murderer!" The vengeance of the
Author of mankind justly follows him up who presumes to take the life of a human
being—a being created in the image of the Divine Creator. After the waters of
the flood had subsided, and the generations of men were again starting out to
run the course of destiny, God spake to Noah and his sons, saying: "And surely
your blood of your lives will I require * * * at the hand of every man's brother
will I require the life of man. Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his
blood be shed; for in the image of God made he man." And when the people of his
choice were upon the road to enter the rich inheritance which had been given to
their fathers hundreds of years before, he caused them to halt, and amid the
thunderings of Sinai he declared to them in language explicit, simple and grand:
"Thou shalt not kill." And when the great master, Jesus, came, he embraced all
law, all gospel, and all ethical codes into one grand, glorious sentence which
stands emblazoned upon the sacred page in letters of living light, and which
shall shed forth rays of brightest effulgence all down the ages of the great
eternity of God, when time shall have ceased, and only immortality exists:
"Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them."

   On the leaves of a leather-bound memorandum book, found in the heart of an
Arizona desert, the following self-reproaches and self-accusations were written
in pencil. Near by it the half-decomposed remains of a human being—a
murderer—whose curse had truly been more than he could bear. How he suffered let
his own simple story relate, as placed on record by the same hand that had sent
a human soul unprepared into the presence of its Maker:

   "Blood on my hands! A blur of crimson before my eyes! The skies are brazen
above me. The sun is sick with gore. The winds from the desert shriek at
me—shriek and howl; and this one word only do they wail in my ears—this dreadful
word, 'Murder!' I stop my ears with my hands; I cry aloud to drown their wailing
voices; I cannot drown it; I cannot keep it out. It pierces me—pierces me
through and through.

   " What is it? I am bewildered. Why am I flying as one who seeks the ends of
the earth? Yesterday earth had no horror for me. The winds were only winds—not
demon voices. Ah, now I recollect. God pity me! Pity? I forgot! He can only
curse me. Annihilate me, 0 God! Blot me out from the universe. That would be pity.
   "It all comes back to me now. It is seared in my brain. The long-search for
the mine; the days in the desert, in the mountains; and then, behind that hill
that overlooks the 'Valley of Death,' the vein of white, shining silver—wealth
for a King. Then it swept over me—my years of poverty and toil, the cold sneer
of the rich as they saw my penury—and here was wealth. I would have it all—all.
Not even my partner should share the treasure. I was mad. He stooped to pick up
the precious metal, and I struck him—him, the friend of my toils, and one who
had never failed me—him, who had shared his food with me, who had slept upon the
desert, in the mountains, under the same blanket; who had nursed me in
sickness—I struck him to the earth. God, I was mad! Then I was alone with my
wealth; with my wealth—ah! and the dead. I had not thought of the cold still
face that would lie there after the blow; of the sightless eyes staring to
heaven. Then the madness left me. I threw myself beside him; prayed him to
awake; felt for the heart beat. Dead—dead. 0 my God! Dead! the friend of my
toils. And I was a murderer—a 'murderer!" Here some leaves were missing, and the
next entries legibly represent him as a veritable vagabond:—

"Chill with guilt and fear,
   White from curse and scorn,
Out to the wilderness drear
   He stumbles through brier and thorn,
      With a smitten face to haunt him,

Beckoning toward the west,
   Touching him here and there
With a bruise of a ghastly stain,
   Stinging his numb despair
      To the jagged quicks of pain."

   "Wandering, still wandering. Earth has no rest for my feet; and I am so
weary! When I step the earth spurns me, and the pitiless skies cry: 'On! On!'
Starving! Penniless! and there, back there, is wealth untold. Yet I dare not
seek it, dare not tell of it; for there, too, is that cold, still face with the
sightless eyes gazing at the heavens, and the red blood crying, ever crying to
God. I wander on, and I can feel upon my brow a brand like Cain. It is a brand
of blood—hot, burning blood. I walk among men and I feel that they must see
it—it is there. I pull my hat over my brow—closely; O, so closely—down to my
eyes, but they must see it. The brand of Cain I The brand of Cain! O God, it is
upon me! For days I have wandered in the mountains, thirsting, hungering,
trembling at the stir of a leaf. Yet death comes not to me. The wild beasts
avoid me. The savages pass me by, and harm me not. I suffer, faint—but do not die."

   How vividly has Thomas Hood been inspired to portray the feelings of a man
whose hands have been imbued with a fellow-man's blood, and whose heart-throb
has been stilled by one fell blow. Aye, indeed:—

I.
And how the sprites of injured men
Shriek upward from the sod;-
Ay, how the ghostly hand will point
To show the burial clod;

II.
And tell how murderers walk the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain,—
With crimson clouds before their eyes,
And flames about their brain;
For blood has left upon their souls
Its everlasting stain!

III.
One that had never done me wrong-
A feeble man, and old;
I led him to a lonely field,—
The moon shone clear and cold.
Now, here, said I, this man shall die,
And I will have his gold.

IV.
Two sudden blows with a ragged stick,
And one with a heavy stone,
One hurried gash with a hasty knife, —
And then the deed was done!
There was nothing lying at my foot
But lifeless flesh and bone!

V.
But lo, the universal air 
Seemed lit with ghastly flame,— 
Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes 
Were looking down in blame; 
I took the dead man by his hand 
And called upon his name.

VI.
My head was like an ardent coal, 
My heart as solid ice; 
My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, 
Was at the Devil's price;
A dozen times I groaned—the dead 
Had never groaned but twice!

VII.
Then down I cast me on my face,
And first began to weep,
For I knew my secret then was one
That earth refused to keep;
Or land or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep.

VIII.
So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, 
Till blood atones for blood!


Additional Comments:
Extracted from:

HISTORY OF CONTRA COSTA COUNTY,
CALIFORNIA,
INCLUDING ITS GEOGRAPHY, GEOLOGY, TOPOGRAPHY, CLIMATOGRAPHY AND DESCRIPTION;
TOGETHER WITH A RECORD OF THE MEXICAN GRANTS; THE BEAR FLAG WAR; THE MOUNT
DIABLO COAL FIELDS; THE EARLY HISTORY AND SETTLEMENT, COMPILED FROM THE MOST
AUTHENTIC SOURCES; THE NAMES OF ORIGINAL SPANISH AND MEXICAN PIONEERS; FULL
LEGISLATIVE HISTORY OF THE COUNTY; SEPARATE HISTORY OF EACH TOWNSHIP, SHOWING
THE ADVANCE IN POPULATION AND AGRICULTURE;
ALSO,
Incidents of Pioneer Life; and Biographical Sketches
OF EARLY AND PROMINENT SETTLERS AND REPRESENTATIVE MEN;
AMD OF ITS TOWNS, VILLAGES, CHURCHES, SECRET SOCIETIES, ETC.
ILLUSTRATED.
SAN FRANCISCO: W. A. SLOCUM & CO., PUBLISHERS
1882.


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