COLD COMFORT IN THE MOUNTAINS.
The succeeding day McKenna returned to the switch-tender’s hut, and,
after obtaining permission to retain the Boston _Pilot_, 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.
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 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.
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:
“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
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.”
Donahue was showing himself a man of more than ordinary intelligence.
After a judicious invitation to drink, at McKenna’s cost, he continued:
“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!”
“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?”
The detective was paving the way for future work, and would say nothing
against the Mollies.
“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!”
“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?”
“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
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!”
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.
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 & Co., in the vicinity, an
outside boss, about looking after some business below, invited McKenna
to descend in his company.
[Illustration: “_They were met on every side by a succession of heavy
supports and gaping caverns._”]
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 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
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.
[Illustration: “_‘This will steady your nerves,’ said Kehoe!_”]
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 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.
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.
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 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.
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.
“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 workin’ your passage on the canal—drivin’ the
horse and walkin’ on the tow-path!”
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.
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:
“_Jas. McKenna, Denver, Colorado Ter._”
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 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 _Herald_—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.
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