McKENNA MEETS A MORNING ADVENTURE.
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, 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.
[Illustration: “_And there he reposed, his uncovered head,——rough,
long-haired and pallid as to face,——supported on his bent right arm._”]
“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!”
“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 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.
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.
“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!”
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.
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, _alias_ “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:
POTTSVILLE, JAN. 19, 1874.
DEAR SIR:—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.
Yours truly,
JOHN DEENAN.
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 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.
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 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.
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 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 _sobriquet_, 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.
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:
“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!”
“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 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!”
“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?”
“Yes! I have heard as much!”
“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!”
“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!”
Here one of the men forming the company directed Lawler’s attention to
an article in the daily _Standard_, 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:
“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!”
“That’s so! That’s so!” was the hearty response.
“I look a person in the eye, myself, an’ I know in wan single moment
whether I spake to a true man or not!”
“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.”
This agreement with the boys gave McKenna standing with them at once.
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.
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:
“I’ll make you as safe and secure as you can be anywhere!”
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.
“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!”
The detective and Dormer attended Lawler to the cars and bid him good
luck on his journey.
After Lawler’s departure time hung rather heavily upon the agent’s
hands. He had nothing particular to attend to 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 _said_ 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.
“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 _bocaun_, 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!”
“Faith, an’ wan is jist as good as the other,” McKenna would reply,
_sotto voce_, “for two thirds of all them bills is as false as Sam’s
masther—the devil—but don’t say a word about it! As long as the paple
don’t know the truth, where’s the difference?”
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.
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.
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