CONTEST WITH A CONSTABLE.
Not long after the wake, it was made evident to some of the members of
Shenandoah Division that Frank McAndrew was not fitted by nature or
education for the important office of Bodymaster, being far too
generous, too much inclined to leniency—in fact, not half bloodthirsty
enough. Among those who saw this more plainly than others were McHugh,
at whose house, in those days, the Mollies held their meetings, Tom
Hurley, John Gibbons, and Fergus, _alias_ Ferguson. McKenna said little
on the subject, but while lying, apparently tippled to a state of
insensibility, in Cleary’s, late one night, he heard sufficient to
convince him of the existence of a plot, at the bottom of which stood
Jack Kehoe, to replace McAndrew with a person that they were pleased to
denominate as of “better material.” The officer in question, when spoken
to upon the subject, the ensuing day, said he knew full well why so much
dissatisfaction was growing up around him. It had its roots deep planted
in his own unwillingness to engage in the schemes of murder and outrage
that his opponents evidently desired should be immediately executed.
McHugh was especially loud in denouncing him for failing to have Gomer
James killed, as he also had been of similar inaction under the
leadership of Mike Lawler, when that party was equally opposed to the
same job under like circumstances. So far had McHugh committed himself
in this direction, that he made no secret of demanding McAndrew’s
expulsion from the organization. McAndrew’s argument, beyond its claim
to compatibility with the impulses of humanity, was perfectly sensible,
as well as unanswerable, and when brought out in the course of
conversation, caused most of the decent and orderly persons in the
division to coincide with him. His logic was that, when Cosgrove had
been murdered by Gomer James, Mike Lawler, then Bodymaster, acted
promptly—but without choosing to trumpet it over the county, keeping the
thing to himself—and, among others, appointed an own cousin of Cosgrove
as one of the avengers. That nigh relative of the man for whose death
retaliation was to be sought refused to act, and Lawler at once, and
very properly, excused all the rest. McAndrew thought it rather late in
the day for utter strangers to dig up the hatchet, unless there was a
money reward offered by some one for the knocking of Gomer James into
eternity. Of that he was not so sure. If something of the sort was not
in the wind, why were such men as Hurley, Gibbons, and McHugh so
exceedingly anxious?
To this query my agent in the coal regions could return no response.
Nevertheless, nothing was done, though much was said, regarding the
taking off of the young Welshman. How quickly action might be taken he
possessed no means of judging. But that Hurley and his backers would,
sooner or later, seek to kill Gomer James, if he continued to live in
the vicinity. he harbored no reasonable doubt. Upon the reception of
this suggestive conclusion Mr. Franklin searched for and obtained means
of warning Gomer James, advising him to get speedily out of the country.
This, at first, James firmly refused to do, but, subsequently, securing
paying work in another county, he did temporarily remove. He remained
away only a little while, being quite convinced that, if the Mollie
Maguires were after and wanted his life, they would come up with him,
wherever he might be. At the date of the latest talk by McHugh, James
was engaged as a night watchman in one of the collieries, and, as far as
could be learned, performed his duty honorably and faithfully.
McAndrew maintained his ground, saying that he knew he would be
sustained by the State and National Boards, whatever the new County
Delegate might say or do in the premises. This pleased McKenna, who
wisely refrained from joining either party engaged in the controversy,
merely putting in a word, to one or the other, when compelled to do so,
to the effect that everybody knew him as a bad man, and it was best that
he keep his mouth closed on subjects which might, in time, come to him,
whether guilty or not. For his part, he said: “I am willing to do my
duty by the division, for the protection it affords me from those that I
fear in an adjoining State, but it is not for such as I to do much
talking.”
So the business of the division was still intrusted to McAndrew, and the
detective managed to be sober long enough, each month—somewhat to the
surprise of his intimates—to write up the books and carry on such
correspondence as his office demanded. At about all other times he was
engaged in some game, attending a fair or chicken-fight, or training
some dog, which was to “whip out all creation” when ready for the ring.
He followed other occupations. If a man was needed to doctor a sick
horse, mule, or cow, in the borough—or out of it—who should be sent for
but handy Jim McKenna? Should a man have his hand hurt in the mines, who
bound up his wound and nursed him tenderly until recovered? Why, the
self-same vagabond, red-headed Jim McKenna. If a henroost was to be
robbed by Mollies, ducks or geese stolen, and thereafter surreptitiously
roasted, Jim McKenna was invited to take a hand. And sometimes he was
found sober enough to give the latter freaks attention, but not often.
If a young lady wanted to send a _billet-doux_ to her sweet-heart in a
far-off country, she knew that, by the simple calling, she might have
the help of “the handiest man at the pen in all Schuylkill County,” and
that, in the general opinion, was Jim McKenna. As a matter of natural
consequence “Jim” was, with maids and mothers, boys and girls, fathers
and sons—of the rougher sort—a great favorite. There was nothing under
the sun to be done, scientific or culinary, agricultural, surgical,
artistic, or mechanical, that “Jim,” in the opinion of his countrymen,
could not do—certainly very little he would not attempt, merely to
oblige those who needed him. To a certain class his name was synonymous
with fun, frolic, dance, and song, and his face indicative of good
nature and genuine Irish humor. To others, he was terror personified.
Some of his best friends said that he might comb out his hair somewhat
oftener, and drink less whisky, but very generally these slight and
prevalent defects were overlooked in the benefits McKenna conferred upon
those with whom he associated.
As before stated, there were also those who seriously believed that the
agent was really an assassin, had murdered a man in Buffalo, and was in
constant communication with counterfeiters and black-legs. Those who
knew these things—or supposed they knew them—did not often speak of them
outside the Mollie ring. One fact could not be gainsaid: if there was a
ball, a charity, a dance, a picnic, or a man or woman in real want, Jim
McKenna always had a dollar to give. If there was a treat where he
chanced to be, none put up glasses more liberally than that same
McKenna. These contradictory opinions rather surprised the good people
of Shenandoah who canvassed the subject. How he could be such a favorite
with the miners was more than they could fathom.
During the latter portion of September, 1874, there was a grand fair at
Ringtown, and, as it was stated that the Sheet Irons were to be present
in great force, with the express intention of whipping out their
enemies, the Mollies, several of the latter determined to go, armed and
equipped for the purpose of defending themselves and seeing how much
their adversaries would really accomplish.
This fair was similar to those called county agricultural shows in the
Western and Southern States, and sometimes from one thousand to fifteen
hundred persons, men, women, and children, would congregate daily, for
five or six days, on these occasions.
At Ringtown there were found people from Shenandoah, and other parts of
Schuylkill, and from many towns in Columbia County. There were the usual
attractions, side-shows, ugly dwarfs, scrawny giants, slimy anacondas,
and a fine display of fat bullocks, sleek cows and sheep, thoroughbred
horses and mules, improved pigs, geese, ducks, and chickens, and the
ordinary collection of ingenious and useful machines for manufacturing
and home uses. There were foot-races; races in sacks; games of catching
the greased pig; climbing the greased pole; lady equestrianisms, and all
the gayeties that attend exhibitions of the sort. All were taken in by
the Mollies from Shenandoah, as well as by those from Catawissa,
Centralia, and the entire Mahanoy Valley. There was music and dancing
and drink _galore_ at night; and a full brass band, hailing from an
adjacent city, discoursed “concord of sweet sounds” at the grand stand
during each day’s regular performances. And the song seemed to be:
“The butcher, the baker,
The candle-stick maker,
All, all are gone to the fair.”
McKenna’s friends flattered him by saying that he was the wickedest and
toughest, as well as the roughest-looking vagabond seen at the county
fair. But the crowd in his company was not by any means conspicuous for
good behavior or lamb-like undertakings.
After one day’s experience at Ringtown, finding that no Sheet Irons made
their appearance, the greater portion of the Shenandoah collection of
Mollies were disgusted and went home. The detective thought he saw
business, and remained. He had to sleep in the fair enclosure, however,
as, at the hotels, he was invariably, from his bad name and appearance,
refused admission. One tavern-keeper named Fencermacher, showed him out,
saying:
“I keeps no dramps and such-like caddle in mine blace! _Geh zu hause!_”
He may here learn, for the first time, who it was that he turned away.
But the German was perfectly excusable. The applicant for lodgings
seemed rough enough to prompt any respectable landlord to pursue the
same course. It was sufficient to know that “Jim McKenna” was the
inquirer for accommodations to cause any well-regulated hotel door to
close with a bang against his face, almost of its own accord.
During his recent sickness the operative lost his hair—a little
circumstance that has not been alluded to—and had been supplied with a
wig of about the color of his former natural growth, which, as he was
not a barber, seldom received proper dressing, and gave its wearer a
very uncouth and shabby appearance. But it seemed not quite as bad as
going around completely bareheaded, especially in chilly weather. His
beard and mustache were also very long and bushy, and scarcely ever cut
away; his face was red and sunburnt, but somewhat thinner than when
first reaching Pennsylvania. He wore the clothes he had bought the year
before—saying to the Mollies that ill success was making him a little
careful of his expenses—and a white shirt was rarely seen upon his back.
A coat of many colors, badly patched and darned, soft hat—new when he
first fought Muff Lawler’s chickens for him—and a pair of heavy miner’s
boots, completed an inventory of his visible personal effects—excepting
the two loaded revolvers which he constantly wore at his back. He could
hardly be deemed a likely customer to take into a decent tavern; but he
was not as bad as he looked. His deeds were not criminal, however
unseemly he appeared, and his duty was ever uppermost in his thoughts.
McKenna was constrained to sleep the little he did sleep, when first in
attendance at the fair, upon the bare ground. During part of one day,
however, he superintended the bar for a respectable Irish lady, Mrs.
Corcoran by name, and that night she left him to occupy the booth, while
she went home, showing that this woman, at least, reposed confidence in
him, despite his generally accepted bad character.
He participated in only two fights while at Ringtown. The first of these
occurred on the third day of the fair, when a Dutch constable, from Dark
Corner, had trouble with a man named McBain, and the operative entered
the row in the interest of peace. The official gazed at McKenna with
astonishment and said:
“Look here! you seem like what you are—a d——d thief!”
This was too much to be taken quietly, and the detective quickly knocked
the representative of public justice down with a blow from the fist, and
then administered to his body a good kicking with his rough boots, which
settled the prevailing question in his favor. The constable cried
“enough,” and was allowed to escape without further punishment.
[Illustration: _“They came up, exhibiting knives and other weapons,
swearing they would kill the man who had beaten their friend.”_]
The second affray came very near resulting seriously, and was a
consequence of the first. At about nine A.M. of the last day of the
show, the defeated constable returned to the fair grounds, in company
with six or seven other men, of about the same ugly appearance. McKenna
was at that time attending a booth for one Whalen, who was absent. They
came up exhibiting knives and other weapons, and swearing they would
kill the man who had beaten their friend. The detective had been
deserted by the Mollies, knew not which way to turn for support, and so
determined to help himself. Rushing out of the stand, he seized a small
wooden bench, which was kept for the convenience of customers, and
swinging it wildly about his head, hit the first Dutchman, who fell; he
struck the rest in rapid succession, and soon four were knocked over
before they could use their weapons. The others fled, leaving him, for
the moment, master of the situation. Then, knowing that they would still
make good their threats, if he waited for their courage to muster, he
ran, jumped into a passing wagon loaded with country people and was
driven rapidly away.
After that, whenever McKenna wanted anything in Ringtown, there were
plenty who would run to his assistance.
In this way he added to his reputation—or kept it up—as the wildest
Irishman of the mountains, and the most unprincipled Mollie in the whole
country.
When he got back to Shenandoah and visited the post-office for letters,
McKenna found, to his extreme satisfaction and relief, that he had a
missive from the Philadelphia Agency. As he handed it to him, the clerk
remarked, exhibiting a second missive enclosed in the same kind of an
envelope, apparently superscribed by the same hand, but addressed to
“James McParlan, Shenandoah.”
“Here is a letter I hardly know what to do with; but it is not for you!
It has been here several days, and is still uncalled for. Perhaps you
know something about it, as I see it seems, from the hand-writing and
post-mark, to have come from the party that has been writing you!”
The clerk looked at the uncouth young man very critically, and, as he
imagined, very suspiciously.
The operative “thought of ten thousand things at once,” as he described
his sensations to me afterward, but Irish wit and readiness for reply
did not desert him in the emergency.
“Yes,” said McKenna, with all the assurance imaginable, and without a
second’s hesitation. “I _do_ remember, now you spake of it, but the
thing had before gone clane out of me head! Jim McParlan? Why, sure, an’
he’s a crony of mine, over at Wilkesbarre, beyant, an’ faith, when I wor
there last month, he said that I should inquire here for a letther for
him, as he expected at wan time to come over an’ work wid Frank McAndrew
as his butty, but got a better chance in Luzerne! Bad ’cess to me
memory! I think there’s somethin’ in the whisky they hev in Shenandoah
that sinds me wits all a wool-gatherin’! But never mind! Wid your
permission, I’ll jist forward the letther to Jim, and write an’ tell him
how it have been so delayed!”
The suspicions of the clerk were dissipated in a moment, and he readily
gave the document into McKenna’s hand. Had the recipient exhibited the
least confusion or embarrassment, the probabilities were that his
letter—unhappily misdirected by a new clerk in Philadelphia—must have
gone to the Dead Letter Office, in Washington, where it would have been
opened and returned to Philadelphia. In the meantime both Mr. Franklin
and McKenna would have felt much disturbed by its loss. The operative
realized the mistake in its full extent, and sat down and wrote a line
asking that, so long as he remained in the coal country, such accidents
might be carefully guarded against; and his wishes were obeyed.
The strike of the miners against the rates paid for labor, for 1874,
began in October, with the usual result, the first to kick being the men
in Luzerne County. This was not a Mollie movement, and its ringleaders
were promptly arrested by Sheriff Whittaker. But the end was not yet.
At about the same date Kehoe received a scorching letter from Capt.
Gallagher, the State Secretary, saying the chances were that, at the
next meeting of the State organization, the Mollies of Schuylkill County
might be severed from the body, as a punishment for their past
misdemeanors, and Bishop Wood, of Philadelphia, would also officially
excommunicate them by name from the Church. He suggested that a meeting
of Bodymasters might be held at Pottsville, at an early day, and the bad
men of the order, who were probably known, all summarily expelled, when
possibly the remainder could be saved. If the body was purified the good
members might not lose caste. Here was a muddle for the emissary. He was
sure to be among the first men cut off, and, should the movement
succeed, his career of usefulness in the neighborhood would be very
short thereafter. It should not be! Whatever was done, he must retain
his position. Happily for him, Jack Kehoe simply laughed at the
recommendation, and remarked that Mr. Gallagher might attend to his own
business, as he would call no such meeting. So no convention was held,
and the Mollies were still triumphant. It was not for Kehoe’s interest
that they should be as mild as lambs. In reality, the worse they were
the better King Jack would be suited.
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