A PECULIAR WEDDING CEREMONY.
Flynn obeyed. He could do nothing less, finding himself completely in
the power of the enemy and that menacing revolver. It was far from his
intention to lose his life, when, by merely complying with McKenna’s
simple command, he could insure its immediate or temporary preservation.
At this late moment Mrs. Mulligan recovered her voice, and throwing
herself between Flynn and her husband, cried out:
“Oh, don’t hurt my Hugh! He’s never done anybody any harrum, _sheeling
avourneen_! Sure its dyin’ the poor boy is, the moment! An’ its right
down cruel of yez to come disputin’ about, disturbin’ us an’ makin’ him
the worse! Oh, kill me, if you want to, but don’t hurt a hair o’ him!”
“Faix an’ I don’t see that Flynn is about to shoot anybody jist at the
present moment!” said McKenna, still keeping the weapon nigh his
adversary’s head. “I am in the firm belaif that the boot’s on t’other
foot, this time!”
Meanwhile the detective slowly retreated, still facing his opponent, to
the table on which the drunken man’s weapons rested, and, without
changing aim or lowering the revolver, proceeded to deposit the knife in
his pocket. The second loaded pistol he retained in the left hand, ready
for use should his own miss fire or the cartridges be exhausted.
At this stage of proceedings, Flynn, whose reason seemed partly to have
resumed sway, through fright, thought death was sure to follow and his
legs would no longer support him. Falling prone upon his knees, the tall
hat came off, and he held up both hands, begging abjectly, like the
arrant coward he was, that life might be spared, saying:
“Don’t kill me, McKenna! For my poor childer’s sake, don’t shoot!”
“I don’t intend to shoot, right here, in the presence of Hugh an’ the
good lady—but you had no such hesitation. Do you see that opening the
carpenter left in yonder wall? What I now want is, that you get up from
the floor an’ betake yourself down thim stairs as fast as ye can go!”
“I’ll do anything ye say!” answered Flynn.
And the big, lubberly fellow, completely cowed and almost sobered, moved
slowly toward the door, McKenna following close upon him, his weapon
steadily directed full upon Flynn’s bushy head. Down the staircase in
this order of procession they slowly continued their march.
“Get ye in here!” said the detective, and he opened the door of a sort
of vault, where Mrs. Mulligan stored her bottled ale and other liquors.
“Step quickly,” was added, as the result of an evident hesitation on the
part of the prisoner. The dark muzzle of the pistol emphasized the
language, and made it impossible for him to disobey; so in he went.
“It is well you got in,” said McKenna, “fur I had brought ye to the
place where I intinded fur to kill ye!”
“I’ll niver hesitate agin!” said Flynn, and he looked about the dark
recess. McKenna shut the door with a bang, shot to its place the bolt of
the ponderous lock, withdrew the key, and placed it in his pocket. Then
with a heavy piece of timber, which had been employed as a support for
whisky barrels, he propped the massive oaken panels in their position,
resting the upper end of the brace against the boards and the lower
portion behind a solid brick-and-mortar projection, forming part of the
chimney. Thus was Dick Flynn safely caged. To make sure that he remained
where he had confined him, the detective closed and fastened all the
shutters to the windows, locked and barred every outer entrance to the
lower part of the house, took possession of the keys, and then, only
pausing a few moments to inform Mrs. Mulligan that she was perfectly
safe, and that he would send an officer to her relief, with the frantic
cries and oaths of the imprisoned man ringing in his ears, experiencing
a feeling of gratitude that he had escaped, he started for Shenandoah,
following the track left by the carriage which had borne away his
wounded companion.
McKenna had not gone far when he met Lawler returning to Mulligan’s
accompanied by a deputy sheriff.
“Hurrah!” shouted Lawler, when he saw the young man, apparently
unharmed. “Then ye are not kilt enthirely?”
“An’ phat did ye run off afther?” queried McKenna, appearing greatly
offended. “I think ye might’ev stopped at laste to carry away me dead
body, afther the matin’ wid Dick Flynn, the murtherous thafe of the
worruld!”
“Didn’t I ride away, wid all me power, to get me revolver, which, like a
looney that I am, I had left snug at home? An’ wasn’t I so disabled,
from me wound, that I couldn’t tak’ any part in the pother? Didn’t I
think there’d be nade of an officer, sure—an’ isn’t wan here? Faith, ye
kin now take the boy to jail in a twinklin’! But where is Dick Flynn,
the insanity that he is!”
“Well, a poor excuse suits ye as well as any!” answered the operative.
“But I forgive ye, seein’ as how I wur successful in handlin’ the man!
You’ll find him, all swate an’ cooled down like, in Mrs. Mulligan’s beer
closet, an’ all ye hev to do is to put a revolver close to his head, an’
he’ll walk quieter nor a lamb, wherever ye may wish. I have his knife
and pistol—here they are—an’ the kays to the doors—take thim along,
too—you kin do wid the fellow as ye wish! Right here, I wash me hands of
the business enthirely!”
McKenna handed the weapons and keys to the officer, and, stubbornly
turning on his heel, rapidly journeyed homeward.
Flynn was removed to jail, at Shenandoah, where he remained a few days
and was eventually released, the witness for the State having been
coaxed by Mrs. Mulligan not to appear against him. The poor woman was
afraid that, if punished, Dick would make her home too hot for her.
Thenceforward, however, Flynn bore himself quite decently toward both of
his former enemies, and gave McKenna a wide berth if he chanced to find
himself where he might possibly encounter him.
This may be set down as one of the many adventures of a critical and
dangerous nature which the detective experienced during the course of
his first year’s residence in the anthracite region. He had still
others, but they will receive attention in an appropriate place. With
these tragical rencounters there arose also occasional experiences which
were of a more pleasant sort. Among the latter was his participation in
a Polish marriage ceremony, transpiring in the vicinity of Shenandoah
only a short time subsequent to the sudden meeting with drunken Dick
Flynn, just alluded to.
Pete Monaghan, Ed. Fergus, and Tom McNulty accompanied my representative
on the trip. In view of this fact, and their future relations with our
work, it may be best more particularly to introduce them to the reader’s
attention.
Monaghan seemed about four years past his majority, was of fair
complexion, hair of the color denominated sandy, full, florid face,
light blue eyes, and wore no beard or mustache. In fact, he was a
middle-sized, boyish-looking man, a little above medium height and
weight. He was at that period a miner, but subsequently attended college
about a year and finally settled down in Shenandoah as a staid and sober
green-groceryman, in which place and position he yet remained at last
advices. He is not to be confounded with Ned Monaghan.
Ferguson, _alias_ Fergus, was also a miner, but a personage whose figure
and face were a contrast to those just described. Of dark complexion,
wearing a black, full beard and mustache, of which he was so proud that
he constantly stroked and petted them with his rough hand; a foxy little
face, red nose, that turned ever upward; large, broad, and capacious
mouth, which was seemingly filled with long, wide, shovel-shaped teeth;
staring, hazel eyes, ready to wink comically at the faintest possible
chance; his shoulders tending to form part and portion of a human
interrogation point, he was neither large nor small, heavy nor light,
but about a medium in both; a person to be remarked upon the street, and
as full of genuine wit as he well could be. While Fergus was wild and
frolicsome, Monaghan was quiet and good-natured.
McNulty was a compact fellow, of swarthy complexion, black hair, dark
gray eyes, round face, pug nose, and would steal like a born thief. Work
and he had evidently early fallen out and never become reconciled. A
fearful consumer of drink, he was never trusted by the Mollies, and
there were few who knew him that would leave sixpence in his reach if
they cared ever to see it again.
These were some of the every-day companions of the operative.
The natives of Poland, quite numerous in the vicinity of Shenandoah,
were mostly members of the Catholic Church, affiliating readily with the
miners from England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, and, when of the same
religious belief, even with those of Germany and Scandinavia. Still they
were located in particular sections, and tenaciously held to many of the
fatherland social peculiarities. Their habits and customs were mostly
novel to the average American reader, and their nuptial ceremony notable
as among the most curious of those belonging to a queer community. In
the first place, although it was generally known when and where a
wedding was to transpire, yet no persons were especially invited to
participate, and none were asked to stay away. All, as it was generally
understood, would find welcome on the occasion. Preparations were
entered into for great sport, and plenty of it, as an accompaniment to
the act of uniting “two hearts that beat as one.” There was, on these
occasions, almost total absence of restraint, but perfect decorum being
the prevailing rule, and disorder the exception. The Polish women were
as well-behaved, in every respect, as those of other nationalities, and,
in a locality where two-thirds of the inhabitants were Poles, cause for
divorce, and illegitimacy were seldom brought to the light.
But the wedding.
Monaghan, Fergus, McNulty, and McKenna attended the nuptials of Julius
Krozenski with a fair maiden, to whom he had been some years betrothed.
It was rather outside the borough limits and in the edge of the wood
that the girl’s parents resided, and this was the scene of the wedding.
There were many people already gathered when they reached the place,
although the time was only an hour past sunset. The view presented to
the eye of the detective reminded him of pictures he had seen of gypsy
encampments at night.
Two forked sticks had been embedded in the earth, the “y” parts above
ground. Across, and resting in the crotches of these, was placed a heavy
hickory sapling, some five inches in diameter at the butt. Suspended by
iron chains and a hook from the center of this beam was a huge caldron
kettle, made of iron, and under the vessel a hot fire had been kindled,
which, beside serving its culinary purpose, threw out fitful flashes of
red light upon the motley assemblage, giving a garish contrast on one
side of each object to the darkness of night shadowing the other.
As a more voluminous sheet of fire would dart out from among the pine
knots and glowing embers, it illuminated a space for yards around, and
sent the pleasant light far into the budding branches of the highest
trees.
From the great iron kettle a savory incense arose. After some inquiry,
the stranger learned that it came from an admixture of high-wines and
common molasses, in about the proportion of one gallon of the latter to
four of the spirit, which, when once well incorporated by stirring with
a wooden ladle, and brought to the boiling point, was to constitute the
wedding refreshment, in lieu of the breakfast, supper, or dinner. The
number of guests was large and the liquor boiled made, in the aggregate,
several gallons.
There were present miners of all nationalities nearly, with their wives
and sweethearts—all outside the house in which the bride sat, as the
building was much too small to accommodate one-tenth part of the
concourse assembled. Had this been different, the kettle would have
swung from the crane in the wide, open fireplace, after the olden
fashion.
McKenna and his friends were well received by the people. This was
especially the case with the detective, who had dressed himself with
more than ordinary care for the occasion, exhibiting, for about the
first time since the chicken match, an immaculate linen shirt-front,
collar, black necktie and waistcoat, and having entirely eschewed the
old leather belt, with its common iron buckle. He was, therefore, in his
freshly-trimmed hair and whiskers, a rather gentlemanly appearing young
fellow, reputed a fair dancer, and as having an uncommonly fine voice
for an Irish love ditty. He was met by several acquaintances, who were
at some pains to introduce him to the young ladies and gentlemen. With
the former his native modesty was not in the way of his cultivating, to
the full extent, their good graces. In fact, some of the men thought he
devoted more time than necessary to the handsome women. Be that as it
may, despite the rough reputation he had won, he certainly was a prime
favorite with the Polish maidens. The Irish girls, also, thought he was
about right; one especially—a queenly figure, with dark, waving chestnut
curls, and laughing, hazel eyes, whose name, he heard, was Mary, and
resided in, or very nigh to, Tamaqua—was the particular object of his
regard, and Fergus suggested, more than once, that the western chap had
in her met his fate. It is true that McKenna was deeply struck with the
lady’s beauty, vivacity and amiability—seen at a distance. He was now
intent on business, and believed, after that night, would never see her
again.
But the wedding.
The seething blackstrap was pronounced ready for use, and a lady, a
long-handled tin dipper in hand, stood at the kettle dishing out its
smoking contents to the company. It rapidly disappeared, and, as it
diminished and was imbibed, the fun and hilarity proportionately
increased. The fluid was greatly relished by the Poles and their
families.
The young couple having been united by the priest, after the ritual of
the Roman Catholic Church, the clergyman partook of the spirits and
departed for his home. Then the bride was seated at her place in the
best room—which was the kitchen—having a small table near, on which
stood a steaming pitcher of the blackstrap and a tin pot. In the open
fire-place blazed pine knots and light-wood, giving a genial brightness
to the place, which was devoid of lamps or candles. A dresser with its
array of polished tinware, reflected back the flame and made each corner
like open day. By the chimney jamb, on a bit of log, fashioned into a
rude stool, sat the aged grandmother of the bride, gray, wrinkled, and
trembling in limb, but rigged out in a white ruffled cap, and smoking a
brand-new clay pipe. Chairs there were none, excepting that devoted to
the queen of the occasion—fair, comely Mrs. Krozenski, with her hair
done up in a knot behind her head, combed flat at the sides of the face,
and the whole surmounted by a high tortoise-shell comb—who bore her
honors gracefully, and was supplied with a dress pocket, capacious
enough to contain a small fortune in silver.
[Illustration: “_And, before the defenseless man could prevent, she
kissed him once, twice, thrice, on the cheek._”]
This was the style of her reception: Her male friends, one after
another, came in, saluted her kindly, wishing her the usual good luck,
calling her by her new name, and each one helped himself to some of the
liquor, handing the bride a present—always in the shape of money, and
ranging from one dollar to ten dollars, according to the ability or
generosity of the donor—then kissed the lady three times. She, nowise
disconcerted, placed the cash in her purse, and was ready for the next
person. The room was well filled with ladies and gentlemen, the groom,
meanwhile, busying himself with out-door affairs. McKenna watched this
part of the proceedings for a while with interest, rather liked it, and
then walked up, paid his money, enjoyed his small share of the lady’s
lips, and stepped back a little to give others a chance. Following him
happened to be the young woman from Tamaqua. She tripped gaily to the
bride, took her dainty sip of the liquor, tendered a bank-bill, and
then, her roguish Irish eye resting upon the detective, she suddenly
swooped down upon him, rested one little hand for a second lightly as a
snow-flake on his shoulder, and, before the defenseless man could
prevent, kissed him once, twice, thrice, on the cheek, then as swift as
the wind almost, turned, ran away, and disappeared.
The laugh which was raised at the detective’s discomfiture was both long
and loud, and he was forced, after he had recovered from the
astonishment, to take part in it.
It seems that the young lady had done nothing at all indecorous or
uncommon. The rule, as McKenna subsequently saw exemplified, permitted
any of the ladies who saluted and feed the bride to kiss the woman just
married, or if she so chose, any of the gentlemen present. Hence the
agent had unwittingly placed himself in a position to become the subject
of Miss Mary’s little trick. He was not at all sorry for it, and the
sensation of pleasure, caused by the kiss, visited his cheek for weeks
thereafter.
The money thus donated to the bride—and this part of the ceremony might
be continued for some days—was employed in furnishing the house of the
wedded pair. It closed at midnight, after which the lady and her husband
could join their friends and indulge in a polka or waltz.
The dancing of the Poles consisted of redowas, waltzes, polkas,
mazourkas, and schottisches, some of which McKenna was taught; but,
after all these, he liked best the lively jig and the rattling reel.
Following some of this amusement, he was called upon to sing a song and
dance a favorite fling, both of which he did with success. The song he
gave eliciting most commendation was as follows, and called:
THE WEDDING OF BALLYPOREEN.
On a fine summer morning at twelve in the day,
The birds they did sing and the asses did bray,
When Patrick, the bridegroom, with Onagh, the bride,
With their bibs and their tuckers, set out side by side.
The pipers played first in the rear, sir;
Maids blushed, and the bridegroom did stare, sir—
O Lord, how the spalpeens did swear, sir,
At the wedding of Ballyporeen.
They were soon tacked togither, and home did return,
To make merry the day at the sign of the Churn.
When they sat down together, a frolicsome troop,
The old Shannon’s bank never held such a group.
There were turf-cutters, thatchers, and tailors,
Fiddlers, and pipers, and nailers,
At the wedding of Ballyporeen.
There was Bryan McDermott, O’Shaughnessy’s brat,
There was Terence O’Driscoll and platter-faced Pat;
There was Norah McCormick, likewise Bryan O’Linn,
An’ the fat, red-haired cookmaid that lived in the inn;
There was Shelah, an’ Larry the genius,
Pat’s uncle, old Darby McGinniss,
Black Thady an’ crooked McDennis,
At the wedding of Ballyporeen.
The groom he got up an’ made an oration;
He pleased them all with his kind botheration;
“Since you all have met here”—then he swore and he cursed
“You can eat till you swell, boys, an’ drink till ye burst;
The first christening I hev, if I thrive, sirs,
I hope ye all hither will drive, sirs.
You’ll be all welcome, dead or alive, sirs,
To the christening of Ballyporeen.”
The bride she got up and she made a low bow,
She twittered—she felt so—she couldn’t tell how—
She blushed, and she stammered, and a few words let fall,
But she spoke it so low that she bothered them all.
Then the mother cried out: “Are you dead, child?
For shame! Now hold up your head, child;
Tho’ sixty, I wish I were wed, child,
I would rattle all Ballyporeen.”
Well, they sat down to ate—Father Murphy said grace;
Smokin’ hot were the dishes, an’ eager each face;
Knives and forks they did rattle, spoons and platters did play;
They elbowed and jostled an’ walloped away.
Rumps, shins and fat sirloins did quake, sir;
Whole mountains of beef down were mown, sir;
We demolished all, to the bare bone, sir,
At the wedding of Ballyporeen.
The whisky went around an’ the songsters did roar;
Tim sang, “Paddy O’Kelly”—Nell sung, “Moll Asthore;”
When a motion went around that their songs they forsake
And each man took his sweetheart, their trotters to shake.
With the pipers in couples advancin’—
Pumps, brogans, an’ bare feet fell a prancin’,
Such pipin’, an’ figurin’, an’ dancin’,
Was ne’er seen at Ballyporeen.
Here’s to Patrick, the bridegroom, and Onagh, the bride;
That the Harp of Old Erin be hung by their side;
An’ to all the people, whether old, gray, or green,
Drunk or sober, that jigged it at Ballyporeen.
Until Dan Cupid does lend you his wherry
To trip o’er the conjugal ferry,
I hope you all may be as merry
As we were at Ballyporeen.
Just as McKenna had concluded this effort, a great screaming and rushing
of the ladies was heard in another part of the house, accompanied by
heavier voices of men, mingling curiously with the music of the fiddle
and the barking of the dogs. The three friends, with almost every person
in the vicinity, quickly started for the field of disorder, which seemed
not far from the residence.
————●————