While Dan Moran was being examined in Judge Meyer's ill-smelling court
in Chicago a coroner's jury was sitting on the body of the dead engineer
at Galesburg. Hundreds of people had been at the station and witnessed
the arrival of the express train that came in with a dead engine, with
snow on her headlight, and a dead engineer hanging out of the window.
Hundreds of people could testify that this had happened, but none of
them knew what had caused the death of the engine-driver. Medical
experts who were called in to view the body could find no marks of
violence upon it and, in order to get out of a close place without
embarrassment, agreed that the engineer had died of heart failure. This
information, having been absorbed by the jury, they gave in a verdict to
that effect. If the doctors had said, "He died for want of breath," the
verdict would no doubt have agreed perfectly with what the doctors
said.
After the train had arrived and the coroner was called and had taken the
dead man from the engine, Barney Guerin had wandered into a small hotel
near the station and engaged a room for the night. Being the only person
on the engine at the time of the engineer's death, Guerin was very
naturally attracting the attention of the railway officials, and calling
about him, unconsciously, all the amateur detectives and newspaper
reporters in the place. Fortunately for him, he was arrested, upon a
warrant sworn out by the station agent, and lodged in jail before the
reporters got at him. Here he was visited by a local lawyer, for the
company, and instructed to say nothing whatever about the death of
Cowels.
Upon the announcement of the verdict of the coroner's jury the prisoner
was released, and returned to Chicago by the same train that bore the
remains of the dead engineer.
Guerin, whose heart was as big as his body and as tender as a woman's,
hastened to the home of his late companion and begged the grief-sick
widow to allow him to be of some service to her. His appearance (she had
known him by sight) excited her greatly for she knew he had been
arrested as the murderer of her husband.
The news he brought of the verdict of the coroner's jury, which his very
presence corroborated, quieted her and she began to ask how it had all
happened.
Guerin began cautiously to explain how the engineer had died, still
remembering the lawyer's advice, but before he had gone a dozen words
the poor woman wept so bitterly that he was obliged to discontinue the
sad story.
Then came the corpse, borne by a few faithful friends--some of the
Brotherhood and some of the railway company--who met thus on neutral
ground and in the awful presence of death forgot their feud. Not an eye
was dry while the little company stood about as the mother and boy bent
over the coffin and poured out their grief, and the little girl, not old
enough to understand, but old enough to weep, clung and sobbed at her
mother's side.
The next day they came again and carried Cowels away and buried him in
the new and thinly settled side of the grave-yard, where the lots were
not too high, and where for nearly four years their second son, a baby
boy, had slept alone. Another day came and the men who had mixed their
tears at the engineer's grave passed one another without a nod of
recognition, and, figuratively speaking, stood again to their respective
guns.
One man had been greatly missed at the funeral, and the recollection
that he had been greatly wronged by the dead man did not excuse him in
the eyes of the widow. Dan Moran had been a brother, a father,
everything to her husband and now when he was needed most, he came not
at all. Death, she reasoned, should level all differences and he should
forgive all and come to her and the children in their distress. At the
end of a week this letter came:
_County Jail, ---- 1888._
_My dear Mrs. Cowels_:
_Every day since George's death I have wanted to write you to assure
you of my innocence and of my sympathy for you in this the hour of
your sorrow. These are dreadful times. Be brave, and believe me_
_Your friend,_
_Dan Moran._
This letter, and the information it contained, was as great a surprise
to Mrs. Cowels as the news of Cowels's death had been to Moran. She
began at the beginning and read it carefully over again, as women always
do. She determined to go at once to the jail. She was shrewd enough to
say "Yes" when asked if the prisoner were related in any way to her, and
was shortly in the presence of the alleged dynamiter. She did not find
him walking the floor impatiently, or lying idly on his back counting
the cracks in the wall, but seated upon his narrow bed with a book
resting on his cocked-up knees, for, unlike most railway employees,
Moran was a great reader.
"I'm glad to see you, Mrs. Cowels," he said in his easy, quiet way, as
he arose and took her hand, "but sorry we are compelled to meet under
such melancholy circumstances."
At sight of their old friend her woman's heart sent forth a fresh flood
of tears, and for some moments they stood thus with heads bowed in
silent grief.
"I'm sorry I can't offer you a chair," said the prisoner after she had
raised her head and dried her eyes. "This only chair I have is wrecked,
but if you don't mind the iron couch--" and then they sat down side by
side and began to talk over the sad events of the past week.
"Your presence here is a great surprise," began Moran, "and a great
pleasure as well, for it leads me to hope that you believe me
innocent."
"How could I believe you otherwise, for I do not know now of what you
are accused, nor did I know, until I received your note, that you were
imprisoned."
"But the papers have been full of--"
"Perhaps," she said interrupting him, "but I have not looked at a paper
since I read of the death of George."
Here she broke down again and sobbed so that the guard outside the cell
turned his back; and the old engineer, growing nervous, a thing unusual
for him, decided to scold her.
"You must brace up now, Nora,--Mrs. Cowels, and close your sand valve.
You've got a heavy load and a bad rail, and you mustn't waste water in
this way."
"Oh! I shall never be able to do it, Dan, I shall die--I don't want to
live and I shall die."
"You'll do nothing of the sort--women don't die so easy; thousands of
others, not half as brave as you are, have made the same run, hard as it
seems, and have come in on time. There are few sorrows that time will
not heal. Engine-men are born to die, and their wives to weep over them
and live on--you will not die."
"But I--I _shall_ die," sobbed the woman.
Before he could reply the door opened and an elderly man, plainly, but
comfortably dressed, stood before them.
Moran gave his hand to the newcomer in silence and it was taken in
silence; then, turning to the veiled figure he said: "Mrs. Cowels, this
is our master-mechanic."
When the visitor had taken her hand and assured her of his sympathy,
Moran asked them to be seated, and standing before them said:
"Mrs. Cowels has just asked me why I am here, and I was at the point of
replying when you came in. Now, with your permission I will tell her,
for I am afraid, my friend, that you did not quite understand me that
day in court. I am charged with trespassing upon the property of the
Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy Railroad Company, inciting a riot
(although there was no riot), attempting to blow up Blackwings and
threatening to kill George Cowels."
"Oh! how could they say such dreadful things?" said Mrs. Cowels, "and I
suppose that you were not even on the company's ground!"
"Oh yes, I was. I went to the engine, and quarrelled with George, just
as the detective said I did, but we only quarrelled for a moment because
George could not know why I came."
"But you did not threaten to kill George?" said the woman excitedly.
"No."
"Tell me, Dan," said the master-mechanic, "had you that stick of
dynamite when the detective arrested you? Tell us truly, for you are
talking to friends."
"There is something about the dynamite that I may not explain, but I
will say this to you, my friends, that I went to the engine, not to kill
Cowels, but to save his life, and I believe I did save it, for a few
hours at least."
Mrs. Cowels looked at the man, who still kept his seat on the narrow
bed, as though she wished him to speak.
"Dan," he began, "I don't believe you put that dynamite on the engine; I
have said so, and if I don't prove it I am to be dismissed. That
conclusion was reached to-day at a meeting of the directors of the road.
I have been accused of sympathy with the strikers, it seems, before, and
now, after the statement by the attorney that I used my influence to
have you discharged after he had made out a clear case against you, I
have been informed by the general manager that I will be expected to
prove your innocence or look for another place.
"I have been with the Burlington all my life and don't want to leave
them, particularly in this way, but it is on your account, more than on
my own, that I have come here to-night to ask you to tell the whole
truth about this matter and go from this place a free man."
"To do that I must become an informer, the result of which would be to
put another in my place. No, I can't do that; I've nothing to do at
present and I might as well remain here."
"And let your old friend here be discharged, if not disgraced?" asked
Mrs. Cowels.
"No, that must not be," said Moran, and he was then silent for a moment
as if trying to work out a scheme to prevent that disaster to his
much-loved superior. "You must let me think it over," he said,
presently. "Let me think it over to-night."
"And let the guilty one escape," Mrs. Cowels added.
"Some people seem to think," said Moran, with just a faint attempt at a
smile, "that the guilty one is quite secure."
"Don't talk nonsense, Dan," she said, "you know I believe you."
"And you, my friend?" he said as he extended his hand to the official.
"You know what I believe," said the visitor; "and now good-night--I
shall see you again soon."
"I hope so," said Dan. "It is indeed very good of you to call, and of
you, too," he added, as he turned to his fairer visitor. "I shall not
forget your kindness to me, and only hope that I may be of some help to
you in some way, and do something to show my appreciation of this visit
and of your friendship. But," he added, glancing about him, "one can't
be of much use to his friends shut up in a hole like this."
"You can do me a great favor, even while in prison," she said.
"Only say what it is and I shall try."
"Tell us who put the dynamite on Blackwings."
"I shall try," he said, "only let me have time to think what is best to
do."
"What is right is what is best to do," said Mrs. Cowels, holding out her
hand--"Good-night."
"Good-night," said the prisoner, "come again when you can, both of you."
And the two visitors passed out into the clear, cold night, and when the
prisoner had seen them disappear he turned to his little friend, the
book.