THE MAN FOR THE WORK.
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 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.
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.
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 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.
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
“First flower of the earth and first gem of the sea.”
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.
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.
“I will do my utmost to bring the job to a speedy and successful
termination,” he remarked with earnestness.
“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.”
“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!”
“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.”
Seemingly satisfied, the young man went his way.
It was easy to see, by the expression of his countenance, that
McParlan’s sympathies were earnestly enlisted in the 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.
“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.
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.
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 _rôle_,
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 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
“Loveliness
Needs not the foreign art of ornament,
But is, when unadorned, adorned the most,”
so with the simple truth; in this instance it demands no elaborate
decoration, no enchanting _couleur de rose_, to make it entertaining.
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