POTTSVILLE AND THE SHERIDAN HOUSE.
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.
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.
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 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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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 penitentiaries. It
also has an Academy of Music, in which operatic and theatrical
entertainments are given by traveling troupes.
Pottsville is the concentrating point for an extended radius of rich
mining country, and the depot of supplies for an equally wide circle.
The surroundings in this part of Schuylkill County are, some of them,
deserving of national celebrity. Among these 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.
To change the subject from the sublime to the real and practical:
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.
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
“Let’s go in here!”
“Its no place for us,” answered Jennings. “You are not of ‘the stuff,’ I
guess! At least, I know _I_ am not!”
“‘The stuff!’ Phat is it ye mane by ‘the stuff’?”
“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!”
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:
“Dormer is a _captain_!”
“Captain of a militia company, is it ye mane?”
“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!”
“Av coorse, I’ll be as silent as the catacombs of Agypt! Niver you fear
Jim McKenna fur that, sure!”
“You must understand, then, that Pat Dormer is a captain of the
Sleepers!”
“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!”
“No! Not one of that number, but of the great secret order, here called
the Sleepers!’
“An’ phat are the Slapers? Plaze to explain it—or is it another
conundrum you are after axin’ me?”
“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?”
“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?”
“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!”
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:
“Of course _I_ 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!”
“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?”
“His hair is gray, eyes light hazel, and he has a countenance, 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!”
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.
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.
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