MUFF LAWLER AT HOME.
The day following the one on which he arrived in Shenandoah was the
Sabbath, and, believing Lawler would be unemployed, McKenna put in an
early appearance at that gentleman’s house. The landlord was apparently
much gratified to meet him. After a number of calls to the bar—for only
a portion of which the detective was allowed to disburse his money, the
remainder coming as so many warm expressions of good-will from the
proprietor of the place—McKenna threw out some feelers which brought up
a discussion of the circumstances attending the Bradley homicide. Lawler
spoke of the affair with apparent frankness, but could not, or would
not, make even a guess as to who had prompted or committed the crime.
Not desiring to push the subject, and saying carelessly that “possibly
the man merited all he had received”—to which insinuation the
saloon-keeper made no direct or audible response—the subject was
dropped, and the conversation turned upon other things. Lawler affected
to have known nothing about the case until he saw a statement of it in
the Shenandoah _Herald_, and, as that paper was bitterly opposed to the
Mollie Maguires, of course he was not exactly prepared to credit
everything appearing in its columns.
In a few hours the stranger was invited to partake of dinner with the
family. He accepted, of course, and received an introduction to Mrs.
Lawler and the children. Knowing how to make himself agreeable to the
mother, he praised her child, said he had her eyes, etc., and concluded,
after the meal, by swinging the boy upon his knee, and singing a simple
refrain which amused him greatly. Lawler and his wife were pleased with
the attention paid—even by this apparently rough, uncouth wanderer—to
their youngest, and soon themselves became more communicative. In fact,
Lawler, as far as he was concerned, needed no farther argument than his
record as a jolly, good fellow, the least bit tempered with rascality,
as obtained from Pat Dormer, to induce him to feel kindly toward
McKenna. Mrs. Lawler was accustomed to think much as her husband did in
most matters, and she, true woman that she was, looked with the eye of
friendship upon him. How greatly these first impressions upon both sides
influenced acts and events which followed, the careful reader will be
able to determine. It is sufficient now to say that the traveler had
praised Mrs. Lawler’s progeny, gaining a welcome seat in the family
circle, and was certainly better pleased with the company than with any
he had enjoyed since leaving Philadelphia.
Lawler informed his friend that he would do all he could to secure
employment for him in the mines, but, should he succeed, the wages would
be low, at the highest not above ten dollars a week, and the labor
severe. He must naturally begin at the bottom round of the ladder, and
gradually, if at all, rise in the scale to the rating of a miner. It
required time and hard work to reach that position. The place of
“butty,” or helper, even, was not so very easy of acquirement. McKenna
here put forward the idea that he was accustomed to manual labor—which
was not exactly the truth, though, in the old country, he once worked on
a farm, and had his muscles hardened by considerable out-door exercise.
Some years had elapsed, however, since his hands were employed in real
toil and he had earned his bread by the sweat of his brow. Still, he
expressed his willingness to try, and said that he would accept anything
yielding him a decent compensation, his principal object being—as Lawler
had doubtless been informed by Dormer—to remain _perdu_, out of sight
and quiet like, until certain people should lose all trace of him. He
believed, he told Lawler, in a whisper intended to impress the hearer
that there was a mystery surrounding him, that the depths of a slope and
a miner’s attire, with the grime and dust incident to delving in a
colliery, would about as effectually cover him from the pursuit of those
so anxious to come up with him, as anything in the way of disguise he
could wear, or any calling he could engage in. Muff coincided in this
opinion.
Lawler’s residence, in which the detective was making himself quite at
home, was and is a respectable but unpretentious wooden structure,
painted outside of a brown color, and two stories in height above a low
basement. In the front part of the first floor was the usual bar-room,
the counter extending across the northern side of the apartment. Behind
the counter were exhibited the commonest saloon fixtures, glasses,
decanters, bottles, etc. At one end of the eastern side was a door,
opening into the kitchen, employed also as a dining-room, from which
latter apartment extended a staircase reaching to the upper story. On
the second floor there were but two partitions, forming three
compartments. In the rear of these were two beds, for the elder
children. In the middle room was one double bed. In the front room, much
more spacious and better furnished than the rest, was the couch occupied
by Mr. and Mrs. Lawler. There were also the usual bureaus, tables,
chairs, and other furniture of similar habitations, with a stove, sofa,
rocking-chair, mirrors, and pictures. It was far from a bare and
unsightly place of abode. Rather the contrary, and showing, in the
neatness and order prevailing, that Mrs. Lawler was a good and careful
housekeeper. It was, in fact, the best room in the house.
In other parts of the dwelling, the arrangements for home comfort were
not extensive or expensive, yet all that could well be expected of
people in Mr. and Mrs. Lawler’s sphere in life.
Passing the time very pleasantly at Shenandoah, which is an agreeable
and growing city of some three thousand inhabitants, the detective made
occasional trips—as he informed his new-found friend, with an expressive
wink of the eye, “upon particular business”—to the town of Colorado,
where he encountered and became intimate with one Hugh Mulligan, then to
Rappahannock and other points, in all of which localities he made good
friends among the Sleepers. He eventually took up his abode at Lawler’s
house, occupying the bed in the centre apartment, up stairs, in company
with Mrs. Lawler’s brother, and paying a reasonable compensation for
room and board.
Situated as he now was, in the midst of the hardest characters and most
devoted Mollies of the whole country, living in the house, and on most
intimate terms of friendship, with the leading spirits of the
organization, though not yet a member of the murderous order, it was
plainly incumbent upon the detective, if he cared for preserving his own
life and promoting the success of the Agency, to exercise more than
ordinary prudence and discretion in all of his words and movements, that
he might not be thought other than the wandering vagabond, fleeing from
justice, that he was generally believed to be. It seemed especially
necessary that his correspondence with the Philadelphia office should
not be discovered, or even imagined. The precautions and safeguards
placed about that portion of the business before McKenna started from
the city, would baffle all inquiry, in the end, if once set on foot, but
even the breath of suspicion should not be allowed to arise. Men have
been murdered from the mere supposition that they might be guilty of
acting as detectives, in Ireland, and the same spirit pervaded the ranks
of the Mollie Maguires here—hence matters calculated to excite a surmise
must be deeply buried. The detective’s compulsory letter-writing, if
made public, even though its object and destination were ever so well
disguised, might place him in a dangerous predicament. Thus he was
alert, and continually vigilant. Excepting it might be in inditing a
letter to relatives in the old country, and then only at long intervals,
he seldom wrote anything—that is, as far as his companions were
apprised. His daily reports must, however, be prepared as usual. This
was mandatory upon him, and in no case to be omitted if the duty could
be safely performed. Occasionally a day or two might be unavoidably
missed, and then the consolidated report would go forward in one
envelope. Sometimes he was forced to take a short journey to an adjacent
town, secure a room at a second-class hotel, and there indite his
letters and mail them to the proper address. Thus they would quickly
reach Mr. Franklin. Writing-paper and envelopes he could with safety
keep in his possession. They might rest in his satchel, which he
frequently left unlocked, without danger of causing those to wonder who
might curiously open that receptacle. But any large supply of postage
stamps would hardly seem consistent with the character he assumed. He
must not purchase them at the Shenandoah post-office, but a quantity
were forwarded to him from Philadelphia. These came to him in due
season. With the envelope containing them in his hand, he sat upon the
side of his bed, and the question arose: “What shall I do with these
troublesome little things?” He first thought of hiding them in some of
the many pockets with which his rough clothing was furnished. But the
chances were that some time, when he was enacting the _rôle_ of the
deeply intoxicated man—as he had done, and undoubtedly would again be
called upon to do—he might be searched and the mischievous stamps
discovered. Besides, from exposure to inclement weather, he was
frequently drenched to the skin, and the stamps would in such a case be
reduced to pulp and destroyed. They must be concealed—but where? When
did one of his countrymen ever give over as hopeless any scheme or plan,
when exertion of ingenuity might supply the bridge that would safely
bear him over an obstacle? The instances are rare, and McKenna was not
to be the subject of one of them. “Can’t I put them under my stocking,
next the sole of my boot?” he asked himself. No, that would never do.
Moisture, friction, and his weight would combine soon to deface and ruin
the stamps. An expedient, in this connection, however, now occurred to
him, and, taking out his pocket-knife, he made a small, narrow opening
in the sheepskin lining of the leg of one of the heavy top boots, and
betwixt that and the heavy leather formed a pouch, the mouth of which
was almost invisible, in which, after wrapping them in some strong
paper, he deposited the postage-stamps. In this safe place, as long as
he remained in the vicinity, he continued to carry them. He was
reasonably sure of having them always convenient; and, as he had but one
pair of boots at a time, could hardly forget to take those with him,
however suddenly he might be called to remove from one point to another.
Another thing which troubled him not a little was to obtain a constant
supply of good ink. Several small bottles, which he procured and kept
hidden in his room, froze solid, and the fluid was spoiled. The Lawler
family was not literary. Its members made small use of pens, ink, and
paper, and a fragment of red or white chalk employed upon a portion of
the bar shelving, and well out of sight behind bottles and cigar-boxes,
formed blotter, journal, cash-book, and ledger for Mike. His was a cash
business, calling for no account-books. Ink was a superfluity in his
house, the absence of which could well be pardoned. Both of the heads of
that family believed firmly in meddling with writing as little as
possible. But McKenna must have ink. Fortunately for him, Mrs. Lawler
was an excellent laundress, and employed liquid bluing to give proper
clearness to her husband’s linen. This coloring matter the detective
frequently made use of, and there is abundant evidence in his reports,
sometimes in the shape of blots and patches not necessary to the
adornment of the sheet, that the landlady’s indigo bottle suffered
considerably from the inroads made upon it by his busy steel pen. The
latter instrument, in a common tin case, he easily managed to carry,
with tobacco, keys, cartridges, bits of string and nails, in some of his
convenient pockets. Many a time did he creep down the stairs and across
the bar-room in his stocking feet, bearing his boots in his hand, of a
cold winter night, light a tallow candle, or a miner’s lamp, and sit
shivering by the kitchen table, with a miserably dim and uncertain
flame, writing up his report, and consuming his substitute for ink, at
Mrs. Lawler’s expense. On one or two occasions, in fact, he was reduced
to the strait of commingling soot from the fire-place with water for
writing purposes, when he had no pencil, the indigo vial was absent from
its accustomed place, or the supply of fluid had given out. After
completing the composition there came the enveloping and stamping.
Diving into his corner in the old boot-leg, he would take out the amount
required and carefully replace the remainder. Then, not daring to retain
the dangerous missive over night in his possession, he must don his
overcoat, and, by the illumination granted by the stars alone, wend his
way to the post-office, where he could deposit his parcel in the outside
box and no person be the wiser. Sometimes he had to return from these
short nocturnal journeys completely saturated with falling rain, or
having, in the darkness, stumbled into a ditch or mud-hole, his clothes
would present a terribly soiled appearance when he could see them. To
save himself trouble in answering unpleasant questions, he would, in
such an event, kindle a fire in the cook-stove, dry and cleanse his
garments, and then, before retiring, sit up and watch the embers until
they expired, in order that Mrs. Lawler might find nothing to make
inquiries about. Very luckily for him, his bedfellow was a sound
sleeper, and never once awakened when he left the room or returned. Had
he done so, however, the detective had ready contrived an excuse which
must have silenced suspicion, in any reasonable man, that the absentee
was engaged in work not unnecessary for one in his physical condition.
All in Lawler’s house slept deeply. This greatly favored the detective’s
wanderings at night. But he was not long in discovering that he must
find a place where, however small and inconvenient, he could occupy some
sort of an apartment quite by himself. Otherwise his reports would be
few and scattering, brief and unsatisfactory. He therefore began the
search for another boarding-house, with a valid reason for cutting away
from the Lawler residence.
One day, not long after McKenna had reached this conclusion, Lawler came
home from the colliery some hours earlier than usual, and meeting the
stranger, inquired if he had any clothes suitable for use in the mines.
“Faix, an’ I hev these same that ye see me afther standin’ in,” said
McKenna, “wid my Sunday suit beside!”
“Oh, botheration!” exclaimed Lawler, impatiently. “Those will never suit
the work in the slope, with the smoke, an’ the dirt, an’ the wather!”
“Well, then, I suppose wan can buy others that will do! Just tell me
what’s wantin’, an’, sure, I’ll see about it! Now in the silver mines,
in the West, a man can wear most anything—still, I must acknowledge that
the chaper the cloth the least money thrown away, even there!”
“True for ye!” said Lawler. “And if you can’t raise the funds—of the
right sort, you know—I’ll go security for you till pay day for such
things as you’ll need—my credit’s good at the store—for the boss has
sent me to tell you that in a short time he can put you on a job loadin’
coal in the slope. I’ll inform you, beforehand, that it’ll be hard work,
but I guess you can stand it a while!”
McKenna made known his desire to try it, at all events.
The heavy-soled boots, miner’s lamp for his hat-band, the tin
dinner-pail and canteen, a pair of coarse denim overalls, a loose jacket
tied with a strong string at the waist, or buckled in with his trusty
strap, and an old, nearly worn-out hat, formerly worn by Lawler,
completed McKenna’s shifting suit. The prospect of soon entering the
mine to labor was pleasant. It would give him a better opportunity to
see and know a greater number of Mollies, and at the same time gain more
familiar footing with Lawler. But when the appointed day arrived, the
boss received orders from his employers to discharge old, instead of
hiring new men. Still Lawler did not despair. His time would come, he
confidently declared.
At about this date the whole country was covered with snow, which fell
heavily during several succeeding days, and travel, with teams, or even
on foot, was dangerous. For more than a week communication between
places not connected by railway was almost entirely suspended.
When Sunday came, McKenna, as was his custom, put on his best garments,
combed out his matted hair a little, washed his face, and attended the
church of his faith, where he sat and listened, silently concurring, to
a powerful denunciation of the Mollies by the officiating clergyman,
Father O’Reilley, who, after reading to the congregation a communication
from Bishop Wood, of Philadelphia, on the same subject, launched out
feelingly and bitterly against the Ancient Order of Hibernians, White
Boys, Buckshots, etc., etc., otherwise the Mollie Maguires,
characterizing the men who could belong to such bodies as scarcely less
than damnable. Lawler held a talk with the detective, after Mass, and,
alluding to the anathemas of the priest, said that the Sunday previous
he had himself been in the church and received a scoring of equal
severity. He pretended not to care the snap of his finger for it, and
bade McKenna not to be down-hearted over so trifling a matter. He said:
“For my part, I am a member of and officer in the society, and will
remain so until I see good reason for changing!”
Ed. Lawler, a nephew of the landlord, some months previous, had engaged
in a quarrel with an Englishman, named Brophy. He finally fired upon and
severely wounded his antagonist, and only escaped immediate arrest by
suddenly leaving the vicinity. Brophy recovered, and, the Sabbath spoken
of, came to Muff Lawler with propositions for settlement of the affair.
The arrangement consumed most of the day, and was completed, Lawler
paying Brophy twenty dollars to have the prosecution abandoned. That
same night word was forwarded to the young exile—who was not yet
twenty-one years of age—that he could return to his home and his
relatives. In a short time Ed. made his appearance in Shenandoah, was
introduced to and conceived a wonderful liking for McKenna, and, had the
detective been willing, would have made himself very intimate in his
companionship, but that personage had his own ideas concerning his
associates, and did not care to have many so reckless and juvenile as
the man in question. Ed. was notoriously bad—and there was nothing to
attract McKenna to him, nor could anything be gained by seeking his
society.
The officer felt, from day to day, that, as long as he remained outside
the order of Mollie Maguires, so long would he be in the power of a bad,
reckless and changeable set of men, who might, at almost any moment,
turn from friends to inveterate enemies. Hence, without seeming to press
the subject upon Lawler, he caused him to move a little faster in the
proper direction.
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