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  </head>
  <body>
<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76641 ***</div>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c000'>
</div>
<div class='tnotes'>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div>Transcriber’s Note:</div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>Full-page illustrations were inserted in pairs, and were not accounted
for in the pagination. They did not always strictly follow the sequence of
events they describe. To reduce the visual interruptions to the text,
these have been separated to fall on paragraph breaks in the vicinity of
the passages they depict.</p>

<p class='c001'>Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s <a href='#endnote'>note</a> at the end of this text
for details regarding the handling of any textual issues encountered
during its preparation.</p>

<div class='htmlonly'>

<p class='c001'>Any corrections are indicated using an <ins class='correction' title='original'>underline</ins>
highlight. Placing the cursor over the correction will produce the
original text in a small popup.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
</div>

</div>
<div class='epubonly'>

<p class='c001'>Any corrections are indicated as hyperlinks, which will navigate the
reader to the corresponding entry in the corrections table in the
note at the end of the text.</p>

</div>

</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div><span class='xlarge'>ALLAN PINKERTON’S</span></div>
    <div><span class='xlarge'>DETECTIVE STORIES.</span></div>
    <div class='c002'><span class='sc'>Vol. VI.</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<div>
  <h1 class='c003'>THE <br><span class='xlarge'><span class='sc'>Molly Maguires</span></span><br>AND<br><span class='large'>THE DETECTIVES.</span></h1>
</div>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p0021_frontispiece1.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>The trial at Mauch Chunk was attended by all the celebrities of the Carbon County bar.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>
<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p0022_frontispiece2.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>A consultation was held, in my private parlor, over the business offices of the Agency, No. 45 South Third Street.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c000'>
    <div class='c000'>THE</div>
    <div><span class='xlarge'><span class='sc'>Molly Maguires</span></span></div>
    <div>AND</div>
    <div><span class='large'>THE DETECTIVES.</span></div>
    <div class='c000'><span class='small'>BY</span></div>
    <div class='c000'>ALLAN PINKERTON,</div>
    <div class='c000'><span class='small'>AUTHOR OF</span></div>
    <div class='c000'><span class='small'>“THE EXPRESSMAN AND THE DETECTIVE,” “THE MODEL TOWN</span></div>
    <div><span class='small'>AND THE DETECTIVES,” “THE SPIRITUALISTS AND</span></div>
    <div><span class='small'>THE DETECTIVES,” ETC., ETC.</span></div>
    <div class='c004'><span class='sc'>New and Enlarged Edition.</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<div  class='figcenter id003'>
<img src='images/title.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div>NEW YORK:</div>
    <div><span class='large'><i>G. W. Carleton &#38; Co., Publishers.</i></span></div>
    <div>LONDON: S. LOW &#38; CO.  PHILADELPHIA: H. W. KELLEY.</div>
    <div>CHICAGO: T. A. LANTRY &#38; CO. BOSTON: D. O’LOUGHLIN.</div>
    <div>MDCCCLXXX.</div>
    <div>[<i>SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION.</i>]</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div><span class='sc'>Copyrighted 1877.</span></div>
    <div><span class='sc'>By</span> ALLAN PINKERTON.</div>
    <div class='c000'><i>All rights reserved.</i></div>
    <div class='c004'><span class='sc'>Trow’s</span></div>
    <div><span class='sc'>Printing and Bookbinding Co.</span>,</div>
    <div>PRINTERS,</div>
    <div><i>205-213 East 12th St.</i>,</div>
    <div>NEW YORK.</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_v'>v</span>
  <h2 class='c006'>CONTENTS.</h2>
</div>

<table class='table0'>
<colgroup>
<col class='colwidth90'>
<col class='colwidth9'>
</colgroup>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER I.</td>
    <td class='c008'><span class='small'>PAGE</span></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>An Extraordinary Proposition</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch1'>13</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER II.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>The Man for the Work</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch2'>22</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER III.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>The Detective seeks the Haunts of the Mollies</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch3'>27</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER IV.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Stirring up a Wasp’s Nest</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch4'>36</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER V.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Cold Comfort in the Mountains</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch5'>49</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER VI.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Pottsville and the Sheridan House</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch6'>59</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER VII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Bloody Record of the Mollie Maguires</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch7'>66</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER VIII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>The Detective Sings, Fights, and Dances Himself into Popularity</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch8'>73</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER IX.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Dormer under Investigation</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch9'>82</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER X.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Father Bridgeman gives Jack Kehoe a Blast</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch10'>92</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XI.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>A Kilkenny Affair at Tamaqua</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch11'>105</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_vi'>vi</span>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>McKenna meets a Morning Adventure</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch12'>113</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XIII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Muff Lawler at Home</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch13'>124</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XIV.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>The Detective achieves a Victory</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch14'>134</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XV.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>More Work of the Mollies</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch15'>145</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XVI.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>A Rough Journey and a Thrilling Adventure</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch16'>156</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XVII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>A Peculiar Wedding Ceremony</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch17'>168</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XVIII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>A Row, a Removal, and a Raffle</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch18'>179</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XIX.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Snared by Kate—Honored by “Mollie.”</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch19'>194</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XX.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>A Fright, a Fight, and a Funeral</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch20'>207</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXI.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Contest with a Constable</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch21'>221</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Horrors upon Horrors</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch22'>231</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXIII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Good Old Micky Cuff</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch23'>239</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXIV.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Hostilities continued</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch24'>251</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>CHAPTER XXV.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Plot to destroy the Catawissa Bridges</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch25'>262</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_vii'>vii</span>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXVI.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>A Calamity Averted</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch26'>271</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXVII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>New Forces in the Field</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch27'>280</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXVIII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>The Detective in Sore Tribulation</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch28'>293</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXIX.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>The Inquisition of Ten</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch29'>303</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXX.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Another Victim of the Mollies</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch30'>316</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXXI.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Holding the Breaker</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch31'>327</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXXII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Linden forms an Acquaintance</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch32'>337</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXXIII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>President Gowen and the Legislative Commission</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch33'>346</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXXIV.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Murder of B. F. Yost</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch34'>356</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXXV.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>McKenna takes up the Trail at Tamaqua</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch35'>367</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXXVI.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>In the Murderer’s Nest</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch36'>377</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXXVII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Kerrigan’s Sister-in-law</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch37'>391</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Slowly gaining Ground</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch38'>401</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XXXIX.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Bloody Saturday</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch39'>411</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_viii'>viii</span>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XL.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>More Bosses Doomed</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch40'>423</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XLI.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Murder of Sanger and Uren</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch41'>433</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XLII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Arrest of Assassins</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch42'>441</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XLIII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Violence for Violence</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch43'>451</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XLIV.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Trials and Confessions</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch44'>462</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XLV.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Suspicion Aroused</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch45'>471</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XLVI.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>McAndrew saves a Life</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch46'>486</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XLVII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>The Last of McKenna</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch47'>497</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XLVIII.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>A Noble Effort</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch48'>508</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c007'>CHAPTER XLIX.</td>
    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'>Closing the Record</td>
    <td class='c008'><a href='#ch49'>542</a></td>
  </tr>
</table>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_ix'>ix</span>
  <h2 class='c006'>PREFACE.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The governing idea in the mind of the author,
while preparing this volume for the press, has been to
give details connected with the <span class='sc'>Mollie Maguires</span>,
and follow strictly the truth concerning the adventures
of the detectives during three years passed in their
midst. He is aware that, in many places, the relation
reads much like fiction, and that it will be accepted
as romance by very many who are totally unacquainted
with the country and the people attempted
to be described. It has been the constant endeavor
to adhere closely to facts, and if the incidents are, in
a great degree, novel and absorbing, it is due to these
facts, and they were worked out, through arduous
labors, in sleepless nights and undivided attention to
the ends to be gained.</p>

<p class='c001'>The coal regions of Pennsylvania are inhabited by
a mixture of races, the ingredients perhaps more
widely differing, in character and origin, than those
of any other portion of the globe. Living within a
stone’s throw of each other will be found the German,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_x'>x</span>Swede, Norwegian, Pole, Irish, Scotch, English,
Bohemian, and Russian. And in moving across the
country, from one colliery to another, representatives
of nearly all of these widely separated nations may
be encountered, with here and there an American and
Pennsylvania German. All endeavor to express
themselves in Anglo-Saxon, but their foreign idioms
and native eccentricities will, spite of themselves,
occasionally crop out. Hence the life of a person,
who is sensitively alive to diversified phases of human
nature and having a keen sense of the humorous, in
the mining districts, cannot well be devoid of enjoyment.
Some extraordinary habits and peculiarities
are found in the coal fields not discovered elsewhere.</p>

<p class='c001'>To the boundless extent and value of the coal fields,
as a portion of the economy of the whole country,
full reference has been made in this volume.</p>

<p class='c001'>The only difficulty of importance experienced by
the writer of the work has been to condense within
the compass of these pages the very extended and
almost overwhelming mass of matter placed before
him—all of which, he doubts not, would, if given,
prove of general interest—and to exercise due discretion
in the rejection of portions not deemed absolutely
necessary to be incorporated.</p>

<p class='c001'>It has been the constant intent to produce a fair
picture of the <span class='sc'>Mollie Maguire</span> in his native or
adopted home, with only such delineations of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_xi'>xi</span>scenery and surroundings as the course of the narrative
may seem naturally to bring in. These, it is to
be hoped, will be found apt and in accordance with
nature.</p>

<p class='c001'>For the sanguinary character of many of the chapters
and accompanying illustrations no excuse is
needed. It is the work of the <span class='sc'>Mollie Maguires</span>,
and not of the author or designer. Where scenes
of general interest are depicted the assistance of the
photographer and his camera has been liberally invoked.
In the letter-press the relater has merely
traced the journeyings of the detectives with a faithful
pen, and sought to reproduce their words, acts,
and results achieved, as well as the language of the
persons, criminals or citizens, with whom they have
come in contact. All of the characters lived, or once
have lived, in the anthracite coal regions. If fault
there may be in their description, it will be found
in lack of color, as the brush has not, in any case,
been dipped in too florid hues.</p>

<p class='c001'>With the ends accomplished in this three years’
warfare with the <span class='sc'>Mollie Maguires</span>, the public is
already well instructed, the great newspapers of the
country having vied with each other in friendly rivalry
to first give the results.</p>

<p class='c001'>The author has reason to be proud of the work
done. The modes in which the labors were performed,
and the routes taken by himself and others to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_xii'>xii</span>gain desirable points have found record for the first
time, in the following pages. No attempt has ever
before been made to give them. No task of the kind
could succeed without the private papers and documents
on file in my Agency, to which, of course, no
person, excepting myself, would be permitted to have
access.</p>

<p class='c001'>With the purely legal and court portions of the
murder cases, the arguments of the distinguished
counsel for both sides, and the testimony, simply as
testimony, I have dealt very sparingly. The masterly
effort of F. B. Gowen, Esq., I have printed almost
entire. It is so to the point, so truthful, and such a
vivid and telling exposition of the theory of the Commonwealth,
that any attempt in the way of curtailment
would be damaging. Without the speech I
should consider my book incomplete.</p>

<p class='c001'>The talent of the entire State of Pennsylvania was
hunted over to find attorneys capable of freeing the
unfortunate men brought to trial in Schuylkill, Columbia,
and Carbon counties. But the law was
against them. The defendants had incurred the penalty,
by committal of crimes, and justice has been at
least partly vindicated.</p>

<div class='c011'>ALLAN PINKERTON.</div>

<p class='c001'><span class='small'><span class='sc'>Chicago, Ill.</span>, <i>June, 1877</i>.</span></p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span><span class='xlarge'>THE MOLLIE MAGUIRES</span></div>
    <div class='c000'>AND THE</div>
    <div class='c000'><span class='xlarge'>DETECTIVES.</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch1' class='c006'>CHAPTER I.<br> <br>AN EXTRAORDINARY PROPOSITION.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Early in the month of October, 1873, I was in Philadelphia,
and one day received a note from Mr. F. B. Gowen,
President of the Philadelphia and Reading Railway Company
and the Philadelphia and Reading Coal and Iron
Company, saying that he desired to see me at his place of
business. I immediately responded to the invitation, accompanied
by Superintendent Franklin, and met the gentleman
in his private apartment, in the Company’s elegant building
on Fourth Street.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I have sent for you, Mr. Pinkerton,” said the President
of the two great Pennsylvania corporations, after we had
exchanged greetings, “upon business of importance.”</p>

<p class='c001'>I made known my willingness to hear what it was.</p>

<p class='c001'>“The coal regions are infested by a most desperate class
of men, banded together for the worst purposes—called, by
some, the Buckshots, by others the Mollie Maguires—and
they are making sad havoc with the country. It is a secret
organization, has its meetings in hidden and out-of the-way
<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>places, and its members, I have been convinced ever since
my residence in Pottsville and my connection with the
criminal courts as District Attorney in the county of Schuylkill,
are guilty of a majority of all the murders and other
deeds of outrage which, for many years, have been committed
in the neighborhood. I wish you to investigate this mysterious
order, find out its interior workings, expose its evil
transactions, and see if the just laws of the State cannot
again be made effective in bringing criminals to justice. At
present, whenever an assassination is consummated, and, as
a consequence, a trial is instituted, a convenient <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span> steps
forward and secures for the prisoner his freedom. Municipal
laws are thus incapable of execution; sheriffs of counties
are powerless, and the usual run of detectives are of as little
value as the open, uniformed police of the different cities.
All of these have been tested, and all have failed. Now, if
you cannot disperse the murderous crew, or give us grounds
upon which to base prosecutions, then I shall believe that it
never will be effected.”</p>

<p class='c001'>I considered the proposition for a moment, turning over
in my mind the magnitude of the labor to be performed.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Let me think of it a little,” I answered; “and, in the
meantime, tell me more about the Mollie Maguires.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“As far as we can learn, the society is of foreign birth,
a noxious weed which has been transplanted from its native
soil—that of Ireland—to the United States, some time within
the last twenty years. It lived and prospered in the old
country considerably earlier. Its supporters there were
known as Ribbonmen, the White Boys, and sometimes
as Mollie Maguires, but their modes of procedure were
the same as now pursued in the coal regions. Men
were then, as they are at this time, killed—sometimes
in broad daylight, sometimes at night, and invariably by
strangers—persons at least unknown to chance spectators,
or to the parties violently put out of the way. Suspected
<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>individuals would be apprehended, but in the end nobody
could be found able to identify the criminals. It was only
after a protracted struggle in Ireland that the proper evidence
could be elicited to convict the tools doing the bloody
behests of the society. I suppose it will not be easy to do
this in Pennsylvania. The same minds, the same combinations,
are to be encountered here. The Mollies rule our people
with a rod of iron. They do this and make no sign. The
voice of the fraternity is unheard, but the work is performed.
Even the political sentiments of the commonwealth are
moulded by them, and in their particular field they elect
or defeat whomsoever they may please. They control, in a
measure, the finances of the State. Their chiefs direct
affairs this way, and that way, without hinderance. Men
without an iota of moral principle, they dictate the principles
of otherwise honorable parties. In its ultimate results this
complexion of affairs in Pennsylvania touches, to a considerable
degree, the interests of the citizens of the whole country.
Wherever anthracite is employed is also felt the vise-like
grip of this midnight, dark-lantern, murderous-minded
fraternity. Wherever in the United States iron is wrought,
from Maine to Georgia, from ocean to ocean—wherever
hard coal is used for fuel, there the Mollie Maguire leaves
his slimy trail and wields with deadly effect his two powerful
levers: secrecy—combination. Men having their capital
locked up in the coal-beds are as obedient puppets in
his hands. They have for some time felt that they were fast
losing sway over that which by right should be their own to
command. They think, with some show of reason, their
money would have profited them as much had it been thrown
to the fishes in the sea, or devoted to the devouring flames.
Others, wishing to engage in mining operations, and who
are possessed of the capital and experience necessary, are
driven away. They cannot intrust their hard-earned property
to a venture which will be at the beck and call of a fierce
<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>and sanguinary rabble and its heedless and reckless directors.
They wisely turn aside and seek other and less
hazardous uses for their talents and their means. The
entire population of this State feel the shock, and it is in
due season communicated to the most distant parts in which
anthracite is used and ores reduced or smelted.”</p>

<p class='c001'>I had heard of many assassinations by these Mollie
Maguires, and also about those performed by the Ku-Klux
and similar political combinations in the Southern States.
It had always seemed to me that it was a sacred duty which
Pennsylvania owed to herself, to her own citizens, and to
the country at large, to clear her garments of the taint resting
upon them and bring to punishment the persons who, for
so many years, habitually outraged decency, spilt human blood
without stint, and converted the richest section of one of the
most wealthy and refined of all the sisterhood of States into
a very golgotha—a locality from which law-abiding men and
women might soon be forced to flee, as from the threatened
cities of the plain, or from a spot stricken with plague and
pestilence.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I will enter upon the business, but it will require time,
sharp work, and plenty of both!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! We duly appreciate this,” responded Mr. Gowen.
“What we want, and everybody wants, is to get within this
apparently impenetrable ring; turn to the light the hidden
side of this dark and cruel body, to probe to its core this
festering sore upon the body politic, which is rapidly gnawing
into the vitals and sapping the life of the community.
Crime must be punishable in the mountains of Pennsylvania,
as it is in the agricultural counties, and in all well-regulated
countries. We want to work our mines in peace, to run our
passenger and freight trains without fear of the sudden loss
of life and property through the malicious acts of the Mollie
Maguires; we want people to sleep unthreatened, unmolested,
in their beds, undisturbed by horrid dreams of midnight
<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>prowlers and cowardly assassins; we want the laboring-men,
of whatever creeds or nationalities, protected in their right
to work to secure sustenance for their wives and little ones,
unawed by outside influences. We want the miner to go
forth cheerfully to the slope, or the shaft, for labor in the
breast or in the gangway, wherever it may seem to him for
the best, void of the fear in his heart when he parts from his
wife at the cottage-gate in the morning, that it may be their
last farewell on earth, and by evening his bullet-riddled corpse
may be taken back to his home the only evidence that he
has encountered the murderer—the agent of those who
would compel him to refuse all employment unless the regulations
of the order were complied with. The State cannot
attain these things; she has repeatedly tried, and tried in
vain. You can do it. I have seen you tested on other occasions
and in other matters, and know your ability to conduct
the business; we are willing to supply everything within our
power to make your task a success.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I believe that it can be <a id='corr17.19'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='acomplished'>accomplished</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_17.19'><ins class='correction' title='acomplished'>accomplished</ins></a></span>, but I am also
aware that it is a stupendous undertaking. I accept the
responsibility, however, with its accompanying consequences,
which I perceive will prove no small burden to bear. I
also see that I shall encounter no little difficulty in detailing
from the many able and trustworthy men in my force one perfectly
qualified for this very unusual charge. And an error in
the outset would bring irreparable disaster before the end
could be reached. It is no ordinary man that I need in this
matter. He must be an Irishman, and a Catholic, as only
this class of persons can find admission to the Mollie
Maguires. My detective should become, to all intents and
purposes, one of the order, and continue so while he remains
in the case before us. He should be hardy, tough, and
capable of laboring, in season and out of season, to accomplish,
unknown to those about him, a single absorbing object.
In the meanwhile, I shall have to exact from you a pledge
<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>that, whoever I may dispatch upon this errand, he shall not,
through you, become known to any person as a detective.
This is highly necessary to be strictly attended to. If possible,
you should shut your eyes to the fact that I have an
employé of my Agency working in the mining country. If
you can do so consistently, it might as well be given out to
everybody interested that the idea of investigating the Mollies
through the means of detectives, if ever thought of, has
been abandoned as a hopeless job, and that the present status
of affairs in the mines is totally incapable of being changed.
Take the further precaution that my name, and those of
my superintendents and employés, do not appear upon any
of your books. Keep my reports in your own custody, away
from all prying eyes. I would also ask, if my agents are
engaged for one week, for one month, or for years, that
these requests still be complied with; and further, whatever
may be the result of the examination, no person in my employ—unless
the circumstances are greatly changed and I
demand it—shall ever be required to appear and give testimony
upon the witness stand.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“To all of this I give willing consent. I see how necessary
it is. As I said before, we will do anything in our
power, and within the bounds of reason, to aid you and
protect your detectives.”</p>

<p class='c001'>I then agreed that the operation should begin as soon as
I might make the proper arrangements, and, after some
further conversation, principally upon the purely financial
portion of the engagement, took my leave.</p>

<p class='c001'>Immediately after leaving Mr. Gowen’s office I telegraphed
for Mr. Bangs, General Superintendent. He arrived from
New York early the ensuing day, and a consultation was
held in my private parlor, over the business offices of the
Agency, at No. 45 South Third Street, Mr. Bangs, Mr. Franklin
and myself forming the parties to the council. The details
of the case were discussed at length and a general plan of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>operations decided upon, after which I started for my return
trip westward.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was the ending of a delightfully cool and pleasant
Indian summer day, and as I was being rapidly whirled
through the most beautiful portion of New Jersey, my face
toward the open window, inhaling the invigorating atmosphere,
and enjoying a view of the fast-fading, swift-passing
panorama of plain and valley, village and stream, I continually
dwelt upon the service in which I had recently
enlisted. Forgetting the sunset, the agreeable evening, and
every immediate surrounding, my mind was absorbed in contemplating
the subject then nearest my heart. Mentally I
brought in review the different devoted attachés of the
Agency, who, through nativity and early training, were
eligible to the place to be filled. All were trustworthy, as
far as that went; all were courageous, faithful and efficient in
positions and under circumstances ordinarily calling for the
exercise of these qualities. But the man now wanted was to
meet peculiar dangers. He must be perfectly qualified in
every respect, or he would not do. It was no discredit to
my corps of detectives, that I quickly dismissed many of them
as inadequate for the duty. It was not their fault. Had I
one man who would go against his life-long habits, early
impressions, education, and his inherited as well as acquired
prejudices? Was there one who held sufficiently broad and
deeply-grounded notions of the real duty of a true Irishman
to his country and his fellow-countrymen to intrust with this
great mission? I believed that I had, but which one was it
in the number thus, in my mind, competing for the honor?
He must be able to distinguish the real from the ideal moral
obligation, and pierce the vail separating a supposed from an
actual state of affairs. He must have the gift of seeing that
the misguided people of the mining districts who had joined
this order were unquestionably working evil, and only evil,
to Ireland, Irishmen, and the church, in lieu of doing their
<span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>native land and their kindred at home and in America a
<a id='corr20.2'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='service'>service.</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_20.2'><ins class='correction' title='service'>service.</ins></a></span></p>

<p class='c001'>While Bishop Wood, of Philadelphia, had early placed his
seal of condemnation upon the Mollie Maguires in the coal
regions, and the clergy had followed, almost to a man, in
bringing the individual members of the clan before them
and their congregations, and heaped dread maledictions upon
their heads, calling the persons by name in public, and even
cut them from the church until such time as they should
renounce their membership, still I knew many good Catholics,
and honest men at heart, were remaining in the organization,
and that, in some more peaceable sections of the
State, the priesthood, if not tacitly countenancing the society
said little against it. To their credit be it stated,
however, they were unanimous in their abhorrence of the
violent acts of the Mollie Maguires in Schuylkill, Carbon,
Columbia, and Luzerne counties. I had to find a man who,
once inside this, as I supposed, oath-bound brotherhood,
would yet remain true to me; who could make almost a
new man of himself, take his life in his hands, and enter upon
a work which was apparently against those bound to him by
close ties of nationality, if not of blood and kindred; and
for months, perhaps for years, place himself in antagonism
with and rebellion against the dictates of his church—the
church which from his earliest breath he had been taught to
revere. He would perforce obtain a reputation for evil conduct,
from which it was doubtful that he could ever entirely
extricate himself. Would the common run of men think
such a position at all tenable? Would they consent to
ostensibly degrade themselves that others might be saved?
My man must become, really and truly, a Mollie of the
hardest character, attend their meetings, and possibly be
charged with direct participation in certain of their crimes.
He must face the priest, and endure the bad opinion of his
countrymen even until the end. For an indefinite period
<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>he was to be as one dead and buried in the grave—dead
to his family and friends—sinking his individuality—and be
published abroad as the companion and associate of assassins,
murderers, incendiaries, thieves, and gamblers. In no other
way could I hope to secure admission to the inner circle of
this labyrinth of iniquity. By no other plan could the clan be
exposed and its volume of crime clasped forever. Another
thing: The Mollie Maguires were working in opposition to
the Welsh, English, and German miners. Their hatred of
the English, especially, they had imbibed with their mothers’
milk. I was, if possible, to destroy the Mollie Maguires.
Therefore, my operatives must be the instruments of that
destruction. Then how difficult for any Irishman to enter
upon the warfare? If he had the ability to see far enough,
however, it would be understood that the leaders of the
obnoxious society were simply apostates—men disloyal to
the land of their birth—engaged in an unholy effort, and
one which, successful or not, reflected discredit upon all of
their countrymen. Beholding and understanding this, the
detective would not be working merely to right the wrongs
of this man or that man, but to wipe off a dark blot which
had fallen upon the escutcheon of Ireland, and which clouded
the fair fame of every Irishman in America. Then he would
meet the cry, in the mines and elsewhere, of “persecution for
opinion’s sake,” and the danger of “a conflict between capital
on the one side and labor on the other.” Would he be
shrewd enough to detect the untruthfulness of one and the
insincerity of the other? Surely here was a task for me, in
the very outset, the fellow of which I had not encountered
since the war of the rebellion.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch2' class='c006'>CHAPTER II.<br> <br>THE MAN FOR THE WORK.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>By the time I had reached headquarters, in Chicago, I
imagined that I might need a man for the Mollie Maguire
operation, who, among other acquirements and qualifications,
was also a practical miner. My plans had even partially
assumed shape for a flying visit to some of the coal districts of
Southern Illinois and Ohio, where it was possible I might
chance upon a person of the needed character. Then it
occurred to me, even though I could secure an experienced
worker in the bituminous shafts and drifts, he would naturally
be almost as much at fault in the art of delving in the slopes
and gangways of the anthracite fields as one entirely uneducated
in mining. He might have the trained muscle and
capacity of bodily endurance, yet possess no available knowledge
of the anthracite branch of the business. Then a party of
this sort must necessarily be a stranger to the intricate duties
of my profession, and have about everything to acquire from
the lowest round of the ladder upward. There was another
objection—and it had more weight than everything before
enumerated: I could not rely upon the truthfulness and faithfulness
of a new acquaintance as I might upon that of one who,
after years of training under my own direction, had made himself
an expert in the detection of criminals. Clearly, then, I
must select my operative for this case, as for any other, from
my regular force—at least employ a detective that had been
connected with one or all of the offices in the Chain of Agencies.
Who should it be? This was the all-important question.
Several of my best men, who were, in most emergencies, mentally
and physically capable of filling the place, I took occasion
<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>to carefully approach and sound as to their opinions and
acts under certain supposititious and somewhat analogous circumstances
but such as were not too nearly similar to those
under consideration, and soon found that they would never
do. One, who was precisely the man called for in other particulars,
had an invalid wife and a family of small children,
and I would not ask him to take the position. There was a
chance that he might be disabled, or even lose his life, and
thus leave his mate and their helpless innocents to the cold
charity of an unfeeling world. Another almost as good was
soon to be married to an estimable young lady. A third had
some blemish excluding him from the list, and I had not yet
hit upon the agent to be sent to the land of mountains and
dales and the home of the Mollie Maguires.</p>

<p class='c001'>One morning, however, as I was riding from home to
Fifth Avenue—standing, as usual, upon the rear platform of a
crowded West Side street car—I recognized in the person of
the conductor an operative previously escaping consideration.
He was engaged working his part of a delicate job
connected with the railway interest, and for some months
had not been in a position in which he was called upon to
report to me personally. The thought instantly found lodgment
in my mind: “If this man is mentally correct, and
willing, he is just the instrument fitted for my mining operation.”
I was satisfied that he could be spared from his car
and the case he was assisting in, and another detective put
in his place, and immediately upon reaching the office, sent
a note to the young man’s boarding-house, asking him to
meet me at my rooms as soon as his day’s work was ended,
as I had something to submit for his consideration.</p>

<p class='c001'>James McParlan, the detective alluded to, was born in the
province of Ulster, County Armagh, Parish of Mullabrack,
Ireland, in 1844; consequently, at the date mentioned, was
in his twenty-ninth year. His father and mother were living.
He had been a member of my force for about a year. Coming
<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>to America in 1867, having previously seen some service
in chemical works, at Gateshead, County Durham, England,
and subsequently, in the same capacity, at Wallsend, England,
the first place he filled after landing at Castle Garden
was that of second clerk in a small grocery house on Ninth
Avenue, city of New York. At a later period he became
salesman for a country dealer in drygoods, named Cummings
at Medina, Orleans County, in the same State. His salary
was exceedingly small, and besides, not easily collectible;
and, after a short apprenticeship to the profession of counter-jumping
and measuring ribbons, laces, and calicoes, he
resigned, and adopted Greeley’s advice to young men, with a
course of travel due westward. Reaching Buffalo, he tarried
there but a few days and then came to Chicago. After filling
different situations, he applied for and secured employment
in my establishment.</p>

<p class='c001'>Of medium height, a slim but wiry figure, well knit together;
a clear hazel eye; hair of an auburn color, and bordering
upon the style denominated as “sandy;” a forehead
high, full, and well rounded forward; florid complexion,
regular features, with beard and mustache a little darker
than his hair, there was no mistaking McParlan’s place of
nativity, even had not his slight accent betrayed his Celtic
origin. He was in fact a fine specimen of the better class
of immigrants to this country from the poet’s</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“First flower of the earth and first gem of the sea.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>He was passably educated, had beheld and brushed
against the people of a considerable portion of the New World
during the short time he had been in it, and earned a reputation
for honesty, a peculiar tact and shrewdness, skill and
perseverance in performing his numerous and difficult duties,
and worked himself into the position of a firm favorite with
those of my employés intimately associated with him. Thus
far I certainly found no particular fault with McParlan.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>The same day McParlan, clad in his ordinary but cleanly
citizen’s attire, entered my private office, and I invited
him to take a seat. The conference which immediately
followed was long, confidential, and interesting to the two
taking part in it; but particulars need not be given here,
as results achieved will exhibit the nature of the conversation,
which has also been foreshadowed in the preceding
pages. More light will be thrown upon the subject during
the progress and development of events. Suffice it that
in James McParlan I recognized the very person to whom
I could safely and confidently intrust my plans for the campaign
in Pennsylvania. While he was not left in the dark as
to the dangers to be encountered—and, in fact, these were as
fully explained as it was possible to perceive them at the
time—he made known his desire to assume the part, and said
he would experience pleasure in being sent where he could
be of use to me and to his country.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I will do my utmost to bring the job to a speedy and
successful termination,” he remarked with earnestness.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Remember, McParlan,” I urged, at the close of this
portion of our interview, “your refusal to accept the
responsibility—while I can but acknowledge it would prove
a disappointment—will not injure you in my estimation, or
prevent your employment by me in the future.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Mr. Pinkerton,” answered the operative, rising from his
chair, “I am not in your Agency to object to such a thing as
this seems to be; on the contrary, I am anxious to go, and
ready to start at the word of command!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That settles it, then,” said I. “Report to me to-morrow
forenoon, when your instructions and credentials will all
be prepared and you can take the night train for Philadelphia.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Seemingly satisfied, the young man went his way.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was easy to see, by the expression of his countenance,
that McParlan’s sympathies were earnestly enlisted in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>case, only the bare outlines of which had as yet been committed
to his care, and if he failed it would not be from want
of zeal, or lack of earnest desire to well and truly perform
his duty.</p>

<p class='c001'>“And so Mr. Pinkerton is after sending me to England,
as he kindly says, for the betterment of my health, an’ to
look after the King Bee of all the forgers,” remarked McParlan,
in his pleasant way, the next afternoon, to my cashier,
as he received the advance of money for his expenses.
He repeated about the same manner of adieu when handed
his papers by the chief clerk, and it soon spread throughout
the apartment, among the clerical force, that the happy man
was “to take the tour of Europe at my expense.” After
bidding all good-by, and the reception of a warm grasp of
the hand and an earnest word of caution from me to “have
a care of himself,” McParlan left the Agency.</p>

<p class='c001'>The man had been found, and was at last entering upon
his extra-hazardous mission—not bound for England, however.
It was well enough, under the circumstances, that all
of the detective’s personal friends and acquaintances—especially
those outside the office—should believe that he was
about to cross the wide Atlantic.</p>

<p class='c001'>McParlan’s instructions were as complete and comprehensive
as they well could be made at short notice; but
of course, after generally counseling him concerning the true
object of his labors, considerable had to be confided to his
own judgment and discretion, at least until fairly launched
upon his undertaking, when all would see what was best, and
not best, to be done. Leaving the detective to perform his
difficult <span lang="fr"><i>rôle</i></span>, under my directions, I shall now proceed to
give, in detail, a description of his acts, as represented in the
reports. It should be understood, however, though the fact
may not appear in this narration of events, that McParlan
was almost daily in communication with me, through Mr.
Franklin, the Philadelphia superintendent, and was required
<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>to keep us aware of his every important movement, by letter.
He was particularly enjoined to use discretion in the sending
of messages and documents, and a plan, not necessary to
be divulged, arranged by which all interruptions through the
mails would be prevented. I was to know where and how
to connect with him any day of the week, and all changes
of locality were to be noted as early as might be possible.
The detective’s adventures in the mountains of Pennsylvania
are sufficiently romantic and attractive, if properly related,
to satisfy the most exacting reader, without the author
having recourse to the smallest amount of extraneous matter,
employing any of the powers of the imagination, or the
tricks of the professional novel-writer in enchaining attention.
As</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in20'>“Loveliness</div>
      <div class='line'>Needs not the foreign art of ornament,</div>
      <div class='line'>But is, when unadorned, adorned the most,”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c014'>so with the simple truth; in this instance it demands no
elaborate decoration, no enchanting <span lang="fr"><i>couleur de rose</i></span>, to make
it entertaining.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch3' class='c006'>CHAPTER III.<br> <br>THE DETECTIVE SEEKS THE HAUNTS OF THE MOLLIES.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>After several days very profitably spent among the coal,
canal, and dock hands, in the vicinity of Philadelphia,
acquiring some knowledge of their habits and occupations,
and at the same time, in a measure, habituating himself to
the wearing of a rather novel and uncomfortable costume
with which Mr. Franklin had been kind enough to provide
<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>him, the agent, according to orders, returned and reported
to the superintendent that he was fully prepared to commence
his work in the mining country.</p>

<p class='c001'>When the young man glanced at his figure, as reflected in
a mirror, he found it difficult to believe he was really himself
and not some wild vagabond who had usurped his place.
The transformation was satisfactorily complete. He beheld
in the glass the shadow of a man of about his height and proportions,
it was true, his head covered by an old, dilapidated
and dirt-colored slouch hat, with plentiful space for his cutty-pipe
in its narrow, faded band; a grayish coat of coarse
materials, which had, from appearances, seen service in a
coal bin, and, while never very fine in make or fashion, was
considerably the worse about the cuffs and skirts, both being
frayed out to raveled raggedness, from rough usage by its
former owner. The vest was originally black, but the years
had come and gone in such numbers since, that the dye was
washed away, and with it had fled the surface of the cloth
and most of the worsted binding in the region of the pockets.
The pantaloons, of brown woollen stuff, were whole, but too
large for him in the body, and worn strapped tight at the
waist with a leather belt, which, from its yellowish and
broken condition, might have been a former bell-thong off
the neck of some farmer’s cow, appropriated after exposure
to all kinds of wear and weather for a series of years. The
bosom of a heavy gray shirt was seen beneath the waistcoat,
and exhibited no visible vestige of a collar; but a substitute
was formed by a red yarn cravat, or knitted comforter,
drawn closely around the wearer’s neck and tied in a sailor’s
knot in front. The under garment had that which ordinary
shirts are seldom supplied with—a pocket, at the left inner
side, for tobacco. His boots were of the stoga, hob-nailed,
high-topped style, and in their capacious legs easily rested
the bottoms of the pantaloons. With face unshaven for a
week or ten days, and hair quite dry and straggling, from
<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>want of proper attention, it is probable that McParlan’s
mother, had she been present, would have refused him
recognition. He could only be convinced that he was himself,
by reference to his voice, which sounded familiar to the
ear. In his satchels, ready packed, were supplies of writing
paper, envelopes, stamps, etc.; also a suit of clothes a little
better than that upon his person, for occasional Sunday
wear. Razor and strop he had none. Their absence was
no loss, however, as he did not propose shaving his face
until circumstances might call for the resumption of his
natural character.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p0301_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>Dormer calls his hotel the Sheridan House.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>Monday, the 27th of October, 1873, was an eventful day
at the Philadelphia Agency, and formed an epoch in the life
history of at least one man, remembrance of which will
never fail until his latest breath. Then it was that James
McParlan, attired and accoutred as just described, his heart
hopeful for the future, but in fact unknowing and unknown,
kicked the dust of the city from his heels, at the Callowhill
street depot of the Philadelphia and Reading Railway, and
after purchasing a ticket for Port Clinton, depositing his two
valises—which bore every outward evidence of having seen
much tough usage and extended travel in domestic and
foreign parts—in the seat beside himself, in the smoking-car
of the afternoon train, set out upon his voyage of discovery
in the stronghold of the Mollie Maguires. He was James
McParlan no longer—but James McKenna, as I must hereafter
call him—and he looked backward upon the receding
town, and considered whether he would survive ever again to
take his old name and place in the world and see the broad,
teeming streets, handsome structures, and beautiful girls of
the Quaker City. To him it then seemed he was cutting
loose from all the nether world. Those who knew him best
would pass him by unheeded in his transforming disguise and
adopted name, and even his intimate associates—excepting
Mr. Franklin and I—in Chicago and elsewhere, fully believed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>him to be adrift upon the blue waters, shaping his course
to lands “beyant the seas,” only to return after the lapse of
many months. Would he <em>ever</em> return? That was a question,
he soon decided, which, for a favorable response, rested with
himself and the manner in which he conducted his researches.
He was sure that I watched anxiously over him, and that
Mr Franklin was prepared to do everything for his good,
but very largely would he be the worker-out of his own destiny.
His life and success, or his failure and death, reposed
in his own strength, guarded by his own intellect. While
these and similar thoughts crowded upon his brain, the detective
was traveling onward. Smoothly and swiftly the cars
glided over the track, past Belmont Glen, and beyond the
outskirts of the city. Then came Fairmount Park, Laurel
Hill, seen from the far distance, and closer at hand the broad,
still waters of the Schuylkill, of which Ireland’s great poet
sang and on whose shores he once found that repose which
his weary head had elsewhere sought in vain. It was not
within the heart of a man of McKenna’s temperament, or in
one born on the soil of the beautiful land that gave him birth,
to resist the temptation to search out Tom Moore’s cottage
and feast his eyes upon its walls and roof; and he raised
the blind, admitted the sunlight, and his senses drank
in, in reverent silence, the variegated and pleasing landscape.
After a time came Valley Forge, the scene of
so much suffering by the American soldiers under General
Washington, in the memorable winter of 1777-8. Indeed,
the country throughout this vicinity is replete with points
bringing to recollection interesting dates and facts of history.
Through the kindness of a fellow-traveler, who sat smoking
in a seat near him, my officer was made familiar with some
of these most eventful localities. And still there appeared
to be no end to the succession of hills and vales, wooded
mountain sides and fertile fields. Yet onward swept the
train, bearing its precious living freight.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>Passing beyond the populous city of Reading, late in the
afternoon, the agricultural lands began, as the stranger
thought, a silent struggle with rocks and rills and more rugged
mountains. As they still proceeded swiftly on their route,
the rough country gained the mastery, and the fleeting show
increased in boldness, culminating in a grand and craggy
beauty when the locomotive whistled “down the brakes” at
a point some distance short of Port Clinton. By this time
portentous clouds had arisen darkly in the west, as the sun
sunk to its couch, and there were other premonitions of an
impending storm of wind and rain.</p>

<p class='c001'>Port Clinton is seventy-eight miles from Philadelphia, at a
spot where the two great forks of the Schuylkill—the
Schuylkill proper and the Little Schuylkill—form a union,
both having had their origin, not so far separated, in the
distant northern coal-fields.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p0302_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>He entered, resting his burden upon the floor!</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>It was eight o’clock in the evening when McKenna, with
baggage swinging from his shoulder, stood for the first time
upon the floor of the massive, brown-stone, turret-roofed depot
building at Port Clinton and looked about him for a house
which might yield him a night’s lodging and supper, as he
was both sleepy and hungry after his ride and the unusual
excitements of the day. Starting out into the increasing
darkness, he was unable to see and appreciate the tall mountains
towering above him on all sides; but, feeling his way
carefully, he crossed the canal bridge and sought a public
house. Seeing a bright light not far away, he directed his
steps toward it, and in a short time came to a structure
which proved to be a village tavern or saloon. Thinking,
despite the sounds of revelry heard within, that it might be a
proper stopping-place for him, he entered, rested his burden
on the floor—weary enough with its carriage, and wishing
thus early, he had been content to leave one-half the baggage
at home—and civilly inquired of the presiding genius—a
big, burly fellow, with milky-white eyes, a cherry-red nose
<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>and very stiff, black, straight hair, planted widely apart on his
bullet-shaped head—who had evidently “too much taken”
of the liquids he dispensed to others—when they had funds
to pay for them—if he could have supper and lodging at his
hotel. He did not half fancy the crowd he had come up
with. Mostly of the lower class of Germans, the men were
in the midst of a spree that bid fair to last until another day.
Liquor had already gained control of their senses, and their
personal appearance was even more forbidding than that of
the person who so suddenly appeared among them, and for
this there was no possible necessity. Those of the number
who labored at all found employment in digging a tunnel,
which was in course of excavation in the neighborhood.
These were a few points which the new arrival gathered from
the talk of the occupants of the small, low, smoke-begrimed
bar-room. Cocking up one of his eyes very fiercely, the
landlord looked scowlingly out of his other, from beneath its
black, beetling brow, and insultingly replied:</p>

<p class='c001'>“No! I geeps no victuals nor shake-downs for peebles
like you! Git oud! You wants der beds and der meats,
don’t ye? Git oud der haus! Go makes your schleeps mit
der bigs! Oud of dis blace, or, mein Gott in himmel, I gicks
ye right away oud!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The stranger, not choosing to move as fast as he thought
he should, the landlord continued, while he advanced upon
McKenna:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Look dis way, poys! Dish is anoder of dose blundering
dramps! Pitch him oud! Teach the skalamag
better manners than to pass de country around schteeling
peeble’s horses, cows, and dings! Put him oud
quick!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Protesting that he was no tramp, but seeing there seemed
no hope of securing rest or food under that inhospitable roof,
the traveler took up his baggage and hurriedly retreated
from the apartment, just as a general rush was made for him
<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>by the bystanders, the desire being to seize upon his person
with no peaceable intent.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was not a part of McKenna’s business in those regions
to have a set-to with half a dozen infuriated and intoxicated
men, though he would willingly have risked something to
give that inn-keeper a beating; hence, he slackened not his
speed until he had reached the middle of the street, where
he stopped a moment to consider which direction he should
take.</p>

<p class='c001'>Here was a dilemma! Here was luck for him! To make
matters worse, the rain, which for some hours had threatened,
began to pour down in torrents. Presently a man
made his appearance, coming from the bar-room and approaching
the detective. When near him the citizen said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faith, an’ ye jist missed being kilt enthirely by the mane
scuts there within!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna gathered hope. This man was an immigrant
from the ould sod.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Where do you come from, and what is it ye’d be afther
havin’ here?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m late from New York—later from Colorado—an’ what
is it I’m here fur? Is that it? What should a dacent Irish
lad want whose stomach is full of emptiness and ne’er a
morsel of bread or mate in the wallet? What I want is
worruk, and somethin’ to relave my hunger! A place to
slape in wouldn’t be inconvanient, aither!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This seemed to content the man from the tavern.</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ if ye are sakin’ work, you’re no thramp, for little’s
the hand’s turn of that they ever do; an’ I know you’re no
thafe, from your accint, which is like me own, barrin’ the
Dublin twang, so I’ll even be better to ye than the Dutchman—who,
by the way, is not as bad as he seems. You
jist came upon him in an unlucky time, an’ the drink at the
fore too! Only yesterday it was that a brace of strollers stole
away his only cow—begging the pardon of the whiskey-barrel,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>an’ its contints is not exactly suitable for swatening
the coffee, sure,—and they druv her off to the next neighbor’s
beyant, where they sold the baste, fur all the worruld
as if they owned her—the blackguards! As natural as iver
can be, Mr. Staub—that’s the tavern-keeper’s name, an’
mine’s Timmins, be the same token—has no love left to
squander on tramps; an’ takin’ you fur one—an’ where
could have been his two eyes, an’ his ears, meanwhiles?—he
gives you the back of his hand nately, and the hardest words
he can lay his crooked tongue to! He thought you a thramp,
and he mistrated you as one! Still, Staub’s a clever man
when the drink’s not in him, an’ many’s the poor fellow I’ve
seen him take in out of the cowld, and give a sup an’ a bed,
who hadn’t the shadow o’ sixpence to bless himself wid!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ I’m no tramp!” answered McKenna, “an’
what I wants in the way of atin’ an’ drinkin’, for the present,
at laste, I’m able to pay fur! I’ve two strong arms, an’ an
honest heart, God be thanked! an’ when my cash is all
spent, I can dig, or do something honorable for more, without
help from such rubbish as big Misther Staub!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Timmins, the soft-hearted, responded:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll e’en do better by you, me laddy-buck, than the
scullions you have left! Come home wid me fur the night,
an’ stay longer if ye likes; you are as welcome as the birds
in spring—an’ tho’ its comin’ late we are, my old woman
will give you somewhat for your stomach, an’ a bed to rest
your tired bones upon, at all events!”</p>

<p class='c001'><a id='corr34.28'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='“As'>As</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_34.28'><ins class='correction' title='“As'>As</ins></a></span> an argument in favor of his acceptance of the offer,
just at that moment the rain poured down heavier than before,
and the wind beat the large drops into the faces of the men
with a force which was uncomfortable.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll go wid you, Mr. Timmins—an’ many thanks for
your kind offer!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And, taking one valise in his left hand, keeping the right
free for whatever might occur, the operative committed the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>remainder of his portable property to Timmins’ care. Permitting
that personage to lead the way, they started.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I wonder if I’m about to be robbed and murdered, thus
early in my career in these mountains,” was the thought that
flitted through the detective’s mind as he followed the form
of his retreating host, with his right hand resting on his
repeater, which he had convenient in his coat pocket. But
nothing to further excite his fears occurred. Timmins only
appeared anxious to keep the traveling bag from the rain,
by tucking it carefully under his arm, and covering it with
the folds of the cape of his heavy cloak. They advanced
rapidly, and Timmins, in default of a lantern, exerted himself
to illuminate their devious way with sharp sallies of
genuine humor, elicited in original comments upon the state
of the weather and “illigant condition of the highway.”
The stranger laughed heartily, which was compensation
sufficient for the jester, who was merely trying to make himself
agreeable.</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ here we are, betimes, hard by the home of Mr. and
Mrs. Timmins—and that’s me an’ my good wife—but divil
a glimmer of a light is there in the windy, which is something
uncommon with Mrs. Timmins!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The conclusion of these remarks brought the pedestrians,
soaking wet, and desirous of putting themselves beyond the
reach of the rain, by the side of a large wooden structure,
which might be tenantless, from all that any outsider could
hear, or see, for that matter, in the darkness of the night.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Phat’s up now, I wonder?” said Timmins, who found
his effort to enter the place stubbornly resisted from within.
There was no bolt or bar, he said, but come open the door
would not. A soft, partly yielding but insurmountable obstacle,
resisted the pushing of the two men, who unitedly
tried to shove in the barrier.</p>

<p class='c001'>Then movements were heard inside, and presently came a
woman’s voice:</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>“Is that you, <a id='corr36.1'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Tony!'>Tony?</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_36.1'><ins class='correction' title='Tony!'>Tony?</ins></a></span>”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! It is <em>me</em>! An’ phat the wonder is it that fastens
the door? It’s kaping myself an’ a stranger out here in the
drinchin’ rain, ye are!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Wait a minute, Tony. An’ glad I am, sure, that ye came
as ye did, and I not cold as a stone, fit fur me grave clothes!
Let me light the candle an’ maybe I can help yez! It’s the
body of a man—whether alive or dead, I can’t say, that so
bolts the door agin yez! An’ me an’ the wee childer here
all alone until this minit! God be praised, ye came in the
very nick of time!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Here was a denouement for the detective’s first day’s
work, and one he was not well pleased with. His companion,
Timmins, from the manner in which he spluttered and
tore about the front yard, was either very badly frightened
or very mad, McKenna could not decide which.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll soon see who the scoundrel is, an’ dead or alive, I
wouldn’t stan’ in his boots for any small sum! When I get
at him, I’ll——”</p>

<p class='c001'>A light now appeared within, and the man’s threat was
cut short by hearing the creaking of boards, as if some
person carefully crossed the floor. Then Timmins put his
face to the entrance, and a whispered consultation between
himself and his wife took place, the purport of which the
traveler could not comprehend.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch4' class='c006'>CHAPTER IV.<br> <br>STIRRING UP A WASP’S NEST.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>They were not long in suspense, as Mrs. Timmins, after
closing the interview with her husband, gathered resolution
<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>to grasp the seemingly inanimate body by the arm, and to
drag it away from the entrance. McKenna and his friend
then went into the place—used as kitchen, washing, and
dining-room, in accordance with the prevailing custom of
the locality. Anthony Timmins at once seized upon the
pewter candlestick, held the flame of the taper close to the
face of the supposed dead man, almost scorching the eyebrows
in his eagerness to discover who it might be; then,
breaking out into loud laughter, he returned the light to
Mrs. Timmins, raised his two hands above his head, slightly
bending his knees as if about to sit down on the floor, his
hat falling off sidewise meantime, and fairly shouted, between
the rapidly following explosions of uncontrollable
mirth which had quickly taken the place of his former anger:</p>

<p class='c001'>“By the hill o’ Howth! An’ its only poor ould man Fox,
of the wee patch beyant the mountains, as harmless as a
suckin’ dove, but, to his own sorrow, a great drunkard!
He’s now what wan might call down, dead insensible wid
the poteen he has taken.”</p>

<p class='c001'>And Timmins could scarcely postpone more laughter long
enough to introduce his companion to Mrs. Timmins, after
which brief ceremony he said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“No wonder on earth that we couldn’t open the door,
wid all this lump of fat an’ iniquity braced forninst it! He
weighs two hundred poun’ ’f wan ounce; an’ besides, the
heel of his shoe wor caught in the crack under the door—which
by the same token is wider nor will be comfortable
next month—holdin’ it like a wedge, nate and tight against
us!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, what a dawshy clodhopper I must have been,” said
Mrs. Timmins, in an excellent brogue, “to be scared at ould
man Fox! He’s his own worst inimy, is Paddy Fox, an’ he
came here unbeknownst to me—as to who he wor, at laste—just
as it grow’d dark, an’ before I had lighted the candle,
an’ he stumbled into the kitchen, an’ I didn’t know him from
<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>the deil’s own grandfather; an’ I jist ran into the bedroom,
the childer wid me, an’ fastened the door, expectin’ every
minute he’d rouse up an’ begin to rob the house! I supposed
he wor a tramp, for all the wurruld, an’ I didn’t dare
make a noise, or strike a light, for fear we’d be murthered
outright! An’ how glad I wor when I heard your steps on
the gravel outside!”</p>

<p class='c001'>So the fright about a dead man barring the door was not
much of a scare after all. At least, there was very small
cause for disturbance, as a drunken person was not such an
extraordinary thing to see in that house. Fox was allowed
to remain where he was, Timmins having thrown an old
quilt over him to keep him warm, saying that he would “be
all right by the mornin’!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Mrs. Timmins, good woman that she was, rekindled a fire
and prepared an excellent supper for the stranger, consisting
of bacon and eggs, and baked potatoes with strong coffee,
to which McKenna helped himself with unwonted relish.
After satisfying his appetite, he and Timmins played a couple
of games of euchre, took a few drinks from a keg kept in one
corner, supported on a couple of sticks, and which was under
the exclusive control of Mrs. Timmins—she sold the liquor
to her customers from a tin cup—then the wet, weary, and
sleepy traveler retired to his bed quite in the dark, in a room
in the second story of the building, first having thrown his
damp clothes down the staircase to Mr. Timmins, with a request
that they be allowed to dry before the kitchen fire.</p>

<p class='c001'>Anthony Timmins and his wife kept what was known as a
railroad boarding-house or tavern, for the accommodation of
laborers employed on the adjacent tunnel, and a fair living,
and something smart beside, did they realize from their
trouble and toil, Mrs. Timmins being not at all assisted by
the three tow-headed children which followed close to her
heels wherever she went, and called her “mother.”</p>

<p class='c001'>The slumbers of the detective were sound and unbroken
<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>until the hour that the sunlight of another day fell full on
his face and disturbed, and finally awakened him. Looking
about, he discovered there were three beds in the low room—one,
by way of compliment, devoted to his own particular
use, while each of the others held two men, of whose presence
the previous night he had been entirely ignorant.
Waiting until his room-mates had gone out, McKenna went
to the door and shouted to Timmins for his garments, which
were soon brought up by that personage, wishing him at the
same time “the top o’ the mornin’, an’ many happy returns
of the same!” The clothing was warm and dry, and the
officer felt greatly refreshed by his season of repose. At the
breakfast-table he learned, not greatly to his surprise, that
the company he had to keep was none of the most select;
still it was as good as he had reason to anticipate under the
circumstances. In fact, he thought if he should secure, for
the future, equally decent associates, he might consider himself
fortunate. The men about him asked no questions, but
devoured their meal almost in silence, and then set out for
their work on the tunnel.</p>

<p class='c001'>The long table of unplaned boards—covered with a coarse
oil-cloth, which had once been of a variegated mahogany
color, but had faded with much rubbing and use to a dark
dirt hue—was flanked on either side by equally rough wooden
benches of the same length, on which the boarders sat when
they partook of their food. There were no chairs in that
house; those too proud to occupy the benches while at
dinner could stand up and welcome. Furnishing the table
were broad tin plates, common horn-handled iron knives
and forks, which the landlady had not for months found time
to give the polishing rub of “brick-dust and a split potato;”
pewter table and tea spoons; a can for vinegar; salt-cellar,
and pepper-box of japanned tinware; pint cups, also of tin,
for the coffee; a quart measure for the milk; another for
molasses—sugar was not permitted on that table. There
<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>was fresh bread in plenty, and meat and vegetables, especially
white, mealy potatoes, cooked to a turn, with their
jackets on, in absolute profusion. Butter appeared in bountiful
supply, but it was too vigorous, some of the boarders
said, for any other use than to harness to a carriage to draw
grist to mill. In other words, its flavor was rank and taste
abominable. McKenna felt that such food was not good for
him the moment he entered for his breakfast, and, using
everything beside that was nourishing, he quietly gave the
butter a deservedly wide berth.</p>

<p class='c001'>After the morning meal, and having given some attention
to his boots, which were drawn on with difficulty—first
having to soak them well with melted tallow—McKenna
took a short stroll to the railway work, where he had a talk
with the boss, and with some of the hands who were fellow-boarders.
He gleaned from the former that employment for
him, just then and there, must be counted as out of the question.
Labor was to be done, but the price was low, while
workingmen were more plentiful than whortleberries on the
mountain. There were too many German miners and laborers
in the vicinity for the prosperity of the Mollie Maguires,
he could easily see, without asking. After making a few
other calls, the traveler returned to Timmins’, where, in his
triple-bedded apartment, he managed to indite a hurried
report to Mr. Franklin, informing him of his whereabouts
and movements. This he succeeded in depositing in the
post-office. The address upon the envelope was such as to
disarm and thwart suspicion. It had been prepared for his
use before leaving Philadelphia.</p>

<p class='c001'>In the afternoon rain fell heavily, and therefore no work
could be done outside the tunnel excavation; even inside it
was wet and uncomfortable, and many of the men remained
at home, some drinking, others dancing and singing, and
still others whiling away the time playing various games at
cards. Among these laborers were several members of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>Miners’ and Laborers’ Union, but they were all reticent, after
concurring in the generally expressed opinion that mining
and railroading were dull and money very scarce everywhere
in those regions.</p>

<p class='c001'>The ensuing day the agent settled his bill at Timmins’
tavern, and, as the weather had cleared up finely during the
night, bid adieu to the landlord, his wife and family, and
started for Schuylkillhaven. Arrived there, he found many
men at work, but no possible chance for him to earn a dollar.
The operations carried on were mostly for the railroad. He
encountered a few miners just from the collieries above, and
they gave the visitor nothing in the way of hopefulness as
to the condition of affairs where they had been. Laborers
could hardly find engagements anywhere. And as for his especial
subject of pursuit and object of inquiry, the element
predominating was still German; hence, there was very little
to detain him in the neighborhood.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next point attended to was Auburn, about five miles
from Port Clinton, a small country place, boasting a couple of
planing-mills and a number of business houses. Here nothing
transpired of importance, and McKenna toiled back on
foot over the mountain, toward the hour of sunset, to
Schuylkillhaven, where he had deposited his baggage.</p>

<p class='c001'>A day later the stranger went to Tremont, and thence to
Sweet Arrow. Returning to the first-mentioned place about
the middle of the afternoon, he formed the acquaintance of
a number of his countrymen; but they had no hints to volunteer—and
he was very far from asking any foolish questions
in this connection—showing that they were even aware of
the existence of such an organization as the Mollie Maguires.</p>

<p class='c001'>A day later McKenna encountered Nicholas Brennan, a
coal-miner from the vicinity of Mt. Pleasant, near Minersville.
Brennan gave out that he was also a traveler, engaged
in going from one place to another for the purpose of securing
work at his calling for the winter. Their pursuits being
<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>ostensibly similar, McKenna and Brennan soon struck up
an intimacy. After the latter had more than once tasted
liquor at McKenna’s expense, he thawed out considerably,
became pliable and talkative, and soon had much to remark
about “the power that made English landlords quake.” But
he gave it as his opinion that such a force could accomplish
very little, if anything, in the anthracite country of Pennsylvania,
and pretended to believe the Miners’ and Laborers’
Union, which had recently been formed, would prove of no
benefit to working-men. Brennan prided himself upon his
discerning shrewdness, and said, early in his conversation
with the operative, he knew, at once, upon first fixing his
eye on him, that he, McKenna, was a boatman, or canal
hand, the correctness of which allegation, for his own purposes,
that gentleman felt constrained to acknowledge.
Brennan recommended his new-found associate to go to
Tamaqua, or Mahanoy City, where he thought mining was
moving more briskly than in any other portion of the State—especially
was it more lively than in the neighborhood of
Pottsville. He concluded his lengthy harangue by remarking,
in a significant way—referring to the localities named:</p>

<p class='c001'>“There’s the ground where the boys are true!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Then they are the very places I want to get work in,”
responded McKenna, and, watching the countenance of
Brennan, he was sure he discovered in it an expression of
disappointment, as though the reply made to “the ground
where the boys were true” was not exactly the one he had
anticipated receiving. Pretending, however, not to notice
it, the detective proposed a game at cards, “jist for the fun
of the thing,” and, after that ended, Brennan was so much
under the influence of spirits, his companion was forced to
cut loose from him. Nothing more could be elicited, but
McKenna was well satisfied that, if not a simon-pure Mollie
Maguire, his late opponent in euchre knew more about the
society than he cared to impart to a stranger. He made
<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>mental note of the words: “There’s the ground where the
boys are true!” and could not help thinking they were in
some way connected with the mysterious order. Brennan
was kind enough to give him the names of some of his friends
in the mines; these he also treasured in his memory, to be
made use of as occasion presented.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next day Brennan was perfectly sober, and, it being
the first of November and a Catholic holiday, he accompanied
McKenna to church, and, after service, introduced him
to everybody he knew as “a young man from Colorado, in
quest of work,” the stranger soon becoming quite popular
with a certain class. In the afternoon all adjourned to a
convenient saloon, where McKenna kept up a continuous
round of amusements for several hours, relating wonderful
stories of his adventures in the United States Navy during
the late war, all drawn from his own fertile fancy, but certainly
very interesting to his listeners, and by singing, in
good style, some genuine Irish melodies. Brennan and his
companions started, the same afternoon, for Pottsville, only
three miles distant, and urged McKenna to accompany
them. He excused himself, on the score of being compelled
to await money, due him for work, which had been promised
by post at that place, and the young fellows reluctantly departed
without him.</p>

<p class='c001'>Sunday, the second of November, passed without the occurrence
of any incident worthy of note. On the succeeding
Monday our detective rode by rail twenty-four miles, stopping
at Pine Grove, where he found the shafts still some seven
miles distant, over a rough and hilly path, and did not visit
them. Small was the loss by this, however, as no work was
being prosecuted, and the employés were scattering to various
localities until such time as operations should be again
commenced. After an examination of the tanneries there,
with a few small machine-shops, without learning anything
of value, he returned to Tremont, at which place he met a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>man named John Delaney, a miner, who was seemingly on a
regular lark, disbursing his money lavishly, and imbibing
drinks industriously. Delaney was of Brennan’s opinion,
thinking work would be difficult to obtain in the mines, so
few were being operated, and railed loudly against the Philadelphia
and Reading Coal and Iron Company, charging all
the existing troubles to that corporation. He boasted that
they—the miners—once kept the Company and their mines
idle for eight long months, and could do so again if goaded
to it. He was equally severe in his denunciations of German,
Welsh and English miners, and their “butties,” alleging
that they—especially the Germans—had everything their
own way about the vicinity of Tremont, but it was different
in Shenandoah, Tamaqua, and other towns. Delaney was
anxious to introduce McKenna to all of his personal friends,
and, in that regard, was allowed to have his way, the detective
properly considering it well that he should know as
many men of the right character as possible. They might
be useful as references at other localities. He therefore
expressed his hearty thanks to Delaney for his exertions in
this direction. The following day, having eschewed liquor
for a season, Delaney went with his new-discovered friend to
Donaldson, where he made him acquainted with the outside
boss of the mines, going even as far as to ask for work for
the “young man,” who, he said, “was jist stharvin’ for somewhat
to lay his honest, hard-workin’ hands to!” The boss
could do nothing, however; and, after examining the slopes
and walking through some of the gangways, talking with a
miner here and there, they revisited the upper air. Again
it was discovered the Germans held the ascendency in numbers
and power, and managed to keep it; hence, there was no
opportunity for securing employment. He must seek elsewhere
for a body of the Mollie Maguires—the Donaldson
mines were not their abiding-place.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next point on the list for examination was Middle
<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>Creek, two miles distant, over the mountain, from Tremont,
where the men were equally unlucky, finding no work. A
walk back, through rough roads, over brambles and stones,
and dodging laurel and alder bushes, gave the pedestrians
appetites for their suppers when they reached Tremont.
Delaney here separated from McKenna, after a few farewell
glasses, and started for Pottsville, at which place he said he
was due, and had friends and relatives.</p>

<p class='c001'>During the succeeding Wednesday the detective remained
in Tremont, and, after dinner, enjoyed a walk on the railway
track, the weather being fine, continuing an intimacy previously
begun between himself and the switch-tender, an aged
Emerald Islander, who was found sitting nigh the entrance
to his little box, or cabin—short, stumpy, gray-haired, brown-faced,
roughly clad, but honest and sturdy-looking withal—smoking
his pipe contentedly, and receiving pleasurably the
cool breeze sweeping up the valley. Mike Fitzgibbons, the
switchman, was a genuine specimen of the hard-working,
steady, reliable Irish peasantry, and he was never known to
neglect a duty.</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ how is business wid ye the day?” asked McKenna,
as he came up to the old man’s station, preparing his tobacco
meantime, and signaling by a significant motion, easily understood
by smokers, for a light for his cutty-pipe, which was
old and black, as well as fashionably short in the stem. The
switchman tendered his doodeen, which, having been employed,
the stranger returned to its owner, with thanks.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Arrah! an’ about all days are the same to the likes o’
me! I am to the fore all the time when I’m not slapin’ an’
atin’ wid Betty and the childer. I jist mind the trains, to
prevint misadventure. Sure, the Company gives me fair
wages, promptly paid, for that same!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Thrue for ye,” answered McKenna; “an’ hev ye any
objection to me takin’ a seat by ye, on the settle forninst
the wall, while I have a puff at me pipe?”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>“Not the laste in the worruld!” responded Fitzgibbons,
making space for the stranger on the bench. After resting
and drawing away industriously at his pipe for a few moments,
McKenna remembered a Philadelphia <cite>Inquirer</cite> which
he had obtained that forenoon and not yet examined, and,
taking it from his pocket, commenced reading. He knew
this would excite his companion’s curiosity. Soon Fitzgibbons
remarked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Would ye be plazed to rade to me a bit? Me eyes are
none of the best, an’ the little I has I save fur the good of
the Company. What do the paper say about the State
elections?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll rade to ye wid pleasure,” said the agent, and he
proceeded to give all that he found of interest. After commenting
at some length upon the contents of the sheet, and
having his pipe freshly filled with McKenna’s fragrant tobacco,
the switchman was more chatty. In a little while he
entered his box, and returned bearing in his hand a copy of
the well-known Boston <cite>Pilot</cite>, which he proffered to his comrade.
After skimming hastily over the Irish news and some
telegraphic intelligence, he came to an article headed, “The
Mobocrats of Pennsylvania.” This he read carefully aloud
to the old man. It was a scathing blow at the Mollie
Maguires, giving them deserved condemnation, and appeared
in the shape of correspondence. After finishing it, McKenna
asked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“What is this all about?”</p>

<p class='c001'>Evidently much excited, Fitzgibbons answered:</p>

<p class='c001'>“But isn’t it a sarching piece, though? It slathers them
butcherin’ vagabones widout mercy! O, I would like to
know who has writ it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna kept down his anxiety to learn more, and said
nothing, when the switchman continued:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Ye have heard of the society? Av coorse ye have!
An’ now they’ve got across the big say, till America, an’ into
<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>the mines! But doesn’t that article cut them deep, tho’?
It has created quite a ruction here—and no wonder! It
was a great thing, the getting up of that piece! It do lay
on the lash to the backs of the Mollie Maguires in splendid
style!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The old man was evidently an opponent of the order, or
he was endeavoring to draw out the opinion of his friend.
McKenna determined to let him know what he was supposed
to think, but which was the very opposite of his real convictions.</p>

<p class='c001'>“It must be that such writin’s will damage the interests
of the Irish people in the coal regions. Don’t you agree
wid me in this?”</p>

<p class='c001'>Fitzgibbons was touched at a tender spot and flared up in
an instant, moving involuntarily further from the operative,
his dark but expressive face ablaze with honest indignation,
saying vehemently:</p>

<p class='c001'>“No! I disagrees wid ye in that altogether! It is the
Mollie Maguires that’s doin’ the wrong! Such articles in
the <cite>Pilot</cite> will have a good effect, an’ do somethin’—of which
there’s pressin’ want—toward breakin’ up the clan! God
knows it nades dispersin’ an’ punishin’ too! Such bodies is
a burnin’ shame an’ disgrace to the men in them, an’ they
befoul all Irishmen and all good Catholics! Ye naden’t be
surprised if ye mate them yoursel’! They’ve had ’em here,
even, where there live so few from our country! But Father
McLaughlin druv ’em out wid the hardest words ye iver
heard from the lips of a clergyman! God prosper him for
that same! An’ since they left, we’ve had pace an’ quiet in
town, wid no killin’s and batin’s.”</p>

<p class='c001'>It would not do for the listener to permit such an opportunity
to say a word in favor of his particular friends, the
Mollie Maguires, to pass unimproved. While the sentiments
expressed were his own, to the letter, he must dissemble and
oppose them. Therefore he replied:</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>“Now, fur the life of me, I can’t see why Irish Catholics
cannot have a dacent, paceable society of their own—if
there be the laste touch of sacracy about it—widout the
papers an’ the clergy interloguing and opposing! Wur any
harm done by the Masons and Odd Fellows, shure there
wouldn’t be a word in the public press about it. An’ what’s
the raison that this society should be abused?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“You are all wrong! My experience goes agin’ the
order! I knows some men who hev bin members, but they
come out of it. They saw enough! By my sowl, I’d as
soon go colloguing wid the devil, hoof, horns, tail and all,
as wid the murtherin’ rascals! Harken to this, now! If
any wan of the crew wur discharged from work an’ wanted
fur to sake revinge—which the same is swate the worruld
over—he jist went to the headquarters of the society, or to
the president, or whativer they call him, which is the head
official, an’ made out that it wur from religious differences
he lost his place, or because he wur an Irishman; and then
lots ud be cast, sure, an’ two or more of the brothers—bad
cess to such a brotherhood!—must go, whether they would
or no, an’ jist shoot down the boss that had cut him off! O,
ye may spake all yer soft words, an’ shake yer head, an’ not
belave me, fur I consider it awfully incredible myself, that
Irishmen will do such things; an’ ye may call me distraught,
an’ all that; but I knows what I says, an’ my advice is not to
be afther defendin’ the murtherin’, thavin’ set, if ye want to
be respected in this region of country! Don’t ye bother
wid the Mollie Maguires!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Before McKenna had time for a reply, the afternoon passenger
train came shrieking around an abrupt curve, the
switchman seized his keys and flag, and ran off to attend to
his duties; and the detective, pocketing the Boston newspaper,
intending to return it, retired to his boarding-place.
The <cite>Pilot</cite>, he thought, would prove a valuable document to
him, from the article he had been discussing.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch5' class='c006'>CHAPTER V.<br> <br>COLD COMFORT IN THE MOUNTAINS.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The succeeding day McKenna returned to the switch-tender’s
hut, and, after obtaining permission to retain the
Boston <cite>Pilot</cite>, their suddenly suspended conversation was resumed.
It is unnecessary to detail its various points, but the
detective learned while Fitzgibbons was a decided and outspoken
enemy of the Mollie Maguires, yet he was thoroughly
informed as to their movements throughout the coal
regions. This knowledge was secured by a careful study of
the local newspapers, and talking with his neighbors and
friends formerly holding membership in the organization. It
was Fitzgibbons’s idea, judging after several years’ close consideration
of the matter, that the home-nests, the chief dens,
of the Mollies, might be located at Mahanoy City, Shenandoah,
Shamokin, Pittston, and Wilkesbarre, and that nearly
all of the smaller places had lodges of more or less magnitude.
In one of these principal strongholds McKenna must
make his headquarters, but in which he could only decide
after personal investigation.</p>

<p class='c001'>By the time the operative had remained a fortnight or more
in the mountains, much exposure to the weather and considerable
out-of-door exercise had wrought perceptible changes
in his personal appearance. His apparel fitted more to his
satisfaction, and a certain awkwardness in bearing was notably
diminished. The cuticle covering his forehead, cheeks,
and hands was toughened. His complexion was darkened,
while his hair was lighter and longer. The unshaven chin
had sprouted and grown a tolerably heavy beard, and no
attempt was made, by trimming, to shape it handsomely or
<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>becomingly. His understanding of localities was improved—and
would continue to improve through travel and examination—and
his list of particular associates was rapidly
growing larger and more useful.</p>

<p class='c001'>At Tower City, McKenna found Donahue’s saloon a
popular resort for his countrymen, and he at once honored it
with his presence. Donahue, the proprietor, was one day
entertaining a number of his friends living at Mahanoy City,
when the stranger, “from Denver,” entered the room, and,
assuming a reckless air, with the signs of having indulged in
a few glasses of something more potent than water, soon
made himself popular with those present. This impression
was increased by the rich stories he related and the rare
songs he sung. The next day he discovered, in the same
house, a second copy of the Boston newspaper, before alluded
to, containing an answer to the slashing attack upon the
Mollie Maguires. The later communication dated from
Locust Gap, about four miles from Tremont, and the charges
of the earlier publication were all completely negatived.
Donahue’s attention was ingeniously called to the subject,
and he unsuspectingly answered that he had read the article,
having borrowed the journal from a neighbor for the purpose.
In a short time thereafter, the two men being alone, the
saloon-keeper said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“You must know that I was a mimber of the order, for
two years and upwards, but gave it up some time since,
belaving it is not a good crowd fur any wan, havin’ proper
respect fur his good name, to be connected wid. Still, a
number of excellent friends of mine are holdin’ on, and will
not listen to raison, or be persuaded to cut adrift from the
body. I am sure that, one day, they will learn I’m quite
right an’ they far in the wrong. It wur very well wid us
until the fighting begun at Mahanoy City, betwixt the Burke
and Duggan boys, the last showing themselves the more
powerful; but, faith, the effects of the battle can’t aisily be
<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>wiped out, an’ these sharp newspaper writin’s are part of the
results of the contentions. I think the order is losing
strength, in being split up, inter smithereens like, by dissensions
an’ broils, widout an’ within.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Donahue was showing himself a man of more than ordinary
intelligence. After a judicious invitation to drink, at
McKenna’s cost, he continued:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Considerin’ the ladership hev fallen into wake an’ bad
hands, an’ the mimbers at loggerheads, one anent the other,
all the time—to say nothing about the opposition of the
Bishop an’ the clargy—it would be just as well if the counthry
wur clane rid of the entire subject!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Mayhap you’re more’n half right, Mr. Donahue, but did
ye niver think, fur wan moment, the very order you condemn
may be the manes—wid other naded help—of bringin’ into
union all the Irishmen in the coal ragions, givin’ them protection
an’ securin’ them their aqual rights?”</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective was paving the way for future work, and
would say nothing against the Mollies.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m more’n doubtful of that same,” returned the tavern-keeper,
“such mane men are at the helm! They’ll run the
machine for their individual profit, an’ use the power of the
society for evil, an’ only evil, purposes!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Fur that matther, this identical charge would hould good
agin almost any kind of combination, sacret or not sacret!
Do ye think, now, spakin’ out honest an’ thrue, we should
lay aside a good implement, jist fur the simple an’ only
raison we are in fear of its employment, by accident or
otherwise, fur unlawful ends?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, I see you are friendly wid the boys,” at last said
Donahue, “an’ I’ll urge no further objection to them! Sure,
I don’t belave it will be fur the safety of my life an’ me house
an’ property I should, but I can’t help thinkin’ I have had
plenty an’ to spare of ’em! Don’t let on what I’ve been
afther talkin’ to ye! It might do me harum! If you wants
<span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>to hear more about the fellows, I’ll refer ye to me paple at
Mahanoy City—I hev father, mother, an’ brothers there—an’
in fact, if ye same to want it, I can send a letther by ye to
the ould gintleman, who’ll recave ye kindly, widout doubt.
I hev an idea ye’ll do much better beyant than here, an’ perhaps
get work right off. Things is mighty dull an’ quare
hereabouts; there, they may not be quite so bad!”</p>

<p class='c001'>At this time the clergyman of the town entered the saloon—he
was a quaint, little, jolly fat man, with long, fair hair,
small, blue eyes, and wore his gold-bowed spectacles as naturally
as though nature had handily framed his turn-up nose to
properly support them. Of course the remarks on the particular
topic, so interesting to McKenna, were at once suspended.
The priest was engaged in disposing of admission checks to
a church fair, to transpire the following Saturday, and hoping
the sooner to get rid of him, and despite the utter impossibility
that he would be present at the diversion, McKenna
purchased a ticket. Donahue did the same, and the reverend
gentleman was quite happy when he made his exit.
Then Donahue, unfortunately, had work to perform, but
promised to prepare the letter to his father in season for
McKenna’s return from Tower City, where he knew he had
arranged to go that afternoon, and the detective set out
upon the expedition.</p>

<p class='c001'>At Tower City the operative had his first experience in a
coal-shaft of any great depth. Having previously descended
some steep slopes, and examined the machinery for withdrawing
the anthracite at other collieries, the interior of an
extensive mine he had not yet inspected. While at the
Upper Mine of Messrs. Rappalie &#38; Co., in the vicinity, an
outside boss, about looking after some business below, invited
McKenna to descend in his company.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p0541_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>They were met on every side by a succession of heavy supports and gaping caverns.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>It was midday, with the sun shining brightly, when the two
men stepped upon the movable platform of the elevator,
inside the shaft-house. In a few moments they were settling
<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>swiftly, but at a uniform rate of speed, down, down, as it
seemed to the novice in such matters, even to the foundations
of the globe. For a brief period they were in total
darkness, and a sensation, as of seasickness, came over him.
Still he clung to his support and the uncomfortable feeling
soon left him. As the lower regions were reached, the
traveler thought he would be far more content if again
breathing the clear ether above. The system experienced
absolute relief when the motion ceased, and the solid bottom
of the shaft was touched. But here it was like entering a
new sphere. There was dark above, below, and all around,
only here and there relieved by dim little stars, which were
continually dodging downward, sidewise, and upward, as
though held by an unsteady hand. As his eyes acquired
familiarity with the situation, he saw that to each one of
these erratic satellites was attached the body of a living man—in
fact, they were only diminutive lamps which the miners
and their helpers wore above the visors of their hats to light
them in their labors. The general effect produced in the
sombre recesses of the excavation, and the strange and grotesque,
as well as picturesque, shadows reflected back from
the men’s figures upon the walls and buttresses and floors,
all defy description, and must be seen to be understood. As
far as the eye was able to penetrate, in every direction,
almost, the nodding demon with the single, blazing orb, like
a star, in the forehead, and bearing glistening pick and bar,
and drill and spade, was industriously working away at the
breast, tearing out the black diamonds, making more pillars,
and piercing further into the lode. Wandering from point to
point in pursuit of his errand, the boss kept on, and McKenna
followed. In one place he was startled and nearly deafened
by the, to him, unexpected explosion of a blast, close
to his ear, as he thought, but really at quite a safe distance.
He involuntarily jumped aside, expecting that he had been
hit, but in a moment recovered his equanimity, seeing he was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>not injured. They were met on every side by a succession
of heavy supports and gaping caverns, the former serving as
props for the rocky roof, preventing the falling in of the ground
resting above, and the latter leading to still other channels
and gangways from which coal was being brought. The air
seemed heavy-laden, damp, and unhealthy, and the path pursued,
in many places, passed through lakelets of black water
reaching sometimes above the ankles. All was bustle and
activity with that army of underground toilers, drilling, blasting,
loading, tunneling, tamping down blasts, laying trains,
breaking away coal and running it down chutes to the floors,
heaping it upon small trucks, which in turn transported it to
the base of the entering shaft, whence it was elevated by
steam power to the breaker, high above ground. Over all
were heard the sounds of the pumps, clangor of chains, and
rattling of picks, making harsh and jagged music, to the
strains of which the work advanced. It was no pleasant
place to remain in, especially as a looker-on, and McKenna
was not illy pleased when the boss, taking advantage of the
ascent of a loaded elevator, asked him to return to the region
of daylight. The sensation experienced upon again encountering
the sunshine was painfully peculiar, the bright blaze
almost blinding him during the first few moments of the
change. But presently the retina was brought in conformity
with the surroundings, and eyesight was fully restored.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p0542_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>‘This will steady your nerves,’ said Kehoe!</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>The breaker in which the coal is crushed, sorted, and prepared
for use, in its different sizes, is a long, dark, high and
sloping-roofed structure, generally of wood, to the uttermost
peak of which, almost, the anthracite, in lumps weighing
ten, one hundred, and three hundred pounds, is raised by the
steam elevator—that is in shaft-mining—and there emptied,
or dumped into a huge hopper, or funnel, leading direct to
the crushing machinery. This consists of two immensely
large and heavy iron cylinders, provided with massive teeth
which, when the rollers revolve, munch the coal into larger
<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>and smaller fragments, producing a crunching, grating sound,
and finally casting it into a channel beneath that conveys it
to a succession of screens, through which it is run, separating
the coarser from the finer sizes. Under these immense
sieves come other sluices, still on an incline, and, after having
the slate abstracted by the hands of a gang of boys, engaged
for the purpose, the chestnut, range, stove, little egg, large
egg, and steamboat coal glides to the storehouse by the railway
track, or, if need be, direct to the cars in which it is
transported to market.</p>

<p class='c001'>The culm—or refuse coal, slate, and waste—is carried off
and piled in high embankments, by man and mule power.
It is dumped at the outer end of the temporary track, much
after the style of a car-load of dirt in building a grade for a
railway. These residue heaps dot the coal regions, as dark
notes of admiration, showing to the traveler the great
amount of riches from which they have been eliminated and
how vast the aggregate of wealth yet remaining in the bosom
of prolific mother earth.</p>

<p class='c001'>Returning to his boarding-place, the traveler secured
Donahue’s letter to his father, and about the middle of the
ensuing day took stage, with three other gentlemen, for
Minersville, some thirteen miles distant, over the mountain
and near Pottsville. Ordinarily but a couple of hours would
be consumed in making the trip, but the occupants of the
stage were no ordinary people and were not fated to make
an ordinary journey. They had not been long out when the
sun was obscured by huge, lead-colored clouds, and across
the heavens drifted vapory masses of a more fleecy character.
Then a heavy snow-storm set in, adding to the prevailing
discomfort and making the progress of the mule team
more painfully slow. The passengers, none of whom knew
McKenna, and none of whom were personally known to him,
made light of their troubles and gave jokes plentifully and
cheerfully upon the snow, the driver and his rig, and concerning
<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>one another. It was true the conveyance and its
propellers and captain sadly needed repairs, the Jehu being
in the sere and yellow leaf of his age, having but one leg to
stand upon—and that troubled with rheumatism—while the
mules were spavined and lame, the vehicle shattered in
cover and framework, and uneasy and creaking in its running
gear, not to speak of the harness, which seemed made of
odds and ends, selected from the refuse of some army collection,
idle since the close of the war. Still, up hill and
down grade, the animals managed to move at a little better
than a snail’s pace.</p>

<p class='c001'>Gradually the hillsides wrapped a winding-sheet of snow
around them, as though taking eternal farewell of earth, and
the stunted pine and hemlock and mountain ash took on a
similarly white and beautiful mantle. The highway, never
too clearly marked, was to the eye of a stranger entirely lost
sight of, and nothing but an educated sense or instinct on
the part of driver and beasts could prevent the stage and its
freight from foundering by the wayside, or dashing suddenly
and unexpectedly off the brink of one of the numerous rocky
precipices, among and around which, in many a serpentine coil,
wound the road they were trying to follow. Once, when at
its very verge, the driver saw a yawning gulf just before him.
He was barely in time to quickly draw in the reins, thus saving
himself and his passengers from certain destruction.
But the worst was not yet over. The mules would not
back, do all their manager could, and the travelers were
forced to alight, put their shoulders to the wheels, and
extricate the vehicle without the aid of the team. This
consumed time, and it was nearly dusk before the wagon
was once more in the road and all mounted and ready to
proceed.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Pat. McCarthy, an old friend of mine down on Long
Island, would say,” remarked McKenna, while pushing at a
wheel with all his strength, “that this was almost aqual to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>workin’ your passage on the canal—drivin’ the horse and
walkin’ on the tow-path!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This conceit restored good humor, and the unsteady coach
resumed its journey. Before darkness fully closed in the
scene the most dangerous portion of the route was traversed,
and thenceforward, the course sloping downward, the mules
jogged on at a more lively pace, the travelers reaching Minersville
by nine o’clock at night, weary, sleepy, and as one
of the number truly said, “as sharp set for supper as a gang
of ravenous wolves.” When they alighted, the snow still
descended, and the prospect seemed good for fine sleighing
on the morrow over all the level country.</p>

<p class='c001'>Entering the principal hotel, McKenna judged that his
dress and presence were again a bar to his introduction to
respectable society. The gracious and affable landlord—gracious
and affable to all excepting the roughly clad gentleman
from Ireland—was with difficulty persuaded to allow
him to remain in the house. But finally he did consent,
and under its proper heading for the seventeenth of November,
1873, on the hotel register, the detective inscribed the
following:</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div>“<i>Jas. McKenna, Denver, Colorado Ter.</i>”</div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>The hotel-keeper was on the lookout for disreputable characters,
as he should be, but his humanity, added to the protests
of the detective’s late traveling companions, would not
consent to his turning a person out in the snow, possibly to
freeze to death, even though his clothing were poor and his
face, hair, beard, and general appearance the opposite of
prepossessing. A five dollar note, which the stranger had
changed at the bar, while paying for a hot toddy for himself
and the stage passengers—not forgetting the driver—after
the bill had been closely scrutinized and pronounced not
counterfeit, exerted its influence in determining the matter,
and prompted the innkeeper to be generous, even though
<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>there was a remote chance that his business might suffer
thereby. The young man, it was decided, should have food
for his stomach and a place to sleep in. The supper was
spread on a barrel-head, in the cold, dreary slab kitchen, at
the rear of the cook-room proper, through the wide chinks
in the walls of which the keen blast whistled mournfully, and
the snow-flakes stole in with a whisk and a whirl, painting
delicate and curiously enameled pictures on the greasy floor.
His chair was like that upon which the late James Gordon
Bennett, senior, sat, when writing his leading editorials for
the embryo New York <cite>Herald</cite>—an inverted and empty nail
keg—but the food was warm and palatable, and he ate it in
silence, as he well knew that grumbling would result in no
good. He was, for the occasion, a wandering refugee, and
must necessarily put up with such treatment as those in his
condition usually receive from the world’s people. He
could plainly hear the tantalizing clatter of crockery, inhale
the savory odor arising from epicurean dishes, and listen to
the conversation of other and more favored guests, coming
from the comfortable, well-lighted dining-hall, when the door
chanced to be open, and that was all. Later at night he
climbed a rough ladder, nearly at the top of the house, he
believed, found his loft, with its straw bed and blankets, and
an old saddle for a pillow. Extinguishing his candle, he
rolled himself, full dressed as he was, in his coverings, and
soon fell asleep. Not all the insects in the place, nor the
rats that ran over him, nor the cats that made night hideous
with their wailings and spittings could, for more than a
few moments at a stretch, banish sleep from McKenna’s
eyelids.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch6' class='c006'>CHAPTER VI.<br> <br>POTTSVILLE AND THE SHERIDAN HOUSE.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The detective, after making a casual inspection of the
place, during the following day, was in many respects well
suited with it. Usually carrying on considerable trade, he
found all the people of the town complaining of dull times,
even the collieries employing but few hands. The blast-furnaces
were in the same category. Wading through the snow,
during his walks about the streets, he chanced upon some
men whose faces were not new to his sight, having previously
encountered them at Schuylkillhaven, and he naturally resumed
the intercourse there begun. Nothing of particular
importance resulted, however, excepting wet feet and dread
of impending rheumatisms and neuralgias.</p>

<p class='c001'>He at once changed his quarters from the hotel to a private
boarding-house, where the style of living was less
pretentious, the price charged patrons not nearly so exhaustive
of his finances—and yet the accommodations, as far as
this particular boarder was concerned, were considerably
more comfortable. Beside, he was quite at home, and in a
better position for work. And here were many acquaintances
to form.</p>

<p class='c001'>While insinuating himself into a new town, or community,
McKenna properly adopted widely differing devices, but an
extended experience instructed him that the best course to
pursue, in any given case of the sort, was the one appearing
the most natural. It was a cardinal principle, impressed
upon his mind, never to make open and direct inquiries regarding
people and things of which he was really in search—a
place for permanent employment was, as the reader has
<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>all along understood, merely a cover for his actual purpose
in visiting the coal country. In fact, unless it brought him
in close contact with the right men, and revealed to him
hidden things, in no other way attainable, a chance for himself
to dig in the mines might, for the present, be deferred.
It would be well, he believed, after a while, to divert attention
from his real occupation. But to look up a job was a
good excuse for much traveling, over a large field, with the
topography of which he was required to become accurately
familiar. Private objects he left to be worked out in a private
way, occasionally giving them a slight and unremarked
start, or direction, as he went from place to place.</p>

<p class='c001'>Night was his favorite time for accomplishing progress.
Then his friends were generally relieved from labor and
gathered where they could be reached. He sauntered unconcernedly
about, after darkness had set in, and if he heard
a row, or “bit of a shindy” going on in a drinking place,
would enter and make himself in some manner companionable
with the persons within—excepting they chanced to
be of the character of Mr. Staub, the portly landlord at Port
Clinton, who proved so inhospitable, mistaking the agent
for a thief—and in that event he usually caused himself to
become invisible as rapidly as possible. With an assumption
of unlimited assurance, and pretending to be more than
half way under the influence of liquor, other conditions
being favorable, he broke out with such a roaring, rollicking
ditty as he supposed might please those about him, or, if he
felt in the mood, began a spirited Irish jig, performed with
much agility and many comical contortions of countenance
and body, to the measure of no music at all, excepting he
chose to whistle a tune meanwhile. In the course of a little
time, the out-door training, and the exercise in singing and
dancing, made him quite an expert, and his fame preceded
him from Schuylkillhaven to Summit, and, as he learned from
his companions, had journeyed even as far as Pottsville. At
<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>any rate, he never failed, with those in whose company he
cared, for the purposes of his undertaking, to be received, in
immediately placing himself upon a secure and friendly footing.
The climax of miner’s friendship was usually reached
by asking the persons present to come to the bar and indulge
in something to drink, if it was to be had, at his expense;
otherwise, the invitation emanated from some one of the
company and included the stranger. Either result was
equally satisfactory.</p>

<p class='c001'>If he happened, as he sometimes would, to fall in with
rogues—indeed his search was for and among this class—he
had prepared a device and history calculated quickly to attract
their sympathies and give him a warm place in their circle.</p>

<p class='c001'>When in the presence of sober, civil, and sedate people—which
was occasionally the case—the operative tried another
and different scheme, perhaps relating a cheerful ghost-story,
or giving one or more of the many pathetic, patriotic, or sentimental
ballads, of which he had quite a collection stored
away in his brain to be expended upon such associates. In
almost any company of his own countrymen he was certain
of finding hearty welcome, and, as it was among Irishmen
he expected to labor, he scarcely ever essayed entrance to
the homes of persons of other nationalities. The time might
come, he supposed, should he succeed in his labors, when the
doors of most respectable families from his native land, even,
would be closed against him—but, at the end, he believed he
would be perfectly justified in the course he was pursuing.</p>

<p class='c001'>The storm, in the opening of which he entered Minersville,
continued, snow falling almost incessantly during three or
four days, and the operative could not meanwhile accomplish
much in the streets. As soon as the sun came out
again, and the paths and roads were broken over the mountains,
he visited Miner’s Hill, two miles away, returned to
Minersville, and then took the horse car for Pottsville. His
first work in that city was to secure a cheap and decently
<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>comfortable boarding-place, which he found at the residence
of Mrs. O’Regan, in East Norwegian Street. The widow
kept house neatly, beside a bottle of poteen, from which,
without paying license, she sold an occasional drop.</p>

<p class='c001'>A visitor’s impressions of Pottsville, when first beholding
its spires of churches and evidences of industry and thrift,
from the heights above, cannot well be other than pleasing.
The scenery encompassing the town is bold and rugged, and
the descent by car to the Schuylkill, and Norwegian Creek,
on whose high banks it is lodged, rapid and inspiring; and
once having arrived in its handsomely-built streets, to one
unaccustomed to see cities perched upon steep mountainsides,
the sight is well calculated to evolve surprise.
Having some twelve thousand inhabitants, there is in it
much enlightenment and great wealth. Abundantly provided
with handsome and elegant churches and school-houses,
imposing business structures and beautiful residences, Pottsville
enjoys an enviable reputation as a healthful and pleasant
place for summer residence. One especial point of interest
is the costly and artistic monument to Henry Clay. It is of
pure white marble, in the shape of a fluted column, rising from
a massive square pedestal, and surmounted by a full-length
statue of the great Defender. The hotels—among which
stand pre-eminent Pennsylvania Hall and the Exchange—are
unsurpassed in the State. There is a large and commodious
court-house, and a county jail rivaling in size and completeness
of officers and appointments some of the larger
State <a id='corr62.29'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='penitentaries'>penitentiaries</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_62.29'><ins class='correction' title='penitentaries'>penitentiaries</ins></a></span>. It also has an Academy of Music, in
which operatic and theatrical entertainments are given by
traveling troupes.</p>

<p class='c001'>Pottsville is the concentrating point for an extended
radius of rich mining country, and the depot of supplies for
an equally wide circle.</p>

<p class='c001'>The surroundings in this part of Schuylkill County are,
some of them, deserving of national celebrity. Among these
<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>is Mount Carbon, towering in height, broad, black, gloomy
and stupendous; and, at its base, stand the Mansion House—a
very agreeable place of resort—and a number of fashionable
residences. Further away is a bit of natural landscape,
pronounced one of the most striking in the country. It is
“Tumbling Run Dam,” which has been painted by several
master hands, and, in picturesqueness and sublimity, is
worthy the drawing many times more. Here the waters of
the stream, cut across by a heavy obstruction of sturdy rock,
are turned abruptly aside, and rush, in a foaming, misty torrent,
down, down, a steep side descent, torn and divided
into innumerable smaller cascades, again uniting with the
still, broad expanse below. Tall pines, stunted cedars, and
noble oaks border the river on either shore, and, under the
shadow of the overhanging barrier, are piled, in artistic
confusion, great heaps of sharp and jagged rocks, seemingly
rent from adjacent peaks by giant hands.</p>

<p class='c001'>To change the subject from the sublime to the real and
practical:</p>

<p class='c001'>Among the occupants of Mrs. O’Regan’s house was a
young man named Jennings, apparently possessing more
than ordinary intelligence, and, the afternoon of McKenna’s
arrival, knowing he was a stranger, this sociable person proposed
to show his new-found friend the sights to be seen in
the city. McKenna accepted the offer, and the two started
out, not intending to be long absent. During the visits
made to different places, of course the saloons were not
omitted, and both of the men drank somewhat, but no more
than to them seemed respectable and companionable. The
operative was introduced by Jennings to a number of his
intimate associates and friends, but met none of those with
whom he was anxious to open communication.</p>

<p class='c001'>As they were on Center Street, passing quietly along, the
stranger read a sign over the door of a liquor store, or
tavern, “Pat. Dormer,” and said</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>“Let’s go in here!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Its no place for us,” answered Jennings. “You are not
of ‘the stuff,’ I guess! At least, I know <em>I</em> am not!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“‘The stuff!’ Phat is it ye mane by ‘the stuff’?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Come away, across the street, and I’ll tell you! Its
not the safe or proper thing to be conversing of such things
so near this particular house!”</p>

<p class='c001'>So saying, Jennings led the way to another corner, where
the young men stopped, well out of the sweep of the wind, in
the lee of a large building, and the conversation was at once
resumed by Jennings:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Dormer is a <em>captain</em>!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Captain of a militia company, is it ye mane?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“No! That’s not it! I believe that you are a good sort
of a fellow, and I think I may venture to warn you—yet I
want you to promise me never to repeat what I say. It
might lead to trouble!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Av coorse, I’ll be as silent as the catacombs of Agypt!
Niver you fear Jim McKenna fur that, sure!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“You must understand, then, that Pat Dormer is a captain
of the Sleepers!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“One of the notorious sivin, we rade about, is he? Indade,
an’ I supposed they were all kilt entirely, more’n thirteen
hundred years ago!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“No! Not one of that number, but of the great secret
order, here called the Sleepers!’</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ phat are the Slapers? Plaze to explain it—or is it
another conundrum you are after axin’ me?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“The Sleepers are the Mollie Maguires! There’s a heap
of them in this district, and Dormer is, or was, an officer
high in authority in the organization. You’ve certainly heard
of the society?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ I hev heard much about them in the ould counthry!
But nothing till America! Are you sure they’ve ever
crossed the say?”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>“They have, and there are thousands of them in this and
some adjoining counties. If you stop here awhile you’ll read
about some of their work! They do not rest long without
doing something in the way of murder or outrage!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The young man then proceeded, with some particularity,
to relate to his apparently astonished listener many of the
stories he had gathered regarding the Mollie Maguires, with
an outline of their known aims and objects. His words do
not call for repetition here, as they allude to things already
within the reader’s knowledge. Jennings, in conclusion, remarked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Of course <em>I</em> do not belong to the order—would not if I
could, and could not if I would—as I am American born
and both of my parents not from Ireland. But there are any
number of them in the neighborhood. Dormer is a sort of
King Bee among the brethren, and his house their rendezvous
when in the city. Dormer filled the office of County
Commissioner for some six years in all, but was defeated at
the last election, through the interference of the society,
which, for some reason, during a short time was opposed to
him, but I hear it talked that he is in its good graces again,
ready once more to run for office, should occasion offer. He
was once quite a respectable man, but place and a long lease
of power, and bad liquor taken by wholesale, have brought
him to moral and almost physical ruin. One great fault
that the order found with him was that he had affiliated with
some other secret associations popular among Protestants.
He was, and is now, comparatively, a very powerful man.
Standing six feet four inches in his stockings, and pulling the
beam at two hundred and thirty pounds, he is considered a
dangerous individual to tamper with!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“As my countrywomen are often heard to remark, ‘what
a handsome corpse he would make, to be sure!’ What do
Dormer look like, in other regards?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“His hair is gray, eyes light hazel, and he has a countenance,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>which, from its mildness of expression, can be taken
as no index to his inward character, for he is cruel and
bloodthirsty, especially when in his cups. He calls his hotel
the Sheridan House—you see that it is popular. There are
many people constantly going in and coming out! But such
as you and I do not belong there!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The young man again cautioned McKenna to say nothing
of his revelations, and, after promising compliance, they entered
a saloon, had some refreshments, and then went home
in time for supper.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective could not retire to his bed that night without
at least attempting to see the man he had heard so much
about. He might prove the very person he desired to meet.
Therefore, excusing himself by saying he needed to make
some purchases up town, he procured a lamp, went to his
bedroom, carefully examined his revolver, placed it convenient
in his hip pocket, and sallied forth. Making sure,
after walking some distance, that Jennings was not in the
vicinity, he soon reached Dormer’s saloon.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch7' class='c006'>CHAPTER VII.<br> <br>BLOODY RECORD OF THE MOLLIE MAGUIRES.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>For the purpose of properly carrying out the <span lang="fr"><i>rôle</i></span> of a
truthful historian of actual occurrences, we will change the
scene, for a short season, and, leaving McKenna to seek
adventure with Pat Dormer and his associates, in Pottsville,
take a view of acts performed in the same portion of
the country, several years anterior to the time heretofore
alluded to.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>The Mollie Maguires were more than usually active and
bloodthirsty in 1865. On the 25th of August of that year,
David Muhr, superintendent of a colliery, was killed in Foster
township. He was shot on the public highway, in the
broad light of day, within two hundred yards of the house he
was employed in, and where a large number of men were
congregated, all of whom heard the report of firearms, and
many being involuntary witnesses of the transaction. While
this was the fact, no reliable testimony could be elicited by
the Commonwealth, when the matter was under investigation,
fixing the commission of the butchery upon any suspected
party. Nobody knew the men, where they had come
from, or where they had flown to. It was reported that signals
had been seen burning that night on the hills, soon after
the occurrence, and it was surmised they were built by confederates,
to aid the principals in the murder to make their
way to safety.</p>

<p class='c001'>Again, on the tenth of January, 1866, Mr. Henry H.
Dunne, a well-known citizen of Pottsville, and superintendent
of one of the largest coal-mining corporations in all that
circuit of country, was murdered on the turnpike, within
two miles of the city, while riding home in his carriage, from
a visit to a colliery over which he had control. Even up
to the present date, no arrests have been made, nor has any
information presented itself which promises to lead to the
apprehension of the assassins. That they killed Mr. Dunne
through complicity in some labor troubles was always the
prevailing belief.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id004'>
<img src='images/p0681_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p><i>“The fatal shots were discharged by the assassins, from their ambush, near the road.”</i></p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>To continue the barbarous record, on Saturday, the seventeenth
of October, 1868, Alexander Rae, another mining
superintendent, was killed on the wagon road, near Centralia,
in the township of Conyngham, Columbia County. Several
persons were distrusted, and a number arrested, charged
with the crime, and a strong chain of circumstantial evidence
made out by the Commonwealth against them. The highway
<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>on which the event occurred was that passing from
Centralia to Mt. Carmel, in Northumberland County, and
the exact location of the tragedy at a point distant about a
mile and a half from the latter place, in the neighborhood
of a spring where, for the convenience of travelers, there
had been erected a rude watering-trough, so that men, as
well as animals, might quench their thirst. Mr. Rae was
riding in his buggy, at half-past nine o’clock in the morning,
coming from his home, and going in the direction of the Coal
Ridge Improvement Company’s colliery. He was a peaceable,
inoffensive, but naturally fearless man, entirely unarmed,
and only intent, at the time, on performing his duty
to his employers in the pursuit of his regular calling. The
fatal shots once discharged by the assassins, from their ambush
near the road, the actors in the drama, without waiting
to learn the result of their bloody work, fled precipitately to
their refuge in the mountains, and for a long time entirely
avoided capture, or even the shadow of suspicion. The lifeless
remains of Mr. Rae were discovered, Sunday morning,
pierced by six bullets, and resting near the spot where the
attack had been made. As a natural consequence of such
an outrage, the utmost indignation pervaded the community
in which the victim had for years been a widely-known and
much-respected resident. The particulars, as far as they
were learned, were repeated from person to person, and the
news spread like wildfire to the most distant parts of the coal
country. Mr. Rae left an estimable widow and six children
to mourn his death. John Duffy, of Mahanoy City, Schuylkill
County, Michael Prior, of Branchdale, Thomas Donahue,
of Ashland, both in the same county, and Pat Hester, of
Mt. Carmel township, Northumberland County, <em>as was then
believed</em>, were the assassins. Some change in this regard
was made by subsequent events. Pat Hester was a married
man, forty-five years of age, and had several young children.
Prior was also married, said to be forty years of age. Donahue
<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>had a wife and one child, and was apparently forty-three.
Duffy was a bachelor, of about twenty-five years.
Thomas Dooley, of Palo Alto, Schuylkill County, standing,
by his own confession, in the position of an accomplice in
the wicked assassination, about a month after the commission
of the deed gave out facts which caused the apprehension of
the others just named. The cause came up, was heard on
an application for a writ of <span lang="la"><i>habeas corpus</i></span>, before Judge Kline,
one of the Associates of Schuylkill County; and all the
defendants were held for and sent to Columbia County jail
to await trial, which begun at Bloomsburg, Tuesday afternoon,
the second of February, 1869. Donahue, Prior,
Hester, and Duffy were brought into court, arraigned by the
Prothonotary, and a plea of “not guilty” entered on the part
of each. Upon application of Mr. Freeze, for the defense,
separate trials were granted, and the Commonwealth elected
to proceed against Donahue. Wednesday morning the prisoner
entered court, accompanied by the sheriff, and took a
seat by his counsel, Messrs. John W. Ryon, John G. Freeze,
Meyer Strouse, S. P. Wolverton, and Wm. A. Marr, an array
of talent which was well met by that included in the list of
counsel for the Commonwealth, Messrs. Linn Bartholomew,
Robert F. Clark, Edward H. Badly, M. M. L’Veile, and E. R.
Ikler, the last-named the District Attorney. After a patient
hearing the defendant was acquitted by the jury, and the prosecution,
thereafter, thought it advisable to abandon the rest of
the indictments. If Donahue could not be convicted—and
that had been demonstrated by the defeat in his case—it
was considered by the District Attorney and his corps of
assistants it would be impossible, at that time, to fasten
the murder upon any of the remaining defendants.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id004'>
<img src='images/p0682_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p><i>He fired a pistol shot into the left breast of the victim.</i></p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>So commanding and pervading in the community was the
subtle power of the Mollie Maguires, it was with the utmost
difficulty that a jury could be secured to try the cause, and so
abject had become the condition of terror under which the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>people submissively bowed their necks, seeing no possible
avenue of escape, that witnesses accredited with knowledge
of important points bearing against the prisoners, dare not,
in fear of their lives, mount the witness stand.</p>

<p class='c001'>So united were the Mollie Maguires, or whatever at that
time they were called, they swore to <span lang="la"><i>alibis</i></span> without number,
and barred all further immediate proceedings.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next important outrage of this character, charged
to the sanguinary clique under consideration, was that
upon the person of Wm. H. Littlehales, Superintendent of
the Glen Carbon Coal Company, which occurred March 15,
1869. Mr. Littlehales was also killed on the road, in Cass
township, Schuylkill County, while <span lang="fr"><i>en route</i></span> for his home in
Pottsville. The act was witnessed by several persons, but
the perpetrators escaped, and, up to the hour that I sent
James McParlan, otherwise James McKenna, into the coal
region, no information had been obtained concerning the
identity of the guilty persons.</p>

<p class='c001'>Frequent violent outcroppings of the organization also
occurred in Carbon County, which adjoins Schuylkill, extending
over a period of fifteen years, and including the killing
of F. W. S. Langdon, Geo. K. Smith, and Graham Powell,
all of whom were either superintendents of collieries, or in
some manner connected with mining operations. Mr. Smith
was assailed by a body of murderers in his own dwelling and
quickly dispatched, almost in the presence of his panic-stricken
family. Although several persons were under the
ban of suspicion, and supposed to have participated in the
affair, it was impossible, until after the lapse of many years,
to obtain any information as to the absolute guilt of the mistrusted
parties. Some of these were then arrested, put in
jail at Mauch Chunk, and in a short time thereafter forcibly
rescued, at night, by their associates in the order.</p>

<p class='c001'>It appeared that superintendents and bosses might continue
to be shot down, and there remained no power in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>the law for reparation. The assassins were sure to escape.</p>

<p class='c001'>The object of many of these dark deeds was doubtless revenge.
But the track of the avenger—or supposed avenger—was
covered, as with the obliterating leaves of autumn,
and not to be followed. The assassinations were all skilfully
planned, relentlessly carried out, and the bleeding bodies
and evidences on the ground of a deadly struggle were all
remaining to tell the tale of cruelty. The country was disgraced,
but seemingly there was no help for it.</p>

<p class='c001'>In 1870 occurred the murder of a man named Burns, near
Pottsville, and nothing was learned regarding his assassins.</p>

<p class='c001'>But the crowning act of the Mollie Maguires, up to the
time of my engagement in the matter of their investigation,
and the one reaching the culmination of many previous and
similar events, which exasperated the good people of the
anthracite region to the pitch where endurance ceases to be
a virtue, was the unprovoked killing, during the early evening
of December 2, 1871, of Morgan Powell, Assistant
Superintendent of the Lehigh and Wilkesbarre Coal and
Iron Company, at Summit Hill, Carbon County. The murder
was done at about seven o’clock, on the street, not more
than twenty feet from the store of Henry Williamson, which
place Powell had but a few moments earlier left to go to the
office of Mr. Zehner, the General Superintendent of the
Company. It seems that one of three men, who had been
seen by different parties waiting near the store, approached
Mr. Powell from the rear, close beside a gate leading into
the stables, and fired a pistol shot into the left breast of the
victim, leaning toward and reaching over the shoulder of
Powell to accomplish his deadly purpose. The bullet passed
nearly through Powell’s body, lodging in the back near the
spinal column, producing immediate paralysis of the lower
limbs, and resulting in death two days afterward. The
wounded man was carried back to the store by some of his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>friends and his son, Charles Powell, the latter then but fourteen
years of age, and there remained all night. The
next day he was removed to the residence of Morgan Price,
where his death occurred as stated.</p>

<p class='c001'>Hardly had the smoke from the murderous pistol melted
into and mingled with the air of that star-lit winter evening,
when the assassins were discovered rapidly making their way
from the scene of their savage deed toward the top of Plane
No. 1. They were met by Rev. Allan John Morton and
Lewis Richards, who were hurrying to the spot to learn what
had caused the firing. Mr. Morton asked, as they stopped
on the rigging-stand, what was the trouble, when one of the
three strangers answered: “I guess a man has been shot!”
One of this trio was described as a short person, wearing a
soldier’s overcoat, and the second also as being low in
stature, but the third seemed taller, and had on a long, black
coat. Mr. Morton and his friend passed on, and the murderers
started forward, taking the direction in which Mr.
Powell had pointed when asked by Morrison which way the
attacking party had gone. They paused but a moment,
when confronted by Morton and Richards, and appeared to
be surprised to see any one in the vicinity. Mr. Morton
thought that he might identify the smaller individual, should
he see him again, as he was only four or five yards from him
when he spoke in response to his inquiry.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m shot to death! My lower limbs have no feeling in
them!” was the exclamation of Mr. Powell when Williamson
raised his head. Yet who it was that had killed him no
one could tell. They were strangers, it was evident, but
where they had come from was a dark, impenetrable mystery.
Patrick Kildea, however, who was thought to resemble
one of the shorter men, was arrested and tried, but finally
acquitted, from lack of evidence to convict. This, for the
time, was the end of that matter.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch8' class='c006'>CHAPTER VIII.<br> <br>THE DETECTIVE SINGS, FIGHTS, AND DANCES HIMSELF INTO POPULARITY.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The Sheridan House, Patrick Dormer, proprietor, situated
in Centre Street, Pottsville, was somewhat celebrated in
annals of the town, and its reputation among the inhabitants
by no means doubtful or uncertain. While in some regards
the tavern boasted entire respectability, in certain others it
bore a name far from enviable. Its isolated honors were
due to Mrs. Dormer; its many dishonors to her physically
gigantic but morally erratic lord and master, and the calling
he followed. Many were the drunken brawls and midnight
orgies transpiring beneath its steep roof and within its tawny
brick walls; but against the lady of the house nothing could
be truthfully charged—except she was Dormer’s wife. The
edifice was neither private residence nor hotel, but a compound
of the two. Three stories in height, having a long,
low extension in its rear, lighted by a skylight, and in which
was located the well-patronized ten-pin alley; the basement
of the main structure was employed as dining-room, kitchen,
and laundry, and the first, or business floor, front, for saloon
purposes. Just back of the latter was a card-playing and
bagatelle division. Entering from the street, the first place
to the southward, or right hand of the visitor, was the bar,
the counter of which extended as far as the partition dividing
the tap-room proper from the small parlor. In the last
named apartment were stands and chairs for card-players,
and the bagatelle table. From this sitting room admission
was found to a gallery, or small balcony, overlooking the
ball-alley and from which spectators might watch the progress
<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>of the game going on below. Leaving the same corridor, or
hallway, a staircase led to the sleeping and other apartments
of the second story. There were two approaches to the
house from the street, one at the south and right hand,
penetrating to the rooms above-stairs, without troubling
people in the public places, and the other at the centre,
reaching directly to the bar room. The latter was a capacious,
comfortable affair, and the supply of drinkables in cut-glass
decanters, and beer, ale, and porter on draught, always quite
large, if not select as to quality and brand. The patronage
extended to the saloon was miscellaneous, but apparently
very profitable to the keeper.</p>

<p class='c001'>When McKenna paused before the house, from the interior
came sounds of rude music, evidently emanating from
some discordant and faultily-fingered violin. He succeeded,
however, in recognizing an air to which he had tripped many
a jig in the old country. Considering for a moment the
course he should take, the detective gave his tangled locks
an extra twist, stuck his hat on one side of his head, rolled
unsteadily up to the door, fumbled awkwardly with the knob,
finally turned it, and stood in the bar room. The picture
then presented to his eye was considered not uncommon to
behold in the mining district, yet rather striking to and
never to be forgotten by an uninitiated spectator. The
place exposed to view was about half filled with men, the
majority of whom were clad in rough attire—somewhat different
from the miner’s shifting clothes, however—and, with
their companions, stood and sat around a sprinkling of citizens,
mechanics, street laborers, and others. Pat Dormer,
towering high above all, and whose form the detective was
not slow to single out and know, through Jennings’ description,
seemed to be making himself actively useful outside,
conversing glibly with his customers, while his spouse, fresh-faced,
short in figure, and matronly looking, stood behind
the counter, dispensing with steady hand, ready smile, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>pleasant word the various stimulants in demand by her
patrons.</p>

<p class='c001'>In one corner, uneasily perched at the top of an empty
whisky barrel—stolid of eye and face, frowzy-haired, low-browed,
stunted in body, long of arm, and crooked spined—was
the spasmodic little fiddler, drawing away industriously
at his bow, his sallow cheek resting caressingly on the old
violin, and producing semi-musical tones not so easily understood
as entering into the composition of that frolicsome
piece, called “The Devil’s Dream.” With one big, boot-clad
foot he kept time irregularly against the staves forming
part of his throne.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p0802_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p><i>“He struck an attitude and without further prelude began his best Irish break-down.”</i></p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>All in the saloon were perfect strangers to McKenna, but
that made no difference. He staggered about near the
threshold for an instant, while he mentally measured the
people in whose company he was, and made a hurried inventory
of the immediate surroundings; then, appearing to
gather inspiration from the lively squeak of the fiddle, he advanced
to the middle of the floor, where remained a few
square yards of vacant space, struck an attitude, and, without
further prelude, begun his best Irish break-down. The steps
were nimble, well chosen, emphasized with heel and toe,
and, despite his assumed state of semi-intoxication, the time
was fairly kept with the measure of the tune. Dormer
looked upon the strange intruder, at first, as though undecided
whether he should toss him outside his door, as he
would a mangy cur, or applaud his terpsichorean performance.
Then he gradually absorbed the magnetism of the
dance, and the music made by feet and bow and string, and,
seating himself on a convenient chair, held his face between
his two brawny hands, the elbows resting on his knees, and
interestedly scanned McKenna’s movements, keeping the
rhythm, meanwhile, by swaying his broad shoulders from side
to side. The agile shuffling evidently gave him pleasure,
and, turning to the sleepy musician he loudly ordered him
<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>to “play fasther!” The request was instantly obeyed, and
quicker and quicker came the inspiriting notes, faster and
faster were the manœuvres of the dance executed, and the more
fantastically the dancer turned and whirled, and threw out leg
and arm, in gesticulations more grotesque than graceful.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Nae cotillion brent new frae France,</div>
      <div class='line'>But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,</div>
      <div class='line'>Put life and mettle in his heels.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>It was not long before every occupant of the place, Mrs.
Dormer inclusive, took up the measure and, while none but
the central personage actually indulged in a reel, beat time
to the chords the violinist touched.</p>

<p class='c001'>Dormer, as usual, was somewhat overcome by liquor, but
arose at the conclusion of the jig, advanced to McKenna,
who stood, for a few seconds, almost exhausted by his exertions,
took the detective by the hand and warmly welcomed
him to the place, saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Very good! Very good! Be the sowl of me great-grandfather!
I’ve niver seen such a jigger since the days
of jolly Dan Carey! Walk up, stranger, an’ have a sup of
the best in the house; an’ be the same token, let everybody
else take somethin’ at my cost! I am greatly plazed, that
I am, to recave such iligant company!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Av coorse I hev no objection in the worruld,” answered
McKenna, returning Dormer’s strong grasp with interest,
“wid the understandin’, if it be quite convanient, that I’m to
give all of yez a bit of a song afther the wettin’ of me whistle!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ a stave or so of a song is jist what we’re afther
the wantin’,” responded a man the operative had heard
called Kelly.</p>

<p class='c001'>The drinks were prepared by Mrs. Dormer with even more
than her usual dexterity. Then the uncanny fiddler vacated
his barrel-head, McKenna assumed his place, hat on head,
arms akimbo, and, without any accompaniment, gave the
following ballad:</p>
<div class='lg-container-l c015'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>“Pat Dolan, it’s my Christian name,</div>
      <div class='line in3'>Yes, an’ my surname too, sir;</div>
      <div class='line'>An’ oft you’ve listened to me sthrane,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>I’ll tell you somethin’ new, sir!</div>
      <div class='line'>In Cavan-town, where we sat down,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Our Irish hearts to inspire,</div>
      <div class='line'>There’s bould recruits an’ undaunted yout’s,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>An’ they’r led by Mollie Maguire!</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='c016'><span class='fss'>CHORUS.</span></div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“With my riggadum du, an’ to h—l wid the crew</div>
      <div class='line'>Wouldn’t help to free our nation;</div>
      <div class='line'>When I look back, I count ’em slack,</div>
      <div class='line'>Wouldn’t join our combination!</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Said Mollie to her darlin’ sons,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>‘What tyrant shall we tumble?</div>
      <div class='line'>That filthy tribe we can’t abide,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>They rob both meek and humble;</div>
      <div class='line'>There is one Bell, a child of h—l,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>An’ a Magistrate in station,</div>
      <div class='line'>Let lots be drew an’ see which av you</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Will tumble him to damnation!’ <span class='floatr'>—<span class='fss'>CHORUS</span>.</span></div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“The lot’s now cast, the sentence passed,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>I scorn to tell a lie, sir!</div>
      <div class='line'>I got my chance, it wur no blank;</div>
      <div class='line in2'>I wur glad to win the prize, sir!</div>
      <div class='line'>To swate Bill Cooney’s I did repair,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>To meet the parson, Bell, sir!</div>
      <div class='line'>At his brain I took me aim,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Sayin’ ‘Come down, ye fin’ o’ h—l, sir!’ <span class='floatr'>—<span class='fss'>CHORUS</span>.</span></div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Those Orangemen, they gathered then,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>An’ swore they’d kill us all, sir!</div>
      <div class='line'>For their frien’ Bell, who lately fell,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>An’ got a terrible fall, sir!</div>
      <div class='line'>But Mollie’s sons, wid swords an’ guns,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Wid pikes—pitchforks—glancin’,</div>
      <div class='line'>Those bould recruits an’ undaunted yout’s,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Stepped into the field just prancin’. <span class='floatr'>—<span class='fss'>CHORUS</span>.</span></div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>“Those Orangemen, they all stood then,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>To fight they thought it a folly;</div>
      <div class='line'>They’d rather run an’ save their lives,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>An’ leave the field to Mollie!</div>
      <div class='line'>Altho’ I’m in a foreign land,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>From the cause I’ll ne’er retire,</div>
      <div class='line'>May heaven smile on every chil’</div>
      <div class='line in2'>That belongs to Mollie Maguire! <span class='floatr'>—<span class='fss'>CHORUS</span>.</span></div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“One night as I lay upon me bed,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>I heard a terrible rattle;</div>
      <div class='line'>Who wor it but Bell, come back from h—l,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>To fight another battle!</div>
      <div class='line'>Then at his brain I took me aim—</div>
      <div class='line in2'>He vanished off in fire—</div>
      <div class='line'>An’ as he went the air he rent</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Sayin’, ‘I’m conquered by Mollie Maguire!’ <span class='floatr'>—<span class='fss'>CHORUS</span>.</span></div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Now I’m in America,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>An’ that’s a free nation!</div>
      <div class='line'>I generally sit an’ take my sip</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Far from a police station!</div>
      <div class='line'>Four dollars a day—its not bad pay—</div>
      <div class='line in2'>An’ the boss he likes me well, sir!</div>
      <div class='line'>But little he knows that I’m the man</div>
      <div class='line in2'>That shot that fin’ o’ h—l, sir!</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='c016'><span class='fss'>CHORUS.</span></div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Wid me riggadum du—an’ to h—l wid the crew</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Wouldn’t fight to free our nation,</div>
      <div class='line'>When I look back I count ’em slack</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Wouldn’t join our combination!”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>During the progress of the ditty—the air of which no
description can do justice to—the audience, the members
of which had gradually drawn nigh the singer, joined in the
refrain with a strength of lung and depth of voice causing
the casements to rattle and the air to resound. The enthusiasm
evolved was so intense and found such loud vent, that
some moments necessarily elapsed before quiet was so far
restored as to permit McKenna to make himself understood,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>after descending once more to the floor, as wanting the
friends present to “stand furninst the bar an’ have a noggin
of poteen wid him!” The request, when fairly heard, was
readily complied with.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was very soon revealed to the acute senses of the operative
that he had made an impression which could not well
fail in being useful to him in the future. The effect, in the
landlord’s case, was not to be misunderstood, and he, Jennings
had said, was a “captain among the Sleepers,” or Mollies.
The overgrown fellow was zealous in his openly-expressed,
newly-awakened regard for the stranger, and after
hearing some sentimental and comical songs, seated himself
by McKenna’s side and entered upon a course of minute
inquiry as to the detective’s nativity, residence, last occupation,
business in the mines, etc. Mrs. Dormer, in the
meantime, attended to the drinks, and was not long in perceiving
that their visitor—the lion of the evening, in fact—had
some money with him, and was, sailor-like, dispensing it
freely for the gratification of her guests. Dormer, on his
part, was soon in possession of the fact that McKenna was
from Colorado—but latest from New York—looking for
work, after which he proposed a trial at cards in the back
sitting-room, honoring the stranger by choosing him as his
partner. Kelly and a scowling, heavy-set, large-boned man,
named Frazer, were to be pitted against them. It was
euchre that they entered upon, the stakes being refreshments
for the four. The game progressed peacefully, Dormer and
his friend at first gaining some advantages, but the landlord
soon losing his little remaining wit, with accession of more
whisky, they began to fall off in the winnings. McKenna
was quick to see plentiful cause for this ill-success. Frazer,
when dealing, passed himself six cards instead of the proper
number, and played other tricks generally classed as among
cheats and frauds. The operative seized Frazer’s hand
and exposed the deceit to the gaze of his companions,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>denouncing the swindler in no measured terms. The
game was broken up; Dormer was raving furiously, and
all hands returned to the bar, where many of its former
occupants still remained. Once there, Frazer threw off
his coat, and challenged his accuser to fight him, saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll maul the sod wid any cowardly bog-trotter in sivin
counties that says I chate at cards!”</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p0801_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p><i>“I’ll bate ye fairly, an’ the coat on me back at that!”</i></p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>McKenna, in spite of the liquor he had been compelled to
imbibe, still retained his mental faculties and physical strength
in perfection—although, following the scheme he had started,
he pretended to be more deeply intoxicated than when he first
made his appearance at Dormer’s—and he scornfully looked
upon his opponent’s portly form as he defiantly responded:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Do ye think, fur wan moment, that I’m afraid of the
likes of you? Ye may live to larn better. I’ll bate ye fairly,
an’ wid the coat on me back, at that!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective tossed only his hat aside and squared himself
pluckily, while Dormer volunteered to act as his second, giving
the word to his friends, who cheered lustily for the stranger.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mrs. Dormer had disappeared at the first signs of a rupture,
and the bar took care of itself.</p>

<p class='c001'>Kelly seconded Frazer. The ring was formed and the
two men entered it, Frazer confident in his great strength
and the detective relying upon some experience in the manly
art of self-defense. The contest commenced. At the outset
McKenna acted purely on the defensive, only seeking to
throw off or evade Frazer’s many unskillful but heavy strokes.
He desired to study his antagonist’s tactics and test his muscle
before using offensive measures. The result was, at the
end of a protracted round, the smaller sparrer was dropped
to the floor by a sledge-hammer blow, fair on the ear. First
blood and first knock-down were claimed for the heavy-weight.
But these were all he secured to boast of during the continuance
of the fight—excepting severe punishment—as McKenna
carried off the honors in five consecutive rounds, at
<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>the close of all of which he deftly sent his opponent to the
earth, each time with a new wound of some sort to remember
him by. Between the bouts Dormer would take him to their
corner, place spirits to his principal’s lips, sponge off his face
and arms in regular prize-ring fashion, and return him in due
season for more work. The opposing man was equally well
served by Kelly, but, after so many fast-following and disastrous
defeats, his right eye being fully closed and useless, and
the other badly damaged, Frazer could not be coaxed or
driven to come forward to the mark again. Then his backers
gave him up, and Kelly took him away, a badly whipped and
quite crest-fallen bully. Victory was proclaimed by Dormer
for McKenna, and the Pottsville Giant was in great glee,
stroking the shoulder of his new-discovered pet and making
grimaces that he intended to be pleasing, but which were
more like demoniacal grins than smiles. Dormer shouted as
Frazer went out:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Good! Good! for me laddy-buck from the West! He’s
the true grit from head to toe! An’, hereafter, if anybody
in Schuylkill County jist wants to bother wid him, they must
deal wid Pat Dormer fust! An’ he’s no dawshy infant!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll have the laste taste of gin in mine!” said McKenna,
“an’ I belave all here present will join us in drinkin’ confusion
to all mane scuts and chates!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The sentiment was applaudingly echoed and the drinks
very quickly absorbed.</p>

<p class='c001'>Among others, one whom McKenna had heard called
Tom Hurley, came up and congratulated the victor, hoping
he had received no serious hurts.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh! nothing but a wee flea-bite on me smeller,” answered
McKenna, “which by the mornin’ will be all correct again!
A scrimmage like this every avenin’ in the wake, would only
jist give me jints nadeful exercise!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Thus ended the detective’s first experience in the amateur
prize-ring.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch9' class='c006'>CHAPTER IX.<br> <br>DORMER UNDER INVESTIGATION.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Kelly soon returned to the saloon, reporting his principal
in the late encounter as well as, under the circumstances, he
could expect to be, and hinting that, as far as he was concerned,
he was eager to resume friendly relations with
McKenna, who, he very frankly acknowledged, “wur quite
in the right, an’ Frazer far in the wrong!” This proved
enough to warm the heart of the operative toward the second
of his recent adversary, and the two men, left to themselves,
at once inaugurated a close intimacy.</p>

<p class='c001'>After another jig, to the lively tune of the “White Cockade”—suggested
by McKenna for a purpose, and which the fiddler,
already fast asleep and unmusically snoring, prone upon
a bench, was awakened to execute—the detective called all
hands once more to the bar, and, through the use of a little
legerdemain, filling his tumbler half full of water—but his
friends meanwhile thinking it undiluted gin—he proposed:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Here’s to ‘the power that makes English landlords tremble!’
Here’s confusion to all the inimies of ould Ireland!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Tom Hurley, who had been one of Kelly’s partisans,
enthusiastically thumped him on the shoulder and answered:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Hurrah! Them’s the sentiments! Let all here drink
to ’em!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Hurley, Dormer, and Kelly, with the detective, and the
remainder of the assemblage, drained their goblets in silence.
McKenna, who was on the alert, thought he noticed a communicative
wink passing between Kelly and Dormer, but
not a syllable was uttered to inform him whether he had hit
upon anything of importance in employing his well-remembered
<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>toast—first heard at Tremont. No language having the
sound of a legitimate response to it was he enabled to distinguish.
In a short time, however, Kelly came over to him
with a whispered request to repair to the little sitting-room.
He obeyed, and, as he followed to that place, he found
himself discussing in his own mind what might now be in
store for him—what would prove the result of the impending
interview. He was not fearful—but anticipated taking whatever
came with as good a grace as possible. After occupying
their seats, his companion remarked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Didn’t I see you at Minersville, not long ago, in company
with Hugh Mahan?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ may be you did! You might as well as not, at
laste, fur I war wid him, at that place, only the last month
sometime!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Kelly scanned the face of the detective sharply for a
second, and then resumed:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Do you chance to belong to the Emeralds? The benevolent
society of that name is what I mane!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“No, I do not!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, I know Mahan to be a mimber, an’ he’s been makin’
himself very free wid <em>lashins</em> of people, hereabouts, within
the past few wakes, invitin’ them to join, an’ I didn’t know
but you were wan of his sort!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Not at all! I niver belonged to any of the nature in
this counthry! In Ireland, once, sure an’ I had a little of
what ye might call exparience in that line!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Before the conversation could go any farther—as McKenna
thought, quite providentially—Kelly was called out
of the apartment, some person wishing to see him, and
Dormer entered and assumed his place at the table. They
both tasted the contents of a black bottle that the landlord
had brought with him, and then Dormer asked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“How long is it since ye war made a mimber?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“What do ye mane—mimber of phat?”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>“Oh, ye nade not be backward, young man! I hev taken
a likin’ to ye, and all in this house are my <em>friends</em>—an’
yours!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The word friend was peculiarly emphasized.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well,” said McKenna, “I never joined wid any body of
the sort in America; I didn’t know it would be any use to
me when I left home, so I jist quit it entirely. Had I
stopped long in New York, instead of goin’ to Colorado, to
dig in the silver mines, I might have acted in a different way,
kaping up me ould mimbership!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! I see what you intend! Bedad, but New York <em>is</em>
full of the rale stuff! Indade, I may say it is rotten wid that
same! I have been on the inside since I was old enough.
But recently I have had a slight misundersthanding, that I
nade not mention now, but it’s bein’ settled, an’ the sooner
the better it’ll suit me! When it is once fixed, I mane to be
the best among ’em again! Most of those outside are mimbers.
So you see you’re safe enough!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! but you see, Misther Dormer,” said McKenna,
sipping the liquor remaining in his glass, “it’s been such a
long time since I heard anything, or thought anything, of
the order, that, as ye might say, I’m almost as ignorant as if
I niver had seen the inside of the affair, an’ I belave, until I
am once more initiated, the best thing I can do is to say as
little about it as convanient! Perhaps, after a while, when
you all knows me betther, I may be found worthy of active
mimbership. I’m not the laste bit afraid but I’ll make as
good a society man as iver walked on two fate in all Pennsylvania!
I’m not at all frightened—don’t ye think that of
me!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Who would belave that ye war, afther the divil’s own
basting ye gave Fightin’ Frazer, an’ he all the while big
enough to put ye in his breeches pocket an’ walk off wid ye,
as a boy might wid a pet squirrel? Oh, nobody hereabouts
will long pretind to me that McKenna is at all timid!”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>Here Dormer—led off by expert hints, made by the operative,
quite forgot the object of his interview—which undoubtedly
was to fully test the stranger as to his former knowledge
of the Sleepers—and the conversation became general. Soon
it was wholly interrupted by calls from the bar-room, which
the landlord was forced to give attention. McKenna had
fabricated all that he made pretence of having gone through
with in connection with the order in the old country—being
as much in the dark, as to the interior work of the association
there as in the United States—for the purpose of drawing
something from Dormer, but he dare not enter far into
particulars, dreading an exposure of his shortcomings. He
thought it extremely fortunate that, thus far, none of his
associates had been able to fathom his assumptions or contradict
his assertions. Both of these had been purposely
kept rather indefinite, that he might safely retreat, assuming
to have spoken of some other society, should an exposure
be imminent.</p>

<p class='c001'>Presently the saloon was vacated and the doors closed.
The morning of another day was nigh at hand, and Dormer,
donning his coat, went with McKenna part of his way homeward,
and would not separate from the new-comer in Pottsville
until he secured a promise that he would frequently
visit the Sheridan House and make himself quite at home
there. They parted warm friends, the detective to go to bed,
and the innkeeper to return to his hotel.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next morning, when, after a few hours of unrefreshing
sleep, the detective arose, he felt very much the worse for
his fistic and other muscular exercises of the preceding
twenty-four hours. About every bone in his body ached
fearfully, and his eyes and lips were dry and inflamed. However,
an application of cold water afforded him some relief,
and, having partaken of a late but hearty breakfast, he again
evaded Jennings and went to the Sheridan House, according
to agreement. The landlord greeted him very cordially
<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>and joined in something liquid and inspiring; then informed
his visitor that, as he was an “old trump,” he was just the
man to go with him to attend to some business of a private
character in another part of the city. They attended church,
after which their steps took another direction, landing them
inside Capt. Dougherty’s saloon, where several of the men
McKenna had previously encountered at Dormer’s were
already convened.</p>

<p class='c001'>Dougherty kept a real estate office, was a sort of a lawyer,
and his son took general charge of the drinking place. The
elder Dougherty was present on this occasion, and did not
seem pleased that Dormer had brought a stranger along,
though he contented himself with scowling upon him and
saying nothing particularly hateful. Following a companionable
dram or two—one proffered all hands by the new
arrival—the men repaired to a back room, McKenna having
been previously warned by Dormer to remain behind, unless
sent for. In a moment he was alone in the bar-room, while,
as he supposed, a body of the bloody Mollie Maguires was
in session under the same roof. More than an hour elapsed,
and there was not an order sent in for a drop to drink,
which, considering the character of the party, was, he
thought, rather strange. Still the men remained in council.
He was only able occasionally to hear a confused murmur
of voices in the adjoining apartment, and could make out
nothing that was said. What were they deliberating about?
He could not guess, but he seemed to have a certain dread
of the result, as though it might affect his own safety. “Perhaps,”
he surmised, “these fellows are even now considering
whether I am an impostor or not, and should they prove
successful in showing me up in my true character my life will
pay the forfeit of my rashness in venturing among them.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Still he pretended to doze unconcernedly in his chair before
the cheerful fire.</p>

<p class='c001'>But all similarly uncomfortable thoughts were dispersed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>and his attention turned in another and more comfortable
direction by the sudden return of Capt. Dougherty to the
bar. And he came not for liquor. He evidently wished to
speak with the stranger, as he advanced toward him, extending
his hand pleasantly, saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Excuse me, friend McKenna, for keeping you so long
alone! I must ask your forgiveness for another thing!
When I first saw you here, I made up a rash opinion that
you were against us, and I so charged, as I now see, acting
under a mistaken notion, as I am fully convinced you are all
right, an’ ‘old head’—an’ I desire to see an’ know more of
you! Dormer vouches for you—and his word is not to be
questioned!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“What is it all about, now? What do ye mane?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I mean you are all correct! You are an ‘old-timer!’
That’s what I mean!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Af coorse I knew it! Why not? I hev no objections to
all that! I’m also agreeable to your better acquaintance!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And the detective’s thoughts were lightened considerably.
A load seemed lifted from him. And, the remainder of the
company soon coming in, he was cordially congratulated by
many, and quickly responded by another urgent request to
“assist in making the disappearance of some more noggins
of poteen.” That’s the way he fashioned it. All accepted
with alacrity.</p>

<p class='c001'>In a short time Dormer and McKenna took their leave,
after promising to look in at the saloon again. As soon as
outside Dormer began to inform his friend that a committee
had been engaged in investigating his own case, the charge
being that he, Dormer, was a member of an Odd Fellow’s
lodge, but so far they had been unable to fix it upon him,
and he did not believe they ever would. Dormer also
explained that Dougherty had cast doubts upon McKenna’s
genuineness, otherwise he would have been invited to take
a seat with the Board. Of course he was not very friendly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>with Dougherty for his “impertinence,” as he worded it,
and said he’d whip him, one of these days, if he was shoved
out of the order. As long as he remained in it, he would
not dare strike him a blow. McKenna said he forgave the
Captain and wanted nothing farther done about it.</p>

<p class='c001'>While making for the Sheridan House, Dormer invited the
operative to enter a saloon, and there introduced him to one
Deenan, alias Bushy Deenan—called so from his plentiful crop
of bristling, bushy hair and beard—where they met a number of
old acquaintances and made some new ones. Deenan’s was
another rendezvous for the Mollies in Pottsville. Not remaining
there long, the two once more started for Dormer’s house.
Arriving there, the landlord and McKenna had the bar to
themselves; and sitting in a comfortable chair, and stretching
out his huge limbs before the glowing stove, Dormer
commented upon one they had just parted from.</p>

<p class='c001'>“That man, Deenan, is a miserable hypocrite! I hev my
own opinion of the likes of him! They hev little good in
them—barrin’ the big talk—an’ that puts no whisky in the
can. He’s all smooth and straight while forninst ye, but
when out of sight he’s worse nor a rattlesnake. More nor
that, he has no backbone in him! When the trying time
comes you don’t find him there! He’ll wag his jaw till all’s
blue, but divil a bit of fight is there in him! For instance:
Last fall, early, when there was considerable excitement
among the miners, a fellow was to be beaten, for some reason
known to the byes who axed it to be done, in a township
not far from this, beyant the mountain, an’ the job fell on
my nephew, Jim O’Reilly, an’ Bushy Deenan. Well, I furnished
all the money needful, and O’Reilly, tho’ but a broth
of a boy, was all ready, cocked and primed, to start for the
place, when what should Deenan do but crawl squarely out,
like a cur, an’ say he’d have nothing to do with it! Faith,
he flew the track enthirely! Phat sort of a fellow would ye
be afther callin’ that in the ould counthry?”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>“Nothin’ more nor less than a craven coward! An’ they’d
expel him forever! I’d sooner be a rat nor such a man!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“You’re perfectly right!” said Dormer, grinning like the
ogre in the fairy tale. “I know you wouldn’t act that way!
The McKennas, in my part of the country, were always a
bould set, an’ honest to the heart’s core!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Swallowing this dose of blarney with as good a grace as
possible, McKenna asserted:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Thanks! I’ll try in the future to show that I’m wan of
the rale ould sthock!”</p>

<p class='c001'>At a late hour the landlord was much overcome with
drink, and when he bolted the door, after McKenna’s
departure, he shouted through the key-hole: “Come agin,
the morrow, ye thafe of the worruld, or I’ll bate ye within an
inch of your life!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Of course McKenna returned answer to this delicately-conveyed
compliment that he’d “be sure to do that same!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Light and elastic was the step, and buoyant and hopeful
the heart of the detective, that cloudy morning, when he
sought his pillow in widow O’Regan’s domicile. He had
now been for some two months in the stronghold of the
Sleepers, or Mollie Maguires, and labored hard, day as well
as night, to reach his present position of intimacy with men
prominent in the order. Success, he thought, was about to
crown his efforts.</p>

<p class='c001'>A few days passed, during which McKenna, who had
purposely cut the acquaintance of Jennings and been given
up by that young man as hopelessly in the snare set for him
by Dormer, was continually found at the Sheridan House,
gaining fast the reputation of an incorrigibly hard case, but
a good singer and dancer, and jolly companion, nevertheless.
One day, in the presence of one Arthur L’Velle, who was a
Mollie, according to Dormer’s report, when the detective
was bemoaning his bad luck in getting work, the tavern-keeper
said:</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>“I have regard for ye, McKenna, since ye whipped Frazer
so handsomely, fur nuthin’ plazes me more’n to see a yout’
able an’ willin’ to put up his hands and take care of number
one! Now, L’Velle”—turning to that person—“I’ll tell
you what sort of an idea has just been runnin’ through my
brain fur all the world like mice in a potato-bin. I’ve
been thinkin’ I’d give McKenna, here, a loud letter to Mike
Lawler, of Shenandoah, an’ it’s my private opinion that, if
‘Muff’ can’t get him a job, he may hunt the mines over all
this winter widout findin’ one!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ why do ye call him ye spake of ‘Muff’ Lawler?”
asked the stranger.</p>

<p class='c001'>L’Velle answered:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Because of a choice breed of chickens that he raises!
Dormer, your thought is a happy one! Lawler is a leader, up
there, an’ I know his friendship will in that way be secured—an’
it’s valuable to any man!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes,” said Dormer. “Lawler is the big dog in these
parts now; beside he kapes a good tavern, and will see no
old-timer, or young one either, for that matther, sufferin’
from want while he can relieve him!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Then L’Velle spoke up:</p>

<p class='c001'>“If it were not that Dormer and I are, for the present time,
under a little cloud, I, for one, should insist that you be furnished
with a <em>staff</em> to guide your steps over the mountains
and through the mines! But, by going up there and seeing
Lawler, you’ll soon be as well provided for! I know Mike’ll
do all he can for you!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I think I understand what ye allude to! I shall be
greatly obliged fur the letther! An’ as for the other matter,
when I gets to Shenandoah, I can look to it. But what is
it I see in the Boston <cite>Pilot</cite> about the Bishop bein’ opposed
to us? Wouldn’t it interfere wid me proper duties at the
church?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, bother!” answered the landlord, “that’s very aisy!
<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>Ye lave the body a while—resign, ye see—an’ then ye are all
right wid the praste. If ye wants to go back agin, who’s the
wiser? Not the clergy, sure! But you know all about it!
You are too old a head not to understand. An’ in Luzerne,
I hear, the prastes are more’n half way favorable to us—be
the same token, more will be afore many months! Oh, I can
tell you, it’ll not do ye the laste harrum in the worruld, an’ it
may do ye much good! Then, as ye are an ‘old one,’ we
wants ye in the order, for it nades some such to put sinse in
the fool-heads of the many new and spooney boys—an’ there’s
plinty of them, an’ to spare!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna promised, after some palaver, to think seriously
on the subject.</p>

<p class='c001'>As the reader is aware—but as the Mollie Maguires were
not aware—the detective was only too anxious to place
himself within the pale of the order; yet, when the matter
seemed so nigh accomplishment, he believed it best that
he move slowly, and it would not do to exhibit too much
anxiety. Great haste might spoil all and end in disappointment.</p>

<p class='c001'>In about a week’s time from the date of this conversation,
armed with a complimentary letter from the landlord of the
Sheridan House to Lawler, the operative started for Shenandoah.
At that place, if anywhere in the mines, he made up
his decision he would necessarily locate his headquarters.
There, if at all, he must solve the mystery surrounding the
Mollie Maguires.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch10' class='c006'>CHAPTER X.<br> <br>FATHER BRIDGEMAN GIVES JACK KEHOE A BLAST.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The night before the one on which McKenna had determined
to take his departure from Pottsville, while in Dormer’s
saloon, some words passed and a quarrel arose between the
detective and a young person named Philip Nash, and the
drunken desperado undertook the task, it seemed, of teaching
the stranger some of the tenets of the Molly Maguires
by actual demonstration. Whipping out his revolver, he
made known his intention of finishing him just then and
there, and, had not the operative been on the alert, and
immediately covered Nash with his own weapon, it is more
than probable that at least one career of usefulness in the
mining region would have met with a speedy termination.
As it transpired, Nash appreciated it was life for life, which
was far from his sort of game, and he waited action until
Dormer, with his powerful person, arrived and stood between
them, when he quietly lowered and put away his pistol,
McKenna following the example set, but taking especial
care to have the protector within ready reach of his right
hand.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Phil Nash!” exclaimed Dormer, “what is this you’re
afther doin’ now?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll whip this fellow, or me name’s not Nash!” was the
angry response.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Two can play at that trick!” retorted McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>Then the combatants came together again, despite the
presence of the big pacificator, Nash aiming a swinging blow
with his fist upon the detective, but happily missing him.
McKenna was more fortunate. His stroke, full at the side
<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>of the face of Nash, hit the mark, stopping with force behind
his opponent’s left ear, and tumbling him to the floor as if
he had been a felled ox. When able to do so, he regained
his feet, and, for the second time, essayed to draw his
revolver; but Dormer, seizing both the young man’s arms,
held him in a vise-like grip, as a mere child, saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“No you don’t, Phil! You’ve tried that once too often
already, and I now recommend ye to drop the matther
directly! McKenna, here, is an old-timer, an’ was inside the
ring when you were a wee gossoon! An’ you’re breakin’ the
rules in attackin’ him!”</p>

<p class='c001'>It was strange to see how quickly Dormer’s words wrought
a change in the irate bruiser. He released himself, promising
to obey the saloon-keeper, and, saying he’d make it all
right, caught both of the operative’s hands in his own, and
abjectly begged to be forgiven for his violence.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ I didn’t know ye wur wan of us!” he said.</p>

<p class='c001'>Of course McKenna, who was unhurt, and had not been
knocked down, could well afford to be generous, and freely
forgave the miner. They exchanged civilities, and drank a
noggin with Dormer, to seal peace and reconciliation.</p>

<p class='c001'>During the short walk to the depot, the ensuing day,
McKenna was accompanied by Dormer and Kelly, now his
warm and inseparable friends. At the train, the tavern-keeper
took the detective aside, and gave him, beside the
letter to Lawler—which he had previously put in his possession—several
separate slips of paper, bearing the names and
addresses of a number of leading Mollies. Among them were
John Gallagher, of Coaldale, and John Mahoney, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> the
Cat, of Gilberton. Each slip contained the information that
the bearer was a particular friend of the writer, looking for a
job of work.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Jist plaze to remember,” said the Pottsville giant, “that
you’re not to brathe a blessed word to any wan, that I tould
ye a single point! You see I’m out, at the present, an’ it
<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>wouldn’t be the right thing to be makin’ myself too forward
like, wid even an old head in the business! So, kape dark!
None of ’em will refuse ye help in gettin’ work, depind on
that!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll jist mind well what ye say, an’ many thanks for your
kindness, beside!” returned McKenna, as the bell struck
thrice, warning passengers that the cars were about to
move.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Good luck to you, anyhow! An’ be sure ye come to
my house for your Christmas!” were Dormer’s parting
words, as he clasped McKenna’s palm closely. Dan Kelly
was equally warm in his requests, and profuse in regrets
connected with their separation. Promising to be back in
Pottsville by the holidays, if he could possibly make it convenient,
the traveler stepped aboard the coach, and sped
away on his journey.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective, thinking it inexpedient to go direct from
Pottsville to Shenandoah, decided upon visiting some other
localities before stopping there. Perhaps he might secure
valuable points which would set him before the Mollies in a
favorable light. He had, early in the week, directed Superintendent
Franklin to forward any letters of his to St. Clair.
Stopping over, therefore, at that town, he received from the
postmaster a missive containing instructions to go to some
of the neighboring places, and then repair to Shenandoah.
He answered these, and also wrote to Dormer, saying
(what was not true) that he had met and agreed with a man
to work on a new water basin, in the mountains; hence
should slightly defer his visit to Shenandoah. He also told
the innkeeper that he need not write, as it was impossible
to say where he might remain, but agreeing to give him the
proper address as soon as it could be decided upon.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next point to honor with his presence was Girardville,
where McKenna knew there were many Mollies.
Arriving there, he secured a room at a second-class hotel,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>and started out to see the place. At one of the saloons he
encountered a man, who was named to him as Tom Durkin,
<span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> Lanky, a tall, raw-boned, ugly-looking fellow, who was
drinking very heavily. This party the detective easily attached
himself to, and soon learned that he was about to go
to Shenandoah, to see some relatives and old-time associates.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Do you chance to know one Muff Lawler?” inquired
the detective.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Know him? Do a child know its mother? Know him?
Be the staff of St. Patrick, that I do! Right well! An’
are you acquainted wid him?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Not personally,” answered McKenna, “but I’m on
purty good terms wid Bushy Deenan, Capt. Gallagher, Dan
Kelly, and more of his friends in Pottsville. An’, sure,
they’re a jolly crowd!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faith, an’ I’ve been in this country, it war four years last
Michaelmas, an’ never met their equals, nowhere! An’ you
knows that set do ye?”</p>

<p class='c001'>Lanky shook hands with the detective, making much show
of pleasure, and put his right forefinger to the right side of
his face in a peculiar style, at the same time watching the
movements of his companion. Then he asked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Do you know anything about it?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Not just at present,” responded McKenna, “but in the
old times I was well posted!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Of course this was enough for Durkin. They were companionable,
fraternal, convivial, and thus traveled about the
town together, Lanky introducing his new friend to all his
associates as “a fine chip of the old block,” or employing
words of a similar significance. Finally, it was with some
difficulty that McKenna shook him off, late in the day, and,
pleading business as an excuse, left him to finish his spree
solitary and alone.</p>

<p class='c001'>Here was another point gained by McKenna. One of the
latest signs of recognition of the Sleepers, or of some similar
<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>society, was in his possession. But he did not dare to
use it, well remembering an unpleasant episode previously
occurring to him at Pottsville. On that occasion, having
encountered Fenton Cooney, a miner from Wadesville,
at Dormer’s, he was spoken of as an ancient Mollie—Cooney
being actually what the detective assumed to be,
and a sharp one at that. Cooney at once proceeded to
test the new-comer, who, fortunately, was acting as though
greatly intoxicated. Quickly apprehending that he was
no match for the inquirer, from the direction that his
questions took, he imbibed a stiff glass of grog at the bar,
with his interviewer, and shortly thereafter fell over on a
bench and immediately passed into a state of semi-unconsciousness,
from which even Dormer himself, by a powerful
shaking, failed to arouse him. Cooney was very angry, and
told the innkeeper that he had a notion to kick the drunken
man—drunk only in simulation—from the house. Dormer
proved a friend, and insisted that it was all a mistake; there
was no doubt in his mind of the man’s former membership;
but he was a victim of liquor—which was his only noticeable
failing—and, if taken when duly sober, he had faith that
Cooney would recognize him as all he represented himself
to be. Some things he had forgotten, it was true, but he
remembered enough to satisfy him that he was all right.
Cooney, not so easily deluded, roundly swore that he could
never believe the stranger a true friend until he produced
his clearance card from the body to which he had belonged.
Escaping so narrowly from this impending trap, the detective
was more careful thereafter. Evidently he must see
clearer and travel further before successfully imposing upon
well-informed Sleepers. It proved also quite fortunate that
he cut adrift from Lanky, as, before night, that besotted individual
found himself under arrest for an aggravated assault
upon a man who had indiscreetly spoken against the Mollies
in his presence.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>It was the middle of December, 1873, that the detective
made his <span lang="fr"><i>début</i></span> in the pleasant little town of Girardville.
One of the first persons for him to meet was Pat Birmingham,
a school-teacher, who addressed him:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Stranger, didn’t I see you, a few days ago, at Dormer’s
place, in Pottsville?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faith,” responded McKenna, “ye did that! I remimber
ye perfectly! I wor just a little under the influence, on
that occasion. An’ it’s that way I am much oftener than is
good for me moral char<i>ac</i>ter! But I’m jist reformin’ a bit
now—by the same token, will ye have a sup wid me?—I’m
flush, an’ don’t mind tratin’!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I don’t care if I do have a taste,” answered the schoolmaster.</p>

<p class='c001'>During their trip to a saloon where the pedagogue said
they kept the best Irish whiskey in town, McKenna gave out
that he was just in receipt of his pension from the government,
granted him on account of wounds he had suffered
from while serving, under Commodore Davis, on the flag-ship
Blackhawk, at the capture of Memphis, in 1862. And it was
well taken by Birmingham, as was the liquor, when they had
found it. McKenna managed to water his portion considerably,
so that its effect upon him was not noticeable.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I suppose from the company I found you in at Pottsville,”
said the teacher, “that you are an Ancient!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ phat is that?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“A Mollie Maguire!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ you’re wrong there! That is a thing I’ve heard
of, but know nothin’ about.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Just the way with all of them! I believe if I asked Pat
Dormer, he’d deny being a member, point blank! It’s all
right, though! Every man to his faith! But I’ve known
some who are Mollies and, at the same time, quite decent
people and honorable citizens. Now there’s Jack Kehoe,
for example, in the tavern over the way. He’s the most
<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>staunch man in the business, but, for all that, a very good
neighbor, an’ I never saw him drunk in my life, or beating
anybody, inside or outside his saloon. That you can’t say of
everybody, Mollie or not Mollie!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I have heard of Kehoe,” said McKenna, “but I have
not the pleasure of his acquaintance. Before I lave the
borough, I mane to give him a call. Still, I wants ye to
understand that, tho’ rough appearin’, an’ given to rather
hard company, I’m not quite a Mollie Maguire!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This was thrown out as possibly suggestive to the citizen
that he invite him into Kehoe’s; also, by denying all knowledge
of the society, to cause the hearer to more firmly
believe in his membership. Birmingham did not, or would
not, take the hint, and neglected to ask the new-found friend
across to see Kehoe, but, as had been intended, he did gain
strength in the idea that McKenna was connected with the
mysterious brotherhood. Some further talk ensued, when
the men separated, the pedagogue to attend to his pupils,
and the operative to pursue his investigations.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p0981_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>Kehoe’s Residence.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>The afternoon of the following day McKenna left his
hotel, fully determined to secure an acquaintance with Jack
Kehoe. The weather was stormy, business dull, and he would
probably find a number of men congregated in the tavern.
Kehoe’s residence—the Hibernian House—which is expected
to play an important part in the pages of this work, was
and still is a two-story frame building, situated convenient to
business, not a great distance from the Catholic church in
Girardville. Having its gable to the street, and a single
square window at either end, directly beneath the peak of
the roof, the usual supply of casements and doors for a
structure of the size, and painted a dull, red color, on the
ground floor, front, was the bar-room, and in the rear of that
the kitchen. From the latter apartment a staircase gave
access to the living rooms of the family in the story above.
There was also a door from the bar, leading to the cook’s
<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>domain. Throughout the interior the arrangements for occupation
were of a comfortable but inexpensive character, and
everything was cared for in a manner evidencing the capacity
of Mrs. Kehoe, in the <span lang="fr"><i>rôle</i></span> of housekeeper, as better than
ordinary. It was also reported in the town that she was the
sharper member of the hymeneal firm, and fully in accord
with her husband on the Mollie Maguire question. She
probably approved his membership, not because of any particular
bloodthirstiness in her disposition, but because the
affiliation brought money to their family purse and politically
elevated Jack Kehoe.</p>

<p class='c001'>Kehoe, as the operative had already heard, was a native
of the city of Wicklow, Ireland, some twenty-seven miles
from Dublin, and a man of but common education. His
wife had been a Miss O’Donnel, of Mahanoy. Their family
consisted at the time of five children.</p>

<p class='c001'>When the detective entered the saloon, he found several
miners within, clad in their holiday suits, showing that they
had not been working that day, or were on the night shift.
The proprietor of the place, in person, was behind the
counter, evidently in good humor, and everything passing to
his satisfaction. McKenna stepped modestly to the bar,
ordered a drink, swallowed it, paid the reckoning, and then
occupied a seat on a bench while he filled and smoked his
short pipe. Some pleasant words, dropped to a man near
him, regarding the weather, were answered cheerfully, and
soon the conversation took a wider range, engineered by the
new arrival, and culminated in that person’s second call at
the bar to inquire of Kehoe as to the prospect for work
brightening up, and asking about the chances for a stranger
getting employment. Kehoe responded quietly, without a
very pronounced brogue:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, times are rather hard here at present, but there’s
a show of their soon mendin’. I hear that some collieries
now lying idle, are to begin operations in a short time. If
<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>they do, then more hands will be needed. Perhaps some of
the men here may know, better than I, the opportunities for
immediate jobs. They are mostly miners. I say, Mike,”
turning to the man McKenna had previously been speaking
to, “is there a show for work, for a stranger, that you know
about?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Shure, an’ I don’t mind me of any! But some one
else may!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And Mike, as he was called, with several others, came up
to the bar, as if willing to be consulted. McKenna, thereupon,
acting as he seemed to be called upon, under the circumstances,
very promptly set forward drinks for all, which
Kehoe prepared and the company disposed of with evident
relish. The general expression, however, was that the
operative would hardly be able to secure a job until more
collieries commenced active work.</p>

<p class='c001'>While Kehoe stood concocting the different beverages,
the detective embraced the opportunity, without appearing
to do so, of observing the man more minutely. He was
seemingly two or three years past forty, but time, in his
flight, had been lenient, and left few noticeable traces upon
his countenance. There were some impressions of crow’s
feet at the outer corners of his small, sharp, light-blue eyes,
occasionally a gray hair among the plentiful brown ones of
his head and in the equally dark, full whiskers and mustache.
The beard was noticeably lighter in color at the far ends, as
though somewhat faded. The eyes were set too close together
to give a square, honest look to the face, as a whole,
which was slightly cadaverous in appearance. The nose,
unnaturally sharp, as though pitted by small-pox, assisted in
forming for Kehoe a fox-like and cunning look, and the
forehead was straight and reasonably high. It was the impression
of McKenna that, if Kehoe should ever get others
into a difficulty, he would probably manage to keep out of
it himself. He was athletic, erect, and could hold his own
<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>in a crowd, but did not seem inclined to quarrel, or risk his
person too rashly in an encounter from which ingenuity could
extricate him. Not above medium height, or weight, his
shoulders were square and strong, and his limbs muscular
and well proportioned. His hands, which had seen labor,
now looked fair and white. Generally agreeable in manners
to strangers as well as acquaintances, he claimed a number
of friends, yet no really warm and devoted personal followers.
Formerly a miner, the tavern proving more profitable and
less laborious, he had of late years done very little manual
labor. Whisky-selling and politics were giving him plentiful
money and power, and he liked both exceedingly well.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna’s proffered treat had touched the feelings of
Kehoe in a tender place, favorably introduced him to a portion
of the Girardville community, and it was not so very
long before he was on the best of terms with all in the house.
Finally finding that his reputation in that line had preceded
him, and having been invited to do so, he was prevailed upon
to strike up a song, and gave, without accompaniment,
“Larboard Watch,” followed soon by “Kathleen Mavourneen.”
At the request of a native of Scotia present, he then
sung, in fair voice and accent, the “Collier Laddie,” by
Burns, beginning:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Where live ye, my bonnie lass?</div>
      <div class='line'>An’ tell me what they ca’ ye;</div>
      <div class='line'>‘My name,’ she says, ‘is Mistress Jean,</div>
      <div class='line'>And I follow the collier laddie.</div>
      <div class='line'>My name,’ she says, ’is Mistress Jean,</div>
      <div class='line'>And I follow the collier laddie.’”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>This particularly pleased the miners, one of whom felt so
merry over the strain that he called up the crowd and proposed
a toast to “Bobby Burns, Mistress Jean, and the
stranger singer.” It was drank with highest honors, and
then the landlord could do no less than follow suit. This
business was kept up until nearly night.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>When the hangers-on had dropped off, one by one, to their
homes, Kehoe stepped from the bar, sat down by the
stranger’s side, and showed himself unusually communicative.
He ended by calling McKenna to the counter and drinking
a toast, which, from its sound and sentiment, he was positive
must have been a Mollie signal; but the detective knew too
well the result to try a response, and contented himself with
drinking it in silence. Kehoe went further and gave him
the identical sign, with the hand to the face, which he had
noticed Lanky using the day before. To this also McKenna
remained blind. He was not to be caught.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I see that you know nothing at present,” said Kehoe
at last.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faith, an’ that’s exactly true for ye,” responded the detective.
“It’s a very long time since ever I was within.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That makes no difference, for I am also an old-timer,
dating back to ’66.”</p>

<p class='c001'>And Kehoe peered suspiciously at the stranger from his
half-shut eyes, while he awaited some identifying movement
or word from McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>Here was more trouble. Another Ancient had been encountered
who was not to be trifled with. It was no longer
stolid Pat Dormer who stood before him.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Now for it,” thought the bothered detective. “Deil a
thing have I to trate him wid, barrin’ some balderdash that
I gave in Pottsville, an’ which I’m positive ’ll not fool
Kehoe.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Once again fortune favored him. At this very opportune
moment a man from Pittsburg, called by the saloon-keeper
Tim Gallagher—a traveling liquor dealer, opened the door,
entered, and greeted Kehoe as an old acquaintance. He
was introduced to McKenna, who was treated by Kehoe
and his friend as a true Ancient Order man, and informed
that the last arrival was at the head of the society in Pittsburg.
Several other persons now coming in, Kehoe forgot all
<span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>about his investigation, and the operative was very far from
giving him any hint to return to it. Just before supper-time,
Gallagher, Kehoe, and McKenna—who that day by chance
wore his Sunday suit of clothes, the weather being too cold
for his first costume—all sallied forth, leaving the tavern to
the charge of Mrs. Kehoe, to make a few informal calls upon
city friends and companions. Gallagher, as they walked,
enlightened his co-member upon the condition of the order
in Western Pennsylvania. He said the part of country
named was full of the spirit of the order, and they had everything
their own way, the clergy being with them very
cordially, if not inside the ring. During their round they
stopped at the house of the resident Catholic clergyman,
Father Bridgeman, who, despite his many and violent denunciations
of the Mollies, was a personal friend of Gallagher.
After the usual greetings the Pittsburg man asked the
priest, jokingly:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Have you ceased scolding the Sleepers yet?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“No, I have not!” said the clergyman, “and never shall
while they remain as they are.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Why is it that the Church in this part of the State acts
so differently in this regard from the Catholics in Pittsburg?”</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p0982_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p> <i>“A withering curse rest upon it, and upon all in any way connected with it.”</i></p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>“The cases materially differ,” answered the priest, warming
up quickly. “With you, in the west, the members have
something like friendship for one another, and the order is
not managed in the interest of politicians, tavern-keepers,
and other bad men. Here it is in the control of a few unscrupulous
fellows, who care not for God or man, only for
themselves and their own pockets. Yet they call themselves
Irishmen! They can sneak around and whip and kill some
unfortunate person—some mining boss, or superintendent,
or destroy property, thus scandalizing those in the Church
of the same nativity—but they do not dare to turn out in
regalia on St. Patrick’s day, with honest Irishmen, for then
<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>they would be known and marked for the murderers and
assassins they are. Oh, it’s a bad, bad society! A withering
curse rest upon it, and upon all in any way connected
with it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The priest evidently felt every word that he said, and,
though one of the most generous of men, could find no good
language to waste upon the Mollie Maguires.</p>

<p class='c001'>Kehoe listened to the denunciation, his head slightly
bowed, but said nothing in reply. The color of his face
changed a little and his lips quivered perceptibly, yet no
words escaped him. Gallagher spoke evasively, and the
detective remained silent. After some talk over other and
more pleasant matters, the party took leave of the priest.
He made no excuse for his harsh language. He believed
that it had been deserved, and had, therefore, nothing to
take back. In the streets Kehoe maintained a moody
silence. His small eyes wandered from object to object,
however, resting on nothing long. He was wounded by
the imprecations of his clergyman, yet could find no means
of escaping their weight. Gallagher and McKenna endeavored
to rally his sunken, sullen spirits, but in vain. Up to
the time of their separation he seldom spoke. Excusing
himself, the operative returned to the hotel for supper, and
spent the evening writing in his bedroom. After sealing his
report and preparing for an early start for Shenandoah—where
he determined to go at once and encounter the lion,
Lawler, in his native jungle—he retired to his bed and wooed
repose.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch11' class='c006'>CHAPTER XI.<br> <br>A KILKENNY AFFAIR AT TAMAQUA.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Taking cars over the Shamokin branch of the Philadelphia
and Reading road, the ensuing morning, McKenna
started for his destination; but, overhearing a conversation
occurring in the seat before his own, between two rough-looking
men who boarded the train at a station not far from
Shenandoah, during the course of which he learned that
Muff Lawler had gone on a short visit to some friends in
Pottsville, he concluded it would be best to shun the locality
for the present and proceed at once to Tamaqua, a city
that, thus far, he had devoted very little attention to. When
the train stopped, therefore, at the point named, he took up
his satchel—having left the remainder of his baggage at the
hotel in Girardville—alighted at the depot, and, proceeding
at once to the Columbia House, which he had understood
from Dormer was frequented by the Mollie Maguires when
visiting the city, secured a room and made the acquaintance
of the innkeeper, named Marks. Although by this
time somewhat accustomed to rough society and unruly
transactions, he soon acquired the information that, of all
the cities, towns, and villages he had seen in Pennsylvania,
to Tamaqua, at that date, must be awarded the palm for
holding prominence in these particular characteristics. It
appeared to be the centre of attraction for a flock of unemployed
stragglers, discharged men from adjacent collieries,
tramps, and other reprobates. Liquor flowed unrestrainedly,
and was largely consumed in the various saloons and taverns.
A storm of wind, rain, and sleet prevailed, and the streets
wore a deserted appearance, while the grog-shops and gambling-rooms
<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>were all crowded and in full blast. There were
other disturbing elements at work in the community, one
being the strike of the miners, which had just been inaugurated.
A basis for the settlement of differences existing
between the proprietors and the employés of collieries, had
only recently found the miners prepared with a prompt negative,
and, without some agreement—and that seemed far
away—not a man among the laborers would dare begin operations.
Hence idleness prevailed—“an idle brain is the
devil’s own workshop,” in the coal regions as elsewhere—and
bad habits, bad deeds, were among the results accompanying
this unsatisfactory state of affairs. While some of the
miners had gone elsewhere, seeking jobs for the winter—a
portion to Luzerne, and others to Columbia County—there
were many who, having families and homes thereabouts demanding
attention, yet remained, waiting for some change to
better their condition.</p>

<p class='c001'>Tamaqua was filled with excited men and exciting whisky.</p>

<p class='c001'>Not long after reaching the city, who should present himself
to McKenna’s notice but the identical Dan Kelly, left,
not so long before, in Pottsville; the man who became his
friend, and who, somewhat earlier, had backed Fighting Frazer
in his contest in Dormer’s house. Of course they expressed
themselves as mutually glad to see each other. The operative
explained to Kelly that the party for whom he was to
have worked in the mountains, on the mythical water basin,
was found to be a first-class deception; and, leaving him in
disgust, he had visited the adjacent country in search of
work. All of this Kelly received with perfect faith in its
truth, however untruthful; and that personage told the
detective, in turn, that he was more fortunate, having obtained
a paying job at Boston Run Colliery, less than two
miles from the borough of Tamaqua. In fact, the reason of
his visit to town that day was to buy a suit of shifting clothes.</p>

<p class='c001'>Kelly at once insisted that the operative should accompany
<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>him to a saloon and partake of something warm and stimulative.
This constituted an invitation not easily refusable
under the circumstances. It was accepted, and the drinkables
enjoyed. After this, and following some talk about
mining and acquaintances in Pottsville, the detective went
with Kelly to the train, and saw him safely off for home.
Kelly had remarked that Tamaqua was no place for men like
himself and companion, as there were no friends in the town,
the nearest being at Old Mines, some five miles distant.
Occasionally a few straggling brothers accidentally convened
at some tavern in Tamaqua, but no regular organization had
ever commenced or been maintained in the city; several
times, however, the thing had been started, and as often
fallen through.</p>

<p class='c001'>Upon returning to the Columbia House, and while
partaking of supper, McKenna was accosted, in a friendly
way, by a man who had been introduced to him as
Gillespie:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Are you posted as to the standing in the community of
the man with whom I just saw you at the depot—I mean the
one carrying the bundle on his arm?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ why not?” answered the detective, still maintaining
more of the brogue than was natural for him. “Why not?
Do I know Dan Kelly? Sure an’ I lately made meself a
companion of his, at Pat Dormer’s place, in the borough of
Pottsville. An’ didn’t he back Fighting Frazer agin me fur
the first bit of a scrimmage I ever enjoyed in Schuylkill
County? That he did! An’ he war gentleman enough not to
harbor malice agin me! On the conthrary, I flatter meself
that he an’ I are rather warrum friends at the prisent moment!
What should I be inquarin’ as to his char<i>ac</i>ter for?
He’s all correct, isn’t he?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Manus has been very unfortunate.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Manus who?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Manus Kull, sure!”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>“Manus Kull? Is that the name ye give the person I saw
off on the train, beyant?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Certainly! That’s his name!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, Mr. Gillespie, I hev regard for ye, but must say
that ye labor under a mistaken idea! It war Dan Kelly, a
miner—an’ he has work not so far from this town—that I saw
to the train the day!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, I know what I am talking about!” said Gillespie, a
little nettled by McKenna’s unbelief. “He is Manus Kull!
I insist upon that, say what you may! Haven’t I known him
since he was knee high to a rabbit? and, sorry I am to say
it, since he came to the age of maturity it is very little I’ve
learned to his credit.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Kelly’s the name I’ve always heard him called—Dan
Kelly, at that—an’ sure I didn’t take him for wan of those
havin’ occasion to dale in double names an’ deceptions!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“He is none other than Manus Kull; tho’ since his
troubles he may have adopted some other man’s name, having
doubly dishonored his own. And, what is more to the
purpose in my speaking with you, to put you on your guard,
lest you make an intimate associate of him, to my certain
knowledge he has served a term of three years in Luzerne
County jail for biting off a man’s ear, in the course of a
rough-and-tumble fight, at the town of Wilkesbarre. And
upon one court-day there were not less than eight or nine
warrants out and in the hands of officers for his arrest, for
offenses ranging all the way from assault and battery to burglary
and highway robbery. He has broken his poor mother’s
heart, has Manus Kull!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The talk continued in this strain for some moments,
during which the detective learned—as before he had more
than half suspected—that Kull, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> Kelly, was only one
among many hard cases usually congregating at the Sheridan
House. Expressing some surprise, however, that he should
be thus misled, he continued his meal in silence.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>During the same evening two miners, named Mullhearn and
McGinly, arrived at the hotel from the neighborhood of
Mauch Chunk, both in a state of semi-intoxication and ready
for any sort of adventure that might come within reach. The
large bar-room gradually filled with people. Finally the two
strangers, concluding a deal of loud talk plentifully interspersed
with oaths, managed to get up a wrestling match in
the apartment, a ring being cleared for the purpose. Then all
was noise and confusion. Some, not particularly interested
in manly sports, were engaged in drowning sorrow, from lack
of work, in deep potations at the bar. Others sat, nodding
stupidly in their chairs. After a protracted struggle, in
which several heavy falls were given and received on either
side, Mullhearn was fairly thrown, his antagonist coming
down upon him with great force, and McGinly declared the
victor. The result of this decision was the formation of two
parties in the assemblage, a McGinly party and a Mullhearn
party; this culminated, as might have been expected, in
the usual Kilkenny fight, in which all participated, battering
skulls, blacking eyes, breaking noses, and spoiling countenances
generally. During the prevalence of this hurly-burly,
one Dougherty, who commanded a crowd of roughs like
himself, and who was affected more than those about him by
the liquor he had drank, pulled out a pistol and commenced
discharging it into the walls, ceilings, floors, counters, or
whatever eligible objects he chanced to see. Fortunately,
the supply of cartridges was quickly exhausted and nobody
hurt except the ruffian himself. One of the missiles from his
weapon, rebounding from the hard wood of the counter, came
back with force, striking Dougherty in the left hip, inflicting
a painful but not deadly wound. The shooting had been in
sport, and, the practical joker, having received merited reward
for his ghastly jest, the disturbance was quieted, and
while his injury was examined almost silence reigned.
McKenna, saying he had some experience in the surgical line
<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>volunteered to dress Dougherty’s hurt. His navy service was
again alluded to, and, as there was no doctor nigh, the duty
finally devolved upon him of staunching the blood and binding
up the injury. A little whisky and water, properly applied,
soon performed the first, and a keen pen-knife quickly laid
bare the bullet, which had not penetrated deeply, and it was
deftly extracted by the fingers. Then more whisky and
water cleansed the hurt, while a plaster was procured from a
neighboring drug-store, applied, and, the patient, feeling quite
easy, before the borough police had discovered who had
done the shooting, Dougherty resumed his carousal with
his associates.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p1142_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>McKenna saying he had some experience in the surgical line, volunteered to dress Dougherty’s hurt.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>Marks, the proprietor of the hotel, was able to breathe
more freely when the Dougherty crowd vacated the premises.
McKenna earned many plaudits from Dougherty’s friends
for the skill he had exhibited in amateur surgery, but Dougherty
himself said that he had cut him more and deeper than
necessary, and he would never forgive him for it. Unreasonable
as this certainly was, his followers earnestly endeavored
to convince the drunken fellow of his error, but the
liquor in him had turned his brain, and it is presumable that
he might have sought to punish the detective, who had assisted
to preserve his worthless life, had not others prevailed
upon him to defer it until the morrow, and finally succeeded
in coaxing and dragging him off to another tavern. In a
short time he was as drunk as ever. Some of the Dougherty
crowd said if they ever wanted a doctor they “would send
for that fellow just from the Rocky Mountains.”</p>

<p class='c001'>As much to get out of the way of the intoxicated men as
from any other reason, McKenna, the hour still being early,
left the bar-room and hunted up Pat Nolan, to whom he bore
a letter from Dormer, finding the man soberly at his home.
Nolan read the epistle and said he was happy to meet any
friend of Dormer, but was sorry to say that work, for the
present at least, was simply out of the question. They had
<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>some quiet games at cards, and passed a couple of hours
pleasantly, when the detective bade all good-night, and, at
about eleven o’clock, went back to the Columbia House.
Before midnight, leaving the place well filled on the ground
floor, he retired to his bed—but not to sleep, as fate or circumstance
ordained. Too much noise rang upon his drowsy
ear to make slumber possible. He had been between the
sheets, tossing uneasily from side to side and enjoying such
brief intervals of repose as he could catch betwixt waves of
uproar and riot rising from the depths beneath him, during a
couple of hours, perhaps, when there was a resounding rattle
at his chamber door. Without moving, he asked, in no pleasant
tone:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Who the divil’s there?”</p>

<p class='c001'>The answer was not particularly reassuring:</p>

<p class='c001'>“We want to get in!” said somebody in a thick, gruff
voice.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna quickly appreciated the fact that Dougherty
and his unruly crew were looking for him.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Go away, an’ don’t bother me!” shouted the operative.
But this had no other effect than to increase the force that
some person was exerting upon the bolts of the bedroom
door. Visions of sanguinary Mollie Maguires, and an unpleasant
feeling that they might possibly have penetrated
his disguise, discovered his deception, flitted through his
weary brain. But instantly dispersing all such thoughts as
mere dreams—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in2'>——“Interludes, which Fancy weaves</div>
      <div class='line'>When the monarch, Reason, sleeps”—</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c014'>he leaped from the bed, making considerable stir, lighted a
lamp, and said, in a loud, determined, and unfaltering voice:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Now, get away out of that, ye spalpeens, or I’ll jist blow
the head off some of yez!”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>The shaking of the lock soon ceased, and the steps of
several persons were heard retreating. Once more seeking
his pillow, the weary man endeavored to obtain some repose.
But in a little while he again distinguished the stealthy fall
of human feet nigh the entrance of his apartment. Dougherty,
for the second time, was trying to force admission to
his presence.</p>

<p class='c001'>“We <em>must</em> get in!” exclaimed the drunken man.</p>

<p class='c001'>Exasperated at this long-continued annoyance, McKenna
turned out, struck a light, donned a portion of his garments,
suddenly unlocked and opened the door, and brought the
forbidding, dark muzzle of his heavy seven-shooter plump in
Dougherty’s face, demanding his business with him at such
an hour and such a place. Hesitating somewhat, and dodging
his head from side to side to escape McKenna’s aim, he
faltered out:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I can’t find me partner! Didn’t know but he might be
in this room!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I don’t know anything about your partner, if you have
wan, an’ I give ye due notice that I’ve had plenty and
to spare of you an’ your eternal racket! So get out of this,
quick! An’ don’t ye come banging about here any more!
Sure, an’ if ye do, I’ll make serious trouble wid ye!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Perfectly quieted down by the pistol, the detective’s undaunted
front and resolute language, Dougherty and his
companions took themselves off, invoking anything but compliments
upon the man who had sent them away so unceremoniously.
Again McKenna extinguished his lamp and
courted repose. For a short time he slept fitfully and ill at
ease, but, about an hour before daylight, he was aroused by
sounds of a desperate row in progress below stairs. Pistol-shot
after pistol-shot echoed along the corridors and through
the rooms, making the hearer think that a small army of
bushwhackers were attacking the house, and practising to
see how many bullets they could lodge in the weatherboarding.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>He finally started up, unable longer to bear the confusion,
and, after putting on his clothing, took the light in
his left hand, and with the right resting on the butt of his
revolver, which he held ready for immediate use, in his outside
coat pocket, noiselessly opened the door, made his exit,
and moved toward the supposed scene of conflict. Not
much accustomed to the sense of fear, the detective thought,
as he bent his steps in the direction of the warfare, and as
the jar and other evidences of deadly strife smote more
clearly upon his ear, he really experienced a feeling akin to
that of a soldier when receiving the “baptism of fire” upon
his initial battle-ground. At least there was a queer creeping
of the flesh, a chilly blast over his back and shoulders, a
novel rising up of the scalp, as he entered the dark, deserted
bar-room, and still heard, as though in the distance, the rattle
of small arms. The fight was evidently losing none of its
intensity. “Perhaps it has been transferred to the kitchen
or dining-room,” he thought. It must be in one or the
other, and in which he could not decide. Upon opening
the entrance of the latter place, however, the mystery was
quickly solved, and a strange spectacle presented itself to
his vision.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch12' class='c006'>CHAPTER XII.<br> <br>McKENNA MEETS A MORNING ADVENTURE.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Before him was the long, low, dark dining-room, only a
small portion of which, at one extremity, was illuminated
by a single tallow candle, trussed to the wall with an old,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>rusty, bone-handled fork, and the flaring lamp held over his
own head. On a line with, and at one end of the deal table,
which extended nearly from one side of the apartment to
the other, and at a place properly described as the head of
the board, were grouped in deep shadow, only broken by
fitful flashes from McKenna’s light, a number of men, all
sporting revolvers, rapidly loading and firing, without regard
to order or regularity, at the target—a rough, white hat,
loosely nailed to the partition not far from the candle.
Every member of the reckless gang was more or less intoxicated.
Among them the spectator saw several of Dougherty’s
friends, but the leader himself had been put in bed—otherwise
under the dresser—about an hour earlier, and
there he reposed, his uncovered head—rough, long-haired,
and pallid as to face—supported on the bent right arm, as
helpless as an infant and almost as still as a stone model of
the spirit that he evidently worshipped—Bacchus.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p1141_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>And there he reposed, his uncovered head,——rough, long-haired and pallid as to face,——supported on his bent right arm.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>“Halloo! here’s the docther!” exclaimed a short, ruffianly
fellow, wearing a huge fur cap, thrown backward
from his forehead, showing his front hair, black, short, and
stiff, and holding in his hand a revolver full half a yard long,
which he had just discharged a dozen times at the mark without
once coming within the length of his weapon of hitting
it. “Halloo! Give the docther a chance!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! Give us a taste of your marksmanship!” said the
frightened publican, who had remained with his gentle and
lamb-like patrons to protect his furniture as well as he could
and prevent the wild madcaps from firing the building in the
course of their innocent gambols. As it was, the thin barrier
of plank, separating the dining-room from the kitchen, was
thickly perforated with black apertures, ranging from the
size of a pea to that of a musket bullet. Luckily, at that
hour of the morning, no person was employed, or chanced
to be in, the culinary department of the house, and hence
injury to life and limb had not resulted from the careless
<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>use of fire-arms. The wall only was shattered, and it, while
made of wood and neatly covered with light paper, bore the
appearance of having been irregularly pierced with innumerable
circular openings for purposes of ventilation.</p>

<p class='c001'>Promptly accepting the invitation, as he was certainly in
for it by reason of his appearance on the spot, the detective
deliberately raised his pistol, and, in rapid succession,
fired two shots, both of which struck the target near its
centre.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Bedad! He’s as good at firing bullets as he is cuttin’
them out of wounds!” shouted the individual with the fur
cap, putting away his pistol. “He’s bate the best shot; an’
now I move that we quit, before the policeman comes an’
interferes wid our little divarsions!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The suggestion was taken advantage of by Marks, the
guttered candle extinguished, and, headed by the operative,
all made their devious way to the bar-room, where, from the
reason of his close firing, McKenna was informed he would
be expected to stand treat. This he willingly did, and the
men—excepting such as were found physically unable—soon
began to disperse. The few remaining were disposed of as
expeditiously as possible, some in bed-rooms, and others in
seats beside the fire, where they would be in no danger of
freezing to death. Then the disgusted landlord and the
worn-out detective retired to their respective apartments.
McKenna gained his bed, prepared for a nap, while the sun
was ushering in another day.</p>

<p class='c001'>As a natural consequence of passing such a horrible night,
the agent slept late, and it was near dinner-time when he
arose greatly refreshed. The same day he received a line
from John Deenan, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> “Bushy,” in response to one he
had previously sent the tavern-keeper. As Deenan’s epistle
forms a portion of this eventful history—although its author
has long since been gathered to his fathers—it is printed in
full, as follows:</p>

<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span></div>
<div class='quote'>

<div class='c011'><span class='sc'>Pottsville, Jan. 19, 1874.</span></div>

<p class='c001'><span class='sc'>Dear Sir</span>:—I received your welcome letter, which gave
me a great deal of pleasure. I was glad to hear from you.
I have written to Alex. Campbell to inform you of what is
going on there, so you can go to him and he will tell you all
about it. He lives at the upper part of Tamaqua. He
keeps a tavern. We are all well at present.</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Yours truly,</div>
      <div class='line in9'><span class='sc'>John Deenan</span>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

</div>

<p class='c001'>This presented an opportunity for forming the acquaintance
of Campbell, which the sojourner in the land of the
Mollies was not slow to embrace, immediately calling at the
locality indicated. He was cordially received by the landlord,
who was a tall, bony, angular-shaped personage, dark
of hair, moustache and imperial, sharp of eye, the forehead
being rather low and straight, the nose long, sharp, high-bridged,
and with a curved indenture either side of the arch.
His age might have been forty years. His wife and several
children formed the entire family. All united to make the
honored guest welcome during the remainder of that day.
Campbell was found a sharp, shrewd man, and fully aware
of his consequence in the order. He said that Bushy
Deenan had advised him of McKenna’s intended arrival,
but, under the circumstances, he could not see how he
would be able to accomplish his wishes in securing employment.
Should work be resumed, he would gladly do all in
his power to find a place for him, or say or do anything
where his influence would be for his visitor’s advantage. As
concerned any other business toward which Deenan might
have hinted, he could only refer him to Muff Lawler, who
had all such matters in charge. After a pleasant season,
and carrying with him rather more liquor than he felt absolute
need of, McKenna returned to the Columbia House in
time for supper. There he met, for the first time, one
<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>Christopher Donnelly, fated subsequently to be associated
with some of the chief actors in my narrative, a leading
Mollie, and at the time ostensibly engaged in preparing banners
and regalia for the Brotherhood, to employ in the
approaching celebration of St. Patrick’s day, when the
Mollies proposed publicly appearing in the procession with
the Benevolent and other Catholic societies. Donnelly was
a man of ordinary appearance, above thirty in years, having
lightish brown hair, with mustache of the same color, light
eyes, and, as he stood, the detective estimated, about five
feet seven inches in height. His features were thin and
small, but not unhandsome, the face having disfiguring marks
of coal and powder, showing that he had followed the business
of mining. He was married, and the father of a family.
After four years’ service in the army, he came out, at the
end of the war, with a fair record for bravery and good conduct.
McKenna was of the opinion that Donnelly was in
some way connected with the treasurership of the society’s
funds. He was soon on intimate terms with the stranger,
and the friendly feeling was strengthened when McKenna
informed him of his service in the United States Navy. Not
too communicative, crafty, calculating, and fairly educated in
the common English branches, Donnelly was somewhat above
the average, in the way of intelligence, among miners. He
departed by the early train for his home at Mt. Laffee.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective now thought it time that he turned toward
Shenandoah. He therefore took his baggage to the depot
and procured a ticket for that place. Bidding the few
friends he had made at Tamaqua farewell for the present,
he mounted the smoking-car and soon afterward found himself
in the then hot-bed and grand centre of the Mollies for
Schuylkill County. Framing the usual excuse, that he was
looking for a job in some colliery, he managed to extract
the information, without exactly making inquiries, that Lawler
was still absent in Pottsville and not likely to return for
<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>several days. He at once determined to go there and make
the gentleman’s acquaintance, if possible, in Dormer’s saloon,
where he knew he would be surrounded by true and faithful
friends. The weather was freezing cold and he would have
a good reason to urge for the short journey, in that his wardrobe
sadly needed replenishing. An overcoat and some
other articles of comfort were in pressing demand. Consequently
he remained in Shenandoah but a few hours, going
by the next train to Pottsville. It was not long before he
was again at the Sheridan House, in company with his
former companion and fellow Mollie, big, smiling, ugly Pat
Dormer. The innkeeper was so highly elated to once more
behold McKenna, that he quickly entered upon a grand
spree, that bid fair to last him a week, during which time he
would do little more than guzzle whisky and beer and sound
high the praises of the “d——st best Irishman in the whole
of Schuylkill County,” as he frequently designated his particular
friend from Denver. Without appearing too deeply
interested, the detective discovered that Lawler was yet in
Pottsville and habitually frequenting certain bar-rooms more
industriously than seemed exactly incumbent upon a perfectly
sober citizen. Hence he waited the time when he
should arrive at Dormer’s house.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was Wednesday, the twenty-first of January, that the detective
encountered the object of his secret search, Michael
Lawler, upon entering the Sheridan House, after breakfast.
Lawler was deeply in his cups thus early in the day, yet
sufficiently sober to walk erect and know exactly what he
was about. It was cloudy, rough, and stormy outside, and
the sort of day well calculated to tempt men to seek comfortable
corners. A number of prominent and active Mollies
were in Dormer’s place, with Lawler, when McKenna made
his appearance there. He recognized, in the man he had
been looking for, a rather prepossessing personage, something
past forty in years, above medium height, heavily but
<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>not clumsily built—yet more fleshy than the generality of
miners—with black hair and heavy side whiskers of the same
dark color, the chin being shaven; eyes a deep hazel, and
withal, “Muff” was slightly bald at the crown of the head.
His cheeks wore a ruddy and healthful look, and the skin
was fair and clear. As McKenna subsequently learned, Lawler
claimed a wife and six children, the oldest of the offspring
a girl of eighteen, and the youngest a boy past three years
of age. He was quite pleasant in manner, free-spoken, and
used a noticeable shade of Irish accent. He bore the reputation
of being a steadfast friend, as well as a relentless but
not subtle enemy. His absorbing passion was cock-fighting,
and a rare breed of game chickens, which he raised and bet
upon, called mufflers, gave him the <span lang="fr"><i>sobriquet</i></span>, among his
intimates, of “Muff” Lawler. A practiced miner, strong,
able-bodied and industrious, he usually obtained work at
some of the collieries if such a thing was to be had in the
vicinity.</p>

<p class='c001'>Upon the introduction of the detective to Lawler, by
Dormer, which ceremony was performed in the grim giant’s
most fascinating style, the Shenandoah man remarked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m plazed to meet you, Mr. McKenna! Through
your friend, and mine, Pat Dormer, I’ve heard about you,
and begun to wonder where you were taking yoursel’ to—had
expected to see you at my house in Shenandoah!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Bad scran to me, but I’m glad that I’ve come up wid ye!”
replied McKenna, “an’ I’m just from your town, where I
stopped only a few hours. As work war dull there an’ I had
no frien’s, you bein’ away, I jist rode over here to take another
glass wid Dormer, an’ who should I run right forninst but
the very person I have wanted to see! I shall only buy myself
some warmer clothes an’ then go straight back to Shenandoah,
where, if I can get work, an’ a dacent, comfortable
boardin’-place, I propose stopping most of the winter—that
is, providin’ some swate friends of mine, who are mighty
<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>pressin’ in their attentions, but that I don’t crave to see jist
at this present moment, may not come afther me sooner.
Av coorse I shall attind church while I’m here, as it may be
me last chance for some length of time!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ I can’t do that same!” said Lawler, with some regret
in his voice, “for I am too deeply in somethin’ of which the
clergy disapprove! I’m fixed about as high in that, however
as they make them in the county! I suppose that Dormer
has given ye that information already?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! I have heard as much!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“By the same token!” here interrupted Dormer, “I sint
a bit o’ letther to ye, Mike, by McKenna, an’ now that he’s
met you, sure, the line will be of no use!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That’s so!” said Lawler. “It’ll be all the same! Any
friend of yours—any old head especially—will be sure to meet
a warm welcome at my house!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Here one of the men forming the company directed
Lawler’s attention to an article in the daily <cite>Standard</cite>, stating
that the Philadelphia and Reading Coal and Iron Company
was about to bring five thousand raw men into the county
to work their mines. Lawler was very much interested in
this, and read the entire extract aloud, commenting upon the
same:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m a man of learning, I am, have some small sense,
and know a little of what’s going on in this region of country,
and I can tell you all that, if Mr. Gowen, President of the
Philadelphia and Reading Company, undertakes to do anything
like what this piece in the paper sets forth, in place of
having the State Militia here to protect his men in the
mines, and keep his breakers, shafts, and depot buildings
from the torch, it’ll take all that force and all his time and
skill to protect his own life!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That’s so! That’s so!” was the hearty response.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I look a person in the eye, myself, an’ I know in wan
single moment whether I spake to a true man or not!”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>“I admire your courage an’ ability, Mr. Lawler,” said
McKenna, “an’ I’m of the opinion that Mr. Gowen—if that
be his name—will think over it a long while afore he’ll
trust a force of raw men in his mines! At any rate, he’ll
soon see, if he tries it, that such a thing will not work in this
country.”</p>

<p class='c001'>This agreement with the boys gave McKenna standing
with them at once.</p>

<p class='c001'>The subject was discussed at length by all hands, and the
universal opinion was, if the Company tried to butt against
the society, the society would soon show the management of
the railway, and the coal organization, of what kind of metal
it was composed.</p>

<p class='c001'>During the ensuing day Lawler was more sober, and, saying
that he had already been too long from home, made preparations
for an immediate return to Shenandoah. Before
leaving, however, he very cordially invited McKenna to call
when he reached his locality, saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll make you as safe and secure as you can be anywhere!”</p>

<p class='c001'>From this significant remark the detective inferred that, as
he had all along intended he should, Dormer had given a
hint to Lawler that the stranger was a hard case generally,
and engaged in concealing himself from certain officials in
Western New York, who were in search of him for having
killed a man in Buffalo a year or so before. It was more
than probable that his reputation as a dealer in counterfeit
money had also been discussed by the same worthies.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll accept your offer wid pleasure,” answered McKenna,
“an’ I think it’ll not be many days before you’ll see me face
in Shenandoah! I believe it’ll be just the place for me!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective and Dormer attended Lawler to the cars
and bid him good luck on his journey.</p>

<p class='c001'>After Lawler’s departure time hung rather heavily upon
the agent’s hands. He had nothing particular to attend to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>that was of importance in his calling, excepting to make the
acquaintance of as many Mollies as possible, impress on
the mind of Dormer the necessity of covering his tracks
from the New York detectives, and secure the names of
such persons as would be likely to listen to propositions connected
with his counterfeit currency schemes. He pretended
that he might soon have a supply to be disposed of.
Dormer would sit for hours in his chair, when customers
were not plentiful, and drink in, with open eyes and gaping
mouth, the wonderful tales the detective related of his
strange adventures in foreign lands, the different people
seen, and the narrow escapes he had made from capture and
drowning while in the naval service. The little trouble experienced
with another man in Buffalo, in which his antagonist
chanced to be killed, was often repeated, with such embellishments
as his inventive genius supplied. Once in a
while he would exhibit a genuine bank-bill and tax Dormer’s
acuteness of vision to the utmost in finding out the difference
between it and those he knew to be genuine issues of the
same bank. He was hardly able to distinguish the peculiar
secret mark which, McKenna sagely told him, “spotted the
‘flimsy’ as of the sort called ‘queer.’” That it was spurious,
however, was evident, from the fact that the exhibitor
<em>said</em> he could “sell any needed quantity of similar banknotes
at the exceedingly low rate of forty cents on the
dollar.” His word was not to be doubted.</p>

<p class='c001'>“For the life of me, I can’t see why it is not of the
genuine issue!” Dormer would remark, with a puzzled
look on his naturally sardonical face. “I’m no <em>bocaun</em>,
as you’re aware, but may I niver die till I see me own
funeral, if the wan bill isn’t every bit as good, to me, as
t’other!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faith, an’ wan is jist as good as the other,” McKenna
would reply, <span lang="la"><i>sotto voce</i></span>, “for two thirds of all them bills is as
false as Sam’s masther—the devil—but don’t say a word
<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>about it! As long as the paple don’t know the truth,
where’s the difference?”</p>

<p class='c001'>Of course the detective never kept a dollar of spurious
money in his possession, never intended to, and never permitted
himself to be drawn into any sales of that which he
had given out as bad. It was sufficient for him if he made
his companions believe that he was driving a profitable business
selling the stuff, and further, that he was in regular
receipt of a pension from the government, to account for
getting on in the world without much work, and at the same
time appearing to have plenty of funds for his personal
wants. This he managed to do, for Dormer told several
cronies, and they spread it among the Mollies.</p>

<p class='c001'>While McKenna was in Pottsville on this occasion—about
the 24th of January, 1874—transpired news of the murder,
at Miner’s Hill Gap, of a man named Bradley. The information
reached him through the columns of a newspaper.
He at once determined to go to Shenandoah, see Lawler,
and find out, if possible, whether the Mollie Maguires were
the perpetrators of the deed. He waited until the close of
the Mission in the church, and then, on the twenty-ninth of
the month, prepared to leave. Dormer, who had recovered
from his debauch, with a sober face informed the detective
that, hereafter, he would have nothing to do with secret
societies, intended faithfully to perform all his church duties,
and in fact become a better man than he had ever been
before. He advised the trip to Shenandoah, and said, when
once there, Lawler would, if he so desired, make him all
right in the society. It was Saturday, the 31st of January,
that McKenna found himself, for the second time, in the
handsome city of Shenandoah. If he should now prove successful,
it would not be so long before he would see the
inside workings of the Mollie Maguires.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch13' class='c006'>CHAPTER XIII.<br> <br>MUFF LAWLER AT HOME.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The day following the one on which he arrived in Shenandoah
was the Sabbath, and, believing Lawler would be
unemployed, McKenna put in an early appearance at that
gentleman’s house. The landlord was apparently much gratified
to meet him. After a number of calls to the bar—for
only a portion of which the detective was allowed to disburse
his money, the remainder coming as so many warm expressions
of good-will from the proprietor of the place—McKenna
threw out some feelers which brought up a discussion of the
circumstances attending the Bradley homicide. Lawler
spoke of the affair with apparent frankness, but could not, or
would not, make even a guess as to who had prompted or
committed the crime. Not desiring to push the subject, and
saying carelessly that “possibly the man merited all he had
received”—to which insinuation the saloon-keeper made no
direct or audible response—the subject was dropped, and the
conversation turned upon other things. Lawler affected to
have known nothing about the case until he saw a statement
of it in the Shenandoah <cite>Herald</cite>, and, as that paper was bitterly
opposed to the Mollie Maguires, of course he was not
exactly prepared to credit everything appearing in its columns.</p>

<p class='c001'>In a few hours the stranger was invited to partake of dinner
with the family. He accepted, of course, and received an
introduction to Mrs. Lawler and the children. Knowing how
to make himself agreeable to the mother, he praised her
child, said he had her eyes, etc., and concluded, after the
meal, by swinging the boy upon his knee, and singing a simple
<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>refrain which amused him greatly. Lawler and his wife were
pleased with the attention paid—even by this apparently
rough, uncouth wanderer—to their youngest, and soon themselves
became more communicative. In fact, Lawler, as far
as he was concerned, needed no farther argument than his
record as a jolly, good fellow, the least bit tempered with rascality,
as obtained from Pat Dormer, to induce him to feel
kindly toward McKenna. Mrs. Lawler was accustomed to
think much as her husband did in most matters, and she, true
woman that she was, looked with the eye of friendship upon
him. How greatly these first impressions upon both sides
influenced acts and events which followed, the careful reader
will be able to determine. It is sufficient now to say that the
traveler had praised Mrs. Lawler’s progeny, gaining a welcome
seat in the family circle, and was certainly better pleased
with the company than with any he had enjoyed since leaving
Philadelphia.</p>

<p class='c001'>Lawler informed his friend that he would do all he could
to secure employment for him in the mines, but, should he
succeed, the wages would be low, at the highest not above
ten dollars a week, and the labor severe. He must naturally
begin at the bottom round of the ladder, and gradually, if at
all, rise in the scale to the rating of a miner. It required
time and hard work to reach that position. The place of
“butty,” or helper, even, was not so very easy of acquirement.
McKenna here put forward the idea that he was
accustomed to manual labor—which was not exactly the
truth, though, in the old country, he once worked on a farm,
and had his muscles hardened by considerable out-door exercise.
Some years had elapsed, however, since his hands
were employed in real toil and he had earned his bread by the
sweat of his brow. Still, he expressed his willingness to try,
and said that he would accept anything yielding him a decent
compensation, his principal object being—as Lawler had
doubtless been informed by Dormer—to remain <span lang="fr"><i>perdu</i></span>, out of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>sight and quiet like, until certain people should lose all trace
of him. He believed, he told Lawler, in a whisper intended
to impress the hearer that there was a mystery surrounding
him, that the depths of a slope and a miner’s attire, with the
grime and dust incident to delving in a colliery, would about
as effectually cover him from the pursuit of those so anxious
to come up with him, as anything in the way of disguise he
could wear, or any calling he could engage in. Muff coincided
in this opinion.</p>

<p class='c001'>Lawler’s residence, in which the detective was making
himself quite at home, was and is a respectable but unpretentious
wooden structure, painted outside of a brown color,
and two stories in height above a low basement. In the
front part of the first floor was the usual bar-room, the
counter extending across the northern side of the apartment.
Behind the counter were exhibited the commonest saloon
fixtures, glasses, decanters, bottles, etc. At one end of the
eastern side was a door, opening into the kitchen, employed
also as a dining-room, from which latter apartment extended
a staircase reaching to the upper story. On the second floor
there were but two partitions, forming three compartments.
In the rear of these were two beds, for the elder children. In
the middle room was one double bed. In the front room,
much more spacious and better furnished than the rest, was
the couch occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Lawler. There were
also the usual bureaus, tables, chairs, and other furniture of
similar habitations, with a stove, sofa, rocking-chair, mirrors,
and pictures. It was far from a bare and unsightly place of
abode. Rather the contrary, and showing, in the neatness
and order prevailing, that Mrs. Lawler was a good and careful
housekeeper. It was, in fact, the best room in the house.</p>

<p class='c001'>In other parts of the dwelling, the arrangements for home
comfort were not extensive or expensive, yet all that could
well be expected of people in Mr. and Mrs. Lawler’s sphere
in life.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>Passing the time very pleasantly at Shenandoah, which is
an agreeable and growing city of some three thousand inhabitants,
the detective made occasional trips—as he informed
his new-found friend, with an expressive wink of the eye,
“upon particular business”—to the town of Colorado, where
he encountered and became intimate with one Hugh Mulligan,
then to Rappahannock and other points, in all of which localities
he made good friends among the Sleepers. He eventually
took up his abode at Lawler’s house, occupying the bed in
the centre apartment, up stairs, in company with Mrs. Lawler’s
brother, and paying a reasonable compensation for room
and board.</p>

<p class='c001'>Situated as he now was, in the midst of the hardest characters
and most devoted Mollies of the whole country, living
in the house, and on most intimate terms of friendship, with
the leading spirits of the organization, though not yet a member
of the murderous order, it was plainly incumbent upon
the detective, if he cared for preserving his own life and promoting
the success of the Agency, to exercise more than
ordinary prudence and discretion in all of his words and
movements, that he might not be thought other than the
wandering vagabond, fleeing from justice, that he was generally
believed to be. It seemed especially necessary that his
correspondence with the Philadelphia office should not be
discovered, or even imagined. The precautions and safeguards
placed about that portion of the business before McKenna
started from the city, would baffle all inquiry, in the
end, if once set on foot, but even the breath of suspicion
should not be allowed to arise. Men have been murdered
from the mere supposition that they might be guilty of acting
as detectives, in Ireland, and the same spirit pervaded the
ranks of the Mollie Maguires here—hence matters calculated
to excite a surmise must be deeply buried. The detective’s
compulsory letter-writing, if made public, even though
its object and destination were ever so well disguised, might
<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>place him in a dangerous predicament. Thus he was alert,
and continually vigilant. Excepting it might be in inditing
a letter to relatives in the old country, and then only at long
intervals, he seldom wrote anything—that is, as far as his
companions were apprised. His daily reports must, however,
be prepared as usual. This was mandatory upon him, and
in no case to be omitted if the duty could be safely performed.
Occasionally a day or two might be unavoidably missed, and
then the consolidated report would go forward in one envelope.
Sometimes he was forced to take a short journey to an
adjacent town, secure a room at a second-class hotel, and
there indite his letters and mail them to the proper address.
Thus they would quickly reach Mr. Franklin. Writing-paper
and envelopes he could with safety keep in his possession.
They might rest in his satchel, which he frequently left unlocked,
without danger of causing those to wonder who might
curiously open that receptacle. But any large supply of
postage stamps would hardly seem consistent with the character
he assumed. He must not purchase them at the
Shenandoah post-office, but a quantity were forwarded to him
from Philadelphia. These came to him in due season. With
the envelope containing them in his hand, he sat upon the
side of his bed, and the question arose: “What shall I do
with these troublesome little things?” He first thought of
hiding them in some of the many pockets with which his
rough clothing was furnished. But the chances were that
some time, when he was enacting the <span lang="fr"><i>rôle</i></span> of the deeply intoxicated
man—as he had done, and undoubtedly would again
be called upon to do—he might be searched and the mischievous
stamps discovered. Besides, from exposure to
inclement weather, he was frequently drenched to the skin,
and the stamps would in such a case be reduced to pulp
and destroyed. They must be concealed—but where? When
did one of his countrymen ever give over as hopeless any
scheme or plan, when exertion of ingenuity might supply the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>bridge that would safely bear him over an obstacle? The
instances are rare, and McKenna was not to be the subject
of one of them. “Can’t I put them under my stocking, next
the sole of my boot?” he asked himself. No, that would
never do. Moisture, friction, and his weight would combine
soon to deface and ruin the stamps. An expedient, in this
connection, however, now occurred to him, and, taking out
his pocket-knife, he made a small, narrow opening in the
sheepskin lining of the leg of one of the heavy top boots,
and betwixt that and the heavy leather formed a pouch, the
mouth of which was almost invisible, in which, after wrapping
them in some strong paper, he deposited the postage-stamps.
In this safe place, as long as he remained in the vicinity, he
continued to carry them. He was reasonably sure of having
them always convenient; and, as he had but one pair of
boots at a time, could hardly forget to take those with him,
however suddenly he might be called to remove from one
point to another.</p>

<p class='c001'>Another thing which troubled him not a little was to obtain
a constant supply of good ink. Several small bottles, which
he procured and kept hidden in his room, froze solid, and the
fluid was spoiled. The Lawler family was not literary. Its
members made small use of pens, ink, and paper, and a fragment
of red or white chalk employed upon a portion of the
bar shelving, and well out of sight behind bottles and cigar-boxes,
formed blotter, journal, cash-book, and ledger for
Mike. His was a cash business, calling for no account-books.
Ink was a superfluity in his house, the absence of
which could well be pardoned. Both of the heads of that
family believed firmly in meddling with writing as little as
possible. But McKenna must have ink. Fortunately for
him, Mrs. Lawler was an excellent laundress, and employed
liquid bluing to give proper clearness to her husband’s linen.
This coloring matter the detective frequently made use of,
and there is abundant evidence in his reports, sometimes in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>the shape of blots and patches not necessary to the adornment
of the sheet, that the landlady’s indigo bottle suffered
considerably from the inroads made upon it by his busy steel
pen. The latter instrument, in a common tin case, he
easily managed to carry, with tobacco, keys, cartridges, bits
of string and nails, in some of his convenient pockets. Many
a time did he creep down the stairs and across the bar-room
in his stocking feet, bearing his boots in his hand, of a cold
winter night, light a tallow candle, or a miner’s lamp, and
sit shivering by the kitchen table, with a miserably dim and
uncertain flame, writing up his report, and consuming his
substitute for ink, at Mrs. Lawler’s expense. On one or two
occasions, in fact, he was reduced to the strait of commingling
soot from the fire-place with water for writing purposes,
when he had no pencil, the indigo vial was absent from its
accustomed place, or the supply of fluid had given out.
After completing the composition there came the enveloping
and stamping. Diving into his corner in the old boot-leg,
he would take out the amount required and carefully replace
the remainder. Then, not daring to retain the dangerous
missive over night in his possession, he must don his overcoat,
and, by the illumination granted by the stars alone,
wend his way to the post-office, where he could deposit his
parcel in the outside box and no person be the wiser.
Sometimes he had to return from these short nocturnal journeys
completely saturated with falling rain, or having, in the
darkness, stumbled into a ditch or mud-hole, his clothes
would present a terribly soiled appearance when he could see
them. To save himself trouble in answering unpleasant
questions, he would, in such an event, kindle a fire in the
cook-stove, dry and cleanse his garments, and then, before
retiring, sit up and watch the embers until they expired, in
order that Mrs. Lawler might find nothing to make inquiries
about. Very luckily for him, his bedfellow was a sound
sleeper, and never once awakened when he left the room or
<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>returned. Had he done so, however, the detective had
ready contrived an excuse which must have silenced suspicion,
in any reasonable man, that the absentee was engaged in
work not unnecessary for one in his physical condition. All
in Lawler’s house slept deeply. This greatly favored the
detective’s wanderings at night. But he was not long in
discovering that he must find a place where, however small
and inconvenient, he could occupy some sort of an apartment
quite by himself. Otherwise his reports would be few
and scattering, brief and unsatisfactory. He therefore began
the search for another boarding-house, with a valid reason
for cutting away from the Lawler residence.</p>

<p class='c001'>One day, not long after McKenna had reached this conclusion,
Lawler came home from the colliery some hours
earlier than usual, and meeting the stranger, inquired if he
had any clothes suitable for use in the mines.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faix, an’ I hev these same that ye see me afther standin’
in,” said McKenna, “wid my Sunday suit beside!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, botheration!” exclaimed Lawler, impatiently.
“Those will never suit the work in the slope, with the
smoke, an’ the dirt, an’ the wather!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, then, I suppose wan can buy others that will do!
Just tell me what’s wantin’, an’, sure, I’ll see about it!
Now in the silver mines, in the West, a man can wear most
anything—still, I must acknowledge that the chaper the
cloth the least money thrown away, even there!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“True for ye!” said Lawler. “And if you can’t raise
the funds—of the right sort, you know—I’ll go security for
you till pay day for such things as you’ll need—my credit’s
good at the store—for the boss has sent me to tell you that
in a short time he can put you on a job <a id='corr131.31'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='load n’'>loadin’</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_131.31'><ins class='correction' title='load n’'>loadin’</ins></a></span> coal in the
slope. I’ll inform you, beforehand, that it’ll be hard work,
but I guess you can stand it a while!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna made known his desire to try it, at all events.</p>

<p class='c001'>The heavy-soled boots, miner’s lamp for his hat-band, the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>tin dinner-pail and canteen, a pair of coarse denim overalls,
a loose jacket tied with a strong string at the waist, or
buckled in with his trusty strap, and an old, nearly worn-out
hat, formerly worn by Lawler, completed McKenna’s shifting
suit. The prospect of soon entering the mine to labor was
pleasant. It would give him a better opportunity to see
and know a greater number of Mollies, and at the same time
gain more familiar footing with Lawler. But when the
appointed day arrived, the boss received orders from his
employers to discharge old, instead of hiring new men. Still
Lawler did not despair. His time would come, he confidently
declared.</p>

<p class='c001'>At about this date the whole country was covered with
snow, which fell heavily during several succeeding days, and
travel, with teams, or even on foot, was dangerous. For
more than a week communication between places not connected
by railway was almost entirely suspended.</p>

<p class='c001'>When Sunday came, McKenna, as was his custom, put
on his best garments, combed out his matted hair a little,
washed his face, and attended the church of his faith, where
he sat and listened, silently concurring, to a powerful denunciation
of the Mollies by the officiating clergyman, Father
O’Reilley, who, after reading to the congregation a communication
from Bishop Wood, of Philadelphia, on the same
subject, launched out feelingly and bitterly against the Ancient
Order of Hibernians, White Boys, Buckshots, etc., etc.,
otherwise the Mollie Maguires, characterizing the men who
could belong to such bodies as scarcely less than damnable.
Lawler held a talk with the detective, after Mass, and,
alluding to the anathemas of the priest, said that the Sunday
previous he had himself been in the church and received a
scoring of equal severity. He pretended not to care the
snap of his finger for it, and bade McKenna not to be down-hearted
over so trifling a matter. He said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“For my part, I am a member of and officer in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>society, and will remain so until I see good reason for changing!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Ed. Lawler, a nephew of the landlord, some months previous,
had engaged in a quarrel with an Englishman, named
Brophy. He finally fired upon and severely wounded his
antagonist, and only escaped immediate arrest by suddenly
leaving the vicinity. Brophy recovered, and, the Sabbath
spoken of, came to Muff Lawler with propositions for settlement
of the affair. The arrangement consumed most of the
day, and was completed, Lawler paying Brophy twenty dollars
to have the prosecution abandoned. That same night
word was forwarded to the young exile—who was not yet
twenty-one years of age—that he could return to his home
and his relatives. In a short time Ed. made his appearance
in Shenandoah, was introduced to and conceived a wonderful
liking for McKenna, and, had the detective been willing,
would have made himself very intimate in his companionship,
but that personage had his own ideas concerning his
associates, and did not care to have many so reckless and
juvenile as the man in question. Ed. was notoriously bad—and
there was nothing to attract McKenna to him, nor could
anything be gained by seeking his society.</p>

<p class='c001'>The officer felt, from day to day, that, as long as he remained
outside the order of Mollie Maguires, so long would
he be in the power of a bad, reckless and changeable set of
men, who might, at almost any moment, turn from friends to
inveterate enemies. Hence, without seeming to press the
subject upon Lawler, he caused him to move a little faster
in the proper direction.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch14' class='c006'>CHAPTER XIV.<br> <br>THE DETECTIVE ACHIEVES A VICTORY.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The operations of the detective as a laborer in the coal
mines were destined to be of brief duration. Commencing
nigh the middle of February, 1874, working a few days loading
coal-wagons from the chute in the slope, to be run to,
and then emptied in the breaker, he soon had all that he
cared for in that particular line of industry. A day’s apportionment
was considered to be about eight of these wagon-loads
of the mass coal, comprising pieces varying in weight
from a few pounds to several hundreds of pounds, all of
which he was expected to place in the body of the small
truck for removal to the upper regions. He was supposed
to be in the shaft from half-past six in the morning until
about five or half past five o’clock in the afternoon, which
was the day shift, when other workmen took his place.
Everything, at first, appeared very strange to him, and the
close air made him sick and giddy. Each wagon would
transport some two and one-half tons of coal, hence the
shoveler’s ten hours’ stint would be equal to handling
twenty tons of anthracite <span lang="la"><i>per diem</i></span>, a task that one, accustomed,
for mere pastime, to shovel into a cellar, handily
with a scoop, his ton or half ton of grate or range coal,
can hardly appreciate. He may come near it, but the
strength required to lift the larger pieces he cannot properly
estimate. And this wearisome occupation must be steadily
pursued, from early morning until the hour for luncheon,
and from one o’clock <span class='fss'>P.M.</span> until time to be relieved by the
night force. It constituted much heavier work than McKenna
had ever been accustomed to, hence it is not to be
<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>wondered at that his hands were worn quite raw when he
left the shaft-house at the colliery, after his first day’s experience
in it. Indeed, had there not occurred an accident, in
which some of the apparatus by which the loaded trucks
were elevated to the hopper of the breaker gave way, it is
more than probable that, before quitting time, he would have
found himself entirely disabled and compelled to vacate his
post. As it was, the condition of his bruised and bleeding
fingers, when he returned to Lawler’s for supper, after a
good cleansing in the kitchen, was quite deplorable, and he
employed his knife and fork awkwardly and painfully enough
during the meal. He made no wry faces, however, as this
would have been an admission that he had never before had
anything to do with mining of any sort, but bore the pain
in gritty silence, retiring early to his apartment, not to write
or sleep, however, as the tortures he experienced interfered
with the use of the pen, and kept his eyes open, in spite of
his exhaustion and desire to become oblivious to sublunary
affairs. It was almost time to rise and prepare for another
laborious day, before his eyelids closed in broken and fitful
slumber.</p>

<p class='c001'>The second day, the detective was approached by a
miner, seemingly at the head of the society, who demanded
a view of his card from the Miners’ and Laborers’ Union.
As he had none, the request could not be complied with,
and the man, named Mullaly, was so informed. The man
told McKenna that, unless he joined the organization, he
could not labor in that calling. Of course the operative was
willing to do this as soon as able, and so expressed himself,
when, after some further words, Mullaly took his departure.</p>

<p class='c001'>The severe pain in his hands and limbs left the detective
after five or six days, and he felt well enough to roam abroad
in the city soon after supper. But it was very little he cared
about sitting up late following a day’s digging in the shaft
<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>and nine or ten o’clock at night generally found him in bed.
But an accident that befell him on the seventeenth of the
month put him upon the shelf for some time. Having his
hand severely injured, by being crushed between two car-wheels,
he was unable to pursue any laborious occupation
until it healed. On the succeeding day, Mrs. Lawler was
suddenly attacked with serious illness, and all the boarders at
the tavern, McKenna included, were forced to leave and
secure other accommodations. Mrs. Lawler was not expected
to sufficiently recover to return to her duties very
soon, and no proper substitute for her could be found in
Shenandoah. Excepting the bad health of Mrs. Lawler—for
which he really felt sorry—the occurrence furnished that
which the detective had lately been seeking for—an excuse
to change boarding-places—and he soon obtained a room
passibly  to his liking at the residence of Fenton Cooney,
who had moved to Shenandoah. The little bedroom that he
tenanted was rather cold and cheerless, but there was one
thing about it which fully compensated—he was to be its
only occupant, unless, when the house might be crowded,
he chose to share the bed with some of his friends. There
was one slight objection to the apartment, which, however,
he soon obviated. It came in the shape of a large hole in
the wall separating him from another room, just in the corner,
at the head of his bed, caused by uneven settling of the
foundations of the building, through which a man might
thrust his arm. Not that he particularly cared for the
draught of air, but when he came to composing his reports
and using a lamp, which was generally late at night, it would
not do to have any chance observer in the hall, or prying
servants, see a gleam of light emanating from his bedroom.
This was prevented by stopping up the large aperture with
such old clothes as he could spare from his satchel—taking
the precaution of packing them away again in the morning
before vacating the premises—and hanging his old shifting
<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>hat on the knob of the lock, over the keyhole. After these
preparations, he was enabled to work in safety. A small
bottle of ink, however, which he procured and secreted in
the room, froze as solid as a rock the very first night, and he
was reduced, for several days, to the expedient of trying
a lead pencil. Subsequently, he used a newly-patented
copying pencil, but had poor luck with it, as the nearly
undecipherable reports he sent in abundantly testify. By
employing a portable inkstand and filling it frequently out
of Mrs. Cooney’s bluing bottle, which, happily for him, was
left near the fire, in the kitchen, he managed to do better
until an event occurred that rendered such a proceeding unnecessary.
Cooney, who was no scholar, chanced to have a
number of letters to send to Pottsville, and, learning that his
new boarder, McKenna, could “use the pen iligantly”—as
Lawler expressed it—he was pressed into the service, first
having been sent to the nearest store for some ink. He
took care to buy a middling-sized bottleful, and, after completing
his task for Cooney, put it beside the bluing in the
same place, and all he had to do when he needed to perform
some work in his room, was to take away a quantity in
his pocket stand and throw out what was left when he concluded
his labors. Mrs. Cooney was particularly cautioned
to keep the ink-bottle where it was, and, without asking any
questions, complied. Thus was this trouble, for a time,
wiped away. These details may seem trifling, but the emergency
demanded great caution.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was at this time that McKenna formed the acquaintance
of one Frank McAndrew. A friendship immediately sprung
up between these two men that, nothwithstanding the trials
and troubles through which both have passed—in fact,
danger and adventure seemed to strengthen the feeling—remains,
to this day, unimpaired and unshaken. McAndrew
held true to McKenna in his darkest hour, through good and
bad repute; and as he must play a conspicuous part in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>course of this relation, some reference to his <span lang="fr"><i>personnel</i></span> may
prove of advantage to the reader.</p>

<p class='c001'>Of Celtic descent, McAndrew was twenty-eight or twenty-nine
years of age, fair to look upon, of medium height, having
round and well-proportioned limbs. His hair was of a
lightish auburn, somewhat wavy, fine in texture and worn
rather gracefully. He had a mustache of sandy hue, good
teeth, blue eyes, regular features, and a complexion sometimes
described as florid. His nose was rather long and
sharp. Usually clad in good and decently-fashioned clothing,
when out of his shifting suit, Frank was, if anything, generally
more presentable than the usual run of men brought up to
the calling of a miner. He was married and the father of
two children.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was from McAndrew that McKenna, about the middle
of February, heard that a man named Lanaham had been
shot the preceding day at Centralia. The crime was by
some charged upon the sheriff, or his assistants, and by
others upon the chain-gang, but, as McAndrew remarked,
“the Mollies would have to bear the blame, whether guilty
or innocent.” The probability was that they had something
to do with it.</p>

<p class='c001'>About the close of the same month, McKenna, only suffering
the loss of some of his finger-nails, as the result of the
mining accident, was sufficiently recovered to return to coal-shoveling
in the shaft of the West Shenandoah colliery.
McAndrew was employed in the same mine, not far from
him, and they had Mike Lawler as a companion almost
within speaking distance. During their dinner hour Mike
Lawler suggested that he wanted McKenna well inside the
ring before St. Patrick’s day, so that he could appear in the
procession. It was then the intention to make as good a
show as possible on that occasion. McAndrew readily
acceded to the proposition, and the operative assenting, it
was agreed that his name should be taken in at the ensuing
<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>regular meeting. But McKenna did not march in the
procession on the seventeenth. A few members from a
country division came out. The majority of the Mollies,
preferring to remain incog., did not attempt to walk with
those belonging to other societies.</p>

<p class='c001'>About the beginning of March the times were so hard
that a number of men had to be discharged from the colliery,
including McKenna and his companions. They were promised
work when business was more lively. In the meantime,
the detective’s efforts—which could not be very active without
attracting undesirable attention—to gain admission to
the Ancient Order, as it was sometimes called, were unavailing.
Lawler sometimes referred to his promise, but seemed
unwilling or afraid to proceed. McKenna was aware of
the fact that he had not been black-balled, and all now
wanting was a fairly attended meeting to call for his admission.
McAndrew and Lawler had lately fallen out. They
did not openly quarrel, but Lawler wanted to be re-elected
Bodymaster of the division, and McAndrew thought it was
due to him. Lawler urged that, as McAndrew could not
read or write, he was ineligible, and there were a few members
who sided with him. Others contended that lack of
education made no difference. McAndrew being McKenna’s
warm friend, that fact might have had something to do with
the delay by Lawler in having the applicant initiated.</p>

<p class='c001'>Matters remained in this condition, McKenna and his
friends working part of the time and then for weeks being
unemployed, until about the thirteenth of the following April.
Thinking to accelerate action a little, the detective, one
day, proposed to Lawler, that, in a little while, he would
have to bid him good-by, alleging that work was so dull he
had concluded to go to Luzerne County, and there pass the
spring and summer. He knew he could get work in Wilkesbarre,
or find an old friend who had proposed to set him up
in business—that is, give him a supply of bogus bank bills
<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>to be disposed of on commission. “Anything,” he remarked,
“is better than idleness.” This had the desired effect.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna had been instructed to take some such course,
but not to push the matter.</p>

<p class='c001'>Lawler stirred himself, said he did not want McKenna to
leave, informed him that a meeting would soon be held, and
his case should certainly be acted upon. He had his own
reasons for desiring McKenna to remain at Shenandoah, and
for getting him into the division; but he wanted first to be
sure that he would support him (Lawler) for Bodymaster.
In default of this, he wished to be elected County Delegate,
a lucrative and high position then held by one Barney Dolan,
of Big Mine Run. A hint of this was all McKenna needed.
While he could not promise to go against McAndrew, he
could, and did, say that he would do his utmost to put Lawler
in Dolan’s position. Thereupon Lawler exclaimed, with
a chuckle of satisfaction: “At the very next meeting we’ll
see you made all right!”</p>

<p class='c001'>As the division held its sessions at Lawler’s house during
these days, the would-be Mollie made it his business to be
present nearly every evening. But it was not until the night
of Tuesday, the fourteenth of April, that his watchfulness
earned its merited reward. He was at Lawler’s, after supper,
as usual, and Mike had been drinking more than needful,
assisted somewhat by McKenna, who wished his friend to
be in good trim for doing something generous, as he had
heard it was the date for the regular monthly gathering of
the society. Presently, as nine o’clock arrived, there dropped
in at the tavern several well known Mollies, among them
Ed. Ferguson—called Fergus—Pete Monaghan, Thomas
Hurley, Frank McAndrew and Tom McNulty. In a little
while, seeming to take their cue from Lawler, who left his
wife to attend the bar, the rest of the family having retired,
they one by one dropped into the kitchen and quietly
ascended the stairway leading to the second floor. McAndrew
<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>and McKenna were thus alone in the beer room with the
landlady. The former appeared to be acting as a sort of outside
guardian of the division. Very few words were exchanged
by the two men.</p>

<p class='c001'>The thoughts which passed through the brain of the detective
at the moment, as he sat listening to the retreating footsteps
of the Mollies, may possibly be imagined by those who
have been in similar positions, but others can have small conception
of their meaning and effect, and to describe them is
quite impracticable. His heart stood almost still during
the following few minutes of suspense, and only beat regularly
and calmly when he heard a quick-descending tread, and
then the same sound approaching him from the kitchen. He
breathed more freely when he saw that the arrival was Pete
Monaghan, who made a signal that he should accompany
him upstairs, still leaving only McAndrew below. The
decisive period, for which he had labored, watched, and
waited during five long, weary months, had at last arrived.
It was a trying and critical crisis in the detective’s experience,
and he felt within him keener evidence of mental excitement
than he remembered having been the subject of since entering
the State. As he ascended the steep steps he endeavored
to take in, comprehend, and forecast the probable result of
the act he was about to take part in, and mentally asked
himself, more than once, if it would end in failure or success.
This cast of thought was turned from its course by arriving at
the door of Mike Lawler’s sleeping apartment, which, it will
be remembered, was reasonably large and decently furnished.
Space left within, on account of the wide bed, the tables and
chairs, was a little circumscribed, yet enough remained to
tolerably accommodate the sparse assemblage of brothers.
A large lamp burned brightly on the bureau, before the oval
mirror, at one extremity of the room, between the two heavily
draped windows, and another, giving a lesser light, rested
upon a stand, or table, at the opposite end of the apartment.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>Behind the small table Mike Lawler, the Bodymaster of the
Division, stood, holding in his hand a slip of paper, which at
the moment he was intently and earnestly studying. The
other men were ranged, standing erect with arms folded,
around the room, leaving a clear spot of carpet in the centre
of the floor. Each Mollie devoutly made the sign of the
cross as Monaghan and McKenna entered. The latter was
instructed to similarly bless himself, and promptly obeyed.
He was then taken to the middle of the room, and, still
standing by his side, Monaghan proclaimed all in readiness
to proceed.</p>

<p class='c001'>“The neophyte will kneel!” said Lawler.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Now get down on your prayer-bones,” whispered
Monaghan; and McKenna knelt upon the carpet.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p1421_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p><i>“Each Mollie devoutly made the sign of the cross as Monaghan and McKenna entered.”</i></p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>Here all the members, at a given signal from Lawler, drew
nearer the initiate, leaving room for the Bodymaster, who
came also, still holding the mysterious paper in his hand.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I will now proceed,” said the presiding officer, in a pompous
and affected tone of voice, “to explain to you the
objects of the Ancient Order of Hibernians: ‘We are joined
together to promote friendship, unity and true Christian
charity among our members, by raising money for the maintenance
of the aged, sick, blind, and infirm. The motto of
the order is, Friendship, Unity, and true Christian Charity;
unity, in uniting for mutual support in sickness and distress;
friendship, in assisting each other to the best of our ability;
true Christian charity by doing to each other and all the
world as we would wish they should do unto us.’ It is the
desire to promote friendship among the Irish Catholics, and
especially to assist one another in all trials. You are
expected to keep all matters occurring within the division
room a secret in your own heart. None of the workings of
the society are to be recalled to those not known to be members.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Here there was a short pause, and the initiate was asked
<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>if he subscribed to all these things, to which he made audible
answer in the affirmative.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I will then proceed to administer the solemn and binding
obligation with which all present have already pledged
themselves. You will repeat these words after me:”</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna, still upon his knees, and guarded by Monaghan,
repeated the oath, or obligation, as Lawler read it from the
paper, as near as may be, as follows:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I, James McKenna, having heard the objects of the
order fully explained, do solemnly swear that I will, with the
help of God, keep inviolably secret all the acts and things
done by this order, and obey the constitution and by-laws in
every respect. Should I hear a member illy spoken of, I will
espouse his cause, and convey the information to him as soon
as possible for me so to do. I will obey my superior officers
in every thing lawful, and not otherwise. All this I do
solemnly swear!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Then McKenna was told to cross himself once more, the
surrounding brothers doing the same, and the test-paper, as
it was called, was handed to him by Lawler, and, still in a
kneeling posture, he reverently kissed it, and was prompted
by Monaghan to rise.</p>

<p class='c001'>This concluded the brief initiatory ceremony. Afterward,
the new-made member walked to the treasurer’s table, which
was the bureau, and there paid three dollars, the sum assessed
as the initiatory fee.</p>

<p class='c001'>He should have subsequently signed his name in a book
containing the constitution of the body, but this was omitted,
as were many other things which in regular lodges of the
order of Ancient Hibernians are always insisted upon. All
present now came forward and warmly shook hands with
McKenna, welcoming him as brother.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next thing was the instruction of the new member in
the passwords and signs—or secret work—commonly called
“the goods” of the society, by Lawler, as follows:</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>“The sign of recognition, which is changed every three
months, for the present is made by putting the tip of the little
finger of the right hand to the outer corner of the right
eye, <a id='corr144.34'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='thus:'>thus:”</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_144.34'><ins class='correction' title='thus:'>thus:”</ins></a></span> and the Bodymaster made the sign, which
McKenna was requested to imitate. He did so, and the
officer resumed:</p>

<p class='c001'>“The answer to this is, to catch the right lapel of the vest,
or coat, with the little finger and thumb of the right hand, in
this manner;” and Lawler performed the answering signal
which the novitiate imitated as well as he could.</p>

<p class='c001'>Lawler continued:</p>

<p class='c001'>“There are a number of toasts, or hailing signs and responses,
by which members of the order recognize each other.
When the signal just furnished cannot be seen, what is called
the drinking toast for the quarter is employed. It is this:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“‘The Emperor of France and Don Carlos of Spain.’</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>“And is answered:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“‘May unite together and the people’s rights maintain.’</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>“The password, now used in entering a division, is this:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“‘<i>Question</i>: Will tenant right in Ireland flourish?’</p>

<p class='c001'>“‘<i>Answer</i>: If the people unite and the landlords subdue.’</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>“The quarreling word, to be employed when a brother is
in doubt if one with whom he is about to dispute or come to
blows is a member of the order, or not, is as follows:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“‘<i>Question</i>: Your temper is high!’</p>

<p class='c001'>“‘<i>Answer</i>: I have good reason!’</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>“The night word, to be used when two men meet in
darkness, is:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“‘<i>Question</i>: The nights are very dark!’</p>

<p class='c001'>“‘<i>Answer</i>: I hope they soon will mend!’”</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>This concluded the ceremonies, and the meeting, without
transacting any further business of importance, adjourned, all
going straight to the bar, where, as was expected, the newly
initiated Mollie spent some money in treating his comrades.
When, at about midnight, McKenna and McAndrew left for
their respective homes, Lawler was on his way to bed, more
<span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>decidedly mellow than he had been seen since the detective’s
arrival in the place.</p>

<p class='c001'>In the cold, silent room at Fenton Cooney’s, very late that
night, before retiring, McKenna indited the most important
report he had ever written, minutely detailing, as here
given, every particular of the ceremony attending his initiation
into Shenandoah Division of the Mollie Maguires, with
the signs, toasts, passwords, and other matters of interest.
His concluding sentence was:</p>

<p class='c001'>“So you see victory is won at last!”</p>

<p class='c001'>It was not until that report had been sealed, stamped, and
deposited in the post-office box, that the detective sought
repose, thinking he would not immediately leave Shenandoah.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch15' class='c006'>CHAPTER XV.<br> <br>MORE WORK OF THE MOLLIES.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The detective was now competent to encounter modern
as well as old-time Mollie Maguires. He apprehended no
more trouble from the questions of Dormer, Lawler, or even
Jack Kehoe himself, and felt that however imperfect his
introductory work with the order in the coal country might
have been, he was then prepared to meet all members of the
order, and enabled, from his late instructions, to suit his companions.
The danger coming from sudden inquiries, made by
strangers, he no longer dreaded. Just as well posted in the
mysteries of the society as anybody well could be—he had
already learned that there were no degrees beyond the initiatory
in the Ancient Order—he believed he could work his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>way into a division, or into the good graces of the people
as well as any man with whom he had conversed. In fact,
his memory, which was retentive to a degree, treasured every
sign and password and toast much better, he discovered,
than did the minds of many of his associates, some of whom
had joined the body many years before, and who would
therefore be presumably far more familiar with its interior
workings than a mere tyro in the business. As a general
rule his comrades were wholly uneducated, and their laborious
occupations debarred mental exercise. In this regard
McKenna held an advantage, and was really better qualified
for office in the division than any member he had ever met.
He had not been long in the order when this was apparent
to his friends, and they commenced talking of him in connection
with one of the chairs to be vacated at the next annual
election.</p>

<p class='c001'>Surely, he must not for the present leave Shenandoah.</p>

<p class='c001'>This was a strangely inconsistent society. Having for the
public eye a motto to all appearances as elevated in tone
as that of any secret order in the land, and professing the
noblest moral principles, its members were, with some exceptions,
assassins, murderers, incendiaries, thieves, midnight
marauders, gamblers, and men who did not scruple to perform
almost any act of violence or cowardice that a depraved
nature or abnormal animal instinct might conceive.
Having “unity and true Christian charity” as its ostensible
guiding-star, its constituent parts were at war each with the
other—excepting in the perpetration of dark deeds, in which
they stood firmly together—and one member jealous of the
power obtained by another. Professing benignity and the
utmost benevolence, it was a combination of enmity and
malice for purposes of blood and outrage, brutally manufacturing
widows and orphans—not caring for and cherishing
them. Its adherents were certainly not particular as to the
moral endowments of their initiates. McKenna was quickly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>accepted, yet he had not been at all cautious in concealing
from Lawler and his friends that he was—at least, professedly,
an escaped manslayer, and one who would not hesitate to
deal in counterfeit currency, or pursue any other calling by
which money could be made or old grudges repaid.</p>

<p class='c001'>Then there was Dormer, who had formerly stood well with
the organization; yet he was by no means angelic in disposition
or reputation. Nor were Lawler, Monaghan, Kehoe,
Dolan, and a dozen others, with whom McKenna had come
in contact, at all of the character called saintly.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was easy to see how fair the aims and objects of the
original fathers of the society might have been when beginning
the movement. It could even be believed that, in
some parts of the country, the primal endeavor might yet be
in force, but, in the mining districts of Pennsylvania, surely
they had long since disappeared from view. Evil had taken
up the reins and obtained undisputed sway. Acts of beneficence
and charity had been succeeded by scenes of violence
and carnage. Wicked-minded and reckless persons were at the
helm, and made choice of their kind to fill the ranks. Good
men had no chance. A murderer, an assassin, a violent party
was sought after and coveted by the divisions, while one
of known rectitude of purpose and strict integrity was not wanted,
and sure of being rejected were his name by accident proposed.
Hence it was well that McKenna took the course
he did when first arriving in the coal regions. His jolly,
devil-may-care manner, his habit—not really a habit, but an
assumption of one—of being nearly always intoxicated, ready
and willing to sing, shoot, dance, fight, gamble, face a man in
a knock-down or a jig, stay out all night, sleep all day, tell a
story, rob a hen-roost or a traveler—just suited those with
whom he daily came in contact.</p>

<p class='c001'>Returning to a date preceding McKenna’s induction to
Shenandoah Division, let me bring in some of the acts committed
by the Mollies and their opponents, forming a kind of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>introduction to others of wider celebrity, if not of greater magnitude,
which it will soon be the chronicler’s duty to narrate.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was the middle of March, 1874, that McKenna was
invited to witness one of the milder amusements of the
rougher portion of the people of the mining country—a dog-fight.
The canine contest was appointed to occur at Number
Three Breaker, and McAndrew, Ferguson, and Monaghan
were the detective’s companions. The locality was only a
mile from town, and the attendance was large, some two
hundred men and overgrown youths having gathered to see
the expected ferocious proceeding. But all were fated to
disappointment. From a failure to come to time on the
part of one of the owners and backers, the ring was just one
dog short. The animal on hand had to be taken home, his pugnacity
unsatisfied, and the spectators, unable to get up a battle
between two human beasts, were compelled to disperse,
considerably disgusted with this peaceful result of what earlier
bid fair to be a savage and enjoyable sensation. On the
route homeward, McAndrew said he would stop at a house
<a id='corr148.20'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='were'>where</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_148.20'><ins class='correction' title='were'>where</ins></a></span> he was acquainted, and see if a dog could not be procured.
The attempt did not succeed, but as the men were
standing near the place, Dr. Shultz, who was known to nearly
all the party, came that way. He paused to chat with
McAndrew, and among other matters stated that a man,
named Peter McNellis, had been shot the previous night at
Jenkins’ Patch. The deed transpired at McNellis’ own
house, and was the work of one Canfield, whose father was
shot, but not mortally, the preceding Saturday. McNellis
had been attacked while in his dwelling, but the doctor
could not say if he were dead, or would die, but the hurt
was pronounced very serious by the attending surgeon.
McNellis’ brother had been three times notified by the
Mollies to quickly leave the neighborhood, or accept the
consequences. The missives conveying this delicate bit of
information all bore the signature of “Mollie.” The
<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>McNellis family, it appears, chose to accept the “consequences.”</p>

<p class='c001'>When the doctor had ridden away, Ferguson exclaimed,
referring to McNellis:</p>

<p class='c001'>“May he never rise again, the scoundrel!”</p>

<p class='c001'>In which wish all his comrades heartily concurred, and
McKenna, seeing that he was expected to express himself
regarding a Sheet Iron lad, complied, saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ may the divil fly away wid his sowl!”</p>

<p class='c001'>On the morning of the twentieth of the same month, one
Dougherty was shot while passing from home to his work.
It was reported that the victim in this case was a Mollie,
and the outrage had been brought about by some of the
dreaded Iron Clads.</p>

<p class='c001'>This made the third or fourth person that had been killed
during the time of the operative’s residence in the vicinity
of Shenandoah—and all before he had become a member of
the organization of Mollie Maguires. I make mention of
this, in the present connection, from the reason that enemies
have undertaken to instruct the public that until my detective
was sent to and appeared in the coal region, and was duly
constituted a member of the order of Mollies, the murderous
society lay comparatively dormant. This endeavour to have
it seem that McKenna fomented discord and caused crimes to
be perpetrated which led to the arrest and punishment of his
companions and intimates, is so absurd, that only those who
desire to do so, put any faith in it, and for such persons and
their wretched opinions I have supreme contempt. McKenna
was constantly instructed to avoid prompting outrages. He
obeyed his orders faithfully. The truth is, he entered the
stronghold of a gang of assassins, and, despite his presence,
they succeeded in doing a few murders. He could not stop
them. Before closing, I shall show some of the troubles
that he did succeed in preventing. Dating from 1868, and
from that year down to 1873, murder and other violence ran
<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>riot in the coal districts. Since the <a id='corr150.1'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='authorites'>authorities</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_150.1'><ins class='correction' title='authorites'>authorities</ins></a></span> have been
able, through our exertions, to punish assassins and conspirators,
there has been a noticeable decrease in acts to be
punished. When the Mollies’ ever-convenient <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span> was
shattered and scattered to the wind, they had nothing left to
fall back upon, and there was no chance for them. They were
forced to flee the country, or remain and behave like good
and orderly citizens.</p>

<p class='c001'>When McAndrew heard of the last act of blood—the
shooting of Dougherty—(this was not the man of the same
name—who was no Mollie—causing so much trouble at
Tamaqua, as related in another and preceding chapter)—he
was very indignant, and passionately exclaimed that “if
such things continued, there would soon be regular war in
<a id='corr150.15'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Skuylkill'>Schuylkill</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_150.15'><ins class='correction' title='Skuylkill'>Schuylkill</ins></a></span> county!”</p>

<p class='c001'>These words must have reached the ears of some of the
Chain Gang—or those who were not Mollies—as, only a
few days subsequently, a message was received by Muff Lawler
that a portion of the Modocs (Germans) and Sheet Irons
had made common cause against McAndrew, Monaghan,
Garritty, Ferguson, Lawler, and several others, all of whom
would meet the fate of Dougherty if they did not cease their
cruel work, or depart from that portion of the State.
When Monaghan heard about this, he said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Some fire will fly and some blood be spilled before <em>I</em> get
out of this neighborhood!”</p>

<p class='c001'>He evidently did not intend to be frightened away with
merely hard words.</p>

<p class='c001'>An incident, which may be given in this connection, was
related by Lawler to McKenna, one night, after his return
from a meeting of the Miners’ and Laborers’ Association, to
which Muff also belonged. It was about a Welsh boss in
one of the mines, not far from Shenandoah, and had only
recently occurred. According to Lawler, this superintendent,
whose name was not given, had been discharging all the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>Irishmen operating under him and putting his country
men in their places. The natural result was, the Mollies
notified the boss that he must leave. He disregarded the
injunction, saying that it would “make no difference, if he
obeyed, as the proprietors would run the colliery if he were
in h—l!”</p>

<p class='c001'>A few days after using this language, a man visited the
exasperated Welshman and gave him a warning letter.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Where are you from?” asked the boss.</p>

<p class='c001'>“From h—l!” answered the messenger, and quickly disappeared.</p>

<p class='c001'>This boss did not listen to the warning, and as a consequence,
the Mollies, in a body, demons as they were, went
to his house, at the dead hour of night, broke up his furniture,
ill-treated his family, and taking the stubborn fellow into the
yard, in his night garments, beat him with clubs until he was
nearly dead. He was satisfied from this treatment, which
might be called striking evidence, that the colliery was not
exactly a healthy place of residence or refuge for him, and,
as soon as able to do so, removed to Pottsville. In this
case, as in many others, no arrests were made, and no efforts
put forth to hunt up the guilty parties. It could hardly be
expected that there would be, when it is considered that the
Mollies controlled the magistrates and other officials of the
city, and partly those of the county.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna, judging from Lawler’s manner while relating the
story, more than from the words he used, suspected that the
beating of the Welshman had been performed by him, or at
least by men acting under his orders. Still, as he was not
yet a member of the Mollies, he could not be expected to
have reliable information on the subject. Mike concluded his
story by saying that he never allowed his men to know about
his movements, and ordinarily, when anything was to be
done, he preferred attending to it himself rather than let
others into the secret.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>“So there’s a ring within a ring!” mentally ejaculated
the detective, as Lawler left him to attend upon a customer
at the bar.</p>

<p class='c001'>The strike of that winter, which has before been alluded
to, ended nigh the first of April, 1874. About this time
McKenna heard, from one Foley, living near Indian Ridge
colliery, that at the water station a man named Keating
had been shot and instantly killed. The event occurred
about five o’clock in the afternoon, and, as usual, the murderer
made his escape. It was again charged that the Sheet
Iron lads were the guilty parties. Lawler and the detective
were at the colliery looking for work to do, when they
learned about Keating’s death.</p>

<p class='c001'>Another of the more innocent diversions of the Sleepers
was the indulgence in cock-fighting. In this, from his known
intimacy with Lawler, the operative was naturally expected
to take part, and he did not disappoint his friends. Knowing
that whatever he did he must, under the circumstances,
gain fast hold upon the good will of Lawler and the remainder
of the gang, thus exhibiting his qualifications for a good
Mollie, he strained every faculty with that view, and even consented
to take charge of the interests of the tavern keeper in
the impending chicken-fight, acting as trainer, manager, and
all hands, in getting ready the birds for the great occasion.
As fortune would have it, in his boyhood he had received a
few lessons in the art, hence was not wholly unprepared for
the position and its duties. Having ten of the game chickens
to commence with, he devoted considerable time and attention
to their breaking-in for the pit.</p>

<p class='c001'>The opposing birds were bred in the vicinity of Girardville,
coming from the flock of, and to be handled by, one Dennis
Murphy.</p>

<p class='c001'>Here is something of the style in which McKenna trained
Lawler’s pets. In the first place the chickens were clipped
and gaffed in scientific style; that is, their spurs were skilfully
<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>amputated and steel gaffs, or artificial spurs, fitted in
their places. The fowl were then physicked with a soft
compound consisting of oil, bread, and milk, and some sugar,
which reduced them somewhat in weight, the process continuing
until the proper shrinkage had been accomplished.
Empty barrels were taken, and a piece of one stave carefully
removed, forming a coop, which was properly ventilated,
and each chicken thus given a separate shelter.
After their usual strength had returned, daily exercise of a
peculiar kind, calculated to give them muscle and endurance,
was entered upon. McKenna would get upon his knees, on
an old mattress spread on the ground in the back yard of
the tavern, for the purpose, and taking a bird between his
two hands, toss it high in the air, then catch it again and
repeat the process, until he was weary or the rooster was
nearly exhausted, when it would be returned to its coop.
Every bird had to take this lesson once each day, and under
it all rapidly gained in fighting qualities. No soft food was
now permitted, but they received plenty of water and corn,
wheat and oats. If one refused to feed he was immediately
presented with a supply of raw apples. Out of the ten thus
treated only seven came out capable of contesting in the pit.
Some of them, less than one year of age, were called stags.
Those more than a twelvemonth old assumed the dignity
and cognomen of game-cocks.</p>

<p class='c001'>On the occasion selected for the match, Lawler’s house and
grounds presented the characteristics of a grand gala day.
Murphy was early on the spot—scarce two hundred yards from
the tavern—where were congregated men, women, and children
to the number of two hundred or more, all interested in
seeing and enjoying the exciting sport.</p>

<p class='c001'>There was at first a great difference in opinion as to who
should be the winner, the bets ranging from five to ten dollars
each battle, and being plentiful for both sides. Of
course Mike Lawler was reaping at the same time a plentiful
<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>harvest through the sale of drinkables at the bar. It
employed his own services and those of his wife to keep
pace with the impatient orders of the thirsty ones. Meantime
McKenna, dressed for the occasion in his Sunday
clothes, with his hair straightened out and his beard trimmed,
wearing a new, soft hat, which was the envy of all the men
and the wonder of all the women, was attending to his part
of the business.</p>

<p class='c001'>At first the odds ran heavy in favor of Murphy’s brood,—and
they certainly were very handsome chickens; but
when McKenna put aside the brand-new hat, and, with a red
bandanna handkerchief wound in the shape of a turban round
his red head, a strap encircling his waist, coat and vest off,
sleeves rolled up, and game chicken in hand, entered the
ring, the betting changed, and the difference was two to one
in favor of the mufflers. They were certainly ferocious-looking
bipeds.</p>

<p class='c001'>It is needless to attempt a description of the chicken-match.
Appropriate language fails. But it is sufficient to say that
Lawler’s mufflers carried off the honors. As a consequence,
McKenna acquired a wide-spread reputation throughout the
mines as a manager of such affairs.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p1422_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p><i>“Lawler’s Mufflers carried off the honors.”</i></p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>Murphy accepted defeat all in good part, as everything
had been fair and above-board, and challenged Muff Lawler
for a return match, to take place early the next month, at
his house, near Girardville. This was promptly accepted by
the Shenandoah party, and time named, when the crowd dispersed,
leaving the innkeeper to count over his day’s gains,
which were not inconsiderable.</p>

<p class='c001'>Of course McKenna’s services were once more in requisition
to train the birds, and afterward to fight them. When
the morning arrived he had to carry the chickens on his
back, in a bag, a distance of over three miles to Connor’s
Patch, where Murphy lived. The road was rough, his burden
not light; and when he returned, again the winner of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>fight, to Shenandoah, late at night, from Girardville, he was
weary enough, and heartily sick of cock-fighting as a profession,
or even for amusement.</p>

<p class='c001'>There was a great crowd assembled at the Patch—if anything,
larger than the one Lawler had secured—and Murphy,
though twice defeated, said he was “enthirely contint wid
the results!” So were most of those in attendance.</p>

<p class='c001'>Lawler gave a treat to all the “boys” that night, as he
was confidently expected to do after winning two fights in
succession, and everything passed <a id='corr155.10'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='of'>off</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_155.10'><ins class='correction' title='of'>off</ins></a></span> smoothly, with a single
exception. One Dick Flynn, charged to the muzzle with bad
liquor, and being naturally of a fiery disposition, was very
mad because he had lost five dollars which he ventured on
Murphy’s chickens, and wanted to fight Lawler, to secure his
revenge. The innkeeper having other duties to attend to,
besides being in a sportive humor from the success of the
day, only laughed at his big antagonist, telling him to “call
at another time, when he could have all the fighting he
might feel in want of.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Flynn lived in the town of Colorado, was a known ruffian,
capable of shooting a man from behind a bush, or performing
almost any infamous act, and it is more than probable that
Lawler had rather make no attack upon him. Be this as
it may, Flynn left late at night, swearing many oaths and
loudly threatening that he would beat Lawler or kill
McKenna, his “butty,” if he had to wait a dozen years for
the opportunity. It would appear, from an incident transpiring
a few weeks later, that Flynn had a good memory, and
did his best to carry this promise into execution. The event,
however, will have to await relation in another chapter.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch16' class='c006'>CHAPTER XVI.<br> <br>A ROUGH JOURNEY AND A THRILLING ADVENTURE.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>A few days after McKenna’s initiation into the Mollie
Maguires, he was surprised, upon entering Lawler’s bar-room,
to find his friend with one limb bandaged, sitting by the fire,
in an easy chair, while Mrs. Lawler busied herself behind the
counter attending to the spirituous wants of several acquaintances
and patrons, and Mike commenting upon some serious
difficulty which had befallen him. In response to an inquiry
by one of the new arrivals, the landlord, between groans and
grimaces, informed those present that he had received a shot
in the leg, the night before, while attempting to quell a difficulty
in front of Cleary’s drinking place. He was quite seriously
wounded; his countenance wore a pale and anxious
appearance, and Mrs. Lawler, only recently recovered from
a protracted and dangerous illness, was nervous and low
spirited. McKenna promptly gave assistance, made himself
generally useful about the premises, and also attended to
some outside business for the tavern-keeper. When the
people had all dispersed, Lawler proceeded to show him his
hurt, which the quick eye of the detective was not long in
discovering must have occurred as a result of Mike’s careless
handling of his own revolver, and not through any assault
by a second person. The bullet penetrated the anterior
portion of the right thigh, ranged downward, deflecting a little
toward the left, and finally found lodgment near the skin
immediately above the knee-joint, whence the scalpel of the
surgeon had already removed it. There was a long, painful
and dangerous channel ploughed through the muscles, but
happily for Lawler and his family no important vein or artery
<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>had been severed. If properly cared for, there was
reason to believe the healing process might be accomplished
by nature without the sloughing away of the coats of the femoral
artery. Should these finally give way, the end would
certainly ensue, as nothing could save the victim from bleeding
to death.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Tell me, thrue and honest now,” said McKenna, “how
this thing happened. It is plain enough that it wor your
own hand that did it.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Why the d—l do you say that?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ you needn’t take me for a <em>gomersal</em>, <em>cruddy</em>
from the bogs! I kin see, wid half an eye, that nobody could
iver shoot ye like this, exceptin’ Mike Lawler himself!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Thrue fur ye!” unwillingly answered Lawler, making a
comical grimace and groaning aloud with the pain, as he
reached for his staff. “That’s the raal fact of the matther!
But how the d—l you came to know’t, is more’n I can tell!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“O, its aisy enough! Men don’t lie down, as a general
thing, to get shot; then there’s no hole in your clothing, so
the pistol must have been in your pocket when it exploded!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, never mind that now,” whispered Lawler, turning
an uneasy glance toward his wife, who was jingling the
glasses as she cleansed them, and hence heard nothing of
the communication. “Will ye kindly act as me crutch ’till I
goes to the docthor? He made me promise to have it
dressed the day; an’ by me sowl, I’d about as soon hev the
leg cut off at wonst!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Certainly,” said the agent, “I’ll help ye wid pleasure!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And he aided the injured man to rise; but he could not
stand, and was eased back into his chair.</p>

<p class='c001'>“<em>Mo-vrone!</em> But ye can’t walk! Ye must not try it!
I’ll go fetch the docthor right here! So kape quiet, an’ I’ll
soon be back. An’ while I’m gone, I’ll jist step in at the
carpenter’s and tell him to make ye a crutch; fur sure, an’
<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>if ye iver intend for to save yer leg y’ll want a substitute for
a while!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Muff Lawler was so nigh a dead faint that he could not
thank McKenna, who scampered away to bring the surgeon.</p>

<p class='c001'>The wound once dressed, and Lawler comfortably reclining
on his bed, upstairs, McKenna volunteered to act as
nurse, while the good woman of the house gave attention to
the bar and all below. Then it was that the operative learned
how the injury had been inflicted. As he shrewdly guessed,
Muff had hurt himself while awkwardly returning a revolver
to his pantaloons pocket, where he carelessly carried it, with
the lock set preparatory for sudden use. Lawler closed the
revelation with this unexplained but furtive statement:</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ hadn’t it been for the accident, Fergus would have
made bloody work somewhere before the mornin’!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Of course, McKenna did not press an inquiry as to the
job he and Fergus were attending to, knowing that Lawler
would tell it of his own accord, if left alone. All that day,
and until late at night, the operative was employed as a
nurse to the wounded Bodymaster.</p>

<p class='c001'>A few days later the last meeting in April occurred, at
Lawler’s, and a young man named Dean was duly initiated,
McKenna prominently assisting in the ceremony. Dean
subsequently admitted to the agent that he had been better
than a year endeavoring to reach the interior of that division,
but somehow his moral character was either too good
or too bad all the while; but a little serious trouble that he
had recently fallen into made him a desirable applicant, or
removed an objection, and he was at once notified of his
acceptance. It seemed to McKenna, under such a state of
affairs, that he was extremely fortunate in gaining for himself
such prompt admission to the order.</p>

<p class='c001'>McAndrew, it appeared, had not been inside a division
room in more than three months, having, as will be remembered,
only acted in an outside capacity at the detective’s
<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>initiation—as he had temporarily resigned—which was an
accepted custom in the society, since the troubles with the
Church—to attend for a season to his neglected religious
duties. Now, having been good during one-quarter of a year,
he could come back and enact the part of a Mollie Maguire
for the remaining three-quarters. This ingenious and handy
manner of compromise also brought home a number of the
brothers, lately absenting themselves for the same purpose,
and Lawler’s living room was soon uncomfortably small for
their accommodation.</p>

<p class='c001'>At the same meeting Lawler gave a rather remarkable address,
in the course of which he said the time had nearly arrived
for the annual meeting of their State Convention at Pittsburg,
and he was requested, through a letter from Barney Dolan,
County Delegate, to advise his division members of the necessity
for raising—the amount and the request to apply to all the
bodies in Schuylkill County—the sum of nine dollars toward
paying the Delegate’s expenses to the west, and also to New
York. In the last-named place he would see the National
Secretary, on important business. Without this action it would
be impossible for the Division to secure the “goods”—signs
and passwords—for the current quarter; and Mike eloquently
urged that it was always desirable to keep the body in fair
standing with the State and National officials. The pompous
Bodymaster, still suffering considerably from his wound, kept
his chair while he enlarged upon the prospect before the
brotherhood. He believed, if the fraternity would stand by
him, he could swell their ranks to at least one hundred good
men and true, before the commencement of another year. Of
course the speech, or talk, was purely conversational, rough
and uncouth, and not particularly coherent, but it touched
its hearers and was received with applause—which, however,
was necessarily suppressed, because of the family being so
near. It was not long, after the close of the harangue, before
the needed funds were in the Bodymaster’s possession. The
<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>meeting closed soon afterward, and the hours following to
midnight were passed in carousal, singing, and card-playing,
when the house was deserted, the doors fastened, and the
Lawler family presently dreaming the dreams of the just.</p>

<p class='c001'>At about this date, appreciating the fact that he would not
soon find remunerative labor, and still desiring to remain in
the mountains, McKenna saw the necessity for a fresh
source from which ostensibly to obtain the amount of money
that he must, in due course of events, disburse in the community.
The cash must be spent, and a valid reason for its
expenditure, a natural origin for the fund, must be furnished,
otherwise his associates might begin to suspect there was
something about him they did not fully comprehend. It
was then he took Mike Lawler further into his confidence
and told him a new secret, to the effect that he, McKenna,
owned a certain house and lot in the city of Buffalo, New
York, which was leased from year to year, and, through the
medium of an attorney, named Clinton, who was in his interest,
and who knew the address of some of his relatives in
Philadelphia, he received twenty-five dollars a month as rental
for the property. This story served two purposes. It covered
up occasional letters that the postmaster of Shenandoah
must know he received, and increased his income enough,
with the alleged pension from the government and the
money made in his pretended disposal of bogus currency, to
account for all he spent in the mining country. His wearing
of poor clothes and wishing to stay in the vicinity was
consistent with his mission, which was, outwardly, to escape
the eyes of the officers of the law. It seemed hardly possible
that, under these safeguards, his real purpose would be
revealed.</p>

<p class='c001'>The fourth day of May, Lawler, having so far regained the
use of his leg as to hobble about on a crutch, aided by a
blackthorn stick, determined to visit Barney Dolan, at Big
Mine Run, in person, obtain the “goods” for the quarter
<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>and turn over the collection made for the use of the County
Delegate. McKenna was invited to accompany him. His
arm was needed in helping Mike into and out of the buggy—besides,
he liked to have some one about who could listen as
well as talk. It was impossible for the agent to refuse, had
he so desired, which he did not. He might learn something
of importance, at small cost, and make the acquaintance of
Dolan, who was then looked up to as the highest Mollie in
all the county. So McKenna started out with his Bodymaster
for Big Mine Run.</p>

<p class='c001'>Riding over the country, although the air seemed chilly,
was not really unpleasant, and the trip among the collieries,
enlivened by cheerful conversation and spicy anecdote, in
which both of the men participated, came to an end before
either person expected. The big, good-natured County
Delegate, who kept a small roadside shebeen-shop, patronized
by all travelers and miners, was very much pleased to
see his company, and he came out to the buggy, before they
alighted, to greet the men, personally helping Lawler to perform
that, to him, slow and painful act.</p>

<p class='c001'>Barney Dolan was a large, muscular man, of some forty
years, much after the style of Dormer, of Pottsville, in face
and feature, but by no means so tall or heavy.</p>

<p class='c001'>After putting Mike in a chair, of course Dolan had to be
informed of the particulars of Lawler’s accident, brief mention
of which he had seen in the Shenandoah <cite>Herald</cite>. The
old story, of being fired upon by an unseen person, who he
more than half suspected to be Dick Flynn, of Colorado
Colliery, with whom he once had a difficulty, was related to
Barney, with many adornments. As another matter of course,
Dolan was profuse in sympathetic condolements with the injured
man. When the County Delegate’s back was turned,
Muff Lawler sent an audacious wink of intelligence to
McKenna not to spoil his story by letting slip the truth.
The detective, who was contentedly smoking his short pipe,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>and sipping some strong poteen, sagely shook his head, as
much as to say: “Don’t fear! I’ll keep your secret!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Barney—whose name, from his habit of smooth, sweet
talk, evidently should have been Blarney, for he must have
kissed the famous stone on that famous Irish castle more times
than once—proceeded to dilate upon the able manner in which
he would represent the county in the State branch of the order,
the great things he was about to do, and how, to sum up all, he
believed it was the bounden duty of the Mollies to re-elect
him Delegate at the ensuing county convention. To all of
which egotistical bombast Mike and his fellow-traveler listened
with an appearance of <a id='corr62.12'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='sic'>wrapped</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_62.12'><ins class='correction' title='sic'>wrapped</ins></a></span> attention reflecting
credit upon their capacity for acting that which they could
not feel. Both really enjoyed his self-sufficiency—especially
Lawler, who was afflicted with the same difficulty, as he was
well aware, when he got about half-seas-over. After dinner,
which was spread in the rear apartment, and the enjoyment
of parting glass number one, at the invitation of the detective,
the visitors proposed to leave.</p>

<p class='c001'>Dolan made a little speech over the toast: “The Ancient
Order—may it prosper and be peaceful!” offered by
McKenna, and among other things remarked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Be them five crasses, but I’m glad indade to have <em>coshered</em>
wid ye, <em>mabouchal</em>! An’ when ye come here again,
let it not be for a mere <em>kailyee</em>, but bring your clothes wid
ye, and stop as long as ye plaze! An’, Mike Lawler—bould
fellow—you’ll show yourself a <em>gorsoon-bo</em>, if ye let that lad
slip away from your town at all! Kape him there! Ye greatly
nade such stuff as he’s made of to bring the body up to the
correct standard! Not to say that ye are a wake Bodymaster,
by any manes, fur ye are not, as I give ye credit for
doing hapes of good things! But ye can have many more
powerful members, now that ye have made the proper commencement!
What you do is done nately, an’ if I do say
it, you have some few fellows over there capable of doin’ ‘a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>clane job,’ an’ what ye want is more of ’em! Be the same
token, I may tell ye, Mike, that Shenandoah Division is the
very first to send in the allowance an’ take away the ‘goods’!
Oh, bad ’cess to me, but I’m gone a <em>shaughran</em>, an’ come
near forgettin’ to remember that ye have paid yer money,
but not got yer property! Well, never mind! It’s all owin’
to the poteen! Jest step in the other room—McKenna will
excuse us—an’ I’ll instruct ye in the shortest time possible!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Business is business!” said McKenna. “Certainly I’ll
excuse ye!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The succeeding conference between the County Delegate
and the Bodymaster was of short duration, and, after parting
glass number two, or three—the last one through the
thoroughly aroused generosity of Barney—the visitors really
bid the host farewell and made their departure.</p>

<p class='c001'>The “goods,” Lawler had learned from Dolan, were given
out in Ireland, the transatlantic headquarters of the society,
and thence transmitted to this country by a man named
Murphy, employed as a steward on one of the Inman line
of steamships plying between Liverpool and New York.
From the latter city the National officers distributed them
to the different divisions in this country.</p>

<p class='c001'>No incident worthy of mention occurred to the two
Mollies until they reached the vicinity of Colorado Colliery,
where they paused to see Hugh Mulligan, a friend of Lawler’s,
who was, and for some time had been, very ill. Knowing they
had reached a dangerous locality, as this was the stamping-ground
of Dick Flynn, an inveterate enemy, yet they had
no apprehension that they would come across him, and indeed
were not of the class of men much reckoning upon
serious consequences should they prove thus unfortunate.</p>

<p class='c001'>Hugh Mulligan lived in a large frame house, at the top of
the hill. When they stopped, finding that Mulligan was in
bed, in the second story of the building, to his disappointment,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>Lawler, from his lameness, was quite unable to see his
friend, but unwillingly compelled to remain in the parlor on
the first floor. He had suffered pain enough, he thought,
through alighting from the buggy, without climbing and descending
a pair of stairs immediately thereafter. He sent
along his compliments by McKenna, and made himself
easy by the stove, awaiting that person’s return. Mrs.
Mulligan and another lady who had just stepped in to see
the family went up with the detective. They found the sick
man seemingly very low, in the last stages of pulmonary
consumption, slowly coughing his life away. He was wan and
attenuated, with features pinched, sharp, and anxiously drawn
up, eyes unnaturally large, dark of color and suspiciously
bright, and the glossy black hair contrasting strangely with
waxlike forehead and cheek. The hands, with which he nervously
picked and clutched at the counterpane, were thin,
the fingers talon-like, and nails long, white, and rounding outward
in the middle. With barely sufficient strength to raise
his arms, he lay, a pitiable object, that once had been a large
and powerful man. Just able to recognize McKenna, Hugh
was seen to smile faintly, quite gratified that two of his comrades
had shown their regard by calling to see him. In a
feeble voice he asked his wife to bring some beer to the
chamber, and give Mike Lawler the best the house afforded.
Mrs. Mulligan obeyed, quickly returning with two bottles of
Cronk beer, one of which McKenna opened, presenting a
glass of its contents to the lady visitor.</p>

<p class='c001'>The sick-room was small, with reasonably high walls,
lighted by two windows, fronting the public road and at the
side of the invalid’s bed. Its furniture was poor and scant.
There was an old-fashioned chest of drawers, not as high as
a bureau, but taller than a trunk, made of pine, painted a
dark red, on the lid of which stood some medicine bottles
and an empty tumbler and spoon. Near by was a bit of
cracker, which the sick man had nibbled with his teeth when
<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>besought to take some nourishment. The bedstead had
high posts, and the bed and coverings were barely comfortable.
Near the foot of the bed stood a high-backed, splint-bottom
rocking-chair, with neat tidy over the top. Two or
three other chairs and a small table completed the furniture
of the apartment. No carpet concealed the floor, the
boards of which were scrubbed white and clean. Plain
bleached cotton formed the looped-up window curtains,
and along the wall were nails, on which hung a soldier’s overcoat,
a hat, a heavy teamster’s whip, and then several articles
of female costume. At the head of the couch was a cheap
print of St. Patrick, without a frame, and on the opposite
wall a cross, entwined with real shamrock, the emblems
worked with a needle in red worsted upon some gilt paste-board.
A door led into the hall, at the head of the stairs.
At one side of the center of the room was a sheet-iron heater,
fed through a pipe from the apartments below, which
came up through the floor by a tin thimble, or protector, and
kept the atmosphere warm and equable. A small hat-stand
supported the bottles of beer and a couple of common flaring
beer tumblers.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mrs. Mulligan, a motherly, kind-hearted woman, with blue
eyes and plentiful iron-gray hair, a cap, and becomingly clad
in black, stood at the side and partly toward the foot of the
bed, knitting work in hand, a pitying glance resting upon
her suffering husband. The lady caller, her bonnet and
cloak unremoved, sat not far away, while McKenna was at
that moment in the act of helping himself to a tumbler of
beer, which he had not yet poured from the bottle. This
was the condition of affairs, when the detective heard a heavy
and hasty step upon the staircase, the door of the chamber
was rudely thrust open, and big Dick Flynn, with pistol presented
in one hand and a long knife brandished recklessly
in the other, strode in and paused before the entrance. His
aim was directed upon the sick man in the bed. Mulligan
<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>uttered a despairing wail, and, nervously throwing up the
coverings, drew his head beneath them. Mrs. Mulligan,
almost paralyzed with fright, dropped her knitting, raised her
hands and screamed “murder!” at the top of her voice,
while the lady visitor, without pausing to say “good-by,”
flew past the intruder and down the stairs like a frightened
deer. McKenna, who had paused in the work of decanting
the contents of the bottle, heard Lawler hobbling,
with crutch and stick, over the floor below, and, looking
from the corner of his eye, soon saw the brave Bodymaster
making rather rapid time, for a lame man, toward the gate,
where his horse and buggy were standing. Then the agent
had no doubt he was left to cope, single-handed, with the
savage brute before him. He took in this idea in much less
time than it has consumed to record the fact, and arrived at
the conclusion that only calmness and the exertion of
ingenuity could save his life. Dick did not shoot the sick
man, who he was quite sure was Mike Lawler, but stood
ready to fire. McKenna finished pouring out his beer, took
up the second glass and the bottle, and with supreme impudence
advanced a step toward Flynn, saying, not even forgetting
his assumption of the brogue that he had used while
in the country:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ is it yourself, Misther Flynn? An’ its tired indade
ye are, afther your long walk! Tak’ a drap of the
beer at Hugh’s expense!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And he proffered the bottle and glass.</p>

<p class='c001'>Flynn was, in turn, thunderstruck by the coolness of his
enemy, muttered something between his shut teeth, was
undecided what to do, wavered, and at last, depositing
knife and pistol on the little table, took the tumbler in one
hand, the beer bottle in the other, and proceeded to drink.</p>

<p class='c001'>No sooner had McKenna released bottle and glass than his
right hand quickly, yet cautiously, sought the side-pocket of
his coat, where rested his trusted seven-shooter. With a sudden
<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>twist of the wrist, holding a firm grasp upon the pistol
stock, his thumb brought the hammer of the lock to full-cock.
Still he did not display the repeater.</p>

<p class='c001'>“By heaven! I’ve got Muff Lawler this time!” said
Flynn. “Ye can’t chate me! Pretendin’ to be sick, or
lame, won’t save ye! I’m here to kill ye!”</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p1662_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>I guess not, my swate Raparee! Not by these lights!</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>His wild, insane look rested uneasily on the half-concealed
figure in the bed, as he said this, not perceiving the
fact that McKenna had quietly changed position, and now
stood somewhat nearer to him than before.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, I’m not Muff Lawler!” painfully gasped Mulligan,
exposing his white, almost spectral features. The voice was
stronger than usual. He had summoned all his vital powers
to repel that which he might well believe a hateful vision.
“I’m only poor, sick, disabled Hugh Mulligan!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Turning his eye to the window, Flynn beheld Lawler,
driving away in the buggy, the horse’s head turned toward
town. Then he fiercely faced McKenna, and exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c001'>“You’ve saved Muff Lawler, but you are his ‘butty,’ and
I’m here to kill one of the two—so it seems you are the
one!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I guess not, me swate raparee! Not by these lights!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And the detective drew his weapon, bringing it close to
the man’s face, until the dark muzzle rested, deadly, sullenly
cold, in close contact with the ruffian’s bare cheek. Flynn,
drunk and infuriated as he was, could not resist that forbidding
and blood-chilling argument. It was plain that the
lock was set, the man’s finger resting on the trigger. He began
to tremble like a poplar leaf in the wind, his color
shifted from red to white, the features relaxed, the corners
of the mouth fell down, and his whole appearance was fearfully
changed.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch17' class='c006'>CHAPTER XVII.<br> <br>A PECULIAR WEDDING CEREMONY.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Flynn obeyed. He could do nothing less, finding himself
completely in the power of the enemy and that menacing
revolver. It was far from his intention to lose his life,
when, by merely complying with McKenna’s simple command,
he could insure its immediate or temporary preservation.</p>

<p class='c001'>At this late moment Mrs. Mulligan recovered her voice,
and throwing herself between Flynn and her husband, cried
out:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, don’t hurt my Hugh! He’s never done anybody any
harrum, <em>sheeling avourneen</em>! Sure its dyin’ the poor boy is,
the moment! An’ its right down cruel of yez to come disputin’
about, disturbin’ us an’ makin’ him the worse! Oh, kill
me, if you want to, but don’t hurt a hair o’ him!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faix an’ I don’t see that Flynn is about to shoot anybody
jist at the present moment!” said McKenna, still
keeping the weapon nigh his adversary’s head. “I am in
the firm belaif that the boot’s on t’other foot, this time!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Meanwhile the detective slowly retreated, still facing his
opponent, to the table on which the drunken man’s
weapons rested, and, without changing aim or lowering
the revolver, proceeded to deposit the knife in his pocket.
The second loaded pistol he retained in the left hand, ready
for use should his own miss fire or the cartridges be exhausted.</p>

<p class='c001'>At this stage of proceedings, Flynn, whose reason seemed
partly to have resumed sway, through fright, thought death
was sure to follow and his legs would no longer support him.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>Falling prone upon his knees, the tall hat came off, and he
held up both hands, begging abjectly, like the arrant coward
he was, that life might be spared, saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Don’t kill me, McKenna! For my poor childer’s sake,
don’t shoot!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I don’t intend to shoot, right here, in the presence of
Hugh an’ the good lady—but you had no such hesitation.
Do you see that opening the carpenter left in yonder wall?
What I now want is, that you get up from the floor an’ betake
yourself down thim stairs as fast as ye can go!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll do anything ye say!” answered Flynn.</p>

<p class='c001'>And the big, lubberly fellow, completely cowed and almost
sobered, moved slowly toward the door, McKenna following
close upon him, his weapon steadily directed full upon
Flynn’s bushy head. Down the staircase in this order of
procession they slowly continued their march.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Get ye in here!” said the detective, and he opened the
door of a sort of vault, where Mrs. Mulligan stored her bottled
ale and other liquors. “Step quickly,” was added, as the
result of an evident hesitation on the part of the prisoner.
The dark muzzle of the pistol emphasized the language, and
made it impossible for him to disobey; so in he went.</p>

<p class='c001'>“It is well you got in,” said McKenna, “fur I had brought
ye to the place where I intinded fur to kill ye!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll niver hesitate agin!” said Flynn, and he looked
about the dark recess. McKenna shut the door with a bang,
shot to its place the bolt of the ponderous lock, withdrew
the key, and placed it in his pocket. Then with a heavy
piece of timber, which had been employed as a support for
whisky barrels, he propped the massive oaken panels in
their position, resting the upper end of the brace against the
boards and the lower portion behind a solid brick-and-mortar
projection, forming part of the chimney. Thus was Dick
Flynn safely caged. To make sure that he remained where
he had confined him, the detective closed and fastened all
<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>the shutters to the windows, locked and barred every outer
entrance to the lower part of the house, took possession of
the keys, and then, only pausing a few moments to inform
Mrs. Mulligan that she was perfectly safe, and that he would
send an officer to her relief, with the frantic cries and oaths
of the imprisoned man ringing in his ears, experiencing a
feeling of gratitude that he had escaped, he started for
Shenandoah, following the track left by the carriage which
had borne away his wounded companion.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna had not gone far when he met Lawler returning
to Mulligan’s accompanied by a deputy sheriff.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Hurrah!” shouted Lawler, when he saw the young man,
apparently unharmed. “Then ye are not kilt enthirely?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ phat did ye run off afther?” queried McKenna,
appearing greatly offended. “I think ye might’ev stopped
at laste to carry away me dead body, afther the matin’ wid
Dick Flynn, the murtherous thafe of the worruld!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Didn’t I ride away, wid all me power, to get me revolver,
which, like a looney that I am, I had left snug at home?
An’ wasn’t I so disabled, from me wound, that I couldn’t tak’
any part in the pother? Didn’t I think there’d be nade of
an officer, sure—an’ isn’t wan here? Faith, ye kin now take
the boy to jail in a twinklin’! But where is Dick Flynn, the
insanity that he is!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, a poor excuse suits ye as well as any!” answered
the operative. “But I forgive ye, seein’ as how I wur successful
in handlin’ the man! You’ll find him, all swate an’
cooled down like, in Mrs. Mulligan’s beer closet, an’ all ye
hev to do is to put a revolver close to his head, an’ he’ll walk
quieter nor a lamb, wherever ye may wish. I have his
knife and pistol—here they are—an’ the kays to the doors—take
thim along, too—you kin do wid the fellow as ye
wish! Right here, I wash me hands of the business enthirely!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna handed the weapons and keys to the officer,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>and, stubbornly turning on his heel, rapidly journeyed
homeward.</p>

<p class='c001'>Flynn was removed to jail, at Shenandoah, where he remained
a few days and was eventually released, the witness
for the State having been coaxed by Mrs. Mulligan not to
appear against him. The poor woman was afraid that, if
punished, Dick would make her home too hot for her.
Thenceforward, however, Flynn bore himself quite decently
toward both of his former enemies, and gave McKenna a
wide berth if he chanced to find himself where he might possibly
encounter him.</p>

<p class='c001'>This may be set down as one of the many adventures of
a critical and dangerous nature which the detective experienced
during the course of his first year’s residence in the
anthracite region. He had still others, but they will receive
attention in an appropriate place. With these tragical
rencounters there arose also occasional experiences which
were of a more pleasant sort. Among the latter was his
participation in a Polish marriage ceremony, transpiring in
the vicinity of Shenandoah only a short time subsequent to
the sudden meeting with drunken Dick Flynn, just alluded to.</p>

<p class='c001'>Pete Monaghan, Ed. Fergus, and Tom McNulty accompanied
my representative on the trip. In view of this fact,
and their future relations with our work, it may be best more
particularly to introduce them to the reader’s attention.</p>

<p class='c001'>Monaghan seemed about four years past his majority,
was of fair complexion, hair of the color denominated sandy,
full, florid face, light blue eyes, and wore no beard or mustache.
In fact, he was a middle-sized, boyish-looking man,
a little above medium height and weight. He was at that
period a miner, but subsequently attended college about a
year and finally settled down in Shenandoah as a staid and
sober green-groceryman, in which place and position he yet
remained at last advices. He is not to be confounded with
Ned Monaghan.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>Ferguson, <cite>alias</cite> Fergus, was also a miner, but a personage
whose figure and face were a contrast to those just described.
Of dark complexion, wearing a black, full beard
and mustache, of which he was so proud that he constantly
stroked and petted them with his rough hand; a foxy little
face, red nose, that turned ever upward; large, broad, and
capacious mouth, which was seemingly filled with long, wide,
shovel-shaped teeth; staring, hazel eyes, ready to wink comically
at the faintest possible chance; his shoulders tending
to form part and portion of a human interrogation point, he
was neither large nor small, heavy nor light, but about a
medium in both; a person to be remarked upon the street,
and as full of genuine wit as he well could be. While Fergus
was wild and frolicsome, Monaghan was quiet and good-natured.</p>

<p class='c001'>McNulty was a compact fellow, of swarthy complexion,
black hair, dark gray eyes, round face, pug nose, and would
steal like a born thief. Work and he had evidently early
fallen out and never become reconciled. A fearful consumer
of drink, he was never trusted by the Mollies, and
there were few who knew him that would leave sixpence in
his reach if they cared ever to see it again.</p>

<p class='c001'>These were some of the every-day companions of the
operative.</p>

<p class='c001'>The natives of Poland, quite numerous in the vicinity of
Shenandoah, were mostly members of the Catholic Church,
affiliating readily with the miners from England, Ireland, Scotland,
and Wales, and, when of the same religious belief, even
with those of Germany and Scandinavia. Still they were
located in particular sections, and tenaciously held to many of
the fatherland social peculiarities. Their habits and customs
were mostly novel to the average American reader, and their
nuptial ceremony notable as among the most curious of those
belonging to a queer community. In the first place, although
it was generally known when and where a wedding was to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>transpire, yet no persons were especially invited to participate,
and none were asked to stay away. All, as it was
generally understood, would find welcome on the occasion.
Preparations were entered into for great sport, and plenty
of it, as an accompaniment to the act of uniting “two hearts
that beat as one.” There was, on these occasions, almost
total absence of restraint, but perfect decorum being the
prevailing rule, and disorder the exception. The Polish
women were as well-behaved, in every respect, as those of
other nationalities, and, in a locality where two-thirds of the
inhabitants were Poles, cause for divorce, and illegitimacy
were seldom brought to the light.</p>

<p class='c001'>But the wedding.</p>

<p class='c001'>Monaghan, Fergus, McNulty, and McKenna attended
the nuptials of Julius Krozenski with a fair maiden, to
whom he had been some years betrothed. It was rather
outside the borough limits and in the edge of the wood that
the girl’s parents resided, and this was the scene of the wedding.
There were many people already gathered when they
reached the place, although the time was only an hour past
sunset. The view presented to the eye of the detective
reminded him of pictures he had seen of gypsy encampments
at night.</p>

<p class='c001'>Two forked sticks had been embedded in the earth, the “y”
parts above ground. Across, and resting in the crotches
of these, was placed a heavy hickory sapling, some five
inches in diameter at the butt. Suspended by iron chains
and a hook from the center of this beam was a huge caldron
kettle, made of iron, and under the vessel a hot fire had
been kindled, which, beside serving its culinary purpose,
threw out fitful flashes of red light upon the motley assemblage,
giving a garish contrast on one side of each object
to the darkness of night shadowing the other.</p>

<p class='c001'>As a more voluminous sheet of fire would dart out from
among the pine knots and glowing embers, it illuminated a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>space for yards around, and sent the pleasant light far into
the budding branches of the highest trees.</p>

<p class='c001'>From the great iron kettle a savory incense arose. After
some inquiry, the stranger learned that it came from an
admixture of high-wines and common molasses, in about
the proportion of one gallon of the latter to four of the
spirit, which, when once well incorporated by stirring with a
wooden ladle, and brought to the boiling point, was to constitute
the wedding refreshment, in lieu of the breakfast,
supper, or dinner. The number of guests was large and the
liquor boiled made, in the aggregate, several gallons.</p>

<p class='c001'>There were present miners of all nationalities nearly, with
their wives and sweethearts—all outside the house in which
the bride sat, as the building was much too small to accommodate
one-tenth part of the concourse assembled. Had this
been different, the kettle would have swung from the crane
in the wide, open fireplace, after the olden fashion.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna and his friends were well received by the
people. This was especially the case with the detective,
who had dressed himself with more than ordinary care for the
occasion, exhibiting, for about the first time since the chicken
match, an immaculate linen shirt-front, collar, black necktie
and waistcoat, and having entirely eschewed the old leather
belt, with its common iron buckle. He was, therefore, in
his freshly-trimmed hair and whiskers, a rather gentlemanly
appearing young fellow, reputed a fair dancer, and as having
an uncommonly fine voice for an Irish love ditty. He was
met by several acquaintances, who were at some pains to
introduce him to the young ladies and gentlemen. With the
former his native modesty was not in the way of his cultivating,
to the full extent, their good graces. In fact, some of
the men thought he devoted more time than necessary
to the handsome women. Be that as it may, despite the
rough reputation he had won, he certainly was a prime
favorite with the Polish maidens. The Irish girls, also,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>thought he was about right; one especially—a queenly
figure, with dark, waving chestnut curls, and laughing, hazel
eyes, whose name, he heard, was Mary, and resided in, or
very nigh to, Tamaqua—was the particular object of his
regard, and Fergus suggested, more than once, that the
western chap had in her met his fate. It is true that
McKenna was deeply struck with the lady’s beauty, vivacity
and amiability—seen at a distance. He was now intent on
business, and believed, after that night, would never see her
again.</p>

<p class='c001'>But the wedding.</p>

<p class='c001'>The seething blackstrap was pronounced ready for use,
and a lady, a long-handled tin dipper in hand, stood at the
kettle dishing out its smoking contents to the company. It
rapidly disappeared, and, as it diminished and was imbibed,
the fun and hilarity proportionately increased. The fluid
was greatly relished by the Poles and their families.</p>

<p class='c001'>The young couple having been united by the priest, after
the ritual of the Roman Catholic Church, the clergyman partook
of the spirits and departed for his home. Then the
bride was seated at her place in the best room—which was
the kitchen—having a small table near, on which stood a
steaming pitcher of the blackstrap and a tin pot. In the open
fire-place blazed pine knots and light-wood, giving a genial
brightness to the place, which was devoid of lamps or candles.
A dresser with its array of polished tinware, reflected back
the flame and made each corner like open day. By the
chimney jamb, on a bit of log, fashioned into a rude stool,
sat the aged grandmother of the bride, gray, wrinkled, and
trembling in limb, but rigged out in a white ruffled cap,
and smoking a brand-new clay pipe. Chairs there were
none, excepting that devoted to the queen of the occasion—fair,
comely Mrs. Krozenski, with her hair done up in a
knot behind her head, combed flat at the sides of the face,
and the whole surmounted by a high tortoise-shell comb—who
<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>bore her honors gracefully, and was supplied with a
dress pocket, capacious enough to contain a small fortune
in silver.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p1661_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>And, before the defenseless man could prevent, she kissed him once, twice, thrice, on the cheek.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>This was the style of her reception: Her male friends,
one after another, came in, saluted her kindly, wishing her
the usual good luck, calling her by her new name, and each
one helped himself to some of the liquor, handing the bride a
present—always in the shape of money, and ranging from
one dollar to ten dollars, according to the ability or generosity
of the donor—then kissed the lady three times. She,
nowise disconcerted, placed the cash in her purse, and was
ready for the next person. The room was well filled with
ladies and gentlemen, the groom, meanwhile, busying himself
with out-door affairs. McKenna watched this part of the proceedings
for a while with interest, rather liked it, and then
walked up, paid his money, enjoyed his small share of the
lady’s lips, and stepped back a little to give others a chance.
Following him happened to be the young woman from Tamaqua.
She tripped gaily to the bride, took her dainty sip
of the liquor, tendered a bank-bill, and then, her roguish Irish
eye resting upon the detective, she suddenly swooped down
upon him, rested one little hand for a second lightly as a
snow-flake on his shoulder, and, before the defenseless man
could prevent, kissed him once, twice, thrice, on the cheek,
then as swift as the wind almost, turned, ran away, and disappeared.</p>

<p class='c001'>The laugh which was raised at the detective’s discomfiture
was both long and loud, and he was forced, after he had
recovered from the astonishment, to take part in it.</p>

<p class='c001'>It seems that the young lady had done nothing at all
indecorous or uncommon. The rule, as McKenna subsequently
saw exemplified, permitted any of the ladies who
saluted and feed the bride to kiss the woman just married,
or if she so chose, any of the gentlemen present. Hence
the agent had unwittingly placed himself in a position to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>become the subject of Miss Mary’s little trick. He was not
at all sorry for it, and the sensation of pleasure, caused by the
kiss, visited his cheek for weeks thereafter.</p>

<p class='c001'>The money thus donated to the bride—and this part of the
ceremony might be continued for some days—was employed
in furnishing the house of the wedded pair. It closed at
midnight, after which the lady and her husband could join
their friends and indulge in a polka or waltz.</p>

<p class='c001'>The dancing of the Poles consisted of redowas, waltzes,
polkas, mazourkas, and schottisches, some of which McKenna
was taught; but, after all these, he liked best the lively jig
and the rattling reel. Following some of this amusement, he
was called upon to sing a song and dance a favorite fling,
both of which he did with success. The song he gave
eliciting most commendation was as follows, and called:</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div>THE WEDDING OF BALLYPOREEN.</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>On a fine summer morning at twelve in the day,</div>
      <div class='line'>The birds they did sing and the asses did bray,</div>
      <div class='line'>When Patrick, the bridegroom, with Onagh, the bride,</div>
      <div class='line'>With their bibs and their tuckers, set out side by side.</div>
      <div class='line in4'>The pipers played first in the rear, sir;</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Maids blushed, and the bridegroom did stare, sir—</div>
      <div class='line in4'>O Lord, how the spalpeens did swear, sir,</div>
      <div class='line in6'>At the wedding of Ballyporeen.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>They were soon tacked togither, and home did return,</div>
      <div class='line'>To make merry the day at the sign of the Churn.</div>
      <div class='line'>When they sat down together, a frolicsome troop,</div>
      <div class='line'>The old Shannon’s bank never held such a group.</div>
      <div class='line in4'>There were turf-cutters, thatchers, and tailors,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Fiddlers, and pipers, and nailers,</div>
      <div class='line in6'>At the wedding of Ballyporeen.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>There was Bryan McDermott, O’Shaughnessy’s brat,</div>
      <div class='line'>There was Terence O’Driscoll and platter-faced Pat;</div>
      <div class='line'>There was Norah McCormick, likewise Bryan O’Linn,</div>
      <div class='line'>An’ the fat, red-haired cookmaid that lived in the inn;</div>
      <div class='line in4'><span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>There was Shelah, an’ Larry the genius,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Pat’s uncle, old Darby McGinniss,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Black Thady an’ crooked McDennis,</div>
      <div class='line in6'>At the wedding of Ballyporeen.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>The groom he got up an’ made an oration;</div>
      <div class='line'>He pleased them all with his kind botheration;</div>
      <div class='line'>“Since you all have met here”—then he swore and he cursed</div>
      <div class='line'>“You can eat till you swell, boys, an’ drink till ye burst;</div>
      <div class='line in4'>The first christening I hev, if I thrive, sirs,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>I hope ye all hither will drive, sirs.</div>
      <div class='line in4'>You’ll be all welcome, dead or alive, sirs,</div>
      <div class='line in6'>To the christening of Ballyporeen.”</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>The bride she got up and she made a low bow,</div>
      <div class='line'>She twittered—she felt so—she couldn’t tell how—</div>
      <div class='line'>She blushed, and she stammered, and a few words let fall,</div>
      <div class='line'>But she spoke it so low that she bothered them all.</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Then the mother cried out: “Are you dead, child?</div>
      <div class='line in4'>For shame! Now hold up your head, child;</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Tho’ sixty, I wish I were wed, child,</div>
      <div class='line in6'>I would rattle all Ballyporeen.”</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Well, they sat down to ate—Father Murphy said grace;</div>
      <div class='line'>Smokin’ hot were the dishes, an’ eager each face;</div>
      <div class='line'>Knives and forks they did rattle, spoons and platters did play;</div>
      <div class='line'>They elbowed and jostled an’ walloped away.</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Rumps, shins and fat sirloins did quake, sir;</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Whole mountains of beef down were mown, sir;</div>
      <div class='line in4'>We demolished all, to the bare bone, sir,</div>
      <div class='line in6'>At the wedding of Ballyporeen.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>The whisky went around an’ the songsters did roar;</div>
      <div class='line'>Tim sang, “Paddy O’Kelly”—Nell sung, “Moll Asthore;”</div>
      <div class='line'>When a motion went around that their songs they forsake</div>
      <div class='line'>And each man took his sweetheart, their trotters to shake.</div>
      <div class='line in4'>With the pipers in couples advancin’—</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Pumps, brogans, an’ bare feet fell a prancin’,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Such pipin’, an’ figurin’, an’ dancin’,</div>
      <div class='line in6'>Was ne’er seen at Ballyporeen.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>Here’s to Patrick, the bridegroom, and Onagh, the bride;</div>
      <div class='line'>That the Harp of Old Erin be hung by their side;</div>
      <div class='line'>An’ to all the people, whether old, gray, or green,</div>
      <div class='line'>Drunk or sober, that jigged it at Ballyporeen.</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Until Dan Cupid does lend you his wherry</div>
      <div class='line in4'>To trip o’er the conjugal ferry,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>I hope you all may be as merry</div>
      <div class='line in6'>As we were at Ballyporeen.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Just as McKenna had concluded this effort, a great
screaming and rushing of the ladies was heard in another
part of the house, accompanied by heavier voices of men,
mingling curiously with the music of the fiddle and the
barking of the dogs. The three friends, with almost every
person in the vicinity, quickly started for the field of disorder,
which seemed not far from the residence.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch18' class='c006'>CHAPTER XVIII.<br> <br>A ROW, A REMOVAL, AND A RAFFLE.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The true cause of the disturbance was not at once disclosed,
but its progress and bearings were easily determined
by the eye and ear of the spectator. Such a reign of confusion
and roar of voices; such a Babel of tongues, it had
never been the fortune of the operative to see or hear. In
the center of a considerable group of persons stood the
young husband, Julius Krozenski, brandishing a long stiletto
and loudly swearing that he would take somebody’s life.
Meanwhile a friend, less under excitement than the bridegroom,
firmly held the angry man back by the collar. Facing
the Pole, somewhat in the shadow of a large tree, stood an
<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>athletic Irish miner and his equally muscular wife, both
much wrought up, but neither exhibiting or employing any
more deadly weapon of offense or defense than their unusually
acrimonious tongues, which they exercised with all their
strength. Soon Mrs. Krozenski made her appearance, and,
walking straight to the side of her newly-made liege lord—but
by no means, as the sequel will show, her master—she
scientifically seized him by the left ear, told him to “put
away his knife,” and then, with an affectionate and effective
twist of the imprisoned auricular appendage, hauled the irate
man away. The burst of laughter which followed this evidence
of power on the part of a wife was highly exasperating
to Julius, and he slipped his tether, again drew his knife,
and rushed back toward his opponent. Once more Mrs.
Krozenski caught him by the ear, once more he had to replace
the weapon in his belt, and once more the victorious
lady led him in the direction of the house. This escaping
and catching process was repeated several times, and on
each occasion, the peacemaker succeeded in capturing and
carrying away her husband. At last he was safely returned
to the kitchen and seated on a log of wood at the wife’s
side, where, for some moments, he remained as mild and
quiet as possible.</p>

<p class='c001'>Now the reception ceremonies were continued, and nothing
more occurred to disturb the usual routine of proceedings
until O’Neill and his wife ventured to enter the apartment.
This was too much, and Krozenski burst out afresh, worked
himself into a new frenzy, and quickly rising, again reached
for and produced his long-bladed knife, which, unfortunately,
his spouse had permitted to remain in his possession.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective soon learned the cause of the difficulty.</p>

<p class='c001'>It seems that O’Neill, who was a miner, and an intimate
associate of the bridegroom, had formerly entertained the
hope that Julius would marry a maiden sister of his own—was,
in fact, somewhat angered that he did not—and, in Krozenski’s
<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>presence, made the remark, while dancing, that Mrs.
Krozenski was not as graceful in the polka as that gifted
young lady. This was a very mild criticism for O’Neill to
make, but it was heard by Krozenski, who had imbibed too
much of the blackstrap to have any great amount of sense
remaining in his head, and he resented it by calling the Irishman
a liar and following the hard word with a stinging blow
in the face. As was perfectly natural, O’Neill came in to
take a hand, backed by some of his immediate neighbors.
In the mêlée the bridegroom had drawn his knife and been
joined by some of his countrymen. This part of the fracas
was ended by the masterly manner of Mrs. Krozenski, whose
principal idea appeared to be to have her reception continued
and prevent her husband from thus early leaving
her a widow.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was all very well until O’Neill, having armed himself
with a revolver, entered the kitchen, which was crowded
with men and women. This was more than the husband of
Mrs. Krozenski could possibly endure, and as before stated,
he rushed once more to the deadly fray. He could not bear
to have O’Neill there to gloat over his abject submission to
Mrs. Krozenski. O’Neill, nothing loth for a further continuance
of the battle, promptly fired upon the bridegroom,
narrowly missing a lady standing near, and not hitting the
target by a foot. This was enough to cause all the Polish,
German, Welsh, and English miners in the room to side
with Krozenski, while those from Ireland were not backward
in joining the O’Neill and his plucky little helpmate.
McKenna’s friends, promptly deserting him, or expecting
that he would follow, entered the field. The detective, being
duly sober, saw at a glance that the Irish element was in the
minority, and, despite abundant courage and considerable
experience in such matters, would inevitably meet defeat,
and he assumed the <span lang="fr"><i>rôle</i></span>, for the first time that evening, of
conservator of the peace. There was imminent danger, in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>view of the proclivity of the Poles for using sharp knives
in such troubles, that some of his companions might be dangerously
injured, if not killed.</p>

<p class='c001'>Beside, the Mollie Maguires, as a body, were not interested
in the affair.</p>

<p class='c001'>Krozenski had gone in with the full intention of killing
O’Neill; and O’Neill was equally intent upon performing
the same kindly office for the Polander. Each man was
backed by his corps of partisans. The tumult that developed
defies powers of pen and pencil to depict, and, in point of
vocal and physical performances, exceeded all that the agent
had ever heard or read of in the same line at famous Kilkenny,
or equally famous Billingsgate. Bricks and stones
were the principal missiles employed; pistols and knives
played their part; heads were broken, and faces and noses
contused; crabsticks crossed; eyes draped in beautiful black
and blue, teeth lost, shins bruised, chops swollen, and shillalahs
fell with telling effect. The shouts and cries that rent the
night air were guttural Teutonic, Gallic, Celtic, Anglo-Saxon,
Welsh, Polish, and sometimes a mixture of all, perfectly
unintelligible to any of the nationalities participating. Dust
arose in clouds, and was almost suffocating in density. The
whole affair much resembled the common idea of a miniature
bedlam, and was in truth a small pandemonium let
loose—chaos come again.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p1941_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>Jolly noise! Jolly noise!! Jolly noise!!!</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>When the turbulence was at its highest pitch, while it
was difficult to think of, and utterly impossible to hear anything,
excepting the medley of noises immediately surrounding
him, McKenna’s attention was drawn to the part taken
in the fight by the aged grandam of Mrs. Krozenski, who
seemed greatly to enjoy the rumpus going on around her.
Jumping hither and thither, like a veritable witch without
her broomstick, the little, frisky old lady, her broad lace
ruffles and straggling gray hair flying about her withered
face, with shrill tone and violent gesture urged on her countrymen
<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>to the contest, and added at least her share to the
general disorder. At last, when the police had arrived, and
been driven away with clubs, when the combat had been
resumed, and shouts and shots and rattling of many sticks
again filled the air, the grandmother of the bride climbed
upon the back of a common chair, which had been brought
in by her granddaughter, and standing as erect as possible,
she loudly clapped her bony hands and screamed in her
cracked treble voice:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, jolly noise! <i>jolly noise!!</i> JOLLY NOISE!!!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This genuine burst of enthusiasm roused the energies of
the detective, thus far held firmly in reserve, and he drew his
revolver and fired three shots, in rapid succession, into the
floor, directly under the crone’s perch, shouting in a double-bass
voice, as loudly as he could, after each explosion:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Peace!” “<i>Peace!!</i>” “<span class='sc'>Peace</span>!!!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The aged dame beheld the flame and smoke issuing from
the revolver, and heard the reports; then, thinking that she
was certainly hit, if not killed, she toppled over backward to
the floor and straightened out in a dead faint. McKenna at
once dragged her insensible form out of harm’s way, and
then joined those who were trying their utmost to quell the
disturbance.</p>

<p class='c001'>The pistol shots, and the loud voices of McKenna and
Mrs. Krozenski—the latter having quit the fray to attend to
her relative—soon caused the belligerents to hesitate. In a
few moments their fury evaporated, and comparative quiet
was restored. Shortly thereafter those who were able limped
away to their homes.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faith, an’ I’ve had enough an’ to spare of all <em>such</em> weddin’s!”
said Fergus, examining with care an extra curve
that he wore in his turned-up nose, and wiping the gore from
his face with the sleeve of his coat. “When you catch <em>me</em>
goin’ to a Polish war again, I give ye good lave to put me in
me coffin first!”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>Monaghan had two eyes in preparation for mourning
which he was sure they would assume by another day.</p>

<p class='c001'>McNulty was the only lucky one, having escaped personal
injury—and found a silver watch, as he explained, “rolling
along on the floor, widout any kaper or owner bein’ around!”
He intended merely to retain the timepiece until the loser
should call for it. But McKenna never heard that anybody
ever saw the value of that watch, through having retrieved it
from the thief.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Polish husband and wife, with O’Neill and his spouse,
and a number of the originators of the riot, were taken to
jail by the officers, who returned with increased numbers for
the purpose.</p>

<p class='c001'>These scenes read like romance, but they are simply the
truth.</p>

<p class='c001'>Nothing here related is intended to reflect upon the Poles,
as a portion of the inhabitants of the coal regions of Pennsylvania.
They are, as miners, industrious and frugal, and,
though slow workers, very reliable and trustworthy. The
men are large, robust, muscular, and capable of great endurance.
The women are also far from sylph-like, but many
of them beautiful in form, face, and figure; with dusky olive
complexions, dark eyes and hair. They are excellent wives
and mothers.</p>

<p class='c001'>Let us now return to the Mollie Maguires.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next meeting of the midnight clan was held on Sunday,
the tenth of May, and his own room being too small,
the Bodymaster notified the members to convene on the
mountain-side near the house. All were present excepting
Fergus, who was not fairly recovered from the blows received
at the Polish wedding. Several of his teeth had disappeared,
his nose was badly bruised, and his beauty—of which he
had little to part with—entirely destroyed. He thought it
advisable to remain within for a few days, having, as he remarked,
a great respect for the children of his acquaintances
<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>and not wishing to be the means of frightening any of them
to death by his untimely appearance in their midst.</p>

<p class='c001'>Bushy Deenan, from Pottsville, being in Shenandoah on a
visit, was present at this meeting in the bush. About all
done was the giving out of the “goods,” received from
Barney Dolan by Lawler. McKenna was careful to commit
all to memory. They were as follows:</p>

<p class='c001'>The password:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“That the troubles of the country may soon be at an end!”</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>The answer:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“And likewise the men who will not her defend.”</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>The quarreling toast was:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“You should not dispute with a friend.”</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>The answer was:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“Not if I am not provoked!”</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>The night password was:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'><i>Question</i>: “Long nights are unpleasant!”</p>

<p class='c001'><i>Answer</i>: “I hope they will be at an end!”</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>The sign of recognition was the front or first finger and
thumb of the right hand touching the necktie, or top button
of the shirt.</p>

<p class='c001'>The answer was given by rubbing the right hand across
the forehead, just touching the hair.</p>

<p class='c001'>About this time the detective had his first portion of the
process of inuring himself to the mountain region. It came
in the form of fever and ague, and, during a number of days
subsequent to the meeting of his division, he suffered intensely,
at times, from chills, with the succeeding torrid sensations,
which confined him to his room and his bed at Mrs.
Cooney’s. Those who have enjoyed the rigors of this unpleasant
complaint need no description of the detective’s
symptoms—that, in this instance, “ignorance is bliss,” let
those who have not shaken be content to believe.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>As a matter of necessity, the officer soon settled the slight
difficulty in which he and Muff Lawler were involved. It
was foolish, as well as unnecessary, to keep up a quarrel
with a man so bound to him and in whose movements he was
so much interested. Should he separate from Lawler, at
this juncture, the division would look upon him with coldness,
if not suspicion, and it was his idea to remain on the
most intimate terms with his friends, the Mollies. Lawler
made a feint of going over to Colorado Colliery, to fight out
the trouble with Dick Flynn, and borrowed McKenna’s revolver
for dueling purposes, having little confidence in his
own weapon, after injuring himself with it, but the cowardly
Flynn would not come to time, ending the interview with
Lawler—as related by that veracious individual in person—by
falling upon his knees and asking the Bodymaster’s
pardon. Thus ended the affair, without having further
recourse to weapons, or the law.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was now the duty of the detective to collect statistics
connected with the order of which he had been made a
member. That he might accomplish this object, he must
travel from place to place. Therefore, saying his health
demanded rest from work in the mines—even should labor
present, and of this there were serious doubts—he prevailed
upon Lawler to grant him a traveling card, directed to the
officers of all divisions in the United States, through which—with
the “goods”—admission could be secured in any city,
town, or village. This card had to be countersigned by
Barney Dolan, County Delegate, before it was valid. The
name was easily gained, through a short trip to Big Mine
Run.</p>

<p class='c001'>Night and day during the spring, fall, and winter, McKenna
had been exposed to all sorts of weather and late hours, and
it told upon his constitution, which must have been of iron
to have held out so long, and he grew thin, cadaverous, and
his strength perceptibly and rapidly failed. The symptoms
<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>were aggravated by a dry cough, which drove off refreshing
sleep.</p>

<p class='c001'>Although it was not his intention to stay long away from
Shenandoah—which place, from the material in and surrounding
it, he believed to be the grand center of the field of
operations of the Mollie Maguires—and so informed all his
friends—the parting between McKenna and McAndrew was
a scene of mutual regrets. All disliked to have him leave.
This was especially the case with Cooney, Lawler, Monaghan,
Fergus, and little McNulty. But, after many good wishes
from the men and women, and promises on his part that he
would return as soon as fully recovered, the detective occupied
a car on the Lehigh Valley Road, the evening of the
fifteenth of May, 1874, and reaching Wilkesbarre, Luzerne
County, the same day, took up quarters at the Railroad
Hotel, of which Daniel Shovlin was then proprietor.</p>

<p class='c001'>Some bitter experiences were in store for McKenna.
There must be the bitter with the sweet.</p>

<p class='c001'>Bearing letters from Lawler and others to William Kirk,
County Delegate of Luzerne, he encountered no difficulty
in forming the acquaintance of the chief Mollies of the
vicinity. He found that there were at that time only a little
less than thirty divisions, or bodies, in the county, all of
which were in a prosperous condition, as many as thirty or
forty persons being added to the lodge in Wilkesbarre alone
during a single night.</p>

<p class='c001'>County Delegate Kirk was a gentlemanly person, kept
a store, and was kind enough to say that Schuylkill County,
from which his visitor came, “was, from its course, a disgrace
to the Ancient Order of Hibernians, and should be cut
off, root and branch, until there could be a complete remedy
for the difficulty in reorganization.”</p>

<p class='c001'>He received McKenna cordially, however, and said he
was not to blame for the condition of the order outside of
Shenandoah, and complimented him for the manner in which
<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>the business and finances of that division, as far as he had
heard, were being managed. He also took especial trouble
to introduce the operative to the chief men of the society in
Luzerne. It was learned that there were about four thousand
Mollies in the county.</p>

<p class='c001'>After remaining in Wilkesbarre a few days, McKenna
visited the division at Pittston, and saw and talked with the
Bodymaster, whose name was Melvin. He then visited
Kingston, Plymouth, and the adjacent towns, familiarizing
himself with the faces and names of the officers and members,
quietly adding to his list, acquiring a better knowledge
of the manners and customs of the people, and the
modes of procedure within and outside the division room.
Among others, he encountered Mike Hester, own cousin
of Pat Hester, of Shamokin, who had not the violent reputation
of his kinsman, but appeared to be a decent young man.
The detective had not been long absent when he was the
recipient of a letter from Muff Lawler, inquiring after his
health, and particularly cautioning him not to use the new
“goods” in Luzerne, as the members of the society in that
county had not yet been instructed in them. This the operative
had already discovered, but, as his memory was good
and he had remembered those of the previous quarter, he
encountered no difficulty in that respect. He also met Ned
Lawler, the degenerate nephew of his uncle, and found that
he had gained no wisdom by the taking on of years, but was
the same rollicking, reckless fellow he had been while in
Shenandoah. Kirk, when McKenna next visited his place,
showed him a letter from Mike Lawler, pompously worded,
but inquiring kindly after the health of his <span lang="fr"><i>protégé</i></span>, in whom
he said he was more than usually interested.</p>

<p class='c001'>The matter then most canvassed by the Mollies was a
conference, held on the twenty-seventh of the month at
Scranton, between Bishop O’Hara and five clergymen on
one side, and a delegation of twenty-five Bodymasters from all
<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>parts of the country, on the other, to discuss certain changes
in the constitution and by-laws, as well as in the secret work
of the order. Mr. County Delegate Kirk, and Peter Duffy,
of Hazelton, represented Luzerne County. The proceedings
of the convention were harmonious, but no conclusion was
arrived at, excepting in hearing the Bishop’s <span lang="la"><i>ultimatum</i></span>.
The clergy insisted that there must be a thorough revision
of the rules regulating divisions; that they should cease
holding meetings in bar-rooms, and consent to have a priest
for spiritual adviser, before the Church could recognize or
affiliate with them. The sentence, “If I hear a brother illy
spoken of I will inform him of it,” was also to be expunged
from the obligation. They did not seem to interfere with
the secrecy, and the signs and pass-words, and little was
said about the murderous acts which had been done by
the Mollies. It was, after much argument, left in about the
same condition as before. No mere county convention
could abrogate work done by the National Board, or the
Board of Erin. Indeed it was doubtful if the Mollies would
ever consent to any changes, Church or no Church, and
whether Bishop O’Hara would not, after all, have to follow
the example of Bishop Wood, and proceed to deal in anathemas
and excommunications.</p>

<p class='c001'>Remaining in Luzerne until the fifth of June of the same
year, McKenna then received orders from Superintendent
Franklin—under whose immediate supervision, guided by
Mr. Bangs and myself, he had all the time been acting—to
report at once in Philadelphia, and he immediately obeyed.</p>

<p class='c001'>It should have been mentioned, in its proper connection,
that, while waiting at the Shenandoah depot for the arrival
of the train to Wilkesbarre, on the fourteenth of May, Tom
Hurley had cautiously dropped something heavy into McKenna’s
outside coat pocket, whispering at the same time:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Jim, don’t you say I never made you a gift of anything!
You’ll have a hard set to deal wid, over in Luzerne, they’re
<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>tellin’ me, an’ my billy’ll come mighty convanient to have
at hand for your defense!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Of course the operative expressed his thanks. When he
arrived in Philadelphia, having no use for such a thing, he in
turn presented the life-preserver to Mr. Franklin, who will ever
treasure it as a relic of the Mollie Maguires. This weapon
is composed of a piece of untanned cowhide, now as hard as
horn itself, some six inches in length, twisted or braided into
a sort of handle, and covered from end to end with woolen
cloth. One extremity is loaded with three-quarters of a
pound of lead; to the other is firmly attached a loop, large
enough to admit a man’s hand, formed of strong linen cord,
and intended to allow the billy to hang loose from the wrist
and at the same time prevent it being lost or wrenched from
the grasp of its owner. At close quarters, it proves a very
savage and formidable arm of defense, resembling, but being
much more dangerous than the ordinary slung-shot in daily
use by policemen and others. Twelve ounces of solid lead
and raw-hide, dashed against the thickest skull by a strong-armed
ruffian, would as effectually silence a man as an
ounce of the same metal discharged from the bore of a
Springfield rifle.</p>

<p class='c001'>While at the Agency in Philadelphia McKenna prepared
a complete list of all the Mollies whose acquaintance he had
formed, as well as a regular enumeration of the officers and
members, so far as he knew, belonging to the different
divisions in Schuylkill and Luzerne Counties, after which
he was instructed to re-enter the field of operations, in Carbon
County, and to particularly investigate the circumstances
connected with the assassination of Morgan Powell,
occurring December 2, 1871, and alluded to in chapter
vii. of this volume. It was suspected that the deed had
been perpetrated by men residing in the vicinity, the system
of exchanges between Bodymasters not having on this occasion
been observed. Taking the proper line of railway, the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>detective was soon in Mauch Chunk, one of the most
romantic and ancient-looking towns in the entire State.
Here, however, for the present, he need spend but little
time. His business was at Summit Hill, and, taking the
cars over the Switch-back, he was soon in that locality.
Going at once to the house of Thos. Fisher, who kept a
tavern and acted as County Delegate, he was well received,
after making himself known by throwing the proper sign,
which was promptly responded to by the Mollie. There
were several members present at the moment, and McKenna
was introduced to them. Among these were Daniel Boyle,
the Bodymaster, John Gallagher, and Pat McKenna—of
those of the last name given the detective heard there were
a large number in the neighborhood—naturally they must
be relatives. Here he also saw Maguire, the State Secretary
of the order, from Pittsburg, who was canvassing in
the interest of his newspaper, the <cite>Hibernian</cite>, which was the
acknowledged organ of the A. O. H. in this country. It
was here he heard that big, blarneying, blundering Barney
Dolan was in disgrace at headquarters and there was a
chance that he would be removed from his office as County
Delegate of Schuylkill, and never receive any more “goods”
for the divisions, simply because he had, in a fit of anger,
loudly cursed the Bishop and the holy Church of Rome.
All agreed that Barney should have been more respectful,
and in using such language had richly merited the punishment
of expulsion for life.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna, the detective’s namesake, was a young man,
above the average in intelligence, but loved his dram as
well as any of his countrymen in that vicinity.</p>

<p class='c001'>Fisher had been tax-collector of the county, with other fat
positions, and was considered the big man of the Mollies in
Carbon County.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective’s kinsman was even at that early day
suspected of having been engaged as a principal in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>murder of Morgan Powell, and Pat very naturally became
an object of interest and a person whose company McKenna
wanted to keep. That young man was at first rather
shy, but a few songs and dances, some drinks, and a distant
cousinship once having been discovered, the heart of the real
McKenna gradually warmed toward the party bearing, for
the time being, the same name. The companionship was
kept up for some days, and finally the detective was invited
to McKenna’s residence and introduced to all of his relatives,
girls and women, boys and men. There he made
himself comfortable for a short time. He was also quite
welcome, because of the stories he told the women, and the
drinks he gave the men, while with the younger crop of
McKennas he was a great favorite from his lessons in
dancing and singing.</p>

<p class='c001'>During the latter portion of June, bidding farewell to
Summit Hill and its inhabitants, and promising to call again
some day—an engagement that he was determined to fulfill—the
detective thought to return to Luzerne, but stopping
over at Hazelton, during his stay he was invited to attend a
dance and raffle at Buck Mountain, and accepted. The
chances were only a dollar, and the article to be won by
somebody was a brass clock, the property of a widow woman
named Breslin. The lady in question kept a shebeen-shop
on the mountain, and her husband had, some months before,
been killed in the mine by the sudden falling of a pillar near
which he was at work. Tickets were for sale in every
saloon in Hazelton, and having procured one, McKenna
started, in company with some thirty or forty Mollies, to walk
to Buck Mountain. At least more than half the distance,
from the steepness of the ascent, had to be made on foot,
as no vehicle could be drawn up by horse or mule.</p>

<p class='c001'>The party was held upon the grounds surrounding Mrs.
Breslin’s mansion—if mansion it could be called, consisting,
as it did, of one small room—and the company was as
<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>miscellaneous as it was numerous, there being several hundred
men, women, and girls in attendance. But all could be
accommodated, as there were plenty of torches, any amount
of level earth, and seven or eight fiddlers to furnish the
music.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mrs. Breslin—a fine figure of a woman, but one somewhat
along in years—was celebrated the country over for
her good liquor, which, on this occasion, had been prepared
in a large kettle, and was dealt out steaming hot—in fact, it
was the Polish blackstrap over again, with some scraps of
lemon added, by way of variety, and honored with the name
of punch—hot whisky-punch.</p>

<p class='c001'>The operative received an introduction to many of the
men and all of the women, among the latter to a handsome
lass, of rather uncertain age, named Kate McIntyre. Con
O’Donnel gave him the acquaintance of this handsome and
sprightly lady. She evidently became smitten with the
young man, and despite the image of the Tamaqua queen,
Miss Higgins, who still held a place in his memory, he paid
her considerable attention, engaging her hand in several
successive and successful reels and round dances. He
treated Miss McIntyre to some of the prevalent beverage,
found that she liked it, and took sufficient himself to make
him feel jolly. In fact, a little after ten o’clock at night, the
whole assemblage was funny, and after the clock had been
raffled for and won—the winner gracefully making the widow
a present of the timepiece—the mirth merged into hilarity
and gradually into boisterousness. Then the time passed
until midnight, when there was a short recess, during which
Mrs. Breslin added to her profits by disposing of a cold collation,
consisting of chicken, sandwiches, and hard-boiled
eggs, of which the parties partook with appetite.</p>

<p class='c001'>Miss McIntyre and her gallant, after having refreshments,
walked around the grounds, arm in arm. While near the
shanty of Mrs. Breslin, they nearly stumbled over the prostrate
<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>form of a man, who had evidently absorbed too much
of the liquor. The drunken fellow slowly opened his eyes,
saw Miss McIntyre, and, rising up on one elbow, with a gesture
called her to him. But she gazed on him in blank
astonishment, merely turning on her heel, with a look of
disdain, and they walked away.</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ who is your friend?” asked McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I don’t know the man at all,” said Miss McIntyre, “and
I’m sure he does not know me! It was the act of an idiot,
who could think of nothing else!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, but for his helpless state, I’d just go back and bate
the brute for his impertinence!” said McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>Kate looked admiringly upon her companion, out of her
large, dark eyes, and they passed on and once more joined
in the dance.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch19' class='c006'>CHAPTER XIX.<br> <br>SNARED BY KATE—HONORED BY “MOLLIE.”</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Con O’Donnel, who stood <a id='corr194.18'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='nor'>not</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_194.18'><ins class='correction' title='nor'>not</ins></a></span> far off, noted the drunken
man’s remark and was seen to smile significantly as McKenna
and the lady moved from the spot.</p>

<p class='c001'>The festivities were continued until nearly break of day,
when the detective, learning that his partner had no male
attendant, politely volunteered to accompany her home,
which she said was no great distance away. Miss Kate accepted
the proffer, as McKenna afterwards thought, with
slight evidence of embarrassment, and looking furtively
about her, as though in search of some one she had rather
expected to see. But if there was any person present, her
roguish eye failed to discern the fact, and, placing one hand
<span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>upon the arm of her escort they were soon lost in the
darkness.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p1942_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>Placing one hand on the arm of her escort, they were soon lost in the darkness.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>Con O’Donnel was still looking after the couple, around
the protecting and shaded corner of the widow’s shanty, from
which, with a sly chuckle, when the coast was clear, he
quickly emerged and walked to the vicinity of the drunken
man. That he was bent upon mischief those who saw the
merry twinkle in his eye were well convinced.</p>

<p class='c001'>It is unnecessary to enter into a minute description of the
pleasant walk that McKenna enjoyed with Miss McIntyre.
Knowing well that his companions from Hazelton would
await his reappearance among them—as the majority were
in no condition, from the poteen they had imbibed, to undertake
the home journey—he and his fair lady did not hurry
toward the protecting paternal roof. On the contrary, as has
been the usage since the days of Adam, they made haste
slowly, enlivening the trip with cheerful conversation, reference
to the festive occasion and lucky chance that brought
them together, with such other talk as would naturally
suggest itself to a pair in their exact mental and physical condition.
It was a long story—and a wrong story, too, it appears—that
vivacious Miss McIntyre related to her impromptu
beau, about her parents’ home, the family, and the
trouble they had to get along during the suspension. McKenna
was already hinting that, if he were a little better
acquainted, perhaps he might be bold enough to ask the
father to part with his child, press her to change her condition
in life and become Mrs. McKenna, and Miss Kate had
started and blushed—but that could hardly be seen in the
dusky gray of the misty morning—when both distinctly heard
sounds of footsteps coming swiftly toward them from the
direction of widow Breslin’s place. Miss McIntyre suddenly
withdrew her arm from that of her chevalier, paused in her
tracks and listened breathlessly for a moment, then, in a
faint and trembling voice ejaculated:</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>“My God! It is my husband! Our lives are in danger!
He will kill us both! What shall I do?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Your husband, is it?” inquired McKenna, realizing the
joke that had been put upon him and fully alive to the
awkward predicament in which he was placed. “Your husband?
Sure, didn’t Con O’Donnel introduce ye as a single
lady? Faix, but we are really in a purty kettle of fish! Tell
me, is yer husband of the jealous sort? An’ do ye think that’s
him, whose feet I hear makin’ such a racket over the path?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Don’t stand here askin’ questions,” answered Mrs. McIntyre!
<a id='corr196.11'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Oh,'>“Oh,</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_196.11'><ins class='correction' title='Oh,'>“Oh,</ins></a></span> why did I fall in with Con O’Donnel’s wicked
deceit? I might have known he would bring it about to
punish me! He’s just gone and roused Danny, and I don’t
doubt, if he catches me in your company, there’ll be murder
done upon the very spot! My husband’ll shoot us both!
Oh, that I should ever have been so foolish!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna had more than once heard of Danny McIntyre,
but without for a moment suspecting that he was any kin to
the young woman with whom he had been walking, dancing,
and making himself generally agreeable.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m jist of the mind to step out into the road and shoot
that husband of yours before he has a chance to say a word
or do wan single thing!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“For mercy’s sake, don’t talk that way!” whispered the
lady, trembling all over like an aspen leaf.</p>

<p class='c001'>“We must not be seen! Here—get you behind this tree!
The underbrush will hide me! Keep quiet until he goes
beyond!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And, without a moment to spare, they disappeared from
view. When the man passed their place of concealment
they were as still as death. McIntyre carried a pistol in his
hand, and was walking as rapidly as his mellow condition
permitted, surging from one side of the path to the other as
he moved, but finally, without discovering the fugitives, he
was lost to their sight.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>When his heavy tread could no longer be heard, the
couple stood again in the road. At least one of the two
breathed more freely—and that was McKenna—when the
husband’s form could no longer be seen. He had caught
sufficient, while he was going by, to convince him that he
was the identical personage who had spoken to his lady companion
near Mrs. Breslin’s, and to whom Kate had, in his
presence, refused recognition.</p>

<p class='c001'>The feelings of both had undergone a sudden revulsion.
McKenna was very angry with Con O’Donnel, as well as
with the woman who had assisted that person in playing such
a practical joke upon him, and Mrs. McIntyre was naturally
much mortified to be caught in such an embarrassing situation,
being also fearful of the treatment to be expected from
her husband should he reach home before her. With a cold
and crusty “good morning, sir!” for the gentleman to
whom she had so recently been saying all manner of sweet
things, she added that she “could take a short-cut, with
which she was acquainted, and, going across lots, make
their mutual place of destination before Danny.” Then
Kate took her departure.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was still too dark, though almost daybreak, for a person
with the sharpest eyes to see very far in any direction, and
the probabilities were that the woman would get to her residence
first and succeed in fooling the half-intoxicated
McIntyre with the belief that she had deserted the dancing
place before midnight.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna gave utterance to a long, low whistle, somewhat
expressive of surprise and partly seeming like a sigh
of relief, as he returned by the road over which he had so
recently passed.</p>

<p class='c001'>He walked alone and hurriedly this time.</p>

<p class='c001'>Arrived at the house of Mrs. Breslin, he went directly in
pursuit of Con O’Donnel, but that individual was not to be
found. He had made his exit. Throwing himself, therefore,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>upon a bundle of straw, under the branches of a tree, the
detective soon forgot his wrath and his troubles in sleep.
He had not been long in the land of Nod when he was
aroused by the sound of a heavy voice calling loudly from
different parts of the premises for Con O’Donnel. Nearing
the operative’s improvised bed, McIntyre—for it was he—exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Jist tell me where I’ll find that spalpeen, Con O’Donnel,
an’ I’ll tache him to be afther playin’ practical jokes on me!
I’ll larn him to tell me that Kate’s gone off wid that Jim
McKenna! Jist let me lay these two han’s on the mane
scut, an’ I’ll mash the life out o’ him! Sure, an’ me wife
war slapin’ in her bed, as a dacent woman should be! Oh,
tell me where to find Con O’Donnel!”</p>

<p class='c001'>But nobody seemed to know where the object of McIntyre’s
anger had taken himself to, and the husband was
compelled to satisfy himself with some more whisky-punch,
and then subsided, by the wall of the sweet-smelling pig-pen,
into a drunken stupor, from which, had he appeared, even
Con O’Donnel would have failed to arouse him.</p>

<p class='c001'>So Mrs. McIntyre had succeeded in duping her husband!
This was sufficient to send the weary operative off again
into slumber, and it was an hour after sunrise when he awoke.
As he had expected, only three or four of the Hazelton
Mollies were fit to return. The remainder could not be
made sensible, and were scattered in various grotesque attitudes,
like bodies on a sanguinary battle-field, about the
dancing-grounds, oblivious to all surrounding them, where
they were left to take care of themselves, while the detective
and his more sober comrades pursued their path down
Buck Mountain to the village.</p>

<p class='c001'>Con O’Donnel was not foolish enough to put himself in the
way of the Shenandoah Mollie during his short stay in Carbon
County, but the story being far too good to keep bottled
up was related to his boon companions, with many extraordinary
<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>embellishments, not well calculated to please Mr. and
Mrs. McIntyre, or suit the ideas of McKenna, and in this
way soon reached general circulation in a gossiping community.
While the detective was able to laugh it off, and
soon get away from the locality, Danny McIntyre, when he
heard what was being said, went on another extended but
still fruitless search after the defamer of his household. The
man who had imposed his wife upon a stranger as a single
lady, having business and employment offered him in another
part of the State, accepted the opportunity and soon removed
from the neighborhood. Still threatening vengeance that he
was unable to wreak, McIntyre was forced to quiet down
and endure the result as best he might. Thenceforward the
agent was more than ordinarily on his guard, and extremely
careful how he volunteered to see unprotected
maidens to their homes, without first making diligent inquiry
if there chanced to be one Con O’Donnel thereabouts.</p>

<p class='c001'>Carbon County having been well gone over, during the
early part of July McKenna returned to Shenandoah.</p>

<p class='c001'>The few events following, to the first of August, may thus
be summarized:</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective soon found all his Shenandoah friends about
him. Lawler, Cooney, Hurley, Monaghan, McAndrew,
and the rest were very glad to see their fellow-Mollie.</p>

<p class='c001'>After the Fourth had passed, during which the members
engaged in a general good time, celebrating the day of
national independence, they commenced talking about securing
a new Bodymaster for Shenandoah division, Lawler not
having given satisfaction in several particulars. He seemed
simply doing nothing. The boast that he would rapidly
increase the membership had fallen short. Numbers were
leaving, not liking the style of the presiding officer, instead
of flocking in and joining the order. It was hinted to
McKenna by several, that if he would accept, he might have
the place of Bodymaster. He very wisely refused the tempting
<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>bait, but returned answer that, if they must honor him in
this style—and for such an elevation he was by no means
anxious—it should be in the bestowal of some subordinate
position.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was at this date that there arose considerable talk
among the Mollies about one Gomer James, who had not
long before shot and killed a member of the order named
Cosgrove, living near Shenandoah. James was arrested, but
secured bail and would soon be at large. Ned Monaghan
and several others were desirous that Lawler should get
some men from an adjoining body and have Gomer James
quietly put out of harm’s way, but, somehow, Muff could not,
or would not, comply with their wishes. Therefore, ex-constable
Monaghan—not Ed. Monaghan—expressed himself
in favor of having an officer who would and could perform
the job. Barney Dolan was sent for, and Lawler forced to
send in his resignation, so that the Country Delegate might
appoint a successor.</p>

<p class='c001'>To make matters more unsettled, and the Mollies more
lively, a general suspension of active operations occurred on
the sixth of July, all the collieries belonging to the Philadelphia
and Reading Coal and Iron Company, as well as those
the property of, or leased by, individual operators, closing
business and refusing longer to keep on at a loss, with expected
permanent detriment to the mining interest. Labor
of nearly all kinds was at a standstill. Thousands of men
were without employment. The vicious and unprincipled
of these being left to idleness, and naturally ready for anything,
it was anticipated that outrages would quickly follow.
Such always had been the case, and probably always would
be, under the prevailing system of managing the coal regions.
But one or two collieries kept at work in all Schuylkill
County. Many of the miners and their helpers sought forgetfulness
in liquor. Among this number were several of
McKenna’s associates, Hurley being notably one of the first
<span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>to begin and the last to terminate a spree. He loudly and
openly cursed the Modocs, and ended by saying that Gomer
James, and those like him, who were responsible for hard
times, must look out, as some of them would sup sorrow
during that summer. How they could be chargeable with a
stoppage of the works he did not pretend to explain, but put
it upon them, without explanation, merely because he did
not know where else to place it.</p>

<p class='c001'>On one occasion Hurley exhibited a handsome set of brass
knuckles, that he had borrowed of Martin Deane, and which
were intended to be used upon somebody. Shortly thereafter,
Deane left for Loss Creek, and he had been gone
only a few days when a man named Reilly was shot and
mortally wounded, by one Anthony Shaw, known to be
Deane’s butty. Suspicion fastened upon the latter as an
accomplice in the shooting, but there was no evidence pointing
him out as the accessory.</p>

<p class='c001'>In the meantime, Frank McAndrew was the prominent
candidate for Bodymaster, and, on the fifteenth of July, the
big County Delegate, Barney Dolan, appeared in Shenandoah,
saying something should be done, and done at once,
otherwise their organization in the town should be disbanded.
Dolan sought an early interview with McKenna and came
out plainly with the wish that the detective should accept the
Bodymastership; but he firmly refused, saying his conscience
would not let him take it when there were so
many more worthy men in the division; and he clinched the
statement by hinting that he did not know at what moment
the officers from Buffalo might pounce upon him. In such
an event the division would be disgraced. No! he could not
fill that office! Whatever he did must be in a subordinate
position, or as a common member. The same day, Hurley,
Monaghan, McAndrew, and the detective met in Lawler’s
house, at once shut Mrs. Lawler in the little, back kitchen,
off the bar, locked and bolted the door against her, and proceeded
<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>to hold a special meeting, one man having been
stationed without to give warning, should any straggling
stranger chance to stroll to the vicinity. After some desultory
conversation, Frank McAndrew was duly appointed
Bodymaster for the remainder of the term, and instructed in
the duties of the position. He was informed that he must
make all the members pay up their dues, or be cut off.
Dolan said that, hereafter, it must be a beneficial society.
The charge had gained circulation that charity was not
among the virtues practiced by the A. O. H., and it should
be disproved. After some more talk of this sort, the County
Delegate, quite muddled with drink, and well satisfied with
himself and his official acts, left for home.</p>

<p class='c001'>That very night, at a late hour, as McKenna and Monaghan
were passing the house of Gomer James, the obnoxious
young Welshman, on the route homeward, the ex-constable
pulled out his revolver and wanted to fire into the building,
saying, if he “only knew where Gomer James’ head rested
he’d send a bullet there.” He was only prevented from
putting his project into execution by McKenna, who seized
the pistol and compelled its owner to put it away. There
was nothing in the programme of the detective authorizing
him to become an accomplice in outrage when it could be
avoided.</p>

<p class='c001'>At the ensuing regular meeting of the division, held in
McHugh’s house, on the eighteenth of July, an election took
place. McAndrew was confirmed as Bodymaster for the
current term, James McHugh elected Treasurer, James McKenna,
Secretary, and all were regularly installed. It was
really a business meeting. James O’Brien, Charles Hayes,
and John Travers were accepted, subsequently initiated, and
other persons proposed as members.</p>

<p class='c001'>Lawler was not present, having gone into a fit of the sulks,
because of his removal by Barney Dolan, in the first place,
and from the failure of the members to re-elect him Bodymaster,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>in the second place. He temporarily resigned membership,
but promised, after he had been a quarter of a year
in the Church, that he would resume active participation in
their proceedings. This was perfectly satisfactory to those
concerned.</p>

<p class='c001'>All things considered, Shenandoah Division succeeded
better than before. Although McAndrew was troubled to
read writing, and even perused print indifferently, he soon
made, with McKenna’s assistance, a very fair presiding
officer. The detective had to go to his assistance in the
ceremony of initiation, was called upon to deliver the obligation,
or test, as it was sometimes described, and instruct
the novitiates in the signs, pass-words, and toasts, but otherwise
McAndrew managed affairs exceedingly well. This
election to the Secretaryship gave the agent standing with
the members, furnished him a safe place in which to write
his reports, and also an excuse for carrying on considerable
correspondence. Should suspicion thereafter ask a single
question, he could plainly answer: “Am I not the Secretary?
And have I not the writing of the division to attend
to?” While instructing the members in the “goods” his
memory would be stored with their salient features and he
be enabled the more correctly to report them to the Agency.
The Mollies being generally uneducated, such a position
gave its occupant high standing in the order.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was not long after McAndrew’s succession to the Bodymaster’s
chair, that he commenced, spurred on by Monaghan
and Hurley, arguing seriously with the detective, whenever
he found an opportunity, about the case of Gomer James,
the murderer of Cosgrove, and to perfect plans for the Welshman’s
sudden taking off. He often referred to the timber
of which Shenandoah Division was composed, and regretted
that it had no suitable men to do a clean job. But he said
there was encouragement now, as new members were fast
coming in, and it could not be long before the right sort
<span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>would be plentiful. When he found the persons for the
deed he would not be slow in selecting and sending them
upon the track of the enemy. One John Gibbons, who,
about this date, came to the town with a letter from Barney
Dolan, he had hopes of. He was looked upon as about the
manner of man needed for any outrageous business, and certainly
appeared bad enough to the eye, and consumed sufficient
whisky to constitute a first-class ruffian.</p>

<p class='c001'>McAndrew was excessively proud of the eminence to which
he had been conducted, and acted as though not far from
parting with his senses when a delegation of neighboring
Bodymasters, comprising “Bucky” Donnelly, of Raven Run,
James Munley, of Rappahannock, and several other prominent
Mollies, called in a crowd at his house, with their congratulations
upon his good luck, and wishing him every success
in office. As a natural consequence of such a shower
of compliments, McAndrew treated several times to the best
that could be found in the city, and, after making a day of
it, went to bed late at night as drunk as a lord, when he
had bid his visitors farewell at the train by which they
departed.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was a considerable task for McKenna to teach
McAndrew the prayers with which every meeting of the
Mollie Maguires was opened and closed—for these men of
blood did not hesitate to introduce and canvass their murderous
acts and begin and end their councils, at which the
taking of human life was deliberately discussed, with a petition
for the blessing of the Father to rest upon them—therefore,
after receiving one or two lessons at the house, and in
the bush, the Bodymaster said if the operative would reduce
the forms to writing he would have his wife repeat them to
him until they were fixed in his memory. When this was
done, and McAndrew had secured some instruction in parliamentary
usage, the new-fledged President considered his
education complete.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>At each and every conference of the two men, McAndrew
now would say to the detective that Monaghan, or some
other party, had once more been urging the necessity of doing
something with Gomer James. McKenna endeavored to
make the Bodymaster believe it useless to pay any attention
to these demands, holding that they would soon cease and
their cause be forgotten. But that official, while he did not
wish to assume any such responsibility, was not able to see
the road by which it could be avoided. And McKenna,
on his part, did not dare oppose too strenuously. Such a
course would cause McAndrew to drop his communications
on the subject, and then possibly the work might go on without
his Secretary’s knowledge. One day the head of the
division arrived at the decided stand that, as soon as the
number of members should justify, he would levy an assessment,
and collect a fund to pay for the services of men from
some adjoining division to come over to Shenandoah and
“put Gomer James off his legs.”</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna saw that McAndrew’s mind was firmly made up
in this direction, hence gave no further check to the business.
A contrary plan, he was well aware, would prove of
no avail, and, resolving merely to watch closely the course
of events, he remained silent. Should the Mollies undertake
to murder the young Welshman, as he feared they
might, his duty was plain. He must, while appearing to
favor the deed, do all he could to prevent its consummation,
and at the same time keep Mr. Franklin well informed in
every stage of the game, to the end that the Superintendent
might, if he deemed it advisable, capture the criminals before
the act, or notify James of his danger. It did not
trouble the brain of the agent much, as he was fixed in his
belief that nobody could attempt the crime without his
knowledge. And he felt sure that, being fully advised as to
what was going on, he would be in good time to preserve
the intended victim’s life.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>He quickly found out that there was a general complaint,
which neither Bodymaster nor Secretary could afford to
overlook. It was in the shape of an inquiry, set on foot by
Monaghan and Hurley, asking: “Why is not something done
for the removal of Gomer James?” There was but one
response to be made to this question, and that must be: “It
shall have attention.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Having done all he could to counteract this demand on
the part of the Mollies, McKenna visited Pottsville, where
he found his particular friend, Pat Dormer, of the far-famed
Sheridan House, in a terribly shattered condition of mind
and body. After a long debauch, during the course of which
Pat had driven his wife almost insane, and finally out of
doors, he was suffering the consequences of his errors and
keeping house by himself, which was lonely enough to make
the giant quite distracted. In fact, he was about as miserable
a piece of six-foot humanity as ever the detective looked
upon. He brightened up a little, however, when he grasped
McKenna’s hand and heard his cheerful voice, and tried to
become more like his former jovial self, but it was a failure,
and ended with subsidence into a deeper fit of despondency
than had before possessed him.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna exerted himself to bring Dormer around to his
senses again, partly because he hated to see him so wretched,
partly to learn what he knew of the Mollies, and finally
so far succeeded that Dormer invited him to enjoy a carriage
ride over the mountain. During their journey Pat
begged his companion to visit Mrs. Dormer and try to induce
her once more to return to his and her home, engaging
faithfully to go before the priest and take an oath never to
drink another drop of liquor if she would forgive him. This
the detective had to promise. He did, later in the day, try
his hand as family peacemaker with the lady in question,
but without success, as she utterly refused ever to have anything
to do with her husband. She said he thought nothing
<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>of an oath, and might break it within thirty days. Her life
would be in constant danger, and McKenna could hardly
blame her for preferring a comfortable and quiet home,
where she was, to the trouble and disorder in which Dormer
was always embroiled.</p>

<p class='c001'>After wandering over the mines, calling upon the principal
Mollies, and thoroughly sounding the miners on the
subject of the suspension, the Secretary returned, about the
first of August, to Shenandoah. There he was gladly received
by the officers and members of his division, and soon
learned that, on the fourth of the month, there was to be a
meeting of County Delegates at Tremont. It now became
his special object to lay his wires in such shape that he
would be reasonably sure of discovering, at an early day, the
general purport, if not full particulars, of the business transacted
by the convention.</p>

<p class='c001'>Could it be that this arrangement foreshadowed evil to
Gomer James?</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch20' class='c006'>CHAPTER XX.<br> <br>A FRIGHT, A FIGHT, AND A FUNERAL.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Time passed, however, and the murder of Gomer James
was not accomplished. In truth, it was little spoken of.
Political excitements and the occurrence of other absorbing
events appeared to cause the Mollies to bury, if not forget,
their enmity to the young Welshman. But, as facts distinctly
indicated, their vengeance was only sleeping, to be
awakened, in the future, with added strength and fury.</p>

<p class='c001'>Barney Dolan, as my agent at about this time learned,
encountered fresh trials. There was a movement on foot to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>get entirely rid of him. It culminated in the meeting of the
County Convention, consisting of Bodymasters of all the
principal divisions, at Mahanoy City, upon the peremptory
call of the State Delegate, Captain Gallagher. As a part of
the proceedings, which were promptly reported to the Secretary
by Frank McAndrews, Dolan was cut off for life from
all participation in, or benefit from, the order—in other
words, expelled—and fined in the sum of five hundred dollars,
on account of his failure to report and pay over to the State
officials certain collections that he had made for the current
year. While this summary action fell particularly hard upon
Barney, constituting an act for which he appeared wholly
unprepared, it was not unexpected by McKenna, who, it will
be remembered, heard the topic hinted at by the State
Secretary, Maguire, while visiting, some weeks before, at
Summit Hill.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Convention then proceeded to nominate and elect—as
it seemed to have the right to do—Dolan’s successor in
office, and John Kehoe, of Girardville, was declared the
unanimous choice. That cunning wire-puller and artful
dodger, it seemed, had his tricks ready prepared, long before
the day set for the Convention, and it was the easiest thing
possible for him to slide his thin feet into Dolan’s big shoes.</p>

<p class='c001'>The decision of the meeting was also expressed, by vote
of a majority of those present, that something more should
be done to make the world look upon the Ancient Order of
Hibernians as purely and simply a benevolent institution, in
the coal regions, as it was supposed to be in other portions
of the United States. It must no longer be accused of
murders and assassinations, and lesser outrages, but, on the
contrary, gain credit, at home and abroad, as the tried support
of the widow and orphan, and the source of relief for
the laborer, when unable to work, or when otherwise thrown
out of employment. The real Mollies laughed in their
sleeve, meanwhile, and none more heartily than John Kehoe,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>the newly-elected County Delegate. Capt. Gallagher might
say and do what he would, the County Conventions, the
State Conventions, and their officers, might pass resolutions,
and issue orders and commands, and, after all, the small yet
potential ring within their circle, encompassing the counties
of Schuylkill, Carbon, and Columbia, would manage affairs
and shape results, through the use of the order, to suit themselves.
If murders and outrages were to be wrought, the
Mollies had the organization, and the society held the men
in its midst to perform them quickly and well. The State
Delegate could return to his home in Pittsburg, if he so
pleased, and set forth to the other officials that he had
permanently fixed affairs in the anthracite regions, might
even flatter himself that he really had accomplished something
in the proper direction; still the Mollies knew better,
being fully aware that, at the moment of holding this Convention,
the lives of men were being threatened by themselves
and their associates. These menaces were soon to be consummated.
The machinery sometimes moved tardily, but
like the monster engine that propels the largest vessel, it
performed its work remorselessly, almost noiselessly, and
effectually.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Convention passed its resolves and adjourned.</p>

<p class='c001'>Several violent outrages, of more or less importance and
cruelty, were perpetrated at this date. About one of them
McKenna learned from Frank McAndrew, the night after
the Convention, when he had retired to his room at Cooney’s
and prepared to sleep. The Bodymaster came at a late
hour, roused the landlord, and demanded admittance to the
Secretary, which Cooney could not well refuse, went up to
the room, and, sitting on the side of the bed, informed
that weary personage that he, McAndrew, having just left
“Bucky” Donnelly, of Raven Run, from that person had
received the particulars of a fight between the Mollies and
the Sheet Irons, at Connor’s Patch, a night or two previously.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>Phil. Nash, John Brennan, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> “Spur” Brennan, and
Donnelly were engaged in it, opposed by a large force of
German and Welsh miners. From the narrative of McAndrew
it seemed to have been another edition of Donnybrook
Fair. Two of the Sheet Iron lads received wounds
from pistol shots—one being considered as mortally hurt.
After McAndrew had taken leave, McKenna sought slumber,
but was once more awakened by Tom Hurley, who desired
to give his version of the affair. He fully corroborated the
story McAndrew told, and added:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, then, Jack Kehoe went the bail of ivery mother’s
son of ’em yesterday, at the coort!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That accounts for the big vote from that part of the
county cast for Jack Kehoe for County Delegate!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ you’re right, there!” said Hurley.</p>

<p class='c001'>After thus filling the listener’s brain with subjects for frightful
dreams, Hurley also left the room, and McKenna was
not sorry to be alone.</p>

<p class='c001'>The operative did not quickly recover from his illness,
and, during several weeks, was constantly under the doctor’s
care, yet managing to be about the city, part of the time.
After paying a visit to his physician, one morning, the
report reached his ears, through a friend, that, as a supposed
leader of the Mollie Maguires in the county, his life was in
imminent danger. Father Bridgeman—so ran the story—was
joining hands with the avowed enemies of the order—in fact,
standing at the head of the Iron Clads, everywhere denouncing
the Mollies and giving all perfect freedom to hunt
out and shoot them down wherever found. It was hardly
probable, the operative believed, the priest would ever carry
his resentment thus far. But should the tale prove true,
bloodshed was sure to follow. For his own part, he would
now have double duty to perform. One, for the Agency, in
following up the work of the society, and if possible, bringing
the perpetrators of crime to punishment, and another
<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>the care of his own life, which was liable to be lost as a
consequence of his complete assumption of the guise of a
Mollie Maguire. The task had been difficult before. Now
it was assuming gigantic proportions. To complicate and
retard matters, he was ill, and necessarily confined much
of the time to one place, if not to his sleeping-room.</p>

<p class='c001'>After recovering somewhat, McKenna accompanied McAndrew
on a visit to Jack Kehoe, at Girardville, to find out
if certain rumors about the County Delegate threatening to
refuse recognition to Shenandoah Division were true or not.
When the question was put to Kehoe, he laughed hypocritically
and replied:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Far from it! on the conthrary, I am prepared to say to
yez, that, upon the payment of its back dues, Shenandoah
Division can not only go on swimmingly, but, by applying to
the County Secretary, Gavin, this very day, if you wish, you
kin recaive the ‘goods’ for the quarther. An’ let me say,
by way of explanation, that whoever started the story I
iver intended differently is a liar, an’ I’ll say it to his face!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This was satisfactory to his visitors, the matter was soon
settled, and they left to call on Gavin.</p>

<p class='c001'>They also went to see Barney Dolan, the great deposed,
finding him very despondent. He said his trial before
the Convention was a one-sided farce, and as for fining
him five hundred dollars, it was simply infamous. Thinking
that there might be a chance for his case before the National
Board, he had already written to Campbell, the National
Secretary, at New York, but that worthy answered him briefly
and to the point, that he, Dolan, was cut off, root and
branch, and could only be reinstated by vote of the State
Convention, upon settlement of all arrearages and suffering
three months’ probation.</p>

<p class='c001'>“All of which,” said Barney, “shows that I am in the
minority now, and for the present Jack Kehoe is boss!
But, by the rod of Aaron, and Moses too, I’ll be back again,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>one of these fine days, spite of King Kehoe an’ all who are
forninst me! Wait a while and see what’ll happen!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And Barney winked his dexter eye in a winning way, as he
placed the bottle of whisky on the counter for McAndrew
and his Secretary.</p>

<p class='c001'>Some articles appeared in a Western paper, at this date,
charging that the Mollies determined who should act as assassins
by lot, or with dice. This we knew very well to be
untrue, but no attention was given the report. The truth
was, the Bodymaster of a division, having himself conceived
the necessity for an occurrence of the kind—or, upon secret
or open petition of any influential member of the order to
have some man put out of the way—at once called upon
the proper men to perform the deed. Their plain duty was
to obey, without questioning as to the why or wherefore.
So blindly did the Mollies follow their officers in this, as in
other matters, that they seldom failed, in the end, to accomplish
all that was required—then the order gave the assassins
protection, through an <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span>, or aided with money to be employed
in flying from the country. There was no need of a
game of chance to decide. It wanted only the decree or
request of the Bodymaster, which was to be complied with
implicitly, and from which there was no appeal. McKenna
apprehended that, in due course of events, he might be called
upon by McAndrew—from his late acquired reputation as
a violent character—to perform some work of this sort.
However, by feigning intoxication, and in reality making
way with a great quantity of liquor—when he could not, by
exchanging glasses, or by some hocus-pocus or legerdemain,
make those present believe he imbibed when he did not—he
endeavored to create the impression among the Mollies—and
he had already caused the general public to believe it—that
he was quite unreliable, as he was too often under the control
of drink. That he succeeded in this he soon became satisfied
from conversations transpiring in his presence, while
<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>seemingly soaked to the point of stupidity in whisky, sodden
and insensible, on the bar-room floor, or limply resting
upon a bench in the corner.</p>

<p class='c001'>On one occasion he heard Hurley say:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Jim’s a splendid fellow, a good scholar, as far as book
larnin’ goes, an’ a fighter not to meddle with—when he’s
McKenna. But he’s too often somebody else! Whisky’s
too powerful for his head, an’ a good job might be spoiled
by givin’ it in his charge!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That’s so,” said McAndrew, who was standing near.</p>

<p class='c001'>They little thought their associate’s love for and indulgence
in liquor was all assumed, and that, at the very
moment, he was, in reality, as sober as a judge and taking
mental note of every word and act of the surrounding
squad of Mollies. The emergencies of his great work,
had he been otherwise inclined, which he was not, would
have kept my emissary from over-indulgence during a residence
in that particular vicinity.</p>

<p class='c001'>Thus was McKenna made safe for the present. While he
could listen, and learn, without danger of having to participate
in troubles, for a season, yet he knew that such a game
would not long serve his purpose, as he must be dragged in
at last, or lose the confidence of those now placing their
trust in him. It was well he adopted the ruse, however, as he
knew not when his time might come.</p>

<p class='c001'>On the tenth of August, 1874, at the regular meeting of
Shenandoah division, the new “goods” were given out as
follows:</p>

<p class='c001'>The password was:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“What do you think of the Mayo election?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I think the fair West made a bad selection.”</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>The answer was:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“Whom do you think will duly betray?”</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>The quarreling toast was:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'><i>Question</i>—“Don’t get your temper high!”</p>

<p class='c001'><i>Answer</i>—“Not with a friend!”</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>The sign was made by placing the thumb of the right hand
into the pocket of the pantaloons.</p>

<p class='c001'>The answer, by putting the thumb of the left hand on the
lower lip.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna faithfully reported these things to Mr. Franklin
the same night, despite his illness, and mailed the letter before
retiring to his apartment.</p>

<p class='c001'>The morning of Tuesday, the eleventh of August, the
detective was awakened by his boarding-master, Cooney,
with the information that two men, whose personal appearance
he minutely described, and did not like, had called for
and wanted very much to see him. Cooney put them off,
saying McKenna was not at home, but would be by nine
o’clock. He thought it prudent to do so, and also to warn
his lodger to have a care for himself. They were gone, but
would soon return. This person could not remember ever
having seen parties of their exact shape and size, and it
struck him that possibly they came from the Sheet Irons to
assassinate him, because of the recent permission granted by
the priest. This impression it was impossible to shake off
while he was dressing. Before going down to breakfast,
therefore, he examined the cartridges in his revolver, tested
the condition of the lock, and left the weapon—carelessly, it
must be admitted—at full cock, deposited in his right-hand
outside coat pocket, convenient for use, in case of an
emergency. He ate the morning meal in no pleasant frame
of mind. But all was made clear, and his preparations for
active hostilities shown to be unnecessary, by the coming in
of his callers, who were only Peter Duffy and Manus
O’Donnell, of Hazelton, with whom he had fraternized
during the eventful dance and raffle at Buck Mountain.
He suspected they were absent on some murderous errand,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>but had no fear that he was their supposed victim. The
Secretary received his friends cordially, and after an invitation
to Cleary’s saloon, and laughing over a few jokes upon
his escapade with the fascinating Mrs. McIntyre, McKenna
endeavored to find out the business the men had in Schuylkill
County, but they continued stubbornly reticent, saying
they were only going to see some relatives, at Locust Gap,
which possibly was the cause of their trip, work being dull
at their homes. The new-comers were introduced to the
principal men of Shenandoah Division, and, after a pleasant
time in the city, in the afternoon took cars for their point
of destination.</p>

<p class='c001'>The operative slept soundly through another night. But
his dreams were not blissful.</p>

<p class='c001'>About this date, or perhaps a little earlier, a schoolmaster,
named O’Hare, living near Tuscarora, was severely
beaten by four men, who might have killed him had not
some stout German girls, his pupils, driven them off and
held the door against their return, thus allowing the victim
to make his escape to the high-road—O’Hare’s crime consisting
in being inimical to the Mollies and refusing to obey
their notice to leave the region. He had in some way
offended one John J. Slattery, a Bodymaster. A few nights
after the day assault at the school-house, a band of the same
order, headed, as was reported, by “Yellow Jack” Donahue,
Bodymaster, went to O’Hare’s residence, while he slept, set
fire to the building and barn, burning both to the ground,
O’Hare barely escaping with his life. He was left penniless,
excepting the small sum due him as salary from the
school board. This was another straw, showing the direction
of the wind. Evidently disorder was on the increase in
the neighborhood.</p>

<p class='c001'>A little later, one O’Brien, a Mollie, beat his butty, an
Englishman named Clements, in so cruel a style that his
life was put in jeopardy.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>To strengthen the organization, and make it, if possible,
more malignant, Muff Lawler had his nephew, Ed. Lawler,
come home from Luzerne County, the old trouble with
Brophy having been amicably arranged.</p>

<p class='c001'>At the same time, to gain outward color of reformation,
another meeting of the Bodymasters of the county was convened
at Girardville. Muff Lawler, Tom Hurley, and John
Gibbons were brought to trial, and, after discussion, cut off
from the order during life; Lawler, for allowing a man to be
robbed in his house, Hurley, for committing the crime, and
Gibbons upon general principles, his particular offense not
having been recorded. Dennis, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> “Bucky” Donnelly,
was also expelled for exhibiting cowardice at the Connor’s
Patch affray, the second of the month, with the Sheet Irons,
and for another offense—showing outside the division a
letter which should only have been seen within the confines
of the order. No other business of importance was transacted,
the convocation dissolved, and the day terminated in
a free fight, lasting twenty minutes, during which pistols and
knives were resorted to, but without deadly effect. The
reformatory measures of the Mollie Maguires, as it appeared,
met strenuous opposition from certain quarters.</p>

<p class='c001'>Later still, the month saw a row at Raven Run, when a
Mollie by the name of Barnett received two bullets in his
body, and Phil. Nash one through the left wrist, as he
informed the detective, laying bare the wound. He said he
took the pistol from a man in the opposing crowd of Sheet
Irons, broke the weapon, and played havoc generally. After
being shot, he employed his own pocket-knife to cut out the
ball, which job he successfully accomplished. Barnett was
dangerously injured, and it was doubtful if he would survive.</p>

<p class='c001'>On the seventh of September, 1874, the resumption of the
collieries had, for a time, a pacifying effect upon the irrepressibles
of the coal country, and quiet seemed about restored.
But Shenandoah Division grew in strength and numbers
<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>meanwhile. At a meeting held on the fifth of the month,
Andrew Murphy, of Loss Creek, John Dean, John Carey, and
John Walsh were accepted and duly initiated. A brother of
the Bodymaster was rejected, at the suggestion of McAndrew
in person, as he urged that the man proposed was continually
in trouble and would surely bring disgrace upon the honorable
brotherhood.</p>

<p class='c001'>During the latter part of September occurred the decease
of old Mr. Raines, a crippled miner, who for several years,
through rheumatism and hurts received under a falling
pillar, had been unable to perform any labor. From the
same causes his body and limbs were bent forward into the
shape of an irregular crescent. There was to be a loud
wake, and McKenna having nearly recovered his health and
good spirits—but being not yet cured of his adopted habit
of drinking—received an invitation to be present. He was
ready for a spree, or anything else, and went. The Raines
place was near the Rappahannock works, on the road from
Loss Creek to Girardville, where were situated a number of
“patches” belonging to different collieries. The family
was large, its range of acquaintance extended, and over a
hundred men and women gathered to do honor, in their
usual way, to the departed. The corpse was laid out in the
largest and best room of the house, with candles at its head
and feet. There was a dilapidated table in the center of the
apartment, which for many seasons had seen service in parlor,
dining-room, and kitchen, and now supported pipes,
tobacco, and two bottles of liquor, with a generous supply
of lucifer matches. At one end of the room was a cookstove,
but as the weather was yet genial, no fire shone
through its door. Benches and blocks of wood served as
seats for the men and women, who were ranged about the
walls and table, the majority of the men wearing their hats,
and the ladies, with lace caps or without them, as accorded
with their respective ages and circumstances in life. An
<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>old-fashioned pendulum clock, with weights, and a face as
smoky as the surrounding walls, hung against the plastering
at the other side of the place; there were a few pictures;
and the last almanac issued by Dr. Jayne swung from a nail
under an ancient square-framed looking-glass, which was
inclining forward just above. But the principal thing to
attract the eye of the detective, when he and his companions—Hurley
and Monaghan—entered, was the corpse, to
honor which all the people had assembled. The coffin could
not yet be used—and for a good reason—the body would
not fit into it, but the plain, walnut case rested in another
room. Stretched out on a sheet spread over a rough board,
which was supported at either end by a common chair,
reposed all that was mortal of old Mr. Raines, clad in shroud
and grave-clothes, and the head resting on a pillow. In
order to overcome the difficulty accruing from the bent
and contorted condition of the body and limbs of the deceased,
which would not assume a straight position, even in
death, a light panel door, taken from an unoccupied room,
had been put on top of the defunct and loaded down with
rocks and a heavy piece of iron, the latter being, apparently,
part of a cylinder to a disabled coal-breaker. This, it was
hoped, would relax the contracted muscles, and the curved
spine and limbs, so that, on the morrow, there would be no
trouble in placing the corpse in its casket.</p>

<p class='c001'>The remainder of the scene was peculiarly striking only to
those who had never beheld its counterpart.</p>

<p class='c001'>The men from Shenandoah, though just as welcome as
others, were left, as is the custom, to look out for themselves.
They did not uncover their heads, but, squatting on their
heels, or any other convenient seat by the wall, proceeded
to smoke a pipe with the rest. It was not, and is not to
this day, the etiquette of the miners of this nationality to get
up from their chairs and offer them to strangers, nor for
visitors to remove their caps, or hats, upon entering a neighbor’s
<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>house, no more than it is to knock at the door—excepting
it be at night—before opening it.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna looked on in silence, while the mourners proceeded
with their wailing, crooning hymns to the dead, and
the men helping themselves to <em>lashins</em> of poteen, while the
<em>bonneens</em> stuck their faces in at the door and joined in the
<em>keene</em>, or <em>caoina-song</em>. The eldest lady of the party raised
her hands and cried out:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<i>Foreer! Foreer! Mo-vrone! Mo-vrone! Ochone! Ochone!</i>”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>Then the <em>keene</em> would be raised to a higher pitch, and the
wail for the dead resumed, louder and more piercingly
mournful than before.</p>

<p class='c001'>This was kept up until midnight, when an incident
occurred which bid fair to terminate this portion of the
funeral ceremonies with a fight. One young lad, named
Flaherty, a slouchy, shock-headed fellow, as full of mirth
and rascality as he well could be, growing weary of the
ordinary solemnities, fired by having taken more of the
liquor than was needful—and many more were by that
time in a similar predicament, from the same cause—determined
to vary the monotony somewhat and have some
sport, and made his arrangements accordingly, as it turned
out, only perceived by the agent, who placed no obstacle in
his way. All at once, when the attention of those present
was centered upon the drink and the table for tobacco, etc.,
there was heard an unearthly yell, as of horror, the weights
rolled, with the thin, little door, off the corpse, and the
vital flame seemed to have returned to the dead, as old Mr.
Raines started up, whirled quickly and mechanically about,
and fell headlong to the floor.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p2181_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>There was heard an unearthly yell, as of horror.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>Such a mixture of swearing, groaning, shrieking, praying,
screaming, and screeching was never before heard in that
neighborhood, and in the space of a minute the room was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>nearly vacated, McKenna, the corpse, the candles, and
furniture being left sole possessors of the field. Some of
the demoralized friends of the deceased did not pause before
reaching their own homes, and many not until well outside
the house, while a few of the more courageous rallied in the
kitchen. Flaherty, whose actions the operative had watched
attentively, was among the first to stick his freckled face in
at the door and inquire if “anybody were kilt.” He found
McKenna trying to lift up the corpse, rearrange its disturbed
funereal costume, and replace it on the board.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Come here, ye <i>gorsoon-bo</i>, an’ lend a hand to hoist the
old man back to his restin’-place!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The lad at first refusing, the detective had but to hint
that the piece of cord, with which Flaherty had cunningly
pulled away the door, still remained attached to a hinge,
and if he did not carry it off, his trick would be exposed, to
bring the young man in to his assistance.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Lay holt wid me, and I’ll say nothing about the string!
Refuse, and you’ll suffer! D’ye think I didn’t hear ye
scrame like a young locomotive?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ I only meant to have a bit of fun!” explained
Flaherty; but he entered and helped to replace things.
When all was as before—and it took but a few minutes—Flaherty
called out to the crowd:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Come back! Come back! Daddy Raines is all
right!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Then the men and women who had not gone home
returned, their eyes sticking out, and each person treading
on tip-toe, perhaps expecting to see a <em>banshee</em>, the gentleman
in black—or his counterpart in hoof, tail, and horns, with nostrils
breathing fire and smoke—and were much amazed to
behold everything exactly as arranged before the sudden
rising of the dead; the candles burning, the table undisturbed,
and old Mr. Raines just as quiet and decent a corpse as
any of them had ever helped to wake; while McKenna sat
<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>silent on his billet, at the side, smoking his pipe as calmly as
if nothing out of the ordinary course had transpired.</p>

<p class='c001'>Young Flaherty kept the secret, through fear of the consequences
should he reveal his share in the ghastly joke, and
the agent did not care to undeceive the people. Hence the
strange occurrence was spoken of for some weeks thereafter,
in the vicinity, as about the eighth wonder of the world.
McKenna was highly complimented for his nerve by men
and women, and Monaghan himself said he “believed that
nothing would ever scare that fellow—excepting it might be
Auld Nick in person!”</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch21' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXI.<br> <br>CONTEST WITH A CONSTABLE.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Not long after the wake, it was made evident to some of
the members of Shenandoah Division that Frank McAndrew
was not fitted by nature or education for the important office
of Bodymaster, being far too generous, too much inclined to
leniency—in fact, not half bloodthirsty enough. Among those
who saw this more plainly than others were McHugh, at
whose house, in those days, the Mollies held their meetings,
Tom Hurley, John Gibbons, and Fergus, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> Ferguson.
McKenna said little on the subject, but while lying, apparently
tippled to a state of insensibility, in Cleary’s, late one
night, he heard sufficient to convince him of the existence of
a plot, at the bottom of which stood Jack Kehoe, to replace
McAndrew with a person that they were pleased to denominate
as of “better material.” The officer in question, when
spoken to upon the subject, the ensuing day, said he knew
<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>full well why so much dissatisfaction was growing up around
him. It had its roots deep planted in his own unwillingness
to engage in the schemes of murder and outrage that his
opponents evidently desired should be immediately executed.
McHugh was especially loud in denouncing him for failing to
have Gomer James killed, as he also had been of similar inaction
under the leadership of Mike Lawler, when that party
was equally opposed to the same job under like circumstances.
So far had McHugh committed himself in this direction,
that he made no secret of demanding McAndrew’s
expulsion from the organization. McAndrew’s argument,
beyond its claim to compatibility with the impulses of humanity,
was perfectly sensible, as well as unanswerable, and
when brought out in the course of conversation, caused most
of the decent and orderly persons in the division to coincide
with him. His logic was that, when Cosgrove had been
murdered by Gomer James, Mike Lawler, then Bodymaster,
acted promptly—but without choosing to trumpet it over the
county, keeping the thing to himself—and, among others,
appointed an own cousin of Cosgrove as one of the avengers.
That nigh relative of the man for whose death retaliation
was to be sought refused to act, and Lawler at once, and
very properly, excused all the rest. McAndrew thought it
rather late in the day for utter strangers to dig up the hatchet,
unless there was a money reward offered by some one for
the knocking of Gomer James into eternity. Of that he
was not so sure. If something of the sort was not in the
wind, why were such men as Hurley, Gibbons, and McHugh
so exceedingly anxious?</p>

<p class='c001'>To this query my agent in the coal regions could return
no response. Nevertheless, nothing was done, though much
was said, regarding the taking off of the young Welshman.
How quickly action might be taken he possessed no means
of judging. But that Hurley and his backers would, sooner
or later, seek to kill Gomer James, if he continued to live in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>the vicinity. he harbored no reasonable doubt. Upon the
reception of this suggestive conclusion Mr. Franklin searched
for and obtained means of warning Gomer James, advising
him to get speedily out of the country. This, at first, James
firmly refused to do, but, subsequently, securing paying work
in another county, he did temporarily remove. He remained
away only a little while, being quite convinced that,
if the Mollie Maguires were after and wanted his life, they
would come up with him, wherever he might be. At the
date of the latest talk by McHugh, James was engaged as a
night watchman in one of the collieries, and, as far as could
be learned, performed his duty honorably and faithfully.</p>

<p class='c001'>McAndrew maintained his ground, saying that he knew he
would be sustained by the State and National Boards, whatever
the new County Delegate might say or do in the premises.
This pleased McKenna, who wisely refrained from
joining either party engaged in the controversy, merely putting
in a word, to one or the other, when compelled to do
so, to the effect that everybody knew him as a bad man, and
it was best that he keep his mouth closed on subjects which
might, in time, come to him, whether guilty or not. For his
part, he said: “I am willing to do my duty by the division,
for the protection it affords me from those that I fear in an
adjoining State, but it is not for such as I to do much
talking.”</p>

<p class='c001'>So the business of the division was still intrusted to McAndrew,
and the detective managed to be sober long
enough, each month—somewhat to the surprise of his intimates—to
write up the books and carry on such correspondence
as his office demanded. At about all other times he
was engaged in some game, attending a fair or chicken-fight,
or training some dog, which was to “whip out all
creation” when ready for the ring. He followed other occupations.
If a man was needed to doctor a sick horse, mule,
or cow, in the borough—or out of it—who should be sent
<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>for but handy Jim McKenna? Should a man have his hand
hurt in the mines, who bound up his wound and nursed him
tenderly until recovered? Why, the self-same vagabond,
red-headed Jim McKenna. If a henroost was to be robbed by
Mollies, ducks or geese stolen, and thereafter surreptitiously
roasted, Jim McKenna was invited to take a hand. And
sometimes he was found sober enough to give the latter
freaks attention, but not often.</p>

<p class='c001'>If a young lady wanted to send a <span lang="fr"><i>billet-doux</i></span> to her sweet-heart
in a far-off country, she knew that, by the simple calling,
she might have the help of “the handiest man at the
pen in all Schuylkill County,” and that, in the general opinion,
was Jim McKenna. As a matter of natural consequence
“Jim” was, with maids and mothers, boys and girls,
fathers and sons—of the rougher sort—a great favorite.
There was nothing under the sun to be done, scientific or
culinary, agricultural, surgical, artistic, or mechanical, that
“Jim,” in the opinion of his countrymen, could not do—certainly
very little he would not attempt, merely to oblige
those who needed him. To a certain class his name was
synonymous with fun, frolic, dance, and song, and his face
indicative of good nature and genuine Irish humor. To
others, he was terror personified. Some of his best friends
said that he might comb out his hair somewhat oftener,
and drink less whisky, but very generally these slight and
prevalent defects were overlooked in the benefits McKenna
conferred upon those with whom he associated.</p>

<p class='c001'>As before stated, there were also those who seriously
believed that the agent was really an assassin, had murdered
a man in Buffalo, and was in constant communication
with counterfeiters and black-legs. Those who knew these
things—or supposed they knew them—did not often speak of
them outside the Mollie ring. One fact could not be gainsaid:
if there was a ball, a charity, a dance, a picnic, or a
man or woman in real want, Jim McKenna always had a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>dollar to give. If there was a treat where he chanced to be,
none put up glasses more liberally than that same McKenna.
These contradictory opinions rather surprised the good people
of Shenandoah who canvassed the subject. How he
could be such a favorite with the miners was more than they
could fathom.</p>

<p class='c001'>During the latter portion of September, 1874, there was a
grand fair at Ringtown, and, as it was stated that the Sheet
Irons were to be present in great force, with the express
intention of whipping out their enemies, the Mollies, several
of the latter determined to go, armed and equipped for the
purpose of defending themselves and seeing how much their
adversaries would really accomplish.</p>

<p class='c001'>This fair was similar to those called county agricultural
shows in the Western and Southern States, and sometimes
from one thousand to fifteen hundred persons, men, women,
and children, would congregate daily, for five or six days, on
these occasions.</p>

<p class='c001'>At Ringtown there were found people from Shenandoah,
and other parts of Schuylkill, and from many towns in
Columbia County. There were the usual attractions, side-shows,
ugly dwarfs, scrawny giants, slimy anacondas, and a
fine display of fat bullocks, sleek cows and sheep, thoroughbred
horses and mules, improved pigs, geese, ducks, and
chickens, and the ordinary collection of ingenious and useful
machines for manufacturing and home uses. There were
foot-races; races in sacks; games of catching the greased
pig; climbing the greased pole; lady equestrianisms, and all
the gayeties that attend exhibitions of the sort. All were
taken in by the Mollies from Shenandoah, as well as by those
from Catawissa, Centralia, and the entire Mahanoy Valley.
There was music and dancing and drink <span lang="fr"><i>galore</i></span> at night;
and a full brass band, hailing from an adjacent city, discoursed
“concord of sweet sounds” at the grand stand
<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>during each day’s regular performances. And the song
seemed to be:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“The butcher, the baker,</div>
      <div class='line'>The candle-stick maker,</div>
      <div class='line'>All, all are gone to the fair.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>McKenna’s friends flattered him by saying that he was
the wickedest and toughest, as well as the roughest-looking
vagabond seen at the county fair. But the crowd in his
company was not by any means conspicuous for good behavior
or lamb-like undertakings.</p>

<p class='c001'>After one day’s experience at Ringtown, finding that no
Sheet Irons made their appearance, the greater portion of
the Shenandoah collection of Mollies were disgusted and
went home. The detective thought he saw business, and
remained. He had to sleep in the fair enclosure, however,
as, at the hotels, he was invariably, from his bad name and
appearance, refused admission. One tavern-keeper named
Fencermacher, showed him out, saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I keeps no dramps and such-like caddle in mine blace!
<span lang="de"><i>Geh zu hause!</i></span>”</p>

<p class='c001'>He may here learn, for the first time, who it was that he
turned away. But the German was perfectly excusable.
The applicant for lodgings seemed rough enough to prompt
any respectable landlord to pursue the same course. It
was sufficient to know that “Jim McKenna” was the inquirer
for accommodations to cause any well-regulated hotel door
to close with a bang against his face, almost of its own
accord.</p>

<p class='c001'>During his recent sickness the operative lost his hair—a
little circumstance that has not been alluded to—and had
been supplied with a wig of about the color of his former
natural growth, which, as he was not a barber, seldom received
proper dressing, and gave its wearer a very uncouth
and shabby appearance. But it seemed not quite as bad as
<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>going around completely bareheaded, especially in chilly
weather. His beard and mustache were also very long and
bushy, and scarcely ever cut away; his face was red and
sunburnt, but somewhat thinner than when first reaching
Pennsylvania. He wore the clothes he had bought the year
before—saying to the Mollies that ill success was making
him a little careful of his expenses—and a white shirt was
rarely seen upon his back. A coat of many colors, badly
patched and darned, soft hat—new when he first fought
Muff Lawler’s chickens for him—and a pair of heavy miner’s
boots, completed an inventory of his visible personal effects—excepting
the two loaded revolvers which he constantly
wore at his back. He could hardly be deemed a likely
customer to take into a decent tavern; but he was not as
bad as he looked. His deeds were not criminal, however
unseemly he appeared, and his duty was ever uppermost in
his thoughts.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna was constrained to sleep the little he did sleep,
when first in attendance at the fair, upon the bare ground.
During part of one day, however, he superintended the bar
for a respectable Irish lady, Mrs. Corcoran by name, and
that night she left him to occupy the booth, while she went
home, showing that this woman, at least, reposed confidence
in him, despite his generally accepted bad character.</p>

<p class='c001'>He participated in only two fights while at Ringtown.
The first of these occurred on the third day of the fair, when
a Dutch constable, from Dark Corner, had trouble with a
man named McBain, and the operative entered the row in
the interest of peace. The official gazed at McKenna with
astonishment and said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Look here! you seem like what you are—a d——d
thief!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This was too much to be taken quietly, and the detective
quickly knocked the representative of public justice down
with a blow from the fist, and then administered to his body
<span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>a good kicking with his rough boots, which settled the prevailing
question in his favor. The constable cried “enough,”
and was allowed to escape without further punishment.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p2182_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p><i>“They came up, exhibiting knives and other weapons, swearing they would kill the man who had beaten their friend.”</i></p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>The second affray came very near resulting seriously, and
was a consequence of the first. At about nine <span class='fss'>A.M.</span> of the
last day of the show, the defeated constable returned to the
fair grounds, in company with six or seven other men, of
about the same ugly appearance. McKenna was at that time
attending a booth for one Whalen, who was absent. They
came up exhibiting knives and other weapons, and swearing
they would kill the man who had beaten their friend. The
detective had been deserted by the Mollies, knew not which
way to turn for support, and so determined to help himself.
Rushing out of the stand, he seized a small wooden bench,
which was kept for the convenience of customers, and swinging
it wildly about his head, hit the first Dutchman, who
fell; he struck the rest in rapid succession, and soon four
were knocked over before they could use their weapons.
The others fled, leaving him, for the moment, master of the
situation. Then, knowing that they would still make good
their threats, if he waited for their courage to muster, he ran,
jumped into a passing wagon loaded with country people
and was driven rapidly away.</p>

<p class='c001'>After that, whenever McKenna wanted anything in Ringtown,
there were plenty who would run to his assistance.</p>

<p class='c001'>In this way he added to his reputation—or kept it up—as
the wildest Irishman of the mountains, and the most unprincipled
Mollie in the whole country.</p>

<p class='c001'>When he got back to Shenandoah and visited the post-office
for letters, McKenna found, to his extreme satisfaction
and relief, that he had a missive from the Philadelphia
Agency. As he handed it to him, the clerk remarked,
exhibiting a second missive enclosed in the same kind of an
envelope, apparently superscribed by the same hand, but
addressed to “James McParlan, Shenandoah.”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>“Here is a letter I hardly know what to do with; but it
is not for you! It has been here several days, and is still
uncalled for. Perhaps you know something about it, as I
see it seems, from the hand-writing and post-mark, to have
come from the party that has been writing you!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The clerk looked at the uncouth young man very critically,
and, as he imagined, very suspiciously.</p>

<p class='c001'>The operative “thought of ten thousand things at once,”
as he described his sensations to me afterward, but Irish
wit and readiness for reply did not desert him in the emergency.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes,” said McKenna, with all the assurance imaginable,
and without a second’s hesitation. “I <em>do</em> remember, now
you spake of it, but the thing had before gone clane out of
me head! Jim McParlan? Why, sure, an’ he’s a crony of
mine, over at Wilkesbarre, beyant, an’ faith, when I wor
there last month, he said that I should inquire here for a
letther for him, as he expected at wan time to come over
an’ work wid Frank McAndrew as his butty, but got a better
chance in Luzerne! Bad ’cess to me memory! I think
there’s somethin’ in the whisky they hev in Shenandoah
that sinds me wits all a wool-gatherin’! But never mind!
Wid your permission, I’ll jist forward the letther to Jim, and
write an’ tell him how it have been so delayed!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The suspicions of the clerk were dissipated in a moment,
and he readily gave the document into McKenna’s
hand. Had the recipient exhibited the least confusion
or embarrassment, the probabilities were that his letter—unhappily
misdirected by a new clerk in Philadelphia—must
have gone to the Dead Letter Office, in Washington,
where it would have been opened and returned to
Philadelphia. In the meantime both Mr. Franklin and
McKenna would have felt much disturbed by its loss. The
operative realized the mistake in its full extent, and sat
down and wrote a line asking that, so long as he remained
<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>in the coal country, such accidents might be carefully
guarded against; and his wishes were obeyed.</p>

<p class='c001'>The strike of the miners against the rates paid for labor,
for 1874, began in October, with the usual result, the first to
kick being the men in Luzerne County. This was not a
Mollie movement, and its ringleaders were promptly arrested
by Sheriff Whittaker. But the end was not yet.</p>

<p class='c001'>At about the same date Kehoe received a scorching letter
from Capt. Gallagher, the State Secretary, saying the
chances were that, at the next meeting of the State organization,
the Mollies of Schuylkill County might be severed
from the body, as a punishment for their past misdemeanors,
and Bishop Wood, of Philadelphia, would also officially excommunicate
them by name from the Church. He suggested
that a meeting of Bodymasters might be held at Pottsville,
at an early day, and the bad men of the order, who were
probably known, all summarily expelled, when possibly the
remainder could be saved. If the body was purified the
good members might not lose caste. Here was a muddle for
the emissary. He was sure to be among the first men cut
off, and, should the movement succeed, his career of usefulness
in the neighborhood would be very short thereafter. It
should not be! Whatever was done, he must retain his position.
Happily for him, Jack Kehoe simply laughed at the
recommendation, and remarked that Mr. Gallagher might
attend to his own business, as he would call no such meeting.
So no convention was held, and the Mollies were still
triumphant. It was not for Kehoe’s interest that they should
be as mild as lambs. In reality, the worse they were the
better King Jack would be suited.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch22' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXII.<br> <br>HORRORS UPON HORRORS.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The strike was yet in progress, in November, 1874, and
the consequent want of work produced the very result anticipated—the
Mollies were as active as a community of
hornets whose nest a schoolboy has invaded with a club.
There followed a number of sanguinary encounters, some of
which terminated fatally. One of these, the shooting and
subsequent death of Mr. George Major, Chief Burgess of
Mahanoy City, transpired on Saturday, the 31st of October,
in the year mentioned. McKenna was in Shenandoah at
the time, but received early intelligence of the event. McAndrew,
feeling very anxious to learn the full particulars, it
was an easy matter to induce him to detail the operative and
Chas. Hayes to go to the scene of the encounter and gather
them. This they were willing to undertake, starting out
from Shenandoah on the second of November.</p>

<p class='c001'>The request of the Bodymaster formed a good excuse for
McKenna, who had early been directed by Mr. Franklin to
investigate the murder, to go to Mahanoy City. Without
McAndrew’s order, suspicion as to his calling might have
been created among the Mollies of his division. It was all
very proper, when the Secretary was known to have plenty
of money, and little else to do, for him to chance around at
localities where murders and other crimes had been perpetrated,
but at this particular time he was putting on a sorry
face, declaring that his income from rents had run several
months behind, the county officers suspecting him of
leaguing with counterfeiters—hence he could not safely get
rid of his bogus currency—and, in fact, dressing very badly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>so that he would not be expected to have funds to expend
in too many treats for his guzzling and expensive companions.
Furnished with a safe cover, from which to carry on his observations,
he at once commenced hunting up the facts connected
with the shooting of Major.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Chief Burgess, as that official—usually the Mayor of
a town—is called in the State of Pennsylvania, was not yet
dead, but could hardly be expected to live more than a day
or two with a bullet resting in a vital part. Major had been
shot through the left breast, two inches above the heart.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna went to Clark’s house, the known rendezvous
of the Mollies, of which I shall have more to say hereafter,
and, finding the proprietor alone, started a conversation with
him. Clark was an old man, and not a member of the order,
but his two sons were Mollies.</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ how is it about the bit o’ scrimmage ye had over
here last Saturday?” commenced the operative.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh! it’s a bad affair altogether!” answered the landlord
of the Emerald House.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Who fired the shot that brought the Chief Burgess
down?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That I can’t, fur the life of me, tell! There’s two
stories about it; wan of them puts it on Dan Dougherty—but
I belave him jist as innocent as the babe unborn—an’
the other charges it on Major’s own brother, William, hittin’
him be mischance, when firing afther the Hibernian company’s
boys—for ye must know that the whole trouble came
about thro’ a quarrel between the Hibernian an’ the Citizen
fire companies. Wan is wholly made up of our countrymen,
an’ the other of Modocs—English, German, Welsh an’ what
not! I suppose ye know that?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! But who started the row?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I am sure, from what I can learn, that Dougherty didn’t!
He never has a pistol about him! There was a bit o’ fire, on
the night, as ye must know, an’ both companies was out, an
<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>we had considerable excitement, an’ not a little whisky.
Afther the fire, in comin’ home, over the strate, the firemen
got in a jangle, an’ blows were being passed, when the Chief
Burgess, Geo. Major, came out, flourished his revolver, and,
during the confusion, shot a dog that was barkin’ near by.
This led to more shootin’, an’ some one in the crowd took off
the Chief Burgess, an’ Major’s brother shot Dougherty, who
has a bullet in the neck, below the left ear! Oh! it’s a
bad business! A bad business! Do you know, I am thinkin’
no good can iver come of it?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes, a shockin’ bad thing!” assented McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>Finding that Clark really knew very little about the
minutiæ, the operative, who had purposely separated from
Hayes, went to see other friends, hoping to find some one
who might be able to give him information.</p>

<p class='c001'>Meeting Clark’s brother, who was a Mollie, he accompanied
him to Dougherty’s house, which was only guarded
by an old constable, named Litchenberger, who was too
tipsy to do either good or harm. Several men were standing
around, but the excitement seemed quietly subsiding, and
there was little trouble in gaining permission to see the
wounded man. They ascended to his room. The injured
Mollie was slightly touched in the brain, and barely recognized
his friends, but, turning over in bed, exhibited his hurt,
which appeared to have been produced by a heavy, large-sized
bullet. His left cheek and eye were greatly discolored
and puffed up, the side of the neck being quite black. The
ball still rested in the muscle, the surgeons thinking it unsafe,
at that time, to probe for or attempt its removal. The visitors
remained with Dougherty but a few moments, and then
repaired to McCann’s boarding-house, the landlady of which,
at first, said the man inquired for had gone out, she did not
know where; but, when the operative and Clark made
themselves known by name, she changed her tune and
cordially invited them upstairs. The person visited they
<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>found in bed, but not at all averse to conversation. This
was satisfactory to the detective. McCann said these had
been no disturbance whatever in the street when Chief
Burgess, Major, fired the shot at him, and, before he, McCann,
could catch the revolver and take it from him, he
discharged three shots.</p>

<p class='c001'>Hayes, who had joined the others, was anxious that James
McCann should swear out a warrant for the arrest of Major,
before he would die, charging him with an assault with a
deadly weapon. That, he contended, would place McCann
on the witness-stand and prevent him from being brought to
the bar as a defendant. Others who were present desired
McCann to make his escape. McKenna did not venture
any suggestion. The general belief was that Major would
die, and this was all in the case that gave the Mollies any
satisfaction. They were united in protesting that Dougherty
must remain where he was, saying that a removal to Pottsville,
in his precarious condition, would be sure death for
him.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Chief Burgess succumbed to his wounds Tuesday,
November 3, and received burial, with suitable honors, the
ensuing day. Dougherty was still unable to be removed,
when the operative, having obtained all the information possible,
returned with Hayes to Shenandoah, and reported to
the division the issue of his trip. He had previously sent
Mr. Franklin daily bulletins of his inquiries and their results.</p>

<p class='c001'>Dougherty was subsequently moved to Pottsville, where
he recovered, had his trial, and was acquitted.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mike Lawler now managed to attach himself once more to
the order, having been received by Wm. Callaghan, Bodymaster,
into his division at Mahanoy Plane. Lawler still
maintained friendly relations with McKenna, despite his
aversion to the Shenandoah Mollies, as a body, and one
day visited the Secretary in company with Callaghan, who
chanced to be in the city on personal business. While the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>three were together, walking leisurely over the mountain,
Muff related, with much particularity, a circumstance occurring
some eighteen months before. Two Mollies named
Doyle, brothers, residing at Jackson’s Patch, had recently
been attacked and beaten by Sheet Irons. The Mollies had
a meeting among themselves and deliberately prepared a
scheme to wreak terrible vengeance upon the whole community
at the Patch in question. The idea was to burn down
every building, after midnight, when all the inhabitants were
sleeping, having the torch applied almost simultaneously
over the entire place. Afterward the Mollies, well armed
with guns and revolvers, were to stand closely guarding the
blazing houses, and whenever any—man, woman, or child—attempted
to escape, deliberately shoot him or her down.
Not one was to be spared to tell the tale. The division
went so far, even, as to appoint the night on which this dastardly
outrage was to be perpetrated. They convened in
Shenandoah for the business, but Lawler—so he claimed—assisted
by Callaghan, managed to get up a discussion on
another subject, thus diverting the attention of the ringleaders,
and they forgot what they had gathered for, adjourning
at too late an hour for their purpose, thus postponing
operations until a future time. Finally the job was abandoned.
Lawler and Callaghan accorded great credit to
themselves in having, at the risk of their own lives, saved the
unsuspecting inhabitants of Jackson Patch, thus averting
one of the most sickening wholesale assassinations that
the heart of savage ever conceived. Through inquiries in the
proper quarters, which the operative made, he was satisfied
that the story he had listened to was not drawn from imagination.
Previously aware of the fact that there were men
in his division who, to secure revenge, or when under the
excitement of enmity or drink, would perform deeds that
might make angels weep, and throw the acts of the Indians
in the shade, still he was shocked by this recital. He must
<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>perforce maintain friendly relations with these persons, drink
of their liquor, share their orgies and listen to their blood-thirsty
plans. It was no pleasant duty to perform.</p>

<p class='c001'>The strike continued. It was not alone Luzerne County
that was interested, but disaffection and desertion of works
spread over the anthracite region. It was the intention of
the Mollies and the Miners’ and Laborers’ Association that
work should entirely cease. To this end those men who
desired to labor for the support of their families were
notified. If they failed to stop, they were beaten, or assassinated,
and the hand that consummated the deed was
hidden in the secret recesses of the hearts of the Mollie
Maguires.</p>

<p class='c001'>On the eighteenth of November McKenna obtained
information that a number of outrages had occurred the
preceding Saturday—denominated by the <cite>Miners’ Journal</cite>,
of Pottsville, as “a horrible day.”</p>

<p class='c001'>In the first instance, a man named Pat Padden was discovered
in the streets of Carbondale, dead, with two bullet
holes in his skull.</p>

<p class='c001'>Secondly, Michael McNally was mysteriously murdered
in the same locality, and found with his throat cut from ear
to ear, and body otherwise mutilated.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p2361_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>There the inhuman wretches prepared to leave him to die.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>In another part of the county, a man, whose name was
not learned, had been come upon by some farmers, nearly
dead, in a most novel but painful predicament. It seems
he had refused to give heed to the notices the Mollies gave
him; was one night taken from his home, carried to the
mountains, and thence to a deep morass, where there was
nothing surrounding them but water, high trees with
branches closely interlocked, and fallen timber. There the
inhuman monsters prepared to leave him to die a slow death
by starvation. Iron spikes were driven through his coat
sleeves, tight to the wrist, the man lying upon his back
lengthwise of a solid pine log, the arms bent backward so
<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>as to form the shape of a cross; then his feet were similarly
pinned to the log with the strongest nails. Making sure,
as they supposed, that there was no possibility he would
escape, the Mollies deserted the place, first having put a gag
in his mouth, which they thought he would be unable to
remove. For nearly three days, and two horrid, long
nights, their victim remained thus secured, praying, at last,
for death to relieve him from tortures of hunger and thirst
and the dreaded attacks of stinging insects and fierce wild
animals. Happily he at last succeeded in releasing the
fastenings of the gag, the block of wood fell out, and he
made the air resound, about noon of the third day, with his
loud and repeated shouts for aid, which were heard by two
German woodmen, who at once sought out the cause of the
noise. They soon found the man, at once relieved him,
and gave him, sparingly at first, food from their well-stored
lunch pails. Water was also procured, and in a few hours
the victim of the Mollies found himself strong enough to be
removed. For some weeks he was a raving maniac and
could not tell who he was, where he came from, or the cause
of his punishment. When his senses returned he possessed
no knowledge of the parties who had perpetrated the outrage.
He emigrated from the coal mines, as soon as well
enough, and said he “would rather starve in a civilized
community than fare sumptuously in a place inhabited by
brutes in human form.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Still another. A mining boss, name not heard, but connected
with the Erie Breaker, was set upon, beaten, and
left for dead, with one of his arms broken.</p>

<p class='c001'>And another. One Michael Kenny, not a Mollie Maguire,
was murdered at Scranton, Luzerne County, and his mangled
remains thrown down a steep embankment, where it was
supposed they would forever remain undiscovered, but accident
revealed their hiding-place. They were encoffined
and given burial. The assassins were not known.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>The men at Carbon were nearly all Irish and Welsh, the
former mostly Mollies, and there were no members of the
Sheet Irons supposed to be in the neighborhood.</p>

<p class='c001'>The miners still refused any reduction from the basis on
which they were laboring when the strike was inaugurated.
Some were working, but all expected to suspend by the
beginning of the New Year.</p>

<p class='c001'>An event which made the detective’s very blood boil, and
still one in which he could not interfere, furnishes the
cap sheaf of this array of horrors. It transpired at Fowler’s
Patch, east of Shenandoah, a little later in the month, and
the actors in it were Chas. Hayes, Dan Kelly—called also
Manus Kull and “the Bum”—and Ed. Lawler, members
of McKenna’s own division. They were out on a spree
until four in the morning, when they went to the house
of a poor old woman, named Downey, who kept a she-been-shop,
roused her from her sleep, and, after drinking,
robbed her of her money—which was but a small sum—and
then forced her to join them in finishing their orgies. They
were finally all very drunk, and Kelly took a pail and proceeded
to fill it from the landlady’s whisky barrel, which sat
in a corner, across two large rocks, and the woman interfered.
Kelly, at this, had his fiercest passions aroused, and, fired by
the liquor, was ready for anything. The woman still resisting,
he raised her in his arms, being a muscular and powerful
man, carried her bodily to the almost red-hot stove and
threw her upon it, face downward, and was holding her there,
despite her frantic struggles and loud cries, to be roasted
and burned to death, when Hayes came to the rescue, struck
Kelly under the ear, knocked him down, and liberated the
badly injured old lady. Her hands and face were shriveled,
broiled in deep, large patches, and there is no doubt that,
had she not been taken off the stove by Hayes, she would have
been killed. As it was, she had to remain in bed, and for
weeks was not able to sit up. Still no arrests were made.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p2362_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>He carried her to the almost red-hot cook stove, and threw her upon it.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>Kelly challenged Hayes to fight him, for intermeddling with
an affair that, he said, belonged entirely to him, and they
walked out in the highway, just at daybreak, all by themselves,
the old woman still writhing and screaming with pain,
and fought ten rounds, Hayes, though a much lighter man
than his antagonist, giving Kelly a severe pummeling and
coming out ahead in almost every contest, until Kelly gave
it up.</p>

<p class='c001'>Before they left, however, Kelly visited his intended victim,
and, striking his fist in her very face, said, with an oath:</p>

<p class='c001'>“It’s about your time! I’ll burn your accursed body up
yet! So look out!”</p>

<p class='c001'>He would have set fire to the building and executed the
threat, at the moment, only Hayes insisted that he should
leave her, which he did. Hayes sent a physician to the
woman’s house immediately. He found its sole occupant
incapable of answering a single question. The little mind
the woman had was for the time quite distracted, and the floor
on fire, from the upsetting of the stove. Had she been left
alone half an hour longer she and her house would have
been reduced to ashes.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch23' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXIII.<br> <br>GOOD OLD MICKY CUFF.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Shenandoah is a handsome little inland town, the center
of a productive coal country and the place of residence of
many excellent people. This volume, however, will not
have much to do with that particular portion of the inhabitants,
the Mollies and their associates fully monopolizing
and employing the writer’s attention. Among those who
<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>were not members of the organization, but still wicked
enough to be classed with them, was one Micky Cuff, the
proprietor of a small whisky shop in the city. The building,
the basement of which Cuff and his family occupied, was a
two-story tenement, standing nearly flush with the street, and
in its cellar part rather low between floors. One night, about
eleven o’clock, after coming from a wake, McKenna found
himself with Fergus and Ned Monaghan, for the first time
inside Micky Cuff’s groggery. Having such a brace of
worthies to introduce him, he made sure of a cordial welcome,
and Cuff shook his hand heartily as he said, in his
gruff voice—something between the noise produced by filing
a mill-saw and that made in the smaller theatres and called
sheet-iron thunder:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m plazed to mate ye, lad! Make yerself at home
here, an’ when ye’re thirsty come in an’ taste our liquor! If
you misbehave—which I suppose ye niver do—you’ll be
well baten for yer pains!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective had received his cue from Fergus never to
dispute Cuff, or find fault with anything in his house, unless
he wanted a stroke over the head with whatever instrument
was most convenient, and therefore accepted the allusion to
a fight without sending back his habitual rejoinder: “Two
can play at that game!” And it was well for him that he did.
Without noticing Cuff’s captiousness, McKenna proposed:
“Drinks for four, or five, if Mrs. Cuff would take somewhat!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Af coorse she wull!” said Cuff; and that dumpy woman
with the small face, scanty gray hair, bent shoulders, and
meek but deprecatory smile—she felt compelled to express
pleasure when her husband told her, as plainly by a look as
words could speak, that she must do so—came forward and
drank her thimbleful of poteen from the one lonesome, dirty
glass, sole remnant of the half dozen she had commenced
housekeeping with some thirty years before, and said:</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>“Thanks! This is Jim McKenna, is it? We have heard
of you! I am glad to meet any friend of my husband—and
Mr. Ferguson!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Ferguson acknowledged the compliment intended, and she
retired to the rear of the room, where there was work for
her, “doing up” Cuff’s linen.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ ye are that same bould Jim McKenna, what
docthered Pat Hennessy’s colt! I knew you be sight long
ago, but this is the first time you’ve honored our house with
your prisence! Nivermind! Here’s to your betther health,
Mr. McKenna!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And good old Cuff drained his half tumbler of raw spirits
as unconcernedly as if it had not been one of a dozen odd,
similarly large and strong, he had tasted since dinner. Then
the four men sat down to a greasy table, located in the middle
of the apartment, and, by the light of the single, smoking
miners’ lamp, essayed the interesting game of poker, the
ante being the small sum of one dime.</p>

<p class='c001'>That room and its contents would rejoice the graphic
pencil of a Hogarth, or the facile pen of a Dickens, were
these great artists alive to enter its stifling and tobacco-smoked
precincts. Let me attempt merely to outline the
curious picture.</p>

<p class='c001'>Descending a steep flight of well-worn stone steps, from
the sidewalk, a reasonably tall man would have to stoop considerably
to save his head from coming in violent collision
with the arched lintel. Pushing open the paintless, but by
no means colorless, door, the interior premises were at once
disclosed to view. No, not at once, as it consumed some
moments for the best eyes to penetrate to the most distant
walls, by reason of the density and murkiness of the atmosphere,
and the prevalence of smoke from some cookery and
several tobacco pipes. But there could be no delay in the
process of smelling the presence of perspiring humanity in
its most filthy forms. It required stomach and lungs inured
<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>by extended habit to confinement in similarly reeking, social
stews, to enable a person to exist for any length of time in
the air of Micky Cuff’s castle. Two low windows at the
front gave a dim light during the day, while at night a flaring
flame from a small lamp was all the illumination the
apartment afforded. The room was possibly thirty feet in
length, and eighteen wide. The ceiling, which was once
whitewashed, and then left for years to accumulate smoke,
dust, and moisture, was scant six feet above the dirty floor,
and the encompassing walls were of the same piece—adorned
here and there with a rusty nail, on which hung either a coat,
a skirt, a skillet, or a frying-pan—and in the economy of this
particular family it mattered little as to their rotation. It
might be a pan, a dress, and a hat, or perchance a hat, a pan,
and a dress. Across one corner of the further end a string
was drawn, and to it a sheet hung suspended. Behind this
temporary screen slept all the Cuff family—man, wife, and
five small children. When the detective entered, a chicken
and two pullets were serenely roosting on the top of this convenient
bed-room partition, and the curtain evidenced,
from its plentiful want of cleanliness, that they were unaccustomed
to make their nightly vigils elsewhere—for sleep they
could not while Cuff was awake, and that was generally the
greater portion of the night. In that triangular recess the
Cuff family reposed. In that dingy apartment the same persons
cooked, washed, ate, drank, and sold whisky to customers—beside
keeping two boarders, who occupied a second
and calico curtained corner opposite that of the Cuffs.
There were no means of ventilation, save through the front
door, the windows, and the stove-pipe. The liquor rested
in a five-gallon demijohn, which Cuff denominated his
“retail department.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Good old Micky Cuff, as he heard himself ironically
called by his neighbors, was not generally looked upon as
either good or handsome. Heavy and tall of figure, he had
<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>plentiful, long, stiff, iron-gray hair, and bristling eyebrows.
His face was broad and retreating at the base, and narrow
and projecting at the top, preceded, when he walked, by a
pug nose, which seemed always heartily ashamed that it was
not large in proportion to the vast expanse of cheek flanking
it on either side, and hence appeared more insignificant than
it really was. But the lack of size in the nasal appendage
was more than compensated by the yawning chasm beneath,
dividing the countenance into two moieties, and commonly
called a mouth. Cuff’s mouth was the crater of a miniature
volcano, continually bursting forth with loud oaths, running
streams of tobacco juice and bursts of fetid breath, causing
the face to tremble with the vehemence of the smouldering
fires of the elements within. To make the thing still more
hideous, there were four tusks in the front of the upper and
lower jaw, jutting out slantingly, causing either lip to protrude
and assume a grin, which would have made the fortune
of any actor who affected the line of character professionally
dubbed the “heavy villain.” When Cuff laughed, which
was constantly—and never more diabolically than when
incensed to the pitch of working violence upon something—his
little, round, black eyes retreated into their sockets, the
nose wriggled felicitously, like the stump of a dog’s tail when
begging for meat, and his four broad tusks clattered together,
causing his repeated guffaws to assume the tone of an
illy played pair of castanets combined with the before-mentioned
stage thunder. In fact, the big fellow’s face was
open, like that of an alligator. Dressed in coarse miners’
blouse and pantaloons, with boots of the usual weight—Cuff
seldom wore his hat, excepting when in the street or the
mine, for he was an expert miner, and labored when he
could by day, selling whisky at night—he was a perfect wonder
to behold.</p>

<p class='c001'>Cuff was not, and never had been, a Mollie, but was
greatly in favor of the organization, and on intimate terms
<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>of friendship with its principal members. He bore the
reputation of being a very rough customer, and undoubtedly
was, but he may be complimented by the addenda: even he
“was not as bad as he looked.” His temper was as peculiar
as his <span lang="fr"><i>personnel</i></span>. Once disputed in a favorite theory or
belief, his anger was quick to rise, knew no bounds, and the
handiest weapon, no matter what it chanced to be—a rock,
an axe, or hammer, a bar of iron, a stick of wood—was
employed upon the person of his opponent, whether it
chanced to be man, woman, or child, and it was a cause of
wonder in the neighborhood that Micky had never yet been
guilty of murder. In truth, he had not even been arrested for
an assault, though frequently guilty of those of an aggravated
character. His inner consciousness was as utterly inexplicable
as his outward general appearance. Nondescript
is about the only word in the English language clearly conveying
to the mind of the reader a photograph of the being
bearing the name of Micky Cuff, of Shenandoah. And the
same syllables equally well apply to his mental and moral
attributes—for he possessed both of these in a marked and
powerful degree.</p>

<p class='c001'>Cuff would never refuse a man a quart of whisky, even
though he whacked the applicant roundly before he could
get off the premises with it. During times of suspension,
when few miners commanded ready funds, Cuff is said to
have disposed of, without money and without price, barrel
after barrel of liquor, showing that penuriousness was not
one of his many faults. Those who failed in coming up and
settling, among the few to whom he extended credit, when
better times arrived and the cash was attainable, the good
old man took occasion to remind just once of their indebtedness.
A continued omission to walk up, soon afterward,
and pay the score, resulted in the closing of the account—wiping
away the chalk-marks from the wall with his huge
paw—and the balancing of his ledger by giving the negligent
<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>creditor a broken head the very first time they came together.</p>

<p class='c001'>“When I give, I gives,” said Cuff, “an’ when I trusts, I
mane to have me pay, if I have to take it out of somebody’s
hide!”</p>

<p class='c001'>So Cuff’s customers were ordinarily model paymasters.
He sold by the gallon, quart, and drink, mostly for money
down. It was most agreeable this way, all around.</p>

<p class='c001'>Miners, or their companions, who took sick at or near
Micky Cuff’s house, were considered fortunate. If Cuff
could have his way, he was the softest-handed, gentlest-hearted
nurse in the world. When he might not do as he
pleased, the invalid was quickly compelled to seek other
quarters. His usual parting salute in such an event would
be:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Go off now! Git out of me house! I’m not <em>nagerly</em>,
but ye can’t stand here an’ dispute the docther—an’ by the
same token, that’s Micky Cuff! <em>Dher manhim!</em> Ye can’t
be sick and docther beside! Go away—an’ the devil go
wid ye an’ sixpence! Here’s six eggs to ye an’ half a dozen
of ’em rotten!”</p>

<p class='c001'>With more of the same sort, which would make a stranger
tremble; but those who knew Cuff were aware that, to those
in misfortune or suffering from illness, his heart was that of a
baby.</p>

<p class='c001'>When the sick man wisely kept a silent tongue in his
head, and swallowed the remedies provided without word or
grimace, no one could be more compassionate than Cuff.
His principal reliance, in all cases—his <span lang="la"><i>medicamentum</i></span> and
cure-all—was a preparation which he called “skelkeen,”
and it was generally to be gulped down very hot, so that his
patients denominated it—but not in his presence—“scald
keen;” for they said it scalded them sharply in the taking.
Cuff made his skelkeen about in this manner: Taking three
fresh-laid eggs, plenty of sugar, or molasses, he broke the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>eggs, beat them, with the other ingredients, in a bowl, then
added a generous quantity of whisky; putting all together
in a pot, or tin kettle, he stirred it while it boiled until reduced
to the consistency of cream, when some cayenne pepper
was added, and the fiery medicine was ready for use.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Here! Take this!” he would say, holding a cupful of
the steaming stuff in his hand. “If ye wor gone, clane
dead, the skelkeen would bring ye to life again!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Should the patient dare refuse the draught, Cuff would
call him vulgar names, not mentionable here, whip him, and
end by kicking him out of doors and up the stairs, in the
goodness of his heart. It was not often that his friends in
this manner incurred his displeasure. Only strangers dare
refuse the skelkeen.</p>

<p class='c001'>Then Cuff had his “mulled beer,” suitable for ladies, which
he declared cured all the evils flesh is heir to. And many
went to his house to partake of this remedy. The ladies’
cure consisted of malt beer, or ale, boiled down thick and
strong, in some vessel, on the family stove, with molasses
enough added to make it palatable, and drunk as hot as the
sick one could bear.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Swallow this! It’ll cure you, or I’m a <em>gaberlunzie</em>,
which by the same token, I never wor!” was the rough
language accompanying the presentation of the vile concoction.
Woe be unto the woman who dared to turn her head
away from the fumes of Cuff’s mulled beer! She would be
sure to hear such language from the impromptu doctor as
would make her repent the act during the remainder of her
life. As with the men, very few had the courage to put
the cup from their lips. They generally recovered their
health, however, after taking one dose of the stimulating
compound.</p>

<p class='c001'>There was an entire absence of spittoons in the place, and
as all who visited there chewed tobacco, or smoked, the
sanitary condition of the floor may be imagined but not portrayed.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>The scrubbing-brush or mop never interfered with
the supreme sway of abominations. An old broom occasionally
touched the surface of the boards, or the coating
above them, but soap and water were “too dampening for
the children”—who, by its use, might take sudden colds—to
be placed upon anything in the house, where their use could
possibly be dispensed with. An old tin kettle contained the
smoking tobacco, and as it generally stood on the floor, excepting
when being passed from smoker to smoker, sundry
discharged and useless quids got mixed with the article to be
used in pipes, and McKenna was about to refuse to fill his
doodeen when he looked at Cuff, who was regarding him
carefully over his cards, and remembering a caution he had
received, he choked down his rising gorge, employed some
of the tobacco, and handed the kettle to Fergus.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mrs. Cuff was in most respects a fitting helpmate for
Micky. She was fully as fine-looking as her husband, but
small in figure and undemonstrative in demeanor, implicitly
relying upon the ungainly partner of her bosom as a wonderfully
superior being—in truth, as one of the greatest and
best of men. She performed what he might order, in any
emergency, promptly and uncomplainingly, and so lived that
she made not an enemy in the town. True, her progeny
wanted clothing sometimes, and wallowed in the dust, as
dirty as the <em>bonneens</em> in the sty, growing up as tough as
maple knots and as uneducated as Hottentots, but it was not
her fault. She had never been taught any better, and as
long as Micky thought it right, the whole world would be
wrong entirely, if found to differ with his expressed opinion.
She worked hard to keep her large family fed and clothed,
but the urchins would climb rocks, and fences, and slide
down cellar doors, and hence their garments would show
holes and rents. They exhibited little evidence in their persons
that clean water ran in streams, or stood in wells, and
that soap was cheap at corner groceries. Rather the contrary.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>But they and she had always been accustomed to
such a life, and cannot be blamed for believing it their
natural state of existence.</p>

<p class='c001'>After several games at cards, in which Cuff and his partner
came out ahead, he proposed that McKenna should give
them a song.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I hear you are a wild boy wid the music an’ dance,”
said the good old man, trying to appear companionable;
“an’ I have, these many days, been wantin’ to see yez, an’
hear some of your best!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes,” chimed in Monaghan. “A song! A song!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Do, plaze favor us!” echoed Mrs. Cuff, who was now
sitting by the stove, mending a bifurcated garment intended
to cover the body of one of the younger Cuffs.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p2481_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>The others withdrawing somewhat from the table, he seated himself upon it and began.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>McKenna had a very sore throat at the time, but endeavored
to comply. The others withdrawing somewhat from
the table, he seated himself upon it and began with “The
Miner and the Exciseman,” the tune being indescribable,
the words about as follows:</p>

<div class='lg-container-l c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“I know that young folks like to hear a song;</div>
      <div class='line'>Its something funny—its not very long;</div>
      <div class='line'>Its of an exciseman, the story I’ll tell,</div>
      <div class='line'>Who thought t’other night he was going to h—ll.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='c016'>CHORUS.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in2'>“With my fal-al-addy, dol, tol-ol-oddy-dol,” etc.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“This exciseman went out upon the other day,</div>
      <div class='line'>He met plenty of smugglers, as I hear them say,</div>
      <div class='line'>All gauging their liquor, just ready to sell,</div>
      <div class='line'>This exciseman got drunk, boys, the truth for to tell. <span class='floatr'>—<span class='fss'>CHORUS</span>.</span></div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Well, ’twas nigh to a coal mine this exciseman did lie,</div>
      <div class='line'>When four or five miners there chanced to pass by;</div>
      <div class='line'>They took him on their shoulders and bore him away,</div>
      <div class='line'>Like a peddler’s pack, without any delay.  <span class='floatr'>—<span class='fss'>CHORUS</span>.</span></div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>“It’s into the bucket they lowered him right down;</div>
      <div class='line'>When this jolly exciseman he got underground,</div>
      <div class='line'>An’ when he awoke in great horror and fear,</div>
      <div class='line'>Up starts a big miner, saying, ‘What brought you here?’ <span class='floatr'>—<span class='fss'>CHORUS</span>.</span></div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘Indade, Mr. Devil, I don’t very well know,</div>
      <div class='line'>But I see that I have come to the regions below;</div>
      <div class='line'>An’ if ye spare me now, as you’ve oft done before,</div>
      <div class='line'>I’ll never kape robbin’ the poor any more!’ <span class='floatr'>—<span class='fss'>CHORUS</span>.</span></div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘It’s what trade did you follow when you were above?’</div>
      <div class='line'>‘I was an exciseman, an’ few did me love.’</div>
      <div class='line'>‘If you’re an exciseman, why, here you’ll remain,</div>
      <div class='line'>An’ you’ll never get out of this dark cell again.’ <span class='floatr'>—<span class='fss'>CHORUS</span>.</span></div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘Or you must give us money—now that we demand</div>
      <div class='line'>Before you get to one sight of the land!’</div>
      <div class='line'>‘Here is a hundred guineas,’ the exciseman did say,</div>
      <div class='line'>‘For I long to get seeing the light of day!’” <span class='floatr'>—<span class='fss'>CHORUS</span>.</span></div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>“Served the skunk right!” said Cuff, rising from his
chair, and giving the table a thump with his closed hand
which made the room ring, and caused McKenna to get
down rather hastily from the perch and look around to see
if anybody were injured. Cuff gave him a reassuring wink
and continued: “I don’t belave there is any one thing,
exceptin’ a rattlesnake, that I hate more than a gauger—or
a detective!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Them’s my sentiments, precisely!” shouted McKenna.
“Come, let’s have another smile, all around, and then we’ll
go home!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This ended the operative’s first call on good old Micky
Cuff, but it was by no means his last. He visited there,
when he could not avoid it, during that winter, but later an
incident occurred that may be related here, which terminated
his companionship with that party. He does not go to
see Micky Cuff any more—and did not, after the event
<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>alluded to, for many months preceding his departure from
Shenandoah.</p>

<p class='c001'>Cuff’s four horrid snags of teeth have been mentioned.
They were a source of continual annoyance to their owner,
and the special aversion of Mrs. Cuff—his one defect, if the
word may be permitted. Both thought—and their friends
believed—that if the tusks were once removed and their place
filled with a new and regular artificial set, he would be an
elegant-appearing man. Cuff confessed to his boon companions
that he knew the fangs did slightly detract from
his beauty of countenance; and said if he had money to
spare to fee the dentist he certainly might have them taken
out, and a “dacint set put in the mouth!” When Fergus,
on a certain occasion, thought of this, he cast a sly wink at
McKenna, and said: “Now, Cuff, McKenna and I are
your friends. We have noticed your anxiety about those
teeth, and, with the assistance of Tom Hurley, Jack Gibbons,
an’ some more, have got up a raffle, to come off two weeks
hence, to raise twenty dollars for you, for the very purpose
of getting a new supply!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes,” said McKenna, taking the hint; “an’ it’ll not be
long before the money’s all collected. Tom Hurley and I
can raise most of it, I do believe!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Cuff was very thankful, believed all they said, and promised
to have the four offending incisors extracted. In a short
time Fergus informed the operative that Cuff, taking them at
their word, had accordingly had the fangs taken out.</p>

<p class='c001'>“What I’m thinking of now,” said Fergus, “is where you
an’ I will be afther hidin’ until Cuff gets over his anger!
When he hears he has been sold, he’ll be as mad as Sam’s
master!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Then there was no raffle, afther all?” asked McKenna,
innocently.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ you knew that all the time! What’s the use of
your playin’ off ye didn’t, at this late hour?”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>“Oh, faith! I supposed you had got up a paper for Cuff,
an’ I was ready to pay me share,” answered McKenna; but
seeing that Fergus did not care to shoulder all the blame, he
finally assented to an arrangement by which they were, for a
few weeks, at least, to travel always in company, and never
in the vicinities frequented by good old Micky Cuff.</p>

<p class='c001'>The raffle never came off—but the roof of Cuff’s house was
nigh coming off with the solid imprecations that good but
impulsive man indulged in when a neighbor informed him
that McKenna and Ferguson had been playing a practical
joke on him. No one in the place dared even look suspiciously
at the horrid hole left in his jaws, without incurring
his lasting displeasure. He went about his affairs with a
more hideous countenance than he had sported before the
doctor took away his tusks. Two men in Shenandoah never
go to drink, play cards, sing and dance with Micky Cuff.
When invited, they invariably decline.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch24' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXIV.<br> <br>HOSTILITIES CONTINUED.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>It was maintained by some that the Mollies of the coal
regions were not supported or recognized by the Ancient
Order of Hibernians throughout the United States, but there
is abundant evidence of this being utterly false, the Sleepers,
or Mollie Maguires, being substantially part and portion of the
society. That this entire organization, from root to branch,
was rotten and corrupt, has been unmistakably shown to the
people of the country. As early as January, 1875, the State
and National branches of the Hibernians were beginning to
feel uneasy regarding their brethren in the mountain country
<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>of Pennsylvania. This is exhibited in the fact that John
Kehoe, County Delegate of Schuylkill, issued an order to
the divisions to send their Bodymasters and officers to Girardville,
on the fourth of the month mentioned, to confer with
the National Delegate, the great head of the organization,
known as the Ancient Order of Hibernians, in the United
States. This man was named Campbell, and he met the
leaders of the Mollies as stated, Shenandoah Division having
for its representatives McKenna, Frank McAndrew, and
others. Campbell is described as a medium-sized man, with
gray hair and chin whiskers; form rather lightly built, aged
about fifty-five years and countenance wearing a look of
intelligence. The National Secretary, Reilley, was also
present, with a band of Bodymasters, as follows:</p>

<div class='lg-container-l c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Pat Collins</span>, Palo Alto.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Frank Keenan</span>, Forrestville.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Ned Kean</span>, New Philadelphia.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Larry Crean</span>, Girardville.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>James Murphy</span>, Loss Creek.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>It was found that the object of the meeting at Lafferty’s
Hall was merely to investigate some offending brothers.
Barney Dolan was put on trial for embezzling five hundred
dollars of the funds, and, after hearing the testimony, Reilley
and Campbell retired, but in a few minutes brought in a verdict
of “not guilty,” and the big County Delegate looked
well pleased, yet, when the National Delegate and Secretary
announced that Jack Kehoe should retain the position of
County Delegate, Barney’s face elongated, and its owner
was not half as well satisfied as he had appeared just a
moment before. The decision was final, however, and
Barney could remain a member of the order, but no longer
act as County Delegate, excepting he should be duly elected
at a State Convention. Of this there was little hope.</p>

<p class='c001'>When the regular routine of business had been completed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>Campbell made a long speech to those assembled, in which
he counseled all to behave well, and so generally conduct
themselves as to win the recognition of good people, and
admission to the Church. He hinted that all the Bishops
desired was that the Schuylkill Hibernians should remove
the stigma resting upon them, and thus a return to the fold
was attainable. But for the acts performed there, the obstacle
would long since have been removed. Campbell was
given respectful attention, but his words fell on deaf and
unheeding ears.</p>

<p class='c001'>Then the meeting adjourned and the members returned to
their homes.</p>

<p class='c001'>And this was not all. The era of Conventions seemed to
have come. On the eleventh of January, in the same year,
a meeting was held in Pottsville, again upon Kehoe’s requisition,
to prepare for a general celebration of St. Patrick’s Day.
McKenna was in attendance, as Secretary of Shenandoah
Division. The following Bodymasters also put in an appearance:</p>

<div class='lg-container-l c015'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Pat Dolan</span>, Big Mine Run.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Chris Donnelly</span>, Mt. Laffee.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Frank Keenan</span>, Forrestville.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>James Kennedy</span>, Mt. Carbon.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>John Regan</span>, St. Clair.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Pat Collins</span>, Palo Alto.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Wm. Callaghan</span>, Mahanoy Plane.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Daniel Kelly</span>, Connor’s and Patches adjoining.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Lawrence Crean</span>, Girardville.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Mike O’brien</span>, Mahanoy City.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Peter Sherry</span>, St. Nicholas.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Peter Burns</span>, Silver Brook.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>John Donahue</span>, Tuscarora.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>James J. Gallagher</span>, Coaldale.</div>
      <div class='line'>—— <span class='sc'>Bradley</span>, Representing Pat Butler, of Loss Creek.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Frank Mcandrew</span>, Shenandoah.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>James Kerrigan</span>, Coaldale.</div>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>James Roarty</span>, Tamaqua.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>Excepting only Florence Mahanoy Division, of Turkey
Run, which was not represented, almost every lodge had
present, on this important occasion, a full corps of five officers,
viz.: President, or Bodymaster, Vice-President, Secretary
and Assistant Secretary, and Treasurer.</p>

<p class='c001'>After the opening by prayer, Kehoe explained the object
of the gathering, and all the members able to purchase were
supplied with suitable regalia; flags were bought and music
engaged, when once more the meeting of Bodymasters was
dissolved.</p>

<p class='c001'>Jack Kehoe was fast becoming a man of power in Schuylkill
County and gaining supreme control of the dreaded
Mollie Maguires. It was policy on his part to invite these
conferences. While the President and officers of the bodies
were together, he could cultivate their acquaintance and
push certain plans, political and otherwise, which, in due
season, he would carry to completion. He desired to see
all the leading men <span lang="fr"><i>en masse</i></span>, and succeeded. The presence
of the national representatives, and the deference shown to
Jack by them, in virtue of his office, at the first Convention,
gave him eminence in the eyes of those possessing an inferior
order of intellect and standing lower in the official scale than
himself. The County Delegate was a scheming, crafty fellow,
and looked far into the future, thinking that he could see
for himself and his family political distinctions and riches in
the deft and continued handling of the Mollies. He did
not, however, as the sequel will show, penetrate quite deep
enough into the obscurity of coming events. Had he
pierced the mystic veil a little further, the ghastly spectre
that would have glided before his startled vision might have
turned him from his evil pathway, with terror-stricken face
and palsied limbs, to seek the bloodless and better course.</p>

<p class='c001'>Kehoe was now the self-crowned king of the Mollies in
Schuylkill. They moved promptly, like so many puppets,
at his will, and when he commanded a halt the mysterious
<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>clan paused in its deadly work. Would he order a cessation
of hostilities? Or must the word be “Forward—march”?
Nobody could tell! That the General intended tough work
was apparent from the activity he had inaugurated among
the Bodymasters, and they were the men who acted as the
Lieutenants and leaders of corps for the Commander-in-chief.</p>

<p class='c001'>At this time one Pat Hester, who had for two months
past been in custody, on a criminal charge, was released and
went directly to his home, not far from Summit Hill. He
was a bad and violent man, and formerly of high standing in
the order. More will be heard of him hereafter.</p>

<p class='c001'>Immediately following the ball at Pottsville, January 20th,
in which nearly three hundred Mollies and their ladies participated,
and a very brief visit to New Philadelphia and
Silver Creek, the operative returned to Shenandoah.</p>

<p class='c001'>On the twenty-fifth, the country was visited by a snow-storm
of unusual severity. The same day McKenna learned
from a friend that Pat Dormer had met his wife at a neighbor’s,
and they engaged in an animated conversation that
ended in Pat giving the lady a cruel beating, for which little
act of indiscretion he was still suffering in Pottsville jail,
where he would have to remain for three months.</p>

<p class='c001'>At the end of January the detective had another attack
of his old complaint, chills and fever, and for some days was
ordered by the physicians to remain indoors.</p>

<p class='c001'>It will be borne in mind that the great strike was still in
progress; work was nearly at an end; some of the stores
in the mines were closing up business and others refusing
credit to miners, causing considerable suffering among those
who, during flush times, had improvidently spent their money,
keeping none for this sort of emergency. It was no source
of surprise, then, that the mere announcement, founded upon
rumor, that Col. Cake had been seen at Loss Creek, where
he was to sign papers, agreeing, on the part of the Philadelphia
<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>and Reading Coal and Iron Company, to the basis in
vogue preceding the strike, should create wild excitement
over the country. In Shenandoah, nearly all the Mollies
entered upon a prolonged debauch on the strength of the
story. Frank McAndrew, the President, was entirely overcome
by liquor, and meeting the young Welshman, Gomer
James, engaged in a fight with him and his companions,
during which knives and pistols were freely used, but no
persons seriously wounded. McHugh and Travers were of
McAndrew’s party, and Gomer James and his confederates
finally withdrew from the field. McKenna, from his keeping
the house, through the doctor’s commands, was not a participant
in, or present during the time of this little disturbance.
He heard of it the next day, when McHugh went to see him.
That person was terribly in earnest, swearing big oaths without
number that the time must soon come when Gomer
James should be made to suffer for his acts. He thought it
bad policy to insist upon immediate revenge, but stated,
when work was fairly commenced and everything would not
be charged upon the society, he and the rest could never be
satisfied until two men were obtained to make way with the
murderer of Cosgrove. McHugh ended by remarking that
“it was a shame and a disgrace to all members of the order
that Gomer’s taking off had been so long delayed!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The starting, a few days subsequently, of several large
collieries, made the emissary think that, if others were as
anxious as McHugh, Gomer James would have to look out
for himself. As James had been previously warned, through
the instrumentality of Mr. Franklin, he did not deem it necessary
to do more in this instance than make due report
of McHugh’s words. This he did at once, and Mr. Franklin
again had the information conveyed to James that he
stood in imminent danger of losing his life.</p>

<p class='c001'>Father McFadden was now visited by a committee of
Mollies, asking permission to take part in the general celebration
<span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>of St. Patrick’s Day, for which extended preparations
were being made, but he refused, cursing the Mollies and
their committee with the heaviest maledictions. He charged
them with being murderers and assassins, and commanded
them to leave the order. They would do nothing of the
kind.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna was one of the committee, by the request of
Jack Kehoe, but had no hope, at the time, of being successful
in the mission. Kehoe and others determined to take
part in the celebration if they had to walk over the priest’s
dead body. The detective was apparently as anxious as the
rest, and managed to raise nine dollars—“from where,” he
said his friends “could guess”—with which to purchase
himself regalia for the seventeenth of March. They naturally
supposed he had disposed of more counterfeit money.</p>

<p class='c001'>The early part of March a riot occurred at Jeddo and
Buck Mountain, during which three men were shot. The
Mollies, being largely in force there, were accused of bringing
on hostilities.</p>

<p class='c001'>At about this date three hundred men gathered in the
same vicinity to prevent the collieries from working, and extinguished
the fires under the pumping boilers, the intention
being to drown out the mines and bar their owners from
operating them for a long time. The country was overspread
with snow to the depth of a foot, on the level, and
travel upon the mountains was again greatly impeded, making
the work of the Mollies easy of accomplishment and their
escape almost certain.</p>

<p class='c001'>About the fourth of March a so-called Anti-Monopoly Convention
was appointed to take place at Harrisburg, having
for its principal purpose a movement against the Philadelphia
and Reading Coal and Iron Company, by individual and
other large operators. The laboring man, excepting he
might be far removed from, and a great consumer of the
product of the coal fields, could have but small interest in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>the result of the meeting, yet many of this class attended
as delegates and took part in the proceedings. Among them
was Muff Lawler, who reported, on his return, that there
were nearly three hundred representatives present, and it
was decided to ask the Legislature, by resolution, to cause
an investigation to be made, by committee, of the officers of
the company, and say why their charter should not be abrogated.
Lawler further said that the committee would be
appointed and the investigation set on foot. All of which
did not prove that there was anything wrong in the organization
to be investigated.</p>

<p class='c001'>Had the Mollies been aware of the full extent of Mr. F.
B. Gowen’s proceedings in the coal fields—as President of
the Philadelphia and Reading Railway and of the Philadelphia
and Reading Coal and Iron Company—and the work
he had instituted years before, to punish the guilty, and clear
their confederates from the land, wresting from them by the
strong hand of the law the great power they held over the
inhabitants, it is believed that his life would have been taken—at
least, attempts would have been made upon it. But
the President calmly waited his time, which he knew must
come, and relaxed no effort, withdrew no force—on the contrary,
kept himself more closely down to his work—through
all these mutterings and threatenings. His head was clear,
his nerves unshaken.</p>

<p class='c001'>Charles Hayes, who was just from Summit, where he had
gone to secure work and see some relatives, reported that
the Laborers’ Union and the Mollies had made common
cause in the fight on Summit Hill, headed by Tom Fisher,
County Delegate, Pat McKenna, Bodymaster, and a prominent
Mollie named Boyle. They were determined that,
unless the collieries submitted to the general demand, they
should not have men to do their work.</p>

<p class='c001'>Sunday, the fourteenth of March, the Mollies of Shenandoah
were startled by the reported finding of the dead body
<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>of Edward Coyle, one of their number, in the slip of Plank
Ridge Colliery, belonging to the Coal and Iron Company.
Several weeks before—in fact, some time in January—Coyle
had been on a spree and was heard to say that in a few days
he would leave the locality and go to Pittsburg, where he was
promised employment. He was never seen again alive. When
the water had been drawn off, his remains were discovered,
the rats having mutilated his flesh horribly. Parts of his
fingers were entirely eaten away. His hands were clasped
over his head, and there were other evidences that, while
going to his boarding-house at night, he had fallen into the
shaft and been killed. There was a coroner’s inquest, but
nothing more than here related elicited. The Mollies held
a meeting and resolved to take no action in Coyle’s case,
not even to reveal that he was a Mollie, as, should they let
the secret out, Father O’Reilly would never allow his remains
burial in a Catholic cemetery. This was the course
pursued. It was also reported, in this connection, that the
priest said he was glad the society was to parade as a body,
on the seventeenth, as he would be the better able to judge
who were and who were not Mollies. He already knew
them in the dark, as cut-throats, robbers, and incendiaries,
and concluded his denunciation by observing that the curse
of God was sure to fall upon them. Father Bridgeman, of
Girardville, expressed similarly forcible opinions of the
society and all who had anything to do with it. Still the
Mollies would parade, and did parade.</p>

<p class='c001'>Before the middle of the month arrived a man named
Dixon was shot by another, called Bradley, at Mine Hill
<a id='corr259.30'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Gap'>Gap.</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_259.30'><ins class='correction' title='Gap'>Gap.</ins></a></span> The two had for some time been on bad terms, and, taking
advantage of a spree which he was on at the time, Dixon
went to and fired upon Bradley’s house in the night, but,
fortunately, hurting none of the inmates. Bradley, who was
an engineer and a man of nerve and resolution, arose, seized
his revolver, went out and shot Dixon through the heart, killing
<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>him almost instantly. The engineer at once reported
Dixon’s death to the authorities, gave himself up, had a trial,
and was discharged as having acted purely in self-defense,
a verdict which was generally commended, excepting by
Dixon’s intimate relatives and companions. Even the
Mollies in Shenandoah said Bradley was justified by the
circumstances.</p>

<p class='c001'>The great day—the seventeenth of March—came at last,
and ended without any great disturbance. The members of
Shenandoah Division combined with those from Loss Creek,
and mustered nearly one hundred men for the procession.
There were four hundred Mollies in line at Mahanoy City.
After organizing at a hall in that place, Jack Kehoe made an
extempore oration, in the course of which he said that the
parade was looked upon by some of the inhabitants of the town
as a direct and open threat to overpower them, or a signal for
the resumption of a reign of carnage; and, if any of the Mollies
got drunk while in the neighborhood, he would, in person,
strip off their regalia, then, if necessary, get an officer, have
them arrested and sent to prison.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Let us show the clergy,” he concluded, “that, although
we bear a bad name, we are very far from deserving it!
There is no truth in what they say, exceptin’ when we meet
a party opposed to us—then we do as well as we can. Let
us all act as men—not as boys!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Kehoe’s remarks were loudly applauded. He was followed
by a man named Love, who spoke in a similar vein, but
without the County Delegate’s vehemence.</p>

<p class='c001'>As before stated, the day passed off quietly, and the Mollies
returned to their homes in their usual condition.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p2482_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>They shot a young girl, named McHale, sending a bullet through her arm, narrowly missing a vital part.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>The same remark does not apply to Number Three Hill,
where, at 10 <span class='fss'>P.M.</span>, there was a savage battle fought between
John Thompson and Martin Deane, on the part of the Mollies,
and a crowd of Sheet Irons, headed by a man named
Welch. The Iron Clads, in trying to kill Thompson, shot
<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>a young girl named McHale, sending a bullet through her
arm, narrowly missing a vital part. Some of the Shenandoah
men, when they heard this news, promptly started to find
Welch, who wisely kept out of their way. Had the crowd
encountered him, doubtless his blood would have been shed.
McKenna was so ill as to be confined to the house after the
procession, hence did not join in the search.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p2781_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>The scene at Number Three Hill.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>Sunday, the twenty-first of March, Father O’Reilly read out
in church, almost complete, a list of the Mollie Maguires who
had attended the parade, McKenna among the rest, asking
the prayers of the congregation for the salvation of their
souls. The Mollies merely laughed at the proceeding, when
outside the church, where some still persisted in going, and
said such exhibitions of spleen would do them no harm.</p>

<p class='c001'>At the close of the month, a number of strange men arrived
at Frackville, to work in the mines, from Philadelphia, with a
few engineers for the railway company, the railroaders having
long before submitted to a reduction of ten per cent., refusing
longer to hold out with the miners and other laborers, but
the imported workmen had to be sent home, and dare not go
to their employment, so hostile were the demonstrations
made against them by the Mollies and members of the Laborers’
Union.</p>

<p class='c001'>Then came the news that the telegraph office at Summit
Station had been fired and burnt to the ground. It was
supposed to have resulted from the act of an incendiary.
Not long after, a railway train, loaded with coal, was thrown
from the track and the cars badly smashed up. Many Mollies
lived in the neighborhood, and these deeds were probably
performed by members brought from a distance.</p>

<p class='c001'>In view of the frequency of these occurrences in the mining
country, McKenna now suggested that Mr. Franklin send
policemen to different places, with orders to openly make
investigations, and also act as a preventive of further difficulties.
It was impossible for the operative to do more than he
<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>was doing.  The magistrates were powerless, and other
county officials in the same predicament.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch25' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXV.<br> <br>PLOT TO DESTROY THE CATAWISSA BRIDGES</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Before the opening of spring, McKenna fully recovered
his health—at least was well enough to join his friends in
many of their midnight and other carousals and sprees. It
was afterward remembered by his associates, that as soon as
any dark deeds were done, he generally managed, sick or
intoxicated, to make his appearance in the vicinity of the
occurrences. But these slight eccentricities in the behavior
of the wild Irishman of the mountains passed at the time unnoticed
by the Mollies. That he came and went they knew,
but questioned not the why or wherefore. So little were
they on the alert for anything Jim McKenna might do,
that, in reality, they seemed to think the very act he performed
the most natural for a man of his supposed character
under the attending circumstances. While looking after the
threatened destruction of the high and costly bridges of the
Catawissa Railway—of these more hereafter—the detective
had a queer adventure, in the neighborhood of Ringtown
Mountain, that his reports make no mention of, but a description
of which the writer has verbally received within the
past few months. Chancing to be in Girardville, on a visit
to Jack Kehoe, the operative encountered Frank McAndrew
and a miner named Maguire—the latter being a Mollie by
name as well as by nature—both of whom were perceptibly
the worse for much spirits they had imbibed during the day,
and they found it very difficult to guide their own movements,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>unaided, over the homeward road, which was still
deeply covered with snow. Kehoe saved the almost helpless
men from freezing to death, by taking them into his
house and seating them by the stove; but, through later
absorption of a few more drinks at the bar, they were
left, in the course of a few hours, in as poor condition for
locomotion as before entering the tavern.</p>

<p class='c001'>“See here, McKenna,” said the County Delegate, “I
don’t see whatever I’m to do wid these fellows! Sure an’
they insist on goin’ home this very night to Shenandoah,
beyant, at all hazards, an’ I know, as well as I know I’m
now spakin’, they’ll be stone dead, if they ever live to get
off the mountain, wid the cold an’ the whisky! You’ll hev
to go in their company, an’ see they don’t fraze up enthirely!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faix an’ I am the lad that kin do that same!” answered
the Secretary! “But how am I to act wid the obstinate
bastes if they jist lie down in the snow an’ refuse to move?
That might bother me! The divil can’t match a drunken
man fur obstinacy!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, fur that matther,” said King Jack, with a cruel blaze
in his eye, “if they do that, ye’ll hev to build a fire under
’em as we do below a balky mule, an’ here’s plenty of
matches for your use!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Kehoe handed the operative a box of lucifers and held the
light until the three men were well off the platform in front
of his house, when he wished them plenty of “good luck”
and shut the door, leaving them in darkness.</p>

<p class='c001'>Kehoe having found out that the men carried a little
money with them, and fearing they might be robbed, even if
lucky enough to escape death by freezing, should they linger
by the roadside, was glad to have McKenna travel in their
company.</p>

<p class='c001'>The path was dimly marked and the obscurity almost impenetrable,
as the young man, with a drunken miner clinging
<span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>to either arm, attempted to seek the way over the hills
to Shenandoah. First McAndrew stumbled and fell, and
McKenna was forced to relax his hold of Maguire and help
his superior officer to his feet. While this was being accomplished,
Maguire, left unpropped, and unable or unwilling
to stand alone, suddenly slipped and went down headlong
through the darkness into a deep bank of snow, in which he
floundered and sputtered like a struggling novice at a swimming-school.
McKenna, at first, tried hard to restrain his
temper, and finally succeeded in starting both of his protégés
once more <span lang="fr"><i>en route</i></span> for home. But his patience gave
way after three or four repetitions of the same act, varied
only by McAndrew rolling down a steep declivity, and coming
very near going off a ledge of rock to the bottom, a distance
of thirty feet.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll be shivered!” exclaimed McAndrew, when once
more in the road, “if I walk another step! What’ser use
gettin’ all tired out, when its so warrum and nice slapin’
here? I’m jist goin’ to bed!”</p>

<p class='c001'>So saying, the Bodymaster threw himself flat in the snowbank,
stretched out his limbs, and prepared to stay where he
was during the remainder of the night.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Tha’so!” repeated Maguire. “Move ’long, Frank, an’
don’t take up all the bed!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And he quickly followed McAndrew’s example. Both
continued recumbent, despite the detective’s exertions to
keep them in the observance of a perpendicular; and before
many minutes elapsed, were snoring away in concert, as
though safely under blankets at their respective homes.</p>

<p class='c001'>“What the divil am I to do now?” soliloquized McKenna.
“It’ll never do to follow Kehoe’s advice, beside the matches
are as wet as a dog after a bath, wid the snow in me pocket!
Here’s a raal quandary!” He did not forget his brogue
even when talking to himself.</p>

<p class='c001'>Presently the agent observed a faint light in the distance,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>and resolved to make one more effort. He shouted in
McAndrew’s ear:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Get up now! Faith an’ I see the light in Mike Carey’s
shebeen! Sure they’re awake yet, an’ ye know the sort o’
liquor they sells? Get up, an’ we’ll rouse that drunken
Maguire—not that you’re touched at all yourself—an’ go on a
few steps, an’ I’ll stan’ trate when Mike Casey puts out the
stamin’ whisky-punch!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“What-yer say about ‘whis-sy-punch?’” drowsily inquired
McAndrew, turning over on his side and filling his mouth
with snow, “Was-is—it bout ‘whissy-punch?’”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I say old Mike Casey’s place is jist beyant, an’ that I’ll
trate!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Enough said! Give me a lif’,” begged McAndrew,
and he strove to rise. “I—I—belave I really am gettin’
uncommon thirsty! ’Swonderful how atin’ snow’ll make one
take to the drink!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The drunken fellow blew the snow away from his eyes,
nostrils, and mouth, and truly stood alone, while the sober
man turned his attention to Maguire. That besotted individual
at first flatly refused to get up, but finally made out
to rise to his feet, and McKenna, once more taking an arm
of each, marched away in the direction of the light.</p>

<p class='c001'>The shebeen-shop of Mike Casey and his wife—an elderly
couple, living on the mountain by themselves—was reached
after much difficulty, and the detective, puffing like a porpoise,
from over-exertion, released his protégés and knocked
at the unpainted door. When left to themselves McAndrew
and Maguire fell in a limp and confused heap, like so many
damp rags, upon the ground.</p>

<p class='c001'>Soon there were heard footsteps within and Casey opened
the door, saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Who the divil comes here at this time o’ night?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, it’s McKenna an’ two belated travelers,” answered
the operative.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>“Well, whatever have brought <em>you</em> here? But niver
mind! Step in, an’ in a jiffy the old woman will be out to
help you!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Its very well to say ‘come in!’ an’ <em>I</em> can do it, but
these two spalpeens here, are too drunk to do anything!
Just get on some clothes, plaze, an’ come help me to house
the rascals!”</p>

<p class='c001'>In a few moments, by dint of hard pulling and much tugging
at hands and feet, McAndrew and Maguire were at last hauled
inside the cabin, where they reposed on the floor, a couple of
as wet and uncomfortable bodies as can well be imagined.</p>

<p class='c001'>Casey’s shanty consisted of a single room, and a half loft
overhead, to which latter place access was had by a wooden
ladder. In the lower apartment slept the man and wife, on
a bed in one corner. In the same room they also ate, drank,
did their washing, cooking, and sold whisky and tobacco.
Only one window, the door, and a big chimney gave light
and ventilation to the shop. It was a rough retreat, but far
better and warmer than out-of-doors, and quite acceptable
under the circumstances. Old Mrs. Casey—blind of one
eye, not exactly handsome-looking, and only partly dressed—was
by this time ready to wait on her unexpected but not
unwelcome customers. By again shouting “whisky-punch”
in McAndrew’s ear, the detective managed to put his friend
upright, and, after imbibing more drink, assisted him to
ascend the steep ladder, to the only spare bedroom in the
building. Maguire had to be shaken for half an hour, some
matches set off under his nose, and one slightly touched to
his cheek, before he could be sufficiently awakened to drag
himself to the same portion of the cabin. Covering the
men with the hay forming their couch, and all the clothes
he could find, McKenna left the drowsy worthies. The loft
would only contain two.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Now phat are we to do wid you?” inquired old man
Casey.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>“Oh, I kin sit up! Its not long ’til mornin’!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ ye shall do no such thing!” said Mrs. Casey. “I
knows a trick worth two o’ that!”</p>

<p class='c001'>She then went hunting about the room until she found an
old shawl and some bags, the latter suitable for holding
corn. These she spread on the floor before the hearth
stone, beyond which was a rosy, red bed of anthracite,
resting upon a novel grate, made of railroad iron and
smaller bars, and which was sending a genial warmth
throughout the apartment.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Auld man! Get ye to bed!” said Mrs. Casey. He
obeyed the command, and his wife piled upon the recumbent
McKenna—who had placed himself, dressed as he
was, on the improvised mattress, in accordance with an
imperious gesture of Mrs. Casey—her husband’s lately
vacated coat, and other garments. Then she said:</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p2782_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>Now shut your eyes!</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>“Now, lad, shut your eyes!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna did so, and presently heard a rustling, as of
changing garments, and felt his coverings greatly augmented
in weight. Mrs. Casey retired to the scant and only bed the
place afforded.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I hope ye’ll slape comfortably!” said Mike, laughing.</p>

<p class='c001'>The operative knew that the kind-hearted old lady had
heaped her own woolen garments upon him in default of
other comforts.</p>

<p class='c001'>The wind came up so furiously through the crevices in the
floor, and the snow sifted down so plentifully from the roof,
that the tired man could not rest. Excepting on one
occasion, however, when he thought he heard Casey get up,
and turned to see that it was not his step but that of his
helpmate, he pretended to slumber, out of regard for and
not to hurt the feelings of the kindly pair who had taken
them in.</p>

<p class='c001'>In the morning, early, McAndrew and Maguire clambered
down the ladder and awakened the rest with demands for
<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>beer. They were very thirsty. McKenna arose, gave the
old lady her clothes, and she was soon ready to wait upon
them. The detective noticed that she took her half gallon
measure from beneath the foot of her bed, threw something
that it contained out at the door, and then filled it half full
of beer from the keg. But he said nothing of this to his
companions.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I belave I’ll take a sip o’ gin,” said the Secretary, as the
Bodymaster and Maguire, in turn, drank deeply of the malt
liquor. “I always try and get gin for my morning dram!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This liquor was in a small bottle and clear and genuine.
The beer he could not relish, considering the use to which
the tin vessel in which it stood had been put during the
night.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was not until they had reached Shenandoah that McKenna
informed his comrades of the sickening circumstance.
Their stomachs were in such a peculiarly sensitive condition
at the time, that a few explanatory words caused them to
revolt. As a consequence both men were very sick. “Sea-sickness
was no name for it,” they said.</p>

<p class='c001'>It chanced well for McKenna that, on this very day, and
before Maguire and McAndrew recovered their appetites
and their strength, he was compelled to go to another part
of the county and remain during several nights. When he
returned Maguire was away at his home and McAndrew had
forgiven him.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faith, an’ ye know well enough, it would have been
both mane an’ uncivil for me to say anythin’ of it before the
kind old couple!” was all the excuse the operative could
offer. Not one of the three men drank ale at Mike Casey’s
house after that.</p>

<p class='c001'>There was little of interest occurring in the region from
the dates last mentioned, until early in the spring of 1875,
when the Mollies determined to destroy the bridges on the
Catawissa Railway, then as now run by the Philadelphia and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>Reading Company. The reason given by Pat Brennan, one
of the prime movers in the business, for the proposed outrage,
was that considerable coal passed to market over the
Catawissa line, and it would be necessary to stop shipments
as well as production in that portion of country. McAndrew
of Shenandoah, and Pat Butler, of Loss Creek, were expected
to furnish the force of Mollies, and Brennan was to
secure an equal number of men from outside sources. The
several high and costly structures were to be set on fire
simultaneously, after all trains had passed over, so that life
would not be endangered. Brennan, found picking coal at
Glover’s dirt bank, was not a Mollie, but bad enough to be
one. McKenna went to see him, pretending great anxiety
to have a hand in the matter, at the order of McAndrew.
Brennan implicated two brothers, named Welch, with many
others, and said one meeting had already been held on the
subject, by his friends, in the bush, but nothing had been
permanently decided upon. Another gathering was appointed
for the ensuing Tuesday night, to be attended by Mollies
and outsiders, and the detective was invited to be present.
He consented. McHugh was opposed to the project. Gibbons
was greatly in favor of it. In a conversation held with
the latter, the detective said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“It is a big job, ye understand, an’ it will take a good
many men to do the thing. They must be as true as steel,
at that.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I know it,” answered Gibbons. “An’ are not the Hibernians
the men who can be depended upon? They can do it,
if anybody can.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I know we’re all right—but we’re not alone. We can’t
possibly arrange everything so as to act before next Wednesday
night.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That’s the truth!” responded Gibbons.</p>

<p class='c001'>This was urged in order to gain time in which to notify
Mr. Franklin, so that, if McKenna might not succeed in discouraging
<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>the Mollies and preventing the destructive effort,
a force could be sent to capture the would-be incendiaries
before the match had done its duty. It was finally decided
that a second meeting should be held the ensuing Tuesday
night, at nine o’clock, at Number Three Hill, when the details
should be attended to, and quickly following that should
come the destruction of the obnoxious bridges. The following
evening—Wednesday—all were expected to convene
at Ringtown Mountain, near the Catholic cemetery, duly
equipped for work, and, after brief consultation, at once proceed
to do the task proposed. Axes and other tools were to
be procured and brought to the second meeting, with plenty
of powder and fuses for exploding some of the heavier abutments.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective afterward saw Pat Butler, and informed him
of the proposed affair. Butler was inclined to be cautious.
He fully approved the business, but feared the outsiders
might harm the Mollies—in other words, inform against them—and
wanted every one specially sworn to secrecy. He
knew very well that there would be a large reward offered
for the capture of those interested in destroying the bridges,
and believed those not in the society would be the first
to sell out. This was in McAndrew’s presence. The
Shenandoah Bodymaster thought it made little difference
whether the men were sworn or not, as they gave away
secrets held under oath about as freely as when not bound
by an obligation. A pledge would not stop them from informing,
if they were so disposed. John Thompson, of Number
Three Hill, and John Dean, said they agreed to the
arrangement, would attend the meeting, and provide some
powder. There was no way for the detective except to go
in with the incendiaries. In no other manner could he learn
the exact time when the deed was to be committed; in no
other way was the thing to be prevented and the would-be
bridge-burners apprehended. There was danger that he
<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>might be captured with the rest, or killed; but the damage
to the company, in case the game was not frustrated, would
be very great, beside the loss of life to innocent passengers,
who would, if the bridges were destroyed at the time proposed,
some of them, be hurled, without a word of warning,
into eternity. These were among the nigh probabilities.
The detective could but run the hazard. Certainly, he must
keep in with the conspirators, and see that his whole duty
was performed.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch26' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXVI.<br> <br>A CALAMITY AVERTED.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Mr. Franklin was, the same evening, duly instructed
where the detective intended to be the next night and informed
of the probability that he would succeed in frustrating
the designs of the bridge-burners, at even the last moment,
as he had his own plans, should there come a failure in
creating a disturbance which would result in a disbandment
of the two forces engaged in the matter—the Mollies, as well
as non-Mollies. The agent also suggested and described a
medium through which the Superintendent might communicate
with him, by telegraph, before the arrival of the decisive
time, should he find it important to do so. Up to the hour
of leaving Shenandoah, to attend the Tuesday night meeting
in the bush, however, no telegram came, hence McKenna
knew that he was entrusted with the entire management of
his side of the transaction, the Agency being left to take
care of the other.</p>

<p class='c001'>Tuesday, April 6, 1875, came, bright and cloudless, as
though dark desires and hellish passions were not swaying
the human breast, and danger threatening the lives of those
<span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>who reveled in the clear sunlight of the present, buoyant and
hopeful for the future. Passing the day in talking with the
principal Mollies interested in the bridge enterprise, the
Secretary started, at about eight in the evening, accompanied
by Pat Butler—who still seemed determined to wait and learn
what the outsiders had to say about the thing before he committed
himself and his division to the scheme—for the place
on the verge of the mountain. Butler was more than half
inclined, the Shenandoah Secretary was pleased to see, to let
the outsiders have the plot their own way and allow the same
parties to perform the work of destruction by themselves.
McAndrew, who soon joined Butler and McKenna, was also
averse to receiving any assistance from those not within the
order. Still all were agreed to attend the preliminary meeting,
hence they gathered, under the starlight, at Number
Three Hill.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna was not afraid of the outside citizens executing
the job, unaided, after having fully disclosed their ideas to
the Mollies, and was equally certain that the brotherhood
would refuse to do it under similar circumstances, hence his
obvious labor was to foment division, and make its performance
impossible for either party. This he proceeded to do,
and found it no easy task. Strong words had to be employed
with the Mollies, most of whom were greatly in favor of the
undertaking, to make them willing to abandon it. His principal
reliance he found to be the jealousy of the society
regarding the interference of all other combinations, and its
disinclination to join in an overt act with people not members.
Using this as his <span lang="fr"><i>piece de resistance</i></span>, in the commencement,
he added to it, from time to time, such suggestive incidents
as came to mind.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll go to the divil, or just anywhere,” he said, “with
the right sort of people, but these strangers I’m not so quick
to follow! I’m forninst colloguin’ wid men not known to
be friends.”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>“So am I!” said Pat Butler, a hardy little fellow, with
black hair, a keen eye, and a look of resolution on his sharp
face.</p>

<p class='c001'>“And I,” echoed McAndrew.</p>

<p class='c001'>The scene presented at Number Three Hill was impressive,
but almost shrouded in darkness. Seated on rocks,
bits of logs, and heaps of earth, and leaning against the
bodies of stunted trees, the men were grouped, recognizing
each other by their shapes and the sound of their voices.
The stars gave just light enough, at that hour and season of
the year, to make human faces and figures dimly visible.</p>

<p class='c001'>Brennan, who had been so forward in the inception of the
job, hearing, early in the day, from a voluntary emissary of
McKenna, that Shenandoah Division was greatly opposed to
the joint movement, did not make his appearance at Number
Three on that particular evening, nor did any of the non-Mollies,
who had been promised, assemble at the spot. The
following persons were there: John Thompson, John Dean,
Pat Butler, John Gibbons, Frank McAndrew, Fenton Cooney,
Mike Doyle, Ed Sweeney, Mike Casey, Chas. Hayes,
Mike Murphy, Pat Whalen, and James McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>Not a pipe was smoked in that silent conclave. Men
spoke in whispers, and moved with stealthy tread, for fear
that a spark of fire or loud word might disclose the whereabouts
of the conspirators. McKenna stood among the rest,
leaning against the trunk of a tree, expecting every moment
to hear the sound of approaching footsteps, announcing the
arrival of the allies of the Mollies; but in this way an hour
passed and nobody came; then, as silently as they had come
together, the crowd dispersed, and the enterprise was a
pronounced failure.</p>

<p class='c001'>At McHale’s saloon, in Shenandoah, an hour later, the
principal Mollies reconvened, in a convivial way, when, no
others being present, drinks were procured and all pledged
themselves never to have anything to do with business of a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>serious character when any outsider was to be interested.
Especially were they to refuse co-operation where they
themselves were not the persons to plan an entire movement.</p>

<p class='c001'>The same night Gibbons informed McKenna that he had
been several days trying to induce Thompson, of Number
Three Hill, to aid him in a plan by which the company—the
Philadelphia and Reading Coal and Iron Company—would
be greatly injured. The idea was to go, in the dark,
and run a loaded truck, then standing at Grover’s Breaker,
down the railroad track, when a train would be coming from
an opposite direction. It must then occur that the train,
locomotive and cars, would come in collision with the coal
car and all be smashed in pieces. Thompson had thus far
refused, as he was sure that the engineer, fireman, and brakemen,
and possibly others, would be killed. Beside he
thought the engine might naturally be crowded with workmen,
returning to their homes, and he was not favorable
to killing innocent persons merely in order to spite one corporation.
Gibbons argued that the train would not be
thrown off, only the truck smashed, track torn up, and consequent
delay in shipping coal insured.</p>

<p class='c001'>Here was another thing that the detective must have an
eye upon. It added to the now constant pressure upon his
mind. The elements were around. Violence was in the
air. McKenna should have a care for himself, and for the
great purpose of all his thoughts and acts. He knew not
what the morrow might bring forth.</p>

<p class='c001'>At this time it was calculated by those who had every
facility for knowing, that there were thirty thousand members
of the Ancient Order of Hibernians—otherwise the
Mollie Maguires—in the State of Pennsylvania, and, in the
county of Schuylkill alone, where my agents were most
actively operating, some two thousand five hundred. These
figures may be exaggerated, or may not, but it is undoubtedly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>true that there were enough in the Commonwealth to carry
the elections and to produce wide-spread terror in the coal
regions. So invincible was their power, that they had but
to say the word and a priceless life was thenceforth worth no
more than the powder burnt in its destruction. The County
Delegate, Kehoe, needed only to crook his little finger or
call upon the officers of any adjoining county for help, in any
nefarious undertaking, and it was forthcoming. From the
assassination of a man to the burning of a breaker, or the
whipping of a boss who refused to obey an order to leave the
country, he had but to command to be obeyed. The same
rule applied—only not to so wide an extent—with the Bodymasters
of the different divisions. Over their subordinates
these officials exercised complete control. Sometimes, it
was true, as in the matter of Gomer James, at Shenandoah,
the members undertook to lead. But in McAndrew the
vengeful McHugh and Hurley found their match. He, when
repeatedly urged, even as late as the first of May, 1875,
utterly refused to have anything done, ending all cavil by
once more promising that, when the resumption came—if
ever it did come—and the attention of the people would be
diverted from their society, he would get the men from
Northumberland County and have the Welshman silenced.
Finding that they had not sufficient force at command to put
him out, the bloodthirsty trio were compelled to wait.
That is, for a time, they did wait, and McAndrew still remained
at the head of affairs.</p>

<p class='c001'>Considering the increasing turbulence prevailing in the
coal country, and the rapid accumulation of crime since the
dullness in the mining business had set in, I, at this time,
deemed it advisable to visit Philadelphia, and hold a consultation
with Mr. Franklin and McParlan, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> McKenna.
This was, therefore, accomplished on the 28th of April,
1875. After talking the matter over with Mr. Franklin, and
fully exchanging views as to the future, Mr. F. B. Gowen,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>President of the Philadelphia and Reading Railway, and of
the Coal and Iron Company of the same name, was sent
for. He was ill at the time, but came promptly, and we held
a long and absorbing talk with him in my private parlor.
The work of the past two years was passed in review, supported
by copies of the reports from the Philadelphia
Agency, and much said about the task remaining to be performed,
having in sight the early breaking up of the powerful
Mollie organization. From all we had heard, the society
was now more powerful than ever before. Its numbers
were rapidly increasing, its work becoming more desperate.
Evidently something must be entered upon that would have
the effect of reducing the latter, and ending the bloody deeds
of the monsters who were deliberately planning to sacrifice
human life and millions of property.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mr. Gowen was disposed to defer to my judgment in the
business, knowing that, for many months, I had made a study
of the society, its rules and <span lang="la"><i>modus operandi</i></span> in accomplishing
its sanguinary purposes. He believed that I could best suggest
the plot for the coming campaign, which everything portended
was to be a bitter one.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Mr. Gowen,” said I, upon receiving this information,
“I wish, in this connection, to ask you a legal question.
Should I bring to the State a number of my operatives,
and have them sworn in as Coal and Iron Police, under
General Pleasants, and if they, in consequence of reports
received through detective McParlan, were to go to a
certain locality and there make the arrest of persons in the
act of committing crimes, would they be compelled subsequently
to reveal the source of their knowledge? That is,
can such service be performed without at present uncovering
McParlan to the Mollie Maguires?”</p>

<p class='c001'>I was anxious that McParlan—otherwise the good Mollie,
James McKenna—should remain <span lang="la"><i>incognito</i></span> for as great a
length of time as possible, and when no longer useful in this
<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>way, to be secretly removed to some safe place, as I was
aware of the fact that, without his voluntary consent, his testimony
in convicting the Mollies could not be used. I had
pledged him my word for that, and was not the man to
change, whatever consequences might impend.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mr. Gowen replied:</p>

<p class='c001'>“It will not be actually necessary to disclose our source
of information!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Very well,” I added. “I am pleased that it is so! This
being settled, I will have a good and trusted <span lang="fr"><i>employé</i></span> sent
here from Chicago, with orders to go thoroughly through the
country and over the ground, secure an understanding of the
localities in which it is supposed outrages may be committed,
and select a proper rendezvous for such persons as he
may need for his support. At this point, McParlan, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span>
McKenna, can send to or give them such information as he
may secure, in time for the prevention of crime or the capture,
in the very act, of its perpetrators. I want five or six
of my best and most resolute <span lang="fr"><i>attachés</i></span>, with an equal number
of the Coal and Iron Police, who have been duly tried and
found fearless and capable, placed under control of the
chief operative who may be sent, thus forming a company
of twelve, to be at all times at command, to prevent murders
and act upon such suggestions as Messrs. Franklin and McParlan
may furnish. I think, in due season, we may succeed in
breaking up this body of assassins and cut-throats, and, in
the course of a few months, perform labor which will strike
terror even to the black heart of the organization!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Anything and everything that we can legally give, you
shall have! I suggest Capt. Heisler, who has been Chief of
the Coal and Iron Police, as your lieutenant from that
force. He is an intelligent and courageous man, familiar
with the topography of the entire locality, and the most
suitable officer I can select for the duty. When you are
ready for work, let us know, and he and a picked six of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>police shall be ordered to report to your local Superintendent.
We must also communicate with General Pleasants,
who, as chief engineer, is General <a id='corr278.3'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Superindendent'>Superintendent</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_278.3'><ins class='correction' title='Superindendent'>Superintendent</ins></a></span> of the
Coal and Iron Police, and he will see that your agents are
sworn in and made regular members of the corps. As for
the details, and the management, I leave them, as heretofore,
wholly in your hands, and will approve all suggestions
made by you!”</p>

<p class='c001'>I thanked Mr. Gowen for the confidence still reposed in
me, and said I would endeavor to be worthy of it.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I will at once telegraph to Chicago,” I concluded, “for
the men needed, and proceed to their organization. When
prepared, I will consult you again.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Mr. Gowen then left, and I summoned McParlan to meet
me. I was somewhat surprised to observe the change that
two years had wrought in the appearance of my operative.
While there was no doubt that once more I grasped McParlan
by the hand, yet I could scarcely bring myself to believe
it. The voice was familiar, and the eye, but all beside
seemed different. Much of this transformation was probably
owing to out-door exposure, the hard life he had lived,
and the yellow wig, which he had been constrained to use
after the loss of his hair. I was glad to see that his general
health was quite sound again, and the young man still strong
and hopeful for the success of his undertaking. Dressed
once more, for a few hours at least, in his former decent
habiliments, and having taken a bath and enjoyed some
manipulations in the barber’s chair, with a dressing down of
the artificial head-covering, he seemed more like his former
self, and we held a long and profitable interview, during
which he related, much more graphically than I can describe,
some of the incidents of his life among the Mollies which
I have woven into the warp and woof of this narration.</p>

<p class='c001'>A dispatch, purporting to come from McKenna’s sister,
saying she was to be married, and wanting him to come to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>the wedding, had been sent, as per arrangement, preparatory
to the meeting with me, demanding the detective’s presence
at the Agency.</p>

<p class='c001'>McParlan’s sister was not married, but I wanted to see
him; this he distinctly understood, but his friends in Shenandoah
did not. It rested with the detective to answer all
the questions that McAndrew, Lawler, and the rest of the
Mollies might ask him regarding the nuptials and how he
enjoyed himself. I knew he was capable of inventing stories,
when on detective duty, which would hang together and
satisfy all his acquaintances. That night, with a lighter
heart and vigorous determination to labor for the extinction
of the hateful clan, McKenna bid me adieu and returned to
his former headquarters.</p>

<p class='c001'>He told McAndrew a fine tale about the magnificence of
his sister’s wedding, the name of her husband, the articles
comprising the bridal supper, the brands of champagne and
wines they consumed, with other particulars too minute for
use in these pages. He ended by saying that he had met
his old partner in the “queer” business, and made a raise
of enough money to last him for some time—a large balance
having been invested in a speculation in the city, from which
he was to hear regularly by letter. This last item of information,
as he expected it would, reached the post-office
within the course of a few days, and at once relieved the
mind of the delivery clerk as to a man of McKenna’s character
keeping up such an extended correspondence. The
aforesaid clerk would have told the public nothing, at any
rate, but it was just as well to have his thoughts at rest on
the subject. And, as the detective might have occasion to
spend money more freely, he felt compelled to make an
early exhibit of the source from whence the cash came.</p>

<p class='c001'>In the meantime the Annual County Convention had
been held, and Kehoe duly elected County Delegate, having,
until the occurrence of that event, been holding the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>office under appointment of the State branch of the order.
Now Kehoe was King of the Mollies in Schuylkill, in fact
as well as in name. The wily fellow had accomplished his
purpose. We shall see what he did with his power.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch27' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXVII.<br> <br>NEW FORCES IN THE FIELD.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>In casting about me for a chief assistant of Mr. Franklin
and co-worker with McParlan, in the coal country, I was
quick in deciding that the very man, of all others among my
large number of operatives, was Robert J. Linden, then of
Chicago, a gentleman who had long been connected with the
Agency, and in whose courage, judgment, and discretion I
could place implicit reliance, and this from the reason that
all of these qualities were united in his mind and body, and
had received abundant trial during the time he had remained
in my service. Capt. Linden was eminently qualified to
assume a leading part in such a hazardous undertaking as we
were to enter upon in Pennsylvania. A man of attractive
personal appearance, captivating address, great energy and
perseverance, and with more than ordinary powers of perception,
I knew he would make an excellent open operator,
when the time might arrive for that kind of business. About
forty years of age, tall, powerful in frame and physical organization,
with black, close-curling hair, whiskers and mustache
of the same texture and color, blue eyes, which were expressive
of confidence, and just the kind of orbs to win the confidence
of others, Linden was a person who could ably command
my coal police. A native of Pennsylvania; at an
<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>early day a ship carpenter by trade; possessed of a fair education
and many qualities of head and heart to entitle him to
esteem and regard, I wished for no better man. He had
performed labor for the Philadelphia office previous to 1871,
was then detailed to Chicago, and engaged in the responsible
position of Lieutenant on my local Preventive Watch. So
well did he perform his duty there, that when my son William,
several years since, went to Europe on business of the
Agency, I appointed Linden to temporarily fill his place in
the detective corps. He was yet acting as an Assistant
Superintendent, and permanently located, with his estimable
family, in Chicago. The only cause of hesitation that I felt
in returning him to Pennsylvania, was found in the separation
from his wife and children that must necessarily ensue.
Still, no other officer that I could spare from the west would
fill the position so well, and he was therefore directed to report
in Philadelphia at once. His experience in the navy,
during the late war, had given him confidence and coolness
under trying circumstances, with capacity for the training and
management of bodies of men, and I was certain that there
would be no needless delay in making his appearance, ready
and willing to perform his task. Nor was I disappointed.
Linden soon reached Philadelphia, accompanied by a detail
of six stalwart men—partly chosen from the Chicago Preventive
Watch, and partly from the Detective Department—and
there received his orders and instructions. Without resting
a single day, he entered upon his labors, taking the cars for
Pottsville, Friday, the sixth of May, 1875. Once in that
city, where he arrived a little after noon, he took his men to
the Merchant’s Hotel, directing them to remain and await his
return, and then hunted out General Pleasants, to whom he
delivered his letter of introduction. The General received
him cordially and at once sent for Mr. Heisler. A long
consultation between the three men ensued, during which
plans were exhaustively discussed and arrangements carefully
<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>made to cover every conceivable condition of affairs. Then
followed the induction of the men I had sent into the
Coal and Iron Police, which ceremony transpired at the
court-house and consisted in taking the usual oath of office.
After this the six officers parted company, according to
orders, going in pairs, in different directions, with strict instructions
to make their headquarters at a certain place, and
then survey carefully their field of operations, gaining, by
actual experience, a correct knowledge of the shape and
character of the country, the towns, villages, patches, collieries,
creeks and rivers, mountains and ravines, so that, in the
performance of their work, they might have no trouble in
finding their route, without inquiry, from one place to
another, even in the darkness of night. Two men were sent
to Locust Run, two to Boston Colliery, and two to Tunnel
Colliery. Mr. Linden received a commission, showing that
he was given full control of these policemen. Among the
arrangements was a cipher for communicating with General
Pleasants, and badges for the men to wear. Mr. Linden—or
Captain Linden, as he was soon to be called—made a
visit to Ashland on the eighth, where he tarried for several days
gaining such information as might prove of value during the
summer. At Ashland, on the fourteenth, he was introduced
to his assistants, chosen from the Coal and Iron Police, by
Mr. Heisler, and found them of the right class, the majority
having served with honor as soldiers during the war.</p>

<p class='c001'>Soon afterward the Captain was made acquainted with
Barney Dolan, of Big Mine Run, which is not far from
Ashland.</p>

<p class='c001'>In the meantime, McKenna had visited Ashland, and
meeting Linden privately at a hotel, they adjourned to a
place where they conversed over a social glass of beer. It
did not consume many minutes to agree upon a means of
communication and a point in the bush where, the proper
signal being given by either party, they might subsequently
<span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>meet and hold private discourse. It was so fixed that one
could send a letter to the other without the possibility of
any third person suspecting their correspondence. There
was only one thing that seemed impossible to be provided
for and guarded against. This was the necessity existing
for Linden suddenly going from place to place, as the acts
of the Mollies might demand. All they were enabled to do
in this regard was to promise to write each other, as often as
it would be prudent, and plainly set forth the spot removing
to, at as early an hour as practicable. McKenna would
hardly know in advance when he might need Linden, and
Linden would probably be unable to say, should violence
and outrage continue to increase, where he might be most in
demand. Still, every precaution was taken to have their
whereabouts known one to the other. After their meeting,
McKenna returned to his friends and Linden to his headquarters.</p>

<p class='c001'>To go back a few days: On the third of May, and subsequent
to McKenna’s first council with Linden, the former
took the train for Pottsville, where he was under promise to
meet County Delegate Kehoe. Court was in session, and
their business, connected with the trial of Dan Dougherty,
for killing the Chief Burgess of Mahanoy City, resulted, as
before stated, in the defendant’s acquittal. Among those
that the detective encountered during this visit were Alex.
Campbell, of Summit Hill, and John Gallagher, with many
other Mollie Maguires, all of whom were deeply interested
in the result of Dougherty’s case. There was great rejoicing
indulged in, and much drink consumed, when their friend
secured release. He was quickly taken possession of by
his brother Mollies, and in their company made a night of
it. Schuylkill County Jail was voted a good place for most
people, but for a Mollie past endurance.</p>

<p class='c001'>The return of Dougherty to Mahanoy City, an event
occurring about the ninth of May, was made remarkable by
<span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>a prompt renewal of hostilities between the lately liberated
man and Jesse Major, a brother of Dougherty’s former
victim. Major was at the time accompanied by Wm. M.
Thomas, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> “Bully Bill,” a notorious desperado, who
was known to be opposed to the Mollies and always ready
to pull a revolver and shoot, upon the slightest possible
provocation. Dougherty was fired upon and narrowly
escaped death. Instead of calming the strife between the
Welsh and Irish miners, this encounter added fury to the
fire, and it raged more fiercely. The detective heard of the
circumstance on the following day, and made up his mind
that, if the feud was kept up, it could be but a very short
time before Mahanoy City would become a modern
Gehenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>In the meantime John Gibbons brought the startling
information to the Mollies of Shenandoah, one morning,
that preparations were going on, looking to the early resumption
of work by the surrounding collieries, and, this time,
the Coal and Iron Company seemed determined to protect
their laborers with arms. He suggested that such a course
must be properly met by the Hibernians, force with force.
The rumor was, that the company had already stationed
seven heavily armed policemen at Plank Ridge Colliery,
fourteen at West Shenandoah Colliery, and eleven at Indian
Ridge Colliery.</p>

<p class='c001'>“And,” said Gibbons, with an oath, “the next thing to
be done is for the boys on our side to get their guns; for I
hear that these new police are all armed wid repeating
rifles. If Irish miners are to be forced into open war, we
will at least have suitable arms!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Gibbons was loudly applauded by the surrounding Mollies,
and by none more vociferously than by Jim McKenna,
whose enthusiasm over the prospect of a fight was unreasonable
and knew no bounds.</p>

<p class='c001'>The scene of warlike operations, judging by the number
<span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>of outrages committed, appeared just then to be transferred
to parts of Columbia and Northumberland Counties; hence,
in accordance with Mr. Franklin’s orders, as well as to give
Linden a free course until he should be quite familiar with
his future field of campaign, McKenna resolved to pay a
visit to Canning, County Delegate, and resume the acquaintance
of the Mollies thereabouts, with whom he had previously
made himself popular. As an excuse for the trip, one
day, after this idea was fully formed in his mind, he gave out
to Tom Donahue, brother of “Yellow Jack” Donahue, that
he had, when in the vicinity, not long before, formed a great
liking for the youngest daughter of the celebrated Pat Hester.
The latter was known to be at the head of the clan, as far as
deviltry was concerned, in that region. Donahue he knew
to be an intimate friend of Hester, quite at home at his house,
and, McKenna had reason to believe, knew more of the late
troubles in that vicinity than some living in more close
neighborhood. Therefore, assuming a sober air, the operative
made known his wish to go to see Miss Hester, but he
was rather bashful, and did not exactly know how to accomplish
a fair beginning of his proposed courtship. He told his
friend Tom, that “everything depended upon a good commencement.”
This was assented to by Donahue, who was
on a protracted spree, at Girardville, where this conversation
occurred, in Jack Kehoe’s hotel.</p>

<p class='c001'>The idea of the devil-may-care Jim McKenna having experienced
a qualm of the tender passion caused Donahue to
smile, but the confession of embarrassment made him nearly
go into convulsions of merriment. Such a thing as bashfulness
connected with McKenna—proverbial, the country
over, for the brassiness of his entire composition—was altogether
too much for Donahue. He roared with laughter, but
soon found voice to exclaim:</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ is it yourself that ye are, or some <em>cruddy gorsoon</em>,
right from the auld sod? Be me sowl, I niver entertained a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>thought that ye had a shadow of bashfulness in your whole
body until this minit!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure,” answered McKenna, blushing all over his face,
like a verdant boy being interrogated by a handsome school-mistress,
“an’ I can’t be brass through and through! There
must be some tenderness in a fellow—an’ mine is Pat Hester’s
younger daughter. I’m free to confess it’s a new thing
for me, but there must be a starting, and I want to see her!
I’m not much acquainted with Pat, her father, an’ what I’m
axin’ of you is to go wid me to his house an’ give me an
introduction to the whole family. I’ll trate ye well if ye’ll
do it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ve only been away from there, this day’s but wan
wake,” responded Donahue; “beside, I’m out of money,
an’ can’t get enough for me whisky, let alone gallavantin’
around like a country parson. It costs cash to ride on the
cars, an’ I have none of the commodity, good, bad, or indifferent!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That nade make no difference,” returned McKenna,
“fur I’ll stand the expense! You see I’ve had good luck in
a ‘quare’ way, lately, an’ can afford a bit of a lark! Jist
join in wid me, we’ll go to Hester’s, have a good time, an’
be back here in a few days!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I promised Jack Kehoe I’d help him wid his garden
fence; but I’ll see! If he’ll let me off, I’m yer man, an
I’ll introduce ye to Pat Hester and all the young Hesters
wid pleasure!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Kehoe was glad enough to get rid of Donahue, for a
while—though he might have particular use for such as he in
a little time—as Tom drank more whisky, by half, than would
hire a man who could perform twice as much work. So the
two men started.</p>

<p class='c001'>While <span lang="fr"><i>en route</i></span>, after having swallowed a few drinks,
Donahue proved very loquacious, and wanted to tell the
detective all about the recent destruction of Empire Colliery
<span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span>near Excelsior, but McKenna gently stopped him, saying:
“It is a courtin’ we are goin’, an’ not to a match at telling long
yarns!” This, as the officer had expected, only aroused
the pugnacity of his companion, and prompted him, from
pure obstinacy, to keep up the conversation. Once more
recurring to the subject, he went on—the hearer apparently
absorbed in contemplation of the happiness in store, through
sparking Hester’s daughter, but, in reality, noting in his
mind the most trivial incident Donahue alluded to—and was
telling, not only of burnings in which he had been engaged,
but in pointing out those yet to be consummated in the
locality. In this way the fellow was literally pumped dry.
Occasionally McKenna would interrupt the flow of criminal
talk with:</p>

<p class='c001'>“But phat about Pat Hester’s daughter?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“To h—l wid Pat Hester’s daughter!” would be the
impatient reply of the drunken Mollie, and then he would
proceed, with much volubility and extravagance of gesture,
to unfold a new rascality, tell of late outrages, and who had
performed them, with a detail of fact and incident convincing
the detective that, with Donahue at least, the old saying,
<span lang="la"><i>in vino veritas</i></span>, was as correct in modern times as in
the days of Imperial Rome, for the more whisky Donahue
drank the more recklessly he spoke the truth, and the more
McKenna opposed his thus talking, the more he would
insist upon dwelling on the very topics that the operative
desired to hear about. In this way, out came the fact of
the recent burning of a bridge at the junction, when the
watchman had run after and fired upon the incendiaries.
Donahue confessed to having burnt the telegraph office in
the neighborhood, himself, and said he was not yet through.
In several of the deeds he was not a participant, but he
knew something concerning all of them and who were the
real perpetrators.</p>

<p class='c001'>When the cars reached Locust Gap, McKenna and his,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>by this time, maudlin companion, alighted, and went directly
to the residence of Dennis F. Canning, the County Delegate
of Northumberland, but learned from Mrs. Canning
that her husband was absent, in Philadelphia, on business.
They could not remain there, so adjourned to Scott’s tavern,
where Donahue soon made himself ridiculous by quarreling
with everybody, and the agent was pleased to lead him away
on the road to Locust Gap Junction, near which place
Hester resided. After a fatiguing walk, the drunken man
rallied a little and was sufficiently himself to point out certain
bridges that they had tried hard to burn. Donahue
concluded, from their ill success, that kerosene oil was not
sufficient for setting fire to heavy timbers. It might do with
small trash, but utterly failed when applied to large beams
and girders. The watchman at this bridge was a brother of
Mrs. Hester, and Donahue said the structure would yet have
to go. Had not the powder been mismanaged it must have
met destruction some weeks before.</p>

<p class='c001'>At this period another well-timed query about Miss Hester
set Donahue’s tongue running regarding the attack on Helfenstein’s,
or Ben Franklin Breaker, which he pointed out.</p>

<p class='c001'>“It made a devilish fine blaze!” the Mollie said, in a tone
of exultation, “an’ the cowardly watchmen made no show
of resistance!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This breaker, after repeated notifications to its owners
that it was in danger, had been left to the care of one or two
useless and cowardly attendants, and was leveled to the
ground. Donahue said that Enterprise would have been left
standing, had not the bosses continued to put good miners
out and blacklegs in, after notification to stop it. Then that
structure had to go the way of the others.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p2881_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>Here we are, at Pat. Hester’s, at last.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>“Here we are at Pat Hester’s at last,” said Donahue, as
they gained the locality.</p>

<p class='c001'>They entered the house and McKenna was placed on
friendly terms with Mrs. Hester and the boys—for Hester
<span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>had a large family, several lads, and two blooming daughters.
Presently Donahue retired to the sitting-room to visit the
girls, leaving the operative to be entertained by the old lady.
This was a joke that McKenna appreciated, but the tables
were quickly turned upon Donahue, who was surprised, a
moment later, to see his former companion walk into the
parlor with Mrs. Hester, who gave him a favorable introduction
to her daughters. They were both handsome misses,
as McKenna had previously been informed, and received
him very graciously. The conversation soon assumed a
kindly and interesting phase, despite Donahue’s condition.
Even that tough customer was somewhat sobered by his
long walk on the railroad track.</p>

<p class='c001'>Hester came home to dinner. In the meantime, McKenna
had talked his best to the fair one of his choice, whose name
was Maria, and she seemed to take his blarney with a good
grace, but really giving him, in joke, as good as he sent.</p>

<p class='c001'>Pat Hester was a rather large, heavy man, with dark eyes
and hair, the latter worn long and turned under at the ends,
with massive and stolid, but by no means evil-looking features.
He had a slightly wicked expression in the eye, arching
eyebrows, thin lips and a narrow chin-whisker, the beard
in hue a little lighter than the hair. In all, he was not a
man to fall in love with at first sight, yet wearing a decent
outward appearance, seemingly smart, and not ill-natured
unless provoked. When Hester reached home, after overseeing
a gang of laborers working on a railroad bridge, he
met and was presented to McKenna. Taking a natural
fancy for him, Pat immediately suspected his object, and
gave the young man encouragement, that, if the lady was
entirely willing, the father had no sort of objection to the
courtship. But after dinner, and the departure of Hester to
his labor, the arrival of Pat McCool and Ned Skivington,
the latter ex-County Delegate, interfered considerably with
the enjoyment of the ladies’ society, and the greater part of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>the afternoon was passed by the Mollies in the bar-room.
McCool was an old acquaintance of McKenna’s, as he had
many a time tasted his liquor in Shenandoah. Of course he
spoke favorably of the Secretary and made much of him.
Skivington was also very friendly. Toward night the men
walked out upon the track and met Hester returning. While
passing a bridge, just before, Donahue had whispered to
McKenna:</p>

<p class='c001'>“See that bridge! Now, for two hundred dollars from
Pat Hester, I’d see it well down wid the ground, but I’ll be
hanged if I’d do it for nothing!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This was as good as a hint to the hearer that Donahue
had been speaking to Hester about destroying the bridge
and disagreed with him as to the amount to be received for
the undertaking.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna accepted the information with many nods, winks,
and grimaces, expressive of rapt attention and interest,
without hazarding an opinion on the subject for or against
burning the bridge. But he thought that here was another
warning to be sent to Mr. Franklin.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p2882_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>That night there was an interesting group gathered in Pat. Hester’s parlor.</i>c</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>That night there was an interesting group gathered in Pat
Hester’s parlor. The center lamp shone on the principal
characters, bringing them out in bold relief. Donahue sat
in a big arm-chair, asleep. Whisky had at last overpowered
the redoubtable relative of “Yellow Jack,” and he slept, his
head hanging to one side, and occasionally starting up to
show that he still lived, and to save his neck from entire
dislocation. Pat Hester and his wife—the latter somewhat
advanced in years, yet spruce as a sunflower and as lively as
a cricket—were opponents in a game of euchre; the lady
having McKenna as a partner, while Pat played with his oldest
son. One of the Misses Hester was busy sewing, and
the other—the younger, and McKenna’s particular affinity—sat
at his elbow, telling him how to marshal his cards in
order to defeat her respected father and brother at the game.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>She was bright and interesting, and no fault can be found
with the detective if he permitted his eyes to wander occasionally
from his hand to gaze into the blue depths of those
of the lady at his side. Knowing Pat Hester, as he did,
there was no danger that he would allow himself to go too
far in his wooing. Indeed, there chanced to be a charming
girl living over at Tamaqua, that he had met at the Polish
wedding, and on whom much of his thoughts in that direction
were lavished. He could not forget the touch of those light
hands, and the velvet kisses he had received on the cheek
so many weeks before. Yet he had never met Miss Higgins
the second time. He believed he would see her some day,
however, and determined to remain heart-whole until that
moment. Miss Hester’s case was a hopeless one. Still her
assistance in euchre was very convenient, and he could not
help admiring the grace and vivacity of the girl, notwithstanding
her connections. When two games had been finished,
and success was about equal on either side, the house
was closed, and all, excepting McKenna and the young
ladies, retired. It was not quite morning when this trio separated,
mutually pleased with each other and the manner in
which they had passed their time.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next day McKenna left, receiving a warm and pressing
invitation to repeat his visit, which he was not slow in
promising.</p>

<p class='c001'>On the way home, Donahue, who had nearly recovered
from his spree, only to engage in another, gave the detective,
in confidence, the circumstances attending the cutting
of the wire cable at Gordon Plane—thus dropping down the
cars and entailing much loss and delay for the company—upon
the space below, but fortunately taking no lives. He
also told him of the cruel beating of a boss, on the fourteenth
of the month, at Mt. Laffee, both outrages perpetrated
by the Mollies. But he was not so communicative
in giving the authors of those deeds, if he knew them,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>which might be suspected, as he was in the locality at the
time.</p>

<p class='c001'>When McKenna returned to Shenandoah, he found more
trouble awaiting him. McAndrew, the Bodymaster, having
for a long time been out of work, was determined to go to
Luzerne County, where somebody offered him employment
in the mines, near Wilkesbarre, and, on the night of the
seventeenth of May, gave notice, in open division, that he
would have to resign, or leave the books, papers, and business
in McKenna’s hands while he should be absent. All expressed
regret that he must go, and none more sincerely than
the Secretary, in whose care the division would be, in such
an event, as there was no Vice-President and no other person
considered capable of occupying the managing position.
After the close of the meeting, McKenna tried his best to
make McAndrew believe it his duty to remain, whatever
might happen, and even went as far as to promise to use his
own best efforts, and the entire influence of the Mollies, in
obtaining work for him if he would stay; but McAndrew’s
mind was fully made up. Go he would, and on the eighteenth
he started, the operative regretfully accompanying
him to the train and wishing him “a safe journey, good luck,
and a quick return.” Here was a trial for the detective.
Here was that under which he well might tremble. The
Mollies all aroused—the wicked element in power—work
hard to get—murder and assassination riding rampant over
the country, and he, the officer sent to ferret out and report
their operations and their misdeeds, acting as the head of
one of the most sanguinary divisions in <a id='corr292.30'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Schuykill'>Schuylkill</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_292.30'><ins class='correction' title='Schuykill'>Schuylkill</ins></a></span> County.
What if the order might chance to agree upon the killing of
Jesse Major, or Gomer James, or Wm. M. Thomas, or any
one of the number who had been secretly threatened with
death? What if Jack Kehoe were to call upon him for men
to assassinate somebody? Evidently it would require his
finest ability to prevent himself from being drawn into the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>execution of crime, which was foreign to his duty. What
should he do? In which direction should he turn?</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch28' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br> <br>THE DETECTIVE IN SORE TRIBULATION.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>McKenna’s fears were not without foundation, as was
shown from the action taken by members of his division the
very day succeeding the one on which McAndrew, the Bodymaster,
shook the dust of Shenandoah from his shoes and
sought work near Wilkesbarre. On the morning of the
eighteenth of May, the troubled Secretary was met at the
street corner by Doyle and Garvey, who said they were on
the way to his boarding-house, as Gibbons desired to see
him immediately, down in the bush. The three men set out
for the place of meeting, and meantime the mind of the
detective was sorely agitated. What were these men about
to do with him? Had they penetrated his disguise, now
many months worn, and, as he thought, quite thick enough
to defy the sharpest scrutiny? Were they taking him out
to meet the fate he well knew must follow quick upon discovery
of his real mission in the mines? But, despite dark
reflections, keeping up a firm outward appearance and passing
merry jokes, upon the usual subjects, without as much
as a quaver in the tone of his voice, or a perceptible tremor
in his nerves, he walked along; whether to his own death,
or a conference to end in the murder of another, he could
only guess.</p>

<p class='c001'>In the bush, not far from Muff Lawler’s house, a little
later, were congregated Gibbons, Doyle, Garvey, Fenton
Cooney, and James McKenna. Gibbons was the spokesman,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>and gruffly informed the Secretary that, now McAndrew
was gone, Gomer James must be made away with.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I propose,” said he, “that two men be obtained from
Mahanoy Plane, and two from Mahanoy City, to go with me
an’ Doyle, here, an’ we’ll soon end the cursed Welshman!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“How is it to be done?” asked McKenna, and he did
earnestly wish McAndrew was safe home again.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll jist tell ye!” roughly responded Gibbons, while he
smoked his pipe composedly, knocking off the burnt
tobacco with the tip of his little finger, showing as much
coolness as if sitting in his own chimney corner, talking to a
friend about the weather. There was a cold, malevolent
glitter in his restless eye which told those who knew him
that he was wholly in earnest. “I’ll tell ye! All Doyle
an’ I wants is fur the four men to kape a good watch, part
on one side, an’ part on the other side of the road that
Gomer James passes over, an’ we two’ll attend to the rest!
Gomer is now watchman at the Little Drift, an’ we can catch
him aisy like, early in the mornin’, when he’s goin’ home
from work. The patch is not so very far from here, but far
enough, an’ before anybody’ll be up an’ around, we can be
back home, an’ the Mahanoy men well on their road for the
Plane!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Av coorse,” said McKenna, appreciating that, to show
cowardice or hesitation, under the circumstances, would
prove sure if not immediate death, “if the majority’s raally
in favor of the thing, we’ll certainly have it done! I consent
to whativer the division may ask!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The men present were united in the demand, and so expressed
themselves. All wanted Gomer James killed. The
detective, much against his will, was forced to appear as
bloodthirsty as his companions. He must not only agree to,
but assume a part in, the dreadful act. Thoughts flashed
through his quickened brain with lightning-like rapidity.
Ideas were plenty—in fact, too plentiful—but which way he
<span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>should turn, and how escape this terrible business, at first he
did not clearly see. Finally a suggestion came, like a
reflected gleam of sunlight to the prisoner in his rayless cell,
and he said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“You are just right, Gibbons! That’s exactly the way to
manage; an’ I’ll go, this very day, to Mahanoy Plane, see
Callaghan, <a id='corr295.7'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='an'>an’</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_295.7'><ins class='correction' title='an'>an’</ins></a></span> get two of the men. I’ll take Garvey wid
me, an’ Cooney is appointed to go wid you, to Mahanoy
City, to mate the Bodymasther and get the others. Then
we’ll return here, the morrow, an’ have everything ready for
business the next day mornin’!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“All right,” answered Gibbons.</p>

<p class='c001'>Cooney consented to his part in the programme, and the
little meeting broke up, its members scattering in various
paths, and entering Shenandoah from different directions, to
avoid any remarks of the people.</p>

<p class='c001'>This horrid mission the operative was loth to perform. It
came of McAndrew stubbornly refusing to stop in Shenandoah
without work, and leaving the burden of the division
to devolve upon him. He well knew there would be no
chance that day to communicate with Mr. Franklin, who
alone could notify Gomer James of this new danger, as
Garvey was sure to remain close by him, and what he was to
do he was quite unable to determine. The assassination
must be prevented, at the risk of his own life, if need be;
but how he was to reach the much-desired result remained
among the problems that he could not explain. Trusting to
chance, and an Irishman’s ready wit, he took the cars in
Garvey’s company, and went to Mahanoy Plane, as both told
inquirers, “to look for employment.”</p>

<p class='c001'>At Mahanoy Plane, in the afternoon, the two Mollies presented
themselves before Callaghan, and in Garvey’s hearing,
the operative made demand of that Bodymaster’s division for
two men who were “capable of doin’ a clane job.” Callaghan
said he was quite willing, but the members of his body
<span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>were nearly all young and inexperienced, and he doubted if
he could find two who would serve the purpose. Still, he
promised to make the effort.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective and his friend then left, saying they would
call at an early hour in the afternoon, prepared to return to
Shenandoah with the persons appointed. Before leaving
Callaghan, the Secretary treated twice, and he and Garvey
sallied out to find what was to be seen at the Plane. They
first visited Joe Murphy’s house, where they had more liquor,
and, after taking the rounds of all the saloons, both begun to
feel they had swallowed something more powerful than water—McKenna,
especially, finding himself so badly under the
influence that he exhibited it in his walk and conversation,
the former fast becoming vibratory, and the latter boisterous.
When they reappeared at Callaghan’s, it was nearly dark,
and the Bodymaster informed them he had not found the
needed men. He said he did not despair, however, and,
after treating once or twice, went out to continue the search.
In his absence McKenna was entirely overcome, fell sprawling
over on a long bench, and soon relapsed into a drunken
stupor, from which neither Garvey nor Callaghan, with use
of every known appliance, could succeed in awakening him.
It was fully nine o’clock at night, and Garvey had taken the
train for Shenandoah, before the drunken Secretary was made
sufficiently sensible to understand that he must get up. So
sottish was his condition that Callaghan found himself forced
to secure a bed for him for the night, and assist in putting
him under its cover.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective had, at least, postponed his own participation
in the James matter, and was almost certain Gibbons
would delay any attempt to kill the Welshman until he returned.
Still there was a remote chance of his pursuing an
opposite course. But McKenna was perfectly helpless. No
dispatch could be sent to Philadelphia from that small place
without creating suspicion. The best he could do was to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span>sit up in bed, write a few lines in pencil, setting forth the
danger James was in, seal it, stamp it, having recourse to the
improvised stamp depository in his boot-leg, and after midnight,
when all in the house were supposed to be asleep,
steal softly down-stairs, in his stockings, with <em>brogues</em> in
hand, and go to the post-office. All of this he succeeded in
doing, and in safely mailing his letter, and got back to his
couch without discovery. There was the risk that Gibbons
had obtained his men from Mahanoy City, and might be
even then waiting for Gomer James, ready to take his life.
He found enough in this thought to banish refreshing sleep.
But McKenna remained in his room until people were stirring
for another day, and then rising, walked about in the
cool air until Callaghan made his appearance in the bar-room.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Did ye get the men?” inquired McKenna, after greeting
the tavern keeper.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Divil a man!” answered Callaghan.</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ do ye mane to?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ I do!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ phatever was’t that ye gave me for whisky, last
night? I’m half in the belafe that, to get out of sendin’ the
men to do me biddin’, ye tried to poison me!”—adding: “I
niver felt so quare in my head in all me life!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Deil a bit of poison was there in it! The whisky was
the very best! You must have mixed your drinks after
comin’ to the Plane!”</p>

<p class='c001'>It was of no avail for the operative to be angry with Callaghan,
as he would make nothing by it. Therefore, leaving
word with the Bodymaster to send his men over when they
were ready, McKenna proceeded to Shenandoah. There
he found a great excitement prevailing over two fires that had
occurred the previous night, one at Excelsior Colliery,
already spoken of, the other being the burning of the railway
signal tower at Mahanoy Plane. Not much was said about
<span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>the Secretary’s failure to secure the two men from Callaghan,
as Garvey had returned the night before, very much under
the influence of liquor, reporting McKenna as on the road
drunk, without the Mollies sent for, and as Gibbons had
been no more successful, having failed entirely. Thus the
Secretary was once more excused for being intoxicated when
intrusted with urgent business.</p>

<p class='c001'>Hurley, Doyle, Monaghan, and Gibbons had lain in wait
for Gomer James, however, the second morning, and he had
not made his appearance as expected.</p>

<p class='c001'>The operative was more easy in his mind, as he knew
that, through Capt. Linden, or some other person, James
must surely have received warning to keep himself continually
under protection, out of harm’s way.</p>

<p class='c001'>A few days later, Hurley related how he and the others
had, on one occasion, gone out to fix Gomer James, and he,
Hurley, was armed with a rifle. They lay out nearly all
night, hoping to see and catch him, and had Monaghan done
the right thing, they would have killed the Welshman, as he
actually passed their ambush, the ex-constable failing to inform
them who he was until too late. As it chanced, Doyle
had his pistol leveled at him, but was prevented from shooting
by Garvey, who said he might be hitting an innocent
man.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p2981_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>When ready, the lucky man was concealed from view.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>At another time, the young Welshman arrived when Gibbons,
Hurley, Cooney, Garvey, Doyle, Monaghan, Finnell,
and Thompson, all armed, were waiting for him. Still he
traversed the road in safety. Hurley would have dropped
him at a venture, only he was just loading the rifle at the
time. When ready, the lucky man was concealed from
view.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, what are you going to do now?” inquired the
operative.</p>

<p class='c001'>“We are sure to get him yet!” answered Hurley. “But
first let us go and see some cousins of the man, Cosgrove.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>If they will come down with more money, then we can
return here, and if the rest all back out, I’ll do the job on
my own private account! I suppose you’ll lend a hand?”</p>

<p class='c001'>This to McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, yes! That’s all right!” responded the Secretary,
approvingly.</p>

<p class='c001'>So money <em>was</em> at the bottom of it.</p>

<p class='c001'>The life of the young Welshman hung upon an attenuated
thread. Still he remained a watchman, only having himself
changed from a night to a day hand. Gibbons and Hurley
everywhere sought his life, but McKenna managed to keep
clear of it. At last Gibbons boldly said he would go to
Jack Kehoe in person, and demand for Hurley and himself
a commission to kill Gomer James. They wanted no help
and could easily perform the task by themselves.</p>

<p class='c001'>The ensuing Sunday morning, Mike Doyle was at Cooney’s,
where McKenna boarded. He said everything had been
arranged for Gomer James, and three men were to arrive
from Girardville the next day, when the Secretary must be
ready to do his share. The time set for the act was Monday
night, May 24, 1875. Again were the thoughts of the
officer turned to saving the intrepid but foolhardy young
man. It was not possible that the Mollies suspected him of
having warned James, causing him to cease traveling his
former path at night, but Doyle seemed to be placed with
the Secretary and clung industriously to him through the
entire day, and he had no chance to write or telegraph a line
to Mr. Franklin. Doyle, contrary to his usual custom,
refused to drink, and his apparent task was to keep McKenna
duly sober for the expected meeting with Kehoe’s promised
assassins. That was undoubtedly his object in remaining
nigh the detective. He must have been instructed by some
one to do so, as it was not characteristic of Mike Doyle to
refuse good liquor, or restrain himself from a debauch, when
acting wholly from his own impulses.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>The detective began heartily to curse the day that he ever
allowed himself to sit in the Secretary’s chair, and exercised
his wits thinking up some way of shirking official responsibilities,
which, considering the condition the country was in,
he found to clash with his duty to the Agency and to the
public. He wished McAndrew might return, and even
thought of sending him word that Mrs. McAndrew was very
ill—but learned, upon visiting her, she was never better in
her life—and that would not succeed. It subsequently
occurred to him that he intended going away to Wilkesbarre,
after more counterfeit money. But this pretence fell through,
as Hurley and Gibbons both said he could send a letter.
Then he called a meeting of the division, brought before it
and read aloud the printed constitution and by-laws of the
order, which provided for the election, each year, of a Vice-President
and an Assistant Secretary, neither of which chairs
had ever been filled. The suggestion was that Thomas Hurley
be elected Vice-President until the annual day for choosing
officers came around, and Gibbons to have the position of
Assistant Secretary. Both of these men absolutely refused
to serve—both were illiterate, both had characters too well
known in the community—and a majority of the members
present at the meeting unanimously supported a resolution
to the effect that Bodymaster, Secretary, and Treasurer were
officers enough for that lodge. Here McKenna’s work came
to naught. He was unable to find anything satisfactory
which would take the responsibility off his shoulders and
permit him to go to Luzerne County, as he desired, and had
to let it rest, fearing that any very marked pertinacity might
call the attention of the brotherhood to his efforts to avoid
a duty assumed when he took the position he held.</p>

<p class='c001'>The occurrence of a great fire in the wood, which spread
from patch to patch, and from mountain to mountain, carrying
destruction and consternation along its track, in the extinguishment
of which everybody about the vicinity was engaged,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>prevented the present execution of the James assassination.
The employment of every available man in fighting
fire made it impossible the Mollies should then seek the
young man’s life. Still, it was only a short time that
this work kept them from bloody thoughts and bloodier
deeds.</p>

<p class='c001'>James must have received a notice of what was going on,
as once more he resigned his position and left the vicinity.
The men who, upon this occasion, were selected to do for
Gomer James were James Bradley, of Loss Creek, Tom
Connory, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> “Derrick,” of Connor’s Patch, and Anthony
Monaghan, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> “Rappa Jack,” of Rappahannock. They
were duly notified of James’ disappearance. But Gibbons
was not the man to give up a thing upon which his heart was
set, as it was on the murder of the Welshman, and the detective
knew that he must keep an earnest and close watch of
both Hurley and Gibbons, or they would yet accomplish the
deed. Hence McKenna greatly affected Gibbons’ company,
night and day.</p>

<p class='c001'>In a little while Gibbons hatched a plan to get James
back as watchman at the old breaker. It was to gather
half a dozen men, and fire a volley in the air, at night,
to frighten the men who had taken Gomer James’ place,
when some one could report it to the boss, who would
very naturally say: “When James was night-watchman,
such things did not happen; if they did, somebody got hurt,
for Gomer was no coward!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This plan, it was thought by some, would cause Gomer
James to be reinstated.</p>

<p class='c001'>Cooney was of the opinion that it must fail, as James had
proceeded deliberately to get drunk, when he knew that
such conduct would surely end in his discharge. It appeared
to him that the Welshman wanted a chance to leave,
and had in some way discovered that the Mollies were once
more in search of him.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span>To quiet the matter more effectually, McKenna promised
Gibbons that he would try and make a trade with some
Division-master for men to follow James, wherever he might
be, and kill him. But he never did anything of the sort, nor
had he so intended when making the proposition.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna was supported in his acts by Jack Kehoe, who,
a little later, swore that he would not be dictated to, and
that if McKenna, who was, in his sight, acting Bodymaster
of Shenandoah Division, allowed Hurley and Gibbons to tell
him what he should and should not do, he would consider it
his duty, as County Delegate, to look after him, the Secretary,
and have him cut off.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective at the same time learned that Kehoe had
just returned from Mahanoy City, where he found the English
and Welsh all assembled about the public square, and
no Irishman, or woman, could pass without being insulted.
Even the Celts who were not, and never had been Mollies,
he said, begged him to do something to end this unendurable
state of suffering. They did not care what was done if it
only quieted the Modocs, who were acting worse than their
namesakes of the lava-beds in the far west.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I have sent Tom Donahue,” said the County Delegate,
“up to Locust Gap, to see Dennis Canning, County Delegate
of Northumberland, but learned that he had gone to
Pittsburg and was at work there; an’ I now intend getting
Chris Donnelly, of Mt. Laffee, County Treasurer; Wm.
Gavin, of Big Mine Run, County Secretary; Mike O’Brien,
Bodymaster at Mahanoy City—and I invite you, McKenna,
to be present—to hold a convention, on the first of June, at
Clark’s, in Mahanoy, an’ we will see what is to be done wid
the whelps, now barkin’ so lustily. Perhaps it might be the
thing to just bouldly an’ publicly challenge the whole pack
to come out an’ fight us. Some think we had best attack
’em in the night an’ shoot down every one we meet, sparin’
only women and children! I hate shedding of human
<span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>blood, but these are mighty hot times, <a id='corr303.1'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='an'>an’</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_303.1'><ins class='correction' title='an'>an’</ins></a></span> something will
have to be put to work to give us our rights!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ I can’t but applaud your acts, Kehoe!” responded
McKenna. “Fur wan that ye have invited, ye
may count on my bein’ at Clark’s promptly on the day.”</p>

<p class='c001'>The County Delegate expressed his pleasure, and said, if
all the gentlemen were like the Shenandoah Secretary the
Modocs would soon be silenced. The men then parted,
Kehoe to attend to home measures, and deal out whisky for
his customers, and the detective to report to Mr. Franklin
and prepare for the great convention.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch29' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXIX.<br> <br>THE INQUISITION OF TEN.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Other events crowding upon their attention seemed for a
time to guard the threatened Gomer James from the bullets
of his sworn assassins. The Welshman still lived and pursued
his usual avocations, wherever he might be, unharmed and
unmolested.</p>

<p class='c001'>At the annual borough election Jack Kehoe was unanimously
chosen High Constable of Girardville. He was not
only King of the Mollies of Schuylkill, but had the power of
arrest and charge of the municipal prisoners. If the latter
chanced to be of the order, they were handled tenderly and
fared sumptuously. If of the Chain Gang, the Modoc, or
Sheet Iron sort, he bundled them into jail without gloves,
and fed them upon whatever might be cheap and unsavory.
Surely, Jack Kehoe was a rising luminary in the heavens—or
on the earth—and his luck fast improving.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_304'>304</span>A few days before the date appointed for the convention
at Mahanoy City, McKenna went to see Michael O’Brien
and had a talk with him about the troubles in his vicinity.
O’Brien was anxious to have three or four men, who could
be depended upon, come over to Mahanoy, and he would appoint
persons from his own division to show the strangers
their work, which was to “fetch” Wm. M. Thomas and Jesse
Major. He was of the opinion that, if these parties, and
two or three others, were well out of the way, there might
ensue a reign of peace in the community; but just as long
as they lived, trouble would surely come. O’Brien said he
had given Kehoe the situation of affairs.</p>

<p class='c001'>While in Mahanoy one McDonell reported to the Shenandoah
Secretary that he had recently conversed with
Thomas, who seemed reckless and stubborn, remarking to
the effect that it made little difference to him, since the
Dan Dougherty shooting, how he carried himself, the Mollies
were sure to get him, wherever he might hide. Some one
had lately informed Thomas that, the next time he was assaulted,
it would be in open daylight, by a man on horseback.
McDonell learned that Bill carried arms on his person,
and boasted his readiness to receive the Mollies whenever
and in whatever manner they chose to meet him. Of
the truth of this the members of the society had all the
proof needed. What they wanted was to find somebody,
unknown to the citizens and to Bill, that Thomas might be
murdered and no trace be left of the murderers.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next day, while McKenna was present, Hurley came
to Cooney’s, in Shenandoah, and asked the master of the
house to pass out to him, through a window, his rifle, which
had, during several days, been left there for safe-keeping.
Some visitors were in the building at the time, with Mrs.
Cooney, and Hurley did not care to have them see him receive
the gun. This looked like business to the detective,
but he was unable to stop in Shenandoah to find out what
<span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span>might be in preparation, as the approaching meeting in
Mahanoy City demanded immediate attention.</p>

<p class='c001'>McAndrew, who was yet working at Port Griffith, could
not go to the convention, and McKenna was the man to fill
his place. Before the day arrived, the operative saw Kehoe
at Girardville. There he met Jack Donahue, John Reagan,
the latter Bodymaster at St. Clair, and some other Mollies.
Mrs. Kehoe’s child was sick, and Dr. Carr visited it, bringing
Reagan up with him in his carriage. Dr. Sherman, of
Girardville, was also there in consultation. Kehoe, after a
little time, called McKenna, Donahue, and Reagan into the
kitchen, at the rear of his bar, and some private conversation
ensued upon the lately appointed meeting at Mahanoy City.
Kehoe was anxious that Reagan and McKenna should be
there, ending his introduction of the subject with a request
that the latter should go, that afternoon, and inform O’Brien,
Bodymaster of Mahanoy City Division, to be ready to receive
them. This he promised to do. Subsequently Kehoe asked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Do either of you know any good <em>old</em> men, who are
sharp on the shoot? I want some capable of doing a very
particular work, an’ doing it swiftly and surely!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, ye are posted as to Shenandoah Division,” returned
McKenna, “an’ know that we are nearly all young
men, an’ of no great experience. I don’t think any could
be depended upon in a case of importance!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“As for me,” here broke in Reagan, “I belave I have
one man that’ll jist fill the bill an’ put in good work whenever
ye make the call on me!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Further conference on this topic, at the time, was broken
off by the coming down the stairs of Drs. Sherman and Carr.
With the latter, after a treat from the disciple of Esculapius,
Reagan rode away homeward.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was on this occasion that Kehoe developed a plan
through which a constable by the name of Lamison should
be killed. It seems that the officer alluded to, in arresting
<span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>a Mollie named Rusk, at Kingston, not long before, had shot
the Irishman, who violently resisted. Beside, the same
official had fired upon and wounded a lad, named Leville,
who was saucy while on his way home from a foot-race. For
these offenses the High Constable and King of the Mollies
wanted Lamison assassinated. He desired that a warrant
should be sworn out for his victim’s arrest, to be served by
himself, and while on the road to Girardville, a masked mob
of Mollies might pounce upon and easily overpower Kehoe,
and in the mêlée, shoot down and kill his prisoner. Tom
Donahue, who was participating in the conversation, sagely
suggested that Lamison would possibly have a hearing at
Kingston and secure bail, thus knocking Kehoe’s fine scheme
into atoms. He was in favor of having Lamison planted
under the daisies, on the general principle, as he coarsely
put it, that “dead dogs wag no tails,” but wanted the job
done scientifically and without a chance of failure.</p>

<p class='c001'>Sunday, the first of June, 1875, came, one of the balmiest
of spring days. The snow had long since dissolved, swelling
the mountain streams, the verdure brightened up, and winter
no longer lingered in the lap of spring. The life-giving sap
rose from the warm earth, coursed along and filled the bloodless
veins, and brought bud and blossom to the forest trees.</p>

<p class='c001'>But all this harmony in nature found no counterpart in
the minds of the residents of the country cursed by the
Mollie Maguires. On the contrary, the storm of passion and
hate in human hearts was unassuaged, and swept forward,
seeming to gather strength and fury as it desolated hearth-stones
and filled graves with gory victims.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p2982_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>The Emerald House. Michael Clark, proprietor</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>The detective was early at Mahanoy City, and in joining
his brethren at the Emerald House, Michael Clark proprietor.
This man Clark, as before stated, was not a Mollie
Maguire, but his two sons belonged to the order. The hotel
was a two-story, basement and attic affair, the outside painted
brown, with the eaves and two dormer-windows facing the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>main street of the city. The first floor front was lighted by
large show windows, for which there were no shades or screens
to veil the array of bottles and decanters behind the bar, or
the men there congregating to enjoy their liquor. There
was a door at the center, giving entrance to the saloon and
bar, and another at the side by which the upper apartments
were reached without troubling other inmates.</p>

<p class='c001'>In the rear of the public room was, first, a long dining-hall
common to such places, and then the kitchen. All were
very plainly furnished. At the end of the lot was the bank
of the river. Upstairs, in the front part of the house, was
one spacious, well-lighted apartment, carpeted and decently
stocked with furniture, in which meetings were held, and it
was lighted, by day, with four windows. Back of this were
bedrooms. On the garret floor were also a number of sleeping
apartments. The business of the writer is with the assembly
room, where the conspirators congregated. There,
at half-past ten in the forenoon, seated around a large table,
were John Kehoe, County Delegate of Schuylkill; Chris
Donnelly, of Mt. Laffee, County Treasurer; Wm. Gavin, of
Big Mine Run, County Secretary; John Donahue, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span>
“Yellow Jack,” Bodymaster of Tuscarora; Dennis F. Canning,
County Delegate of Northumberland, residing at
Locust Gap; Wm. Gomerly, Bodymaster of St. Nicholas;
James Roarty, Bodymaster at Coaldale; Mike O’Brien,
Bodymaster at Mahanoy City, with his Secretary, Francis
McHugh, and James McKenna, representing Shenandoah
Division, and also acting as my detective. In the bar below
there were other Mollies, and with them James Kerrigan,
Bodymaster of Tamaqua Division. Kehoe sat in the place
of authority, made the opening prayer, and organized the
meeting. He then delivered a brief speech, saying that he
supposed all were acquainted with the object of the convention,
and without further explanation, appointed a committee
of two to bring Dan Dougherty before the meeting. This
<span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>was done, and Dan came in. He was a well-favored young
Irishman, with dark hair and mustache, eyes of the same
color, nose straight, face rather full, and cheeks red and
healthful, despite the wounds he had received from Major,
and the dread he appeared to be in of the relatives of the
deceased Chief Burgess, and of Bully Bill. Dougherty was
a miner by occupation, dressed well, and had the reputation
of being ordinarily a sober man. Of about medium height
and weight, his physical status did honor to his twenty-four
years.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p3081_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“Dan., show us your coat,” said Kehoe.</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>“Dan, show us your coat,” said Kehoe.</p>

<p class='c001'>Dougherty obeyed, and, removing the garment, exhibited
bullet-holes perforating the cloth in two or three places.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Who do ye think did it?” queried the County Delegate.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I belave it was Jesse Major, but I couldn’t swear to him
on the book!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Didn’t the police try to catch him?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“No! An’ there was an officer not four yards from the
man at the time! I axed him why. ‘Sure, and I’d be shot
down in me tracks if I raised a hand,’ said he, an’ he went
off about his business as if nothin’ had happened!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This caused a buzz, evidently of anger, to pass around the
table.</p>

<p class='c001'>“What men do ye think are at the head of all the late
troubles in this city?” asked Kehoe, who had remained
standing from the time that Dougherty entered the apartment.</p>

<p class='c001'>“The which? Who is it? Faith, <a id='corr308.27'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='an,'>an’</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_308.27'><ins class='correction' title='an,'>an’</ins></a></span> I can think of no
one exceptin’ Jesse and James Major, an’ Bully Bill! If the
toes of these three were turned up, ther’d be peaceable times
in Mahanoy!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That’ll do,” said Kehoe. “You may retire.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Dougherty cast a searching glance around the board,
seemed satisfied, put on his coat, and left the chamber.</p>

<p class='c001'>For a moment after the closing of the door, silence reigned
<span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>in the inquisition-room, and the inquisitors said not a
word.</p>

<p class='c001'>Chris Donnelly was the first to speak:</p>

<p class='c001'>“These things are getting altogether too bad! Last night
the train coming from Pottsville, by way of Tamaqua, was
searched by Jesse and Wm. Major, and a number of others,
all armed, and the company allowed it without a word! I
suppose it is because the Majors hire a big vein. I think we
must put a stop to such goings on!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Kehoe resumed his seat, placed his elbows on the table,
rested his hatchet-face on his two hands, and awaited developments.</p>

<p class='c001'>“For one,” resumed Donnelly, who had not left his chair
while speaking, “I’ll get two good men, an’ go myself, and
have the Majors’ business at once attended to!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Here Jack Donahue—“Yellow Jack”—stood on his feet,
and remarked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“We, of this side the mountain, are thankful to ye of the
part beyant the mountain; but we can attend to the affair, at
present. You, Donnelly, nade not move just yet! Afther
Sunday, if we need you, I’ll send word by a man to Pottsville,
an’ tell you what’s to be done.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Kehoe, after some more talk, appointed Mike O’Brien and
James McKenna a committee to see what should be done
with Wm. M. Thomas.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective brazened it out, and expressed a willingness
to attend to his duty, at the same time suggesting that counsel
from older heads would be in order. O’Brien tacitly
deferred management of this portion of the business to McKenna,
which was satisfactory to the agent, as it ran through
his mind that, if permitted to hold the helm all through, Bill
Thomas would not be in any especial danger of losing his
life.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m in favor of shootin’ Bully Bill, bowldly right on the
strate, in open daylight!” exclaimed Kehoe.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_310'>310</span>O’Brien hinted that such a course would be sure to get
the boys in a scrape, and added:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Bill can best be taken on the road home to Shoemaker’s
Patch. Then he can be dropped, an’ the men make sure
their escape!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes, that is the best plan,” here put in Dennis Canning,
the Northumberland delegate, who had previously said little.
He was a gentlemanly-appearing person, showing nothing in
his face to indicate a sanguinary disposition. Yet he took
part in the cold-blooded proceedings of the convention, without
a chill passing over him, and seemed as much concerned
regarding the murder of Thomas as the others.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Let it be so, then,” resumed the King of all the Mollies,
in Schuylkill, and he lifted his bearded chin from his thin
hands, and looked sharply over at McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>“To you, an’ your division, Jim McKenna, I lave the
picking out of four or five good men, safe to be intrusted
with such a difficult matther! Jist notify the division to
come together an’ select ’em, an’ have ’em come over an’
report to Mike O’Brien, here, who will find them a boardin’-place,
payin’ for their kapin’ out of the county fund. Let
them not be later than Saturday afternoon. If they can’t
make their point on Bully Bill in three days, you relave them
and sind over fresh fellows, an’ kape it up until the work be
done. O’Brien will appoint those to lead the Shenandoah
boys up to Bill, an’ ingineer the business through! Fail
they must not! If they do, let them beware the power of
the order! If Shenandoah can’t succeed, Roarty must sind
men, an’ all the rest in turn, until the Modocs cry
enough!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The Shenandoah Secretary made known his acceptance
of the charge, and said he would see the division notified
and convened.</p>

<p class='c001'>Canning inquired if any men were wanted from his part
of the State, but Donnelly replied:</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span>“No! the job is a small one, and we can attend to it
ourselves!”</p>

<p class='c001'>At first, and before the convention was called to order,
the presence of the young man, Frank McHugh, had been
objected to, but O’Brien said he was his Secretary, and insisted
he should remain. Subsequently McHugh, a tall,
very juvenile personage, with sandy hair and blue eyes—a
mere boy, in point of fact—was directed to act as Secretary,
and fabricate a record of proceedings which would show to
outsiders, should chance reveal the fact of a meeting being
held, transaction of business on some entirely different matter
than the murder of Thomas and the Majors.</p>

<p class='c001'>Then, all having been arranged, the Mollies adjourned
to dinner, of which they partook in Clark’s dining-room
below.</p>

<p class='c001'>Kehoe enjoyed his food, and remarked to McKenna, in a
low voice: “I think the reign of the Modocs is comin’ to an
end, and Irishmen will soon have law in Mahanoy City, as
in other parts of the State!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The King of the Mollies was elate and jubilant, and the
operative was compelled to appear so, but he was far from
feeling content with the share Kehoe had put upon him.
It would not do to refuse, nor was it safe to exhibit reluctance.</p>

<p class='c001'>When my agent reached home, he found the Mollies experiencing
most intense excitement, caused by a report of
Ned Monaghan, that the Coal and Iron Company had sent
for and secured policemen, from a distance, all heavily
armed, and stationed them at their different <a id='corr311.28'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='colleries'>collieries</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_311.28'><ins class='correction' title='colleries'>collieries</ins></a></span>. To
this was added the story of Gibbons, that the Governor had
ordered out the Militia, to support the Coal and Iron Police,
and see that resumption of work in the region was not interfered
with on the part of the members of the Laborers’
Union, or others. Even then forty or fifty men, loaded
down with repeating rifles and ammunition, were alighting at
<span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span>the depot. Heisler, they said, was in command of the
police, in person. One who has not seen the locality and
known its people will hardly be able to appreciate the uproar
in the different patches, and in the taverns and strongholds
of the Mollies under such a condition of affairs. Men were
quite wild, and flew from place to place, with reddened
faces and determined looks, telling the news to their brethren,
and eagerly asking what was to be done.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mike Doyle met McKenna, that night, at his boarding-house,
and at once proposed to be one of the men to go to
Mahanoy City.</p>

<p class='c001'>Tom Hurley was anxious to take a part, and wanted to
deposit his card, formerly obtained for traveling purposes,
and receive the “goods,” so that he might be eligible.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective, before he retired, the night of the first of
June, sent Monaghan to summon Thomas Munley, of Gilberton,
a member of his lodge, with orders for Munley to
notify others in the vicinity to meet at the hall, in Shenandoah,
the evening of the third, at seven o’clock. The Secretary
personally gave notice to Gibbons and the others mentioned
that their presence was needed on the occasion.</p>

<p class='c001'>Leaving the proceedings connected with the strike of the
Mollies and the members of the Laborers’ Union to be related
in another chapter, I must now continue the incidents
bearing upon the attempt to murder Wm. M. Thomas, and
carry the recital to completion.</p>

<p class='c001'>Monaghan returned from Gilberton, Wednesday, saying
he had notified Thomas Munley, who promised to inform
the others of what was wanted.</p>

<p class='c001'>The night of the third of June came, and, from the turmoil
prevalent in the city, the Secretary deemed it imprudent to
hold the division meeting at the usual hall, hence the members
were notified to gather in the wood, on the side of
Ringtown Mountain, north of the city. When McKenna
reached the rendezvous he found present John Gibbons,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>Thomas Munley, Darcey, Monaghan, Garvey, and Mike
Doyle, all members of Shenandoah Division, and soon after
the opening Tom Hurley came along and joined the clan.
Garvey said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I suppose ye all know what’s called us together, an’ it
only rests with ye to make a choice, an’ as McKenna does
not care to do it, let us talk among ourselves, an’ agree who
is to go and make away with Thomas.”</p>

<p class='c001'>After canvassing the subject, it was decided that Gibbons,
Doyle, Hurley, and James McKenna should go to Mahanoy
City on the business. At least the three mentioned were
selected, and they desired the Secretary’s company, which
he could not refuse to give. The date fixed for departure
was the evening of the fifth of the month. When this proceeding
was ended the body adjourned, at nigh eleven
o’clock, the conspirators going into town, one by one, as on
former occasions, in order that the citizens might not see too
many Mollies together.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next morning the streets were filled with soldiers and
Coal and Iron Police, among the latter being Capt. Heisler,
but that made no difference. The arrangement to shoot
Thomas must be carried out. Gibbons came along about
four in the afternoon, armed with two navy revolvers, secured
from Thompson and McCormick, and, at about half-past
four, the same day, the Mollies set out on foot over the
mountain for Mahanoy City. They could not have selected
a more congenial and yet more unpleasant night for the
journey. The rain was falling in torrents and there were
heavy shocks of thunder and sharp bolts of lightning in the
sky. But, after walking more than three hours, the men
reached Clark’s hotel, in Mahanoy, where they found
O’Brien prepared to receive them.</p>

<p class='c001'>While trudging over the wet earth and slippery rocks the
operative had concocted a scheme, which he believed would
surely save the life of the man, Thomas, and relieve his mind
<span class='pageno' id='Page_314'>314</span>of an oppressive weight. As soon as all were well seated in
Clark’s kitchen, beyond the bar, he called O’Brien away for
a short stroll. They went around the corner, and McKenna
said to the leader of the clan in Mahanoy City:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Do you mind the soldiers in the strates, an’ the Coal
Polace?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes, I do!” answered the Bodymaster, “an’ I don’t half
like the appearance of aither! Its all owin’ to the mob, I
suppose!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Now, O’Brien, I’m as willin’ to sell my life for the good
of the order as you are, or as any man can be, but it looks
the height of folly for us to undertake this job on Thomas
while the soldiers are around! If we kill him, as we may,
an’ make the laste noise over it, we’ll be pounced upon at
once by the Militia or old Heisler—or both, perhaps—an’ then
we’ll be caught and hanged! Isn’t the life of any wan of us
worth that of a dozen like Bully Bill? To spake truth, I’m
in favor of all of us goin’ quietly home, an’ trying for Thomas
on another occasion. The odds are too many against us
this time!”</p>

<p class='c001'>O’Brien cogitated over the change suggested for a
moment and then responded:</p>

<p class='c001'>“You’re right, McKenna, as you always are! Troth! as
you say, my life is better nor those of a dozen like Bill
Thomas, an’ I quite agree wid you that the very best thing
to be done is to do nothing—at laste for this night!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The two men soon went back to the Emerald House, and
to the kitchen. Frank McHugh, the Secretary of Mahanoy
City Division, had just arrived, and O’Brien made the proposition
to Hurley, Gibbons, and Doyle in precisely the words
previously employed by the detective. He explained the
difficulties before them in so forcible a manner that even
Hurley, always the first to enter a fight and the last to give
it up, agreed it was for the best to retrace their steps to
Shenandoah and not be seen by any one in Mahanoy.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span>McKenna said he was firmly of the opinion that the work
should be deferred, but did not like to assume the responsibility
of ordering it without a previous conference with
O’Brien. Now that O’Brien was good enough to be the first
to put forward the idea he felt willing to make known that
he held the same view of the subject. This was peculiarly
flattering to O’Brien, and forever sealed his lips as to the
real originator of the plan, and was a clincher of the proposed
settlement. It was thus decided. After a few calls
at Clark’s bar for refreshments, the weary men set out in
the darkness for the return to Shenandoah.</p>

<p class='c001'>While going home the four Mollies were halted by the
police at Foundry Colliery, but after a short parley were permitted
to resume their tedious journey. To avoid similar
annoyances the party struck into a narrow path over the
mountain. On the way they overtook a stranger, carrying a
small paper parcel. At first he was shy of them, probably
thinking they might want to murder him, but McKenna assured
the stranger they were harmless fellows, lost in the
darkness, and if he had no objection, as they seemed going
in the same direction, they would keep in company. The man
said but little. He “knew every foot of the ground,” however,
and demonstrated the fact, when in the vicinity of Lanigan’s
Patch, by missing his bearings and finally bringing himself
and companions into a marsh, where they stuck fast in
the mire to the imminent danger of their boots and damage
to their clothing and tempers. After wandering about in the
swamp, running against trees and snags, and occasionally
falling down in the mud and water, they escaped from the
place and met no further accident. It was about midnight
when McKenna turned in at Cooney’s, in Shenandoah, and
sought his bed-chamber and much-needed sleep.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_316'>316</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch30' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXX.<br> <br>ANOTHER VICTIM OF THE MOLLIES.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>For a few days after the return of the unsuccessful delegation
engaged in the work of killing Wm. M. Thomas, in
accordance with the order of the Mahanoy City Convention,
quiet reigned and nothing further was done in that direction.
It will be remembered that the date fixed for the assassination
was Saturday, the fifth of June. From the fact that
McKenna judged it foolhardy, on account of the presence
of Militia, to make the trial, it had been temporarily abandoned.
In truth, the assassination was just as practicable
then as it ever would be, from the isolated position in which
the proposed victim was working. It served the detective’s
purpose to have the matter rest, at least until his reports
could reach the Agency in Philadelphia, when he hoped,
should the efforts be renewed, there would come officers on
the ground to capture the would-be murderers, or at least
save Thomas’ life. But McKenna had no means of knowing
how extremely busy Capt. Linden and his Coal and
Iron force were at that particular moment. The detective
was only inside the Mollie ring, and his friends were kept as
much as possible in the dark as to police movements. In
reality, he had about all that he could attend to—and so did
the members of the open force. None found much leisure
for amusement.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Mollie Maguires, having passed sentence of death
upon Thomas, it was not to be forgotten. Die he must.
Some delay might occur, but the end in view was never
relinquished. Meanwhile, Hurley, Gibbons, and Doyle were
taken over to Mahanoy City and boarded, at the expense
<span class='pageno' id='Page_317'>317</span>of the murderous society, in the house of a Mrs. Cosgrove
until such time as O’Brien, the Bodymaster, might have everything
prepared for them. At the end of three days’ stay,
according to Kehoe’s order, O’Brien having signally failed
in leading them up to their prey, the trio went back to Shenandoah.
There they tarried for a time, doing absolutely
nothing.</p>

<p class='c001'>In the interim McKenna experienced a return of disease,
for several days was confined to his room, and much longer
to his house. He suffered intensely, and was under the
doctor’s care, part of the time being delirious. That journey
over the mountains, exposure to wet and cold air, with
the accompanying excitement and mental pressure, all had
their share in inducing a relapse of the intermittent fever,
with which he had formerly been attacked, and for a time it
threatened to assume a typhoid and very dangerous phase.</p>

<p class='c001'>About the first day that the detective was strong enough
to sit up in his chair, take an occasional walk to the door,
and enjoy the warm sunshine, his heart was gladdened with
the news that McAndrew had come home, his job in Luzerne
County having terminated. McKenna was never more
pleased in his life than when he grasped the hand of his
superior officer, and McAndrew seemed equally joyful to see
the face of his friend and division Secretary. Their interview,
which occurred at Cooney’s, was long and confidential.
McKenna informed the President of nearly everything that
had happened during his absence, including the orders the
members were under from the Mahanoy Convention to kill
Thomas, and at once gave into his possession all the lodge
books and papers. It appeared to him, when this was accomplished,
that health had been restored as through the working
of a miracle, and the blood coursed more calmly in his veins.
At least a very heavy load was lifted from his overburdened
mind, and he breathed more freely than for weeks before,
counting from the day of McAndrew’s departure for Wilkes-barre.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_318'>318</span>He held no longer the place of acting Bodymaster
and thanked his lucky stars that he did not.</p>

<p class='c001'>Time passed until the 27th of June. McAndrew had
resumed active leadership of the Mollies in Shenandoah, and
the detective yet continued ill, but was apparently fast convalescing.
He had been sitting at the door of his boarding-house,
enjoying the beautiful sunset, and wishing that his
strength were once fully restored, when he heard footsteps,
and soon McAndrew made his appearance and took a seat
near him. They had only just begun talking of the weather
and other matters, when Tom Hurley came up and joined
the party. Shortly afterward John Morris, a very young,
but solid man, with plenty of yellow hair, blue eyes, and
heavy features, formed one of the group. Then Mike Doyle
arrived, as he said, “jist from Number Three Hill.” Mike
Carey was already inside Cooney’s, and emerged from the
house, adding one more to the company. Following quickly
a few words on comparatively trivial subjects, McAndrew
inquired:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Are any of yez going to Mahanoy City?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I am!” exclaimed Hurley.</p>

<p class='c001'>These words were echoed by Doyle and Morris.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, that’s jist as it should be; for I have orders from
Kehoe, if any man hesitates to obey me commands, to have
him cut off for life at the very next meeting!” Then he
added, turning to Carey:</p>

<p class='c001'>“You must go to Number Three, and tell John Gibbons,
who is now at home, that I want to see him here directly!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“All right!” answered Carey, and he withdrew.</p>

<p class='c001'>The men left with the detective to await the arrival of Gibbons
did not say much to each other. They were more reticent
than usual. The operative did not feel at all like talking.
His active thoughts were trying to work out a difficult problem,
something like this: In what manner could he forward
news to Thomas that the assassins were again on his track?
<span class='pageno' id='Page_319'>319</span>How should he telegraph Mr. Franklin, that he might advise
Linden to protect Bully Bill at the hazard of his own life?
The only hope left was, that Carey, who had been his constant
nurse and attendant, might be needed to go to Mahanoy with
the rest, in case Gibbons were to refuse. He looked upon
the golden sun, as it went down behind the somber hills, and
just the last glimpse he caught of the orb, it appeared to him
that its color had changed to a blood red. Would it rise on
murder and violence? His heart misgave him that it might,
unless something could be thought of to reverse the present
order of things. The detective was sure that no suspicion
yet attached to him. He was known to be sick and incapable
of <a id='corr319.14'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='physicial'>physical</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_319.14'><ins class='correction' title='physicial'>physical</ins></a></span> exertion, and McAndrew was there, at the head
of the division. His orders must be listened to and obeyed.
In his soul McKenna wished Gibbons might be absent, or
unable, from some cause, to carry out his part of the arrangement.
But his spirits sunk and his form trembled, so that
he had to complain of a returning chill, caused by the night
air, when he saw Carey, side by side with Gibbons, making
his way up the path in the direction of the house. In a few
minutes Gibbons reported. After the usual greetings, he
took off his hat, wiped the perspiration from his forehead,
and inquired:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, McAndrew, what’s the matther now?”</p>

<p class='c001'>The Bodymaster cast his eyes around, to see that all
within hearing were Mollies, was evidently satisfied, and
answered:</p>

<p class='c001'>“These men here—Morris, Doyle, and Hurley—are going,
by order of the County Delegate and our division, to
Mahanoy City, to shoot Bill Thomas, in the morning, as he
goes to his work! I want to know if you are to be along?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m agreed,” said Gibbons, “as I don’t want to stop
around this neighborhood, anyhow, for I think I may be arrested
for a few words I hev had with one of the bosses of
Hecksher’s Colliery—the fool thinks I mane to shoot him!
<span class='pageno' id='Page_320'>320</span>I don’t care if I take part in the matter! Jist put a man in
my place in the breast an’ I’m wid yez!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Carey can take a hand at that; so there’s nothin’ to
prevent the four of ye lavin’ at once!” said McAndrew.
“An’ Dan Sweeney shall work for Morris, that he may miss
no time—an’ Hurley is not at work—so he’ll lose nothing.
Are ye well prepared for the business? Have ye all got
proper weapons?”</p>

<p class='c001'>The responses were in the affirmative, though no pistols
were exhibited, and it only remained for Gibbons, who was
in his shirt sleeves, to get a coat.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I say, McKenna! You can lend me the old gray coat?
You’ll have no use for it until <a id='corr320.13'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='sic'>to morrow</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_320.13'><ins class='correction' title='sic'>to morrow</ins></a></span>, when I’ll give it
back to <a id='corr320.14'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='ye!’'>ye!”</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_320.14'><ins class='correction' title='ye!’'>ye!”</ins></a></span></p>

<p class='c001'>This was said by Gibbons.</p>

<p class='c001'>“The coat hangs within! Jist rache it, an’ wear it, an’
welcome,” said the operative. To refuse would have seemed
particularly suspicious.</p>

<p class='c001'>The prevailing twilight deepened into darkness, and still
the Mollies had not started on their errand of bloodshed,
but, at about nine o’clock, the stars then shining out brightly,
gave them light enough by which to see the pathway,
and, bidding the Bodymaster, Secretary, and Mike Carey
good-by, they quietly departed.</p>

<p class='c001'>When their retreating footsteps could no longer be heard,
McAndrew ordered the operative to go to bed, “unless he
wanted more chills,” and took his own route homeward.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes, I’ll retire directly.” answered McKenna, who
looked around to find Carey lightly dozing on the doorstep.
He had no thought of going to his room without at least
making an effort, even in his weak condition, to save
Thomas or have the assassins arrested in the act. His plans
were indistinctly formed, but he was determined to make a
desperate movement in some direction. Linden’s whereabouts,
since his own recent illness, the detective knew
<span class='pageno' id='Page_321'>321</span>nothing of. The only plan, therefore, possible of accomplishment,
was to send off a cipher dispatch to Mr. Franklin.
In default of that he must try and deposit a written
message in the post-office, addressed to his Philadelphia
correspondent. The latter must naturally be too late, still
it would show that he was trying to do his duty by the man
whose life stood in jeopardy. Waiting until he thought
Carey was soundly asleep, McKenna noiselessly arose from
his bench, walked rather unsteadily to the door, and tried to
pass into the house beyond the slumbering Mollie. As he
did so, Carey roused himself, hurriedly rubbed his eyes, and
said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“That’s right! Let’s get to bed!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m not slapy, an’ am goin’ to write a letther to me
sister before I retire,” said McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Very well!” responded Carey, “an’ as I’m to slape wid
ye the night, ye kin sit up and write, while I’ll jist rest me
for the morrow’s work for Morris!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Here was a predicament. The man was right. Transient
visitors were monopolizing the spare beds in the house, and
Cooney had provided, before retiring, that Carey would share
the detective’s couch. What should he do?</p>

<p class='c001'>“Upon the whole,” finally said the operative, “I don’t
feel slapy—you see I’ve had rather more of the bed, the past
wake, than wur pleasant—an’ so I’ll sit in here, an’ rest me
eyes, without any light, for a while. You had better go up,
so as to be arley awake fur your breakfast!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, as fur that matther, divil a bit do I care fur slape,
aither! The bedroom is close, this fine avenin’, an’ I’ll
kape ye company until it’s made a little cooler!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And Carey placed his knees against one door-post and
his head and back to the other, thus completely blocking up
the passage-way, and soon begun to snore like the good
sleeper that he was.</p>

<p class='c001'>Every moment he thus wasted passed like a long hour to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_322'>322</span>the impatient operative. The obstinacy of his companion
was enough to provoke the ire of a more tranquil mind than
he was the possessor of, and he nervously paced the floor
of the small apartment, while his thoughts fairly burnt in his
brain. Why was he ill? Why so weak that he could not
thrust the miserable Carey out of his way, or gag and bind
him with cords until he could fly to the telegraph office and
send off that telegram? The idea of stunning him, as he
slept, with a blow on the head from a club, even suggested
itself, but was soon given up as too cruel for the situation.
There were no means of getting out of the room, excepting
through a window, and when he sought an exit in that way,
Carey awoke once more and stared about him.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Are ye gettin’ luny agin, McKenna, that ye want to
wait there by the windy, wid the cool air blowin’ on ye?
You’ll have more of them chills! Sthand back!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This was a sensible order for the sick man to obey, and it
would cause a suspicion of insanity to refuse, hence he resumed
his walk.</p>

<p class='c001'>Later he turned to Carey and said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I tell ye, agin, ye had best get to bed! If ye don’t,
there’ll be one miner late at the shaft-house in the mornin’!
Lave me to myself! I can’t slape, the night, wid the idea
of the work that’s to be done restin’ on me conscience, so
I’ll stay below, where it is comfortable for me! Why in
thunder don’t you go to bed?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faix,” replied Carey, “an’ if the truth must be towld,
I’m ordered by the docther never to lave ye until the
mornin’. He says ye are touched in the head wid the faver
an’ the medicin’, an’ more’s the token, I think he’s quite
right, for wasn’t ye within an ace of throwin’ yerself out at
the windy, only jist now? Oh, no! Mike Carey knows how
to obey orders, <a id='corr322.33'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='an'>an’</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_322.33'><ins class='correction' title='an'>an’</ins></a></span> wont give ye a chance to make away
wid yerself until ye have back yer own siven sinses.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“The divil take you, an’ the docther too! I’m just as
<span class='pageno' id='Page_323'>323</span>sound and sane this blessed minute as you are—or he
aither—an’ all I want is pace and quiet, an’ that ye same
detarmined I sha’n’t have!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective, now completely angry, began to walk the
room with rapid strides and gaze about him in the darkness,
searching for some weapon with which to demolish his too
careful guardian and nurse.</p>

<p class='c001'>Seeing this, Carey shut the door, locked it, put the key in
his pocket, and, walking up to McKenna, took him gently
by the arm, saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Come now, be aisy! Don’t look so fierce, but come
wid me to your room an’ go straight to bed!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Had Carey known exactly the condition of the detective’s
mind, he might have hesitated. It was well he did not, and
he persisted in his cajoling and pacificatory measures, until
the ludicrousness of the situation striking McKenna’s
thoughts, he burst into a fit of loud laughter, and consented—as
that was the only alternative—to go to his room. But
neither of the men slept. One turned and tossed feverishly
and uneasily in the bed, and made such a disturbance that
the other was no sooner in a blissful slumber than he was
as suddenly aroused. At last, in sheer desperation, Carey
arose, dressed himself, and the operative was in hopes he
would go elsewhere, but he did not. On the contrary,
planting the back of the only chair in the room against the
closed and bolted door, he leaned backward, resting his
head near the latch, and soon slept soundly.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was not until nearly sunrise that McKenna, almost
crazy with excitement and suspense, was left to himself.
Then Carey had to get his breakfast and be off to the colliery.
It was now too late for McKenna to act, had he been
bodily able, and he sunk down, helpless, on his pillow, perfectly
exhausted; and deep lethargy came to his physical
and mental relief.</p>

<p class='c001'>After breakfast, the morning of the 28th—a meal that,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_324'>324</span>strange to say, the operative ate with a better appetite than
usual—he went to his room to prepare a report. Carefully
locking the door, and hanging his hat over the keyhole,
which he had a shrewd suspicion the chambermaid was in
the habit of interviewing occasionally, to find out, if possible,
the business in which he was engaged while fastened within,
he seated himself at the table and started to write.</p>

<p class='c001'>That hat was a terrible eyesore to the aforesaid maid-of-all-work,
and she wondered many a time, as she subsequently
confessed, “How it was that McKenna made his
room so dark, exceptin’ he were holding converse with the
devil!”</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p3082_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>‘We fixed him just as he came into the colliery stable!</i>’”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>It was light enough in the room for the detective, however,
and the felt hat sufficed to keep prying eyes from discovering
his employment. On this particular occasion the
agent was doomed to disappointment, as he had hardly begun
his highly important correspondence when he beheld
Mike Doyle coming toward the house. Hastily throwing
the writing materials into his valise, and carefully securing
that depository, he unlocked his door and patiently waited,
knowing that Doyle would probably wish to see him alone.
In this supposition he was right, as the man soon afterward
climbed wearily up the stairs. Doyle occupied a seat.
McKenna once more shut the door, and, as soon as his
visitor was a little rested, asked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, Mike, I suppose ye have missed him again?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“No! We fixed him jist as he came into the colliery
stable!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ is that thrue?” inquired the detective, trying to
appear cool and indifferent.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! But I must not stop here palaverin’ wid you, when
the rest of the boys are on the mountain, jist starvin’ wid
hunger and thirst!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, I’ll get some whisky an’ go up wid ye!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“You go wid me? Why, you’re sick, lad; an’ last night
<span class='pageno' id='Page_325'>325</span>I said to Gibbons that ye looked like a passible braze might
blow ye away like a flash o’ smoke!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“But I’m betther this mornin’—have passed the crisis of
me disase, the docther has it—an’ a bit of exercise will do me
no harrum in the worruld!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, if you can sthand it I ken,” said Doyle, and, after
securing a little extra clothing for himself, the detective
started for Ringtown Mountain. Happily, the spot was no
more than three hundred yards distant from Cooney’s residence,
and they were soon in the presence of Hurley, Gibbons,
and Morris, who were found sitting upon logs, rocks,
and the ground, all covered with dust and perspiration, completely
exhausted by their morning’s work and the succeeding
rapid journey from the Patch to Shenandoah.</p>

<p class='c001'>Tom Hurley was the first to talk of the murder. In
answer to McKenna’s query, he said, in substance:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, Bully Bill’s safe enough for the coroner by this time!
When we got to Mahanoy City, we went direct to Mike
O’Brien’s house, as told by Frank McAndrew, an’ Mike took
us to Mrs. Costello’s, where he got us some whisky and somethin’
to eat, and a bottle of the raal stuff to take wid us, an’
about daylight, with his directions, we started for the Patch,
where Thomas lived. We went and sat by the drift-mouth,
an’ watched Thomas’ house until he came out and went up
to the colliery stable, the big doors of which were sprung
wide open. After he had been in a while, an’ talked wid the
stable boss, an’ the boss had left, we jist walked slowly up to
the place. I stepped into the side door of the stable, through
the blacksmith’s shop, an’ Gibbons in the other, an’ blazed
away at him, as he stood, wid one hand on a horse’s mane.
The fellow was game to the last. He had no weapon, but
he just threw his black hat in my face, an’ then, after bein’ hit
three or four times, ran behind the horses. I fired again, an’
he was worse hit, an’ rather staggered. After that, Gibbons
and Doyle sent him three or four, an’ he fell, so did wan
<span class='pageno' id='Page_326'>326</span>of the horses, an’ then John Morris, he came up, put in his
pistol an’ fired the last shot. Bully Bill never said wan word
afther that, but lay quiet like, partly under the horse that
was down. I have an idea that Bill Thomas won’t shoot
any more of us in this world. He’s surely done for!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The conversation was continued by the other men. John
Morris said that Doyle put in his shots like a man, but
Gibbons turned as pale as a sheet of paper. In turn Hurley
and Doyle asserted that John Morris had shaken so with
fear, when aiming at Thomas, that he shot and severely
injured a second dumb beast. Each one made his statement,
but the several relations were of the same general
tenor, that Thomas had been killed, that morning, at the
colliery stable in Shoemaker’s Patch.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective, after hearing the story of all the men and
listening with evident interest, putting in a word to the
effect that the victim had been rightly served—while, in his
heart, he felt that a dastardly murder had been committed—returned
to Shenandoah, hunted out Frank McAndrew, gave
him news of the condition of their companions and their
need of some kind of refreshment. He concluded:</p>

<p class='c001'>“You get them some food, an’ I’ll take up some more
whisky!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McAndrew consented, went to his house, procured a supply
of cold boiled ham, bread and butter and cheese, while
McKenna bought a second bottle of good liquor, and they
went in company to the mountain. In McAndrew’s presence,
the detective heard another rehearsal of the particulars
of the attack and its termination, not materially differing
from the one already detailed.</p>

<p class='c001'>Gibbons wanted McAndrew and McKenna to give him
a card, and he would leave at once, stopping at Kehoe’s to
secure money for traveling expenses. Having in view the
continuance of the assassin within his convenient reach, the
Secretary said he had no printed blanks, but when he, Gibbons,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_327'>327</span>had once located, he could send him a letter and he
would by that time be able to forward the card duly attested
by the County Delegate. To this arrangement the man
assented, and, in a short time, after obtaining change of
clothing—taking care to return McKenna’s coat—Gibbons
departed and the rest of the assassins separated, each person
taking a different route, for their homes. Hurley, Doyle,
and Morris were to return to the colliery that evening, and
resume their usual avocations, which they did.</p>

<p class='c001'>The same day, my agent sent to Philadelphia a succinct
account of all he had seen and heard. It was wonderful
how McKenna improved in health. The excitement of the
morning and night had seemingly checked his chill, put a
stop to the fever, his appetite increased, and strength and
nerve soon resumed sway. In the afternoon Mr. Linden
reached Shenandoah, and, receiving the signal from
McKenna, followed him to their place of meeting and verbally
received the information the detective had already
dispatched to Mr. Franklin.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next official visit made by Linden was to Shoemaker’s
Patch.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch31' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXXI.<br> <br>HOLDING THE BREAKER.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>When the troubles of the first of June arose, and the Militia
were ordered out by Governor Hartranft, Gen. <a id='corr327.24'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Pleasant'>Pleasants</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_327.24'><ins class='correction' title='Pleasant'>Pleasants</ins></a></span>,
called Mr. Linden to him and said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I see by a report of Mr. Pinkerton’s agent in Shenandoah—and
we also have it from other good authority—that
the strikers, including the Mollie Maguires and the members
<span class='pageno' id='Page_328'>328</span>of the Miners’ and Laborers’ Union, are openly threatening
the destruction of some of the company’s more expensive
works in Schuylkill County, among the rest West Shenandoah
Colliery, which is only defended by two private
watchmen. Can your men occupy and hold that breaker?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“We can, or die in the attempt!” was the characteristic
response.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I admire your courage, Mr. Linden,” said Gen. Pleasant,
“but I am somewhat in doubt as to the result. However,
there is no other course to pursue. Your men, headed
by yourself, armed with the Winchester rifles and navy
sixes, must make the trial!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“We will leave on the next train,” Linden answered.</p>

<p class='c001'>And they did go to Shenandoah, as was reported to McKenna
by Gibbons and Hurley, arriving there the day following
the one on which the first attack upon Thomas was to
have been made. The militia-men were daily expected,
but it was questioned in the minds of some whether its members
were all to be depended upon in an emergency. That
there were relatives of Mollies in the ranks was well known.
Capt. Linden and eighteen men took charge of West Shenandoah
Colliery, with the determination to defend and keep
it working, preventing the miners from being driven away,
if among the possibilities to do so.</p>

<p class='c001'>The second of June the Mollies and other strikers made
great preparations for a dance at Number Three Hill. Word
was sent by special messengers that all who could should
assemble on the night of that day for a monster workingman’s
parade, which was appointed for the third. Early in
the morning the crowd began pouring in. There were delegates
from Connor’s Patch, Loss Creek, Number Three,
Raven Run, and Griscom’s Patch, as well as from Shenandoah.
In the evening fires blazed from all the hillsides surrounding
the collieries. There was the greatest and wildest
<span class='pageno' id='Page_329'>329</span>excitement. The labor picnic at Number Three had seven
or eight hundred persons in attendance.</p>

<p class='c001'>There was plenty of music, and drink, and dancing, but
the principal work seemed to be organizing for the exercises
of the next day, and the evident object of these was to
frighten people, who were quietly at work, away from the
mines. The presence of the roughest characters in the
country, armed to the teeth—some having as many as three
revolvers displayed ostentatiously in their belts—and the
open talk of the crowd, was sufficient to tell Linden and his
devoted band that the morrow boded no good for them.
Still they stood manfully at their posts, guarding every point
and keeping off the approach of and attacks from all stragglers.
Capt. Heisler, with more men, came to the rescue,
and the Militia were expected by every train. Telegraphic
messages kept the wires busy and messengers hurriedly going
and coming.</p>

<p class='c001'>Among the miners, the Welsh, English, German, and Poles
mingled, and heartily joined hands with the Irish. For once
feuds were forgotten, and nationalities all made common
cause. The destruction of the collieries, or entire submission
to the behests of those on the strike, had been decided
upon.</p>

<p class='c001'>While the music sounded, and dancing was going on at
Number Three, McKenna held a secret conference with
Linden. He gave him all the information regarding the proposed
action for the morrow that he had been able to gather,
and assured his friend he would have fierce work to do if he
did not abandon the breaker.</p>

<p class='c001'>“We can die there, then!” said Linden. “I will never
give it up! Rather than that, may every man in my command—officers
and all—be murdered! Let the strikers
come! Some of them will bite the dust! I can tell them,
we will be found well prepared!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll do everything in my power, at all events,” responded
<span class='pageno' id='Page_330'>330</span>McKenna, “to discourage violence! Did any of the
Chicago men recognize me, to-day?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I think not! If they did, they had sense enough not to
speak of it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I trust they may do the same thing to-morrow! If they
come to shooting, I’m sure I’ll get out of the range of those
Winchesters on the double quick!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Linden advised him to remember to do so, as he could
not tell what might occur.</p>

<p class='c001'>“They—the police—look upon you as the worst and
most desperate character in the Mollie crowd!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I know it!” said McKenna, “but they’ll learn their
mistake one of these days!”</p>

<p class='c001'>It was noticeable that, when communicating with Linden,
the detective dropped his well-worn brogue, and conversed
in his ordinary tone, using few Celtic terms.</p>

<p class='c001'>The conference was brief, and with a “good night” the
detectives separated, McKenna returning to the camp-fires,
and Linden seeking sleep upon his bed of hay.</p>

<p class='c001'>When he reached Number Three, McKenna learned that
a portion of his brother Mollies, fearing to face the consequences
of the parade—as it was called—but, as it really
was, a mob, comprising all the elements of a commune and
a riot—had fled to Ringtown Mountain and there organized
a local guard, or reserve force. Among these stay-at-home
heroes—who received loud shouts, hisses of derision, and the
appellation of “craven-hearted cowards”—was Mike, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span>
Muff Lawler. He would have nothing to do with the celebration,
sneaked away and hid himself at Ringtown. The operative,
having in mind the pusillanimous manner in which the
same man had retreated from Dick Flynn, at Colorado Colliery,
months before, leaving him to face the infuriated fellow
alone, was not much surprised that Lawler had no appetite
for the next day’s work, but said nothing. In fact, if the
truth were told, the detective did not really blame Mike for
<span class='pageno' id='Page_331'>331</span>his later action, and, had not duty called him to take part
in the proceedings, would have adopted a similar course.
But he must stay and see the affair through. It was not his
time to run <a id='corr331.4'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='away'>away.</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_331.4'><ins class='correction' title='away'>away.</ins></a></span></p>

<p class='c001'>The night passed without the occurrence of any overt act.
The morning of the third had but fairly opened when new
delegations commenced coming in, and Marshals Walker
and Johnson begun the work of forming the line. Impromptu
flags were prepared, the drums beat, and the uncouth assemblage
was soon ready to march.</p>

<p class='c001'>Fenton Cooney was deputed to take charge of the rear and
form the stragglers. One Fitzpatrick, a boss at Heckler’s,
assisted.</p>

<p class='c001'>Nine o’clock came, and as the crowd was about to move
the Sheriff of Schuylkill County rode up, accompanied by a
Superintendent of the Coal and Iron Company. The former
inquired as to the cause of the assemblage.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Only a bit of a parade,” was the plausible response, and
the two men, apparently satisfied, rode away.</p>

<p class='c001'>The intention of the men was to have an imposing procession,
ending at Mahanoy City, and, meantime, to force
the miners, at every colliery in their way, to quit work
and join, or go to their homes. They were determined
to stop operations, if they had to kill the workmen. But
the Sheriff was not informed of this portion of the programme.</p>

<p class='c001'>When the mob reached West Shenandoah Colliery it mustered,
despite the disaffection of a few, some seven hundred
strong, all firmly resolved that mining should not proceed in
the Mahanoy valley. They marched away at a brisk pace,
and thought themselves invincible. But at the road skirting
the works mentioned was revealed a sight for which they
were all unprepared. The blackened walls of the breaker
stood out boldly in relief against the blue sky; the sun shone
upon twenty armed men, ranged in a compact line, surrounding
<span class='pageno' id='Page_332'>332</span>and cutting off approach to the mouth of the slope and
the engine house, with arms, bright and gleaming, forming an
inclosure of human bodies. Their repeating rifles were
threatening. That obstacle did not seem so easy to surmount,
and the mob stood at the foot of the hill, wavered, and
presently the Grand Marshal ordered a pause. Part of his
force had crossed the Reading Railway track, just before it
passes under the Lehigh bridge, and there they waited, undecided
what course to pursue.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was a trying moment for the police, under Linden,
Heisler being unavoidably absent in the city.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Are you going to send the men from the slope, and stop
the works?” asked Walker, in a loud voice.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Go on about your business!” answered Linden, resting
one hand on his piece. “The men in the mine are under
the protection of the law! They will stay where they are,
and you must not molest them!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Forward!” commanded Walker. But his tone lacked
confidence.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p3321_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>‘Halt!’ Shouted  Linden.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>“Halt!” shouted Linden.</p>

<p class='c001'>But few obeyed Walker’s call—and they stepped back
hastily, as though they had blundered, when, at a signal from
Linden, a score of Winchester rifles promptly came to the
shoulders of as many hardy and resolute men, ready for the
expected order to “fire.”</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna was the most eccentric and savage appearing
Mollie Maguire in the whole seven hundred. His old, soft
hat, knocked in at the sides, yellow hair flying wildly in the
breeze, a long, patched, gray coat, with two revolvers in his
belt, beside a big hickory club which he carried in his hand;
even the men from Chicago looked upon him as a prominent
target to receive the contents of their already directed
weapons. By the side of the detective was a sleek bull-terrier,
which he had carefully raised and just brought out,
trained ready for the pit, its tongue protruding, and showing
<span class='pageno' id='Page_333'>333</span>the white teeth appearing fully as murderous and ugly as
his master.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Mollies knew—if the rest did not—that each one of
those bright gun-barrels could send sixteen deadly messengers
into their ranks without reloading. They also knew
that Linden—“Captain Jack,” as he there received christening—was
at the head of the force and would fight to the last
drop of blood in his body. His rifle would be aimed with
those of his followers.</p>

<p class='c001'>Walker realized the gravity of the situation in a moment,
and did not repeat his order. Soon there was a whisper of
consultation. McKenna suggested that “twenty times sixteen
wor three hundred an’ twenty, an’ that was the number
that must fall before them Winchesters were exhausted!
An’ wur it all worth even fifty lives?”</p>

<p class='c001'>The Marshal and other leading men thought not, and,
scowling fiercely back at Linden and his Spartan band, they
quietly moved on, in the direction of the bridge, leaving the
breaker undisturbed. The muzzles of the Winchesters and
the faces of the men behind them showed that the police
were not to be trifled with.</p>

<p class='c001'>The mob had decided—and wisely too—it was not a propitious
moment to compel Linden and his men to retire—that
another time might as well be selected for seizing the colliery
and forcing a suspension of work. Jack Delaney, Peirce
Walker, Ben Johnson, Fitzpatrick, and John Gibbons, who
had all been industrious in raising and organizing the rabble,
it was noticed, found themselves among the foremost to
recognize the force there was in Linden’s metallic argument.</p>

<p class='c001'>The awkward squad surged along toward Mahanoy City,
forcing those it encountered to join the ranks.</p>

<p class='c001'>At Hazleton a prisoner was rescued, and the law defied.</p>

<p class='c001'>Fox’s Colliery, which had begun to work, was stopped
by force, and the men driven home.</p>

<p class='c001'>The owners of Bowman’s Colliery, hearing that the crowd
<span class='pageno' id='Page_334'>334</span>was coming, sent off their miners and discontinued operations
before the advance guard hove in sight.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Sheriff made a stand, with a few men, at Jackson’s
Hill, but he was derided, loudly cursed; and the communists
marched onward in spite of the law and its minions.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Foundry Colliery was stopped, and its men ran away
in a fright.</p>

<p class='c001'>Soon word was brought that three hundred men, from the
vicinity of Hazleton, had already entered Mahanoy City,
caused a disturbance, and some of their number been arrested
by the police and placed in the lock up.</p>

<p class='c001'>At last Mahanoy City was gained, and its streets found
swarming with demoralized citizens. The mob had accumulated
strength until it numbered over two thousand men, and
everything was swept, like chaff in a west wind, before it.
All business was suspended.</p>

<p class='c001'>The first cry of the communists was, “To the rescue of the
Hazleton boys!” and the Chief Burgess, Eckman by name
was hunted up and politely invited to release the men he had
in custody. He carefully examined the faces of the persons
surrounding him and consented. The prisoners soon formed
part of the line of the parade. The principal streets were
marched through. Disorder and lawlessness prevailed, but
as there was no one to oppose the rioters, little, if any, personal
violence ensued. The striking miners had everything
their own way. The collieries were all blocked, and the men
sent home unharmed.</p>

<p class='c001'>One colliery sounded its shrill whistle, adding to the prevailing
confusion and alarm, the engineer having deserted
the works, carrying the cord attached to the mechanism with
him. A crowd rushed to the spot. Gibbons climbed upon
the boiler, which it was feared might explode, opened the
valve, the steam escaped, and the danger was over.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna, the drum corps, and those who could pay,
had dinner at Clark’s Emerald House. Those who had no
<span class='pageno' id='Page_335'>335</span>money procured food, wherever possible, from the citizens.
While he was eating, the detective heard firing on the street.
Followed close by Doyle, Thompson, and McCormick, he
rushed out to see what was the trouble. It seems that the
mob, when about to attack Little Drift Colliery, had been
met by a deputy sheriff, backed by a few city policemen.
The officer had read the riot act and ordered the disturbers
of the public peace to disperse, but without other effect than
to cause them to go on faster toward the colliery.  One,
Tim Jolley, being excited, fired a shot into the mob, hitting
nobody. Then a rush was made on the Sheriff, and shooting
became general from and in all directions. Jolley was
quickly knocked down, and his pockets searched. Some
one carried off his watch and chain, another his money, and
yet others secured his hat and outer clothing. Friday
O’Donnell, according to his own story, did some rapid shooting
at about that time, but was not aware whether he hit any
one. Jim McAllister received a cut in the head, while engaged
in throwing rocks at the officers. He had no weapon.
McGinnis had a pistol wound in the head, but it was not a
fatal one.</p>

<p class='c001'>Finally, the officers having retreated without severe injury,
the disorderly procession moved for the return march to
Shenandoah, and the parade and the riot ended at the same
time. Strange to say, not a person was killed in the entire
day’s transactions.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Militia arrived that night, and thenceforward there
were to be no more serious riots in the county—at least not
as long as the soldiers remained. But violence and assassination
did not cease. On the contrary, bad blood had been
stirred. It would not settle until innocent men were murdered.
A few arrests were made of the leading rioters, but
no particular punishment was ever meted out to them. The
Mollies swore <span lang="la"><i>alibis</i></span>, without regard to truth or conscience.</p>

<p class='c001'>About the sixth of June Tom Hurley, who had a brother
<span class='pageno' id='Page_336'>336</span>a member of the Girardville company of Militia, tried to
accomplish, all by himself, the butchery of Capt Heisler.
James Hurley was on duty with Heisler at West Shenandoah
Colliery, and, late at night, Tom Hurley came up and
spoke to them. In Heisler’s temporary absence the brothers
arranged that James should contrive to leave Heisler alone
a few moments, when Tom could easily pick him off from
an ambush. Heisler returned to his post and Tom bid the
two “good night,” saying he must go home. Walking but a
short distance, however, he plunged into the underbrush,
took a detour, and crawled stealthily up again within pistol
range of Heisler and James Hurley. Finally he heard the
latter say:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Captain, it’s coming chilly! I’ll just go to the office and
get my overcoat!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“No!” answered the Captain. “That will never do!
We are put here on guard, and here must stay!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Heisler acted as if he suspected Tom, at least Jim had to
remain where he was. Heisler’s life, for a time, was safe.</p>

<p class='c001'>In about half an hour, during which Tom Hurley, with
pistol leveled full upon the Captain, remained watching in
his place of concealment, Jim Hurley exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faith, I’ve come out here with no arms on me at all!
I’ve left me revolver! I’ll go and get it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“No!” again answered Heisler. “You can take the
rifle! The navy six is enough for me!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Cursing the stupidity of the man who refused to be left
alone, so that he might kill him, Tom Hurley, after stopping
where he was until nearly overcome by sleep, cautiously
arose from the ground, and, without making a sound to
indicate his presence, stooped low and moved skulkingly
away. He told McKenna of his adventure, the next day,
and Linden was soon in possession of the fact. When subsequently
consulted about his conduct on the occasion
Capt. Heisler said he had heard considerable about Tom
<span class='pageno' id='Page_337'>337</span>Hurley, and believed that the brothers might attempt some
trap upon him. Still, when he refused to be left alone, he
had not the least suspicion that in so doing he twice
thwarted the would-be assassins.</p>

<p class='c001'>Jim Hurley was no more placed on guard at Shenandoah
Colliery.</p>

<p class='c001'>The resumption was not again interfered with, and by the
sixteenth of June became quite general in the coal regions.
Even the Mollies went to work, having stood out as long as
they deemed it possible, and finding that, without their aid,
the company were able to continue their mining operations.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mr. Linden, at about this time, met some adventures,
which must be described.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch32' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXXII.<br> <br>LINDEN FORMS AN ACQUAINTANCE.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Captain Linden made a flying visit to Shoemaker’s Patch,
when once informed of the attempt upon the life of Wm.
M. Thomas, where he met the injured man, frescoed and ornamented
with plentiful patches and plasters, and bolstered
up in bed, loudly proclaiming he was quite well enough to
resume his daily work, and that he should do so on the morrow,
despite the advice of an army of surgeons and nurses.
Considering that he had received four serious gunshot
wounds, one disabling the fingers of his right hand, two in
the neck, and one penetrating the chest, this might be
thought rather rash talk and conduct. Linden so believed,
and endeavored to soothe and curb him. It was of no use.
The madcap bruiser said he would kill anybody who tried to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_338'>338</span>prevent his going out the next day. And, in defiance of all
the laws of physic, pharmacy, surgery, and precedent, he did
walk to the stables the second morning subsequent to the
shooting. One of the bullets, hitting him in the neck, had
plowed a passage, through muscular fibre and cuticle, missing
by only half an inch the inner jugular vein and adjacent
carotid artery, and, should the coats of any of these large
blood-courses slough away, his death would be certain and
speedy. Without awaiting this crisis, and with the first
plasters still on the hurts, the careless and reckless man resumed
his job in the stables. Fortunately the injuries continued
healthy, rapidly healed, and in a few weeks Thomas
was just as strong as ever, and as anxious to kill a Mollie
Maguire as before receiving the shots of his assailants.</p>

<p class='c001'>Linden sought to learn all the particulars of the assault,
concealing the knowledge he had already received, and
therefore interrogated Thomas closely, generally securing
prompt responses to his queries. In answer to the question:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Do you know any of your assailants?”</p>

<p class='c001'>Thomas answered:</p>

<p class='c001'>“No! But shall know some of them if ever I see them
again! A feller generally recollects the faces of them what
pulls a pistol and shoves it inter his face! Leastways I do!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That’s true!” assented Linden.</p>

<p class='c001'>“There was but four of ’em! I’m sure of that! I saw
’em before they got nigh the stable, as they were sitting near
the drift-mouth, but thought nothing of it. It was no new
thing to find men there, and even strangers. I had been
talkin’ a bit with the stable boss, when I again saw the
fellows, this time coming toward the stable. Still, I had no
suspicion of their purpose. The next thing I recollect was
a youngster, sticking a bright seven-shooter in my face! I
went fur him, and seized the pistol with my hand. It was
discharged as I caught it. I let go, and shied my hat in his
face, and just afterward another of the party came up and fired
<span class='pageno' id='Page_339'>339</span>at me! After that, two more came and followed suit, when
I thought it time to get shelter, so I went behind a horse, and
they fired and hit the horse, and he fell, and I went down
with one leg sorter under him, an’ they looked in, saw me
as they thought, dying—but I’ll let them know I’m good for
the lives of some of them bucks yet!—an’ left the place.
It was about half-past six in the morning—just nigh sun-up,
an’ I could see them as plain as I can see you! Of course
I’d know the first one that shot, and I believe I’d recognize
the rest if brought before them. I mean to live to see the
scoundrels punished! If the law will not do it, Bill Thomas
will! The sneaking, cowardly curs went up the hill like a
shot, and were out of sight in two minutes, before anybody
could catch them! One walked a little lame. I recollect
that, for I stood up as soon as I could and looked after them.
Dr. Bissell, of Mahanoy City, got here soon afterward and
dressed my hurts. He had the impudence tell me I must
keep my bed for the next ten days at least! I’ll see
him and all his plasters, pots, and vials in h—l before I’ll do
that!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Linden tried hard to convince the wounded man that it
was as much as his life was worth to venture out until the
result of his hurts could be definitely ascertained, but made
no impression upon the stubborn fellow. Seeing that this
would not succeed, the officer tried another tack, and found
Bill ready and willing to second his efforts in hunting up
and arresting the would-be assassins. Said the operative:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Now, Thomas, if you will not obey me, or your friends
and physician, I do hope you will bear in mind what I say
in another direction!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“What is it?” asked the frescoed man, sullenly.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I want a promise that, if any one asks who shot you, the
answer shall be, ‘I don’t know!’”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Neither <em>do I</em>—so that’ll be no lie!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, if people inquire what the four men were like, say,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_340'>340</span>for the present, that there was so much smoke you could not
distinguish their faces or figures!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll do it, Captain” responded Bill, with an oath and a
groan. “I’ll do it! But what is it for? That’s what I
want to know!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll tell you! If these Mollies hear that you, their
intended victim, cannot recall their appearance—in fact,
would not know them if they were to come again before you—they
will be emboldened to remain in the neighborhood.
In the meantime, I can be on the lookout, and you may
rest assured, if I once get my hands on them, they’ll be put
in a safe place, where you can come and identify them! I
have your description of the parties, and do not think I
will be long in running them down! Do I have your
word?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes, Captain! I’ll promise to be straight out in the
business, if you think it’ll help in bringing the crowd to jail!
I do hope to see the day when the scoundrels will suffer for
the deed!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“They will be arrested, you may be sure, when found!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Once more impressing upon Thomas’ mind the necessity
for silence and caution, Linden left the house, and, the same
day, returned to Shenandoah. While Thomas was a desperado,
had the reputation of an amateur pugilist and a
rough customer, all this did not palliate the crime of his
enemies. I was very anxious to have them captured, and
work was at once commenced upon that portion of the
business.</p>

<p class='c001'>Wm. M. Thomas was of Welsh descent, and his real name
was Willmad Frank, but he was generally known as Wm. M.
Thomas—or “Bully Bill.” Why people persisted in calling
him by the latter coarse title, he told Linden, he had no
knowledge. He did not particularly delight in the <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span>, yet
it was quite appropriate, in slang parlance, being founded
upon his daring and reckless personal character. His father’s
<span class='pageno' id='Page_341'>341</span>name was Frank. That should have been his own, but he
was everywhere denominated Thomas.</p>

<p class='c001'>When the Mollies heard that Bill was not dead, after all
the powder and ball that had been wasted upon him, they
were enraged. It was not policy for them to emit their
wrathful feelings on the public streets and in the presence
of strangers, but in their own secret circle they were loud in
denunciations of Hurley, Gibbons, Doyle, and Morris, as
foolish bunglers, who did not have the nerve to face “Bully
Bill!” The four worthies received little sympathy from
those who knew their part in the tragedy, and those who did
not were as likely to speak their feelings to their very faces
as in the presence of others. Gibbons had gone. Morris,
Doyle, and Hurley were at work. The general public merely
read the published accounts of the attempted murder in the
newspapers, and gave little thought to solving the riddle
as to who had wrought the deed, or wherefore it had
been done. It was charged upon the Mollie Maguires,
however, as it was known that Thomas had made himself
peculiarly obnoxious to that class, and it was supposed
his end would one day come through use of their pistols.
At present Wm. M. Thomas survived and swore eternal
vengeance.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was not difficult for McKenna and Linden to form a
plan by which the latter should become acquainted with the
prominent Mollies in and about Shenandoah. A time was
appointed when Linden should encounter his brother detective
at Cleary’s saloon, where the clan mostly congregated,
after the departure of McHugh, and after the little misunderstanding
McKenna and his companions had had with Micky
Cuff about his teeth. They entered the place separately,
one day, finding themselves in the presence of Muff Lawler,
John Delaney, of Number Three, and some others, when
Linden pretended to recognize McKenna as an old acquaintance,
from Buffalo, whose face he had not seen for several
<span class='pageno' id='Page_342'>342</span>years. They shook hands heartily and were greatly rejoiced
at the seemingly accidental encounter.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Glad to see you again!” said Linden.</p>

<p class='c001'>“It plazes me, too, tho’ I can’t say much for the sarvice
ye are in,” answered the detective, scowling upon Linden
rather ferociously.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, that need not part old friends!” responded Linden.
“You know I always perform my duty, and as long as I say
nothing about your Buffalo matter, and do not go out of my
way to harm you or your friends, I don’t see the need for
quarreling! Come, let’s have something in remembrance
of old times!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m agreed!” responded McKenna, and he was prompt
in walking up to the bar, followed by the assembled Mollies,
all of whom drank at the Captain’s expense. Had he not
shown himself an old friend of McKenna, there were few of
the Mollies who would have cared to take a glass in his
company. They soon found him a gentleman of his word,
and as he had promised not to hurt McKenna, they felt he
would be equally lenient to that person’s comrades. Lawler
was particularly struck with the frank and manly manner of
Linden, and said he was “proud to form his acquaintance!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Before Linden left the crowd it increased considerably in
numbers and its members were greatly under the influence
of the liquor they had consumed.</p>

<p class='c001'>The ice once broken, the Mollies did not wonder, or indulge
suspicion, when they saw Linden and McKenna occasionally
in company. It was not often they were found together,
and then there were always others present, to prevent
any private talk; but it was easy enough, when he
wanted to meet the officer alone, for McKenna to write it—as
well as the time and place of conference—on a bit of
paper, in his room, in cipher, and, when occasion gave
opportunity, quietly place the communication in Linden’s
hand, or in a side pocket of his coat.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_343'>343</span>On one occasion, the detective, having something particular
to transmit, made the open boast in Cleary’s that, his revolver
being empty, he would “do” Linden out of a fresh
charge. Slipping out of the room, a few minutes later, he
walked to the previously-appointed rendezvous, at the old
bridge, by the side of West Shenandoah Colliery, held the
necessary business talk, secured some cartridges, and, in
half an hour, was back at the saloon, exhibiting his loaded
pistol, and chuckling over the sly manner in which ammunition
had been obtained from the enemy.</p>

<p class='c001'>As a natural consequence of his defense of the Colliery,
and similar employment in other sections of the country,
Linden was soon well known as a policeman who had been
placed at the head of a special force; but his connection
with my Agency was carefully guarded until such time as it
might be necessarily or unavoidably revealed.</p>

<p class='c001'>At another time, Linden saw McKenna in Cleary’s place,
and, after a drink, in the course of conversation asked the
Shenandoah Secretary if he had any objection to talk over
old times, and if he should speak out before the company—nearly
all Mollie Maguires.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Av coorse you can!” said McKenna in a loud voice.</p>

<p class='c001'>“We are all friends of Jim McKenna,” remarked Muff
Lawler, “so see to it that you don’t say anything amiss of
him!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“No danger of that,” responded Linden. “He’s too
good a chum of mine, and I have known him too long, to do
or say anything to harm him!”</p>

<p class='c001'>In the course of the conversation Linden accidentally let
out the supposed fact that, while McKenna was the best-hearted
man alive, and the truest friend, he would traffic in
counterfeit money, if he had a chance, and when beset, was
a very devil in a scuffle, as one fellow in Buffalo had found
out when it was too late. McKenna said very little, and
allowed his friend to freely chaff him to his face, simply responding
<span class='pageno' id='Page_344'>344</span>that he knew the source whence the stories came
and did not care for them.</p>

<p class='c001'>After Linden had gone, Muff Lawler took McKenna aside
and whispered in his ear:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I don’t believe, Jim, that Linden would arrest you for
any crime whatever! He seems a jolly chap, and is too
generous an’ true to take in an old companion!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“He is mightily changed, if he is not all ye can say that’s
good,” responded the detective; “but let us be wary, even
of him! He’s a sworn peace officer, an’ I know he’ll do his
duty, no matther who sthands in the way! It is my intintion
never to throw myself in his road, if I happen to be wanted
for anything in particular!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well,” resumed Muff, “ye may be all correct, but it
seems to me that I could depind upon him and never be
decaved!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Linden had thus built the foundation for what was fated to
be a considerably extended and intimate acquaintance with
the Mollie Maguires.</p>

<p class='c001'>The shooting of Wm. Thomas, and its failure in a fatal result,
caused extra exertions to be put forth by the members
of the Mollie order, in different localities, to make trouble
for the Coal and Iron Company, the Superintendents of
which were determined to continue work in their own way.</p>

<p class='c001'>Pat Butler, Bodymaster at Loss Creek, came to McKenna,
a few days subsequent to the incidents just detailed, and
said his men were anxious to put an end to shipping of coal
over the Lehigh Valley Road, and wanted his assistance.
The operative demurred, said McAndrew had returned, was
the man to apply to, and finally refused to entertain any
such proposition. A little later, rails were torn up on the
road mentioned, and trains must have been smashed in
pieces and people killed had not the engineer, who was on
the alert, discovered the trouble in season. Butler, it will be
remembered, was in favor of the Catawissa bridge-burning,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_345'>345</span>heretofore alluded to, and which had been given up when
outsiders became interested. He was still solicitous that the
job should be done, by Mollies alone, but McKenna boldly
opposed the work, and after a while forced him to abandon
the project.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next plan was broached by Thompson, of Number
Three, who sought aid in throwing the passenger train off the
track of the Shenandoah Branch. McKenna caused a delay,
urging want of men, and then agreed, but finally backed
out, saying it was too dangerous to human life. So this was
effectually stopped, and the men gathered for the purpose of
its execution were sent home.</p>

<p class='c001'>Determined to do something devilish, Thompson, Doyle,
Murphy, and John Dean, came together and turned loose the
brake of a horse car, loaded with iron, let it fly down, over
the steep grade of the main line of the road, when they knew
the passenger train was coming up from an opposite direction.
Had not the flying and deadly missile—for it sped
over the track like an arrow from a bow—been observed at
Loss Creek Store, and a word of warning telegraphed the
cars to get on the side track, hundreds of lives would have
been wantonly sacrificed.</p>

<p class='c001'>A little later, Tom Hurley and Jack Hilbert entered
Penitentiary Drift, then being worked by a Mr. Schwartz,
took away all the tools, powder, and harness, and the property
they could not carry destroyed and emptied into the creek.</p>

<p class='c001'>Soon after these things occurred the detective was given
fresh cause for uneasiness, in the expressed determination of
Frank McAndrew to once more leave for another mining
locality in search of work. Should the Bodymaster carry
out his threat the management of the division would again
be left to McKenna, a consummation not devoutly to be
wished. The detective, therefore, endeavored to show to
the perverse McAndrew that the work already begun would
soon result in a general resumption of mining all over the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_346'>346</span>Mahanoy Valley, in spite of the strikers, when work would
be as plentiful there as anywhere. All he had to do was to
counsel quiet, do his best to put the men in good humor, and
he would not be forced to remove from Shenandoah.</p>

<p class='c001'>“This is all mighty fine,” answered McAndrew. “Still,
it’s nothin’ but talk, an’, be gorra! it taks cash to buy the
childer clothin’ fur their wearin’ and bread for their atin’!
If I don’t get somethin’ to do in a week or two, I tell you,
seriously, that Shenandoah won’t see my face for a long
while! I’ll turn me back upon it wid all the speed imaginable!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Would McAndrew desert the place, and once more leave
the Secretary in the toils? McKenna determined that he
should not go, if he could find anything to prevent. But
what could he do to keep him at home?</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
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  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch33' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br> <br>PRESIDENT GOWEN AND THE LEGISLATIVE COMMISSION.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The Legislature of Pennsylvania, listening to the repeated
demands of the dissatisfied and the call of the Anti-Monopoly
Convention, heretofore alluded to, in 1875 appointed a
committee to investigate the affairs of the Philadelphia and
Reading Company. That commission convened at Atlantic
City, New Jersey, the 29th of July, in the same year, and
heard such testimony as the complainants could bring before
it, as well as the pleadings of the able attorneys representing
the prosecutors of the inquiry. Mr. Gowen, the President
of the Philadelphia and Reading Railway Company, personally
appeared before the committee and made answer to the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_347'>347</span>charges. I have deemed it necessary, in order that the
careful reader may fully comprehend this entire operation
and the extent to which it reached, to give a brief abstract
of the principal points in Mr. Gowen’s exhaustive, comprehensive,
and unanswerable argument, which is hereunto appended:</p>

<p class='c001'>After furnishing a condensed history of the Reading Railroad
Company, which was chartered in 1833, and opened to
the coal regions in 1842—enlarging gradually from a line of
fifty-eight miles of single track, in 1835, to over one thousand
miles, in 1870—468 of these being in the coal fields alone—Mr.
Gowen alluded, in fitting terms to the various trials the
Company had had in the Legislature, while he was counsel,
opposing franchises to other companies securing liberty to
mine iron and coal. He succeeded, at one time, by an
amendment, in preventing an act, in favor of an antagonistic
<a id='corr347.16'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='coporation'>corporation</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_347.16'><ins class='correction' title='coporation'>corporation</ins></a></span>, having any operation in Schuylkill County.
Then the Company bought up large quantities of coal land
and had the Franklin Coal Company incorporated. This
was followed by the strike of 1871, after which the Reading
management determined to enter the field as coal and iron
miners and obtain a grant from the Legislature for the formation
of an auxiliary coal and iron corporation. This gave
rise to the Laurel Run Improvement Company. They
bought one hundred thousand acres of land, and it was conveyed
to the Company. Forty millions of dollars were thus
expended.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mr. Gowen subsequently traced, in brilliant and striking
contrast, the respective positions of New York and Philadelphia,
showing the benefits to be conferred upon Pennsylvania
by preventing the grasping New York associations from obtaining
a monopoly of the southern, as they had of the
northern coal fields.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Reading Company, now that Mr. Gowen’s plans have
succeeded, ships from the city of <a id='corr347.34'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Philadalphia'>Philadelphia</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_347.34'><ins class='correction' title='Philadalphia'>Philadelphia</ins></a></span>, alone, two
<span class='pageno' id='Page_348'>348</span>millions five hundred thousand tons of coal a year, in vessels,
has shipped as much as ninety thousand tons a week, and the
commerce and prosperity of the port of Philadelphia, as a
shipping point, are much more dependent upon the industry
which it brings to it than upon all others put together. It
can now say to the manufacturer: “Here is a Company
that owns lines of railroad in the heart of a rich agricultural
region, where labor is plenty and always will be abundant;
we own the coal mines, and you can come here to locate
your works, in the confidence that self-interest alone, and the
worship of the almighty dollar—generally supposed to be
implanted in the breast of a corporation, without regard to
any benevolent or philanthropic ideas in the minds of the
gentlemen connected with the Company—will induce us to
let you have this fuel at less than you can buy it from an
individual.”</p>

<p class='c001'>After giving some pertinent figures regarding the productiveness
of the coal region—alluded to in an opening chapter
of this work—the President went on to state that, at the end
of the year, while the Schuylkill had only increased, in 1870,
to four millions eight hundred and fifty-one thousand eight
hundred and fifty-five tons, or twenty-nine per cent., in the
same time the Wyoming region increased from two millions
nine hundred and forty-one thousand eight hundred and
seventeen tons, to seven millions eight hundred and twenty-five
thousand one hundred and twenty-eight tons, or one
hundred and sixty per cent. Here was an increase of one
hundred and sixty-six per cent., against twenty-nine, due to
the fact that the Wyoming region was controlled by large corporations
which could expend money in developing the lands,
and who were not liable to be prostrated by a monetary panic.</p>

<p class='c001'>In the four years, from 1870 to 1874, the tonnage of the
Schuylkill region has increased thirty-three and twenty-three
one-hundredths per cent., and that of the Wyoming only
eighteen and one one-hundredth per cent.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_349'>349</span>The peculiar business transactions of factors in Philadelphia
were then ably discussed, and received at Mr. Gowen’s
hands the exact treatment they deserved, when he turned
his attention to the retail dealers, and some of the iniquities
of their system, after which he examined, <span lang="la"><i>seriatim</i></span>, the four
principal charges made against the Company, in the following
order: 1st, of detention of cars; 2d, of short weights,
3d, of an unfair distribution of cars; and 4th, of a combination,
or conspiracy, to control production, which, if proven,
renders it amenable to the law, and which shows it to have
been guilty of an abuse of its corporate franchises.</p>

<p class='c001'>As to detention of cars, Mr. Gowen explained the cause
to be unavoidable, at times, but said the Company always
endeavored to deal justly by its patrons. Detentions were
principally from accidents to trains and to cars. They
employed a Missing Coal Agent, and did everything in their
power to be prompt.</p>

<p class='c001'>The speaker made a complete demurrer to the charge of
short weight, and fairly turned the tables upon those fighting
his corporation, exhibiting the result of a test given the
retail dealers in Philadelphia, greatly to the discredit of the
latter. In many cases these very honorable retailers sold
from thirteen to sixteen and eighteen hundred pounds of
coal for a ton, annually realizing a handsome percentage
from their villainy.</p>

<p class='c001'>Unequal distribution of cars was equally well refuted.
Then the opponents of the company said: “Philadelphia is
not the place to make the investigation in. We must
‘beard the lion in his den.’ We must go right up to Pottsville.
The newspapers of Philadelphia are worth nothing.
They are all in the interest of the Company, and as for Mr.
Gowen, he will not venture ten miles out of Philadelphia;
if he does, he will be shot by the miners. We will take the
committee where everybody is opposed to the Company.”
It was just where Mr. Gowen wanted to go. His adversaries
<span class='pageno' id='Page_350'>350</span>had two weeks, and then there was an adjournment of
nearly ten days more, in which to prepare for the Pottsville
campaign. Mr. Bronson moved his headquarters to Pottsville,
and examined the matter carefully. Mr. Gowen was
present. Threats did not intimidate him. What was the
result? The allegations were abandoned. Even the discharged
employés of the Reading Company, when put on
the witness’ stand, said nothing to reflect upon its management.</p>

<p class='c001'>As to the charge of unlawful confederation, the speaker
was equally felicitous. The object in entering into alliance
with the New York Companies was simply this—to announce
as the future policy of the Company that the price of coal
should be lowest at the mines, and increase with every mile
of distance over which it was carried; that it should be just
that much higher in the city of New York than it was in
the city of Philadelphia as was due to the increased distance
of the former from the region where the coal was produced.
It was so adjusted that, instead of coal being a
dollar a ton cheaper in New York, the difference between
the price of coal in the port of Philadelphia and in the city
of New York was exactly one dollar a ton in favor of Philadelphia;
and coal in Boston was exactly so much higher
than coal in Philadelphia as was due to the cost of carrying
it from Philadelphia to Boston—namely, about one dollar
and sixty cents per ton.</p>

<p class='c001'>After speaking of the loss from deterioration of coal, by
exposure to the atmosphere, the risk of capital invested, and
faulty veins, Mr. Gowen thus alluded to troubles in the coal
region: “It will not do to say that these troubles result
from the inadequacy of the price paid for labor, because,
without exception, the rates paid are the highest in the world.
The high rates have had the effect of attracting to the coal
region a surplus of labor, more than sufficient to do the work
required; and it is the effort of this surplus to receive an
<span class='pageno' id='Page_351'>351</span>employment which it cannot really get that has led to all
these disturbances.” He would not be understood as reflecting
in any manner upon the laboring class of the community.
He believed ninety-five out of every one hundred
of the men employed about the mines in the coal region
to be decent, orderly, law-abiding, respectable men; but
there is among them a class of agitators—a few men, trained
in the school of the Manchester cotton spinner—brought
here for the purpose of creating confusion and to stir up dissension
between the employer and the employed. Mr.
Gowen here grew earnestly eloquent, and his language is
quoted in full:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I yield to no man living in the respect and admiration
that I pay to the workingman. Let him who will erect an
altar to the genius of labor, and, abject as an eastern devotee,
I worship at its shrine,</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘Gathering from the pavement crevice, as a floweret from the soil,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The nobility of labor, the long pedigree of toil.’</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>“I ask your attention, therefore, for a few moments to my
advocacy of the rights of labor. I stand here as the champion
of the rights of labor—as the advocate of those who desire
to work and who have been prevented from doing so. I
stand here to arraign before you a class of two or three
men out of every one hundred, who, by their machinations
and by their agitation, have held in absolute idleness and starvation
thousands and thousands of men for months. Why,
gentlemen, look at what we have undergone. When people
object to a profit of twenty-five or thirty cents upon the ton
of coal, I ask them to look at what those who mine coal
have had to submit to during the last six months. I have
had printed for your use a statement, from the daily reports
coming to me during the strike, of the outrages in the coal
region. Here I want to correct an impression that goes out
to the public, that these outrages are intended to injure the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_352'>352</span>property of the employer. They are not. We do not
believe that they are. They are perpetrated for no other
purpose than to intimidate the workingmen themselves and to
prevent them from going to work. I shall not read the list;
it is at your service; and you can look over it and see the
position we have occupied for months. But let me mention
a few of the glaring instances of tyranny and oppression.
At a colliery, called the Ben Franklin Colliery, the employés
of which were perfectly satisfied with their wages, had accepted
the reduction early in the season, and were working
peacefully and contentedly, the torch of the incendiary was
applied to the breaker at night. These men, having
families to support, working there contentedly and peacefully,
were driven out of employment by a few dangerous men,
simply for the purpose of preventing them from earning their
daily bread. I had some interest in the subject of the amount
of their wages, and I asked the owner of the colliery what
his miners were actually earning at the time when they were
prevented from working by the burning of the structure in
which they were employed, and he told me that the lowest
miner on his pay-list earned sixty dollars a month, and the
highest one hundred and thirty dollars; and yet, although
these men were peaceful, law-abiding men, they were driven
out of employment by an incendiary fire. At another colliery,
within five or six miles of this, a band of twenty or thirty
men, in the evening—almost in broad daylight—went to the
breaker, and by force drove the men away and burnt the
structure down. It belonged to a poor man. It was a small
operation. The savings of his lifetime were probably gone,
and his own employés, who had nothing against him, and
who were perfectly willing to work, were thrown out of employment,
and probably remain out of employment to this
day.”</p>

<p class='c001'>All schemes for causing the miner to provide for himself
when sickness and trouble came, having been found unavailing,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_353'>353</span>from the improvidence of the men themselves, the
Company announced, in January, 1876, a rule that, whenever
a man was killed in its service, a certain sum should be
paid for his funeral expenses; that his widow should receive
a fixed payment each week, in money, for a definite period,
or so long as she remained a widow, and that every minor
child of the deceased, unable to work, should have a designated
amount, weekly, all of which was to be paid out of
the treasury of the Company. Even this charitable and
beneficent plan was ridiculed by the people whose business
it was to destroy confidence and create trouble in the coal
region.</p>

<p class='c001'>When Mr. Gowen concluded, the committee made its
report, showing that there was no ground of action, and
that was the last heard of Legislative intermeddling with the
Company.</p>

<p class='c001'>The reader will observe that Mr. Gowen’s address appeals
directly to the workingman, and that his blows are mainly
showered upon the Mollie Maguires and their evil and
violent associates. Wishing to show the good the miner is
capable of doing, he speaks plainly, and without affectation,
so that the illiterate can understand as clearly as the
learned. He also desires to point out, and is successful in
depicting, the benefits actually accruing to Philadelphia and
the State of Pennsylvania through action of the two great
companies that he so ably represents.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was the sixth of July that the committee was in Pottsville,
where they supposed Mr. Gowen would not dare to
show himself; but in this the gentlemen prosecuting the
case were entirely in error. Mr. Gowen was there. Thinking,
as excitement ran high, and outrages were being almost
daily and nightly perpetrated in all portions of the coal
country, that the threats of the Mollie Maguires to kill the
President of the Company, might, if unprevented, be carried
out, I took precautions to block the enemies of that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_354'>354</span>gentleman in this regard. Detectives were sent from Philadelphia,
unknown to him, to watch over Mr. Gowen, and
McParlan, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> McKenna, was ordered to Pottsville to see
that the Mollies were not allowed a chance of preparation
to strike at the President without the knowledge was communicated
to others. It was during this excitement that
McKenna met with a mishap, which I must briefly describe.</p>

<p class='c001'>He was, one fine morning, walking about the city, and
came upon a suspicious looking man, who, the detective
thought, was throwing himself more frequently than absolutely
necessary in the presence of Mr. Gowen, and determined
to see who he was and what disposition he made of
himself. Informing Linden of this intention, he started.
The person under surveillance first entered Dormer’s Sheridan
House, remained there a short time and, coming out,
went to Hughes’ drinking place, in Center Street. In this
way he consumed the time until ten o’clock at night, McKenna
keeping continually on his trail, but entirely <a id='corr354.18'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='useen'>unseen</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_354.18'><ins class='correction' title='useen'>unseen</ins></a></span>
and unsuspected by the visitor. This constituted some
twelve hours of continuous shadowing, and the operative
had discovered nothing, except that his man consumed a
large quantity of liquor and walked very fast, occasionally
talking a short time with leading Mollies. He was well
tired of the business, but determined to see where the party
made his headquarters before he left him. It was surprising
how many people that comparative stranger knew in
Pottsville, and equally miraculous how fast he flew over the
uneven ground, climbing the hills like a native, and never
stumbling or falling, even after imbibing whisky enough to
kill an ox. McKenna, meanwhile, had been unable to secure
anything to appease either hunger or thirst and was nearly
prostrated.</p>

<p class='c001'>Finally the man traveled, at a late hour, on a hurried
walk, up Mahantongo Street, and, after a long and toilsome
pilgrimage, which the operative thought would never end,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_355'>355</span>paused before a small house in an eastern suburb of the city,
looked cautiously about, to see that nobody observed him,
and then, leaping the garden fence, entered the rear door of
the premises. A light still burned in the kitchen, and the
detective, assuring himself by actual observation that his
party did not live in the dwelling, but was courting the cook
in the back apartment, secreted himself in the shadow of a
large tree, on the opposite side of the street, and awaited
results. The stranger stopped more than an hour. McKenna,
his patience and strength quite spent, still persevered
in maintaining his watch.</p>

<p class='c001'>Presently he heard unsteady footsteps approaching, and,
fearing discovery, the operative sat down on the sidewalk,
took off his boot, and pretended to be very busily engaged
in extracting some apocryphal sand and gravel which had
worked into it through an indefinite hole in the upper-leather.
To the surprise of McKenna, he was accosted
by a thick, lubberly, short-set city policeman, evidently a
German. Seeing the <span lang="la"><i>pseudo</i></span> Mollie, he rolled along toward
his resting-place, and, in a decidedly thick and drunken
tone, demanded:</p>

<p class='c001'>“What for you lofe about here, eh?”</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna examined his boot more attentively, and answered
respectfully:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Begorra! Me boot hurts me foot! Sure, an’ I am
gittin’ some gravel stones out of it, when I mane to start for
home!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Py tam! I shows you what for you lounge around in
der dark! Get away from dis! Marsch along on der
schtreets!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Without waiting for McKenna to obey him, which he was
preparing to do, by drawing on his boot—meanwhile keeping
a sharp eye upon the door of the house in which his
friend was concealed—the brutal and besotted wretch struck
the detective a savage blow on the head with his heavy club.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_356'>356</span>Although it was an entirely unprovoked attack, and the
stroke brought blood freely from his forehead and nostrils,
the agent gave no answer, and made no effort to retaliate.
A second stroke, intended for his head, was parried skillfully
with his arm, and he walked away, down the street. The
vagabond policeman staggered along a few paces and fell
down upon the walk, in a state of drunken unconsciousness.
Continuing until he reached the shadow of the Catholic
church, McKenna stopped, bound up his head as well as he
could, and, then seeing his man emerge from the kitchen,
he once more started in pursuit. It seems that the fellow
had been merely paying a visit to his sweetheart, as he took
the road for the country, and, after following him several
miles, the operative dropped the trail and returned to his
boarding-house.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next day McKenna was a horrible sight to look upon.
With eyes clad in mourning, scalp bound up in plasters,
clothing torn and soiled, and limbs bruised, he thought he
had learned quite enough of Pottsville and its policemen.
And Pottsville had had enough of him, in his character of a
Mollie Maguire. It is fair to say that the particular watchman
spoken of did not remain on the force many weeks
longer, his place having been filled by worthier material.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch34' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXXIV.<br> <br>MURDER OF B. F. YOST.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>In the interim, while many of the collieries were beginning
to work, making up for lost time, and others putting
machinery in order, preparing to do so, the Mollies kept
themselves as active as ever, and McAndrew found himself
<span class='pageno' id='Page_357'>357</span>so busily employed, attending to the interests of his division,
that he was entirely unable to put his threat, to leave the
neighborhood, into execution, had he continued of that
mind. He was so chagrined by the failure of his comrades
to kill Thomas, that, for a fortnight, he made it his principal
daily duty to saunter about the streets, abusing the unsuccessful
men as “blundering idiots” and “arrant cowards,”
drinking much whisky, and everywhere asserting that, if the
job were to be tried again he would trust nobody, but just
attend to it in person. At about this time the Bodymaster
obtained employment in one of the Reading Company’s
mines, was well contented, and said no more about going
away. As McKenna had kept his word, and helped him all
he could, and really been instrumental in finding McAndrew
something profitable to do, the Bodymaster was a firmer
friend of the operative than ever. He proclaimed aloud,
wherever he went, that there was “no better man living than
Jim McKenna.” Few were bold enough to dispute this
statement. But for poor, unfortunate Mike Doyle, the
Bodymaster chose only hard and insulting words. He was
especially severe upon him, as it secured belief that he
might easily have finished Thomas had he not run off the
ground too early in the game.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was now arranged that Gomer James should be shot, on
or about the fifth of July, when a night picnic was to be
held in the neighborhood of Shenandoah. McAndrew
even went to Girardville, to see Kehoe and have him furnish
four men to do the act, but the King of the Mollies
said there were none in that place capable of transacting
such delicate business. McAndrew traveled to Big Mine
Run, found Barney Dolan, with a similar result, and returned
to Girardville, where he met Larry Crean, Bodymaster, and
that officer bluntly refused his request. Father Bridgeman
had, only the previous Sabbath, denounced Kehoe and himself
from the altar, and the Mollies were in a state of perturbation
<span class='pageno' id='Page_358'>358</span>from that reason. Otherwise the County Delegate
and the President of Girardville Division might have been
more efficient and prompt in seconding McAndrew’s proposition.
As it was, that person felt constrained to go home,
his aims as far from fulfillment as when he first departed from
Shenandoah. He told McKenna, the same night, that Jack
Kehoe was too mean to be half-way honest, and that he had
barely given John Gibbons a dollar and fifty cents toward
defraying expenses to Luzerne County, which was in contrast
with the action of Tom Donahue, who donated two
dollars in money, hired a horse and buggy, and drove Gibbons
over to Rupert Station, where he was to take the train
for Wilkesbarre—Tom Donahue being a poor man, while
Kehoe was known to have plenty of money.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective now knew where John Gibbons was.</p>

<p class='c001'>Finally, Pat Dolan, a brother of Barney, sent word to the
troubled Bodymaster of Shenandoah that he would find some
men, and lead them himself, and see that the James affair
was satisfactorily settled. The party was surely expected to
arrive in Shenandoah, at or before the picnic of the fifth of
July.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was near the same date that Pat Butler, of Loss Creek,
made his advent in Shenandoah, caused McKenna and some
others to meet him in the bush, and then and there gave out
that he would, in a day or two, bring five men over to take
the life of a boss named Forsythe, who had, in some manner,
made himself repugnant to a few of the clan.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was definitely arranged, through a suggestion from the
operative, that a second meeting, to perfect the plan of
attack, should convene, the following night, in a small
school-house on Number Three Hill. By this postponement
McKenna gained time in which to notify Superintendent
Franklin, who, in turn, took measures for warning Mr.
Forsythe, and this Mollie scheme of assassination was
wholly defeated. Mr. Forsythe had urgent business elsewhere
<span class='pageno' id='Page_359'>359</span>for a few weeks. Butler held his meeting; McKenna
attended, witnessed the discomfiture of the gentleman from
Loss Creek, when he learned that Forsythe had been suddenly
called away, and was as loud and vehement as the
rest in execrating the ill-luck that dragged a doomed man
from their murderous hands. Not a person present suspected
that Forsythe had been informed of the plot to take
his life. This was far from their thoughts. The disappointed
gathering in the dark, at the rustic school-house,
dispersed at an early hour, and the Mollies retired, unaccountably
cheated of their prey, to their homes.</p>

<p class='c001'>The fifth of July arrived, but not the men promised from
Big Mine Run. Certainly they did not show themselves to
the committee of Shenandoah Division, McKenna, John
Morris, and Mike Darcy, appointed to receive and lead
them up to their victim. To state the whole truth, this
committee was purposely dispersed by McKenna, who had
no desire to see James killed, and if Dolan’s party came to
the picnic there were none present to show them the least
attention. It is more than probable they never reached the
vicinity. The operative sent Morris to the base-ball ground,
on a plea that he should bring home Tom Hurley. Morris
at first obeyed orders, but found Hurley so drunk that he
could not be forced away, hence went in for a spree on his
own account and remained absent until past midnight.
Darcy was dispatched in another direction, with a different
excuse, and McKenna then waited alone—waited in the
city of Shenandoah, where he conferred with Linden,
informing him of the plans afloat, and telling him to have
his men near the picnic grounds, in case his own schemes
to prevent bloodshed should miscarry. Returning to the
festivities, after it was entirely too late to expect the Big
Mine Run men, the detective continued the watch.
Dancing was ended and the lights nearly all put out when
he left—and Gomer James had once more made a narrow
<span class='pageno' id='Page_360'>360</span>escape. Why the young man would persist in staying in the
neighborhood, after the repeated notifications he had received
to leave, or fail to take precautions against sudden
surprises, was more than the detectives could easily explain.</p>

<p class='c001'>But the murderous order was more successful in other
localities. It never paused or permitted its purposes to
entirely fail. The work was often slow, while the assassins
stayed their hands from week to week, but in few known instances
were attempts, once prepared for, easily abandoned
until the task had met at least partial performance. Wm.
Thomas was a living evidence of the fact. Time was yet to
bring forth many dead and silent witnesses to testify to the
same thing.</p>

<p class='c001'>The city of Tamaqua, in Schuylkill County, is a handsome
place of five thousand inhabitants, located fifteen miles
north-northeast of Pottsville, on the Catawissa Railroad, and
connected with the Philadelphia and Reading Railway by a
branch from Port Clinton. Like all the larger mountain
towns of Pennsylvania, Tamaqua has narrow streets, brick
sidewalks, steep ascents and descents, good hotels, fine business
and residence structures, and a mixed population, in a
great measure dependent upon the mining business for support.
There are seven or eight churches, which ring out
their musical chimes on the Sabbath day, with the usual
complement of banks, offices, and warehouses. Broad Street
is a principal thoroughfare. The town, or borough, has its
municipal officers, magistrates, and a small city police.</p>

<p class='c001'>On the night of Monday, the fifth of July, 1875, the ordinarily
quiet city was considerably excited over the conclusion
of the observance of the national anniversary, which had
absorbed attention during the day. There were many people
upon the streets, among others a few visitors from adjoining
localities. The police, at the time, consisted of only two
men, Benj. F. Yost and Barney McCarron, the former a
German and the latter of Irish descent, and they were expected,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_361'>361</span>in addition to regular patrol service, to light and extinguish
the gas lamps in the principal streets. Yost had
experienced considerable trouble with the Mollies, at the
head of whom was one James Kerrigan; had arrested the
latter for drunkenness on several occasions, and, as would
be natural in his position, sometimes felt compelled to use
his club to enforce obedience on the part of those apprehended.
McCarron came in for his share of ill-will, but,
from his German parentage, Yost was peculiarly disliked.
Several times had he been threatened with violence, but,
being a fearless man, an old soldier, and veteran of many
battles, the policeman laughed at danger and kept on in the
performance of his duty. McCarron was also openly menaced.</p>

<p class='c001'>Time passed until about midnight of the fifth, or the first
small hours before the dawn of the sixth, when McCarron
and Yost, passing Carroll’s saloon, noted that the place was
still open, went into a hotel, where they saw and drank with
Kerrigan—described as a small, round-faced, short and
stubbed little Irishman, and a miner, but then out of employment.
Subsequently they moved to the westward, on
Broad Street, extinguishing the lamps in their way. Soon
their task was almost done, and, before two o’clock in the
morning, the policemen turned toward Yost’s residence, near
the corner of Broad and Lehigh Streets, to partake of a
lunch, preparatory to finishing up the night’s work. They
had not put out all the lamps in the locality, but it was
customary, on their part, to have some refreshments before
ending the last half of the patrol, during which the city would
be in utter darkness, unless the moon shone—which it did
not—and, on this occasion, opened Yost’s front gate, passed
to a rear door, used a latch key, went into the house, and
found a simple repast ready spread for them, Mrs. Yost
having long since retired to her chamber on the second floor
of the building. Having satisfied their appetites and enjoyed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_362'>362</span>some moments of repose, they emerged from the same
door and went upon the street, prepared to turn off more
lights. Hearing the noise below Mrs. Yost was awakened,
arose, the night being warm, and sat by an open front window,
sending a loving word and look to her husband, as he
and his companion advanced to the performance of their
duty. It was a few minutes after two o’clock when she saw
Yost go toward the lamp at the corner, place the ladder
against its iron post, lightly ascend two steps, extending his
arm to shut off the gas. But his hand never reached the
base of the lamp. The woman beheld two rapidly succeeding
and alarming flashes of light, instantly followed by two
loud reports, and her husband fell, his face still turned toward
her, lighted up by the rays sent slantingly down from
the still blazing gas jet. That was all her eyes saw. That
was enough for her ears to hear. She ran madly down the
stairs, thinly clad as she was, and into the street, through
the front door, beyond the gate, and met the wounded man,
staggering and weak with loss of blood, clinging to the fence,
looking toward his once happy home. Alas! happy home
no more!</p>

<p class='c001'>“My God, Ben, what is it?” asked Mrs. Yost, her face
turning ghastly white.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p3322_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>‘Sis., give me a kiss! I’m shot and have to die!’</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>The wounded policeman threw his arms pleadingly forward
to her, and said, faintly:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sis, give me a kiss! I’m shot and I have to die!”</p>

<p class='c001'>She ran very fast, but before it was possible to reach him,
he came down upon the pavement, blood spurted from his
mouth, and he was, for a few minutes, unconscious.</p>

<p class='c001'>Meantime where was Barney McCarron?</p>

<p class='c001'>Having separated from Yost upon the street, he was going
slowly eastward, in the direction of Mr. Lebo’s dwelling, leaving
the other officer to care for the lamp near his own
house, and had expected him to come up in a moment. But
that moment was destined never to arrive. Not hearing
<span class='pageno' id='Page_363'>363</span>Yost’s familiar footsteps, McCarron looked backward over
his shoulder, at the very second of time that Mrs. Yost was
gazing tenderly in the same direction. He heard the two
pistol shots, saw the quick-following flashes, and knew that
Yost was hit, as he dropped heavily to the earth. Two dark
figures had left the shadow cast by a collection of shade trees
near the fence, walked to within a few yards of the policemen,
discharged their weapons and started on a brisk run
toward the cemetery. McCarron immediately set out in
pursuit. Gaining somewhat upon the assassins, when near
a clump of bushes, he let fly two shots after them, and the
men paused long enough to return the fire, fortunately without
effect, and in a second resumed their precipitate retreat.
He could merely see, in the brief moment they stood in the
lamp-light, that one was a large man and the other somewhat
smaller. It was useless to go further alone. Hastening at
once to his wounded comrade, he aided some neighbors to
convey him into the house that they had so recently left in
such joyous mood. There Yost was placed on a lounge and
word sent for a surgeon.</p>

<p class='c001'>Dr. Solliday lived not far distant, and was soon on the
spot, but, after a brief examination of the injured man, said
he could live but a very short time. The bullet had passed
in at the right side, between the eighth and ninth ribs, and
hemorrhage would be sure to carry him off. There was no
human skill that would avail anything. The end must come.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mrs. Yost heard the sentence, and burst into passionate
weeping, clasping the fast-paling face of her dying husband
in her two hands, and kissing his livid lips as if her caresses
might renew his short lease of life.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Do you understand?” said the physician. “You are sure
to leave us in a very short time—possibly in one moment!
Tell me, before it is too late, all you know of your murderers!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The dying man’s fast-glazing eyes slowly opened and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_364'>364</span>stared vacantly in the face of his friend. But he recognized
the necessity for action.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I know,” he answered, in German, “I know! You
want the whole truth!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well! I was just outening the light when two men
made up to me and fired! They came down from the direction
of the cemetery, and, when they had done their work
on me, ran back in the same way. They were two Irishmen.
I truly think they shot me by mistake, meaning to kill McCarron,
there! They had threatened him, and he was afraid
he would get it. They were two strangers. Still, I should
not say that, for I have seen them before. They were both
down at Jim Carroll’s—a party of them—last night, and
Barney pointed them out to me, or I showed them to him—I
can’t tell which, now—as we went by Carroll’s!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This was all that the dying man could say just then.
After resting a space, during which his faithful mate knelt
at the side of the sofa and bathed his brow with her tears,
he motioned McCarron, who stood nigh, to move up closer,
and said to him:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Barney, who were those men that I pointed out to you—or
you pointed out to me—which was it?—as we passed Jim
Carroll’s saloon, last night? Didn’t you remark, ‘They’re
fellows from the other side?’”</p>

<p class='c001'>By “the other side,” Tamaqua people described the country
the other side of, or beyond, the Schuylkill.</p>

<p class='c001'>McCarron bowed his head and assented. He remembered
the time and event, but did not know the men.</p>

<p class='c001'>To all his friends, Mr. Shindel, Mr. Lebo, Mr. Shepp—the
latter his brother-in-law—Mr. Houser, and others, the
policeman made precisely similar declarations, knowing that
he must die. He did not want to accuse anybody unjustly.
To Dr. Solliday, who questioned him once more, he said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“One was a large man, and the other was smaller!”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_365'>365</span>“Was not one Jimmy <a id='corr365.1'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Kerrigan?’'>Kerrigan?”</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_365.1'><ins class='correction' title='Kerrigan?’'>Kerrigan?”</ins></a></span></p>

<p class='c001'>“No! He was larger! Kerrigan was not there! If
so, I did not see him! And I had been with Kerrigan just
before, at the United States Hotel, where he drank with me!
Oh, no! He didn’t do it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Was it Duffy?”</p>

<p class='c001'>The doctor was aware that Yost had had trouble with a
man by that name.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I am sure none of our men did it! They were strangers,
believe me!”</p>

<p class='c001'>To his brother-in-law, Daniel Shepp, the prostrate and
dying man said, as he closely held his hands, and the life-blood
slowly ebbed from his side:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, Dan! To think that I served so long in the
army, was in so many hard-fought battles, and escaped all
the bullets, to die now innocently!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This was about the last that the brave officer said, excepting
the utterance of some gentle words to his distracted
wife. At a little past-nine o’clock, the morning of the sixth
of June, 1875, seven hours subsequent to receiving his
wound, Benj. F. Yost breathed his last breath on earth, and
one of the most cruel murders of all the great number perpetrated
by the Mollie Maguires was consummated. It
was even then implicitly believed to have been the work of
the order, as, outside its blood-stained ring, Yost did not
have an enemy. The fact, also commonly credited, that
the assassins were strangers in the borough, or at least not
residents of it, gave color to this supposition.</p>

<p class='c001'>The carnival of blood had fairly commenced. This deed
was speedily to be followed by others of an equally mysterious
nature, and no man could tell whose turn must come
next.</p>

<p class='c001'>McCarron gave it up, after questioning Yost, that neither
Kerrigan nor Duffy, both of whom were enemies of the
dead policeman, from the same cause, having been arrested
<span class='pageno' id='Page_366'>366</span>by him while they were drunk, and, resisting, having felt
the weight of his baton, had fired the fatal shot; still it
could not be erased from his memory or belief that they
possibly knew something about it. Thinking of the men
he had noted at Carroll’s, and to whom Yost had, on the
occasion, made allusion, the partner of the deceased determined,
unknown to any person, to make an investigation of
the locality, and find if the same persons were still there.
The hour was nigh half-past four in the morning. Yost was
fast losing consciousness. McCarron went to Carroll’s, but,
after walking about the house and into the back yard, he
saw no lights, heard no sounds, or anything to indicate that
people were astir in the dwelling or saloon. Evidently all
were in bed. Nothing could be discovered of either citizens
or strangers, and he therefore returned to Yost’s residence
and there remained until taking the eternal farewell
of his friend and companion.</p>

<p class='c001'>B. F. Yost was thirty-three years of age, and universally respected
in Tamaqua, his widow constituting not the only one
that shed bitter tears over his untimely taking off. Hundreds
of men and women in the city, who knew his brave, frank,
and honest heart, and remembered the warm, firm grasp of
his strong hand, felt that they could mingle their tears with
those of the one left wholly bereaved and desolate by the
murderous bullet of the cowardly assassin. Some of these
thought that crime had now gone its length, and it was time
its course was ended. They had only seen the beginning,
but believed the end was in view. Among this class were
many men of wealth and influence, and those who grieved to
see the fair fame of their home smirched with innocent blood.
They then determined, if they could prevent, violence should
no longer reign in Schuylkill County.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_367'>367</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch35' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXXV.<br> <br>M<sup>C</sup>KENNA TAKES UP THE TRAIL AT TAMAQUA.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The wounding of Thomas, and subsequent murder of
Yost, were enough to assure me that more work of the same
character would speedily follow, unless earnest endeavors
were put forth to prevent. Do the best I could, the Mollie
Maguires would cause blood to flow. Their thirst had been
excited by the sight of the crimson tide, and other victims
must be struck down before the appetite was appeased.
Maddened by the goadings of the few turbulent spirits in their
midst, I knew they would never stop until they found the unavoidable
avenger on their track and the outraged law strong
enough to punish, blood for blood, life for life, “eye for eye,
tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.” It was my duty
to commence the work, upon the small foundation furnished,
in building up a force which should withstand the efforts of
the league and successfully battle with the midnight foe. My
plans were quickly formed, as quickly transmitted to Philadelphia,
and Mr. Franklin gave them, as far as was thought
advisable, to the operatives engaged in the mining country.
Linden, laboring somewhat openly—though not ostensibly
for me—was secretly to co-operate with McParlan, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span>
McKenna, who was by no means to be acknowledged by any
one as in the most distant manner connected with the
Agency. On the contrary, everything was to be done to
keep down a suspicion, should one arise, ever so faintly
foreshadowing any such relation. McParlan must be depended
upon to perform the principal service, in keeping
track and securing the arrest of the men who had attacked
Thomas, as well as those who were guilty of assassinating
<span class='pageno' id='Page_368'>368</span>policeman Yost. The substantial chain of circumstances,
and the testimony, must be so direct, unequivocal and convincing
as to leave no chance loophole for the escape of the
murderers, no scope for an <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span>, before a single guilty man
could be captured and brought to the prisoner’s box. Never
had a defendant, a member of this thoroughly organized
association for murder and all sorts of crime, received punishment
through the verdict of a jury, and many good men
despaired of ever accomplishing such a work; but I truly
considered that, if given plenty of time and saved from the
intermeddling of others, I could surmount the trouble, and
after a while drive the Mollie Maguires from their strongholds.
I would not be spurred on to take precipitate action.
My plans must all be brought to their proper denouement.</p>

<p class='c001'>Assuming such safeguards as he might think for the best,
McParlan was directed to go to Tamaqua and learn, if possible,
who had killed Yost, and there lay the groundwork of a
superstructure upon which the prosecution of the assassins
might be founded. He was to obtain such information as he
could, using his official relation with the order, as far as it
might go, and any other artifice, or detective scheme, which
should appear useful in gaining the desired results.</p>

<p class='c001'>The command for a change of his base of operations
reached McKenna on the fifteenth of July, and he at once
prepared to obey.</p>

<p class='c001'>Linden also received instructions to second McKenna,
but to refrain from making his appearance in Tamaqua until
requested by the other detective to do so.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Superintendent’s letter to McKenna did not find him
in the enjoyment of the best of spirits for a most dangerous
and difficult undertaking, from reasons which I will proceed
to explain. The previous day, Frank McAndrew having
moved into a house at Indian Ridge Breaker—or Davis’
Breaker, as it was familiarly called—engaged with a number
of Mollies in a great carousal, which lasted until midnight,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_369'>369</span>and, having inveigled McKenna into the affair, succeeded in
keeping him up and employed, there and elsewhere, all
night. This, with a return of a chronic sore throat, from
which he was suffering, made him almost ill again.</p>

<p class='c001'>Indian Ridge Breaker is situated on the road by Lanagan’s
Patch, leading to Mahanoy City, from Shenandoah, and
not far from the shebeen shop of Mrs. Bridget Monaghan,
twice a widow, but far from ancient at that, although “fat,
fair, and forty” was applicable as an imperfect description
of the lady. She occupied the stone basement of a tumbledown,
three-story wooden building, the upper floors of which
were devoted to the midnight gambols of predatory cats and
daily incursions of migratory rats—the hallways filled with
webs of spiders that, with the mice, made nests in the corners
of the vacant rooms—and her subterranean abode was,
like that of handsome Micky Cuff, the habitation of geese,
ducks, chickens, goats, and pigs, among which Mrs. Bridget
walked, “monarch of all she surveyed.” This was a favorite
and frequent place of resort for McAndrew and other
Mollies, and the stories that gained circulation concerning
the flitting of spirits, clad all in white, through the upper
corridors of the structure, at the dead hour of night, and the
gleams of an occasional flame—burning pale, sickly, blue
and ghastly, as some benighted miner was fain to report to
his superstitious household—all may have been due to the
meetings of the society in the otherwise untenanted place,
and the failure of the impromptu janitor to put up a curtain
close enough to prevent a ray of the single candle, lighting
their deliberations, from escaping. It was a famous place
for the telling of ghost stories, and McKenna, who was an
adept at the relation of mysterious events, as well as singing
songs and dancing flings and jigs, frequently held the Mollies
spell-bound for hours, while he chronicled the scenes he had
seen and the ghosts and ghouls he had heard about in the
old country. His legends were in great demand, and sometimes
<span class='pageno' id='Page_370'>370</span>he indulged in the narration of one in the presence of
the widow, who, meanwhile, would draw herself up close to
the story-teller—story-teller in more respects than one, it is
to be feared—and declare that the company positively should
not leave her “hotel” until daylight, if she had to supply
the drinks and other comfortables at her own expense. It
was not difficult to win over the Mollies to remain and
“keep off the <em>banshee</em>,” if she only put out the overflowing
noggin with a generous hand. And this she did. To the
credit of the widow be it said, the love of drink and indulgence
in gossip were among the worst of her failings. In
every other regard she was considered a respectable and
honorable member of her kind of society.</p>

<p class='c001'>During the repetition of these hair-raising and blood-curdling
fabrications, given in the detective’s best vein, the Mollies
habitually and involuntarily threw off reserve and spoke
boastfully of their own adventures, not forgetting deeds they
had recently participated in. Through this action McKenna
received many a hint that he could use and improve upon
when the time came. It was easy, under such circumstances,
to obtain the confidence of the most hardened of the
brotherhood.</p>

<p class='c001'>The night spoken of, McAndrew, Ed Ferguson, and McKenna,
with several more of the gang, were at Wiggan’s
Patch, and, returning to Shenandoah, the proposition was
made to wake up the widow and take a drink in her shop.
Accordingly, Ferguson knocked loudly at the rickety door.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Who’s there?” asked a woman’s voice from within.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, it’s Ed Ferguson, and some friends! Let us in,
Mrs. Monaghan!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“All right!” said the lady, and in a few moments the
fastenings of the entrance were undone and the party entered,
warmly welcomed by the landlady, who, from the prevalent
heat of the night and sudden advent of her visitors,
had not donned any perceptible amount of clothing, but
<span class='pageno' id='Page_371'>371</span>proceeded to help them to liquor with the grace of a mermaid
in its native element, without even unfastening the
strings of her dingy night-cap.</p>

<p class='c001'>There was a feebly-burning lamp on the counter, which
illuminated the room, for it was by no means a large place,
showing the simple array of bottles on the shelves, the bed,
and other scanty furniture. But there was more in the apartment
than, at first glance, the operative was willing to
believe. Seeing that Ferguson was moving uneasily about,
Mrs. Monaghan said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Have a care, Ed Ferguson! Mind where ye put down
your two big fate, and don’t step on me chickens, plaze!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Having taken their drinks and paid for them, the men
were in for a lark, and Ferguson, knowing some of the
peculiarities of the widow, proceeded to make a search for
curiosities—and he found them. At the same time the detective
was nearly dead with the foul and fetid atmosphere
filling the unventilated basement.</p>

<p class='c001'>“What have we here?” said Ferguson, who, while
groping around where Bridget said “he had no business”—under
the bed—had caught somebody by the naked feet.
“A human being, as I live! And a woman at that!”</p>

<p class='c001'>He first dragged out in this ungraceful way a female—Mollie
Williams by name—who, stopping accidentally with
the landlady over night, had been frightened by the noise
the visitors made before entering and secreted herself beneath
the low bedstead with a part of the widow’s portable property.
An inventory of other things discovered in the apartment
would read as follows:</p>

<div class='quote'>

<p class='c001'>1 Widow Bridget Monaghan—very angry and flushed as to face and
scantily clad.</p>

<p class='c001'>1 maiden lady, of uncertain age, ditto as to raiment, and badly scared.</p>

<p class='c001'>5 goats, scattered about the floor very promiscuously.</p>

<p class='c001'>37 chickens—including one plucky game-cock.</p>

<p class='c001'>1 collection of new-washed female raiment, hanging damp on the line.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_372'>372</span>5 ducks and a drake.</p>

<p class='c001'>1 goose and a gander.</p>

<p class='c001'>1 demijohn—contents, whisky.</p>

<p class='c001'>2 tin pots for drinking purposes—of tin.</p>

<p class='c001'>1 stove and furniture—badly cracked in places.</p>

<p class='c001'>1 section of a log, for a chair—not cushioned.</p>

<p class='c001'>1 collection of miscellaneous articles, on the shelves, intended for sale.</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>His comrades drank several times, but McKenna could
not stomach the liquor in that den, and, taking a tin dinner
pail, which he found, he washed it out and milked one of the
goats, swallowing the warm fluid with a relish.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p3721_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>He sung, sitting beside the widow, on her bed, with Mollie Williams nigh, perched on the wooden excuse for a chair.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>As a natural consequence of the time, place, and opportunity,
McKenna was importuned for songs, which he sung,
sitting beside the widow, on her bed, with Mollie Williams
nigh, perched on the wooden excuse for a chair, and the
equally interested men, sitting on their haunches, and in
various extraordinary attitudes, around the room. The few
following hours until morning were consumed in the relation
of sundry soul-harrowing tales of ghosts, haunted houses and
church-yards, hobgoblins and spirits, to which all listened in
silence, only excepting an occasional interruption by the
widow when proffering more liquor, until the young man’s
throat and tongue fairly gave out from too much exercise,
and he was constrained to beg for a season of rest. The
sun was rising when the company, very well soaked in bad
liquor, oozed out of Mrs. Monaghan’s cellar and started on
a serpentine trail for home. As a consequence of inhaling
so much bad air, and from protracted confinement in foul
gases, the operative was so ill that, when he received Mr.
Franklin’s instructions to leave for Tamaqua, he felt more
like keeping his bed and sending for a physician.</p>

<p class='c001'>The uninitiated reader may be inclined to think my description
of Mrs. Monaghan’s groggery an exaggeration. The
thought is pardonable, but I assure those who have followed
me thus far in this recital, that, instead of being overcolored,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_373'>373</span>the whole truth, in all its details, has not been told. It
could not well be revealed without giving offense.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mrs. Monaghan subsequently married a man by the name
of Breyer, is yet living, and can, if she will, substantiate
every point I have given in reference to this night’s adventure
in her residence.</p>

<p class='c001'>To make matters more complicated, a letter came with
Mr. Franklin’s, from Linden, warning McKenna to look
out, as he was suspected by one of the principal bankers of
Shenandoah, of being a professional burglar, hanging about
the city for no good purpose. So firmly fixed was the man
of money and bonds in his belief, that he made the journey
to Pottsville, interviewed a city detective, and tried hard to
induce the officer to go to Shenandoah, see McKenna, and
keep close watch of his movements. The capitalist said he
could not tell when his vault might be attacked, and was
fearful its valuable contents would fall, easy-made plunder,
into the lap of that dreadful Irishman. Linden informed the
Pottsville policeman that, although McKenna was rogue
enough for almost anything, charged with a brutal murder in
Buffalo, where he formerly knew him, and, as he believed,
even then closely leagued with counterfeiters, yet he did not
believe he would, or could, burst a burglar-proof safe.
Linden further promised the banker’s friend that he would
take the matter in hand, go over to Shenandoah, and see
what McKenna really did intend. He “knew <em>he</em> could worm
the secret out of him.” Here the matter dropped.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was, after all, quite fortunate that this information met
the detective when it did, as through it a plan was suggested
to his sick brain by which he might easily depart from Shenandoah
without engendering suspicion in the minds of the
Mollies as to the real object in view. Dressing himself in
his rougher attire, and packing a supply of better clothing
in his valise, ready for starting, McKenna called on Frank
McAndrew, in the afternoon, found a number of his friends
<span class='pageno' id='Page_374'>374</span>present, and, taking the Bodymaster aside, held a short
whispered consultation with him.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faix, I hev very bad news this mornin’,” said the operative,
assuming a solemn air, greatly in contrast with his
usually radiant countenance.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Phat is it?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ve got a letther from me sisther, an’, would ye belave
it? them beggarly Buffalo detectives hev been to her house,
in Philadelphia, watchin’ an’ spyin’ about, an’ finally axin’
fur me an’ me whereabouts!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Indade? But I make sure your sister didn’t tell them?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“But she did, then!” And McKenna put on an appearance
of much anger. “She just said to them the last they
heard of me I was at Shenandoah, but didn’t belave I wor
there now! That was enough, I’m sure, fur they’re as
sharp as the edge of a razor, an’ I expect they’ll quickly be
here afther me. Me sisther sent a letther, warnin’ me, if
I had raison to fear them, jist to make meself scarce!
An’ now I must go! I shall only tell you where I’m really
goin’. If ye want me particular like, I’ll be in Mahanoy
City, or Pottsville occasionally, an’ ye may write me at
these places—but holt! perhaps ’twould be betther not
to send me anything until ye hear from me! As soon as
I’m settled a bit I’ll let ye know. In the meanwhile kape
dark! If anybody inquires for the address, say that ye don’t
know where I am—but I tould ye I wor goin’ to see some
friends in Canada—that’ll put them on a false trail!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll mind all ye say,” answered McAndrew, and he
pulled a long face, when he thought how he would manage
the division without his Secretary’s assistance.</p>

<p class='c001'>Taking a few drinks of beer with the persons in the room—for
McAndrew kept a liquor supply by this time—the detective
left the house, moved deliberately to his boarding-place,
told a similar story to Cooney and his family, put his
satchel in the hands of an Irish lad that he could trust, to be
<span class='pageno' id='Page_375'>375</span>taken to him at the depot, and then appeared as usual among
the remainder of his companions. A more despondent detective
never was seen. He was sick; his head ached, and his
whole system needed rest. Despite all, however, he managed
to keep up a fair external demeanor, joked with his Mollie
friends, and even sung a laughter-provoking ditty. When the
time for the departure of the train arrived, he excused himself,
walked rapidly to the depot, found his satchel and his
messenger, tipped the boy a quarter of a dollar, seized the
baggage, mounted the car, just as it started out, and, in a
few moments, was trundling over the hills in the direction
of Tamaqua. He fell asleep—after half an hour’s uneasiness,
fearing he might be recognized by some one, but discovered
he was unknown to all about him—and was in a
sound slumber when he reached the place of his destination.
“Tamaqua!” shouted in a loud voice, by the brakeman,
awoke him, and he alighted at the depot as the locomotive
gave a preparatory shriek and glided, with its serpent-like
string of cars, along and around the mountain.</p>

<p class='c001'>Notwithstanding the fact that McKenna had tasted nothing
stronger than water, coffee, and Cronk beer, throughout
the day—in truth during several days—he was so much overpowered,
apparently with liquor, when he reached the front
door of the Columbia House, the same night, that he fell
sprawling across the threshold, his satchel flying in one direction
and his hat in another. His old acquaintance, Marks, the
landlord, was compelled to fly to his assistance, gather up his
scattered goods and chattels, lead him to a seat, and finally
escort him safely to a room and bed, the besotted guest all the
while muttering to himself almost unintelligible Irish jargon,
about some “<em>dawshy-dawshy, allana machree</em>, all the way
from auld Erin,” that he had been to call upon, and the “bastely
<em>calliagh</em>, her mother, had forbidden him the house, bad
cess to her night-cap!” In truth, he was maudlin over some
one that be named his “<em>colleen bawn</em>, wid the <em>rucket</em> head!”
<span class='pageno' id='Page_376'>376</span>Marks left him upstairs, without a lamp, stretched on the bed
to find the way under the covers as best he might.</p>

<p class='c001'>No sooner had the landlord made an exit than the detective
ceased his mutterings, arose, ran lightly and soberly to
the entrance, turned the key in the lock, and hung his hat
cautiously over the knob, as was his custom. Then, weary
and worn, and as sick as a man well could be and still retain
his senses, he undressed himself and retired.</p>

<p class='c001'>The few of McKenna’s Tamaqua acquaintances who recognized
him as he staggered up the street had no desire to
trouble the man in his evidently advanced state of intoxication,
and either turned off into by-streets and avoided his
presence, or failed to look in his direction. The word was
passed about the city, during the evening, that “that wild
Irishman, from Shenandoah, Jim McKenna, was in town
again, on a rousing spree, and would probably make things
uncommon lively the ensuing day.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Meanwhile the overtasked operative was sleeping calmly
and peacefully, and sweetly dreaming that he sat once more
in his home, by the western shore of Lake Michigan, hearkening
to the soft sound of the waves as they broke ripplingly
upon the sandy beach, whispering tales of other days, that in
his waking hours were almost effaced from remembrance.
The morning sun shone brightly when the agent awoke,
donned his miserable attire, and prepared to continue the simulated
debauch, which, he knew, would serve as a veil for his
real object in visiting Tamaqua, and in the end, he hoped,
bring him in communication with the murderers of Yost.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_377'>377</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch36' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXXVI.<br> <br>IN THE MURDERER’S NEST.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>After breakfast, the detective accompanied the landlord
to the bar and swallowed a powerful decoction of spirits,
lemon, and sugar, commonly termed whisky-punch, which
had the effect, in a little while, of tangling up his wits,
weakening his joints, and causing his eyes to see everything
in couples, even to the solitary chimney-tops of the houses
in the city. At least, so it appeared. But he retained the
sense of hearing sufficiently unimpaired to receive the full
benefit of Marks’ reflection, directed to the hangers-on of
the tavern, as he quit the house, and of which the agent was
the subject—to the effect that it was “a great pity he,
McKenna, had no head for resisting the stupefying
influences of strong drink.” This forms the substance of
the remark, but not exactly the language, which was very
coarse, and intensified by sundry adjectives and expletives
not mentioned to ears polite.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p3722_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>The Saloon and Residence of James Carroll.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>One of the first places honored with the detective’s presence,
after quitting the Columbia House, was Carroll’s,
where, as he had been informed by Superintendent Franklin,
Yost and McCarron saw the strangers, “from the other
side,” suspected of having committed the murder, the morning
of the sixth of that month. The saloon and residence
of James Carroll—all included in one building—was on
Broad Street, no great distance from the United States
Hotel. After calling on Patrick Nolan, another liquor-seller
with whom he was familiar, and from whom he
obtained more liquor, thus adding to his appearance of
drunkenness, the operative went direct to Carroll’s Union
<span class='pageno' id='Page_378'>378</span>House. Fortunately, the proprietor of the place and his
wife were the only occupants of the bar-room. McKenna
passed Carroll the sign for the quarter, while the proprietor
stood in the doorway, and Carroll answered correctly, then
warmly greeted him as a brother. The detective introduced
himself:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I am James McKenna, of Shenandoah! I think you
know me by report, but not by sight! Have often heard of
you, as Secretary of Tamaqua Division!”</p>

<p class='c001'>At this juncture, Mrs. Carroll, who had been standing
nigh, discreetly withdrew, and Carroll said: “Jim McKenna?
‘Heard of you?’ I think I have! You are
right welcome here!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m jist afther having a bit of a spree, as ye’ll doubtless
observe wid half an eye, an ain’t nigh so steady as I wor
yesterday, an’ don’t know as much by half, but I greet ye
kindly! Supposin’, now, you fit yourself inter the space
behint the bar an’ the shelves, an’ pour me out some gin?
I’m particularly partial to pure Holland!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Of course I will,” replied Carroll, and he served some
liquor, taking a stiff glass himself.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I can’t stay but a little time,” said McKenna, seating
himself before the counter and balancing his body unsteadily,
“fur I must get to Summit Hill, beyant, this afternoon,
fur to see Aleck Campbell!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Campbell is all right!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! Campbell is one of the thruest men in the
county, an’ one that I have taken a particular likin’ fur!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“You know Aleck and I are brothers-in-law?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ I hed no sich idea!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“We are! An’, if you stay in the neighborhood, you
must spake of me to him! It’ll be a good thing for you
to do!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll remember that, depend upon’t!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I suppose you’ve read of the Yost matter?” said Carroll.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_379'>379</span>“Oh, I saw somethin’ of it in the papers, but hev no
knowledge of the particulars! I belave, however, that the
Dutch policeman desarved all he got!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“It was a clane trick, an’ well done!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Some of the people in town are sayin’ that McCarron—isn’t
that his name?—did the whole thing!” suggested
McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>This groundless charge the detective had constructed,
from whole cloth, to draw Carroll out, but the saloon
keeper did not choose to say much. He responded:</p>

<p class='c001'>“There was mighty little difference in the two—McCarron
an’ Yost! I think Yost was a trifle the manest, but not
much!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This was considerable for Carroll to say, before a comparative
stranger, even though known as a good Mollie, but
contained no information; so, after another glass of gin,
which the detective dexterously threw out at the door, after
having changed the glasses and drank the water placed on
the counter with the liquor, McKenna took his leave, perceptibly
the worse for his morning drams, and boarded the
cars for Storm Hill, leaving his satchel at the Columbia
House.</p>

<p class='c001'>Arrived at his destination, the officer continued his appearance
of intoxication, and, after staggering about and entering
one or two saloons, rolled himself into Alex. Campbell’s
house, finding the proprietor at home, surrounded by several
other Mollies, all of whom seemed engaged in doing nothing
in particular, excepting the rapid consumption of the contents
of the bottles behind the counter. The reception accorded
McKenna was generous, finding that he had a few dollars to
expend, and Campbell and the rest being eager to assist in
that operation. When they had taken some rounds, of
which the detective was compelled to imbibe fully his share,
Campbell put on his coat, and signaling to McKenna, the
two started for a walk. They first made a call at Pat McKenna’s—whose
<span class='pageno' id='Page_380'>380</span>relative James McKenna, the operative, had
already made himself out to be—where an unusually warm
greeting awaited him. All of his second cousins were happy
to resume a companionship previously begun. This saloon
was kept by Pat McKenna, the father of the Old Mines
Bodymaster. Pat, junior, was not at home. The whole
country swarmed with Mollies, and Campbell, Fisher, and
Pat McKenna, junior, were the leading spirits in the division,
Fisher being at that date County Delegate of Carbon
County.</p>

<p class='c001'>As the agent considered the dangerous company he was
in, and the extra-hazardous duty he was performing, at the
very stronghold of the party that he was almost convinced
had assassinated the Tamaqua policeman—although he had
not gained any positive proof of their guilt—his mind was so
unduly excited, brain so highly stimulated and alert that he
might make no false step, speak no suspicious word, the
liquor he swallowed produced no more effect upon his organism
than so much water. Under similar circumstances a
man will drink, from hour to hour, all day, and never be
really intoxicated until the mental strain may be removed by
the taking away of the cause of danger, when sleep, or
stupor, will promptly supervene. Thus the detective joined
with Campbell, the McKennas, and others, and was not too
far gone to swallow several drams, after the walk in Campbell’s
company to the Summit. There Tom Fisher resided.
He was also a tavern-keeper.</p>

<p class='c001'>As McParlan—I shall call him by his true surname, while
describing his associations with the Carbon County McKennas,
to avoid confusion of titles in the reader’s memory—and
Alex. Campbell were tramping over the hills to Summit,
the agent, during a pause in the conversation, inquired if
news of the Bill Thomas affair had reached Storm Hill.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Indade an’ it has!” returned Campbell; “an’ I hear
it wur your men that did it!”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_381'>381</span>“I guess ye have it purty straight, then,” said McParlan,
not caring to spoil a story which was working tangibly in his
interest, and which would draw his companion on to say
more. “But ye must not let it out on me! I caution ye,
there’s many inquiries <a id='corr381.5'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='goin'>goin’</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_381.5'><ins class='correction' title='goin'>goin’</ins></a></span> on as to who performed that
job!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“All right!” responded Campbell. “Although the thing
ended in failure, it was well meant, and you were not to
blame!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“There’s <em>lashins</em> of betther men for such a thing than one
can get in Shenandoah!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I belave ye! Your fellows couldn’t do so clane a job as
that down in Tamaqua!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Here was very delicate ground. The tracer must say
exactly the right thing, if he desired to learn more. He was
very drunk, as Campbell truly believed, yet managed to
reply:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Be the great piper! but that wor a trick to be proud
of! Indade, the best thing of the kind I ever heard about!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The tavern-keeper looked proudly but searchingly at McParlan
for a second, seemed satisfied that he was trustworthy,
and exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, it do gain our lads credit! I wouldn’t have bothered
my head about it, only it was on a trade, you know!”</p>

<p class='c001'>As a natural consequence of the direction of his professional
duty, McParlan ardently desired to learn who was to
be killed in exchange for the shooting of Yost, and the names
of the men Campbell was just confessing he had sent to
Tamaqua, but he knew his business too well—inebriated as
he appeared to be—to put a leading inquiry in that direction.
Campbell then closed his mouth, possibly thinking he
was already more communicative than would be pronounced
exactly prudent, even with a man and a brother Mollie who
confessed to having secured and furnished the parties for the
shooting of Wm. M. Thomas, and said no more on the subject.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_382'>382</span>They found Fisher very much intoxicated and unwilling to
do anything but drink.</p>

<p class='c001'>By this time it was night, and, although considerably
“under the influence,” Campbell left the detective at
Fisher’s and went out to attend the meeting of a building
association, of which he was a member.</p>

<p class='c001'>McParlan was forced by the proprietor of the place to
remain with Fisher that night. He would listen to none of
his alleged reasons for returning to Campbell’s. It was late
when the operative retired, and in a few moments sleep and
weariness overpowered him.</p>

<p class='c001'>Friday morning, after breakfast and a parting glass with
County Delegate Fisher, who urged him soon to come there
again—certainly before leaving the vicinity—the officer returned
to Storm Hill and went directly to the saloon of the
elder McKenna, where he encountered Pat McKenna, the
Bodymaster, who introduced the visitor to his wife, with
whom he had not long before been united. There were a
number of Mollies about the place, and they experienced
little trouble in inducing McParlan to give them some
songs and dances. Among the former, “Pat Dolan,”
printed in an early chapter of this work, was a great favorite
and several times <em>encored</em>. At the second singing every man
in the bar-room joined in the chorus:</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Wid my riggadum-du—an’ to h—l wid the crew</div>
      <div class='line'>Wouldn’t help to free our nation;</div>
      <div class='line'>When I look back, I count ’em slack,</div>
      <div class='line'>Wouldn’t join our combination.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>In the jigs and reels there were some who took part, and
all beat time to the dancer’s heel-and-toe refrain. Both performances
gave great satisfaction, and at once seated McParlan
firmly in the good graces of all the Irish people of
Storm Hill.</p>

<p class='c001'>Pat McKenna, during the day, made a statement to the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_383'>383</span>detective sustaining what Campbell had previously said, and
more might have been gathered from the same source had
not the place been so crowded with patrons. The Bodymaster
was a little more cautious than Campbell had been,
and the officer did not press him, however badly he wanted
to have the names of the men who had been sent to put
Yost out of the way. That night McParlan, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> McKenna,
remained at the house of his <span lang="la"><i>quasi</i></span> and convenient
cousin, Pat McKenna, and enjoyed a good night’s sleep,
which, considering his arduous labors and long-continued
excitement of mind, he greatly needed.</p>

<p class='c001'>Saturday, the seventeenth of July, was a sunny and rather
sultry summer’s day. In the forenoon, McParlan entered
the bar of McKenna, senior, and was there joined by Mike
McKenna, a younger son of the tavern-keeper, and brother
of Pat, the Bodymaster. When all had taken some drinks
together, McParlan found a seat in the shade, not far away,
saying he felt very sick, after such a prolonged debauch, and
young Mike followed. Protected by the spreading branches
of a tree, the pretended cousin indulged his propensity for
romancing—in true interest of the public—to its full extent,
rehearsing with additions and embellishments, the absorbing
particulars of the many “clane jobs” in which he had participated—all
purely figments of the brain from commencement
to end, but given in such minuteness of detail, and
appearance of candor and frankness, that the interested
hearer took them in without doubt or distrust of their truthfulness.
Mike believed implicitly in Jim McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>When the searcher after knowledge had exhausted his
store of material and talked himself hoarse, Mike thought it
his turn to say something, and while he had little to urge for
himself, sung pæans to the prowess of his elder brother, Pat
McKenna, the Bodymaster. He spun many fine tales of no
particular value to his single auditor, but to all of which the
operative affected to give earnest and undivided attention.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_384'>384</span>In a little while, without in the least appearing to do so,
McParlan brought the young fellow around to the main
question, and he plainly stated that the men who had killed
Yost were Hugh McGehan and James Boyle, both then living
at Summit Hill.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Ye see, sir, it wor a bargain wid the boys around Tamaqua,
by Campbell, who jist wants some of them, wan of these
fine days, to do for Jones, who is a sort of Sub-Superintendent
at Old Mines. He is Charlie Parrish’s tool, an’ but fur
this fellow Jones we’d have been at work long ago! Hugh
McGehan is the best man at a clane job in all the county,
<a id='corr384.12'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='an'>an’</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_384.12'><ins class='correction' title='an'>an’</ins></a></span> it’s a pity fur him to have to lave now, after lyin’ idle so
long!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I was sure in my own mind, before, who had done the
trick! But, be jabers, it wor a well-laid plan, an’ mighty
nice wor it carried out! I suppose Jones will be taken off
directly the excitement of the last affair blows over!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McParlan was trying to learn facts by appearing to have
them partly in possession.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I thought ye knew somethin’ of the matther,” continued
Mike, “but don’t ye brathe divil a word to Pat, me big
brother, that I hev been chatterin’ here wid ye, fur he’d be
worse nor a mad dog over it! I don’t know when Jones is
to be shot—an’ possibly the thing has been given over—but
when Aleck Campbell makes up his mind to a thing it generally
has to be done sooner or later, so I rather opine that it
will come off yet!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I suppose it was Boyle who fired the shot that brought
Yost down?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“You’re wrong there, then, for it wor McGehan’s pistol
what performed the thing nately! But there’s brother Pat,
<a id='corr384.32'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='an'>an’</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_384.32'><ins class='correction' title='an'>an’</ins></a></span> I must be goin’! Don’t you say anythin’!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Depend upon me!” said McParlan.</p>

<p class='c001'>They entered the bar-room, the operative hoping he might
meet Boyle, described to him as a low-sized, stoutish man,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_385'>385</span>with dark hair and mustache. But Boyle was not among
the new visitors. McParlan treated to the best, paid his
reckoning, and, with Mike, went to Campbell’s, where the
afternoon was spent at cards. The games ended when Pat
McKenna came in, just from his work at the mine. This
person was a fine physical type of a man, six feet four inches
in height, well built and proportioned, of fair complexion,
and apparently twenty-five years of age. He was glad to
see McParlan again and accompanied him to his father’s
house, and they had drinks at Pat’s own expense, who then
proceeded home to change his clothing. Mike, meanwhile,
took occasion once more to caution the operative against
saying anything about their talk of the forenoon. He
was reassured when McParlan suggested that he was no
<em>cruddy</em> idiot, and reiterated his promise to observe great care
over his lips. “Trust me to know better than to blather
over what is tould me in confidence!” were his concluding
words.</p>

<p class='c001'>Subsequently, Pat McKenna, when given the opportunity,
confirmed his brother’s revelations, confessing that men from
his division had shot Yost, but he would go no further. The
names he kept to himself. The detective slept, that night,
at the residence of young Pat McKenna, retiring at the early
hour of three <span class='fss'>A.M.</span></p>

<p class='c001'>The following Sunday, McParlan, accompanied by Pat
McKenna, the Bodymaster, went to Coaldale, the residence
of James Roarty, at the head of the division there, ostensibly
to see what Jack Donahue had done about the Major
business. A man named McNellis went with them. The
weather being very warm, all were glad when they came to
a shady spot. Roarty was easily found and took them to
the house of another Mollie, called Bonner, where they enjoyed
refreshments. When questioned, Roarty said he did
not know what Chris Donnelly, of Mt. Laffee, and Yellow
Jack Donahue, of Tuscarora, were doing on or about the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_386'>386</span>fifth, as he, Roarty, and Kerrigan and two others—names
not given—were in Tamaqua, on their way to Big Vein,
when Carroll gave them a letter, telling the three to wait for
further orders. The meeting took place, he heard, and
Chris Donnelly and his armed men were on the ground, but
Donahue would not permit them to act, as he was fearful,
from the fact that the Majors had quit working at their
usual place; they might be in receipt of notification of foul
play awaiting them. “They will get a pill yet,” exclaimed
Roarty, “as Bully Bill did! By the way, you acted your
part well in that same, but the rest made asses of themselves
by not stoppin’ to see their man’s toes turned up, before
leavin’ the stable!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Roarty also alluded to the Tamaqua “clane job,” but
disclosed nothing more of consequence. That he had
personally been interested in the Yost murder, at its inception,
whether he actually assisted in the killing or not, the
detective was fully sensible before the end of Mike McKenna’s
recital. They returned to Pat McKenna’s house
in season for dinner, finding the rooms swarming with
Mollies. McParlan counted over thirty active members
about the place, all indulging in a boisterous bacchanal.
During the afternoon he was introduced as “Jim McKenna,
Secretary of Shenandoah Division,” by Alex. Campbell and
Pat McKenna, Jr., to Hugh McGehan. He shook the
blood-stained murderer’s hand without flinching, and immediately
invited all hands to present themselves at the bar at
his cost. McGehan I have partly described in giving the
dying declaration of Yost. It may be added that he was
of rather light complexion, had dark eyes, face clean-shaven—at
this time—short, or pug nose, was five feet nine inches
in stature, straight and well built, weighing from one hundred
and sixty to one hundred and seventy-five pounds, and apparently
a smart, well-spoken fellow. He dressed, when
out of his shifting clothes, in very good taste. But McGehan
<span class='pageno' id='Page_387'>387</span>did not remain long in the company saying he <a id='corr387.1'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='had'>“had</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_387.1'><ins class='correction' title='had'>“had</ins></a></span> other
fish to fry.”</p>

<p class='c001'>Monday, without seeing Boyle, as he knew he was working
in the shaft, and not likely to leave very soon, McParlan
boarded the train for Tamaqua, having nearly recovered
from what he was pleased to denominate the “bad effects
of the poteen he had taken the week before.” Arriving at
Tamaqua, he entered Carroll’s saloon, with the interior of
which he was by that time quite intimate, and there found
Roarty. The people of the house were glad to see him
once more, and Roarty, hearing that McKenna—the detective
may once more be called by his assumed name—was
about to start for Shenandoah, had come to Carroll’s to take
leave of him. Roarty was working a night shift near that
place. The operative employed every known means, without
asking the question direct, to make Roarty say who had
done the Yost murder, and which men were to act for the
Tamaqua Division in repaying the job; but the miner
either did not know, or would not venture to say.</p>

<p class='c001'>The same night McKenna once more appeared on his old
stamping ground, at Shenandoah, but took care not to be
seen by any excepting McAndrew and Cooney. McAndrew
informed him quietly, that Linden had been there to warn
the Secretary, as two strange men were not long before inquiring
for him at Pottsville. The Mollies had determined,
if they visited Shenandoah—having no doubt but they were
the Buffalo detectives—to give them a good beating and the
advice to go elsewhere as quickly as possible. Thus far the
Buffalo officers had not shown themselves in the place.
Remaining in Shenandoah, <span lang="fr"><i>perdu</i></span>, for a few days, recovering
strength, and writing on his reports, which had been unavoidably
neglected, McKenna once more bid his friends farewell
and returned to Tamaqua, saying he had business in Luzerne
County with an old acquaintance. The last-mentioned hint
was taken as foreshadowing a trip to meet some counterfeiters
<span class='pageno' id='Page_388'>388</span>and replenish his purse with uncurrent funds. McAndrew
pressed his hand warmly, saying he hoped he’d
“kape out of harm’s way!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll do that, if I can, jist depend upon it!” responded
the detective. “If the men I have described to ye come
here, look out for ’em, will ye?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“They’ll be attended to!” was the promise of McAndrew.</p>

<p class='c001'>Had any unhappy stranger filling this description: “Tall,
long-nosed, bald-headed, squint-eyed, knock-kneed, pigeon-toed,
hump-backed, and cracked-voiced,” appeared about this
date, in Shenandoah, he certainly would have needed protection.
As few persons on earth have the misfortune to
possess all these unfortunate characteristics, it is presumable
that no one was injured. In truth, McAndrew wrote a
letter to the detective, when he found out where he was,
saying, among other things, that the “Buffalo detectives had
not yet arrived, though Capt. Linden reported having seen
men looking like them in Ashland.”</p>

<p class='c001'>At Tamaqua, the operative whispered in the ears of his
Mollie acquaintances that it seemed necessary, from certain
reasons—two of the same being Buffalo detectives—that he
should keep dark and well away from Shenandoah, for a short
season. He was free to say he did not relish being carried
back to Buffalo in irons, as he certainly would be if the
officers found him. From the same cause he refused to appear
very often in public, kept his room much during the day—to
sleep and write, in reality—only coming out after nightfall
and joining the Mollies in Carroll’s or at other haunts
and meeting places.</p>

<p class='c001'>At the Columbia House, where he made his temporary
home, he met a man named Miller, an old acquaintance,
who told him the city had fairly swarmed with detectives,
representing all parts of the country, dating from the occurrence
of the Yost murder. It was thought that suspicion
pointed to Kerrigan and Duffy as actors in the <a id='corr388.34'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='case'>case.</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_388.34'><ins class='correction' title='case'>case.</ins></a></span> The
<span class='pageno' id='Page_389'>389</span>operative kept his own counsel, saying he “guessed all the
detectives in Pennsylvania would not be able to fix the crime
upon any one in particular!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Sunday, the twenty-sixth of July—twenty days subsequent
to the murder—McKenna met Carroll in the evening, at his
house, and after some drinks, the saloon-keeper took the
agent aside and confided to him that, while the latter was
absent at Storm Hill, detectives had been there to see him,
Carroll—one claiming to be a mechanic in search of employment,
and saying Gus McAffee, a Scotchman, working in a
foundry, was an old friend. His name was Hendrick. Carroll
laughed at the gawky acts of the pretended workman—but,
as he believed, actual detective—and reported that he
would appear in his, Carroll’s saloon, every day, treat all
hands, and never drink anything but beer, himself. The fact
that he pretended to be “temperance,” while he gave others
strong liquor, excited the tavern-keeper’s suspicions at once,
and, as a natural result, Hendrick left, with the hint that his
calling was known and he had been looking in the wrong
place. The same word was taken to McAffee. Beside, the
detective wore two or three different kinds of hats. Another
followed. He made nothing out of Carroll, but was bluntly
informed that he was a detective. A third fellow came and
took Kerrigan to a saloon and got him very drunk, but made
nothing in the way of solving the mystery.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I can tell you,” concluded Carroll, warming up and
gaining confidence in McKenna, “the night the Yost job
was to be done, I had loaned my pistol to a man in Tuscarora,
an’ the boys brought but one between them, an’ I was
forced to give them an old, single-barrel, breech-loading one
that I had!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That wor not much in the way of weapons to undertake
such a thing wid!” suggested McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>“True for ye! But the job was done clanely, as you’ll
admit! By the same token, they fetched my wife on the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_390'>390</span>stand at the coroner’s inquest, an’ before lavin’ home she
cried, an’ said she had seen me turn over the pistol to some
men, an’ belaved I, Kerrigan, Roarty, and Duffy knew all
about the affair. Fur all that, my old woman made a fust-rate
witness, an’ let out nothing! There wus somethin’ said
about a man that was aslape on my front steps, the night of
the killin’. He wasn’t one of ’em! That wor Jo McGehan,
who lives at Coaldale, an’ he was drunk as a piper, at the
same time. He’s a white-haired, heavy fellow, is Jo, an’ a
brother-in-law of big John Gallagher!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Isn’t he, at the same time, a brother of my friend, Hugh
McGehan!” inquired the detective, carelessly.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I don’t know,” was the response; but Carroll immediately
added: “When I saw the two policemen pass my house together—Yost
and McCarron—I wanted the men not to do the
job that night, but they swore they had been over before for
the purpose, and they would not be balked—do it they did!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Mrs. Carroll had sworn, before the coroner, that she knew
Tom Duffy had not been one of the murderers, for he slept
at her house, was not absent, and could not have gone out
without her knowledge, and that she had never heard Duffy
or Kerrigan use threats against Yost.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective had knowledge, from the bullet which was extracted
from Yost’s side, where it had lodged, that the shooting
was done with a revolver carrying a number thirty or thirty-two
cartridge. It was his duty to find that particular pistol.
To aid in the search he was furnished with a new revolver,
from Philadelphia, bearing a thirty-two cartridge. This he
constantly carried, claiming that he had stolen it, in Tamaqua,
and, on one or two special occasions, exhibiting the
weapon with part of the loading abstracted, remarking that
it was of little use to him, as he did not dare, from the circumstance
of its illegal ownership, ask for or purchase any
cartridges to fit it. How he employed the Smith and Wesson
to good effect may be related hereafter.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_391'>391</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch37' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXXVII.<br> <br>KERRIGAN’S SISTER-IN-LAW.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>The following Tuesday, Carroll having accepted employment
at the new depot of the Philadelphia and Reading
Company, McKenna would be unable to see him until after
the day’s work was done, and therefore turned his attention
elsewhere. A man named McNellis, with whom he held some
talk at Summit, as before noticed, met him at the Columbia
House and in his company the operative set out to find
Kerrigan, hoping to light upon the pistol with which Yost
had been killed. McNellis said he also wanted to see Kerrigan,
but did not, at the time, divulge the particular business
he had in view. As McNellis was a Mollie, and McKenna
was another, they were soon on friendly terms and conversing
on various subjects with considerable familiarity, thus
passing the afternoon together, in Carroll’s saloon; and the
man from Summit Hill grew somewhat excited, through the
liquor he had imbibed, while his companion, intoxicated
early in the day—as he had pretended—was in reality a little
the worse for his potations, but by no means as fully overcome
as he appeared. They interchanged opinions upon all
topics, excepting the weather, which was decidedly hot, and
ultimately decided that they were two of the arbiters of the
fate of nations—in other words electors—and the decision of
the forthcoming State campaign rested in their hands. The
policy of the Reading Railway and Coal and Iron Company
received due attention, and it was remarkable how nearly
their ideas regarding those great corporations tallied. McNellis
reprobated the management. McKenna abused Mr.
Gowen and the entire association, from its lowest to its
<span class='pageno' id='Page_392'>392</span>highest official. After exhausting their capacity for concealing
spirituous liquors about their persons, and the supply of
subjects for argument, McKenna agreed to accompany the
Summit Hill man to Kerrigan’s residence, known to be a
little outside of the borough limits, hoping to find the Bodymaster
at home. On the route, by way of the cemetery,
they passed the house of Yost and the fatal street lamp, seeing
which McNellis said something about a matter then being
negotiated, which would exceed that deed in interest to the
order, but, as he made no more definite allusion to the subject,
the agent refrained from comment, merely remarking,
for about the hundredth time: “Be jabers, that wor a nate,
clane job!” And to this McNellis, for the hundredth time,
gave earnest assent.</p>

<p class='c001'>Kerrigan’s house formed a portion of a long row, or block,
of tall buildings, with stone basements and wooden upper
stories, standing on a high embankment, accessible over the
cut by a staircase. The little Tamaqua Mollie, with his big
wife and three unruly children, occupied the basement and
floor above, while the third story and garret were uninhabited.
If Jimmy Kerrigan was physically a small fellow,
measuring but two or three inches above five feet in his
stockings, he had a spouse of rather more than average size.
She was also something of a virago, and, as the neighbors
said, drove the Bodymaster with a tight rein—while he lorded
it over the Mollies—and had so held him in check for many
years.</p>

<p class='c001'>It will be remembered that, in 1874, Tamaqua boasted no
division of the order. In 1875 it had one, to which some
of the best and worst of the Irish Catholic inhabitants belonged.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p3922_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>‘Who is that lady?’ asked McKenna.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>Mrs. Kerrigan said, when visited by McKenna and McNellis,
that her husband would be back from his work, at
Col. Coke’s Colliery, in a short time, and they could amuse
themselves at the front, while she entertained a neighbor.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_393'>393</span>They took the hint that, in her enlightened view, they were
a little too far gone in drink to be company for respectable
ladies, and she wished them to remain at a distance, which
they did, and occupied themselves with the children, chickens,
and pigs, until they saw Kerrigan, in his shifting suit,
coming along the ravine. Just as he arrived and they joined
him at the house corner, McKenna’s sight was refreshed by
the appearance, coming from Kerrigan’s residence, of a
young woman, fashionably dressed, and carrying her parasol,
whose face and figure seemed wonderfully familiar to him.
Who could she be? Without pausing to look at him, as she
came nigh, after once passing, the lady cast a shy and
modest glance in his direction over her shoulder. Surely,
he had seen that face somewhere. “Who is that lady?”
asked McKenna, turning to Kerrigan, who was speaking
with McNellis, and pointing toward Mrs. Kerrigan’s caller.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Who is she?” said the Bodymaster. “Why, sure an
that’s me own sisther-in-law, Miss Mary Ann Higgins!”</p>

<p class='c001'>It here burst upon the senses of the bewildered operative
that it was the same lovely girl who made him feel, for a
time, so supremely ridiculous at the Polish wedding, and the
soft touch of whose lips lingered so pleasantly upon his
cheek many weeks afterward.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Then that is your sister-in-law? Bedad, but I must hev
an introduction!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That ye surely shall hev!” returned Kerrigan. “She’ll
he here to-morrow avenin’, wid her sisther, which is Mrs.
Kerrigan, an’ if you makes it convaynint to drop in, I’ll get
ye well acquainted in jist no time at all!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll be here!” answered McKenna, who could not keep
his eyes off the handsome Miss Higgins, as long as she was
within his line of vision.</p>

<p class='c001'>Entering the house, Jimmy introduced McNellis and McKenna
to his better and greater half, and they received her
apology for keeping them so long outside. It was:</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_394'>394</span>“Since the Yost affair, I have bin so much worritted by
polace officers and their dirty spies, that, unless I know who
the new-comers are, all hev to kape well outside until the
man of the house is at home!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That’s right!” said Kerrigan.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Certainly!” echoed the two strangers—strangers to
her, but not to her husband—and McKenna, especially,
cursed all detectives and policemen with such downright
earnestness that he completely won the heart of Mrs. Kerrigan.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, Misther Kerrigan,” said McNellis, “an’ I am sint
to tell ye not to go beyant, to-night—if ye know what that
manes, which I don’t. At any rate, the word is you’re not to
come over the-night!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I perfectly understhand!” replied Kerrigan.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Hugh McGehan an’ Bill Mulhall have just got in from
Luzerne County!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m glad to hear of that!” remarked the Bodymaster.
“They are the boys for a swate thing!”</p>

<p class='c001'>There was little more conversation until after supper, of
which all partook with keen appetite, when Kerrigan put
on his coat, and McNellis reiterated the remark about “not
goin’ over, because the boys were back.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Be the way,” exclaimed Jimmy. “Will ye do me a
small favor?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Certainly I will!” answered McNellis.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I want ye to take Roarty over his revolver! It has
been here long enough!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Kerrigan started to go upstairs, when McKenna brought
out his pistol, at the same time saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Just look at this little beauty! Wasn’t that a raise to
make for wan night’s worruk?”</p>

<p class='c001'>Kerrigan took the repeater, weighed it carefully in his
hand, worked the lock, pronouncing it a splendid affair, then
said:</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_395'>395</span>“Wait here a bit, an’ I’ll show you the one what kilt
Yost!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective had evidently struck a vein that bid fair to
prove productive, but he controlled his countenance to the
expression of doubt in unmistakable terms, saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I guess not by these lights!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“But I will!” reiterated Jimmy. He left the room,
ascending the dark staircase, and soon returned with a
black, rather old-fashioned five-shooter, which he transferred
to McKenna, employing the words:</p>

<p class='c001'>“That’s the gun what brought down the peeler, Yost!”</p>

<p class='c001'>All present had taken in much whisky, after eating, and
McKenna judged most of Kerrigan’s share was gathering
in his head. So delivering himself, at least, he was again
informed he held the weapon that had “fixed the Dutch
policeman!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The pistol carried a number thirty-two cartridge, and,
although he was convinced of the truth of Kerrigan’s allegation,
it served his purpose to give out disbelief.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I guess you’re wanderin’ a bit, there!” exclaimed the
operative, “fur isn’t it currently reported that Barney
McCarron, Yost’s own partner, shot him, because of a
racent quarrel they’d had?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh! that’s a swate enough story!” was the quick retort
of the Bodymaster, “but you’ll allow that I know somethin’
of a job that I planned be myself, an’ wor there on hand,
when it wor all done!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Here was a direct confession of one of the murderers,
which was more than McKenna had expected. But at once
dropping his assumption of disbelief, he acquiesced in the
statement that Kerrigan really should be well informed, and
begun to talk of the pistol, which was, in the operative’s
presence, turned over to McNellis for transportation to its
owner, James Roarty, of Storm Hill.</p>

<p class='c001'>Subsequently the trio went to Carroll’s, and found the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_396'>396</span>saloon-keeper at home. But McKenna warned Kerrigan
that, for his own sake, it was best they two should not be
seen together on the street, and Jimmy walked alone, while
McNellis and the operative traveled in company. While
going toward town, McKenna again handled the old revolver,
and found it to be of rather peculiar construction. In
order to take out the cylinder a screw had to be unloosed
in front of said cylinder. The weapon was fully loaded,
and had one rusty screw, evidently not a part of it when
leaving the manufactory. Somebody had given it repairs.
But where, and who? These were questions to be solved
in the future.</p>

<p class='c001'>Before nine o’clock McNellis started for Storm Hill, carrying
the tell-tale pistol with him. Subsequently Kerrigan and
Carroll engaged in games at cards. At ten <span class='fss'>P.M.</span> the “babe”—a
name given the Tamaqua Bodymaster, but not on account
of his known innocence—and McKenna visited a point
on the hill, near the old cemetery, and sat down on a bank
of earth together to have a talk. Kerrigan expressed a feeling
of great bitterness toward Yost and McCarron, saying he
had once been arrested by the policemen for taking the part
of Duffy. Warming up a little, and deftly urged on by the
detective, Kerrigan, in the end, made a revelation, substantially
confirming young Mike McKenna’s statements. He
said he got his men in their positions, the night of the fifth,
then went down town, where he drank with the policeman
whose life was to be taken, and saw that Duffy was well in
bed at Carroll’s and all was right for the deed. He assured
McKenna that not a man in his division, excepting Carroll,
knew anything about it. He did not want them informed.
Although the act was brought around by the order, it was
enough for him—the President of the division—to be aware
of it, and when the ordinary members came to be called on
to do a job for Campbell in return, they would suspect,
but could swear to nothing. Before the shooting, he went
<span class='pageno' id='Page_397'>397</span>to the spot and remained in the vicinity, in concealment, until
he saw that his men had put in their work. In a few
minutes he retreated, with the rest, through the run and over
the hill, and kept with them until coming out near Breslin’s,
at the White Bear Tavern. There he left the others, they
going to their houses at Storm Hill, where they must have
arrived at about five in the morning. The tale was continued
in about this way:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I got home early, an’ me ould woman wanted to know
where I’d been, an’ I told her a lie, an’ so got rid of it.
Faith, I wor to go this very night an’ lay in wait, wid two
men, an’ shoot a boss, who richly deserves it, but, on account
of the word McNellis brought, that McGehan hev
come back, it is put off till another day! It wouldn’t do to
have anything occur, ye see, the very time McGehan got
here! Let him get to work at the breast first!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This was further confirmation of Mike McKenna. McGehan
was certainly the taller man of the two who had murdered
Yost. It was more than probable that Boyle was the
other.</p>

<p class='c001'>“You’d better belave,” concluded the Bodymaster, “I
took off me boots an’ moved aisy enough, that mornin’,
fur there’s a German family livin’ next door, an’ I wor afraid
I’d be heard by them. But I made up to me house, begun
to scrape wid me nails at the door, an’ Mrs. Kerrigan knew
what it meant, an’ let me softly in. I jist tould her I’d been
drunk and stopped out all night, as I’ve done before, an’
didn’t want the neighbors to know it! Jist as sure as you’re
over there, an’ I’m over here, I’ve never brathed a single
word of it, only wonst to Jack Donahue! He said it wor a
good job an’ I was entitled to credit for me skill! I tell ye
what ’tis, McKenna, ye want to be very careful how ye talk
wid strangers, at the hotel, for the place hev been fairly
swarmin’ wid detectives these few days past! Some of ’em
may hev stolen the sign, ye see, an’ still be detectives!”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_398'>398</span>“I know my business!” replied McKenna, “an’ devil a
word will they get out of me at all!”</p>

<p class='c001'>At midnight the couple separated, my agent going to his
hotel and Kerrigan staggering awkwardly homeward, as full
of self-importance and spirits as he could be and retain
power of locomotion.</p>

<p class='c001'>The ensuing day McKenna met and conferred with Linden,
who was thus fully informed of his progress. After this,
he made up his mind that it had become his plain and open
duty to cultivate the intimate companionship of Kerrigan,
who was proving such a valuable informant. In order to
gain further grace in the Bodymaster’s eyes—also to please
himself, it may well be believed—he resolved to give desperate
siege to the heart of the handsome sister of Mrs. Kerrigan.
To resolve was to act. Visiting the barber, he
caused his wig to be properly dressed, face well cleansed,
and beard and mustache nicely trimmed. Then attiring
himself in his best clothing—none too fine at that, but much
better than the garments he usually wore—he thought he
was ready to start on the wooing expedition. It appears
McKenna had soon learned to forget Pat Hester’s daughter.
But then, he argued, Miss Higgins was the earlier claimant for
his attention. Had she not commenced the courtship at the
Polish wedding? He was very sure of that. His sympathies
could not have been earnestly enlisted with the other lady.
In Miss Higgins he really believed he might easily be permanently
interested. While this was the case, he felt forced
to confess he was not so much paying attention to Miss Higgins,
for Miss Higgins’ own sake, as for the sake of her
wicked little brother-in-law, whose cruel works would yet
bring him within prison walls, if not beneath the gallows
tree.</p>

<p class='c001'>Kerrigan’s little, round face expanded in a broad grin when
he saw the particular pains McKenna was taking to make
himself genteel, and he put on his best manner as he presented
<span class='pageno' id='Page_399'>399</span>the young man to his fair sister-in-law. Jimmy was
somewhat puzzled when Miss Higgins blushed crimson, as
she extended her hand, and remarked that she “believed
she had seen the gentleman once before.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes!” explained McKenna, the red blood also mantling
his forehead and face. “I remember meeting you at a
party, some months ago!” But he added, for her encouragement,
in a low tone of voice: “Never fear, Miss! I’ll
say nothing further about it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Thank you,” said Miss Higgins, below her breath.</p>

<p class='c001'>They were very commonplace words, as the detective
afterward thought, but they sounded very musical to his ear,
that evening, coming from the handsome young lady’s lips.</p>

<p class='c001'>In a short time, by using the free-and-airy style now so
natural to him, McKenna succeeded in putting all present
completely at their ease, and Miss Higgins, as well as her
sister, Mrs. Kerrigan, begun to think they had known him
since they were children. As for Jimmy Kerrigan, he was
already confidential with his brother Mollie from Shenandoah.
But the whisky toddy soon put the “babe” out of
the way, as he was forced to admit that he had taken several
glasses before reaching home, and the liquor he drank with
the family disagreed with it, getting up a reaction in his system
making a recumbent position indispensable. Mrs. Kerrigan
marched her liege lord off to bed. It was a very pleasant
evening that the operative enjoyed with Mrs. Kerrigan
and her unmarried sister, after the exodus of the noisy fellow
claiming the house as his home, and when he bade the
ladies good night, at a late hour, they united in cordial requests
that he should visit them often. Miss Higgins,
especially, was pressing, in her modest way, to have the
caller not forget their humble place of residence.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ I will not!” said McKenna, “an’, all in due
sayson, I hope I may be able to take revinge on the young
lady that so surprised me at the Polish wedding!”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_400'>400</span>This last remark in a whisper, at the door.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Hush!” warningly exclaimed the lady, her face the
color of a blooming rose. But Mrs. Kerrigan saw nothing,
heard nothing.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m as silent as the churchyard I’m goin’ to walk
beside,” said the operative, with a roguish smile, as he took
his final leave.</p>

<p class='c001'>“She’s a very fine girl,” soliloquized the officer, while
walking to the Columbia House. “What a pity she is of
such a family! And to think that I must get her brother-in-law
hanged! Oh, I never can hope to have ‘Miss Higgins’
transformed into ‘Mrs. McParlan!’ Brother-in-law to a
murderer! No! Never!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Despite this decision the dreams of the detective, that
night, were not fated to be entirely deserted by the girl
by whom he had been victimized at the Krozenski nuptials.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was soon whispered over Tamaqua by talkative spinsters
and gossips of more advanced experience, that the wild
fellow, Jim McKenna, had fallen desperately in love with
Mary Ann Higgins, Kerrigan’s wife’s sister, was quitting the
drink, fast sobering down, and, if his wooing sped successfully,
bade fair soon to marry the object of his passion, settle
in Tamaqua, and make an honorable and respectable member
of society. Certainly the subjects of these conversations
were frequently together, and just as surely McKenna was
more regularly seen dressed in his best, a lady on his arm,
of a Sabbath day, attending church, than ever before, and it
was evident that, as far as he was concerned, it would not
be his fault if the New Year did not look upon him a full-fledged
Benedict. As for Miss Higgins, she kept her own
counsel. It is more than probable that her heart really remained
untouched and she accepted the attentions of McKenna,
as any virtuous girl in her station would have done,
more because the man was popular and generally pleasing,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_401'>401</span>than from the reason of having placed her affections upon
him.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was at or about this time that McKenna received the
following letter:</p>

<div class='quote'>

<div class='c011'><span class='sc'>Shenandoah</span>, July 30, 1875.</div>

<p class='c019'><span class='sc'>James McKenna</span>:</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='sc'>Dear Sir</span>:—Them persons who you heard was around was Inquiring
about you in Pottsville hall (Pennsylvania Hall probably) Captain Jack
(Mr. Linden) was telling me, a few nights ago.</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c017'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>I remain, as ever,</div>
      <div class='line in14'>Yours, in Friendship,</div>
      <div class='line in24'><span class='sc'>Frank McAndrew</span>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>P.S. They were asking Captain Jack if he knew any person of the
name, and they told your weight and height and he said he knew nothing
of you.</p>

<div class='c011'><span class='sc'>F. McA.</span></div>

</div>

<p class='c001'>This work on the part of the detectives secured the
enduring friendship of the Shenandoah Mollies, and confirmed
Muff Lawler in his belief that Linden could be
implicitly trusted. “If he would not give McKenna away
to the officers from Buffalo,” said Lawler, “why should we,
who are also his friends, fear to confide in him?” Muff
was right, as far as tangible results were concerned, but as
the reader will easily see, his arguments rested upon unstable
grounds. Linden was seeking, with McKenna, to obtain
the good-will of the Mollies. This letter shows that their
mutual labors were successful.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was now McKenna’s purpose to cause Kerrigan to
repeat his confessions before Capt. Linden, or some other
person who could be safely used as a witness, and a number
of attempts were made to agree upon places of conference
where this could be gone through with, but the recklessness
of Kerrigan, and his carelessness in keeping prearranged
appointments, caused the efforts to come to naught. He
met the detective, but not at the hour fixed, and sometimes at
<span class='pageno' id='Page_402'>402</span>a different locality. Linden was thus greatly inconvenienced
and left to lie on the ground, behind a protecting fence or
wall, for many weary hours, without seeing Kerrigan or
taking down his expected account of the Yost murder. But
on these occasions Kerrigan freely opened his heart to McKenna,
giving him the most explicit delineation of about
every fact connected with the crime, excepting the names
of the murderers. These would come all in good time.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch38' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXXVIII.<br> <br>SLOWLY GAINING GROUND.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>At the close of the month McKenna met Yellow Jack
Donahue, who gave out that he had nearly given up the
Major job, for the present, and feared his vengeance might
fail of accomplishment, from treachery, some person evidently
having warned the Majors, as they no longer worked
in their accustomed places and were shy of going abroad
alone at night. He suspected John Slattery, who knew of
the preparations made to kill Thomas and the Majors, as
the one giving them notice. In any event, he would not
wholly throw it up, only hold the matter back until a favorable
opportunity occurred. Donahue was by no means complimentary
of the men composing his division, saying there
was not one in the number to be trusted with an important
transaction. He expressed himself freely regarding the
affair Alex. Campbell was trying to accomplish, wisely concluding
that he was quite foolhardy about it, too short a
time having elapsed since the Tamaqua murder. The
breeze that stroke had started should be allowed to subside
before entering upon any fresh undertaking.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_403'>403</span>During this interview, the operative received from Donahue
the fact, confidentially communicated, that it was
himself, the redoubtable “Yellow Jack,” who shot Morgan
Powell, the circumstances attending which assassination have
already been related in these pages. The deed was done at
Summit Hill, December the second, 1871, and in it Donahue
was assisted by two men, whose names he did not give. He
said their escape, after the shooting, was very easy, as they
did not go ten yards from the spot where Powell dropped,
until the excitement cooled down, when, in the darkness,
they quietly departed for the bush, soon reaching their homes
in safety. The detective made mental note of this disclosure,
his subsequently written report throwing the first true
flood of light upon a dark crime, which had, for four years,
baffled the best efforts of the officers of justice. He wrote
all about the conversation to the Agency, that night. It
was not politic to press Donahue for a description of his
accomplices, but from points he had already gathered, McParlan
suspected Campbell and the McKennas were at
least interested. Donahue made himself very friendly with
the agent, praised him highly for the part he had taken, as
he supposed, in the Thomas matter; invited him to his
house, and, as he took his departure, swore that “those
Majors should yet come to their graves, even though he
had to draw a bead on them, bowldly, in open daylight!”</p>

<p class='c001'>In Carroll’s saloon, the same night, my representative
chanced upon an old friend, Dan Kelly, known to be Manus
Kull; <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> “Kelly the Bum,” a hard case then as now, and
open for almost anything outrageous. About every crime
in the great catalogue had been charged upon him, but he
was not understood as possessing a noticeably bad character
previous to attaching himself to the Mollie organization. In
the same company at Carroll’s were James, or Friday
O’Donnell, and Kerrigan. The latter took early occasion to
tell McKenna he should “keep quiet about the Tamaqua
<span class='pageno' id='Page_404'>404</span>matter, as these fellows were too soft to intrust with anything
connected with so serious a subject.” He promised to obey,
and upon that topic consequently remained silent. The
men were engaged in a wild debauch, and all more or less
mellow, but they took good care to have every outsider
away from the room before the Summit affair came up for
discussion. It was the intention to put some boss off his
pins, and Kerrigan volunteered to walk to Mt. Laffee and
find some men to accompany a detail of his own, so that the
job might be concluded about the middle of the week. Who
the party was the agent did not then learn.</p>

<p class='c001'>While escorting Kerrigan to his home, late that night,
McKenna noticed he was being clumsily shadowed by Barney
McCarron, who, although very drunk himself, acted as though
he had a half-formed idea in his thick pate that Kerrigan and
McKenna were hatching some mischief, and therefore sought
to throw himself in their way, to learn the particular business
they were engaged upon. But his amateur detective work
was done so awkwardly that Kerrigan quickly saw through
it. Then the two Mollies made up a game to put the policeman
to more trouble, and they led him a wild-goose chase.
Late at night, McKenna, still blunderingly traced by McCarron,
came to a halt at the Columbia House. He found
the doors all fastened and no porter up to admit him. Just
then McCarron came along.</p>

<p class='c001'>“What are you trying to do?” asked the hiccoughing and
worn-out policeman.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Bedad, but I’m sakin’ for an admission to me boardin’-house!”
responded McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes,” put in Kerrigan, “he’s shut out enthirely, an’ how
he’ll get within, is the question! It wor different wid me,
when I wor in the lock-up! I wanted a way out! He
wants a way in!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McCarron laughed, and suggested that McKenna might
try a window.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_405'>405</span>“Perhaps some of them may be unfastened!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“No! I prefer you’d do that job for me!” answered the
agent, staggering and leaning against the side of the house.
“You know you are an officer, an’ can safely go in! If I wor
to do so, perhaps you’d jist arrest an’ take me to jail for an
attempted burglary!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Notwithstanding McCarron’s repeated assurances that he
would do no such thing, McKenna refused to touch a single
shutter, or sash, and finally prevailed upon the policeman to
seek entrance to his hotel through a casement and then
unlock the front door for him. Kerrigan and the detective
enjoyed the fun, beholding the unsteady efforts the drunken
watchman made, raising the window and then ungracefully
climbing into the house. But they soon gained entrance and
went upstairs, after lighting a candle at the office counter,
McCarron still following, Kerrigan noiselessly bringing up
the rear. Once in McKenna’s apartment, the policeman
was offered a chair and Kerrigan told that he could go. The
Bodymaster obeyed. And then McCarron set about the task
of extracting information from McKenna regarding the Yost
murder. The detective was acting the part of a drunken
man to perfection, while McCarron was really much intoxicated,
but trying to appear very wise and sober. Taking the
flaring candle in his hand, he got down on his knees and
endeavored, with an owlish assumption of superior intelligence,
quite ridiculous in him at any time, to explain to his
only auditor precisely how and where certain acts had been
done, the night of the murder, illustrating his meaning by
pointing out with uncertain finger, on the irregular figures
of the carpet, an imaginary map of the locality and the proceedings.
It was as much as the operative could possibly
do to refrain from laughing in McCarron’s face, to see the
style in which he performed this part of his unaccustomed
work. Meanwhile McCarron was trying his best to gain
intelligence from his companion. He succeeded indifferently,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_406'>406</span>as McKenna was, to all appearances, as ignorant as
the man in the moon of everything connected with the Mollies.
When the policeman had nearly spoiled the bedroom
carpet with the melted tallow constantly dropping from his
migratory candle, and exhausted himself in making drawings
of the Yost matter, giving the position he occupied, and the
places in which the murderers stood, over and over again,
McKenna put a stop to the proceedings by politely asking
the fellow to leave, as he wanted to obtain a little sleep
before morning.</p>

<p class='c001'>Seeing that he could gain nothing by his extraordinary
efforts at “roping,” the drunken guardian of the peace, after
a while, took the hint and went stumbling down the staircase,
muttering to himself about the “ignorance of some
people.” He had been unable to impose upon McKenna,
and flattered himself that it was because of that person’s
stupidity. There was stupidity in the business, but it was
in McCarron, not with McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Sunday following, after visiting church, in the forenoon,
with Miss Higgins, and subsequently taking her a
pleasant evening’s walk, the agent met Kerrigan again at
Carroll’s, and the pair went to the scene of the Yost murder
together, the Bodymaster designating the vicinities which
McCarron, on a previous occasion, had tried so hard to explain
to the operative. Kerrigan marked the very spot on
which McGehan and Boyle had stood, under the shadow of
the trees, where he was waiting, armed only with a stone, to
put in work if found necessary, then to lead the men away
after their job was done, and gave him other information of
great importance. He said that he, Kerrigan, was wearing
the same pantaloons he had on the night of the murder
only they were industriously patched by his wife. He ruptured
them badly, running in the bush, and, the next morning,
was asked by Mrs. Kerrigan how the holes were made.
She was satisfied when he told her he fell down the bank
by the house and nearly killed himself.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_407'>407</span>A little later, Kerrigan took a seat, near the Odd Fellows’
Cemetery, on some rocks, and proceeded to dwell upon his
own fortunes and those of some of his friends. The “babe,”
according to his own story, was born in Schuylkill County;
had received no education, no schooling, in fact, since he
was an infant; had been successively a coal-picker, a miner,
and, during the late war, a soldier, in the cavalry branch of
the service, under gallant Phil Sheridan. As to McGehan,
he said he hailed from Donegal, Ireland, but had been
partly reared in America. Alex. Campbell, reported the
same historian, was married, and had a family, his wife being
also a native of Donegal.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was well toward morning when the two Mollies separated.</p>

<p class='c001'>A meeting of the agent and Alex. Campbell, transpiring at
Carroll’s saloon, the fourth day of August, was productive of interesting
results. The Summit Hill tavern-keeper and former
Bodymaster zealously recommended McGehan as one of the
best men in the country, and was happy to see that Hugh
and Mulhall had found work at Tuscarora. He said,
boastingly, that as soon as he could go to Mauch Chunk, for
the necessary license, he proposed to set McGehan up in a
saloon of his own, McKenna, Kerrigan, and Carroll being
warmly pressed to honor the opening with their presence,
which all promised. Then, stepping aside a little, Campbell
let out to the detective more than he had ever before
said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“It was McGehan, himself, who fired the shot that killed
Yost! Boyle was along, it is true, but McGehan’s shot
finished the business and the other did not have to discharge
his pistol at all!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This remark, coupled with the facts he had already obtained
from Mike McKenna, Kerrigan, and Carroll, firmly
convinced the inquirer there could be no mistake about the
matter. The murderers of Yost were found. But where was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_408'>408</span>the testimony with which to convict them, in the face of the
omnipresent <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span>? He did not despair of even ferreting out
that, before finishing the good work. It was Campbell who
had sent McNellis to Tamaqua, notifying Kerrigan he should
stay at home the night fixed for the killing of some unsuspecting
boss, as McGehan and Mulhall had that day chanced to
return to Storm Hill.</p>

<p class='c001'>Subsequent to the departure of Campbell for his home,
McKenna took the saloon-keeper away from the house a
little and said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Jim Carroll, you thought I didn’t know who it wor that
knocked Yost off his two feet!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I knew d——d well that you did know!” was Carroll’s
laconic return.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, I don’t blame ye at all for kapin’ a tight rein on
yer tongue! I’d ha’ done the same, meself, had I been in
your pair o’ boots!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That’s all right!” continued Carroll. “It was a mighty
good thing, an’ McGehan is the fellow for a clane job!
Mulhall was in for it, with him, but some objected because
he was a man of family, so Boyle took his place. I wanted
to have it put off, when I saw McCarron and Yost come
past here, in company, an’ told the men to seek a better
chance, another day, but McGehan said he’d been over here
three times to do it, and he would not brook further delay.
So they went and did it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ did it nately and aisily, too?” suggested McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>Mrs. Carroll had her suspicions aroused, during the visit,
that McKenna was a Mollie, and so informed her husband
She thought he could not be so intimate with Jack Donahue,
talking by the hour with him in the back yard, and with
Jimmy Kerrigan, and remain only an outsider. She also accused
Carroll of forming one of the order, but he laughed,
and said: “You know better! What’s the use of charging
such a thing on me?” Yet he was Secretary of the division
<span class='pageno' id='Page_409'>409</span>at the very time. This answer did not change Mrs. Carroll’s
mind. But she was too discreet and true a wife to disclose
her thoughts on the subject to every one.</p>

<p class='c001'>The same night Kerrigan was more than usually communicative,
and related to the agent all about a trick he and Carroll
were to play, in stealing a lot of hams, and a new copper
boiler, out of the Columbia House cellar. The operative
made up his mind the landlord should not be robbed, but
said nothing. The attempt was subsequently made and
some things carried off, but they had to be returned.</p>

<p class='c001'>While the Bodymaster was in a talking humor, McKenna
carelessly inquired:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Now what about that Summit job?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, that’s put off until the latter part of the month!”
And Kerrigan sighed, and seemed to greatly regret the delay.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Is it Zehner, or Jones, this time?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Jones, av coorse!” was the response. “An’ it has to
be done by daylight too, as he is a workin’ boss! I am not
sure, yet, where he will be caught!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The sending of this report to Mr. Franklin, the detective
very well knew, would cause the party threatened to receive
notification of the danger he was in. The important missive
was written and mailed before he slept.</p>

<p class='c001'>Thursday, the fifth, occurred the funeral of John Dowling,
one of the oldest members of the Ancient Order of Hibernians,
otherwise the Mollie Maguires, in the State, and, as
many were to come to Tamaqua from Shenandoah, McKenna
suffered a convenient return of rheumatism, so he said,
and kept his room, in consequence, all the day. None of
his old companions sought him out, excepting Frank McAndrew,
and he visited the Columbia House, was shown to
his friend’s apartment, and had a long visit with him. The
Shenandoah Bodymaster had heard that McKenna was suspected
of complicity with the Yost murder, and soberly warned
him to have a care for himself, which advice the agent received
<span class='pageno' id='Page_410'>410</span>with a hearty laugh, saying, as he was innocent, he
“didn’t care a snap of his fingers what people thought!”
He expressed himself as heartily tired of hiding so closely
from the Buffalo detectives, and, but for a second letter,
which he had just received from his sister, saying the men
were still hanging around her house, he would emerge from
his cover, return to Shenandoah at once, and resume his old
occupations and amusements. As it was, he hoped soon to
hear that the New York officials were starting off for Canada,
on a false scent, when he would certainly hasten homeward.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Ye can’t be too careful, me boy!” was the admonition
with which McAndrew separated from his Secretary.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was at the saloon and beer garden of Conrad Iffland,
on Broad Street, Tamaqua, that Linden and McKenna now
met to talk over the operation and arrange all their movements.
Mrs. Iffland was a good-natured German lady, generously
patronized by her countrymen and other lovers of
lager-beer, and she gave no particular attention to the detectives—hearing
from her husband that Linden was all correct—as
long as they paid for their refreshments. When
McKenna appeared on the streets with a peculiarly ugly
hat, or made a particular gesture with his hand, Linden
knew they were to meet at Iffland’s immediately. A similar
sign with the hand of Linden taught the same lesson to
McKenna. On the seventeenth of August, 1875, the two
men held a very important conversation at Mrs. Iffland’s,
and made preparations, subsequently carried out, to meet
Campbell, McGehan, Boyle, and others, if possible, at
Mauch Chunk, where Campbell was to go to make application
for McGehan’s license. Linden then assumed the <span lang="fr"><i>rôle</i></span>
of the toper to perfection, and was finally invited by Campbell
to join the company, slightly opposed by McKenna,
who claimed Linden was only a stranger who had accosted
him near his hotel, inquiring the way to the Mansion House.
In this manner Linden learned the faces of the men and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_411'>411</span>something of their habits and conversation. Conrad Iffland
had no knowledge of McKenna’s business, nor had his
spouse, but both believed him to be the wickedest Mollie
Maguire in Schuylkill County. As long as he was in Linden’s
society they tolerated him. Alone, or with Kerrigan,
they would have turned him promptly away from their door.
Knowing this, the operative never attempted an entrance,
excepting he found that Linden was in the neighborhood.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was not until the eighth of August, that McKenna
made his reappearance in Shenandoah, and then remained
but a short time. He was warmly greeted by his old-time
associates, Morris, Hurley, and McAndrew, who said they
had heard that the agent and the rest were to be arraigned
for the attack upon Wm. M. Thomas. At least they feared
preparations were being made for their apprehension. He
soon quieted their suspicions, saying there was no testimony,
and, if the contrary were true, they could easily prove
an <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span>.</p>

<p class='c001'>The monthly meeting of the division was held, McKenna
acting as Secretary, as usual. While in the company of his
friends, he thought it strange he heard nothing more of the
Gomer James affair, but concluded the feud had subsided
and the Welshman was to be allowed to live in peace in the
community. How sadly he was deceived the sequel may
show.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch39' class='c006'>CHAPTER XXXIX.<br> <br>BLOODY SATURDAY.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Early in August, 1875, symptoms of smouldering disorder
in the coal regions began to increase in severity and
numbers. Seeing and appreciating this, Superintendent
<span class='pageno' id='Page_412'>412</span>Franklin arranged to meet and hold council with McKenna
and Linden in the vicinity of Mauch Chunk. Glen Onoko,
one of the most entrancing of the many beautiful spots found
in the vicinity of the city named, was the chosen place. In
sight of Dual Vista, another extraordinary and charming resort,
accordingly, the three men came together, and, in the
quiet shadows of the everlasting hills—the Alps of America—covered
by the close-woven branches of the overhanging
trees, they seated themselves, and, at their leisure, fully discussed
the situation and the work being performed. It was
while returning from this meeting—the particulars of which
may not find record here, as they will be developed in the
history of the progress of events—that McKenna and Linden
encountered Campbell, McGehan, and others, as mentioned
in another connection. While Capt. Linden remained
at Mauch Chunk and Superintendent Franklin returned to
Philadelphia, McParlan—otherwise McKenna—was constrained
to accompany Alex. Campbell and his jolly companions
to their homes. The invitation was so pressing, and
the chance so good for obtaining knowledge of facts bearing
upon the Yost case, and the threatened assassination of
Jones, that the watchful operative could not well refuse acceptance.
Evening saw the collection of Mollies, McKenna
among them, gathered in the smoking-car bound for Summit.
In a seat, not far removed from them, but, to their eyes,
so effectually steeped in liquor as to be almost unrecognizable—and
in fact entirely unnoticed by Campbell—reposed the
form of Linden, every nerve really strung to the highest tension,
awake, cool, determined, and ready, at any moment,
to take his brother detective’s part, should he find himself in
trouble. Happily nothing occurred to call for his assistance,
and he feigned to sleep the time away, without molestation,
until the drunken crowd left the car. Linden continued his
journey to Tamaqua, and there awaited McParlan’s arrival.
Reaching Summit, Campbell pressed that operative to remain
<span class='pageno' id='Page_413'>413</span>at his house all night, and he did so, after first viewing
the basement in which the late Bodymaster was to assist
McGehan to start his gin mill. The building was situated
just above the post-office, in an eligible locality, and preparations
were being made to celebrate the formal opening, to
occur on the twelfth of the month, with appropriate observances.
Campbell asked no questions, but naturally concluded,
from McParlan’s previous avowals, that his guest was
in Mauch Chunk that day to obtain a new stock of counterfeit
money, and a crisp ten dollar bill he had seen him have
changed, when treating the company in a saloon, he was
quite sure would not successfully pass examination at any
banking house. In this he seriously erred, however, as the
currency was genuine and just from the Shenandoah post-office,
where McKenna had presented and received the cash
upon my postal order for fifty dollars, to be used in paying
current expenses.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I tell you, Jim,” said Campbell, “if I knew just where
to get such flimsies as you find, at about fifty cents on the
dollar, I don’t know but I’d put aside me prejudices an’
religious scruples an’ make a small investment!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McParlan was never communicative as to the source from
whence his bank-bills came, but pleasantly returned:</p>

<p class='c001'>“When ye git rid of the rest of yer scruples and religious
principles, come to me wid the ready cash, an’ I’ll do what
I’ve never done for any wan afore, lade ye right up to me
partner in business, an’ indorse ye to him as a shover of the
quare that’ll do to dale wid!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Saying he would remember this, the other changed the
subject to the expulsion of Tom Fisher from the order, as
an inactive and inefficient leader, because he, Alex. Campbell,
thought himself much better qualified for, and really
wanted the conspicuous place. The Shenandoah Secretary
replied he had never heard anything urged against Fisher,
only that he was not in favor of putting the enemies of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_414'>414</span>order under the sod, but that was a serious objection to any
Ancient Order man, hence he was in favor of cutting Fisher
off and electing Campbell, who was a chief after his own
heart, and would not hesitate to shoot a rascally Welsh boss
in person, if it was found for the good of the society. The
Summit official swallowed the bait, hook and all, and
remarked, self-complacently, that he believed, after the
Tamaqua Convention, already called for the 25th of August,
he would have John P. Jones taken care of, whether Kerrigan
came up with his assistance or not. There were now
two men in his neighborhood, Hugh McGehan and James
Roarty, who could not be matched for excellence in shuffling
off the mortal coil for those needing such a job performed,
and if he once sent them out, that mining boss would
never again have a chance to refuse a friend of his work in
the breast. Jones, the detective found out, resided at Storm
Hill, about Lansford, not far from Mike O’Donnel’s tavern,
in a field just at the foot of an old plane near the pipe-line
ascending to Summit Hill, and Campbell thought it one of
the easiest things imaginable to take the man off just after
sunrise, some fine morning, when on the way to Number
Four Breaker, without a soul being the wiser for the job.
“We’ll fix him, yet!” was the late Bodymaster’s conclusion
of the talk, when suddenly interrupted by the entrance of
Mrs. Campbell. “Not a word more!” was the sign made
by the late Bodymaster, with a finger on his lip, and as
readily understood by McParlan, who quickly changed the
subject, saying, as a blind, he thought the “Company would
very soon get sick of standing out against the Union and offer
to compromise on as favorable a basis as that of 1874.” Mrs.
Campbell suspected nothing, and thought so too. Alex.
Campbell knew it must come to that. After singing
“Widow Machree,” for the lady, the detective retired to
his apartment.</p>

<p class='c001'>The second day after the grand opening—the fourteenth of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_415'>415</span>August, rendered memorable as “bloody Saturday” in the
coal regions—a fact, however, that had not yet reached the
knowledge of the little community at Summit Hill, where
few newspapers were taken and the telegraph operatives
were seriously uncommunicative—McParlan met his pretended
relative, Pat McKenna, the Bodymaster, but learned
nothing new. At four o’clock the same afternoon he repaired
to McGehan’s saloon with Campbell, and found
Hugh, perfectly at his ease, smoking a pipe as complacently
as though no innocent human blood stained the hand that
supported his head. They had a pleasant chat, McParlan
told one or two stories, and also took a whiff from his cutty-pipe,
and the three enjoyed themselves in this way for an
hour. At the end of that time, no strangers being about,
McParlan produced the new, nickel-plated pistol, which he
said he had taken from his hypothetical Welshman in Tamaqua,
and handed it over to McGehan for his scrutiny. He
clicked the lock critically, looked at the cylinder, and passed
it back, saying it was “an illigant affair, altogether.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“So it is!” replied the owner of the repeater, putting it
away, “but divil a bit of good will it do me, in this or any
other matter, if I can’t find some cartridges! I don’t dare
buy a single wan in the borough of Tamaqua, for fear the
gun may be traced to me ownership, an’ I don’t care to go
up on so small a job, when I can have bigger ones for the
axin’!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McGehan hesitated a moment, looked cautiously around
the room, was assured that no one outside the Mollie ring
heard him, and then answered, in a low tone of voice:</p>

<p class='c001'>“The cartridges for Roarty’s revolver might fit your
shooter, but I am not so sure that he has one left; an’ he
too is a little timid about purchasing, as it wor his pistol
that I had to shoot Yost with!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Is that so?” carelessly remarked the detective, betraying
no sign of undue excitement over McGehan’s voluntary
<span class='pageno' id='Page_416'>416</span>and tacit admission that he had killed the Tamaqua police
man, and at once adding “Well, never mind! I can
use the two I have in the cylinder, in case of accident, an’
as I’m a tolerable marksman, I think no more’ll be actually
wanted.”</p>

<p class='c001'>McParlan had the three missing cartridges, at the moment,
safely secreted in his pocket. But McGehan was in for a
clean breast of the whole matter—would not stop—and went
on with the narration:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Ye see, we came to do the job in this way! Kerrigan
an’ Campbell, they had a trade between them, an’ I an’
Boyle was to go along, so was Roarty, who started on ahead.
Kerrigan agreed to get the pistols for us. When we—Boyle
and I—got over to Campbell’s we heard a messenger had
been there before us, comin’ from Roarty’s house, wid a word
sayin’ as how Roarty’s wife was taken sick, an’ for him to go
straight for the doctor; Roarty did so, but sent forward his
pistol to represent him, to Carroll’s house, where we were
told to meet. When we reached Carroll’s, sure an’ Roarty’s
black pistol wor the only serviceable weapon in the whole
company, an’ Jim Carroll, he gave us a little, old, breech-loading,
single-barrel affair, which was of no account. I
took the big shooter, an’ gave the other to Boyle, after
Kerrigan had been out to try an’ borrow another, an’ returned
empty-handed. An’ I told Boyle, if he wakened,
upon gettin’ up to Yost, an’ stirred a foot in retrate, I’d
shoot him down too! Kerrigan then went up Broad Street
an’ put us in our places, near the fence, in the shadow of
some trees, an’ after that went down town, saw the policemen
together, and took a sip o’ whisky wid Yost—more’n I’d
ha’ done in such a case—when he jist come back to us, by a
winding route, sayin’ all wor right, an’ the men would be up
by midnight, or a little later. They had to put out two
lamps near by. One would be taken by Yost, to outen,
and the other by McCarron. It wor nearly two o’clock
<span class='pageno' id='Page_417'>417</span>when they came, both together, which wor very different
from our expectations. But they came! Kerrigan wanted
to be there, armed wid two rocks in his hands, to bate out
Yost’s brains, in case the pistols failed, but I ordered him
away and made him stand fifty yards off, rightly thinkin’ he
wor too noticeable, from his small size, an’ if any one saw
him he would be known an’ remembered. Then the thing
wor done! Roarty’s pistol did it! It’s all nonsense to say
McCarron did not give chase, fur he did, an’ fired two shots
at us, which I returned, an’ then we ran away, Kerrigan, the
rat, along wid us! But I made him lave when we came
out at Breslin’s White Bear tavern, an’ I would have been
much better plazed had he remained away an’ left us to find
our route by ourselves!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“It wor a mighty slick thing!” exclaimed the operative,
“an’ I’m sure Tamaqua Division should be willin’ to send
you over men to do your job whenever ye may ask it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Campbell was of the same belief, saying that Kerrigan
and Carroll were all right and would come up with their
help in due season.</p>

<p class='c001'>The ensuing Sunday, at church, in company with Campbell,
McParlan met James Roarty, and the latter accompanied
him to McGehan’s. Then, in McGehan’s presence,
he made more inquiry for cartridges for his supposed-to-be-stolen
revolver, and Roarty answered:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I believe I have some belonging to the revolver McGehan
used at Tamaqua!”</p>

<p class='c001'>He made known his willingness to supply a charge to McParlan.
Then Roarty left, expecting soon to return, and
McParlan and McGehan passed the evening, to a late hour,
waiting in the damp, cool basement, but Roarty did not
get back, probably being prevented by the rain, which was
falling, and finally the operative separated from his companion,
returning to Campbell’s for a bed.</p>

<p class='c001'>During the detective’s talk with McGehan he found that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_418'>418</span>the murderer of Yost boarded with a young widow lady
named Mrs. Boyle, living near Number Four Breaker, who
was very fond of her lodger, and intended to become his
wife. It was more than probable, from this circumstance,
that, should McGehan be arrested, Mrs. Boyle would try to
swear him clear, by saying he had been in her company the
night of the fifth of July. How clearly McParlan saw future
events will be shown hereafter.</p>

<p class='c001'>Well satisfied with his trip to Lansford and vicinity,
McKenna returned to Tamaqua with Alex. Campbell the
ensuing Monday, there to find very important news. Picking
up a copy of the Pottsville <cite>Miners’ Journal</cite>, for Monday,
the 16th of August, the agent read aloud to his comrades
an article, entitled “Bloody Saturday,” of which the
following is a summary:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Saturday was a horrible day for the people of the
Mahanoy Valley. The devil had business on his hands.
Two dastardly assassinations and one case of manslaughter,
beside several cases of lesser crimes, were his harvest. At
Girardville, possibly the most heinous act of the short but
bloody list was committed. A good citizen, and a mild,
inoffensive man, was murdered, in the person of Thomas
Gwyther, Justice of the Peace.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Saturday, the miners in the Mahanoy Valley received
the first pay of any consequence since the strike, and the
result was that Girardville, in the evening, was crowded
with men in various stages of intoxication. The rougher
element grew absolutely rampant and defiant of lawful
restraint. Gangs of ruffians went about the streets, flourishing
their revolvers. Though there were special policemen,
they were powerless and cowed. One of the bands
was headed by a man named Hoary, who was heard to
exclaim, as he exhibited his weapon: ‘Give me some one
to shoot! I’ll kill the first man that insults me!’ In their
travels this party went to Jacob Wendel’s tavern, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_419'>419</span>jostled a number of persons in the bar room. Hoary
struck and maltreated Mr. Sheisler. Squire Gwyther was
sitting in the room, at the time, and to him Hoary’s victim
applied for a warrant. Before matters could advance any
further there, Wendel put Hoary and party out, and then
let the Squire and the complainant out by the back way.
They went to the Squire’s office and he had begun to write
out a warrant for Hoary’s arrest, when that individual and
his gang entered the office, threatening to kill both the
Justice and the plaintiff if the warrant should be issued.
They were got out and the door locked. The warrant was
properly prepared, and the Squire stepped out to look for
Hoary. He was standing near his own door at the corner,
when he found a man a few yards off with a leveled gun.
His daughter also saw the same man, and cried out, ‘For
God’s sake, don’t shoot father!’ Almost immediately the
gun was fired, the contents taking effect in the breast of the
Justice and in a short while causing death. The assassin
fled and escaped. A man named Thos. Love was arrested
on suspicion, but he proved an <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span> and was released. Subsequently
it was ascertained that the assassin was Wm.
Love, who is missing. Naturally, so bold a defiance of
law and so dastardly a murder created the most intense
excitement in the borough and vicinity, where the victim
was known and esteemed.</p>

<p class='c001'>“At Shenandoah a cool and premeditated murder was
committed. The motive of this particular assassination is to
be sought in the events of the past. On Monday night,
August the 11th, 1873, a Welshman, named Tom Jones, was
assaulted, knocked down and beaten by one Edward Cosgrove,
in Shenandoah. Jones’ friends ran to his rescue, and
among them was a young fellow, called Gomer James, a
Welsh miner. In the trouble which followed, Cosgrove was
shot and killed, James was accused of his murder, arrested
and tried. The testimony at the trial was not sufficient to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_420'>420</span>convict him and he was acquitted. His escape incensed
Cosgrove’s friends, who believed James guilty, and threats
were made to take his life. Saturday last, the Rescue Hook
and Ladder Company, of Shenandoah, held a picnic, which
being well attended, was run far into the night. Gomer
James, somewhere about 11 o’clock, was inside a bar at this
picnic, waiting upon its patrons, and a number of men came
up. They asked for beer, and while James was drawing it
he was shot and killed. In the semi-darkness and confusion
the assassin escaped.</p>

<p class='c001'>“A dispatch from Shenandoah, received last evening, says
‘Gomer James was shot last evening, about 12 o’clock, at the
picnic grounds in Hecksher and Glover’s Grove, the ball
passing through his heart, embedding itself in his back near
the skin. Dr. Quail, Coroner, assisted by Drs. Reagan and
Byers, held a <span lang="la"><i>post-mortem</i></span> examination. Deputy Coroner
Dengler impaneled the following jury: T. J. Foster, R.
Stacker, Lyam Bloom, George A. Herring, A. H. Roades,
and H. C. Boyer. The jury adjourned until Monday morning
to finish hearing the testimony, there being a large number
of witnesses. The evidence so far is likely to point suspicion
on some one.’</p>

<p class='c001'>“The usual results of a large pay were visible in Mahanoy,
Saturday night. There were numbers of drunken men on
the streets, and a lawless spirit seemed to animate some of
them. There were several encounters, in which individuals
got roughly handled, and a fight which cost the life of an
innocent citizen. A disturbance arose at Phillips’ Pottsville
House, on Centre Street, between Wm. M. Thomas and a
man named James Dugan. Both drew revolvers, and fired
a number of shots at each other. Which fired first we could
not ascertain. Thomas was in an intoxicated condition.
He received a bullet in his left cheek, where it now is. A
man whose name is given as Christian Zimmerman, or Christian
Brenhower, who was standing across the street, waiting
<span class='pageno' id='Page_421'>421</span>for his wife to come out of a store where she was shopping,
received a bullet through his left lung. It was taken out of
his back. Though alive at five o’clock yesterday afternoon,
this unfortunate man was surely dying, having made his will.
Yesterday Dugan was arrested and held by Squire Comrey
in $800, for an aggravated assault and battery on William
Thomas. Thomas was arrested and committed by Squire
Groody in default of $1,800 bail, for an aggravated assault
and battery on Dugan. He was lodged in the county jail
yesterday afternoon by officer Gorman. So it appears no
one has been arrested for the killing of the innocent man.</p>

<p class='c001'>“A man, whose name we did not learn, received a flesh
wound in a leg during the shooting. Another, called ‘Carney,’
a shoemaker, while standing on his own door-step, was
assaulted by a party of young men, struck on the head with
a billy, and had an oyster knife stuck into his back. His injuries
are not serious!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna was astounded to find that Gomer James, after
so much had been done for him, should have engaged in any
public position, especially as booth-tender at a picnic, thus
placing himself temptingly before the Mollies, who, for over
two years, as he must have known, had been thirsting for his
blood. He reached the very result that might have been expected
from such criminal recklessness.</p>

<p class='c001'>When Alex. Campbell learned that Gomer James was
killed, he almost shed tears of delight. McKenna was
forced, against his will, to participate in the general rejoicing
which followed. It proved hard for him to put on the hateful
mask, but, galling as it was, he had to wear it. The
same afternoon, he returned to Mahanoy City, finding the
country in a blaze of excitement, and none the more safe
place of refuge for a man, well known as a prominent member
of the Ancient Order of Hibernians, otherwise the
Mollie Maguires, as he was. Remaining but a short time
he went, by train, to Shenandoah, saying, when he met McAndrew,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_422'>422</span>Morris, and Lawler at that place, that his friends, the
Buffalo detectives, had either been frightened off by recent
occurrences, or gone away to Canada, on a false scent, and
it was no longer necessary he should hide from them. All
the Mollies were glad to meet him. The non-Mollies, as
they were aware of his prolonged absence from the vicinity,
could not look upon him as at all chargeable with the killing
of Gomer James, and therefore did not, at this time, particularly
seek his life. They—the goodly citizens—merely
glanced at him, out of the corners of their eyes, and some
thought he was good enough to be hanged, but made no
overt demonstrations.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p3921_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>Hurley reached forward, over the counter, and fired, the bullet striking Gomer James.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>McKenna had not been four hours in Shenandoah when
he learned, through Muff Lawler, that there was little doubt
who had done for the young Welshman. Mike Carey, who
was present, with Lawler, McAndrew, Morris, and other
Mollies, said in an impressive whisper:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Hurley reached forward, over the counter, and fired, the
bullet striking Gomer James full in his heart, an’ he fell!
Before any one could go to his assistance he wor dead! I
saw the thing done myself!”</p>

<p class='c001'>It seems that Shenandoah Division was in session at the
time of the assassination—eleven o’clock at night of the
fourteenth—when Carey rushed in, before the members, and
announced, “Tom Hurley has shot Gomer James!” He
was quickly stopped by McAndrew, and subsequently sharply
reprimanded because of his thoughtlessness, in making such
a statement before all the members. But it was doubtless
true that Tom Hurley had done the deed.</p>

<p class='c001'>As a result of this unexpected success, all the Mollies in
Shenandoah engaged in a grand bacchanal, and few remained
sober. To get rid of them, McKenna left the place and
went to Girardville. Kehoe said that the murder of Squire
Gwyther was the result of a drunken spree, and Love, he was
glad to say, had made his escape. The young man, Thomas
<span class='pageno' id='Page_423'>423</span>Love, who had been arrested by High Constable Kehoe, in
person, he knew, as well as any one, was quite innocent, but
the brother, who was guilty, had traveled off, untrammeled.</p>

<p class='c001'>This dark day was not the end of the reign of the assassins
in Pennsylvania.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch40' class='c006'>CHAPTER XL.<br> <br>MORE BOSSES DOOMED.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Now the Mollies having Gomer James dead and buried
and out of their way, it was believed by some bloodshed
would cease. But the attentive reader will have arrived at
the conclusion that the end was not yet. For my own part, I
must confess to having experienced occasional periods of disappointment.
Here had I been, using my best efforts, seconded
by the most effective help the Company could furnish, and
notwithstanding our united action, despite the fact that we
daily knew much of the order, assassinations were not being
entirely prevented. This midnight society, to guard against
surprise or capture, had its committees within committees,
or, in other words, its secret affairs were seldom given to the
general members, but were kept in charge of the leading
officers and prominent personages. Hence, very few of the
Mollies in Shenandoah were officially aware of the fact that
Gomer James was to be put out of the way. McAndrew,
Hurley, Morris, Munley, Monaghan, McKenna, and a few
more knew it, and kept it to themselves—excepting the detective
who reported it—as those in Tamaqua and Summit
Hill retained among a few leading spirits the facts connected
with the murder of Yost and the preparations for cutting off
John P. Jones. But Jones was notified by Mr. Franklin, a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_424'>424</span>guard of men put in his house, and the boss instructed to
seek some other route, by which to reach his work, than the
pipe-line. For a while he maintained a measure of caution,
but not during many weeks; it became an old story. Danger,
as he thought, had been overestimated. Carelessness
and the resumption of his former habits quickly followed this
conclusion.</p>

<p class='c001'>The convention, appointed for the twenty-fifth of August,
occurred at Carroll’s house, the members occupying three
chambers in the upper part of the building. Among those
convened on this interesting occasion were Jack Kehoe,
County Delegate; Wm. Gavin, County Secretary; Christopher
Donnelly, County Treasurer; Jerry Kane, of Mt.
Laffee; Francis Keenan, of Forestville; Frank O’Neill, of St
Clair; James Roarty, of Coaldale; John Donahue—“Yellow
Jack”—of Tuscarora, and Michael O’Brien, of Mahanoy
City. Tom Hurley and John Morris, of Shenandoah,
were in one of the rooms for a few minutes. Many outsiders
seemed to be in the city and in the building, but the parties
mentioned transacted all the business of the meeting. Pat
Butler was on hand, but not as a legal part of the convention’s
committee—only as a sort of witness. During the
session of the lesser body, which was devoted principally to
hearing grievances, expelling and readmitting members,
Tom Hurley came forward and made known that to him,
and to no one else, was the society indebted for the killing
of Gomer James. Modesty, it appears, was far from a
prominent point in Hurley’s character. At least, on this day,
he not only boasted much of his peculiar service, but put
before the order, with no circumlocution or evasion, a direct
and open claim to a money reward for putting out of the
way the murderer of Cosgrove. He thought he was entitled
to a large sum for his success. James McKenna, the detective,
acting as Secretary of the committee before which
Hurley’s demand was made, was obliged to receive it, but
<span class='pageno' id='Page_425'>425</span>Pat Butler, of Loss Creek, presented himself before the same
committee with the verbal demand of one McClain, of his
division, who asserted that he, and not Hurley, had been the
marksman who brought down the young Welshman. When
Kehoe heard of the difference, he ordered Pat Butler and
James McKenna to act as arbiters and to settle the difference
by holding an investigation and reporting a decision, in writing,
at a subsequent date, directing to him at his home in
Girardville. They accepted the duty and appointed the succeeding
Sabbath for the appearance, in Shenandoah, of the
two men and their witnesses, when the case should be heard
and adjusted according to its real merits. Kehoe would
make no movement toward rewarding the man, who, he was
free to say, deserved a fair recompense, until this trial had
been concluded. Friends of Hurley were satisfied, they
urged, that a dozen persons could swear Tom did the shooting.
Every confidence was expressed that the blood-money
would go to him and to no other person.</p>

<p class='c001'>Jerry Kane, Pat Dolan, Frank Keenan, Jack Donahue,
Mike O’Brien, and James McKenna, constituted the committee
first spoken of as having been selected by the convention.</p>

<p class='c001'>The convention and its committee, after transacting their
legitimate business, adjourned, the members returning to
their respective homes, only Hurley, Morris, and McKenna
remaining at Tamaqua over night.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Shenandoah Mollies were very anxious to enlist the
Secretary in assisting to get bail for Chas. Hayes, who was
in jail in Pottsville. He consented, and through his influence
Marks, the proprietor of the Columbia House, was
induced to sign Hayes’ bond. This resulted in the young
man’s release, and earned for McKenna the gratitude of his
many friends.</p>

<p class='c001'>McAndrew, while in attendance upon the convention, was
approached by Kerrigan and asked to send men to do the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_426'>426</span>Jones killing. The Shenandoah President answered, assuring
him he would, if he could be made to see that assistance
was, in return, ready for him when required. Kerrigan
promised to furnish the needed men on a trade, and then
McAndrew said he should have the help of his branch in
doing anything reasonable.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna went back to Shenandoah the day following
the convention, accompanied by Morris and Hurley, and
while on the way his comrades were anxious to know if the
operative had recently seen anything of Linden. He
answered that he had not.</p>

<p class='c001'>“If I thought, for wan moment, Linden wor doin’ anything
on us, or on you, McKenna, I’d make him a target for
me revolver as sure as ever I came up wid him!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This sentiment of Hurley’s was echoed by John Morris,
who said he’d shoot Linden on sight, in such a contingency.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, ye naden’t spend yer precious breath over Linden!”
replied McKenna. “I know him pretty well! He’s all as
right as a trivet, as square as any man can be, and will never
go back on his true friends!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This quieted the fears of the two men for the time, and no
more threats were indulged in during the journey. McKenna
informed Linden by letter, that night, of his danger, at least
regarding the empty menaces of Morris and Hurley, hinting
that it might be well that his friend have a care for himself
during the excitement prevailing, or he would possibly find
the acts of the Mollies in question not so harmless as their
savage words and looks.</p>

<p class='c001'>The meeting to prove or refute Hurley’s assertion that he
killed Gomer James, as against the application of McClain
for the same rare distinction, took place near Number Three
Breaker, Sunday, the twenty-ninth of August. McKenna,
Pat Butler, Hurley, and several of his witnesses, gathered in
the bush at the appointed time. There was little or no evidence
introduced, but Hurley’s statement was reiterated.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_427'>427</span>He said he, with his own hand, had killed the young Welshman,
and demanded recompense for the act in no measured
terms. His own mother, it seems, had been an eye-witness
of the murderous work of the son. She had heard him swear
he would shoot James or be killed himself. Hurley had no
compunctions of conscience in refusing to obey her command
to go home, but repeated his oath that he “would fetch
Gomer James that day, if it cost him his life!” Too well
had he kept his word. Now he wanted the wages of his
iniquity, the thirty pieces of silver for which, more than from
feelings of revenge, he had shed human blood.</p>

<p class='c001'>Butler’s man, McClain, so the Loss Creek Bodymaster
intimated, was afraid to meet Hurley, refused to put in an
appearance before the committee, and there was no course
left but to quietly acquiesce in Hurley’s charge. This was
done, and McKenna requested to prepare a written version
of the decision arrived at and forward the same to the County
Delegate. There the duty of the committee of two ended.
The men dispersed to their houses, and Hurley had made
another confession, before witnesses, of his guilt.</p>

<p class='c001'>The following Monday, Hurley presented himself at McKenna’s
boarding-place, received the letter to Jack Kehoe,
and departed in quest of the reward for his deed. It is not
known that he ever received it. But, at a later date, Kehoe
was heard by the detective to say that Hurley should be
given five hundred dollars, by right, from the society’s treasury
for the important job he had performed. Jack was
always very free-hearted as long as the money donated did
not come from his own pocket. It is fair to presume that
the murderer will have to wait until the gallows claims its
own before fully realizing his worldly recompense for that
cold-blooded assassination. After finishing this matter the
two men adjourned to Tobin’s ball-alley, where they had
several games. The operative thought it necessary that he
should be seen in company with Hurley, and at the same
<span class='pageno' id='Page_428'>428</span>time remember, if he could, who observed the companionship.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was very late when McKenna retired that night—rather
quite early in the morning—and he was so completely fagged
out by the labors of the day, not to speak of the drinks
Hurley had compelled him to imbibe, that he slept until
after sunrise. When he did regain consciousness he found
another man reposing in the bed by his side. Sitting up,
and somewhat astonished that such a liberty should be taken
with his apartment, the agent learned that his companion
was none other than Mike Doyle, who had evidently arrived
after all Mrs. Cooney’s couches were occupied and been
sent to repose with him. So soundly was the operative
sleeping that he was unaware of the fact that he had an unbidden
bedfellow. When he arose, which was soon after
making the discovery, he saw, on the wash-stand, a Smith
and Wesson revolver, about the size of the new one he carried,
where it had probably been left by Doyle. This portended
business, as he very well knew that Doyle had no
weapon of his own, and he at once proceeded to rouse his
partner and ask him what was in the wind.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Where did ye get the repeater?” asked McKenna,
pointing to the pistol, when Doyle had sufficiently rubbed
his eyes to understand where he really was.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, I got it from Ned Monaghan,” he replied, yawning,
as if not above half pleased that he had been called so early.</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ I suppose Monaghan is so rich that he can afford to
be afther givin’ away five-shooters to every man what comes
along! Faix, I belave I’ll have to get meself one that
way!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“No! I have only borrowed the pistol! There’s a big
job on hand! Me an’ Jim an’ Charlie O’Donnell, Charlie
McAllister an’ Munley are to go to Raven Run an’ jist finish
off Tom Sanger, the mining boss, an’ take him afther he
comes out to his dinner!”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_429'>429</span>“Is that all?” inquired McKenna, treating the matter
lightly, but feeling, in truth, very much concerned, as he
knew the persons mentioned and was very sure there
would be bloody work whenever Friday O’Donnell had a
share.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I think, for my part, that’s plenty an’ to spare,” returned
Doyle, as he proceeded to dress himself. “I don’t at all
relish the thing! But of course orders must be obeyed, an’
I’m the last man to go back on the Bodymasther!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Here was news for the detective—early news, at that. But
what could he do with it? By the time he was well down
stairs to breakfast, Doyle signified his readiness for that meal.
In the bar who should present himself but that early-bird,
Tom Hurley, already well posted about the proposed Raven
Run matter.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Jim, lend me your old, gray coat!” said Doyle. “I
came off without anything but a light one, an’ I nade somethin’
somewhat heavier!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Ye can take it, in welcome!” replied McKenna. And
Doyle put the garment on and wore it at the dining-table.
It was the same unfortunate coat John Gibbons had donned
when starting upon the last expedition to take off Wm. M.
Thomas. The agent soon saw that the new situation of
affairs much resembled the former in other particulars. Not
only had one of the proposed murderers secured the loan of
his gray coat, but he was himself so hampered, through the
close attendance of Hurley and others, that there was no
opportunity to send a message of any sort to Mr. Franklin, at
Philadelphia, or to Linden. In fact, as concerned the whereabouts
of the latter individual, he was at the moment entirely
ignorant. He might be in Lansford, looking after Jones,
as he had been intending, or in Tamaqua, or in Ashland.
Where he was he could not tell. But as McKenna was in the
company of the Mollies, and could not avoid them on any pretext,
however specious, it made little difference. An attempt
<span class='pageno' id='Page_430'>430</span>to send off word by telegraph would be the signal for suspicion,
and with men like his companions a shadow of doubt
was good enough pretext for an assassination. Hence, hard
as it really was, he endeavored to quell his excitement, appear
to enjoy the prospect, and lend seeming countenance
to that against which every thought, impulse, and instinct of
his nature recoiled.</p>

<p class='c001'>Hurley told Doyle that if he went with the O’Donnell
crowd, he would have to act the manly part, and perform his
whole duty, or they would kill him as if he were only a mad
dog. With this consoling remark the young murderer proceeded
to give Doyle particular instructions in the fine art
of assassination, showing him minutely how a man should be
killed and how not killed. He accompanied his remarks
with illustrations, made in his peculiar style, in the yard attached
to Lawler’s premises.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna and Hurley, still in company—it appeared to
the operative that he would do almost anything to free himself
from Tom’s friendly and unconscious surveillance—strolled
about the streets of the city, as usual taking the
prominent saloons in their route, and finally encountering
James, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> Friday O’Donnell—a tall, slimly-built, fair-complexioned
man, whose smooth face, dark eyes, brown hair
and genial expression of countenance, were no indication
of the murderous passions slumbering in his being—with
James McAllister, the latter a brother-in-law of Jack Kehoe.
McAllister was quickly photographed on the memory of the
detective. Some twenty-four years of age, of florid complexion,
a little freckled, light hair and mustache, and usually
well appareled, he was an average representative of his
race, and by no means unhandsome in form and figure. The
latter said that Chas. O’Donnell would soon be through his
work and had promised to join them. Friday O’Donnell
carried two revolvers, which the agent saw were about the
same size as his own, bearing a number thirty-two cartridge.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_431'>431</span>In company, after Charles O’Donnell came, all repaired to
Muff Lawler’s residence.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p4301_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>All repaired to Muff Lawler’s residence.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>While on the way, McKenna made every excuse possible
to separate himself from Hurley, who stuck to him more
closely than Carey had, through the night following the departure
of the men to shoot Wm. Thomas, and finally, seeing
that all his efforts were useless, he discontinued them
and came to the conclusion that, whatever was to be done,
it would be impossible for him to successfully interfere. The
Mollies must take their course. His life would pay the forfeit
of any indiscreet word or act. The news of the intended
foray could not be forwarded to Philadelphia, neither was it
possible to admonish the intended victim. There was nothing
left for him but to endure the suspense, carry with him
the horrible thought that a man was possibly being murdered
in his neighborhood, and he impotent to warn or protect.
“Where is Linden?” “What can be keeping him?”
“What shall I do?” were some of the questions which
puzzled his brain while he was making his way to Lawler’s
house. When all the men arrived, and, well prepared for
the deed, again left the locality so as to be early at Raven
Run, the operative secretly hoped Hurley would start too,
but he did not. On the contrary, fastening himself more
closely to his person, he marched arm-in-arm with him to
Frank McAndrew’s place, and insisted upon treating to the
drinks for all who gathered there. And this was no small
number, as McAndrew had called a meeting of the leading
members of the division for that afternoon, and they were
convening at five o’clock, so that their business might be
ended before nightfall. The liquor once consumed, there
was no time to spare until the appointed hour, and Hurley
and McKenna entered the division room, an upper chamber
in the building, in company. There were only men composing
the inside ring of the lodge present. To these, after
prayer and the usual opening ceremonies, McAndrew said
<span class='pageno' id='Page_432'>432</span>the time for action had come. The Hibernians in other
places were following the good example set by his branch,
and he must not be idle. He had come to the conclusion
that a boss named Reese must be cut off, and reported he
had an order from Kerrigan, Bodymaster of Tamaqua Division,
for three men to do an important job at Summit Hill.
Jones was to be put out of the way, and “there must be no
growling about it!” Mike Carey was chosen to go and
assist in the Lansford scheme, but unqualifiedly refused.
McAndrew was much angered, and exclaimed that such conduct
would be punished as it deserved, when he had more
time, and in a moment selected John McGrail, Thomas
Munley, and Mike Darcey to go to Tamaqua and report to
Kerrigan. As Munley lived at Gilberton and was not present,
Ed Sweeney was detailed to inform him of the affair on
hand, and instruct him when to start and where to report.</p>

<p class='c001'>“The latest must not be later than to-morrow night!”
ordered the Bodymaster.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna was requested to visit Tamaqua at once, make
all right with Kerrigan, deliver the men for his job, and
secure those to do for Reese. There was nothing to be
gained by refusal. He had to go. The thought struck
him: “Here is a chance for a warning! It is my only
opportunity!” He promptly accepted the mission and at
once took cars for Tamaqua. It was a terrible ordeal, but
from it there seemed to open no avenue of escape.</p>

<p class='c001'>Here is the situation: Campbell striving to have John P.
Jones killed, and calling upon Kerrigan for men to do the
deed. McAndrew to furnish these men to Kerrigan, and
Kerrigan, to make the matter even, to repay in a batch of
assassins for the killing of Reese. Shenandoah Division having
its business transacted in the Sanger case by persons from
Girardville, part of the number being relatives of Jack Kehoe,
McAndrew was not informed—though McKenna was, through
his chancing to sleep with Doyle—of the duty the O’Donnell
<span class='pageno' id='Page_433'>433</span>delegation were to perform. When the operative thought over
the complications by which he was surrounded he hardly knew
which thing to do first. But, as soon as he reached Tamaqua,
he closeted himself long enough at the Columbia House
to indite a brief letter to Mr. Franklin, setting forth the
critical condition of affairs, and breathed somewhat more
freely when the dangerous paper was out of his possession,
safely deposited in the post-office. He had done all he
could, but without much hope that his endeavors would save
the lives threatened.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
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<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch41' class='c006'>CHAPTER XLI.<br> <br>MURDER OF SANGER AND UREN.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Leaving my agent in Tamaqua, a victim of three-fold
suspense, I must now attempt to describe a double murder,
perpetrated by the Mollie Maguires at Raven Run, near
Ashland, Wednesday, the first of September, 1875, a little
more than two weeks later than the killing of Gomer James
and Squire Gwyther. The plain facts are here collected, as
given by the detectives, from sources which are deemed reliable.</p>

<p class='c001'>As Hiram Beninger, a carpenter connected with the colliery,
was passing from his house to the breaker, at about six
o’clock in the morning of the day mentioned, he noticed two
men, apparently strangers, sitting on some car sills not far
from the carpenter shop. One wore a soft hat and the other
a cap with a broad velvet band. Both had their coat collars
turned up as if to protect them from the chilling wind, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_434'>434</span>their positions on the timbers were those of mere listlessness,
as though waiting for the arrival of the working boss. It
was a common occurrence to see parties thus early on the
ground to make application for employment, and Beninger
paid no attention to these. But for circumstances immediately
following, possibly he might never have thought of
them again.</p>

<p class='c001'>John Nicolls, this same clear cool morning in September
and at about the same hour, was walking on the Mammoth
Colliery road, or the path leading to that colliery, when he
discovered three men, also seemingly new to the neighborhood,
resting themselves on the trucks with which coal is
elevated from the shaft or plane. One of the fresh arrivals
spoke pleasantly to Nicolls, saying, “Good-morning!” in a
low tone of voice, and, as a man naturally would, Nicolls
politely returned the salutation. After passing these three
persons, Nicolls noticed two others, sitting just where the
carpenter had found them, and Nicolls walked within a yard
of their locality. One of the last-named persons, he remembered,
wore a light-colored soft hat and brown coat, and
looked closely in his face as he was going by. The other had
on the velvet cap noticed by Beninger. The first, a light-complexioned,
heavily-built man, spoke to Nicolls, saying:
“You are going early to your work!” Nicolls answered:
“Yes; rather early!” and went on his way. He recalled
nothing particularly suspicious in the circumstance, excepting,
as he subsequently remarked, the man having the cap pulled
its visor down over his eyes. Mr. Nicolls only saw five
men, concluded in his mind that they were travelers, probably
seeking work, and but for subsequent events would soon have
forgotten them altogether.</p>

<p class='c001'>Ten or fifteen minutes afterward Thomas Sanger, a boss
in Heaton &#38; Co.’s Colliery, started from his home for the
scene of his daily labor, taking tender leave of his wife at
their garden gate, accompanied by Wm. Uren, who boarded
<span class='pageno' id='Page_435'>435</span>in his family and was also employed at the same mining
works. Both bore their dinner-cans in their hands.</p>

<p class='c001'>Sanger was a man greatly respected by his neighbors,
about thirty-three years of age, and, while he had always
been firm in his purpose, and true to his employers, had
failed to make any enemies, excepting among the Mollies.
He had, in his time, been duly threatened, but more recently
believed the anger of his organized enemies was buried,
forgotten, or appeased. But it proved a great mistake.
Their murderous desires only slept.</p>

<p class='c001'>Sanger and his companion, who was a miner, had not
gone far when they were fired upon and both mortally
wounded by the same strange men noticed by the carpenter
and Mr. Nicolls. Beninger heard the shots, and rushing
out, saw Robert Heaton, one of the proprietors of the colliery,
firing his pistol at and running after two of the murderers.
He heard “Red” Nick Purcell call for a gun.
Two of the five assassins just then stopped in their retreat and
began discharging their revolvers at Heaton, but he was not
hit, and, holding boldly his ground, continued using his
weapon, apparently without effect. Then all of the strange
men turned and ran quickly up the mountain. Heaton followed
as fast as he could, and when he had gained a little
on them, stopped, and resting his pistol on a stump, to get
steadier aim, continued to shoot. Still none were wounded.
At least they did not slacken their speed, but made rapidly
for the heavier timber and soon disappeared. Mr. <a id='corr435.27'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Nicoll’s'>Nicolls</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_435.27'><ins class='correction' title='Nicoll’s'>Nicolls</ins></a></span>
saw the same sight. It may be said, to his credit, that
Heaton never withdrew from the unequal chase until his
cartridges were exhausted and the men beyond range of his
bullets. Had any of the several other witnesses of the
deed been prepared, and followed the example of Heaton,
the gang of assassins would have been killed or captured.
As it was, they were not further pursued at the moment, and
got away before reason prevailed and preparations were
<span class='pageno' id='Page_436'>436</span>made for going on their trail. Then it was too late. The
game was out of even rifle range.</p>

<p class='c001'>After Sanger received his wound he was taken to the
house of a neighbor, named Wheevil, where every attention
was given him. Wm. Uren, who was also bleeding freely,
was removed to the same residence. The surgeons were
sent for, and Mrs. Sanger soon came in. Sanger lived but
a little while. When his wife entered the room he said,
in a faltering voice: “Sarah, come and kiss me! I am
dying!” involuntarily echoing Yost’s exclamation under
similar circumstances. Neither of the wounded men retained
consciousness long enough to give any coherent description
of the manner in which they had been met, but there were
witnesses in plenty, workmen going to their labor and
others, who had seen the entire transaction.</p>

<p class='c001'>Sanger had been three years with Heaton &#38; Co., and
always performed his duty faithfully. He had received two
gunshot wounds, one through the right forearm, and the
other in the groin, the last severing the femoral artery.
There was no gleam of hope for him. He bled to death in
a few minutes. Dr. A. B. Sherman, assisted by Doctors
Yocum and Yeomans, of Ashland, did everything in the
power of man, but without avail. Death was inevitable from
the locality and extent of the hurt.</p>

<p class='c001'>Uren was shot in the right groin, in about the same place
as Sanger, an important artery in his leg being injured. He
remained in a sort of stupor until death ensued, the next day.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p4301_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>‘Don’t stop for me, Bob, but give it to them!’</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>Heaton was eating his breakfast when he heard the firing,
and at once his mind reverted to the men he had seen sitting
by the carpenter shop. There was something peculiar in
their posture, and in the fact of their hats being over their
eyes, and coat collars turned up. Believing they were the
cause of the trouble, he seized his revolver and ran out.
The first thing he encountered was Thomas Sanger, wounded,
lying on the ground by a stump, near the house, bleeding
<span class='pageno' id='Page_437'>437</span>freely, where the murderers had left him; still Sanger said:
<a id='corr437.2'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Don’t'>“Don’t</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_437.2'><ins class='correction' title='Don’t'>“Don’t</ins></a></span> stop for me, Bob, but give it to them!” Heaton
caught sight of the departing assassins, and, as before
related, opened fire upon them, but without effect. He had
a fair view of one of the persons, when he turned on his heel
and fired back at him. But Mrs. Williams, a neighbor of
Heaton, had a better opportunity to judge of the same man.
Her young son, when he heard the shooting, was very anxious
to go out and join in Heaton’s attempt to capture or kill the
assassins. He desired to do just what the others should
have done, but did not do, and his mother, naturally fearful
harm might come to him, had, with the assistance of her
daughter, dragged the lad back into the room after he had
reached the entrance, which was open. She threw her arms
around him and effectually barred his progress. Then the
murderer of Sanger—having brought the boss down, as he ran
for the protecting building, and even stopping to turn him
over on his back and deliberately fire a second shot into his
quivering and bleeding body—with smoking pistol still in
hand, passed Mrs. Williams’ door. While engaged in preventing
her son’s exit, her mind filled with horror from what
had already happened, and dread of that which she thought
might occur, she noted each feature of the murderer’s face
and every peculiarity of his form, as, with head raised and
defiant air, he swung his weapon over his head, walked
rapidly by her door and up the road. She said she could
never forget that man. His likeness haunted her, waking
and sleeping, for many nights, and she furnished her neighbors
with a description which was afterwards very valuable.</p>

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<p class='c001'>The two men who had accompanied McKenna to Tamaqua,
quite unfit for duty when they reached their destination,
were put to bed at Carroll’s—which place they had
approached by three several routes, by previous arrangement
not having spoken together on the car—very soon after their
<span class='pageno' id='Page_438'>438</span>arrival. Drink had quite overpowered them. This left the
agent at liberty to walk about and think over the predicament
he was in. His nerves were not particularly braced
up by the perusal of a savage article in the Shenandoah
<cite>Herald</cite>, recommending the formation by the citizens of a
vigilance committee, which should summarily rid the country
of the Mollie Maguires. He thought that such an organization
was the one thing needful to render his position quite
unendurable. His Mollie friends merely laughed at it.
They said: “Let the committee be appointed! If it is, we
will then spare neither women, old men, nor children! It
will be war to the knife, and the knife to the throat!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This was anything but cheerful talk for the Shenandoah
Secretary, but he was forced to acquiesce in it, however much
his heart misgave him. He well knew that it would be a
modern miracle, if such a combination was entered into,
should he fail in becoming its first victim. No Mollie
Maguire was better known. No Mollie was suspected of
having committed more crimes, and, meanwhile, he was perfectly
innocent. McKenna certainly did not favor a vigilance
committee. On the contrary, he was zealously opposed
to anything of the sort. While thinking over these
unpleasant things the operative inquired of Carroll where
Kerrigan was. He pretended he did not know. Under
these circumstances it occurred to the agent that it was his
duty to send the men, brought there to perform a murder,
directly back to their homes. In the afternoon he did so,
informing them that he had been unable to find Kerrigan,
which was true, and probably the Jones job had been postponed,
which he did not know to be the fact, but which he
hoped might be so. No sooner were his parties off for
Shenandoah than McKenna set about a plan for putting
Linden and his men in the bush about Jones’ house, proposing
to be near himself and see that the boss was not hurt.
After failing to find Linden or Kerrigan, he went to Carroll’s,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_439'>439</span>the hour being about ten at night, and luckily the saloon-keeper
was alone.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Were the men you had here to go to Old Mines?”
asked Carroll.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! But as I couldn’t run across Kerrigan, they have
been sent home! I can get them again by merely telegraphing
McAndrew to ‘send me over a game chicken!’
That’s the signal agreed upon. Where is that fellow, Kerrigan,
anyhow? Sure, you ought to know!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll tell you, McKenna,” whispered Carroll. “He has
been off since Wednesday, wid two men from Mt. Laffee,
an’ I’m after thinkin’ that, before this time, all is over in that
case! The fellows came here wid a letther from Jerry
Kane, an’ gave it to me, an’ I jist kept them inside until
Kerrigan got in, which was about nine at night, an’ they all
left. It wur Mike Doyle and Ed Kelly that went wid Kerrigan.
They brought no arms along, so if they wur arrested
nothing would be found on them! Campbell has plenty of
<a id='corr439.20'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='pistols.'>pistols.”</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_439.20'><ins class='correction' title='pistols.'>pistols.”</ins></a></span></p>

<p class='c001'>Here the saloon-keeper had to attend to the wants of a
customer and McKenna, completely bewildered, walked out
of the place and over to his hotel. What was he to do?
The probability was that Kerrigan and his men had shot
Jones that very morning. Where should he find Linden?
How should he act? After calm reflection he determined
that he could do nothing. If Jones had been killed, it was
not possible to aid him. Everything had been done that his
inventive mind suggested to notify and guard the man.
McKenna therefore took the cars and returned, heart-sick
and despondent, to Shenandoah.</p>

<p class='c001'>Linden’s duty had called him elsewhere, and hence he cannot
be held at all responsible for a job he thought amply provided
for. Still in doubt about Jones’ fate, it was at Muff
Lawler’s house that the operative learned the result of the
expedition by Friday O’Donnell and his men to Raven Run.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_440'>440</span>They regained the outskirts of Shenandoah at about eight
o’clock, the morning of the murder, and the crowd, consisting
of Mike Doyle, Friday and Chas. O’Donnell, Thos. Munley,
and Chas. McAllister, entered the house, one by one, and
each was made quickly comfortable.</p>

<p class='c001'>Chas. McAllister lived with the O’Donnells at Wiggan’s
Patch, and was married to their sister.</p>

<p class='c001'>The entire company were covered with dust and perspiration
and expressed themselves as very thirsty. They certainly
drank a great quantity of water, for men whose usual
beverage was something stronger, and seemed recently to
have traveled far and fast. Friday O’Donnell made no secret
of the scene all were freshly from, and boasted that they had
made a clean sweep of it, and, while it was the intention
only to take off Sanger, they had killed another man, supposed
to be a miner. He did not know but they had hurt
others.</p>

<p class='c001'>Chas. McAllister exhibited to McKenna a navy revolver,
and said that Chas. O’Donnell carried one of the same size.
Doyle wore the Smith &#38; Wesson he had previously seen,
and Friday O’Donnell had two pistols. In Lawler’s back
kitchen, that morning, they talked over the murder for an
hour, saying they had all traded clothing before the shooting,
and, after finishing, swapped back again. Each murderer
took part in the conversation, and related, in his own way,
the share he had taken in the assassination. Their reports
were not particularly at variance with the facts as set forth
in this chapter, and hence the reader’s mind, already sickened
with relation of violence and bloodshed, need not be
further harrowed up by their repetition here.</p>

<p class='c001'>But what were McKenna’s feelings at this period? To say
that he was exceedingly anxious, is a very weak expression
in which to convey the mental experiences of that eventful
day. With what patience he could command, he awaited information
of Kerrigan’s work at Lansford.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_441'>441</span>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch42' class='c006'>CHAPTER XLII.<br> <br>ARREST OF ASSASSINS.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Quite a fraternal feeling had existed between the two men
murdered on the first of September at Raven Run, Wm.
Uren having been a native of the parish of Germoe, Cornwall,
England, but a short distance from Sanger’s birthplace.
He entered the Greatwork tin mines at the early age of ten
years, with his father, and remained until about nineteen,
when he bid his relatives adieu and sailed for this country,
landing at New York in the fall of 1872. After working
nearly a year at Dover, New Jersey, he removed to Schuylkill
County and was employed by the Messrs. Heaton as a
coal miner. While in England Uren was a regular attendant
at church and Sabbath-school. In Pennsylvania he kept
up the same course, early enlisting as a teacher in a Sunday-school,
which place he held at the time of his death.
Uren, with other bosses and miners, including Sanger, was
coffin-noticed by the Mollies as early as 1874, and in consequence
Sanger invited the young man to board at his house.
They soon formed an intimate and enduring friendship. The
winter of 1875 and following summer, to the day of the
assassination, passing peaceably and without any apparent
attempt to carry out the promises of the organization, as far
as he and Sanger were concerned, Uren began to believe
all danger passed or blown over. They thought nothing
would actually be done. Thus had it always been. No
sooner did a threatened man come to the understanding that
his life was perfectly safe, than, in this very peculiar country
and with this very peculiar class of people, he was, as too
many cases proved, in the exact position to prepare for leaving
<span class='pageno' id='Page_442'>442</span>this world, for the fiends incarnate causing all the trouble
in the coal region were abundantly capable of waiting for
any length of time, keeping their wrath warm and pouring it,
at any unsuspected moment, upon the devoted heads of their
victims. Therefore, Uren, when set upon, was no better prepared
to defend himself against the power of his enemies than
his friend, Sanger. There was nothing that either could possibly
do but to stand up like men before the deadly pistols
and be shot cruelly down.</p>

<p class='c001'>A more sorrowful scene than that enacted around the
couch of the dying Uren was never witnessed. His fellow-countryman,
Sanger, was already gone. It was not long
before he followed. The funeral of the two men, like their
murder, was a double one, and both were buried in the same
grave. The parents of Wm. Uren are yet living in England,
with four sisters and five brothers. They receive no more
assistance from their dutiful son and brother. They know
their main help this side of the Atlantic has been cut off by
the bullet of the assassin.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna was again in Shenandoah when he received a
note from Linden informing him of certain remarks that person
had heard made by a citizen of Tamaqua concerning the
Secretary. They were not exactly the kind of words generally
causing a man to feel more secure of or harbor firmer
belief in his personal safety. Said Linden in his letter:</p>

<p class='c001'>“A citizen by the name of Boyd remarked to me to-day
that the only chance for an excitement in dull Tamaqua was
when that man with the big head (alluding to the wig, I
suppose) and blue coat came upon the street. Then people
began to say to each other, ‘What a shame that such a
fellow (this means you, McParlan) is allowed to live! He
ought to be strung up!’ You need to keep a sharp look
out, wherever you are, for about everybody here is thinking
that you are a suspicious fellow generally and a particularly
bad Mollie!”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_443'>443</span>This was not very inspiriting information for the officer to
receive, and, the next day, was supplemented by the following,
showing that Linden had called at Shenandoah and not
been able to find or communicate with his fellow-operative:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I was in conversation, yesterday, with several influential
men, and it was the universal expression that all would
soon have to emigrate or make the Mollies leave. They
talked vigilance committee very earnestly. One of the
party asked another if ‘that fellow, McKenna, was about the
city yet?’ He replied ‘yes!’ Then said the first speaker:
‘That is the smartest business man of the society! He has
the best head and does the most work; in short, is the most
dangerous scamp among them!’ You will observe that my
former recommendation is enforced by this. Look sharp!
Don’t be imprudent! Have an eye out for breakers, day
and night!”</p>

<p class='c001'>A wayfaring man has, before this, perused letters of a
more calming and conciliatory tenor. Indeed McKenna
remembered having read passages, even in yellow-covered
romances of the blood-and-thunder style of literature, which,
torturingly bad as they were, gave him much more unalloyed
pleasure than those two missives from Linden. Yet he was
thankful to their author for them. His intentions were good,
and his recommendations among the best that could be made.</p>

<p class='c001'>Here there arose another apparent conflict between duty
and inclination. The first said: “Stay here and procure
testimony which shall punish the assassins.” The second
chimed in with a broad hint to pack up his clothing and
other goods, purchase a ticket for Chicago, and hasten away
toward the setting sun. McParlan thought he had but just
commenced his work. It would be time for him to desert
the post if forced to do so, or when Mr. Franklin might deem
his duty in the country quite complete. In any event, he
concluded to stay some time longer, even though the wishes
of the citizens of Tamaqua and Shenandoah might be executed.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_444'>444</span>He knew that, if the excited people of the vicinity
could only be aware of his true purposes, they would willingly
carry him in their arms, or draw him in a carriage, shielding
him from harm with their own bodies; and this inward consciousness
of rectitude, which buoyed him through many
a stormy day in the years he had been in my service, kept
his head above water and steadied his nerves while he continued
his professional work. He knew that, if he lived yet a
little longer, the residents of Schuylkill, Carbon, Columbia,
and Luzerne Counties would praise and bless him. If he
died, they would discover that his life was sacrificed that they,
and generations to them yet unborn, might have and enjoy
protection from the Mollie Maguires, under the law, and
secure immunity from the black dragon which for a score of
years had made their land a terror and a shame in the
nation.</p>

<p class='c001'>These and similar ideas were passing through the brain of
McKenna, the afternoon of the third of September, 1875,
when the perusal of the evening newspaper confirmed his
worst fears. John P. Jones was added to the long list of
victims of the mysterious society. He had been shot that
morning. The operative soon learned the principal facts
connected with this assassination and embodied them in a
report to the Agency.</p>

<p class='c001'>John P. Jones left his house, which was in Lansford and
contained his wife and seven children, at about seven o’clock
in the morning, bound for the breaker where he was employed,
carrying his dinner-pail in his hand, and following
the pipe-line toward the old railway embankment, which he
had been, by Mr. Zehner, Mr. Beard, and others, repeatedly
urged not to take, as they were aware that his life was
by no means safe. He felt, like Sanger and Uren, entirety
satisfied that the Mollies, who had so long been confronting
him, were of a more forgiving nature than the public credited
them with being or that their desire for his blood had been
<span class='pageno' id='Page_445'>445</span>satiated by the several recent sacrifices. Instead of heeding
advice, and extracting warning from the deaths lately occurring,
and using a locomotive to carry him up and down
the line, as he could easily have done, or even refusing to
work unless some such course was observed, he put his
revolver in his pocket and went off cheerfully to what
proved his last journey.</p>

<p class='c001'>The assassins, James Kerrigan, Mike Doyle, and Edward
Kelly, were waiting for him. He saw them not, but continued
his walk as though nothing more than usual stood
before him. Not a premonition of impending evil; not a
thought of coming death; not a glance around, to see if
the cowardly assassin was in ambush prepared to kill him.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p4442_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>Then Doyle and Kelly drew their pistols and fired on Jones.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>But they were there, lying in wait, Kerrigan, as usual,
standing at a little distance and wholly unarmed. Jones left
his home by a rear door and moved down the pipe-line.
When the trio of murderers reached the top of the path,
he was some yards from the same position. He heard
their footsteps and turned aside, patiently pausing for the
others to pass. Still not a suspicion could have crossed his
mind that he stood at the gateway of death. The men had
no intention of permitting him to obtain a hint of their
design. They halted, when close to him, and then Doyle
and Kelly drew their pistols and fired on Jones. Each discharged
one shot. Their victim made a spasmodic blow at
his assailants with the tin dinner-pail, when Doyle fired
again. Turning off toward the bushes, Jones raised his
hands and cried out: “I’m shot! I’m shot!” In a
moment he fell forward upon his face. After this, Doyle
fired two more bullets into his already riddled body. The
Superintendent had not time to draw or think of a weapon,
and in a few minutes the life of the man was ended. His
heart beat no more. While Doyle was finishing the savage
job, his companions were running away across the mountains.
The reports of the pistols brought many workmen
<span class='pageno' id='Page_446'>446</span>on the railroad to the spot, and Jones’ corpse was immediately
taken to his home. Several persons had seen the
assassins retreating over the hill, and one man was so near
them as to be frightened, thinking his turn to be shot would
come next. He made rapid progress in placing himself out
of harm’s way.</p>

<p class='c001'>The citizens of Tamaqua were not long in ignorance of
the incidents attending the killing of Jones, and the excitement,
which before had risen to a high pitch, reached the
verge of general madness. People procured arms and went
upon the streets in numbers. Men, women, and boys were
aroused, and everybody appeared intent upon arresting or
killing somebody. The Mollie Maguires alone kept quiet.
Finally it was discovered, by some one who had been quietly
following the little miner since the killing of Yost, that
James Kerrigan was away from his home. Silently and
doggedly a few persons kept watch over his house. Early
in the forenoon he returned, remained but a short time, and
was shortly afterward seen to start out with a small bundle
in his hand, and, sticking from one pocket, a flask of liquor.
Cautiously the men kept on his trail and tracked him until
he reached a spring where Doyle and Kelly were waiting.
He had no more than time to give them the refreshments,
when the three Mollies, evidently warned by a preconcerted
signal from Carroll, who walked along, making himself conspicuous
upon the railway track, started to run. But the
people confronted and soon captured them. They had no
arms about their persons, and when examined at the jail
only some cartridges were found in their pockets. A little
later, however, some officers, while making a search, unearthed
three pistols and a heavy club, secreted under the
trees in the leaves near the spring. The sheriff, the next day,
escorted Kerrigan, Kelly, and Doyle to Mauch Chunk, where
they were committed to prison, to await trial, the crime
having been committed in Carbon County.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_447'>447</span>The supposed murderers were in a safe place. Was there
testimony upon which they could be convicted? It was
doubtful. They were unquestionably the guilty parties, and
might be well identified as far as descriptions went, but the
actual witnesses were standing at such a distance from the
scene it was possible that a jury, especially without having
corroborating evidence, might be deceived and fail to find
sufficient fact to warrant conviction.</p>

<p class='c001'>One good effect, at least, was produced by the arrest of
the three Mollies. The remainder of the members of the
order were, for the time, struck dumb. Their hands were
powerless. They could perform no further acts of violence,
for fear of prejudicing the interests of their brothers then in
custody. Peace would be assured, at least until the trials
could take place. But that the defendants would be sworn
clear by the oaths of the fraternity few were found to doubt.</p>

<p class='c001'>As in one of the earlier murders of the year, the killing
of Jones was, by many innocent and well-meaning but uninformed
people, charged upon my detective, James McParlan,
<span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> McKenna. I do not allude to this censoriously.
They did not know what they were doing, and were judging
from outward appearances alone. Seeing him, for a series of
years, the associate of murderers, thieves, and Mollies, and
apparently the toughest man among them, it was no more
than reasonable they should suppose him really one of their
number and a leader in many of their criminal works. Mr.
Reese, of Shenandoah, whose life the operative had just
been the means of preserving, sent word, on the tenth of
September, a week subsequent to Jones’ taking off, that
he desired to see Mr. Linden. When they met, Reese told
my officer that an Irishman named McKenna was supposed
to have originated, planned, and assisted in executing the
crime, concluding with the death of John P. Jones, of Lansford.
He added that, so well were the good people of
Tamaqua satisfied of the truth of this assumption, though
<span class='pageno' id='Page_448'>448</span>they were without a particle of positive evidence, he, Mr.
Reese, had no doubt, if McKenna appeared in the town,
they would turn out in hundreds and hang him to the nearest
tree. This state of feeling exhibits the closeness with
which the operative was doing his work, and is another evidence
of his skill. The reader who has followed me thus far
can tell how entirely void of all criminal act or intent the
record of that officer had been. The public now knows that
he was laboring, even at the risk of losing his own life, to
clear the country of those who had for years been perpetrating
crimes of blood in the anthracite region. It understands
that he went there for a purpose, and I hope to be able
to show, before the close of this volume, that he was eminently
successful in his undertaking.</p>

<p class='c001'>This feeling, on the part of the deadly enemies of the
Mollie Maguires, that McKenna was the deepest and most
guilty man in that wicked organization, is an evidence of the
discretion and tact the detective had continually exercised.
Without seeming to be fully in sympathy with and inside the
order, without an apparent acquiescence in its doings, his
task would have been abortive. It was this confidence on
the part of good people that he was a very bad man, and
the belief on the side of the Mollies that he was as hard and
as bloody a character as even Tom Hurley, Yellow Jack
Donahue, or Jemmy Kerrigan, that gave witness of his
standing and efficiency as a secret detective. The mere
suspicion, by the fraternity, that he might possibly be other
than the party he affected to be would surely have been
seized upon as the signal for his death.</p>

<p class='c001'>Despite his apprehensions, which were more excited by
the promised formation in the coal region of a vigilance
committee than by the information just recorded, or the
idea that his identity would be revealed to his companions,
the agent stuck courageously to his verbal contract with me;
did not desert his post, but, stopping for a time in Shenandoah,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_449'>449</span>busied himself, as before, in keeping inside the inner
sanctuary of the infernal society with which he was connected.
He thought occasionally of going to Tamaqua and
resuming his attentions to Kerrigan’s wife’s sister, and eventually
did so, but for the few days following the assassination
at Lansford he was almost continually in the company of
Thomas Hurley and the rest of the Shenandoah branch.
Hurley was fairly famishing for more blood. He had not
done, and could not do, enough. The scent of gore had
fallen on his senses and he longed for another draught.
One day he said to McKenna:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I tell you, Jim, so long as there is a pot over the fire,
the fire must be kept to it!”—meaning that, as the era of
murders had begun, it must be continued. The inventive
genius of Hurley was constantly on the stretch, manufacturing
cases in which the pistol might be used with effect. This
was one reason, undoubtedly, that McAndrew took it into
his head to have Reese put out of the path. McKenna was
the cause of the signal failure of that scheme.</p>

<p class='c001'>In one of the operative’s reports for this date, he wrote,
evidently feeling exactly and keenly the sentiment that his
pen expressed:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I am sick and tired of this thing! I seem to make no
progress, and the terrible and long-continued state of excitement
in the town and the country around here will one day
end in something more fearful than has yet occurred. I hear
of preparations for bloodshed in all directions. The sun
looks crimson to me, and the air is tainted with the smell
of blood. We must do something to stop the sanguinary
whirlwind that bids fair to destroy everything!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Long before this I had arrived at a similar conclusion. A
crisis in the operation had arrived which demanded immediate,
masterly work. Therefore, Mr. Franklin met Linden
in Pottsville, the ninth of September, and McKenna was
directed to communicate with them at the same place. He
<span class='pageno' id='Page_450'>450</span>had little difficulty in cutting loose from his associates, saying
that he was forced to visit an adjoining town to meet his
principal in the bogus money business, and, after promising
that he would only be absent a few days, took cars by a
roundabout route and reached Pottsville the same night,
making sure that no doubts of the object of his mission had
been aroused in the minds of the Mollies, and that none of
the order were following him.</p>

<p class='c001'>Affairs had reached the pass that Linden was, in some
places, known as my representative in the coal fields. It was
brought about by one of my open policemen unfortunately
shooting a man who acted suspiciously and also being himself
wounded. O’Brien was arrested, tried, and in due time
acquitted. Linden acted as his friend and counselor, and
thus revealed his connection with the Agency. It was time,
however, the season being ripe for the act. Linden and
McKenna must not be known to communicate with each
other. Any attempt to do so which would be seen by the
Mollies must serve as an excuse for the agent’s execution.
It was as much as his life was worth to be found with either
Linden or Franklin. Still a meeting was necessary, and he
did not falter. Putting up at a smaller house, McParlan
went, after darkness set in, to the Exchange Hotel, where
he knew Linden had his apartment, found that officer at
home, and there remained, locked in the sleeping-chamber,
until Mr. Franklin came. The three men held a very long
and interesting conversation, during which our plans for the
future were discussed. The operative detailed all that he
knew of the Gomer James, Sanger and Uren, and Jones
murders, aside from his written reports, of all of which Mr.
Franklin made extended notes. He also answered such
inquiries respecting names and localities as were put.
McKenna was kept in the room through the night, or until
nearly morning, when he left and repaired to his own boarding-place,
not appearing on the streets again until the Superintendent
<span class='pageno' id='Page_451'>451</span>had left for Philadelphia and Linden was far away,
going toward the scene of his future operations in Carbon
County.</p>

<p class='c001'>In a day or two McKenna was summoned to Philadelphia,
thence traveled to New York, and had a meeting with General
<a id='corr451.6'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Superintendant'>Superintendent</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_451.6'><ins class='correction' title='Superintendant'>Superintendent</ins></a></span> Geo. H. Bangs. The result of the journey
the ensuing pages will explain.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch43' class='c006'>CHAPTER XLIII.<br> <br>VIOLENCE FOR VIOLENCE.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>It should have been mentioned that, on the sixteenth of
August, James Riles, of Shenandoah, was attacked by a
crowd of Mollies, headed by Charles McAllister, Ned Monaghan,
and Tobin, while sitting on the steps of his own dwelling.
Mr. Glover was near him at the time. Riles was not
mortally wounded, though his life, for several weeks, hung as
upon a thread, and his health is still much broken because
of the injuries he received. A man named Delaney was
another eye-witness of the outrage, but could do nothing to
stop its progress. It was about nine o’clock at night when
three men came suddenly up to Riles and put their pistols to
his back. Immediately the victim felt a stinging sensation
running through him and knew he was hit. Regaining his
feet he ran up Delaney’s steps, closely tracked by the Mollies.
It seemed to him there was a great mob pursuing, and
he flew through his neighbor’s house as fast as he could,
jumped out of the window, not knowing what he was doing,
striking heavily against the hard street below, and received
injuries which, added to the effects of the bullet, made him
faint and almost unconscious. When Riles was lying in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_452'>452</span>road the crowd cried: “Shoot him! shoot him!” But he
managed to crawl into the residence of Wm. Kendrick, who
protected him, finally saving his life. Thence he had
to be taken by the members of the Coal and Iron Police.
Before their arrival, however, the Mollies surrounded Kendrick’s
house and excitedly demanded possession of Riles,
saying: “Give him to us! Give him to us!” One timid
citizen who was present tried to persuade Kendrick to comply,
urging that the crowd would have him, in the end, and
if troubled in their fierce pursuit of blood might do violence
to the family of his brave preserver. Kendrick flatly refused
to pursue any such course and resolutely stood by the
wounded and supposed-to-be dying man. For several days
Mr. Riles was supposed to be near death’s door, but subsequently
recovered sufficiently to escape to Philadelphia.
There he was forced to remain in the hospital until restored
to partial health. At the risk of his life, he then returned to
Shenandoah, sold his homestead and other property, and emigrated
to Illinois. He had seen enough of the Mollies.
Among his late assailants he recognized Ned Monaghan and
others, but was unable to swear to the men who actually
fired upon him. Riles kept a saloon, and had incurred the
displeasure of the gang in some way unknown to himself.</p>

<p class='c001'>The murder of Geo. K. Smith, already briefly alluded to,
which occurred at Audenried, Carbon County, the night of
Thursday, November 5, 1863, was totally unprovoked. Mr.
G. W. Ulrich, now employed by Messrs. Wanamaker and
Brown, of Philadelphia, but then a clerk for Mr. Smith, gives
the following condensed statement of the incidents connected
with the atrocious crime:</p>

<p class='c001'>“The night of the murder I had just returned from Mauch
Chunk. I got home about half-past six <span class='fss'>P.M</span>. I boarded at
Smith’s house. When I went down to supper, I told Smith
I thought something serious was going to happen. He
asked me why. I replied because of what George Allen had
<span class='pageno' id='Page_453'>453</span>said about having heard that the night of that day was to be
the greatest ever known in Audenried, and because, during
the afternoon, several men were noticed prowling around
there, going about in different directions, and, on the evening
before, there were others in the store for powder. Mr.
Smith laughed and said: ‘Mr. Ulrich, they wont hurt you
or me!’ I stayed at Smith’s house that night, at the request
of Mrs. Smith, because her husband was unwell. About five
minutes before eight o’clock, hearing a rap at the door, I,
upon opening it, found standing there a man whom I thought
to be a Welshman named Evan Jones. Asking him to stay
outside until I put the dog away, I shut the door, took the
animal by the collar and put him in the parlor, where Mrs.
Smith was. Then I went back, opened the door, and when
I did so a tall man, with a soldier’s overcoat on, stepped in,
and the one I took to be Evan Jones followed. As soon as
I saw his face I found it was not Evan Jones. The taller
person asked if Mr. Smith was in. I at first said ‘no,’ but
afterward told him he was in, ‘and very sick at that.’ He
professed to have a letter for Smith, that a man had given
him in Mauch Chunk the same afternoon. I told him if he
would give it to me I could hand it to Mr. Smith. He
would not do that, as he said he was instructed to deliver it
personally. I then left the room and told Mrs. Smith. She
went up and saw the sick man, and he replied if the person
could not deliver the letter to her, he must wait until the next
day. Mrs. Smith and I returned to the room where the two
men were sitting. She told them what Smith had said. The
man answered: ‘If I can’t deliver it to him I must deliver
it to you!’ He quickly put his hand to his back, and the
first thing I saw was the butt-end of a Colt’s revolver. Before
he got it out altogether it went off, and his clothes
caught fire, the ball penetrating the floor on which we were
standing. When the revolver was discharged Mrs. Smith
cried out: ‘Oh, my God!’ and ran precipitately into the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_454'>454</span>library. Then the tall man caught me around the neck and
the smaller man commenced beating me on my head and
on the back of my shoulders with a billy. The tall man
got his revolver out and put it to the side of my head. I
threw up my left hand and the pistol went off, and the powder
flew into my eyes and blinded me so that I could not
see for some time. By this <a id='corr454.7'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='<missing>'>time</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_454.7'><ins class='correction' title='<missing>'>time</ins></a></span> some fifteen or twenty persons
had walked into the room where we were. The majority
were disguised in soldiers’ overcoats and in miners’ clothes.
They crowded over against the wall, and the tall man tried
to shoot me again in the head. Once more I threw up my
arm and the pistol ball passed over me. Another man
stooped down behind me, on his knees, and put his pistol to
my person and shot me in the leg while I was held by the
other. I then broke away from the crowd, with the intention
of going upstairs. They followed me too closely, however,
and I could not get clear. As I reached the foot of the
stairs, Mr. Smith came down and walked into the room
where the men were. I went to the hall door and they
knocked me down and fired two shots over me with the intention
of hitting my body. After this, I turned around to find
if I could see anything, and saw Mr. Smith standing by the
crowd. A man came up behind him, put a pistol to his
head, and fired. He fell dead upon the carpet. After finishing
this, they fired three or four shots, and I thought they
were shooting Mr. Smith’s dead body, but they fired them at
Mrs. Smith’s sister, who was in the room adjoining. This is
all I know, excepting that the others escaped.”</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p4441_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>A man came up behind him, put a pistol to his head, and fired.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>No present arrests were made. Nobody could tell who
the murderers were, excepting that they belonged to the
Mollie Maguires, or had been set on and were accompanied
by those suspected of forming that clan. When, some time
after, suspected parties were captured, a mob released them
from Mauch Chunk prison.</p>

<p class='c001'>The work performed by McKenna while in New York
<span class='pageno' id='Page_455'>455</span>and Philadelphia was very important and constituted a portion
of the first really aggressive acts of the Agency against
the formidable foe. It consisted in the preparation of classified
and carefully arranged lists of all the Mollies, or members
of the Ancient Order of Hibernians, in Luzerne, Northumberland,
Columbia, Carbon, and Schuylkill Counties,
their residence, occupation, standing in the society, and
crimes they had been connected with. When completed,
the schedule was given very extensive circulation throughout
the United States, by publication in the principal newspapers.
It was but the prelude of the thunderbolt which
was soon to cast consternation into the hearts of the leaders
of the society. Our plans were formed for unrelenting and
unending warfare upon them. They had for years carried
everything unresistingly before them, but now a force, the
secret emissaries of which for nearly three years had been
ferreting out and marking their weak places, meanwhile
sharpening and charging their own weapons for use, was to
put its potent machinery suddenly in motion. Fresh detectives
were sent to the support of those already on the
ground, unknown to the others, and every available adjunct
that ingenuity could devise and money and influence supply
was set at work to accomplish the defeat of the thus far unopposed
and victorious Mollie Maguires.</p>

<p class='c001'>Meanwhile the order was as active as a hive of bees, no
longer forcibly aggressive, but moving purely in self-defense.
Their long day of murder had set in crimson, and the day
of their abnegation and shame was at the dawn. Money was
raised for the legal expenses of the prisoners. Evidence was
hunted up to falsify the truth and swear them clear. But on
the track of the brewers of this testimony was the stealthy
tread of a man they knew but suspected not, and to whose
care they intrusted their most secret transactions. Such a
game must only end, after a time, in the defeat of the society,
however strong and large in numbers. Hurley, Morris,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_456'>456</span>Monaghan, Mulhall, Sweeney, Clark, Gavin, Butler, Campbell,
and Fisher, and many more, were absorbingly engaged,
day and night, securing funds with which to engage attorneys
for the cases of Kelly, Doyle, and Kerrigan. The members
of Shenandoah Division were assessed two dollars each, by
McAndrew, which was promptly paid, and the result went
to swell the protection fund.</p>

<p class='c001'>On the twenty-third of September, McAndrew gave a
grand ball—which was attended by McKenna—at his own
house, for the especial benefit of the prisoners. It was on
this occasion that Morris proposed killing Mr. Foster, the
editor of the Shenandoah <cite>Herald</cite>, but was strongly opposed
by both McAndrew and McKenna, and the matter fell
through. Mr. Fielders, the city editor of the same sheet,
was present at this entertainment and listened to one or two
songs which the detective sang, but he left the room when
he heard that the wild Irishman was threatening to kill him.
The hint was sent to Fielders purely in a spirit of mischief,
by some of the Mollies, who thought to frighten the reporter.
They did not succeed, but gave a permanently sharp
point to his pencil, which, for several years, he has used in
puncturing the hearts of the Mollie leaders. It is hardly
necessary to say that McKenna never made a threat against
any one, in sober earnest. The ball was successful, and
brought considerable money to the treasury.</p>

<p class='c001'>About the same date Linden was approached by Mike
Lawler with a request to find him a place on the Coal and
Iron Police, which was easy enough to promise but more
difficult of fulfillment. Muff invited his friend into Cleary’s
saloon, where they soon found themselves in the enjoyment
of the usual refreshments. McKenna, seeing the two in company,
determined upon a little police business. He searched
out Tom Hurley, John Morris, and Ned Monaghan, and
with them visited the same drinking-place. While there he
adroitly mentioned each man by name, and Linden, knowing
<span class='pageno' id='Page_457'>457</span>that something important was up, made himself familiarly
acquainted with the features and other peculiar points
of all the Mollies spoken of. But Linden and McParlan
were not apparently as friendly as usual. In fact, the former
took occasion to roundly abuse the latter for the part he
had taken at the time of the riot, and later, in fomenting
discord in the coal region. The Secretary replied sharply
that he thought he knew his business pretty well, and would
thank Linden to give particular attention to his own affairs
and leave those of other people alone.</p>

<p class='c001'>Lawler was astonished, and, by words and winks, warned
McKenna not to treat the officer so roughly, hinting that
Linden was the best friend he had in the State, and more
than once had aided him when he was in imminent danger
from angry citizens of Tamaqua and Shenandoah. McKenna
put on an air of indifference, coarsely expressing
himself that it “made no difference to him. He could take
care of Number One!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Time passed, from the last of September, through November,
until the tenth of December, 1875, and still my work
was never relinquished or relaxed.</p>

<p class='c001'>Between two and three o’clock, the morning of the day
mentioned, occurred an outrage of which it was supposed
citizens of the neighborhood were perpetrators, the Mollies
taking, for the very first time, the place of victims. It was
at Wiggan’s Patch, a colliery village, not far from Mahanoy
City, that a band of masked men forced an entrance to the
house of the O’Donnell’s, where lived Friday O’Donnell, his
mother, and brother—all related by marriage to Jack
Kehoe—and in the mêlée that ensued shot and killed Mrs.
McAllister, a daughter of Mrs. O’Donnell, a sister-in-law of
Mrs. John Kehoe, and then took Charles O’Donnell into
the street, and riddled him with bullets, leaving him dead
where he fell.</p>

<p class='c001'>This was fighting fire with fire, and the Mollie Maguires
<span class='pageno' id='Page_458'>458</span>experienced a new feeling of dread. The people, stung to
madness by the rapidly succeeding murders of the summer
and fall, were, it appeared, taking the law in their own
hands and giving payment for assassination in similar coin.
It looked natural that this should be so. There was a
breach of the law, it is true, but it was in the interests of
humanity and the law, and, coupled with the arrests of the
murderers of John P. Jones, had a wonderfully tranquillizing
effect upon the society, which, during the preceding months,
had disported itself riotously in human blood and caused a
dozen families to mourn in despair the taking off of some
of their members. Now all was outwardly quiet. Inwardly
human passion surged and boiled, and the hearts of the
Mollies were filled with hate and bitterness. Jack Kehoe,
the King of the Mollies in Schuylkill, was open and loud in
his denunciation of the cowardly murderers of his wife’s
kinsman. He was averse to receiving the sauce he served
to his neighbors, and vowed dire vengeance upon the vigilance
committee. Pretending to believe that the killing of
Mrs. McAllister had been wholly intentional, when some of
the O’Donnell family believed it purely accidental, he
deeply cursed all murderers of women. Forgetting, for the
moment, the several attempts the Mollies had made in the
same direction, he endeavored to create sympathy for Kelly
and Doyle—wasting no breath on Kerrigan—in which he
made a mistake—seeking to make their expected acquittal
the easier by arousing the prejudices of the people against
the men supposed to have formed a part of the committee
of safety. How he prospered in this, the succeeding
pages will exhibit.</p>

<p class='c001'>The Mollies were now confronted with an adversary as
mysterious and as dangerous as themselves, and were forced
into at least an appearance of submission. That they truly
intended to give over their misdeeds is doubtful. On the
contrary, should they succeed in evading punishment, it was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_459'>459</span>more than probable their deeds of the past would be eclipsed
in inhumanity by those they hoped were to follow. They
could not be allowed to escape the just reward of their many
misdeeds. While seemingly giving expression only to great
indignation, the society was secretly discussing the propriety
of forming military companies and buying improved firearms.
Some went so far in their divisions as to pass orders requiring
each man to pay into the treasury a sum of money sufficient
for the purchase of a rifle or carbine. In the face of the
fear produced by the late arrest, and the midnight work of
the vigilants, progress in the business of arming was tediously
slow. It was the subject of comment at a county convention,
held at Tamaqua in January, 1876. Men were to be
sent to New York to obtain the guns, with three hundred
rounds of cartridges, and each Mollie was expected to hold
himself in readiness to march to the front at a moment’s
notice. But the movement failed. The guns were not even
bargained for. All the bluster ended only in bluster.</p>

<p class='c001'>Hugh McGehan, at this time, gave out that he had been
fired upon, at night, while going from his saloon to the spring
for a pail of water, and made a very narrow escape from
death, the bullet striking him in the fleshy part of the shoulder.
There were several in the attacking party, one of whom McGehan
said he knew, but was wise enough not to name.
Beside the real injury inflicted on McGehan, several bullets
passed through and cut holes in his coat, showing that however
hurried the aim of the attacking party had been, it was
tolerably well taken, despite the surrounding darkness.</p>

<p class='c001'>The publication of the list of Mollies raised a feeling in
the society that they held a traitor in their midst. Each
man fell to suspecting his neighbor. No one, excepting a
member, they correctly argued, could ever have given the
newspapers such full and accurate information. The question
uppermost in all minds was, “Who is the apostate?”
That he was well posted, controlled sources of intelligence
<span class='pageno' id='Page_460'>460</span>not available by or open to ordinary communicants of the
body, was evident to all. After a season of serious discussion,
during which every point was covered, it was settled
that the journals had been supplied with the names by some
person residing in Schuylkill County. Soon suspicion began
to be directed to Muff Lawler, who was known to be so particularly
kind to Linden, in whose society, for his own purposes,
he had very frequently placed himself. Jack McClain,
of the same division, was charged with having assisted Muff
in collating the facts. McKenna, the actual culprit, without
saying a word to give direction to the idea, was freely acquitted.
Had he not quarreled with Linden months before?
Had he not separated himself from Lawler? Was he not
the same wicked Mollie Maguire that he always had been
since his initiation? These queries were promptly answered
in the affirmative. The agent was even the recipient of
praise that he no longer found pleasure in the society of Lawler
or Linden. There were some who charged the damaging
publication on Barney Dolan, but he gave the lie to it. As
Barney, with his brother, “Bear” Dolan, was in prison, at
Pottsville, where they had been sent for thirty days, convicted
of breaking a Mrs. Sweeney’s windows, he thought such an
accusation uncommonly hard upon him, and was very vehement
in his denials.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna was now succeeded in the Secretaryship of
Shenandoah Division by Ned Monaghan, and new members
were being gradually received, until the Shenandoah branch
was one of the most important and flourishing in that part
of Pennsylvania. But fear pervaded the division hall.</p>

<p class='c001'>Nor was it much better at Summit Hill, where McKenna
found it convenient to go on the sixteenth of January, 1876.
While visiting Alex. Campbell at his residence, the landlord
took Carroll and himself beyond ear-shot of their companions,
and, with a very solemn face, assured them that traitors
were fast multiplying in the camp. His pet, Hugh McGehan,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_461'>461</span>was just in receipt of another intimation that he would be
called for. In fact, he had been “noticed.” The missive
bearing the startling intelligence had upon it the Mauch
Chunk postmark, and informed Hugh that, as he had not
given policeman Yost, of Tamaqua, much of a chance for
his life, he and Boyle, accomplices in that cruel assassination,
with Campbell, Roarty, Carroll, and <a id='corr461.7'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Mullhall'>Mulhall</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_461.7'><ins class='correction' title='Mullhall'>Mulhall</ins></a></span>, who were
all known, would have about an equal chance for theirs.
Their fate was sealed. This document frightened the Summit
Hill Mollies. Campbell hardly knew what to do about
it. Were some of the boys in jail too open-mouthed, or was
the dastardly work of the first spying miscreant yet going on?
The men who had so long murdered with a stab in the dark,
under cover of a mask, hated this baleful mystery. The
weapon aimed full upon them, it made their faces pale with
fear. They finally decided that the warning paper must have
been sent by some one who knew nothing whatever of their
crimes, but had suspected something and sought to disturb
them with silly menaces.</p>

<p class='c001'>Soon afterward a crowd of men walked up to McGehan’s
house in the night and fired seven or eight bullets through
its siding, but none touched the murderer of Yost. Muff
Lawler, of Shenandoah, was similarly treated.</p>

<p class='c001'>That there was a spy among the Mollies all were now
agreed, but thus far no thought had gone abroad that McKenna
was the man. If Linden had something to do with
the matter no one would be disappointed.</p>

<p class='c001'>At Mauch Chunk, on his return, McParlan met one Teague
McGinly, who drew him aside and informed him that he
had very important news to communicate.</p>

<p class='c001'>“What is it?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Shortly after last court I met Major Klutz, an’ he took
me out, and inquired if John McGinly wor a Mollie? I
told him the right down truth, that he wor not! Then Klutz
said that a man named Pinkerton sent one of his detectives
<span class='pageno' id='Page_462'>462</span>to Mauch Chunk, and he had reported McGinly as a member
of the order!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Who the divil is this man, Pinkerton?” innocently asked
McParlan, “an’ where do he howld out!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“He is a great one at catching rogues, an’ lives in Philadelphia!
He has over a hundred men employed! I wonder
you have never heard of him!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“It’s all owin’ to me ignorance, I suppose! An’ that’s
because I don’t rade all of the papers. Beside, I have a very
poor recollection of names ony how! I may hev heard
sometime about Pinkerton. If so, I must hev forgotten
it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>If the informer was not Muff Lawler, then who was it?
Time would probably solve the riddle. McParlan was fearful
that not much time would elapse, as matters were shaping
themselves, before he would stand revealed as the person.
Still he did not falter, and continued his labors as before.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
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  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch44' class='c006'>CHAPTER XLIV.<br> <br>TRIALS AND CONFESSIONS.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Some weeks before the occurrence of part of the events
narrated in the last chapter, McKenna had suffered from a
severe illness, and for several weeks was under the constant
care of an eminent physician, at Wilkesbarre, who succeeded
in restoring him to comparatively good health, beside giving
him back a fair sprinkling of hair for the adornment of his
previously shining and denuded scalp. The capillary substance,
which had formerly been of a yellow, or light hue,
when reproduced was of a dark, glossy brown, adding considerably
<span class='pageno' id='Page_463'>463</span>to his personal appearance. In fact, a number of
his friends remarked that he was far more proud of the
second than the first growth, because it made him more
attractive to the ladies. However this may have been, when
he again visited Tamaqua and gave further attention to Miss
Higgins, it is true that he found more favor in her eyes than
he had while sporting the red, straggling, and bushy wig.
But he had little time in which to press his suit with Kerrigan’s
sister-in law, as Mrs. Kerrigan and her relatives were
all industriously engaged in preparing testimony to prove
the “Babe” innocent of crime. Inadvertently the sisters
let fall hints, now and then, as to the course they were pursuing
and the parties on whom they relied for making oath
to Jimmy’s whereabouts the day of the murder. Very naturally,
these confidences were incorporated in the detective’s
reports, and, very naturally again, the prosecution was made
aware of this and other portions of the line of defense to be
adopted by the prisoners when brought to trial at Mauch
Chunk.</p>

<p class='c001'>Passing over a few weeks, during the expiration of which
the Agency was employed in massing testimony in all the
cases and placing it in good shape before the District Attorney,
I now come to the first indictment of a Mollie Maguire,
in this country, with a possible chance for ultimate conviction.
This was on the eighteenth of January, 1876, at
Mauch Chunk, Carbon County. The parties arraigned
were Michael J. Doyle, of Mt. Laffee, Schuylkill County, and
Edward Kelly, charged with the murder of John P. Jones.
The circumstances of the crime have already been sufficiently
detailed. At an earlier date the three murderers,
Kelly, Doyle, and Kerrigan, had been jointly put on trial,
entering the usual plea of “not guilty,” and demanding a
severance. The Commonwealth was represented by E. R.
Siewers, Esq., the able District Attorney, Hon. F. W.
Hughes, of Pottsville, Gen. Chas. Albright, of Mauch
<span class='pageno' id='Page_464'>464</span>Chunk, and Hon. Allen Craig. For the defendant, Doyle,
the Commonwealth choosing to try him first, appeared
Hon. Lin. Bartholomew, Hon. J. B. Reilly, and John W.
Ryon, of Pottsville, Daniel Kalbfus, Esq., and Edward
Mulhearn, Esq., of Mauch Chunk. On the twenty-first of
January a jury had been obtained, consisting of Wm. Bloss,
Jonas Beck, Joel Strohl, Dan’l Boyer, jr., Dan’l Remaly, Abraham
Henry, Levi West, Levi Straub, Henry Long, Peter
Cushman, Thos. A. Williams and Drake H. Long. The trial
at Mauch Chunk was well attended by all the celebrities of
the Carbon County bar, much surprise being exhibited that
at last there seemed a possibility that a Mollie might be convicted
of a crime. Great efforts were made by the leaders
of the clan to show that not one of the three men charged
with the deed could possibly have been present at the killing
of Jones, as they really were elsewhere, but their trouble
and expense came to naught, from the effective work the
detectives had performed and were performing. The witnesses,
so confidently expected to appear, were for once
abashed and afraid to take the stand. They knew they
could not swear to a lie and go unpunished. The old and
well tried <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span> fell prostrate, no more to be resuscitated, it
is to be hoped, in the criminal courts of the Commonwealth.
Before the end of the cause, James Kerrigan, of Tamaqua,
made known, in a proper way, to the prosecuting officer that
he wanted to give State’s testimony. After a careful consideration,
he was accepted, placed before the court and
made a confession about as follows:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I live in Tamaqua and have been there six or seven
years; am a man of family and work in the mines. I have
known Alex. Campbell three or four years; met him first at
Tamaqua, last September; he lived at Storm Hill and kept
a tavern, selling whisky and porter. I did not know John
Jones, but was acquainted with Michael Doyle and Edward
Kelly. On the first of September last I had been working
<span class='pageno' id='Page_465'>465</span>at Alaska Colliery, in Tamaqua, for Mr. Richards, and was
returning home from work in the evening, when I went into
the hotel, kept by James Carroll, to get a drink. Mr. Lutz,
of Tamaqua, was there, also Doyle and Kelly. I was going
out, when Carroll followed me to the porch, asking me if I
would take those men, Doyle and Kelly, over to Alex.
Campbell’s, at Storm Hill. I told him I would have to go
to work at 11 o’clock, but after he coaxed me I promised.
He then made me acquainted with them and I went home
to wash myself and get supper, returning at twenty minutes
past seven <span class='fss'>P.M.</span> (I left work at about half-past five <span class='fss'>P.M.</span>,
that day.) The colliery was nearly a mile from Carroll’s
place. When I got back from the house Carroll treated
twice and walked with us as far as Freidenburgh’s, giving me
instructions not to tell any one that might ask where we were
going. At the New York depot we met Mr. and Mrs.
Griffiths and I bade them good evening. We then walked
on to Storm Hill and found Alex. Campbell there, and his
little brother-in-law, a boy of fourteen, with him. Campbell
called me outside, bidding me wait until he had put on his
coat, when he would accompany us to McGehan’s, at Storm
Hill, first treating us at his own bar. He told his little
brother-in-law to say, if any one inquired for him in his absence,
that he had gone to a wake. As we went into McGehan’s,
two or three men were coming out; one I know is
named Aubry and I think his given name is William. Alex.
Campbell called for drinks and paid for them. Then he began
to whisper, up by the bar. The next thing I observed
was three revolvers. McGehan got them, and took the
chambers out of two and began to oil them out of a can.
After fixing them he gave one to Doyle and one to Kelly.
Campbell handed one to me, but I refused and would not
take it. He wanted me to go with the others and shoot
John Jones, but I said I did not know him and would not go.
They then agreed I should stay there that night and they
<span class='pageno' id='Page_466'>466</span>would go with me to get work in the morning, as they wanted
to see and recognize the boss.</p>

<p class='c001'>“McGehan and Campbell were saying that John Jones
had black-listed some men that had been working there, and
McGehan was one of the three, another being named Marshall.
Parish gave these men a letter to give John Jones
and Zehner, to be reinstated, but they ordered the men away
from the office, saying there was no work for them. Campbell
said if Jones was shot Zehner would then run away. McGehan
said: ‘By G——, if he does not cool off, after this,
we’ll give him a ball!’ McGehan said he was black-listed
at Judd’s, also, and there were two men there that he wanted
put out of the way, B. Marble and John Turner.</p>

<p class='c001'>“We started from McGehan’s at seven <span class='fss'>A.M.</span>, and came down
to the Catholic church and on the road to Micky O’Donnel’s
tavern, passing Micky at the depot, and went up the railroad
to Number Six, where Doyle went into a blacksmith’s shop
and Kelly and I went up to a house above, where we asked
a woman if she sold anything. Doyle afterward came up
and we got a bowl of milk.</p>

<p class='c001'>“We then went up to a Mrs. Davis, and finding she sold
porter, called for three bottles; she asked Doyle where we
came from, and he told her Shenandoah. Then she gave us
tea and a good meal. We went out to the slope to look
for work, but leaving Doyle and Kelly, I went to McGehan’s;
still they could not see the boss, so came back and
met me. They failed again to find Jones, and about six <span class='fss'>P.M.</span>
we all went to Alex. Campbell’s, McGehan carrying the
pistols. As a wagon was passing I wanted to go home on
it, as I told them my wife would think me lost, but Campbell
would not let me. Campbell treated us, on arriving at
his bar, and after supper I again wished to start for home,
but Campbell objected, wishing me to go up with the others
and shoot Jones at the house, as he would be coming from
the post-office about that time. While Doyle and Kelly went,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_467'>467</span>Campbell made me get down on my knees and promise
never to tell or speak of the matter, drunk or sober. He
then bade me go up and see where they were. I met them
this side of Micky O’Donnel’s, and Doyle was sitting on a
stone. Kelly said he had been into a house and asked if
Jones was at home, and the person said he was not.</p>

<p class='c001'>“On returning to Campbell’s, this house was described
to Alex., and he said it was Geo. Hooley’s house, not Jones’.
We stopped at Campbell’s all that night, and they were fooling
with the cartridges. Kelly said he would take Campbell’s
small revolver along in the morning, and shoot Jones as he
was going to his work, and not let him off with one ball, but
give him three or four. Michael Doyle had the old pistol
and the black-jack, and Kelly had the other two. Campbell
advised them they need not be a bit afraid, for no one would
ever follow them, as Jones was not liked by the Welshmen or
any one else. ‘You can have this,’ said Campbell, handing
me a five dollar bill, ‘and buy them some whisky and give
them enough to pay their way home on the cars.’ I gave the
bill to my woman when I got to Tamaqua, and she got a
pint of whisky of Mrs. Clark, who could not change the bill.
I took the liquor out to them at the spring where we were
arrested.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Campbell told Doyle and Kelly to be sure not to be seen
at Carroll’s in the day-time, but to go in the night and leave
the pistols there, and then go home on the cars in the morning.
He also told them this the night Carroll came up the
railroad. Then Doyle said: ‘By G——, they are after us!
There is Carroll!’ and he started to run. I joined the society
in Campbell’s cellar, thinking it the A. O. H. A man
named Donahue put me through. I did not know it was the
Mollie Maguires until Barney O’Hare was burned out at
Tuscarora. Slattery got and paid Alex. Campbell to send
the men. I was at Campbell’s when they started.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I made this statement before Doyle’s conviction. I
<span class='pageno' id='Page_468'>468</span>received no reward from Campbell for showing the men the
road, and the five dollar bill which we could not change I
have since sent my wife from the prison by Wallace.</p>

<p class='c001'>“The order of Mollie Maguires is an organization to murder,
and the men do not speak of their plans at the public
meetings but the Bodymasters employ men to do the work
for them.”</p>

<p class='c001'>After this, Mrs. Kerrigan turned against her husband and
said he might hang. She would not raise her hand to save
him.</p>

<p class='c001'>During the trial, McKenna, who was in attendance, ostensibly
as a spectator, but really to find out all he could, came
across a man named Durkin, who told him he was ready, in
the event that the Mollies were convicted, to blow up the
court-house edifice, killing judges, jury, attorneys, officials,
and innocent spectators, having procured a can of nitroglycerine,
which he had safely deposited in a shop near at
hand. The agent informed the desperado that he was very
foolish to concoct such a plot, and would be still more silly
should he endeavor to put it into operation, as he could
make sure of being captured and strung up by the vigilance
committee, to the nearest tree. As the attempt was never
made, it is probable that the reckless fellow was sufficiently
frightened and wisely decided to abandon the idea.</p>

<p class='c001'>Kerrigan’s confession having corroborated, in every
important particular, the stories of the other State’s witnesses,
on the first of the ensuing February the jury
returned a verdict of “guilty of murder in the first degree,”
and, on the twenty-second, the Court sentenced Michael
Doyle to death. This was noteworthy as the earliest conviction
and disposal of a real Mollie in Pennsylvania, and
the news spread rapidly, far and wide, carrying consternation
and dismay into the ranks of the organization and
shocking the nerves of the leaders everywhere in the State.
During the progress of the trial the Mollies had been bold
<span class='pageno' id='Page_469'>469</span>and defiant, and many of their principal men were on the
spot, expecting, as they expected to live, to witness the
defendant’s release. How deeply they were disappointed.
McKenna was among the first to receive intelligence. He
said that the unforeseen result had come upon the order
like an earthquake in a quiet village. Everybody was dumbfounded.</p>

<p class='c001'>Edward Kelly was placed at the bar before Judge Dreher,
the twenty-ninth of the succeeding March, and although
ably defended, met with a similar fate, a verdict of murder
in the first degree having been returned by the jury on the
twelfth of April following. Death-warrants were issued by
the Governor in both cases, fixing the execution of Doyle
for the third of May, and that of Kelly for the fourth of
the same month. Writs of error in the Supreme Court,
however, superseded the death-warrants, and all of the murderers
of John P. Jones, and those implicated before and
after the fact, at this date, are still unexecuted. In February,
1877, Edward Kelly made a voluntary confession,
clearly showing that he had not been wrongfully charged or
convicted, and substantiating the words of Kerrigan to the
letter. He did not expect or ask for mercy, but, before
dying, desired to purge himself of his crime, and was given
the opportunity.</p>

<p class='c001'>These cases failed in the Supreme Court, and in May,
1877, Gov. Hartranft signed the death-warrants, the executions
to take place on the 21st of June following.</p>

<p class='c001'>Returning to Shenandoah, after the adjournment of Carbon
County Court, McKenna rejoined his friends, the Mollies,
and silently acquiesced in the “sweet” prayers of all the
organization for the “dear” judge and jury that had convicted
one of their number. They were terribly mortified
and annoyed through the failure of their plans, and were at
a standstill.</p>

<p class='c001'>Jerry Kane took the cue early, and fled from the country.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_470'>470</span>Hurley preceded him, and the remainder, now fugitives from
justice, stopped awhile to see the full result of the matter.</p>

<p class='c001'>Barney Dolan, the great, at this time was outspoken
against Kehoe, exclaiming in his mild way, that all the pending
troubles came from the County Delegate’s own inefficiency
and unpardonable blundering. He added complacently
that, had he been the incumbent of the office of
County Delegate, it could never have occurred. He would
have taken ten or twelve good men, marched to Mauch
Chunk, captured the jail, and released the prisoners. Barney
was allowed to have and enjoy his boast, but there were
those present who thought even he might not have saved
the defendants from conviction.</p>

<p class='c001'>Kerrigan turning State’s evidence was the most stunning
blow the Mollies had thus far received, but they knew not, at
the time, how much heavier strokes were yet in preparation
to fall upon their villainous heads. Some of the tribe, Jack
Kehoe included, would not believe the report that a Bodymaster,
especially one who knew so much of the cruel crimes
of the society as Kerrigan, had assumed the work of informer.
He even went as far as to say that some of the
State’s officers—Capt. Linden very probably—had originated
the story for the purpose of inviting a person to do just what
they accused Jimmy Kerrigan of doing. He was more inclined
to the thought that Ned Monaghan, who had been
seen, he alleged, at a suspiciously late hour, coming out of
the editorial rooms of the Shenandoah <cite>Herald</cite>, was engaged
in the character of spy, and accused him of having inaugurated
the movement by publishing the names of the chief
Mollies. “At least,” concluded King Jack, “somebody in
Shenandoah is at the head of the game for injuring the organization,
and I am determined to learn who it may be!”</p>

<p class='c001'>At this juncture McKenna suggested that, to make his own
work more effective, he might be arrested on a trumped-up
charge of having been in some way connected with the Yost
<span class='pageno' id='Page_471'>471</span>tragedy, after which, when incarcerated with other prisoners,
he could safely form plans for learning all their secrets, and
possibly obtain important confessions, in the presence and
hearing of other witnesses, which would lead to new arrests
and at least make sure the conviction of all that had been
captured. Linden urged the same thing upon Mr. Franklin
and we were about to arrange the scheme in accordance
with the line indicated, when a series of startling events
transpired, which concluded the chances for such work
proving successful. The Mollies thought they had discovered
who was the traitor in their ring.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
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  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch45' class='c006'>CHAPTER XLV.<br> <br>SUSPICION AROUSED.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>In February, McAndrew found himself the victim of a
panic regarding the society. He believed that Kerrigan was
only the Alpha and that Omega was not far away, and therefore
requested the detective to go with him and help destroy
every book and paper in any manner connected with Shenandoah
Division, A. O. H., otherwise the Mollie Maguires.
They quickly performed that task, and the test-paper, fabricated
record of proceedings, constitution and by-laws, treasurer’s
receipts and vouchers, with the charter and blank
traveling cards, were converted into black and harmless
charcoal. The men who had so long carried the affairs of
the county with a high hand were now in a state of demoralization.
They appreciated that something dreadful lay in
their pathway. What goblin shape it might assume they
could not say, and it was the more horrible from its very
<span class='pageno' id='Page_472'>472</span>indistinctness. It might be a gallows tree. It might be a
prison. It might be something more to be feared than either,
and at last take the form of a vigilance committee. Whatever
it might prove to be, they were determined to have no
written evidences of their acts confronting them. In Kerrigan’s
case, the books and papers of Tamaqua branch were
at his house when the constables searched it, but so well concealed
were they that, after upsetting almost everything, and
turning all the beds and mattresses inside out, they were
still undiscovered.</p>

<p class='c001'>The next news Shenandoah Division received was contained
in a letter from Linden, written to McKenna, giving
the latter a fraternal greeting and saying that, as he, James
McKenna, was suspected, he had best make his way to
foreign parts. “I may at any moment, have a warrant
placed in my hands for your arrest,” concluded this precious
epistle, “and I really do not wish to be forced to lay hands
upon you. If you have flown and I cannot find you, as a
natural consequence I will be unable to put irons on my old
chum from Buffalo!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll not budge wan single inch, to save them all from
perdition!” exclaimed the operative, after reading the document
to McAndrew and the crowd usually congregated at
Cleary’s. “I am innocent! I’ll only be arrested, anyhow!
An’ if others stand by, why shouldn’t I! Linden knows I
will remain!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The Mollies applauded him for this exhibition of mock
courage. They would have acted in an entirely different
manner had they known that it was precisely the response
he had been expected to make to the well-concocted epistle,
and that even then the proper papers were ready for McParlan’s
apprehension and confinement at Mauch Chunk.</p>

<p class='c001'>Thomas Munley was arrested for the Sanger and Uren
murder at about this date, with McAllister, and both were
taken to Pottsville, where a hearing on an application for a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_473'>473</span>writ of <span lang="la"><i>habeas corpus</i></span> was had, and many of the members
of the order were accordingly in the city. The detective
found it necessary to confine himself very closely to his room,
under medical treatment he was receiving, seldom venturing
beyond a block from the boarding-house on Norwegian
Street, and was feeling very despondent over the prospect
of becoming totally blind unless there soon came a change
for the better, when he received a call from Frank McAndrew,
then a transient visitor at Pottsville in the interests of the
prisoners. After a little friendly conversation, the Shenandoah
Bodymaster invited his Secretary to walk with him to
the court-house. It would not do to deny the reasonable
request, and the two emerged from the dwelling, arm-in-arm.</p>

<p class='c001'>McAndrew was thoughtful for a moment, then exclaimed:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Something queer occurred on the cars as I was coming
down, this morning!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Phat wor that?” inquired McParlan.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I know it’s not true, but I must tell you for the danger
there is in it! Some of the boys, Kehoe among the number,
were making bets, as we rode along, that you’d appear
on the witness stand, to-day, for the Commonwealth—in
other words, that you were a secret spy, a detective!
There! It’s out! But, remember, I don’t believe a word
about it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Me a spy? Me a detective?” exclaimed McKenna,
with a show of virtuous indignation. “I will thank ye to
name the man that dare insult me by saying so!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“There is no occasion for anger!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I think, be me sowl, there <em>is</em> occasion for much of it! I
won’t have such a slander circulated about me! Sure, if
ye are the friend ye say ye are, you’ll out wid it and give me
the man’s name!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McAndrew hesitated a second, and then responded:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Jack Kehoe was the person!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Jack Kehoe? Does he dare do that?”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_474'>474</span>“I heard him whispering it to several. But, to the credit
of the men of the division, I must say they’ll not entertain the
suspicion, which has risen in some way since the arrest of
Munley and the squealing of Jimmy Kerrigan!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Will ye go wid me, an’ see Kehoe? I’ll knock those
words down his throat, or he shall tell me where he got ’em,
or take them back!”</p>

<p class='c001'>After consenting, the two men visited Danny Hughes’
place—which at the time was a sort of headquarters for
the crew, since Dormer had sold out the Sheridan House and
adopted the peaceful calling of a pedler of wares and vegetables,
in a wagon, over the hilly country—but Kehoe was not
there.</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ hev ye heard the nonsensical charge they’re circulatin’
about me?” asked McKenna of the tavern-keeper.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! and I must confess that it staggered me! I am far
from belavin’ anything of the sort! Kehoe didn’t come down
here himself, but sent Mrs. Kehoe to me, wid a message,
like. She came into me saloon, she did, an’ wanted me, for
Jack’s sake, to say to every wan interested, to beware of you,
Jim McKenna, fur you wor a detective! At laste, that such
wor the report; an’ that Jack had recaved it from responsible
persons! That’s all I know of the matter! Tho’ Jack
Kehoe was to take his oath on the holy cross, I’d tell him he
lied! I’m not such a fool as to be scared at a shadow!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Thanks for your confidence in me,” answered the agent,
pleased that Hughes, who was an honest, free-spoken man,
should refuse to credit the statement of even King Kehoe.
“I’ll see this man, soon, an’ he’ll have to tell me who’s the
father of this lie, or I’ll surely make somebody suffer!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I would, if I were in your place,” said Hughes. “No
person should slander me in that way an’ live!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The case before court resulted in the holding of Munley
for trial. This created more indignation, and the murderers
began to look about them and inquire if this was the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_475'>475</span>State of Pennsylvania that they were in, or some territory
where Mollies were unknown? With their surprise was mingled
inveterate hate for those who were supposed to be following
them for the purpose of their capture and punishment.</p>

<p class='c001'>The time had now come, with McKenna, which he had so
long dreaded. Suspicion, which he knew, from experience
with many others, had generally proven fatal, was at last
directed upon him. There was nothing for him to do but
brazenly face the accusation down. He believed that not a
living person knew anything of the actual facts. People
might think him a detective, but he had the utmost confidence
that they would be unable to bring an item of proof
to support their belief. Nobody excepting Mr. Gowen, Mr.
Linden, Mr. Franklin, Mr. Bangs, and myself had knowledge
that he was James McParlan, the detective. He was confident
no other man could learn anything of his business.
Bishop Wood, of Philadelphia, was aware of the circumstance
that an operative was in the coal region, as before
explained, but he had no definite idea of the individual.
Even had he been cognizant of his personality he still would
have preserved the secret intact. “Then,” the detective
argued, “it must be merely a chance suspicion, which Jack
Kehoe has himself originated, or some other highly imaginative
person may have given to him.” Come what would, he
resolved to go at once to Shenandoah, thence to Girardville,
and openly denounce the tale as a falsehood of the
deepest dye. Kehoe kept out of the way while he was in
Pottsville and the agent could not see him. In the evening
of the same day, still accompanied by McAndrew, the agent
took cars for Shenandoah. After sleeping there, he went
alone to Girardville and marched direct to the house of the
County Delegate.</p>

<p class='c001'>“What is this I hear you are afther sayin’ agin me?”
inquired the visitor, facing Kehoe, who was in his own bar
waiting upon customers when he entered, but the strangers
<span class='pageno' id='Page_476'>476</span>having gone, the two men being quite alone at the time.
“Tell me what you have been spreadin’ over the country
about me!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I have told that you are not what you seem, but a detective;
an’ I heard it some time ago!” Then Kehoe laughed
a cynical laugh, and added: “But I don’t believe a word of
the yarn!”</p>

<p class='c001'>He was evidently ill at ease and wanted to conciliate the
heated individual before him, whose flushed face and uneasy
movements indicated more than a usual degree of excitement,
and he had no desire that the interview should end in
a personal disturbance.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I want to know, Misther Kehoe, who is goin’ to prove
this assertion! Nobody can prove it, fur it is a downright
lie! You may appoint a trial fur me before the society!
I’ll be there, an’ let me stand forninst the thafe of the
worruld who dare report me as an informer! Let the order
judge me! An’ if I find who is lyin’ about me, it’ll go hard
wid him! I’ll shoot the scoundrel, if I hang fur it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And McKenna made considerable bluster, thumped the
counter with the butts of two revolvers, which he held in his
hands and almost convinced Kehoe himself that he was not
acting a part in his denials of the grave charge. At last the
County Delegate informed McKenna that a conductor on
the Reading Railroad, while he was riding from Ashland, at
least when between Ashland and Girardville, had asked him,
Kehoe, into the baggage car and inquired if he had seen
McKenna lately, and added that he, the conductor, had
heard that he was a detective. The reply that Kehoe made
was not given.</p>

<p class='c001'>“We’ll have some proof of this!” exclaimed the agent,
having become more cool as the circumstance was detailed.</p>

<p class='c001'>Subsequently Kehoe, who acted as though he discredited
the rumor, agreed to give McKenna a hearing before a convention
of Bodymasters, and, saying that, as he was himself
<span class='pageno' id='Page_477'>477</span>rather nervous, the detective should make the necessary
notices, signing the County Delegate’s name to them. To
this McKenna agreed, and, obtaining stamped envelopes and
stationery, went upstairs to the family apartment, where he
found Mrs. Kehoe with her <a id='corr477.5'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='childen'>children</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_477.5'><ins class='correction' title='childen'>children</ins></a></span>, and, sitting at the table
between the two front windows, he commenced writing.
But he found his own fingers not in the exact plight to do
duty in producing readable penmanship. Persevering, however,
he managed to get ready a few of the needed letters.
Mrs. Kehoe received him pleasantly, as she always had. In
a little while Kehoe, himself, left the bar and visited the sitting-room.
He did not remain many minutes, but returned
to his business below. Presently the detective heard his
footsteps again ascending the staircase. When Kehoe
entered the apartment the second time his face was of a
more sickly color than usual and his hand trembled perceptibly
as he passed a glass of liquor to the operative.</p>

<p class='c001'>“This will steady your nerves,” said Kehoe.</p>

<p class='c001'>The tumbler and contents were accepted by McKenna.
Saying he would taste of it soon, he thanked the agitated
saloon-keeper and resumed work on his stack of letters.
Mrs. Kehoe looked up inquiringly, as she continued her sewing,
and the little girl, who had been playing with a ball and
her pet kitten, gazed wonderingly upon Kehoe as he turned
on his heel and journeyed down stairs again. McKenna did
not particularly like the expression of Jack Kehoe’s naturally
smiling countenance. He pondered the circumstance for a
moment and then, saying that the fumes of liquor, under certain
conditions, made him ill, shoved the goblet from him
with a preoccupied air and went on with his writing. He
was in such haste to complete his work and place the letters,
all enveloped, sealed, and directed in Kehoe’s hands, that he
quite forgot to imbibe the spirits, something Mrs. Kehoe had
never observed in him before. He touched not a single drop
to his lips.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_478'>478</span>It struck the mind of the operative, while he wrote, that
Kehoe really believed in his guilt and had determined to
silently and quietly put him out of the way with poison,
hence he had decided to forego the potion so kindly brought
to him. He might have been over-fearful of treachery, at
that time, and without just cause, but quickly following
events convinced him that he was not, and never could be,
too cautious while dealing with Jack Kehoe. Had Mrs.
Kehoe given him the beverage with her own hand, he would
have swallowed it without a suspicion, as he knew that she
was with him in not crediting what they said to his disparagement,
and her true womanly nature would not permit her
to connive at his murder, even had he been her worst
enemy.</p>

<p class='c001'>The date mentioned for the proposed convention was
about the first or second of March, the place, Ferguson’s
Hall, in Shenandoah.</p>

<p class='c001'>When the work of getting ready the notices was properly
finished, the result was shown to Kehoe. He approved and
sealed the envelopes. They were given into his charge for
deposit in the mail, and he went out, ostensibly to drop
them in the box at the post-office.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna remained at the Emerald House all night,
sleeping with his revolver close by his side in the bed, fixed
for use, and, not having been disturbed, early the ensuing
morning took car and returned to Pottsville.</p>

<p class='c001'>The report detailing these circumstances was of the utmost
interest to me. I considered well the position in
which the young man was placed, and consented, for his
own sake, as well as for the good of the Company and the
general public, that he should be arrested and thrown into
prison. But, before the order could be carried out, the
necessity giving rise to it had passed away.</p>

<p class='c001'>Beside Kehoe, a number of other members of the organization
informed McKenna that they had heard he was a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_479'>479</span>detective, Pat Butler, of Loss Creek, saying some of his
men were early let into the secret and were very earnest in
making a demand to have the matter promptly and properly
considered.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I hev the decided advantage of them in that,” returned
the operative, “fur haven’t I already demanded and secured
the calling of a county convention, to take action on me
case? I have took early action on the matter by meself!
Sure, an’ if there’s such a thing as justice in the State, I’ll
hev the matin’ an’ a fair trial on them villainous charges!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Butler hoped he might come through all right, but was
free to say things appeared very stormy, kindly advising the
Shenandoah Mollie to keep an eye out for those who would
seek to end the trouble easily by killing the one suspected,
thus saving the formality of an investigation. Butler showed
that he knew the Mollies thoroughly.</p>

<p class='c001'>Saturday, the 26th of February, Kehoe made his appearance
in Pottsville, in company with his brother-in-law, Manus
O’Donnell, and the detective met the County Delegate
again at Danny Hughes’ house. Jack was full of business,
having visited the city, as he said, to retain John W. Ryon,
Esq., for the defense of McAllister, held with Munley for the
murder of Sanger. There was not much transpired in the
way of conversation between the King of the Mollies and
the suspected man, Kehoe evidently being indignant with his
former favorite that he had given him further trouble and
work by refusing his recent sweet drop of poteen at Girardville.</p>

<p class='c001'>In the afternoon the two came together once more.</p>

<p class='c001'>“What is the news, now?” asked McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>“The gettin’ of a lawyer for McAllister is goin’ to cost
me two hundred dollars, sure,” was the reply, “an’ there
is worse news nor that! I learn there are twenty-five hundred
men banded together in this country for the purpose
of prosecuting the Ancient Order, an’ there is positive proof
<span class='pageno' id='Page_480'>480</span>that we have detectives in our midst. These detectives
even gets money to go aroun’ an’ spend among us, an’ find
out all our secrets, an’ will soon turn around an’ send us,
some of us, to the penitentiary or hang us up by the neck!
That’s news, isn’t it?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“True to ye, that is, an’ bad news—sorry news enough!
There has been somethin’ of the same sort in me own mind
for these many wakes. Somethin’ crooked is surely goin’
on, in wan place or another, an’ that’s the raison I’m doubly
cautious where I goes; or what I says! But who tells ye
these onpleasant things the day?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I got them from John W. Ryon, this time,” answered
the County Delegate. “That’s the very man! He’s jist
afther tellin’ me at his own private office!”</p>

<p class='c001'>There was no call for the denial of this. It did not
apply directly to himself, and McKenna was content with
the remark that it was possible Ryon told the truth. He
knew, at all events, something was wrong in the coal region,
or there could not be so many arrests. Whence came the
difficulty it was not his province to explain. One thing he
might do, and he did it, which was to again deny any claim
to the despicable title of informer. Kehoe left the saloon
in a few minutes, venturing nothing in answer to the last
words uttered by his late associate, but with a sneer of
disbelief on his face, as though to say he was convinced of
the fact that there was a screw loose in the Mollie machinery,
somewhere, and he entertained the belief that, if
McKenna did not know where it was, nobody in the country
could.</p>

<p class='c001'>Time rolled around and the day preceding the one on
which Kehoe had promised the convention to try McKenna
arrived. During the forenoon the County Delegate once
more appeared in Pottsville, and the accuser and accused
again met in Danny Hughes’ saloon, seemingly on fair
terms with each other, exchanging civilities in a rather
<span class='pageno' id='Page_481'>481</span>distant but not unfriendly manner, and enjoying a cigar in
company.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Are ye goin’ up to Shenandoah this evenin’?” inquired
Kehoe, carelessly.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! I’m almost ready now,” answered McKenna,
“an’ I don’t intind missing me appearance at the convention
for me trial, to-morrow!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That’s right!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Kehoe, after this, said he would see McKenna later in the
day and they could take the train together. It was his hour
for an interview with Ryon. He mentioned, incidentally,
that his wife was in the city, seeing some friends.</p>

<p class='c001'>The detective made his report to the Agency, as usual,
for the day, spoke of encountering the County Delegate, and
informed Mr. Franklin that he was, at a certain hour the same
evening, to start for Shenandoah. After mailing this, he returned
to Hughes’ place and particularly inquired for Kehoe.
No person remembered seeing him after the conversation
with McKenna, held some hours earlier.</p>

<p class='c001'>Before nightfall the officer found himself in company with
a man named Mullen, residing in the vicinity of Tuscarora.
He had heard the tale concerning the detective business, and
was fearful that, should there be any truth in it—of which he
could not judge—there might be danger in having a convention
at Shenandoah. For his part, he had done nothing
wrong, and was therefore not afraid, but he was lately listening
to the talk of some others, who readily concluded that
McKenna merely wanted to get the officers and Bodymasters
crowded together, at Ferguson’s Hall, in Shenandoah, when
he could have the whole band arrested by the Coal and Iron
Police.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna scouted  the idea. All he wanted was a hearing.
He did not care where it occurred. Using his best endeavors,
he tried to convince Mullen that such a foolish scheme
would be illegal, as well as impossible, even though he had
<span class='pageno' id='Page_482'>482</span>the desire to execute it, which he had not. Mullen, at
last, seemed to be convinced of the honesty of the accused
Mollie’s purpose in asking for a trial, and said he would see
how many of the officials he could cause to arrive at the
same understanding.</p>

<p class='c001'>Before starting for Shenandoah, the accused sought out and
held a short interview with Linden, telling him, for his sake,
not to have one of his policemen in Shenandoah on the morrow
and to keep out of the city himself. A contrary course, he
thought, would raise suspicions that Mullen’s friends were correct
in their belief. Much against his inclination, Linden
promised compliance. He knew McKenna was running a
great risk, and it would have suited him better to be quite
near, for his protection.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I believe I can fight them right through and make them
believe that I am no detective!” said McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Very well! Do as you please,” returned the Captain,
but I fear they will not be convinced! If you come away
with your life, you’ll do better than I expect!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I am pretty well prepared against surprises,” were the
last words of McKenna, “and if they don’t overpower me,
or kill me with a shot from behind, I’ll get along all
correct!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The separation which ensued was not without feeling, as,
despite his defiant air and confident words, McParlan was
not perfectly sure that he would ever meet his partner
again. That night he started for Shenandoah on the late
train, but saw nothing of the County Delegate.</p>

<p class='c001'>McParlan was in the smoking-car, just before reaching
Mahanoy City, when Manus O’Donnell came to him with
word that Mrs. Kehoe was in the ladies’ car and desired to
see and speak with him. He waited until the train stopped,
then emerged from his coach and went to the rear, entering
the one the wife of Kehoe occupied. After the usual salutations
he inquired where Jack was, that he had not met him
<span class='pageno' id='Page_483'>483</span>and journeyed in his company, according to previous agreement.
She believed he had gone up to Frackville on the
afternoon train, while she had been to Tamaqua to see her
mother. Returning to his own seat the young man began
to deliberate. There was certainly something suspicious in
the actions of his old associate—something he could not
account for—and he made a mental resolution to be very
careful of himself. Not that he knew anything particularly
dangerous immediately threatening, but he was suspected,
and the Mollies usually put suspected persons where they
could do no harm. If they would give him a fair trial, as
they were in duty bound, he thought he would move along
safely. But Kehoe’s failure to meet him and going to
another place looked to him, under the circumstances, and
in his excited mental condition, as though double dealing
was going on. It would do no harm to be circumspect,
hence, when the train slackened its speed and arrived at a
certain crossing, where he had long been in the habit of
alighting, it being a shorter route to his boarding-house,
the detective kept his place, thought he saw—but was not
sure of seeing—several men standing by the track, and rode
on until the passenger depot was reached. Kehoe had told
him to be sure to be up <em>that night</em>. Was it possible some
harm was then intended? Without misadventure, he
alighted, looked about the depot building, and saw no one.
He had taken pains to send up word to McAndrew and his
friends that he would be there by the evening express.
For a long time, whenever he was expected, there would be
from three to half a dozen of the members of his division
ready in waiting to meet and give him welcome. On this
particular occasion not a man sent him greeting, not a friend
made his appearance at the platform. But he thought, as
he walked up the street, this might have been accidental,
or his letters from Pottsville had possibly miscarried or been
<a id='corr483.35'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='delayed'>delayed.</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_483.35'><ins class='correction' title='delayed'>delayed.</ins></a></span> It was evident he was an unexpected or an
<span class='pageno' id='Page_484'>484</span>unwelcome visitor. Which was it? Many knew he was
to be up there that night. But not a person was at hand to
ask him the news or go with him to take a drink. Something
warned him all this was caused by a change of feeling
on the part of his acquaintances.</p>

<p class='c001'>As he moved through the town he did not seem as secure
as he would have felt in his own room at the Agency, in
Philadelphia; but he carried on his person two loaded revolvers,
his nerves were steady and his mind on the alert
for an attack. He met some citizens, but no old acquaintances
who were members of the organization.</p>

<p class='c001'>When he reached James McHugh’s saloon, he thought,
as he was a member, he would speak with the proprietor.
They had always been tolerably good friends. McHugh
was in front of his door and answered McKenna, asking him
to enter the bar-room, which he did.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Will you have something?” said McHugh.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I don’t mind taking a bottle of porter!” answered the
agent. This was an unexpected response, as McKenna was
noted for seldom touching any of the weaker fluids, but McHugh
produced the bottle and fumbled about the cork excitedly,
his face turning as white as a sheet meanwhile.</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ phat is the matther wid ye, Jim McHugh?” inquired
the visitor. “Hev ye got the shakin’ ager, been
sick, or wor ye drunk last night, or what?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, it’s only because I’m chilled through, standin’ outside!”
was the answer.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Did ye hear what the divils hev ben tellin’ of me?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes, McKenna, I have; but, between you an’ I, there’s
no truth in the stories! I hope you’ll come out all right,
an’ I’ll be around to-morrow, to see what’s done at the convention!”</p>

<p class='c001'>It struck the detective that McHugh had not exactly
expected to meet him in his house that night. Could it be
that a plan already made for killing him had fallen through?
<span class='pageno' id='Page_485'>485</span>But banishing all such ideas he left the saloon and kept on
toward McAndrew’s house. Passing the Lehigh depot he
met another friend, Mike McDermott by name, who was
also a member of his division and with whom he had always
been well disposed and rather friendly. That night, after
merely recognizing the former Secretary, McDermott hardly
spoke, and passed along very quickly.</p>

<p class='c001'>Just across the street from him McKenna now saw
Edward Sweeney, another Mollie, with whom he had been
quite intimate since his arrival in town.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Is that you, Sweeney?” said McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! It is me!” was the answer. Sweeney was
standing just near a lamp-post, but he crossed the street and
joined the agent, who inquired:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Have you seen McAndrew the night?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes, I have seen him!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“How long since?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Not above an hour!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Do you think he’s already gone to bed?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I guess not!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Sweeney did not seem greatly inclined to talk, but continued
to stop by McKenna’s side, only once or twice dropping
a step or two in the rear. Sweeney was a bad man.
He did not know fear. McKenna had once seen him walk
up to a party who was drunk and threatening to kill everybody,
and boldly take the man’s gun away from him. If a
job had to be done Sweeney was just the person who might
be selected to do it.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I say, Sweeney,” exclaimed the operative, “I’ve had so
much trouble wid me eyes, lately, that they are none of the
best and I don’t see very well! Will ye be kind enough to
go on ahead and I can follow you widout danger of runnin’
in the gutther or falling through these holes in the pavement!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Certainly!” said Sweeney, and he walked before the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_486'>486</span>operative, who made sure to keep him at the front, from
that time until they arrived at McAndrew’s place. So certain
was McParlan that Sweeney meant him harm that
he had fully determined, if the man turned suddenly, to shoot
him down in his tracks. But his companion did not look
around. When McAndrew’s house was reached a man
named Grady was posted outside and Doyle standing in the
yard. They evidently expected him to arrive, and having
waited his coming had put a sentinel at the gate and another
by the door. Truly, this was showing him altogether too
much consideration. It made him uncomfortable. He did
not like it. There was something in it favoring the dark
and mysterious.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch46' class='c006'>CHAPTER XLVI.<br> <br>M<sup>c</sup>ANDREW SAVES A LIFE.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>From what occurred later McParlan believed his friend
Sweeney had been waiting for his coming, when he found
that person on the street, near the lamp-post. But he said
nothing, and gave no marked attention to the manner in
which McAndrew’s premises were watched, but entered as
if everything had been about as usual. McAndrew received
him graciously, and yet with a degree of constraint, probably,
as McKenna thought, perfectly consistent with the changed
relations now existing between them. After greetings,
Sweeney came into the room, looked carefully around, said
a few words, in a joking way, and went outside again. He
remarked as he left the doorway that he was going home,
but could not have done so, for, in a little while, he reentered
the bar, having a bit of snow in his hand. Watching
<span class='pageno' id='Page_487'>487</span>closely the movements of the man, while, to all outward
intents and purposes, earnestly engaged in smoking his pipe
and reading a newspaper, McKenna saw Sweeney toss the
piece of snow toward McAndrew, who was sitting by the
stove. McAndrew looked up, stretched out his legs, yawned
a little, gazed for one moment on the face of the detective,
then said: “My feet are sore! I guess I’ll take off my
brogues!”</p>

<p class='c001'>The Bodymaster suited action to his words and proceeded
to doff his wet and heavy miners’ boots, and replace them
with a pair of easy slippers. At this, still silently and carefully
observed by the seemingly absorbed McKenna, Sweeney
curled his lip disdainfully, and once more left the apartment.
From the movements he had seen the agent was almost sure
that something had been arranged—felt suspicious of everybody
and everything—and the snow tossed by Sweeney, and
the taking off of McAndrew’s boots, were, to his excited
imagination, signals having some reference to his own case.
But he had no desire to let those about him think he was in
fear of his life. It seemed far better to put on a bold, defiant
front and face the music, which he did. At last, his pipe
being out, he asked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, McAndrew, what about the matin’ for the morrow?
Be every thing all ready?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes! I’ve engaged the hall and it is all right! I hope
there’ll be a large attendance!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“So do I! An’ I don’t care how soon the lies on me are
disposed of! It’s mighty upsettin’ to me nerves to have
such charges restin’ again me reputation as an Ancient Order
man!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McAndrew was, like Sweeney, not in a talkative mood,
and, after vainly attempting to draw him into a conversation,
the accused man bid his glum companion good night, left the
house and started on his journey toward Cooney’s residence,
where he then made his temporary home. Once well in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_488'>488</span>street, he cast his eyes anxiously around in the darkness,
expecting to find Sweeney, or some other Mollie, lingering
in the vicinity. But he did not. Everything was quiet,
somber, and in doubt. Something seemed to say to him,
“Do not go home by the usual route, but take some other!”
and he accepted the suggestion as sensible, struck boldly
into the swamp, at the risk of losing his footing, getting wet
and muddy, finally crossed over, and came out in front of his
boarding-house. His heart felt appreciably more buoyant
when he saw a light shining from the window at Cooney’s,
and he knew the family were expecting him. He entered,
was cordially received, but soon retired to his room. He
afterward confessed to not sleeping much that night. After
an unrefreshing season in bed, he arose early, swallowed his
breakfast, and went over to see McAndrew. Thence he
took a walk up-town, meeting Ned Monaghan and a fellow
named Carlin, the latter being Bodymaster at St. Nicholas.
Florence Mahony, of Turkey Run, was also seen, but the
hall was otherwise deserted. Nobody seemed to come to
the convention, and it struck the accused Mollie that Kehoe
was surely playing him false, and had never forwarded the notifications
prepared at his house. A little after ten o’clock, a
couple of drunken men arrived from Mt. Laffee—or at least
one was a little intoxicated and the other feigned to be so.
These fellows, Dennis Dowling and Mickey Doyle—not
Michael J. Doyle, the Sanger and Uren murderer, but another
person and no relative—said they had just stepped off the
cars, when everybody in town knew no trains of any sort
came in at that hour. They were Mollies, and Dowling was
a big, red-complexioned man. After a time, all present
made up their minds there would be no convention, and
those in the hall adjourned to McAndrew’s saloon, where
Dowling asked McKenna what the meeting was about.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Don’t you know? Didn’t you understand what you
were called together fur?”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_489'>489</span>“No!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, somebody, I don’t know who, have said that I am
a detective—which is a lie—and I demanded a trial before
the assembled Bodymasters of the county. Kehoe granted
it, sent the orders, and here the hour is past and no convention
comes. Even Kehoe himself kapes away!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I won’t believe the story about you, McKenna,” exclaimed
Dowling. Thereupon, to express his peculiar satisfaction,
McKenna, as was expected, invited the crowd to
drink with him. None refused the chance. Then McAndrew
took McKenna into a rear room and left him there.
Doyle, who was drinking very hard, was soon very drunk and
some one had to take him away and put him to bed.</p>

<p class='c001'>The failure of the convention was a great disappointment
to the agent. He readily charged the non-arrival of the
delegates to Kehoe’s door. It was more than probable he
never <a id='corr489.17'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='intened'>intended</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_489.17'><ins class='correction' title='intened'>intended</ins></a></span> to grant an investigation, but had held out the
inducement in order to quiet McKenna, keep him in the
locality, and manage, through some of his cut-throats, to have
him murdered. The suspected Mollie made up his mind
that he would pay the County Delegate a visit and institute
strict inquiry as to the cause of the late adjournment. McAndrew
insisted upon accompanying him, and, in order that
he might have witnesses, he went out with his Bodymaster,
hired horses and a sleigh, and paid for another cutter and
horse for Monaghan. Dowling accompanied the ex-constable,
McAndrew and McKenna leading the way over the
snow-covered road to Girardville.</p>

<p class='c001'>“How is this thing, any way, Frank?” asked McKenna
of McAndrew, as the latter laid the lash upon the horses and
they sped away swiftly over the hills. “I can’t understand
it at all! I am charged with guilt, am given an investigation
before a county committee, the matin’ fails, an’ now
Ned Monaghan and Dennis Dowling are goin’ wid us
to see Kehoe! What have they to do wid the subject
<span class='pageno' id='Page_490'>490</span>when there’s no convention? It’s all a muddle to me enthirely!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McAndrew was driving over a particularly rough piece of
road at the moment and did not answer until smooth traveling
was reached, then, when well out of the hearing of the
others, he said:</p>

<div  class='figcenter id005'>
<img src='images/p4901_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>‘That man, who is riding in the sleigh behind you, calculates to take your life!’</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>“Look here, McKenna, let me say a word to ye in confidence,
while I have the opportunity! You had better look
out, for that man, who is riding in the sleigh behind you, calculates
to take your life! Dennis Dowling is the one!
Have you got your pistols ready?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faith an’ I always hev them, but little use will they be
to me if I get in a crowd an’ Dowling lets on that I am to be
killed! Fur I know that he’ll find plenty to help him! Innocent
or guilty, it makes no difference!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, I have me revolver here, an’ I mean to stand by
you! I’ll lose my life for ye! I don’t know whether you’re
a detective or not, but I have nothing against you! I
always knew you to do the right thing by me an’ those you
were with, an’ until proven a traitor, which I can’t believe ye
are, I’ll keep with you! Why don’t they try a man fairly,
an’ not seek to take his life on mere suspicion?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I thank ye, Frank McAndrew!” was all the detective
could say as the slim hold he had upon the things of this
world was suddenly realized. “I’ll sell me life dearly, as the
miscreants shall find if they make a movement to attack me.
I’ll kape a sharp eye out for Mr. Dowling! That will I!”</p>

<p class='c001'>From that moment, while riding, McParlan sat a little sideways,
in the cutter, with one eye upon the couple behind them.</p>

<p class='c001'>When they came to Anthony Munley’s tavern, the four men
alighted and entering enjoyed something to refresh the inner
man. But McKenna avoided talking with Dowling, who,
more than once, endeavored to draw him into a wordy dispute.
With his eye constantly upon the the burly fellow and his
hand in his overcoat pocket, where slept snugly one of his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_491'>491</span>brace of trusty repeaters, he mixed with the crowd and
chatted unconcernedly about the general topics of the day.
He was closely attended by McAndrew, and this was particularly
noted by Dowling, who had no desire to interfere with
the Bodymaster’s charge while thus under his immediate care.</p>

<p class='c001'>After leaving Munley’s, McAndrew positively informed
McKenna that he had saved him from death, and that
Kehoe, instead of keeping the detective company on the cars,
as he had promised, came to Shenandoah by himself the
previous afternoon. He gathered together all the Mollies in
the place, spent a great amount of money among them, and,
in the presence of others, begged him, McAndrew, for God’s
sake, to have that man, McKenna, killed, or he would “hang
half the people in Schuylkill County!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Did he say that?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I consented,” continued McAndrew, not noticing the
inquiry, “and Kehoe went home satisfied. I didn’t know
but you might be guilty, and, at first, I intended to act in
good faith toward my agreement with Jack, but my heart
afterward misgave me, and I couldn’t do the thing! I
wouldn’t do it! But others did prepare for your arrival at
the crossing, and as they were afraid to shoot you, because
it would make too much noise, twelve or fourteen of the
fellows gathered at the bank, knowin’ you’d be up by the
late train—fur Kehoe had told us you were comin’—but you
did not get off then—your life was spared; and I was very
thankful it was so; and, from that moment, decided I would
have nothing to do with the affair. Some of the boys had
hatchets and clubs and axes, picks and iron bars, and others
such sledges as they use in the mines. If you had stepped
off the train, at that place, you would surely have been
killed, cast into a wagon, which was in waiting for the purpose,
and then tossed down a deserted shaft, where, had
your body ever been discovered, it would have been supposed,
by all exceptin’ your oath-bound murderers, that you
<span class='pageno' id='Page_492'>492</span>had fallen in, in the darkness, and met an accidental death.
Kehoe planned the whole thing, inspired the men with
spirits, an’ then informed ’em you had no relatives or friends
in the world, an’ you would never be inquired for! But,
Jim, to save my sweet sowl, I couldn’t hev any hand in it,
<a id='corr492.6'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='an'>an’</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_492.6'><ins class='correction' title='an'>an’</ins></a></span> I staid at me house, an’ when you jist popped in upon
me there, last night, and I learned you had escaped the evil
gang, an Sweeney hadn’t been able to kill you while ye
were walkin’ wid him to my place, I blessed God that I
hadn’t stained me hands wid yer innocent blood! An’ as
Sweeney tossed the bit o’ snow to me—I believe you saw it—I
gave him answer, by the takin’ off me boots, that, so long
as you were wid me, you should be protected, and come to
no harm; an’ more’n that, I’d have no share in the affair
from that moment forward. Sweeney went away mad! I
couldn’t help it! I was afraid they would wait for ye over
night, or go to Cooney’s an’ kill ye, so, after ye were out,
I watched ye, an’ saw ye go across the swamp; and then I
knew ye were safe! Jim, I mane to stand by ye to the
last drop of my blood! If Dowling undertakes the job, this
day, or Jack Kehoe himself interferes, they’ll have to get to
ye over my dead body!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McParlan warmly pressed the hand of his friend, could
not speak his gratitude, but determined that, thereafter, if he
could do Frank McAndrew a good turn he would. But
there was little time for talk, and none for forming schemes.</p>

<p class='c001'>“You’ll find I’m telling ye the truth, and that ye are in
queer company this very minute!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I don’t give a cent!” exclaimed the detective. “I’m in
fur it, an’ I am able, backed by you, to defend meself! They
have accused me wrongfully, an’ I mane to have justice!
I’m goin’ to Jack Kehoe’s to face him down in it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>McAndrew smiled.</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ why do ye laugh? It may be fun for some, but I’m
in no jesting humor!”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_493'>493</span>“I meant no harm, and was only thinkin’ what Jack Kehoe
will say or believe when he sees ye marchin’ into his house,
all alive an’ well, when he at this time supposes ye are lyin’
at the bottom of the auld shaft, food for the rats!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I can’t help what he may say or think! I’m goin’ there,
sure, an’ if he wants me killed perhaps he’ll have the bouldness
to try the job with his own two hands!”</p>

<p class='c001'>In a few minutes the four persons alighted from their respective
conveyances in front of Kehoe’s house, in Girardville,
and McKenna suddenly made his appearance before
the County Delegate, with McAndrew at his side. Monaghan
and Dowling were not far away. Never was a man
more surprised than Kehoe. He had twice essayed to clear
that troublesome McKenna from his path, and the last time
invoked, and thought he had secured the assistance of so
many good men at the business that he believed he could
not fail. Still, here was the man, McKenna, in the flesh,
unharmed, and sternly confronting him. Evidently his plans
had not worked well. McKenna still lived, and was in company
with one of the very men who had promised him to aid
in the assassin’s bloody work. The County Delegate’s crafty,
narrow face was as white as a sheet of paper, and his whole
body shivered with an ague fit. It needed the sound of McKenna’s
voice to recall him to himself.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, Mister Kehoe, what about that county matin’?
It seems the Bodymasters did not get together—at laste
only a few of them—an’ me trial seems to be a total failure!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Jack placed some tumblers on the counter, in a crooked
row. took down a bottle, spilled much of its contents untidily
over the counter, succeeded in controlling his anger,
resentment, and disappointment, and answered:</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, you see, I came to the conclusion that there was
no use in tryin’ you——”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That’s what <em>I</em> thought at the start!” interrupted McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_494'>494</span>“There was little use in gettin’ together a crowd at Shenandoah!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“So you have taken a good deal of trouble to see that no
crowd was gathered?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“There’s no use talkin’,” answered Kehoe. “The trial
can’t take place!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“What am I to do, then? Rest under this suspicion as
long as you may choose to keep me down? I’ll not do
it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“If you don’t desire to wait, you can go to Father
O’Connor about it! Maybe he’ll tell you something!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m only wantin’ to find out who makes up these lyin’
charges! That I want to know! The story of the conductor
on the train is a downright lie! It’s too thin! You
never heard such a thing, but have got it up in order to have
me put out of your way!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Go to Father O’Connor! It’s all I have to say!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And Kehoe turned aside and spoke to others. But he
kept his unsteady eye on McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, I’ll go to Father O’Connor! He’ll do me justice
widout doubt! An’, Misther Kehoe, look here a little!”
and the detective pulled his two heavy pistols from behind
his back and again thumped the counter with their butts,
loudly enforcing attention to his speech:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I don’t care for you, or fur any wan here, or in the
county! I’m an innocent, ill-used man, an’ ye are tryin’ to
have me shot; but listen to this! I’m all ready, an’ will
sell me chances at the highest! I’ll go see Father O’Connor,
an’ then possibly I’ll have a settlement wid you, Jack
Kehoe!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Seeing that McKenna was becoming excited, and not
knowing but Dowling might pluck up courage to shoot
while in the room, McAndrew seized his friend by the arm,
advised him to put up his pistols, and walked with him out
of the place. He was right in this, as Phil Nash, Dave
<span class='pageno' id='Page_495'>495</span>Kelly and Tom Donahue, beside Dowling and Monaghan,
had gathered there, any one of whom, had Kehoe said the
word, would have finished the trouble with a pistol shot from
the rear. McAndrew talked the matter over with the
others, after McKenna was once in the sleigh, and it was
determined to drive to Father O’Connor’s house at once.</p>

<p class='c001'>When the four men, McKenna, McAndrew, Monaghan,
and Dowling, reached Callaghan’s place, at Mahanoy Plane,
who should be there ahead of them but Phil Nash and Tom
Donahue. It was suspicious, the detective thought, but
said nothing. They had heard that McKenna was going to
see Father O’Connor, but might possibly have had other
business at the Plane. Donahue and Nash took McAndrew
some distance away, and held quite a talk with him. The
agent was on the alert, and saw, from their gesticulations,
that the two men were endeavoring to induce his friend to
do something, but he obstinately refused. Dowling and
Monaghan finally joined the group and the remonstrances
with McAndrew were resumed.</p>

<p class='c001'>While the rest were talking, McKenna went to Father
O’Connor’s house with Callaghan, but was told the priest
was absent in Philadelphia, and not expected back until the
next day. By the time he got back the sleigh was ready.
Dowling was very drunk and McAndrew in haste to leave.
They entered the cutter and started, followed by Monaghan
alone, as Dowling was too much overcome to take along.</p>

<p class='c001'>“What was the matter at Callaghan’s?” inquired McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'>“The same thing,” was McAndrew’s reply. “They wanted
to kill you right here! Dowling tried hard to have me lend
him my revolver! But I wouldn’t allow it! Had they succeeded
in disarming me, you could not have lived one
minute. I would be unable to defend you, and not another
in the crowd would interfere. Dowling was armed, but he
didn’t want to hurt me, and I told them sternly they couldn’t
have their way wid you while I lived.”</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_496'>496</span>“I was on the watch for Dowling,” said the operative,
“and had he made a motion toward me, I’d have shot him!
My life is as dear to me as that of another man to him, an’
I’ll not be murdered widout hurting some of them!”</p>

<p class='c001'>But Dowling was too much intoxicated to do anything, and
Monaghan, becoming disgusted, drove off and left him. Having
failed to extract any satisfaction from Kehoe, or see
Father O’Connor, McAndrew and McKenna, still accompanied
by Monaghan, drove directly to Shenandoah. By the
time they reached McAndrew’s saloon, after putting up their
teams and settling the livery bill, it was night. McAndrew
took the operative to his home, where he remained undisturbed
until his bedtime, when he started up to return to
Cooney’s, thinking he would again take the route through
the swamp.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Good night, Frank!” said McKenna. “It’s time for
me to be joggin’!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Where to?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“To me boarding-house, av coorse!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Not to-night!” replied McAndrew, earnestly.</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ why not?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Never mind why not; but you are to sleep wid me!
My wife is away from home. There’s plenty of room, an we
are to be bedfellows!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And the detective did sleep at McAndrew’s, and, as the
reader may well suppose, was very glad of the opportunity.
Nothing occurred, however, to disturb the two men.</p>

<p class='c001'>The ensuing morning, by the first train, McParlan returned
to Pottsville, made out and mailed his report, and found a
chance to communicate privately with Capt. Linden. He
had appointed to meet McAndrew at Mahanoy Plane the
afternoon of that day. Once more Linden urged him not
to go without being shadowed by him, as he was sure they
were laying plans for killing him. The operative said he
would make one more attempt to prove his character good
<span class='pageno' id='Page_497'>497</span>before the priest. Then, if unsuccessful, he could either
abandon that course or allow his friend to keep him under
surveillance.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch47' class='c006'>CHAPTER XLVII.<br> <br>THE LAST OF M<sup>c</sup>KENNA.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>When the detective, in accordance with his promise, appeared
that afternoon at Mahanoy Plane, he encountered
Dennis Dowling and Tom Donahue still hanging about
Callaghan’s saloon. Both were a little more sober than on
the previous day, but not a whit the less inclined to pick a
quarrel with the man whose life they sought. It should be
explained here that this man, Donahue, was neither “Yellow
Jack” Donahue, nor was it the Tom Donahue, of
Girardville, who had accompanied McKenna on his visit to
Pat Hester’s daughter, but a man in no way related to either
of those mentioned. McAndrew arrived there also, true to
appointment, saying he was in to see the affair through. It
was fortunate for McKenna that he had such valuable assistance.
Had he gone to the place alone it is more than probable
he would have disappeared and no one ever been the
wiser. When they were by themselves, McAndrew remarked:</p>

<p class='c001'>“It was well that you stopped at my house, last night.
If you had returned home, as you intended, I should never
hay seen you again alive. I met Cooney to-day, and he
says men were waiting for you, and watching all through the
night! They knocked at the door, asked if they could stay
there, were refused, but kept coming and going until broad
daylight, when they got away! They left an old carpet-sack,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_498'>498</span>and other things, on the ground near the fence, to
make it appear they were tramps, but Mrs. Cooney thinks
although they were well disguised, that she recognized one
of the fellows as a resident of Shenandoah.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Faith, an’ I am beholden to ye once more, McAndrew!
When can I ever repay your kindness? I will try to do all
that I can, whenever I hev the chance!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh, that’s all right!” returned the young man.</p>

<p class='c001'>Again the visit to Father O’Connor was unsuccessful, as
that person had not yet arrived from Philadelphia. Returning
to Callaghan’s, McKenna reported his want of success.
McAndrew, Dowling, and the rest were talking together,
but no one offered him any violence. Bidding all “good
night,” he went to Pottsville once more. He did not feel
that there was any actual necessity for going to Shenandoah
again that day. In fact, it occurred to him that, thereafter,
it might be as well to have somebody, upon whose aid he
could count, along with him whenever he made the journey.</p>

<p class='c001'>I had telegraphed word to Mr. Franklin to have the detective
clear his record, even at further risk, by persevering
until he saw Father O’Connor, but, as matter of precaution,
Mr. Linden should never leave him while there seemed the
least danger that he would run into serious trouble.</p>

<p class='c001'>The operative, meantime, became convinced, through circumstances
brought to his knowledge, that the Mollies had
penetrated his disguise—seen his cards. Somebody had
given them information about him. Who it was, he could
not tell. But that they were satisfied of his double part, he
was well aware. Nevertheless he said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll go to Mahanoy Plane just once more! Then, if all
is not made straight, you’ll see me leave this country!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“It’s according to orders, I see, and, as I am to be with
you, I shall feel better about it!” said Linden.</p>

<p class='c001'>Linden prepared for the journey, and, the next day, which
was Saturday, the fifth of March, after writing to Mr. Franklin,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_499'>499</span>saying he was to go to Mahanoy Plane, to see Father
O’Connor, and adding: “If I am killed, Jack Kehoe is my
murderer,” McParlan took the noon train for the place designated.
Linden was aware of the localities the operative
would visit and at no time permitted him to stray far from
his presence. This time Father O’Connor was found at his
residence.</p>

<p class='c001'>Callaghan was invited to go with him to interview the
clergyman, but refused, saying he had already been there
too many times. Beside, he and Father O’Connor had
passed some sharp words regarding a sermon which the
priest had delivered about the Mollie Maguires, or Ancient
Order of Hibernians. So the accused Mollie was forced to
go alone—excepting that Linden kept him in view. He
entered the house and was told the reverend gentleman
would see him in a moment. While sitting in a room,
waiting, McKenna heard footsteps in the hallway and then
came the voice of a man speaking. He recognized the
tone as belonging to one of the Mollies of the Mahanoy
Plane Division. Listening intently, he thought a chair was
drawn along the wall until near the door. Evidently some
one was preparing to hear every word that passed between
himself and the priest. This was enough to put him on his
guard and prompt the use of no language which would compromise
him in the eyes of the Mollie Maguires. Soon
Father O’Connor arrived, and McKenna civilly addressed
him:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I am James McKenna, Father O’Connor! I suppose
you have heard many ill things about me before this, but I
am not quite sure that I am as bad as reported. I know I
am not what you have represented me to be, a detective,
spy, informer! In tellin’ me friends this, you hev hurt me
above remedy. I’m no detective! The order I belongs to
is a good wan—but its members are, some of them, charged
wid crimes—an’ they’ll kill me if they think I’m in league
<span class='pageno' id='Page_500'>500</span>wid their enemies, which I surely am not! They are now
quietly engaged in seekin’ means of accomplishing me
injury. You can stop it by saying that it is not true; that
ye don’t belave the tale told on me! I beg you to consider!
I stands up for the Ancient Order of Hibernians,
everywhere! They are the right sort! I hev belonged to
’em for seventeen years, and never saw anything wrong in
them. Bishop Wood, an’ all the rest, are astray in condemning
them, an’ if they’ll only give us time we’ll prove
that we are not murderers and incendiaries an’ all that’s
wicked!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“I have heard about you, young man,” calmly answered
the priest, “and the language used need not be repeated.
I assure you, however, that I have never used your <em>name</em> in
connection with that of a detective! I confess I heard that
you were a detective, and although I did not know you,
I thought you might be, on occasion, cognizant of crimes
long before their perpetration; crimes that I thought you
should have prevented; and in doing as you did you acted
as a stool-pigeon—a common phrase among men—and took
part in bad acts in lieu of giving word to the authorities
and having the perpetrators arrested and punished. I acknowledge
I wrote a letter to John Kehoe, and gave it to a
party to deliver. It was not sent, but brought back to me.
I have told these unfortunate men that their time would
surely come, that death would yet be their fate, and now
they see that I gave them good counsel. They would not
listen to my voice, would not leave their organization, and
they must abide by the consequences. I can do no more
for them. You can go to Father Ryan, of Mahanoy City,
and Father O’Reilly, of Shenandoah, as they know more
about it than I do. I learned of the detective matter
only recently, and have been to Philadelphia to see how your
relations are with another party. I need not name the man,
for I found out nothing. You were seen around the vicinity—or
<span class='pageno' id='Page_501'>501</span>in Tamaqua—about the time Kelly and Doyle were
<a id='corr501.2'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='arrested'>arrested.</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_501.2'><ins class='correction' title='arrested'>arrested.</ins></a></span> You kept Kerrigan’s company, just before Jones
was shot!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“But, indade, I had business in Tamaqua, Father O’Connor!
I wor sparkin’ Kerrigan’s sister-in-law!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This provoked a smile on the priest’s face.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, if that was all, there was nothing wrong in it; you
had a right to pay attention to the young lady if you liked!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Of course I know that! An’ to get the good-will of the
sister-in-law, sure, didn’t I hev to spark Kerrigan jist a
little?”</p>

<p class='c001'>Here some other persons wanted to see the clergyman,
and McKenna took his leave, promising to visit the other
priests and have the tangle straightened out, notifying Father
O’Connor of it, so that he might, if he would, make due
notice to the members of his congregation. The pastor
stated that, when he was satisfied, he would be very happy
to make a public correction.</p>

<p class='c001'>But McKenna had no idea of going to see Fathers Ryan
and O’Reilly. He had had quite enough of that kind of
work.</p>

<p class='c001'>McKenna was careful to speak loud while complimenting
the Mollie Maguires, so that the eavesdropper might hear this
part of the conversation if nothing else. As he went out at
one door, he knew that Martin Dooley made his exit at
another, and, had he given out anything derogatory to the
order, he would never have escaped with his life.</p>

<p class='c001'>After visiting Callaghan’s, and telling the crowd assembled
there that he had seen Father O’Connor, and it was all right,
he agreed to have an interview with Father O’Reilly, at
Shenandoah, the next day, and then took his final leave.
While on his way out of the village the agent encountered
Dooley, who quickly commenced to laugh. He was glad it
was not Tom Donahue and Dowling he had met.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Phat are you afther laughin’ about?” asked McKenna.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_502'>502</span>“Oh, I heard ivery word of it!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Every word of what?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That passed while you was closeted wid Father O’Connor!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“For shame! Wor you list’ning?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Sure, an’ I was!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, didn’t I tell him some things about the society that
not every <em>gorsoon</em> would have known?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That you did! Didn’t you give the order a lift, tho’?”</p>

<p class='c001'>“That wor me rale intention!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“An’ you have been a member for seventeen years, eh?
You told the whole truth about the A. O. H.—or the Mollies—but
I don’t believe you did about the age of your membership!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Dooley seemed highly pleased, and reported to all the
men at Callaghan’s that he never heard a man talk better
sense to anybody than Jim McKenna put before Father
O’Connor, during their short interview. The crowd changed
their feelings toward the agent, and were, at the moment,
more inclined to doubt Kehoe than McKenna. Dowling
was quite drunk, as usual, but managed to put in:</p>

<p class='c001'>“It’s a mystery to me, anyhow! I can’t tell what to make
of that fellow in the blue clothes! He’s a counterfeiter, a
thief, a gentleman, a singer of songs and dancer of jigs, an’,
be gorra, now they say he’s a detective! It’s a long way
beyond me thoughts! I gives it up! I gives it up!”</p>

<p class='c001'>And Dowling called all hands to the bar, which was satisfactory
to the landlord, at least.</p>

<p class='c001'>Notwithstanding the detective had carried himself manfully
before his foes, bearded Kehoe in his den, faced the priestly
accuser, and defied the select band of assassins, now, while
he knew that Linden was somewhere within sight of him—in
truth he was in Mr. Davis’ office, close at hand, all the while
he had been with the priest, and even then was tracing McKenna’s
footsteps at a safe distance—as he made fast time
<span class='pageno' id='Page_503'>503</span>toward Frackville, and the sun began to sink in the west, a
feeling of dread came over him, a chilliness ran in his veins,
which was nigh unto fear, and he walked faster than he had
in a long time. Fortunately he overtook a Dutchman, driving
to Frackville, and McKenna, not wishing to be caught in
the dark on the mountains, asked the driver if he would give
him a ride. The Dutchman consented, stopped his team,
and the detective mounted the seat by his side, saying:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I’m in a very great hurry! I hev a dispatch that me
sisther is just dying, at Pottsville beyant, an’ I fear I may
not get to the train in sayson!”</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p4902_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>Linden was still some distance behind, but making good time to catch up with the Dutchman’s horses.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>“I’ll drive a little faster!” said the obliging fellow, and he
applied his black-snake whip to the animals’ flanks and they
went flying up the steep road, while Linden was some
distance behind, but making good time, to catch up with the
Dutchman’s horses. McKenna looked back, and after a
while, seeing his friend, told the Jehu that he thought there
was no need of such hot haste, as they would probably get
to the depot in time. But poor Linden had to walk all the
way, and was glad enough when he saw the end of the journey.
Both operatives took the same train for Pottsville, but
were careful not to be seen communicating, and the next
morning McKenna went by train to Philadelphia, no more to
return as James McKenna. This was therefore, theoretically,
if not in fact, the end of that personage so long known
to the coal region and to the reader. No more would he appear
as the wild Irishman of Shenandoah. When he again
visited the locality—if he went there at all—it would be in
his true character of James McParlan, the detective.</p>

<p class='c001'>Let us now return to the trials of the Mollies already
arrested. While he did not testify in the Kelly and Doyle
cases, in March, 1876, at Mauch Chunk, McParlan was much
in the locality and furnished very valuable information, greatly
assisting the prosecution in their legal warfare upon the
Mollie Maguires.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_504'>504</span>In April, 1876, I went to Philadelphia, and held another
long, interesting and profitable consultation with Mr. F. B.
Gowen and Superintendent Franklin. They had for some
time been urging upon me the necessity for placing McParlan
on the witness stand. With his assistance, I could easily see
that many convictions might be made which, without his aid,
never could occur. Still there was in my mind the verbal
agreement I had entered into, nearly three years before, in
my office in Chicago, that he, the operative, should not be
called upon to go before a court and give testimony. I
would not go behind that statement, and was determined
never to make the attempt. It was true that McParlan’s
usefulness as a detective in the coal region was gone, through
the discovery which had been made rendering his departure
from that part of Pennsylvania imperatively necessary.</p>

<p class='c001'>Calling the detective to me, in my private office, we held
an earnest and prolonged interview. Without saying anything
to bias his mind, I plainly stated the situation, and
asked him to consider whether it was better for him to go
upon the stand or not. He could do as he chose, and I
would remain firmly with him to the last. For some moments
McParlan sat, with his head bowed down, seemingly
in deep thought, saying nothing. He then raised his eyes,
and replied:</p>

<p class='c001'>“You remarked, just now, that Mr. Gowen would like to
see me!”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Yes, he so stated.”</p>

<p class='c001'>“Well, I can decide what is best to be done, after talking
with him.”</p>

<p class='c001'>I then visited Mr. Gowen’s house, where he was confined
from sickness. He appointed a time when McParlan and I
should meet him. We did meet him, at my office, in Philadelphia,
and we held further talk over the matter. Mr.
Gowen informed McParlan that all he desired was simply to
bring the guilty men to justice. In his own quiet, businesslike
<span class='pageno' id='Page_505'>505</span>manner, he placed the full circumstances of the case
before him, offering, however, no hope of future or present
reward, but describing plainly the duty he thought he owed
to the public. When Mr. Gowen was through, McParlan
thought over the subject for at least five minutes, none of us
speaking, and Mr. Gowen and I almost breathlessly awaiting
the result. At last McParlan said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I will come out in my true character as a detective,
speak the truth in all the cases, wherever needed, and, so
help me God, every assistance that I can give shall be rendered!
Nothing shall be held back. With God’s aid, I
may be the means of doing much good!”</p>

<p class='c001'>Mr. Gowen then left, and arrangements were made to
carry out the decision.</p>

<p class='c001'>I had consented, with this proviso, that, as soon as he
should visit the coal region, and from that time until the precautions
were all ended, he would place himself constantly,
day and night, under the especial care of two of my bravest
and most courageous men, who should be properly armed,
and instructed to give him protection wherever he went.
He did not deem this precaution at all necessary. I did,
and McParlan agreed to it. Messrs. Gilchrist and Deacons,
able and determined officers, have since that date acted as
his guardsmen. That this was needful, several facts afterward
transpiring abundantly prove. While two men would
have been of little use in a combined attack, or if an assassin
might come upon them suddenly in the night, I knew
the Mollies would soon be so demoralized that the first
would not occur, and no man would be willing to take the
risk of killing another whom he knew was constantly under the
eye of armed and watchful guardians. The fact that he had
to move about the streets of Pottsville, Mauch Chunk, or
Bloomsburg, protected by armed men, was galling to the
detective’s pride, but he finally began to see the demand
for such care of himself, and never tried to evade those
<span class='pageno' id='Page_506'>506</span>guarding him. It is more than probable that his life would
long since have been sacrificed, had I adopted a more reckless
course, which I never contemplated doing.</p>

<p class='c001'>Making arrests now begun in earnest, Mr. Linden having
been duly authorized to attend to this department of the
business under the direction and advice of Mr. Franklin, the
district attorneys, and assisted by McParlan. Capture followed
swiftly upon capture, commencing on the fourth of
February, 1876, when Alexander Campbell, Bodymaster at
Lansford, Carbon County, was apprehended, charged with
the murder of John P. Jones, Sept. 3d, of the same year.</p>

<p class='c001'>On the fifth of the same month, Hugh McGehan, of Carbon
County, was arrested for the Yost murder, committed
at Tamaqua, July 6, 1875. James Boyle was taken on the
sixth and the capture of James Roarty, Bodymaster at Coledale,
Schuylkill County, occurred on the seventh. On the
eighth, James Carroll, of Tamaqua, then acting as Bodymaster
at Tamaqua, was lodged in prison. There, on the ninth,
he was joined by his coadjutor in the murder of B. F. Yost,
Thomas Duffy, of Reevesdale. The last named was captured
while at work, at Buckville.</p>

<p class='c001'>The six murderers mentioned above were taken, one after
the other, and so sudden was the descent upon them that
they did not have a moment’s warning, and the greatest
excitement resulted throughout the coal region. Not only
were the Mollies themselves greatly agitated, but the people
of the vicinity arose in a mass and threats of lynching the
prisoners were freely indulged in. Owing to the admirable
arrangements of Capt. Linden, ably seconded by the officers
and men of the Coal and Iron Police and local officials,
everything passed off quietly, in a little while, and all of the
defendants were safely lodged in Pottsville jail. Writs of
<span lang="la"><i>habeas corpus</i></span> were promptly taken out, made returnable
on the thirteenth of February. On that day, Linden took
James Kerrigan away from the Carbon County jail, at
<span class='pageno' id='Page_507'>507</span>Mauch Chunk, in a special car, and landed him safely in
Pottsville, ready for the hearing on the writ. The crowd at
the court-house was so overpowering that President Judge
Pershing declined to enter upon the case, and the numbers
of citizens present had to be forcibly diminished before the
cause could go on. Trouble was anticipated at this time
from the Mollie Maguires, who were on the spot in crowds,
and, while Capt. Linden was taking Kerrigan to the carriage
in waiting, a member of the order, named Thomas Waldron,
cried out, alluding to Kerrigan, “Drown the scoundrel!
Drown <a id='corr507.11'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='him!'>him!”</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_507.11'><ins class='correction' title='him!'>him!”</ins></a></span> A nod to one of the officers in attendance
was sufficient, and Mr. Waldron was promptly arrested,
taken before a magistrate, and put under bail. This quick
settlement of his case quieted the order, and no further
trouble occurred.</p>

<p class='c001'>On the tenth of February followed the arrest of Thomas
Munley, of Gilberton, on the affidavit of Capt. Linden, for
the murder of Thomas Sanger, and Wm. Uren, at Raven
Run, as related in these pages.</p>

<p class='c001'>On the fourth of May, 1876, the trial of James Carroll,
Thomas Duffy, James Roarty, Hugh McGehan, and James
Boyle, for the murder of B. F. Yost, was commenced in
Pottsville, before a full bench of Hon. C. L. Pershing, D.
B. Green, and T. H. Walker. The jury was composed of
the following gentlemen: Joel H. Betz, Thomas Bomboy,
O. Miller, William Becker, Lewis Maul, Levi Stein, Paul
Artz, Amos Forsman, Daniel Yeager, Benjamin Weller,
Jules Kurten, and Jacob B. Hoffman. After hearing much
of the testimony, and getting well along in the cause, Levi
Stein, one of the jurors, and an estimable man, was taken
very sick, and the court adjourned until the twenty-third of the
same month. Mr. Stein never recovered sufficiently to
reappear in the jury box, and after his death the remainder
of the panel were discharged. The cause therefore went
over. It was in this unfortunate trial that McParlan came
<span class='pageno' id='Page_508'>508</span>upon the stand, stood revealed to the world as the former
James McKenna, and made his astonishing revelations,
which, for interest and novelty, have startled the civilized
world. James Kerrigan, also made his <span lang="fr"><i>début</i></span> as a witness for
the Commonwealth, and, but for the sad incident occurring,
as related, the trial would have proven a triumph over the
Mollies. Hon. F. B. Gowen, President of the Philadelphia
and Reading Railroad Company and of the Philadelphia
and Reading Coal and Iron Company, in this case first came
forward as counsel, ungloved himself for the struggle, and
by his boldness did much to reassure the depressed and
suffering people of the coal region. It was a sad providence
and calamity that terminated the trial so unhappily.
The counsel engaged for the Commonwealth were George
R. Kaercher, Esq., District Attorney, Hon. F. B. Gowen,
Hon. F. W. Hughes, Gen. Charles Albright, and Guy E.
Farquhar, Esq.; for the defense were Hon. Lin Bartholomew,
John W. Ryon, Esq., and Daniel Kalbfus, Esq. It
was an array of talent which attracted deserved attention
from the people and the press, many citizens daily crowding
the court room, and all the leading newspapers having representatives
present. Everything, however, had to be repeated,
because of the decease of Mr. Stein.</p>

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<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch48' class='c006'>CHAPTER XLVIII.<br> <br>A NOBLE EFFORT.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>Kerrigan, Doyle, and Kelly were already convicted of
the murder of John P. Jones, and on the fourth of February,
1876, Alex. Campbell, the originator of the plan and the
man for whom the assassination had been committed, was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_509'>509</span>lodged in prison at Mauch Chunk. His trial commenced
the twentieth of June ensuing. By the twenty-first the following
jury had been obtained: Adam Meeker, Elias Berger,
R. J. Koch, Charles Horn, William Williams, Harrison Heinbach,
and Charles Zelner. A verdict of “murder in the first
degree” was returned July 1st. An attempt was subsequently
made to secure a new trial, an argument was heard
on the twenty-fourth of July, and a second trial granted,
which occurred on the twenty-first of January, 1877. He was
a second time found guilty of murder in the first degree and
sentenced by the court to be executed. He was also found
guilty in the Morgan Powell murder.</p>

<p class='c001'>In June, 1876, at Pottsville, occurred the trial of Thomas
Munley and Charles McAllister, arrested Feb. 10th, in the
same year, for the Sanger and Uren murder. This capture
was made on the affidavit of R. J. Linden. The prisoner
was taken at his house in Gilberton. McAllister demanding
a separate trial, Geo. R. Kaercher, Esq., the District Attorney,
elected to try Munley first, and the case commenced
June 28th, before Judge D. B. Green, a jury having been
found on the preceding day, composed of the following
named persons: John T. Clouse, I. W. White, John Springer,
Benj. H. Guldin, Thomas Fennell, Sr., Emanuel Gehris,
Solomon Fidler, Daniel Zerbe, Frederick Alvord, Charles
Brenneman, Jefferson Dull, and Daniel Donne. A verdict
of “guilty of murder in the first degree” was returned on
the twelfth of July. It was in this case that Hon. F. B.
Gowen, assisting in the prosecution, made his memorable
address against the Mollie Maguires, which I give almost
entire. After alluding to the importance of the cause, the
gravity of the case, a man being on trial for his life, and disclaiming
any reflections as against the talented legal gentlemen
engaged in the defense, Messrs. Lin. Bartholomew,
John W. Ryon, M. M. L’Velle, and S. A. Garrett, he entered
upon a minute history of the crime, not differing materially
<span class='pageno' id='Page_510'>510</span>from that furnished in these pages, calling attention to
the utterances of Mr. Sanger, while dying, and then said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“What is the first defense? An <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span>. That which
comes most readily at the beck and call of every criminal
who knows himself to be guilty; for, when every other defense
fails, the ever-ready <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span> is always on hand to be
proved by a crowd of relatives and retainers, who come forward
to say that a man charged with the commission of a
particular offense, at a particular time, and in a particular
place, was, on that very day, engaged in some lawful and
legitimate calling many miles away. When established to
the satisfaction of a jury, an <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span> is the very best defense
that can be offered, but, as it is always the defense that is
resorted to by the guilty, and as it is the defense that is most
easily manufactured, it becomes the duty of a jury most
carefully to scrutinize and examine its truth; and in this
case I am glad to say that I think you will have no trouble
in disposing of it. By whom is this <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span> proven? In the
first place by Edward Munley, the father of the prisoner,
and by Michael Munley, the prisoner’s brother.”</p>

<p class='c001'>After showing how signally the <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span> had failed, he said:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I dismiss these two witnesses from the case. There is
no palliation for such testimony, for there can be no palliation
for perjury; and it has become too serious an offense
in this county to be passed over, hereafter, in silence. But
if there ever was a palliation for perjury, if there should be
at the last great day, before the final Judge, any excuse for
the enormity of this crime, it will be urged on behalf of a
father who has striven to save his son from the gallows, and
on behalf of one brother, who seeks to shield another from
infamy and from shame.”</p>

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<p class='c001'>Addressing himself to the Mollie Maguires, he continued:</p>

<p class='c001'>“I may say, however, before leaving this branch of the
case, that now that the light of day is thrown upon the secret
<span class='pageno' id='Page_511'>511</span>workings of this association, human life is as safe in Schuylkill
County as it is in any other part of this Commonwealth;
that as this association is broken down and trampled into the
dust, its leaders either in jail or fugitives from the just vengeance
of the law, the administration of justice in this court
will be as certain as human life is safe throughout the whole
length and breadth of the county. The time has gone by
when the murderer, the incendiary, and the assassin can go
home reeking from the commission of crimes, confident in
the fact that he can appear before a jury and have an <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span>
proved for him to allow him to escape punishment. There
will be no more false <span lang="la"><i>alibis</i></span> in this county; the time for
them has gone forever. No more false <span lang="la"><i>alibis</i></span>. No more
confident reliance upon the perjury of relatives and friends
to prove an <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span> for him who was seen in the commission of
the act. No more dust thrown in the eyes of juries to blind
them from looking directly at the facts of a case; and I do
say that if there ever was anything to be proud of, to be glad
of, after the fact that we are enfranchised and disenthralled
from this despotism and this tyranny that has been hanging
over us, it is that the administration of justice will no longer
be polluted and disgraced by perjury and false swearing, for
the purpose of rescuing a criminal from the just vengeance
of the law.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I now come to the testimony of McParlan. Many of
you know that some years ago I was the District Attorney of
this county. I am, therefore, not very much out of my old
paths, and not very much away from my old moorings, when
I am standing on behalf of the Commonwealth, in the Court
of Pottsville, demanding the conviction of a guilty man. It
was when I was District Attorney of this county, a young
man, charged with the prosecution of the pleas of the Commonwealth,
that for the first time I made up my mind from
what I had seen, in innumerable instances, that there then
existed in this county a secret organization, banded together
<span class='pageno' id='Page_512'>512</span>for the commission of crime, and for the purpose of securing
the escape or acquittal of any of its members charged with
the commission of an offense.</p>

<p class='c001'>“That conviction forced itself indelibly upon my mind.
A man, who for two years acts as District Attorney in this
county, prosecuting criminals who are brought before the
court, must be either very obtuse or wilfully blind, if he
could close his eyes to the existence of a fact as perceptible
as this was then to me. I left this county with that settled
conviction, and circumstances that occurred time and again,
long after I withdrew from the prosecution of criminals, still
more deeply fastened this conviction in my mind. Murder,
violence, and arson, committed without detection, and apparently
without motive, attested the correctness of that belief,
and when the time arrived that I became so much interested
in the prosperity of this county, and in the development
of its mineral wealth, that I saw that it was a struggle
between the good citizen and the bad citizen as to which
should obtain the supremacy, I made up my mind that if
human ingenuity, if long suffering and patient care, and toil
that stopped at no obstacle, and would confront every danger,
could succeed in exposing this secret organization to light
of day, and bringing to well-earned justice the perpetrators
of these awful crimes, I would undertake the task.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I knew that it could only be done by secret detectives,
and I had had enough experience, both as a lawyer, and as
the head of a very large corporation, to know that the public
municipal detectives employed by the police authorities of
the cities, who operate only for rewards, are the last persons
to whom you could trust a mission and an enterprise such as
this. It was as important for us to know who was innocent
as it was to know who was guilty.</p>

<p class='c001'>“The detective who operates for rewards, who is only
paid upon his conviction of the offender, has a motive to incite
him to action which I would be the last man in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_513'>513</span>world to arouse. I knew, for I had had experience before
of the National Detective Agency of Allan Pinkerton, of
Chicago, which was established by an intelligent and broad-minded
Scotchman, established upon the only basis on
which a successful detective agency can be established, and
I applied to Mr. Pinkerton. His plan was simply this: ‘I
will secure an agent, or an officer,’ said he, ‘to ferret out the
existence of this society. Whoever I get is to be paid so
much a week, no matter if he finds out nothing. He is
bound to me, never, under any circumstances, to take a reward
for his services, from anybody, and, if he spends five years and
obtains nothing in the way of information, he must have
every month or every week exactly the same compensation as
if every week he had traced a new murder and every month
had discovered a new conspiracy. He is never to gain pecuniarily
by the success of his undertaking; but as a man
who goes into this organization, as a detective, takes his life
in his own hands, I will send no man on this mission of yours,
Mr. Gowen, unless it be agreed, beforehand, and I can tell
him so, that he never is to be known in connection with the
enterprise.’ Upon these terms this man, James McParlan,
was selected. A young Irishman and a Catholic, but six or
seven years in this country, eminently qualified by his peculiar
Irish accomplishments to ingratiate himself with those to
whom he was sent, he came here in the fall of 1873, and
within six months he had so far won the confidence of the
class of people who constituted this order that he was admitted
as a member. Remember, now, here—and I advert to it
lest I might forget it—that he came here pledged that he
should not be used as a witness. Therefore, the only object
of his coming was to put us upon the track, so that we could
discover the crime when it was being perpetrated, and this
is the best answer that can possibly be made to the charge
that he wilfully withheld his knowledge when he might have
saved human life. His only object here was to get knowledge.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_514'>514</span>He never was to be used as a witness. His only desire
was to find out when a murder was to be committed, to be
with the perpetrators if he could, and to give notice to Captain
Linden, who had an armed police force ready, so that
they might be waiting at the very spot, and not only save
the life of the intended victim, but arrest every man engaged
in the perpetration of the offense, in order that there could
be abundant evidence of their guilt. That was his whole
object. Almost every night he made his report; and how
well he has performed his duty, the security of human life
and property in this county, to-day, as compared with what
it was six months ago, is the best commentary I can make
upon the subject.</p>

<p class='c001'>“But Mr. L’Velle tells you that from the advent of Mr.
McParlan into this county have all these crimes been committed.
Remember the words: ‘From the advent of McParlan
into this county have all these crimes been committed.’
I fear that Mr. L’Velle has not been long among
you, or, if he has, his memory is sadly deficient, when he
says that all these crimes have been committed since the
advent of Mr. McParlan in Schuylkill County.</p>

<p class='c001'>“<span class='sc'>Mr. L’Velle.</span>—I antedated you in coming to Schuylkill
County.</p>

<p class='c001'>”<span class='sc'>Mr. Gowen.</span>—Then your memory is very defective.
Does the gentleman forget Dunne, who was murdered within
two miles of this town? Does he forget Alexander Rae,
who was stricken down near Mt. Carmel? Does he remember
the assassination of William Littlehales? If he does not
I am very sure that his colleague, Mr. Bartholomew, will not
forget it, for I remember that I stood here, just where I
stand now, some years ago, defending a couple of men for
murder, who, with other good citizens, when the house of a
boss had been attacked at Tuscarora by a mob intent upon
murder, had behaved, not like some of those at Raven Run,
but had sprung to arms, and had taken their old muskets,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_515'>515</span>their rusty rifles, their pistols and their swords, some of them
with no time to load their muskets save with the marbles
with which their children had been playing, and had sprung
to arms to defend the house that was attacked, and had shot
down one of the assailants in his tracks, and were arrested
and brought here charged with the crime of murder; my
friend, Mr. Bartholomew, who was my colleague, joined with
me in contending that our clients had done that which they
ought to have done to protect themselves, and, as I was
standing here, arguing that case, there came over from Coal
Castle the news that William Littlehales had been murdered.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Does the gentlemen forget all this? Does he forget
George K. Smith and David Muir? Does he forget the assassins
who made the attack upon Claude White? Does he
forget Morgan Powell, and Langdon, who were killed, and
Ferguson, who was beaten almost to death? Does he forget
Patrick Barry, who, living with his wife and children in
the house by the tunnel, when a band of assassins attacked
him at night, placed his wife and little ones in the middle of
the house and piled all the mattresses and blankets and pillows
around them, and, when he had sheltered them as best
he could, fought an angry horde of two or three hundred
men, keeping them at bay until daylight, when they fled,
leaving the long tracks of their blood behind them to show
how well he had avenged himself upon his assailants?</p>

<p class='c001'>“These coal fields for twenty years, I may say, have been
the theatre of the commission of crimes such as our very
nature revolts at. This very organization that we are now,
for the first time, exposing to the light of day, has hung like
a pall over the people of this county. Before it fear and
terror fled cowering to homes which afforded no sanctuary
against the vengeance of their pursuers. Behind it stalked
darkness and despair, brooding like grim shadows over the
desolated hearth and the ruined home, and throughout the
length and breadth of this fair land there was heard the voice
<span class='pageno' id='Page_516'>516</span>of wailing and of lamentation, of ‘Rachel weeping for her
children and refusing to be comforted, because they were
not.’ Nor is it alone those whose names I have mentioned—not
alone the prominent, the upright, and the good citizen
whose remains have been interred with pious care in the
tombs of his fathers; but it is the hundreds of unknown
victims, whose bones now lie mouldering over the face of
this county. In hidden places and by silent paths, in the
dark ravines of the mountains, and in secret ledges of the
rocks, who shall say how many bodies of the victims of this
order now await the final trump of God? And from those
lonely sepulchres, there will go up to the God who gave them
the spirits of these murdered victims, to take their places
among the innumerable throng of witnesses at the last day,
and to confront with their presence the members of this
ghastly tribunal, when their solemn accusation is read from
the plain command of the Decalogue, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’</p>

<p class='c001'>“But we are told that in the commission of these crimes,
although Mr. Bartholomew admits that they existed long
years before McParlan came into the county, this man abandoned
his duty as a detective, and became an accomplice
in the crime. And upon whose testimony does this charge
rest? My friend invokes from you a careful attention to
the facts of this case, and properly endeavors to exclude
from it an examination of any other circumstances or any
other facts than those which have been proved in the case.</p>

<p class='c001'>“But upon whose testimony is McParlan an accomplice?
Upon whose testimony is the charge made that McParlan
engaged deliberately in the commission of offenses and
secreted the offenders? Upon Ned Monaghan’s and Patrick
Coyle’s, alone. Upon Ned Monaghan, for whom the doors
of your jail open wide to-day, never probably to reopen
until he comes out in company with Jack Kehoe, and the
other murderers, to stand his trial for his life. Upon Monaghan,
the Molly Maguire, the man who was on the Ringtown
<span class='pageno' id='Page_517'>517</span>Mountain helping to select the committee to kill William
Thomas. Edward Monaghan, who, to-day, is as guilty of
murder in the first degree as any other man now confined
within the walls of your prison.</p>

<p class='c001'>“And who is Patrick Coyle? A man who saw McParlan
drawing a pistol and never heard him say or saw him do anything
else, and because he did not see him do and did not
hear him say anything, he swears he believes that McParlan
was inciting to murder.</p>

<p class='c001'>“What need I say further? An accomplice! McParlan
an accomplice! Mr. Bartholomew tells you that he permitted
Thomas Hurley to escape, and that he permitted Michael
Doyle to escape. Neither Thomas Hurley nor Michael
Doyle have escaped; but the excoriating denunciation which
Mr. Bartholomew hurled against Thomas Hurley will effectually
prevent him from defending Hurley, when he comes
before this court for trial for murder. It will not be long
before he comes here. It is simply a question between the
Mollie Maguires on the one side and Pinkerton’s Detective
Agency on the other, and I know too well that Pinkerton’s
Detective Agency will win. There is not a place on the
habitable globe where these men can find refuge and in
which they will not be tracked down. Let them go to the
Rocky Mountains, or to the shores of the Pacific; let them
traverse the bleak deserts of Siberia, penetrate into the
jungles of India, or wander over the wild steppes of Central
Asia, and they will be dogged and tracked and brought to
justice, just as surely as Thomas Munley is brought to justice
to-day. The cat that holds the mouse in her grasp sometimes
lets it go for a little while to play; but she knows well
that at her will she can again have it secure within her claws;
and Pinkerton’s Agency may sometimes permit a man to believe
that he is free who does not know that he may be traveling
five thousand miles in the company of those whose vigilance
never slumbers and whose eyes are never closed in sleep.</p>

<p class='c001'><span class='pageno' id='Page_518'>518</span>“They may not know that the time will come, but I say
that so surely as I am standing before you to-day, the time
will come, be it short or be it long, be it months or be it
years, when every single murderer then living on the face of
the earth, who has committed a crime in this county, since
April, 1874, will answer for that crime before the presence of
this court. ‘The race is not always to the swift, nor the
battle to the strong.’ Those who see what we are doing
now have seen but little; for it is only the opening of the
book of this vast conspiracy, and behind the meaner men
who shot the pistol there stand others far more guilty than
they who, with them, at some time will be brought to justice—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘For Time at last sets all things even,</div>
      <div class='line'>And if we do but wait the hour,</div>
      <div class='line'>There never yet was human power</div>
      <div class='line'>That could evade, if unforgiven,</div>
      <div class='line'>The patient search and vigil long</div>
      <div class='line'>Of him who treasures up a wrong.’</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>“And now some words about this secret organization of
Mollie Maguires. My friend, Mr. Bartholomew, is not correct
in his statement of their history. If, after this case is
over, and when you are permitted to read, you will get a
little book called Trench’s <cite>Realities of Irish Life</cite>, written by
a relative of that celebrated Dean Trench, whose name is
well known wherever English literature is read, you will find
the history of this organization. It was known as the Ribbonmen
of Ireland. It sprang up at a time when there was
an organized resistance in Ireland to the payments of rents.
The malcontents became known as Ribbonmen, and they
generally made their attacks upon the agents of the non-resident
landowners, or upon the constables or bailiffs who
attempted to collect the rents. Their object was to intimidate
and hold in terror all those to whom they owed money
<span class='pageno' id='Page_519'>519</span>or who were employed in its collection. As a branch of
this society, and growing out of it, sprang the men known
as Mollie Maguires, and the name of their society simply arose
from this circumstance, that, in the perpetration of their
offenses, they dressed as women, and generally ducked or
beat their victims, or inflicted some such punishment as infuriated
women would be likely to administer. Hence
originated the name of the Mollie Maguires, which has been
handed down to us at the present day; and the organization
of the Mollie Maguires, therefore, is identical with that of
the Ribbonmen in Ireland, who have terrorized over the
Irish people to so great an extent.</p>

<p class='c001'>“How this association came into this county we do not
know. We had suspected for many years, and we know now,
that it is criminal in its character. That is proved beyond
peradventure. It will not do to-day to say that it was only
in particular localities in this county that it was a criminal
organization, because the highest officer in the society in
this county, the County Delegate, Jack Kehoe, the man who
attended the State Convention, and was the representative
of the whole order in this county, is at present, as you hear
from the testimony, in prison awaiting his trial for murder.
Whether this society, known as the Ancient Order of Hibernians,
is beyond the limits of this county a good society or
not I cannot tell; but I have believed at some times that it
was, and I am willing to be satisfied of that fact now, if there
is any evidence of it. But there has been an attack made
upon this organization, and up to this time we have not had
furnished to us any evidence that in any place its objects
were laudable or commendable. Criminal in its character,
criminal in its purpose, it had frequently a political object.
You will find the leaders of this society the prominent men
in the townships. Through the instrumentality of their order,
and by its power, they were able to secure offices for themselves.
You see here and now know that one of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_520'>520</span>Commissioners of this county is a member of this order.
You know that a previous Commissioner of this county was a
member of this order, convicted of a high offense, and pardoned
by the Governor. You know that another County
Commissioner, before that, was a member of this order, convicted
of an offense, and pardoned by the Governor. High
constables, chiefs of police, candidates for associate judges,
men who were trusted by their fellow-men, were all the time
guilty of murder.</p>

<p class='c001'>“But in addition to the criminal and the political motives,
these people claim national characteristics. They
claim that they were, <span lang="fr"><i>par excellence</i></span>, the representatives of
the Irish of this country. They claim more than that, that
they represent the Irish Catholics of this country. I shall
say but little about the Irish, except that I am myself the
son of an Irishman, proud of my ancestry, and proud of my
race, and never ashamed of it, except when I see that Ireland
has given birth to wretches such as these! These men
call themselves Irishmen! These men parade on St. Patrick’s
Day and claim to be good Catholics! Where are the
honest Irishmen of this county? Why do not they rise up
and strike down these wretches that usurp the name of Irishmen?
If a German commits an offense, and engages in
murder, do all the other Germans take his part and establish
a false <span lang="la"><i>alibi</i></span> to defeat the ends of justice? If an American
becomes a criminal, do the Americans protect him? Do they
not say, ‘Away with you! You have disgraced the country
that bore you?’ If an Englishman becomes an offender,
do the English nation take him to their arms and make him
a hero? Why, then, do not the honest Irishmen of this
county come together in public meeting, and separate themselves
widely from and denounce this organization? Upon
what principle do these men, outcasts from society, the dregs
of the earth, murderers and assassins, claim to be Irishmen
and arrogate to themselves the national characteristics of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_521'>521</span>the Irish people? It is a disgrace to Ireland that the honest
Irish of this county, probably five or ten thousand in
number, should permit a few hundred wretches like these to
say that they are the true representatives of the Irishmen of
Schuylkill County.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Does an Irishman wonder why it is sometimes difficult
to get a job in this county? Does he wonder why the boss
at a colliery hesitates to employ him, when these people
have been allowed to arrogate to themselves the Irish character
and have been permitted to represent themselves to
the people of this county as the proper representatives of
Ireland? The time has come when there must be a line of
demarcation drawn. The time has come when every honest
Irishman in this county must separate himself from any suspicion
of sympathy with this association. He must denounce
its members as outcasts from the land that gave
them birth. He must denounce them as covered with infamy
and blackened with crime. He must say that they are
not true Irishmen and that they are not representatives of
Ireland.</p>

<p class='c001'>“But far beyond this attempt to invoke your sympathy
on account of their nationality is the attempt to invoke that
sympathy on the ground that they belong to a persecuted
religion. Was there ever such sublime, such tremendous
impudence in the world, as that a member of this secret
society, a society which has been denounced by its own
Church, and each member of which has been excommunicated
by the Archbishop of Philadelphia, and by the Pope himself,
outcasts from society, and from the communion of their
own religion, the door of the Church shut in their faces and
the gates of heaven closed against them by the excommunication
of their priests—these men, infidels and atheists,
caring for no church, and worshiping no God, set themselves
up in this community as the representatives of the Catholic
faith.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_522'>522</span>“‘Just Allah! what must be thy look?</div>
      <div class='line'>When such a wretch before thee stands,</div>
      <div class='line'>Unblushing, with thy sacred book,</div>
      <div class='line'>Turning its leaves with blood-stained hands,</div>
      <div class='line'>And wresting from its page sublime</div>
      <div class='line'>His creed of lust and hate and crime.’</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>“A few words more upon this subject of Irish Catholics.
I was born and am a Protestant, but I was partially educated
among the Catholics, and I have always had a kindly feeling
for them, and when these assassins, through their counsel,
speak of being Catholics, I desire to say to you here, in the
first place, that they have been denounced by their Church
and excommunicated by their prelates, and that I have the
direct personal authority of Archbishop Wood himself to
say that he denounces them all, and that he was fully cognizant
of and approved of the means I took to bring them to
justice. And, for myself, I can say that for many months
before any other man in this world, except those connected
with the Detective Agency, knew what was being done,
Archbishop Wood, of Philadelphia, was the only <a id='corr522.20'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='confident'>confidant</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_522.20'><ins class='correction' title='confident'>confidant</ins></a></span> I
had and fully knew of the mission of the detective in this
whole matter. So much, then, for the assumption of Mr.
L’Velle that these men claim sympathy on account of their
being Catholics. I can hardly reply calmly to such an argument.
I believe that there must be different sects in this
country, as there are in all countries, and I am one of those
who believe that a good Catholic is better than a bad Protestant.</p>

<p class='c001'>”<span class='sc'>Mr. L’velle.</span>—I repel that remark.</p>

<p class='c001'>“<span class='sc'>Mr. Gowen.</span>—Mr. L’Velle repels the remark! I cannot
help it, and I reiterate the fact that although I am a
Protestant, I have been taught to believe that a good
Catholic is better than a bad Protestant.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I have been taught to believe that the eyes of Justice are
closed not only against individuals and corporations, but
<span class='pageno' id='Page_523'>523</span>against nationalities and sects. I have been taught to believe
that he is the good citizen who is truthful and honest,
who is kind-hearted and affectionate, who lives in charity
with all men, who gives freely of his means to the poor, and,
whether he kneels before an altar or worships God in his own
chamber, he is entitled to the favorable consideration of his
fellow-men. And I do know, oh! so well, that when our
lives draw toward their close, and the opening portals of the
tomb reveal to our eyes some glimpses of the boundless
waters of that vast eternity upon which we will all embark,
that then, at that dread moment, it will be to the recollection of
the possessions of these simple virtues, this pure morality,
this <a id='corr523.14'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='unostentations'>unostentatious</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_523.14'><ins class='correction' title='unostentations'>unostentatious</ins></a></span> charity that I have named, that we will
all cling, in the sublime confidence that it will avail us most,
when the time shall come that each one of us, Catholic
and Protestant, Lutheran and Calvinist, Gentile and Jew,
shall be stripped of the thin garb of the sectarian, and
stand in equal favor before the great white throne of
God.</p>

<p class='c001'>“And now one word more upon this subject, and I dismiss
it. Whenever you hear a complaint made against a man
because he is an Irishman, or because he is a Catholic; whenever
you hear any one, no matter who he may be, say that
the outrages of this county are due to the Irishmen, or due
to the Catholics do not, I beg of you, forget, in your secret
hearts, that the highest prelates of that Church have cursed
and excommunicated this order. Do not forget that whatever
little credit may be due to him who has conceived the
plan of exposing this association is due to one who is the son
of an Irishman; and do not forget that a greater honor and
a greater meed of praise than is due to any other is due to
Detective McParlan, who is an Irishman by birth, and a
Catholic by religion; and if those who profess to be Irish
Catholics in this county have brought their nationality and
their religion into disrepute, I beg of you to remember that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_524'>524</span>both have been gloriously and successfully vindicated by an
Irishman and a Catholic, in the person of James McParlan.</p>

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<p class='c001'>“And now let us look to society in this county, as it was
three months ago, when men retired to their homes at eight or
nine o’clock in the evening and no one ventured beyond the
<a id='corr524.7'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='precints'>precincts</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_524.7'><ins class='correction' title='precints'>precincts</ins></a></span> of his own door; when every man engaged in any
enterprise of magnitude or connected with industrial pursuits
left his home in the morning with his hand upon his pistol,
unknowing whether he would again return alive; when the
very foundations of society were being overturned, when
the administration of justice, which should always be regarded
with reverence, had almost sunk into contempt; when
men doubted whether it was in the power of organized
society to protect their lives and to secure their property;
and then reflect upon the change which a few weeks has
brought forth. To-day I give you notice that there is no
part of this county that is not as safe as the aisle in which
I stand here now.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Is there a man in this audience, looking at me now, and
hearing me denounce this association, who longs to point
his pistol at me? I tell him that he has as good a chance
here as he will ever have again. I tell him that it is just as
safe to-day to murder in the temple of Justice as it is in the
secret ravines of the mountains, or within the silent shadows
of the woods. I tell him that human life is safe. I tell him
that the members of his society, whom we desire to convict,
all, save one or two, are either safely lodged within the walls
of your prison or are fugitives from justice, but almost within
the grasp of the detectives, who are upon their heels. I tell
him that if there is another murder in this county, committed
by this organization, every one of the five hundred members
of the order in this county, or out of it, who connives at it,
will be guilty of murder in the first degree, and can be
hanged by the neck until he is dead, not by vigilance
<span class='pageno' id='Page_525'>525</span>committees, but according to the solemn forms of justice,
after being defended by able and experienced counsel; and
I tell him that, if there is another murder in this county by
this society, there will be an inquisition for blood with which
nothing that has been known in the annals of criminal jurisprudence
can compare. And to whom are we indebted for this
security, of which I now boast? To whom do we owe all
this? Under the Divine Providence of God, to whom be
all the honor and all the glory, we owe this safety to James
McParlan, and if there ever was a man to whom the people
of this county should erect a monument, it is James McParlan,
the detective.</p>

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<p class='c001'>“McParlan is a detective, engaged in the performance of
a professional duty, who enters upon his quest with the
avowed purpose of trying to make all those with whom he
was brought in contact believe that he is one of them. He
is not an accomplice. He went there for the purpose of
aiding the officers of the law in discovering and punishing
guilt, and even were he an accomplice, even if every particle
of testimony we have had during the last two weeks
from the lips of James McParlan had fallen on that stand
from the lips of Friday O’Donnell, or from the lips of Michael
Doyle, it would have been not only corroborated, but
strengthened and attested by the evidence of identification
alone.</p>

<p class='c001'>“But suppose there was no evidence of identification, I
desire now to show you what corroborative testimony beyond
that of identification we have of the facts proved by
McParlan himself. I have taken the trouble, during the
time Mr. L’Velle was speaking yesterday, to go over, with
one of my colleagues, nearly the whole of the testimony in this
case, so that I might be able to point out to you the various
places in which and the manner by which McParlan is corroborated
by other witnesses. I will now call your attention
to this testimony, in detail, in the order in which it was given,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_526'>526</span>and, having done so and fixed it upon your mind, I will
endeavor to make some few arguments based upon this corroborative
testimony, if any such were needed to enable a
jury of intelligent men to determine whether they will give
credence to the testimony of McParlan.</p>

<p class='c001'>“McParlan says that Munley told him that McAllister and
O’Donnell, called for him, Munley, on the evening of the
thirty-first of August. Remember, McParlan says that Munley
told him at Michael Lawler’s that McAllister and O’Donnell
called for him the previous evening. How could McParlan
have known this if Munley did not tell it to him? Weigh
that in your minds for one instant. How could McParlan
have found this fact out, if Munley had not told him? Oh!
but our friends may say that McParlan swears that Munley
said so, but the statement is not true, and here comes in the
corroborative testimony. Frederick Hunniken, a witness produced
by the Commonwealth, says that on the evening of the
thirty-first of August a stranger came to Wiggan’s Patch and
talked with the O’Donnells, and that James O’Donnell and
the stranger went toward Gilberton together. Then James
Patton says that on the evening of the thirty-first of August,
Darcy and Munley joined a party near Gilberton, and Luke
Richardson says that on the evening of the thirty-first, Darcy
and Munley joined a party from Wiggan’s Patch; and Sarah
Ann Gessford and George Gessford both testified that they
saw Munley with Darcy and some other men between eight
and nine o’clock on the evening of the thirty-first, at the Cross
Roads, by the old Flour Barrel, near Gilberton. There are
now one, two, three, four, five witnesses, in different parts of
the county, who have testified to a state of facts of which
McParlan could have had no knowledge whatever, unless
informed by Munley. Where can you find better corroborative
evidence than this? How did McParlan know, if he
made up this story to tell, that the O’Donnells came for
Munley in the evening, and that they went off together?
<span class='pageno' id='Page_527'>527</span>Did McParlan know Luke Richardson or Mr. or Mrs. Gessford?
Had he ever communicated with either of them?
And yet James McParlan comes forward and gives us a
statement which was told to him by Munley, and we produce
five witnesses to prove that when Munley made that statement
he told the truth.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Again, McParlan says that Munley had on dark pantaloons
of a grayish color. How could McParlan describe
Munley’s pantaloons, if he had not seen him on that morning?
If he attempted to make up a story, is it likely that
he would have discovered exactly the proper kind of pantaloons?
James Williams and Roberts say that on that day
Munley was dressed in gray pantaloons; Robert Heaton
describes them as darkish; Melinda Bickelman says that
they were pepper and salt, and Munley’s family, themselves,
have to admit that they were of a grayish color—one of them
said of a brownish color, and still another said that they were
gray, but had a kind of a dark stripe in them. Here is
corroborative testimony again.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Further on in his testimony McParlan says that Munley
told him that after O’Donnell began the attack, he ran up
and shot Sanger near the fence at the house, and that Charles
O’Donnell, Doyle, and McAllister fired shots to intimidate
the crowd. That is exactly as Patrick Burns describes it,
and as Melinda Bickelman describes it. The two men that
followed Sanger down the road and killed him were Friday
O’Donnell and this prisoner, Thomas Munley. McAllister
ran around to intercept Sanger, and the other two men fired
shots to intimidate the crowd. How, under heaven, did
McParlan know this, unless Munley told him. Where can
there be stronger corroborative testimony than this?</p>

<p class='c001'>“Again, McParlan swears that after some conversation at
Lawler’s, when these five men came in on the morning of the
first of September, the two O’Donnells and McAllister left
for home. How did McParlan know that, unless he saw it?
<span class='pageno' id='Page_528'>528</span>Our friends may say, where is the evidence of that? We
answer by saying that Edward Fox, a witness produced by
the Commonwealth, says that James O’Donnell, with two
men, came to his engine-house, on a path between Wiggan’s
Patch and Shenandoah, dusty and thirsty as if from traveling,
at eleven o’clock on the morning of the first of September.
It seems to me as if there was some almost supernatural or
divine agency pointing out to the officers of justice and the
agents of the Commonwealth the evidence that would corroborate
the testimony of this man McParlan. How could
McParlan make up a story of this kind, unless he had seen
the men? He swears these three men left together, and
these three men are found together, and separated from the
other two.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Again, McParlan goes further, for he tells you what
became of the other two. He says that after Doyle had gone
to his boarding-house and changed his clothes, Doyle, Hurley,
Munley, and himself went to Tobin’s ball-alley, in Shenandoah;
and Philip Weissner and William J. Fulton, two
witnesses produced by the Commonwealth, testified that they
met Munley in Shenandoah, with some other men, at ten
o’clock on the morning of the first of September, at the corner
of Coal Street and Chestnut Street.</p>

<p class='c001'>“McParlan also says that Munley left Shenandoah for
home about one o’clock in the afternoon on the first of September,
and Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Richardson, Mrs. Lambert,
and Mrs. Hayes, all saw Munley coming home to his house at
Gilberton between two and three o’clock, just about the
time at which he would have arrived if he left Shenandoah at
one o’clock.</p>

<p class='c001'>“McParlan also swears that Munley returned to Shenandoah
in the evening, and attended a meeting of the Mollie
Maguires, when men were selected to murder John P. Jones.
Philip Weissner swears that he met Munley on the evening
of the first of September, about five o’clock, on his way to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_529'>529</span>Shenandoah, and Mrs. Smith saw him leave his home, after
changing his clothes, on the evening of the first of September,
in company with Darcy, who was one of the Mollie Maguires,
and who was one of the men at the meeting in the bush on
the evening of the first of September. Where can you have
stronger corroborative testimony than this? Ask yourselves
the question: how could James McParlan have known this?
It is true, and it is proved by fifteen or twenty witnesses who
have placed these men just at the spot and just at the time.
How did McParlan know this, unless Munley told him? Ask
yourselves that question, and then ask yourselves whether, if
this man McParlan was Friday O’Donnell himself, and had
testified to this state of facts, would you as jurors require
any other corroborative evidence than that which has been
laid before you?</p>

<p class='c001'>“The only other portion of the defense to which it is
necessary for me now to revert is the testimony of the men
around Raven Run, who saw some of this occurrence, but
could not recognize Thomas Munley. In the first place, we
believe, though we have no right to make charges, but we
do believe that there were a number of men on this stand,
who, from the manner in which they gave their testimony,
revealed the fact that they knew a great deal more than they
intended to tell; and when an Irishman from the same
county as this prisoner so testifies on cross-examination that
you must believe, notwithstanding his denial of the fact, that
he was a member of the same organization, and always prefaces
his testimony as to the prisoner’s being one of the
murderers by saying, ‘Not to the best of my opinion,’ you
will see the easy way by which he bargained with his conscience
for getting over the obligation of the oath which he
had taken to tell the truth.</p>

<p class='c001'>“What does all this testimony amount to? Here were
four days taken up with the examination of forty or fifty
witnesses, and at the utmost all that each or any of them
<span class='pageno' id='Page_530'>530</span>could say was that Friday O’Donnell was not Thomas Munley.
Why, we knew that before. Friday O’Donnell was
the leader of this gang. Friday O’Donnell was the man
who had the principal hand in it; he was the man who took
the prominent part in the murder; he was the man whom
nearly all the witnesses saw and described by his clothing
and by his stature; and every one of them swore, with great
vehemence, that Friday O’Donnell was not Thomas Munley.
God knows, gentlemen, we knew this before; we
knew that Friday O’ Donnell was not Thomas Munley, but
when they were questioned, they either had to admit that
they could not tell whether the prisoner was one of the
other four men, or that they had not seen the other four
men sufficiently to enable them to identify them thereafter.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I have said to you before that it seems to me as if there
had been a divine interposition for the investigation and
punishment of crime in this county. Remember that McParlan
came here pledged that he should not be used as a
witness. We placed no reliance upon him as a witness.
We could not arrest a man because he told us anything
about him, because he was protected by the pledge
we had given him that he was not to be exposed, and was
never to be known in the investigation; and I tell you that,
no matter what the consequence would have been, when I
became an instrument to lead him into the danger to which
he was subjected when he took his life into his own hand and
entered into the secret councils of this order, I would have
been the last man in the world to have asked him to relieve
me from the pledge which had been made to him. You
have heard that his mission became known to this order,
how or by what manner I am not at liberty to tell you to-day,
for it is not in evidence. We have the fact, though,
that his mission became known to this society, and we have
the fact that those from whose vengeance he was to be protected,
by ignorance of his true character, acquired information
<span class='pageno' id='Page_531'>531</span>that enabled them to know that he was playing a false
part in their organization, and that he was in reality a detective;
and he was compelled to leave the county. And then
I saw before me my path as clear as day. Then I saw that
some miraculous interposition of providence had been vouchsafed
to permit us to use the testimony and the knowledge
of this man McParlan. Then I breathed freer, and trod
with elate step; then I knew that I had within my hands the
power to crush these villains; then, and on the day when he
took his place upon the witness stand, I took my seat at this
table as counsel for the Commonwealth, and the warrants
were executed which consigned to the prison every one of
these criminals, with the exception of one or two and of
those who had run away when Jimmy Kerrigan turned State’s
evidence. When, in all the history of criminal jurisprudence,
did ever such a change of society come over a county as
that which came over this county on the morning that McParlan
first became a witness, and on the morning when
Jack Kehoe, the County Delegate, with twelve or fifteen
other men, handcuffed to a chain, were marched from the
high places they had occupied to take their solitary cells as
felons within the walls of your prison?</p>

<p class='c001'>“When I came to this court-house, on that memorable
day, the court-room was crowded with the sympathizing
friends of these criminals, but where are they to-day? They
may be here, but they give no sign, and we know nothing of
them, and we care not if they are here. The whole county
sprang up like a giant unbound, and never, except in
dramatic literature, has there been revealed such an awakening
and such a change.</p>

<p class='c001'>“There is an old drama called the ‘Inconstant,’ in which
the hero of the play is beguiled into a den of infamy, and
when he is confronted by miscreants he for the first time
realizes the danger in which he is placed. He feels that
his money is to be taken and that his life will be sacrificed.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_532'>532</span>He has with him, however, a faithful page, and turning toward
the outlaws he addresses them as if he was unaware
of their true character. He shakes them by the hand, presents
one with his watch, and another with his purse; he is
‘hail fellow well met’ with them, and he invites them to join
him in a carouse, and offers to send his page for wine. The
outlaws hear it and consent, and he says to his page:
‘Bring me the wine—the blood-red wine marked 100.’ The
page departs, well knowing that the message refers not to
wine but to a company of soldiers numbering one hundred
and wearing a red uniform. After breathless suspense the
page returns, and in answer to the frantic demand, ‘The
wine, boy, the wine!’ answers: ‘Coming, sir,’ and the
tramp of armed men is heard. Then the entrapped man
grows bold. He pulls one outlaw by the nose, and cuffs
another on the ear, and the soldiers enter and march them
off to jail. So it was with us when McParlan came upon
the stand. He was the blood-red wine marked 100. Then
we knew we were free men. Then we cared no longer for
the Mollie Maguires. Then we could go to Patsy Collins,
the Commissioner of this county, and say to him: ‘Build
well the walls of the new addition of the prison; dig the
foundations deep and make them strong; put in good
masonry and iron bars, for, as the Lord liveth, the time will
come when, side by side with William Love, the murderer
of Squire Gwyther, you will enter the walls that you are now
building for others.’ Then we could say to Jack Kehoe,
the high constable of a great borough in this county: ‘We
have no fear of you.’ Then we could say to Ned Monaghan,
chief of police, and murderer, and assassin: ‘Behind
you the scaffold is prepared for your reception.’ Then we
could say to Pat Conry, Commissioner of this county:
<a id='corr532.33'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='The'>‘The</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_532.33'><ins class='correction' title='The'>‘The</ins></a></span> time has ceased when a Governor of this State dares
to pardon a Mollie Maguire—you have had your last pardon.’
Then we could say to John Slattery, who was almost
<span class='pageno' id='Page_533'>533</span>elected judge of this court: ‘We know that of you that it
were better you had not been born than that it should be
known.’ Then all of us looked up. Then at last we were
free, and I came to this county and walked through it as
safely as in the most crowded thoroughfares of Philadelphia.</p>

<p class='c001'>“There is one other dramatic illustration which I remember
and to which I cannot help adverting, as it so clearly
paints the scene which has been enacted so lately in this
county. It occurs in Bulwer’s drama of Richelieu. You
remember that Richelieu, the Prime Minister of Louis XIII.
was threatened by a secret conspiracy, led by a great noble
man, dramatized as De Baradas, and headed in the army by
the very brother of the King himself. You will remember
that the statesman, realizing that his power over the King
was gone, and that the conspirators had acquired absolute
control over the mind of the monarch, set a page upon the
track to discover the evidence of the conspiracy, so that he
could lay it before the monarch in the presence of the conspirators
themselves. You will also remember, if you have
read the drama, the thrilling description of the manner in
which the page, at the point of the poniard, wrested the
parchment evidence of this conspiracy from one of the chief
conspirators, at a time when the monarch was holding court,
and when the prime minister, almost dead with rage and chagrin,
fear and disappointment, had almost ceased to hope
for success. It was at this moment that the page, wearied,
bleeding, and breathless, rushes in behind Richelieu and
hands him the parchment, which is laid before the monarch,
who, for the first time, learns that he has been betrayed, and
that the army of Spain is on the march to Paris. He says:
‘Good heavens, the Spaniards! Where will they be next
week?’ And Richelieu, rising up, exclaimed: ‘There, at
my <a id='corr533.33'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='feet!'>feet!’</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_533.33'><ins class='correction' title='feet!'>feet!’</ins></a></span> and issuing his orders for the arrest of the conspirators,
turns to the chief, and exclaims: ‘Ho, there,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_534'>534</span>Count De Baradas. thou hast lost the stake,’ and that stake
was his head.</p>

<p class='c001'>“So when we discovered the criminal nature of this organization,
and when the evidence of this conspiracy was brought
forward to us by McParlan, we issued our warrants for the
arrest of the conspirators, and we turned to these men, with
the Commissioner of the county at their head, and we said
to them: ‘Ha! you have lost the stake.’ They played a
deep game, and they played for a great stake. They played
to secure the property of this county, by endangering the
lives of their fellow-citizens. They had agents as chiefs of
police, and as constables and commissioners, and they had
one of their number almost on the bench itself. God alone
knows what would have happened to us if they had gotten
him there, and then elected a jury commissioner besides.
With Mollie Maguires as judges, and Mollie Maguires as
constables, and Mollie Maguires as commissioners, and Mollie
Maguires as witnesses, what would have been the history of
this good old county? Think of this for a moment! Can
you think where then we would have drifted, and to what it
would have led us? Can you imagine the condition of the
people of this county, with murderers upon the bench, and
in the jury box, and in control of all the principal offices of
the county. I lived in the apprehension of all this for two
years and a half alone, and God knows that when the time
comes that all I know may be told to the world, it will reveal
a history such as will make every American citizen hang his
head with shame. I have seen a society of murderers and
assassins having its members in the highest places of this
county. I have seen them elected to fill the positions of constables
and police officers. I have seen a trusted member of
that band of murderers a Commissioner of the county. I
have seen this organization wield a political power in the State
which has controlled the elections of a great Commonwealth.
I have received the information of meetings between some of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_535'>535</span>the highest officers of the State, and the chief of the murderers,
at which large sums of money were paid to secure the
votes of this infernal association to turn the tide of a State
election. God knows, if ever in the world there was a revelation
as deep and as damning as that now laid open to the
people of this Commonwealth for the first time.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I have one other allusion to make to a remark made by
my friend Mr. L’Velle in his argument yesterday. At some
time or other I thought it would be dragged into the case.
Mr. L’Velle, acting for the prisoner, and defending him as
his counsel, has said to you that it is the old story of capital
against labor. I think I have shown to you how impudent
is the claim that these men set up to be the representatives
of the Irish race. I am sure I have shown to you the
unblushing audacity of their claim that they are the representatives
of the Catholic religion; but I now stand here
on behalf of the laboring people of this county, the people
who have suffered more throughout the length and breadth
of this land by the actions of these men than any other—I
stand here to protest, with all the power that God has
given me, against the monstrous assumption that these villains
are the representatives of the laboring people of Schuylkill
County. You know very well in what estimation in the
public prints the laboring people of this county have been held
in consequence of the acts of this society. Two or three hundred
assassins have given a name to the whole people of this
county, and now, when they are put upon trial for murder,
they say it is the old story of capital against labor. On
behalf of every honest laboring man in this county, on
behalf of every man subjected to the primeval curse of the
Almighty, that by the sweat of his face he shall earn his
daily bread, I protest with indignation against the assumption
that these men are the representatives of labor. It is
too early in the history of what I have done in this county
to say aught of myself in connection with labor, but those
<span class='pageno' id='Page_536'>536</span>who know me well will bear witness that on every occasion
in which I had to take any public part in the conflicts
between capital and labor, I have taken pains to assert my
belief that the laboring people of this county were as
upright, as honest, as law-abiding, and as moral as those of
any other community in the State. I took the pains to
show that there was a secret association banded together for
the purpose of committing outrages which had given a
notorious character not only to the laboring people of the
county, but to the whole county itself. Look abroad upon
this great county, diversified by a thousand industries and
beautified by nature to an extent such as few counties in the
Commonwealth enjoy. Why is not this a hive of industry,
and the chosen seat of the investment of capital? Why
do not people from all parts of the country come to these
mountains to enjoy the salubrity of the climate, and to revel
in the beauties which nature has spread before us? Why is
it that a curse and a blight has rested for so long upon this
county? Why is it that mothers and wives in far-distant
cities have shuddered when their sons and husbands have
told them that business led them to the mining regions of
Pennsylvania?</p>

<p class='c001'>“Because, fostered and protected here in the mountains
of this county, was a band of assassins and murderers that
brought reproach upon the whole county itself. For the
first time now they are exposed, and we know where were
their secret places, and who were their chosen leaders, and
knowing this, we can stand up before the whole country and
say, ‘Now all are safe in this county; come here with your
money; come here with your enterprises; come here with
your families, and make this country your residence; help
us to build up this people and you will be safe,’ and by your
aid, gentlemen, we will show to the world that not by vigilance
committees, and not by secret associations, but by
open, public justice the name of the law has been vindicated,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_537'>537</span>and the foul stain that had rested upon us has been
wiped out forever.</p>

<p class='c001'>“A few words more, and I am done. I feel that I have
occupied more of your time than I ought to have taken, but
‘out of the fullness of the heart the mouth speaketh,’ and
if I have said aught which some of you might think had
better have been left unsaid, you must remember the strong
provocation that I have had. You must remember what I
have been doing for nearly three years. You must remember
what a seal I had to put upon my lips. You must
remember that it was only when Mr. McParlan consented
to become a witness that I could speak of that, the weight
of which was enough to crush me to the dust.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I feel, indeed, that if I failed in my duty, if I should
shrink from the task which was before me, that if I failed to
speak, the very stones would cry out. Standing before you
now with the bright beams of victory streaming upon our
banners, how well I can recall the feelings with which I
entered upon the contest which is now so near the end.
Do not think it egotism if I say, with the hero of romance,
that</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“‘When first I took this venturous quest,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>I swore upon the rood,</div>
      <div class='line'>Neither to turn to right nor left,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>For evil or for good.</div>
      <div class='line'>My forward path too well I ween,</div>
      <div class='line'>Lies yonder fearful ranks between;</div>
      <div class='line'>For man unarmed ’twere bootless hope</div>
      <div class='line'>With tigers and with fiends to cope.</div>
      <div class='line'>Yet if I turn, what wait me there,</div>
      <div class='line'>Save famine, dire and fell despair?</div>
      <div class='line'>Other conclusion let me try,</div>
      <div class='line'>Since, choose howe’er I list, I die.</div>
      <div class='line'>Forward lies faith and knightly fame,</div>
      <div class='line'>Behind are perjury and shame;</div>
      <div class='line'>In life or death, I keep my word.’</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'><span class='pageno' id='Page_538'>538</span>“And when all had been discovered, and McParlan consented
to become a witness, I said that I would come up
into this county, where I first had learned to practice law,
that I would take my place among the ranks of the counsel
for the Commonwealth, and that I would stand side by side
with him in the prosecution of these offenses until the last
one was wiped from off the calendar of your criminal
courts. And let it take weeks, or let it take months, or let
it take years, I have buckled on my harness and entered for
the fight, and, God willing, I shall bear it out as bravely and
as well as I can, until justice is vindicated, and the county
of Schuylkill is free.</p>

<p class='c001'>“My friend, Mr. L’Velle, makes a plea to you for mercy.
He pleads to you for the mother and the wife of this prisoner,
and he asks you to let mercy enter into your hearts,
and to restore this prisoner to his home. Are there no
others who plead for mercy? Have I no clients asking
mercy at your hands? Why is this young woman made a
widow in the early morning of her life? What crime had her
husband committed that he was shot down like a dog? Oh,
she pleads to you for mercy, more eloquently, even if more
silently, than any one on behalf of the family of this prisoner.
I plead to you on behalf of the whole people of this county.
I plead for mercy on behalf of the whole people of this State.
On behalf of the orphans, the fatherless, and the widows,
whose protectors have been stricken down before you, I
plead to you for mercy. I invoke the spirits of the dead, and
ask them silently to pass before you in this court-house. I
invoke the spirits of Dunn, of Littlehales, of Muir, of Smith,
of Rae, and the many victims of this foul conspiracy, to aid
me in pleading for mercy. I ask you to listen to the cries
of the wounded, to the shrieks of the dying, and the mournful
funereal wailings over the bodies of the dead. If I close
my eyes I hear voices against which you cannot close your
ears, and which are pleading for mercy, oh! so strongly, that
my poor words are but as the empty air.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in2'><span class='pageno' id='Page_539'>539</span>“‘I hear the dying sufferer cry,</div>
      <div class='line'>With his crushed face turned to the sky;</div>
      <div class='line in2'>I see him crawl in agony</div>
      <div class='line'>To the foul pool, and bow his head into its bloody slime, and die!’</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c013'>“Oh! think once more upon your own county, almost one
vast sepulchre, where rest the half-buried bodies of the victims
of this infernal order—victims whose skeleton hands,
bleached by the sun and by the wind, are stretching up from
out the thin covering of earth that wraps their bodies in all
the eloquence of silent prayer, beseeching you to have mercy
upon your fellow-men.</p>

<p class='c001'>“Oh! gentlemen, I beg to you for mercy, but to this prisoner
let it be such mercy as the father, whose slaughtered
infant lies beside him, gives to the wolf that has mangled the
corpse; such mercy as the seed of the woman bestows upon
the serpent whose head is crushed beneath its heel; and
when you yield such mercy to assassins such as these, you
yield a mercy and grant a protection to society at large,
which looks to you now as its only refuge.</p>

<p class='c001'>“And now the duty which I owe to this case is almost
performed, and I commit it to your hands. For three years I
have been engaged in an investigation, the result of which has
now become known to the community. Two or three days
after the commission of this offense I believed, from the information
which came to me, that Thomas Munley was one of
the assassins of Sanger. I had no evidence that I could use,
for it was not until McParlan consented to become a witness
that I could furnish the information that led to the arrest of
this prisoner. I believe I have done my duty; for God’s
sake, let me beg of you not to shrink from doing yours. Solemn
judges of the law and of the facts—august ministers in
the temple of justice—robed for sacrifice, I bring before you
this prisoner and lay him upon your altar, bound and fastened
by such cords of testimony as all the ingenuity of counsel
cannot unloosen, and, trembling at the momentous issues
<span class='pageno' id='Page_540'>540</span>involved in your answer, I ask you, will you let him go? If
you perform your duty without favor and without affection,
if, in the pursuit of what appears to me to be your plain and
bounden duty, you will say, almost without leaving the box,
that this man is guilty of murder in the first degree, you will
do that which I believe to be just, and you will do that which
will protect society and save the lives of hundreds and thousands
of your fellow-men. But if you should falter—if, from
any false sympathy, you should unbind this prisoner and let
him go, I tremble for the consequences to society. Who
then would be safe? For you to do this would be to hold
up this prisoner’s hands, and the hands of all his fellows and
associates, to place the dagger and the pistol in their grasp,
and with the torch of the incendiary, to send them again
throughout this land to play their part of murder, of arson,
and of crime.</p>

<p class='c001'>“I have done all that I could to expose the criminal character
of this organization. Laying aside all other duties, giving
up everything else that I had to do, I have tried to devote
myself to this cause, for I believe it to be the highest duty
that I could be called upon to perform. I am glad, at the
conclusion of this case, to return my thanks to the able gentlemen
who have been associated with me, and especially to
the District Attorney, under whose administration these crimes
have come to light. He was an old student of mine when I
was in this county, and I was glad to know that it was he
who filled the office when this conspiracy was first brought to
light. He has done his duty faithfully and nobly, in the face
of danger, without fear, or favor, or affection. I know that
we have a Court that will not shrink from whatever duty
may be imposed upon it, and I believe, from what I have
seen of you, that you will walk unshrinkingly in the plain
paths of duty that are opened before you. Do this, gentlemen,
and I am sure that, linked together with that of McParlan
and of others who have aided in this <em>glorious crusade</em>,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_541'>541</span>your names will be enshrined for long coming years in the
grateful recollections of an enfranchised and redeemed
people.”</p>

<p class='c001'>This remarkable address had its effect upon the jury and
upon the public feeling in the State, and such a demand was
there for it that a very large edition in pamphlet form
was quickly exhausted. It was read with avidity and greatly
commended wherever circulated. With Mr. Kaercher and
Mr. Gowen in this case were associated Hon. F. W. Hughes,
Gen. Chas. Albright, and Guy E. Farquhar, Esq.</p>

<p class='c001'>Before the conclusion of the Munley case a jury was impaneled,
on the sixth and seventh of July, to try over again the
case against Hugh McGehan, James Carroll, James Roarty,
James Boyle, and Thomas Duffy, in the matter of the Yost
murder, the other defendants in the same cause demanding
separate trials. After a full and careful hearing the jury
rendered a verdict of “guilty of murder in the first degree,”
against the prisoners. The speeches of Gen. Albright and
Hon. F. W. Hughes—both very able and eloquent—were
also published and very widely read, the interest in the trial
as well as their own intrinsic value having created a demand
for them. The counsel for the defense and prosecution was
the same as in the Munley case. All the defendants named
above were sentenced to be hanged on the sixteenth of
August. Their cases were carried to the Supreme Court,
arguments held, and a <span lang="la"><i>nol. pros.</i></span> finally entered, confirming
the sentence of the court below.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p5421_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“The trial for conspiracy attracted the gentleman of the bar from all parts of the State.”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>John Kehoe, Michael O’Brien, Chris Donnelly, John
Donahue, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> “Yellow Jack,” James Roarty, Dennis F.
Canning, Frank McHugh, John Gibbons, and John Morris
were arrested on the sixth of May, 1876, charged with conspiracy,
at the famous Mahanoy City Convention of the first
of June, 1875, to kill Wm. M. Thomas and Jesse Major.
They were tried at Pottsville before President Judge Pershing
and Associates Green and Walker, commencing August 9
and ending August 14, 1876. The trial for conspiracy attracted
<span class='pageno' id='Page_542'>542</span>the gentleman of the bar from all parts of the State, and
during its continuance the court-room was daily crowded to
the point of suffocation with ladies and gentlemen, some of
them having traveled hundreds of miles to have a view of the
Mollies, the jury, the court and officials, and the witnesses for
the prosecution. McParlan’s testimony was intensely interesting,
and such a public call for its particulars was there
among the legal fraternity and the general reading public,
that the entire evidence of the trial was printed in a pamphlet
of nearly three hundred pages, and a very large edition quickly
exhausted. The newspapers had special correspondents on
the ground, and the illustrated journals of New York sent
their artists to Pottsville to make drawings of the court and
surroundings. The leading facts contained in this extraordinary
suit have been given in the course of the preceding narrative.
With the exception of the young man, Frank McHugh,
who gave evidence for the Commonwealth, the
defendants were all found guilty according to the counts in
the several indictments, and sentenced to seven years’ confinement
each in the penitentiary. McHugh has not been
sentenced, having been recommended to the mercy of the
court by the jury.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
    <div>————●————</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ch49' class='c006'>CHAPTER XLIX.<br> <br>CLOSING THE RECORD.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c010'>After this came the arrest of the murderers—or those interested
in the murder—of Gomer James. Thomas Hurley,
having for the time made his escape—though it is reasonable
to suppose that he will, with other fugitives from justice,
some day be caught and punished—Chris Donnelly, John
Donahue, Michael O’Brien, Pat Dolan, Sr., Pat Butler, and
Frank O’Neill were arraigned at Pottsville on the 17th of
August, 1876. James Roarty, charged with aiding and abetting
in the killing of Gomer James, was, with the others,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_543'>543</span>found guilty. Chris Donnelly was given two years in the
penitentiary, while Patrick Butler, partly in consideration of
his having given State’s evidence, met similar leniency. John
Donahue, having already received sentence of death, was not
sentenced. Mike O’Brien was sent to prison for two years.
Patrick Dolan, Sr., was sentenced to eighteen months’ imprisonment.
Frank O’Neill also received two years.</p>

<div  class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/p5422_ill.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“<i>Pat. Hester smiled when he saw Dan. Kelly, alias Manus Kull, alias ‘Kelly the Bum., in the witness box.</i>”</p>
</div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>September 23, of the same year, John Slattery, John Stanton,
Michael Doolan, Chas. Mullhearn, Ned Monaghan,
John Kehoe, Chris Donnelly, Dennis F. Canning, Michael
O’Brien, Frank O’Neill and Pat Dolan, Sr., were arraigned
for conspiracy to murder Wm. and Jesse Major, stood their
trial, and all but John Stanton were found guilty, and sentenced
to imprisonment as follows: O’Neill, five years;
O’Brien, five years; Canning, seven years; Donnelly, five
years; Kehoe, seven years, and Ned Monaghan, seven years.</p>

<p class='c001'>At the same term of court, Thomas Donahue was sentenced
to two years’ imprisonment for aiding in the escape of
John Gibbons, one of the men assaulting Wm. M. Thomas.</p>

<p class='c001'>September 22, 1876, Muff Lawler was brought to court,
as accessory after the fact to the murder of Sanger and Uren,
found guilty, but not sentenced, having enrolled himself
among those willing to aid the State in convicting men more
guilty. James Duffy was sent one year for perjury. Mrs.
Bridget Hyland, Bernard M. Boyle, and Kate Boyle, having
been rather too fast in swearing their friends clear, were
found guilty of perjury and given two and three years each at
the State prison.</p>

<p class='c001'>The murder of F. W. S. Langdon, by the Mollie Maguires,
at Audenried, in Schuylkill County, committed July 14,
1862, implicated John Kehoe, County Delegate, John Campbell,
and Neill Dougherty. Campbell and Dougherty were
arrested, and with Kehoe brought to trial at Pottsville, January
2, 1877, found guilty of murder in the second degree
and sentenced, Campbell for nine, and Dougherty five years
to the State penitentiary. Kehoe was brought in guilty of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_544'>544</span>murder in the first degree, and sentenced to be executed the
16th of April in the same year, but his cause was taken to
the Supreme Court, where it will doubtless be decided in accordance
with the testimony and its merits.</p>

<p class='c001'>In November, 1876, Chas. McAllister was convicted of
an assault, with intent to kill, upon James Riles, at Shenandoah.
Sentence thus far has been deferred.</p>

<p class='c001'>All of the above were Schuylkill County cases.</p>

<p class='c001'>In Carbon County arrests were made almost simultaneously.
John Donahue, Thomas P. Fisher, Patrick McKenna,
Alex. Campbell, Patrick O’Donnell, and John
Malloy, were taken, charged with the murder of Morgan
Powell, at Summit Hill, December 2, 1871. The defendants
were tried, at different terms of the Carbon County
Court, at Mauch Chunk, James McParlan frequently appearing—as
in most of the suits in Schuylkill County—on
the witness stand and testifying to the confessions and admissions
of the Mollies. They were found guilty as follows:
Donahue of murder in the first degree; Fisher of murder in
the first degree, and sentenced to death; Pat McKenna of
murder in the first degree, and sentenced to nine years’ imprisonment;
Patrick O’Donnell, as accessory, and sentenced
to five years’ imprisonment.</p>

<p class='c001'>In Columbia County, February 24, 1877, Pat Hester, Pat
Tully, and Peter McHugh, were arraigned for the murder
of Alex. Rae. The circumstances of the crime have been
related in these pages. The court was held at Bloomsburg,
the county-seat, and attracted a very large attendance.
McParlan was present, and his testimony was fully corroborated
by Dan Kelly, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> Manus Kull, and Mike, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> Muff
Lawler, was also a witness. An interview between McParlan
and the last-named personage is thus described by an
eye-witness:</p>

<p class='c001'>“At about a quarter to ten this morning, February 12,
1877, the stage from Rupert Station rattled up the street,
into town, and disgorged its occupants in front of the Exchange
<span class='pageno' id='Page_545'>545</span>Hotel. With Messrs. Hughes and Ryon, from Pottsville,
the redoubtable Muff Lawler made his appearance.
The meeting between Lawler and his old friend McParlan—Muff
once knew him as McKenna, and initiated him into
Shenandoah Division of the Mollies, a few years ago—was
particularly interesting. Stretching out his hand, McParlan
inquired of Lawler, as he indulged in a warm shake: ‘Have
you the “goods” for the last quarter?’</p>

<p class='c001'>“‘I have not!’ was the blushing reply.</p>

<p class='c001'>“‘Well, now, that’s a pity,’ said McParlan, ‘as I wanted
to get the quarreling toast!’”</p>

<p class='c001'>Several witnesses of the scene were convulsed with
laughter.</p>

<p class='c001'>I had at the time the “goods” for the quarter ending the
first of February, 1877, in my office, and at once sent them
by telegraph to McParlan, so that he might not have to
inquire about them of Muff Lawler. They were as follows:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“<span class='sc'>Day Words</span>: <i>Question</i>—How does Erin stand?</p>
<p class='c020'><i>Answer</i>—The Russians will be victorious!</p>

<p class='c001'>“<span class='sc'>Night Words</span>: <i>Question</i>—The nights are getting short!</p>
<p class='c021'><i>Answer</i>—We’ll soon have the Spring!</p>

<p class='c001'>“<span class='sc'>Quarreling words</span>: <i>Question</i>—Don’t be outrageous!</p>
<p class='c022'><i>Answer</i>—I never was such!”</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>The sign of recognition was made as follows:</p>

<div class='qa'>

<p class='c001'>“<i>Question</i>—With the thumb and forefinger of the right hand, take
hold of the lapel of the vest between the top buttons, or button-holes.</p>

<p class='c001'>“<i>Answer</i>—Draw the back of the left hand across the chin.”</p>

</div>

<p class='c001'>The leaders of this society can make up their minds that
henceforth, as in the past, I will not remain in ignorance of
their most secret transactions. It is simply out of their
power to prevent this. As long as it is a society, and as
long as its signs, mummeries, and passwords are used for
purposes of murder and assassination, so long will its imported
“goods” remain my “goods” in the interests of
humanity and justice.</p>

<p class='c001'>It was the ninth of February, 1877, that the trial at
Bloomsburg approached a crisis. Sitting in the prisoner’s
<span class='pageno' id='Page_546'>546</span>dock, Pat Hester smiled when he saw Dan Kelly, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span>
Manus Kull, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> “Kelly the Bum,” in the witness-box.
But his humor changed to dire dismay as he discovered
that there were still other witnesses, who fully corroborated
what Kelly made oath to. Dan Kelly’s story of the Rae
assassination was about as follows:</p>

<p class='c001'>He met Pat Hester, Peter McHugh and Ned Skivington
at Big Mine Run, in Barney Dolan’s place, on the sixteenth of
October, 1868, the day preceding that of the murder. Hester
was on his way, he said, down the mountain with Skivington,
but had missed the train and returned to Dolan’s, where all had
something to drink. Afterward they walked to Ashland, and
entered Donahue’s saloon. There Hester informed the witness
that he had lost something by not going down the mountain
that day, adding, “But there is a good thing to be had to-morrow,
for Rae will go to Bell’s Tunnel, and there is money
in it for us!” It was then agreed that Hester, McHugh,
Tully, Skivington, Brian Campbell, Jim Bradley, Billy
Muldowney and Dan Kelly should go and rob Rae. Roger
Lafferty, <span lang="la"><i>alias</i></span> Johnstone, went across the street and procured
some powder and bullets, returned and loaded the
pistols, each one of the persons named having a weapon.
After this they had more liquor and stayed there all night.
All but Lafferty went out in the morning to meet and rob
Rae. But when they got as far as Germantown, Muldowney
left, saying that he was too lame to keep on. After they
got above the toll-gate, Hester and Skivington left, and
Hester handed witness, Kelly, his pistol, saying: “Kelly,
your pistol is no good! Take mine! for I know it’s sure!”
And he remarked that he would go to Shamokin, to purchase
hair to mix with lime to make mortar for plastering. Skivington
was off also, wanting to go to work in the mine to
throw aside suspicion from the rest. All the others went as
far as the water-barrel, and remained there. They then
begun talking about Rae and his son, and finally concluded
that, if the lad should chance to be riding with his father that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_547'>547</span>morning, as he often did, they would send the boy home
with the horse, if they had to shoot Rae. The object was
plunder, not murder, unless the latter was necessary to secure
the money. Bradley, who was not known in Centralia, went
and procured a quart of whisky and some crackers. When
he got back all hands drank and ate. Five of the number
present did not know Rae if they saw him, so Dalton, who
was acquainted with him, walked out on the road to signal
the others should their victim arrive. Soon a man came
along in a wagon, but as Dalton did not shake his hat the
person was allowed to pass. Still another man moved up
while the assassins waited in ambush, driving a horse attached
to a light wagon, and he was permitted to go his way
unharmed, as Dalton again failed to give the notice. He
presently stepped out into the road to see who was coming
and returned to his former position. Quickly afterward a
buggy hove in view and the assassins saw that Dalton was
standing in plain sight, shaking his hat, and they knew that
the driver was Alex. Rae. When the vehicle reached the
watering-trough, all jumped out upon their victim. Rae
alighted from the buggy when the men ordered him to, and
quickly handed his watch and pocket-book to Kelly, the witness,
but said nothing. He was confronted by a squad of
heavily armed ruffians. What was there for him to say?
Kelly asked McHugh what should be done with the man?
McHugh replied: “I won’t be hunted around the world by
any living man,” when the shooting began. Rae ran toward
the woods, and Tully went up to him, put his pistol
to his head, and shot him near the ear. Seeing that the
man was sure to die, all ran up the mountain, where
they divided the money, about sixty dollars, and the
witness remembered that Dalton received a ten dollar bill
with a corner torn off. Tully and McHugh and Kelly
got in at Graham’s some time that day, and in the afternoon
witness drove to Locust Gap with a beer-seller. He got home
at half-past three. They killed Rae at about nine o’clock.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_548'>548</span>He struck the ground upon his face, and they left him where
he fell, after putting the horse and buggy out of sight in the
wood. Kelly acknowledged that he fired two shots, but
could not say how many the others fired. Dalton did not
shoot at all. All of the rest discharged their weapons at the
man. He was sure he saw Tully fire. One shot hit Rae in
the cheek. He left Hester’s pistol at Graham’s and had
given his own to Bradley. Hester’s weapon was a sort of
navy pistol and held five cartridges. It was loaded at Donahue’s
house. Dalton had a small pistol and McHugh’s was
not as large as Kelly’s. McHugh had a seven-shooter.
Hester met him the same night in Graham’s, at about nine
o’clock, when the rest were there. The next he saw of
Hester was three days later, when he rode in his wagon with
him from the Gap to Ashland. Hester received none of the
money taken from Rae. It was Hester’s idea that Ray
would have eighteen or nineteen thousand dollars with him,
but when he heard how small a sum had been realized he said
it was not worth dividing, so took none of it. About the
seventeenth of November, after Donahue and Duffy had
been arrested, Jack Smith told Hester of the capture, and he
remarked it was about time for him to go, and he did go,
without telling his confederates where he went. They all
separated, remained away a month or two, and returned.
When they got back Hester was in jail. He said he had
been to Illinois, but it would look better to go back, as he
might be taken there. A woman got Rae’s pocket-book.
The watch—a gold one—witness gave to Mike Graham,
to keep for him. He took it from him afterward and left it
with Con Garrah for ten dollars. Garrah restored it, when
Kelly gave it to McGuire for ten dollars and turned the money
over to Garrah. The watch was subsequently broken up with
rocks and thrown into a creek, for fear it might lead to trouble.</p>

<p class='c001'>The attorneys for the defense were unable, after many
efforts, to shake Kelly’s testimony in the least. Despite his
bad character for truth and veracity, it was the conviction
<span class='pageno' id='Page_549'>549</span>of everybody that he, for once in his checkered career, was
bent upon telling the straightforward truth. It had its weight
with the jury.</p>

<p class='c001'>Judge Elwell presided at the session of court, and Hon.
F. W. Hughes assisted the District Attorney in the prosecution,
John W. Ryon, Esq., of Pottsville, and others, appearing
for the defendants.</p>

<p class='c001'>On the 24th, the jury returned a verdict in the three cases
of “guilty of murder in the first degree.” This was not
unexpected by the general public, but formed a complete
surprise to Pat Hester and his Mollie friends. So confident
had Hester been of release, that, the day before the reception
of the decree, he sent word to Locust Gap, ordering a
grand supper prepared at his house in commemoration of his
discharge and triumphant acquittal. While he did not actually
fire the shot that killed Rae, he was virtually as guilty
as those who did, having originated the job, and justice will,
without doubt, be meted out to him.</p>

<p class='c001'>Hester, Tully, and McHugh found that they had but one
course to adopt, and got a new trial; but all has failed, the
Supreme Court has affirmed the judgment against the prisoners,
and sentence of death is their doom.</p>

<p class='c001'>While these trials were going on, the Mollies were not
idle. They moved every string possible to pull in money and
influence to defend their brethren in the coal region. Contributions
were levied by the National head of the order, in
New York, upon the subordinate divisions of the country
for a large amount of money—some place it as high as
$30,000—part of which was to be expended in clearing the
criminals, and the rest, I have reason to believe, in paying
assassins to go to Pottsville and take the lives of McParlan
and all of my employés in that section of country. But the
refusal of one of the Philadelphia lodges to respond to this
levy brought the matter to the notice of the public press and
stopped at least a portion of the funds from going forward
to the National officers. New Orleans and some other distant
<span class='pageno' id='Page_550'>550</span>branches had sent their share without knowing exactly
the purpose for which it was to be employed, but it is presumable
that not more than one-half of the assessment was
ever realized, and that must have been expended in paying
for legal services.</p>

<p class='c001'>During the session of court, at which occurred the trial
of Kehoe and others for conspiracy to murder Wm. M.
Thomas, I learned that an attempt would be made to assassinate
Mr. Gowen, McParlan, and the entire court. It
seems at first there was an informal meeting of the Mollies,
in Pottsville, and it was arranged that twenty-four men should
be chosen to go to the court-house, twelve to sit on the back
row of seats, and twelve on the front tier, near the prisoners.
All were to be armed with loaded revolvers. Those on the
front row of seats were, at a given signal, to rise and simultaneously
fire upon the judges, the attorneys for the Commonwealth—Mr.
Gowen especially—and the officers, including
McParlan and Capt. Linden, and the members of the Coal
and Iron Police. Those on the back seat were to kill off
those left by the first platoon, when all were to rush in, seize
the prisoners and with them fight their way out and make
their escape to the hills. An influential member of the
order, and a county official, hearing of this arrangement,
after the twenty-four men had actually been appointed, made
his appearance at their rendezvous and informed the ringleaders
in the movement that such an act was evidence of
sheer madness. “If you do this, boys,” said he, “there will
not be an Irishman left in Schuylkill County, and what is
more, if you persist in the plot, I shall consider it my bounden
duty to go at once and have every mother’s son of you
arrested! It can’t be done, and it shall not be done!”</p>

<p class='c001'>This, for the time, broke up the conspiracy. Subsequently
a young Mollie Maguire made his boast, in the presence of
several friends, that he would go to the court-house, any time
when he could hear that Mr. Gowen was alone, and shoot
him down. He was soon told that the President of the Reading
<span class='pageno' id='Page_551'>551</span>Railway, and the personal head of the prosecution of the
members of the bloodthirsty organization, was writing, all by
himself, in a jury room. The assassin walked into the apartment,
his hand upon his revolver, and was about to produce
it and fire, when an officer of the Coal and Iron Police,
having business with the gentleman threatened, unexpectedly
appeared on the scene. As the would-be murderer had no
reasonable excuse for remaining, he took his hand away
from his pistol, and, thwarted in his design, sneaked out of
the place. These and other equally foolish acts of the
Mollies were duly reported to Mr. Gowen, and he was
advised that he must take some precautions or his life would
pay the forfeit of criminal rashness. Up to that date he had
not as much as worn a pistol, or any other weapon, upon his
person, and it is questionable if he ever did subsequently.
He is a brave, frank man, but depended too much, I think,
upon the justness of his cause, for with the Mollie Maguires
the common instincts of human nature are outraged and
disregarded. Still he was not attacked. While there were
hundreds present thirsting for his blood, he turned upon the
Mollies the heaviest deluge of invective that they have ever
received.</p>

<p class='c001'>But one New York newspaper, I believe, has ever openly
taken the part of the Mollie Maguires. That was the <cite>Irish
World</cite>. The animus of its article was contained in an attack
upon Mr. Gowen and James McParlan, calling one “the
head of a coal monopoly,” and the other his “hired informer.”
As the editor possibly had to do something to earn
his proportion of the $30,000 received for the defense of the
Mollies, and as his modicum of the labor was so insignificant
and trivial, I have not the heart to devote space to an answer.
He is sufficiently replied to, perhaps, by the verdicts
of the courts of justice, which point to something more serious
than the editorial writer in question had in mind at the
time of the preparation of his weak and idle philippic.</p>

<p class='c001'>A well informed writer in the <cite>American Law Review</cite>, for
<span class='pageno' id='Page_552'>552</span>January, 1877, seems to have taken a more sensible impression
of the matter, and found interest enough in the trials
of the Mollies to devote twenty-eight pages of valuable
space to the calm and dispassionate discussion of the subject
from a legal standpoint.</p>

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  </div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>The work of several years is now nearly finished. About
seventy persons have been arrested in the coal region. Of
those twelve have been, by a jury of their countrymen, found
guilty of murder in the first degree; four of murder in the
second degree; and four of being accessory to murder;
sixteen of conspiracy to murder; six of perjury; one of
assault with intent to kill; eight of aiding and abetting a
murder; one of assault and battery; one for aiding in the
escape of a murderer, and several others of lesser crimes.
The sum-total of the time of these sentences to imprisonment
foots up one hundred and twenty-four years and eight
months. Eleven have received sentence of death.</p>

<p class='c001'>On May 21st, 1877, Governor Hartranft issued warrants
for the execution of eight of the murderers, viz.:—Alexander
Campbell, convicted of complicity in the killing of John P.
Jones; James Carroll, Hugh McGehan, James Boyle, and
James Roarty, convicted of the murder of Benj. F. Yost;
Patrick Hester, Peter McHugh, and Patrick Tully, convicted
of the murder of Alexander W. <a id='corr552.25'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Rea'>Rae</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_552.25'><ins class='correction' title='Rea'>Rae</ins></a></span>. Campbell
was hanged at Mauch <a id='corr552.26'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Chunck'>Chunk</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_552.26'><ins class='correction' title='Chunck'>Chunk</ins></a></span> on the 21st of June,
in company with Michael Doyle and Edward Kelly, concerned
in the murder with him. Carroll, McGehan,
Boyle, and Roarty expiated their crime on the same day
on the gallows from which Thomas Munley was suspended
for the murder of William Sanger and James <a id='corr552.31'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Uren'>Urens</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_552.31'><ins class='correction' title='Uren'>Urens</ins></a></span>; and
Hester, McHugh and Tully will be executed at Bloomsburg
on the 9th day of August next, which will be the first executions
that have ever taken place in Columbia County.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div>THE END.</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c000'>
</div>
<p class='c001'><a id='endnote'></a></p>
<div class='tnotes'>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div><span class='large'>Transcriber’s Note</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c001'>Characters on the margins are very often missing or only partially inked, especially
punctuation, more particularly hyphens and periods. Where the context is clear, these lapses
have been addressed without any notice taken here. On occasion, an earlier 1877 edition
has been consulted to confirm the intent. Where punctuation has been restored in midline, the
lapse has been noted here.
(<a id='c_331.4'></a><a href='#corr331.4'>331.4</a> run away[.];
<a id='c_20.2'></a><a href='#corr20.2'>20.2</a> service[.];
<a id='c_259.30'></a><a href='#corr259.30'>259.30</a> Mine Hill Gap[.];
<a id='c_388.34'></a><a href='#corr388.34'>388.34</a> case[.];
<a id='c_483.35'></a><a href='#corr483.35'>483.35</a> delayed[.];
<a id='c_501.2'></a><a href='#corr501.2'>501.2</a> arrested[.])</p>

<p class='c001'>When conversation employs dialect, the text is generally followed as printed.
The apostrophe in the contraction “it’s” is typically missing (pp. 34, 37, 64(2),
157, 165, 248(3), 263, 266, 314). The common contraction “an’” sometimes appears
without the apostrophe, which <em>is</em> supplied (<a id='c_295.7'></a><a href='#corr295.7'>295.7</a>, <a id='c_303.1'></a><a href='#corr303.1'>303.1</a>,
<a id='c_322.33'></a><a href='#corr322.33'>322.33</a>, <a id='c_384.12'></a><a href='#corr384.12'>384.12</a>, <a id='c_384.32'></a><a href='#corr384.32'>384.32</a>, <a id='c_492.6'></a><a href='#corr492.6'>492.6</a>).</p>

<p class='c001'>At <a id='c_62.12'></a><a href='#corr62.12'>62.12</a>, the text employs “<i>wrapped</i> attention” in place of “rapt”.  The
correct word appears only one other time. The odd phrase is retained.</p>

<p class='c001'>A passage at <a id='c_196.11'></a><a href='#corr196.11'>196.11</a> includes an odd use of the exclamation point
and does not re-open the ensuing speech: “Don’t stand here askin’ questions,”
answered Mrs. McIntyre! [“]Oh, why did I fall in....”  The quotation mark
has been added, but the exclamation point is retained.</p>

<p class='c001'>Other errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.</p>

<table class='table1'>
<colgroup>
<col class='colwidth12'>
<col class='colwidth69'>
<col class='colwidth18'>
</colgroup>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_17.19'></a><a href='#corr17.19'>17.19</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>it can be ac[c]omplished</td>
    <td class='c023'>Inserted.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_34.28'></a><a href='#corr34.28'>34.28</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>[“]As an argument in favor</td>
    <td class='c023'>Removed.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_36.1'></a><a href='#corr36.1'>36.1</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>Is that you, Tony[!/?]</td>
    <td class='c023'>Replaced.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_62.29'></a><a href='#corr62.29'>62.29</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>the larger State penitent[i]aries</td>
    <td class='c023'>Inserted.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_131.31'></a><a href='#corr131.31'>131.31</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>on a job load[ /i]n’ coal</td>
    <td class='c023'>Restored.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_144.34'></a><a href='#corr144.34'>144.34</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>the right eye, thus:[”]  and the Bodymaster</td>
    <td class='c023'>Added.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_148.20'></a><a href='#corr148.20'>148.20</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>at a house w[h]ere he was acquainted</td>
    <td class='c023'>Inserted.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_150.1'></a><a href='#corr150.1'>150.1</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>Since the authorit[i]es have been</td>
    <td class='c023'>Inserted.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_150.15'></a><a href='#corr150.15'>150.15</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>regular war in S[k/ch]uylkill county!</td>
    <td class='c023'>Replaced.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_155.10'></a><a href='#corr155.10'>155.10</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>passed of[f] smoothly</td>
    <td class='c023'>Added.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_194.18'></a><a href='#corr194.18'>194.18</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>who stood no[r/t] far off</td>
    <td class='c023'>Replaced.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_278.3'></a><a href='#corr278.3'>278.3</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>is General Superin[d/t]endent</td>
    <td class='c023'>Replaced.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_292.30'></a><a href='#corr292.30'>292.30</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>in Schuy[l]kill County.</td>
    <td class='c023'>Inserted.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_308.27'></a><a href='#corr308.27'>308.27</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>Faith, an[,/’[ I can think</td>
    <td class='c023'>Replaced.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_311.28'></a><a href='#corr311.28'>311.28</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>at their different coll[i]eries.</td>
    <td class='c023'>Inserted.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_319.14'></a><a href='#corr319.14'>319.14</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>incapable of physic[i]al exertion</td>
    <td class='c023'>Removed.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_320.13'></a><a href='#corr320.13'>320.13</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>until [to morrow]</td>
    <td class='c023'><i>sic</i></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_320.14'></a><a href='#corr320.14'>320.14</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>back to ye![’/”]</td>
    <td class='c023'>Replaced.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_327.24'></a><a href='#corr327.24'>327.24</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>Gen. Pleasant[s]</td>
    <td class='c023'>Added.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_347.16'></a><a href='#corr347.16'>347.16</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>in favor of an antagonistic co[r]poration</td>
    <td class='c023'>Inserted.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_347.34'></a><a href='#corr347.34'>347.34</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>from the city of Philad[a/e]lphia</td>
    <td class='c023'>Replaced.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_354.18'></a><a href='#corr354.18'>354.18</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>but entirely u[n]seen</td>
    <td class='c023'>Inserted.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_365.1'></a><a href='#corr365.1'>365.1</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>“Was not one Jimmy Kerrigan?[’/”]</td>
    <td class='c023'>Replaced.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_381.5'></a><a href='#corr381.5'>381.5</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>many inquiries goin[’]  on</td>
    <td class='c023'>Added.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_387.1'></a><a href='#corr387.1'>387.1</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>saying he [“]had other fish to fry.”</td>
    <td class='c023'>Added.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_435.27'></a><a href='#corr435.27'>435.27</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>Mr. Nicoll[’]s</td>
    <td class='c023'>Removed.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_437.2'></a><a href='#corr437.2'>437.2</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>[“]Don’t stop for me</td>
    <td class='c023'>Added.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_439.20'></a><a href='#corr439.20'>439.20</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>has plenty of pistols.[”]</td>
    <td class='c023'>Added.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_451.6'></a><a href='#corr451.6'>451.6</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>Superintend[a/e]nt Geo. H. Bangs.</td>
    <td class='c023'>Replaced.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_454.7'></a><a href='#corr454.7'>454.7</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>By this [time ]some fifteen</td>
    <td class='c023'>Missing.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_461.7'></a><a href='#corr461.7'>461.7</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>Carroll, and Mul[l]hall</td>
    <td class='c023'>Removed.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_477.5'></a><a href='#corr477.5'>477.5</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>with her child[r]en</td>
    <td class='c023'>Inserted.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_489.17'></a><a href='#corr489.17'>489.17</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>he never inten[d]ed</td>
    <td class='c023'>Inserted.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_507.11'></a><a href='#corr507.11'>507.11</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>Drown him![”]</td>
    <td class='c023'>Added.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_522.20'></a><a href='#corr522.20'>522.20</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>was the only confid[e/a]nt</td>
    <td class='c023'>Replaced.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_523.14'></a><a href='#corr523.14'>523.14</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>this unostentatio[n/u]s charity</td>
    <td class='c023'>Inverted.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_524.7'></a><a href='#corr524.7'>524.7</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>beyond the precin[c]ts of his own door</td>
    <td class='c023'>Inserted.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_532.33'></a><a href='#corr532.33'>532.33</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>[‘]The time has ceased</td>
    <td class='c023'>Added.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_533.33'></a><a href='#corr533.33'>533.33</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>‘There, at my feet![’]</td>
    <td class='c023'>Added.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_552.25'></a><a href='#corr552.25'>552.25</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>R[ea/ae]</td>
    <td class='c023'>Transposed.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_552.26'></a><a href='#corr552.26'>552.26</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>Chun[c]k on the 21st of June,</td>
    <td class='c023'>Removed.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c009'><a id='c_552.31'></a><a href='#corr552.31'>552.31</a></td>
    <td class='c009'>Uren[s]</td>
    <td class='c023'>Added.</td>
  </tr>
</table>

</div>

<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76641 ***</div>
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