HORRORS UPON HORRORS.
The strike was yet in progress, in November, 1874, and the consequent
want of work produced the very result anticipated—the Mollies were as
active as a community of hornets whose nest a schoolboy has invaded with
a club. There followed a number of sanguinary encounters, some of which
terminated fatally. One of these, the shooting and subsequent death of
Mr. George Major, Chief Burgess of Mahanoy City, transpired on Saturday,
the 31st of October, in the year mentioned. McKenna was in Shenandoah at
the time, but received early intelligence of the event. McAndrew,
feeling very anxious to learn the full particulars, it was an easy
matter to induce him to detail the operative and Chas. Hayes to go to
the scene of the encounter and gather them. This they were willing to
undertake, starting out from Shenandoah on the second of November.
The request of the Bodymaster formed a good excuse for McKenna, who had
early been directed by Mr. Franklin to investigate the murder, to go to
Mahanoy City. Without McAndrew’s order, suspicion as to his calling
might have been created among the Mollies of his division. It was all
very proper, when the Secretary was known to have plenty of money, and
little else to do, for him to chance around at localities where murders
and other crimes had been perpetrated, but at this particular time he
was putting on a sorry face, declaring that his income from rents had
run several months behind, the county officers suspecting him of
leaguing with counterfeiters—hence he could not safely get rid of his
bogus currency—and, in fact, dressing very badly so that he would not be
expected to have funds to expend in too many treats for his guzzling and
expensive companions. Furnished with a safe cover, from which to carry
on his observations, he at once commenced hunting up the facts connected
with the shooting of Major.
The Chief Burgess, as that official—usually the Mayor of a town—is
called in the State of Pennsylvania, was not yet dead, but could hardly
be expected to live more than a day or two with a bullet resting in a
vital part. Major had been shot through the left breast, two inches
above the heart.
McKenna went to Clark’s house, the known rendezvous of the Mollies, of
which I shall have more to say hereafter, and, finding the proprietor
alone, started a conversation with him. Clark was an old man, and not a
member of the order, but his two sons were Mollies.
“An’ how is it about the bit o’ scrimmage ye had over here last
Saturday?” commenced the operative.
“Oh! it’s a bad affair altogether!” answered the landlord of the Emerald
House.
“Who fired the shot that brought the Chief Burgess down?”
“That I can’t, fur the life of me, tell! There’s two stories about it;
wan of them puts it on Dan Dougherty—but I belave him jist as innocent
as the babe unborn—an’ the other charges it on Major’s own brother,
William, hittin’ him be mischance, when firing afther the Hibernian
company’s boys—for ye must know that the whole trouble came about thro’
a quarrel between the Hibernian an’ the Citizen fire companies. Wan is
wholly made up of our countrymen, an’ the other of Modocs—English,
German, Welsh an’ what not! I suppose ye know that?”
“Yes! But who started the row?”
“I am sure, from what I can learn, that Dougherty didn’t! He never has a
pistol about him! There was a bit o’ fire, on the night, as ye must
know, an’ both companies was out, an we had considerable excitement, an’
not a little whisky. Afther the fire, in comin’ home, over the strate,
the firemen got in a jangle, an’ blows were being passed, when the Chief
Burgess, Geo. Major, came out, flourished his revolver, and, during the
confusion, shot a dog that was barkin’ near by. This led to more
shootin’, an’ some one in the crowd took off the Chief Burgess, an’
Major’s brother shot Dougherty, who has a bullet in the neck, below the
left ear! Oh! it’s a bad business! A bad business! Do you know, I am
thinkin’ no good can iver come of it?”
“Yes, a shockin’ bad thing!” assented McKenna.
Finding that Clark really knew very little about the minutiæ, the
operative, who had purposely separated from Hayes, went to see other
friends, hoping to find some one who might be able to give him
information.
Meeting Clark’s brother, who was a Mollie, he accompanied him to
Dougherty’s house, which was only guarded by an old constable, named
Litchenberger, who was too tipsy to do either good or harm. Several men
were standing around, but the excitement seemed quietly subsiding, and
there was little trouble in gaining permission to see the wounded man.
They ascended to his room. The injured Mollie was slightly touched in
the brain, and barely recognized his friends, but, turning over in bed,
exhibited his hurt, which appeared to have been produced by a heavy,
large-sized bullet. His left cheek and eye were greatly discolored and
puffed up, the side of the neck being quite black. The ball still rested
in the muscle, the surgeons thinking it unsafe, at that time, to probe
for or attempt its removal. The visitors remained with Dougherty but a
few moments, and then repaired to McCann’s boarding-house, the landlady
of which, at first, said the man inquired for had gone out, she did not
know where; but, when the operative and Clark made themselves known by
name, she changed her tune and cordially invited them upstairs. The
person visited they found in bed, but not at all averse to conversation.
This was satisfactory to the detective. McCann said these had been no
disturbance whatever in the street when Chief Burgess, Major, fired the
shot at him, and, before he, McCann, could catch the revolver and take
it from him, he discharged three shots.
Hayes, who had joined the others, was anxious that James McCann should
swear out a warrant for the arrest of Major, before he would die,
charging him with an assault with a deadly weapon. That, he contended,
would place McCann on the witness-stand and prevent him from being
brought to the bar as a defendant. Others who were present desired
McCann to make his escape. McKenna did not venture any suggestion. The
general belief was that Major would die, and this was all in the case
that gave the Mollies any satisfaction. They were united in protesting
that Dougherty must remain where he was, saying that a removal to
Pottsville, in his precarious condition, would be sure death for him.
The Chief Burgess succumbed to his wounds Tuesday, November 3, and
received burial, with suitable honors, the ensuing day. Dougherty was
still unable to be removed, when the operative, having obtained all the
information possible, returned with Hayes to Shenandoah, and reported to
the division the issue of his trip. He had previously sent Mr. Franklin
daily bulletins of his inquiries and their results.
Dougherty was subsequently moved to Pottsville, where he recovered, had
his trial, and was acquitted.
Mike Lawler now managed to attach himself once more to the order, having
been received by Wm. Callaghan, Bodymaster, into his division at Mahanoy
Plane. Lawler still maintained friendly relations with McKenna, despite
his aversion to the Shenandoah Mollies, as a body, and one day visited
the Secretary in company with Callaghan, who chanced to be in the city
on personal business. While the three were together, walking leisurely
over the mountain, Muff related, with much particularity, a circumstance
occurring some eighteen months before. Two Mollies named Doyle,
brothers, residing at Jackson’s Patch, had recently been attacked and
beaten by Sheet Irons. The Mollies had a meeting among themselves and
deliberately prepared a scheme to wreak terrible vengeance upon the
whole community at the Patch in question. The idea was to burn down
every building, after midnight, when all the inhabitants were sleeping,
having the torch applied almost simultaneously over the entire place.
Afterward the Mollies, well armed with guns and revolvers, were to stand
closely guarding the blazing houses, and whenever any—man, woman, or
child—attempted to escape, deliberately shoot him or her down. Not one
was to be spared to tell the tale. The division went so far, even, as to
appoint the night on which this dastardly outrage was to be perpetrated.
They convened in Shenandoah for the business, but Lawler—so he
claimed—assisted by Callaghan, managed to get up a discussion on another
subject, thus diverting the attention of the ringleaders, and they
forgot what they had gathered for, adjourning at too late an hour for
their purpose, thus postponing operations until a future time. Finally
the job was abandoned. Lawler and Callaghan accorded great credit to
themselves in having, at the risk of their own lives, saved the
unsuspecting inhabitants of Jackson Patch, thus averting one of the most
sickening wholesale assassinations that the heart of savage ever
conceived. Through inquiries in the proper quarters, which the operative
made, he was satisfied that the story he had listened to was not drawn
from imagination. Previously aware of the fact that there were men in
his division who, to secure revenge, or when under the excitement of
enmity or drink, would perform deeds that might make angels weep, and
throw the acts of the Indians in the shade, still he was shocked by this
recital. He must perforce maintain friendly relations with these
persons, drink of their liquor, share their orgies and listen to their
blood-thirsty plans. It was no pleasant duty to perform.
The strike continued. It was not alone Luzerne County that was
interested, but disaffection and desertion of works spread over the
anthracite region. It was the intention of the Mollies and the Miners’
and Laborers’ Association that work should entirely cease. To this end
those men who desired to labor for the support of their families were
notified. If they failed to stop, they were beaten, or assassinated, and
the hand that consummated the deed was hidden in the secret recesses of
the hearts of the Mollie Maguires.
On the eighteenth of November McKenna obtained information that a number
of outrages had occurred the preceding Saturday—denominated by the
_Miners’ Journal_, of Pottsville, as “a horrible day.”
In the first instance, a man named Pat Padden was discovered in the
streets of Carbondale, dead, with two bullet holes in his skull.
Secondly, Michael McNally was mysteriously murdered in the same
locality, and found with his throat cut from ear to ear, and body
otherwise mutilated.
[Illustration: “_There the inhuman wretches prepared to leave him to
die._”]
In another part of the county, a man, whose name was not learned, had
been come upon by some farmers, nearly dead, in a most novel but painful
predicament. It seems he had refused to give heed to the notices the
Mollies gave him; was one night taken from his home, carried to the
mountains, and thence to a deep morass, where there was nothing
surrounding them but water, high trees with branches closely
interlocked, and fallen timber. There the inhuman monsters prepared to
leave him to die a slow death by starvation. Iron spikes were driven
through his coat sleeves, tight to the wrist, the man lying upon his
back lengthwise of a solid pine log, the arms bent backward so as to
form the shape of a cross; then his feet were similarly pinned to the
log with the strongest nails. Making sure, as they supposed, that there
was no possibility he would escape, the Mollies deserted the place,
first having put a gag in his mouth, which they thought he would be
unable to remove. For nearly three days, and two horrid, long nights,
their victim remained thus secured, praying, at last, for death to
relieve him from tortures of hunger and thirst and the dreaded attacks
of stinging insects and fierce wild animals. Happily he at last
succeeded in releasing the fastenings of the gag, the block of wood fell
out, and he made the air resound, about noon of the third day, with his
loud and repeated shouts for aid, which were heard by two German
woodmen, who at once sought out the cause of the noise. They soon found
the man, at once relieved him, and gave him, sparingly at first, food
from their well-stored lunch pails. Water was also procured, and in a
few hours the victim of the Mollies found himself strong enough to be
removed. For some weeks he was a raving maniac and could not tell who he
was, where he came from, or the cause of his punishment. When his senses
returned he possessed no knowledge of the parties who had perpetrated
the outrage. He emigrated from the coal mines, as soon as well enough,
and said he “would rather starve in a civilized community than fare
sumptuously in a place inhabited by brutes in human form.”
Still another. A mining boss, name not heard, but connected with the
Erie Breaker, was set upon, beaten, and left for dead, with one of his
arms broken.
And another. One Michael Kenny, not a Mollie Maguire, was murdered at
Scranton, Luzerne County, and his mangled remains thrown down a steep
embankment, where it was supposed they would forever remain
undiscovered, but accident revealed their hiding-place. They were
encoffined and given burial. The assassins were not known.
The men at Carbon were nearly all Irish and Welsh, the former mostly
Mollies, and there were no members of the Sheet Irons supposed to be in
the neighborhood.
The miners still refused any reduction from the basis on which they were
laboring when the strike was inaugurated. Some were working, but all
expected to suspend by the beginning of the New Year.
An event which made the detective’s very blood boil, and still one in
which he could not interfere, furnishes the cap sheaf of this array of
horrors. It transpired at Fowler’s Patch, east of Shenandoah, a little
later in the month, and the actors in it were Chas. Hayes, Dan
Kelly—called also Manus Kull and “the Bum”—and Ed. Lawler, members of
McKenna’s own division. They were out on a spree until four in the
morning, when they went to the house of a poor old woman, named Downey,
who kept a she-been-shop, roused her from her sleep, and, after
drinking, robbed her of her money—which was but a small sum—and then
forced her to join them in finishing their orgies. They were finally all
very drunk, and Kelly took a pail and proceeded to fill it from the
landlady’s whisky barrel, which sat in a corner, across two large rocks,
and the woman interfered. Kelly, at this, had his fiercest passions
aroused, and, fired by the liquor, was ready for anything. The woman
still resisting, he raised her in his arms, being a muscular and
powerful man, carried her bodily to the almost red-hot stove and threw
her upon it, face downward, and was holding her there, despite her
frantic struggles and loud cries, to be roasted and burned to death,
when Hayes came to the rescue, struck Kelly under the ear, knocked him
down, and liberated the badly injured old lady. Her hands and face were
shriveled, broiled in deep, large patches, and there is no doubt that,
had she not been taken off the stove by Hayes, she would have been
killed. As it was, she had to remain in bed, and for weeks was not able
to sit up. Still no arrests were made.
[Illustration: “_He carried her to the almost red-hot cook stove, and
threw her upon it._”]
Kelly challenged Hayes to fight him, for intermeddling with an affair
that, he said, belonged entirely to him, and they walked out in the
highway, just at daybreak, all by themselves, the old woman still
writhing and screaming with pain, and fought ten rounds, Hayes, though a
much lighter man than his antagonist, giving Kelly a severe pummeling
and coming out ahead in almost every contest, until Kelly gave it up.
Before they left, however, Kelly visited his intended victim, and,
striking his fist in her very face, said, with an oath:
“It’s about your time! I’ll burn your accursed body up yet! So look
out!”
He would have set fire to the building and executed the threat, at the
moment, only Hayes insisted that he should leave her, which he did.
Hayes sent a physician to the woman’s house immediately. He found its
sole occupant incapable of answering a single question. The little mind
the woman had was for the time quite distracted, and the floor on fire,
from the upsetting of the stove. Had she been left alone half an hour
longer she and her house would have been reduced to ashes.
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