HOLDING THE BREAKER.
When the troubles of the first of June arose, and the Militia were
ordered out by Governor Hartranft, Gen. Pleasants, called Mr. Linden to
him and said:
“I see by a report of Mr. Pinkerton’s agent in Shenandoah—and we also
have it from other good authority—that the strikers, including the
Mollie Maguires and the members of the Miners’ and Laborers’ Union, are
openly threatening the destruction of some of the company’s more
expensive works in Schuylkill County, among the rest West Shenandoah
Colliery, which is only defended by two private watchmen. Can your men
occupy and hold that breaker?”
“We can, or die in the attempt!” was the characteristic response.
“I admire your courage, Mr. Linden,” said Gen. Pleasant, “but I am
somewhat in doubt as to the result. However, there is no other course to
pursue. Your men, headed by yourself, armed with the Winchester rifles
and navy sixes, must make the trial!”
“We will leave on the next train,” Linden answered.
And they did go to Shenandoah, as was reported to McKenna by Gibbons and
Hurley, arriving there the day following the one on which the first
attack upon Thomas was to have been made. The militia-men were daily
expected, but it was questioned in the minds of some whether its members
were all to be depended upon in an emergency. That there were relatives
of Mollies in the ranks was well known. Capt. Linden and eighteen men
took charge of West Shenandoah Colliery, with the determination to
defend and keep it working, preventing the miners from being driven
away, if among the possibilities to do so.
The second of June the Mollies and other strikers made great
preparations for a dance at Number Three Hill. Word was sent by special
messengers that all who could should assemble on the night of that day
for a monster workingman’s parade, which was appointed for the third.
Early in the morning the crowd began pouring in. There were delegates
from Connor’s Patch, Loss Creek, Number Three, Raven Run, and Griscom’s
Patch, as well as from Shenandoah. In the evening fires blazed from all
the hillsides surrounding the collieries. There was the greatest and
wildest excitement. The labor picnic at Number Three had seven or eight
hundred persons in attendance.
There was plenty of music, and drink, and dancing, but the principal
work seemed to be organizing for the exercises of the next day, and the
evident object of these was to frighten people, who were quietly at
work, away from the mines. The presence of the roughest characters in
the country, armed to the teeth—some having as many as three revolvers
displayed ostentatiously in their belts—and the open talk of the crowd,
was sufficient to tell Linden and his devoted band that the morrow boded
no good for them. Still they stood manfully at their posts, guarding
every point and keeping off the approach of and attacks from all
stragglers. Capt. Heisler, with more men, came to the rescue, and the
Militia were expected by every train. Telegraphic messages kept the
wires busy and messengers hurriedly going and coming.
Among the miners, the Welsh, English, German, and Poles mingled, and
heartily joined hands with the Irish. For once feuds were forgotten, and
nationalities all made common cause. The destruction of the collieries,
or entire submission to the behests of those on the strike, had been
decided upon.
While the music sounded, and dancing was going on at Number Three,
McKenna held a secret conference with Linden. He gave him all the
information regarding the proposed action for the morrow that he had
been able to gather, and assured his friend he would have fierce work to
do if he did not abandon the breaker.
“We can die there, then!” said Linden. “I will never give it up! Rather
than that, may every man in my command—officers and all—be murdered! Let
the strikers come! Some of them will bite the dust! I can tell them, we
will be found well prepared!”
“I’ll do everything in my power, at all events,” responded McKenna, “to
discourage violence! Did any of the Chicago men recognize me, to-day?”
“I think not! If they did, they had sense enough not to speak of it!”
“I trust they may do the same thing to-morrow! If they come to shooting,
I’m sure I’ll get out of the range of those Winchesters on the double
quick!”
Linden advised him to remember to do so, as he could not tell what might
occur.
“They—the police—look upon you as the worst and most desperate character
in the Mollie crowd!”
“I know it!” said McKenna, “but they’ll learn their mistake one of these
days!”
It was noticeable that, when communicating with Linden, the detective
dropped his well-worn brogue, and conversed in his ordinary tone, using
few Celtic terms.
The conference was brief, and with a “good night” the detectives
separated, McKenna returning to the camp-fires, and Linden seeking sleep
upon his bed of hay.
When he reached Number Three, McKenna learned that a portion of his
brother Mollies, fearing to face the consequences of the parade—as it
was called—but, as it really was, a mob, comprising all the elements of
a commune and a riot—had fled to Ringtown Mountain and there organized a
local guard, or reserve force. Among these stay-at-home heroes—who
received loud shouts, hisses of derision, and the appellation of
“craven-hearted cowards”—was Mike, _alias_ Muff Lawler. He would have
nothing to do with the celebration, sneaked away and hid himself at
Ringtown. The operative, having in mind the pusillanimous manner in
which the same man had retreated from Dick Flynn, at Colorado Colliery,
months before, leaving him to face the infuriated fellow alone, was not
much surprised that Lawler had no appetite for the next day’s work, but
said nothing. In fact, if the truth were told, the detective did not
really blame Mike for his later action, and, had not duty called him to
take part in the proceedings, would have adopted a similar course. But
he must stay and see the affair through. It was not his time to run
away.
The night passed without the occurrence of any overt act. The morning of
the third had but fairly opened when new delegations commenced coming
in, and Marshals Walker and Johnson begun the work of forming the line.
Impromptu flags were prepared, the drums beat, and the uncouth
assemblage was soon ready to march.
Fenton Cooney was deputed to take charge of the rear and form the
stragglers. One Fitzpatrick, a boss at Heckler’s, assisted.
Nine o’clock came, and as the crowd was about to move the Sheriff of
Schuylkill County rode up, accompanied by a Superintendent of the Coal
and Iron Company. The former inquired as to the cause of the assemblage.
“Only a bit of a parade,” was the plausible response, and the two men,
apparently satisfied, rode away.
The intention of the men was to have an imposing procession, ending at
Mahanoy City, and, meantime, to force the miners, at every colliery in
their way, to quit work and join, or go to their homes. They were
determined to stop operations, if they had to kill the workmen. But the
Sheriff was not informed of this portion of the programme.
When the mob reached West Shenandoah Colliery it mustered, despite the
disaffection of a few, some seven hundred strong, all firmly resolved
that mining should not proceed in the Mahanoy valley. They marched away
at a brisk pace, and thought themselves invincible. But at the road
skirting the works mentioned was revealed a sight for which they were
all unprepared. The blackened walls of the breaker stood out boldly in
relief against the blue sky; the sun shone upon twenty armed men, ranged
in a compact line, surrounding and cutting off approach to the mouth of
the slope and the engine house, with arms, bright and gleaming, forming
an inclosure of human bodies. Their repeating rifles were threatening.
That obstacle did not seem so easy to surmount, and the mob stood at the
foot of the hill, wavered, and presently the Grand Marshal ordered a
pause. Part of his force had crossed the Reading Railway track, just
before it passes under the Lehigh bridge, and there they waited,
undecided what course to pursue.
It was a trying moment for the police, under Linden, Heisler being
unavoidably absent in the city.
“Are you going to send the men from the slope, and stop the works?”
asked Walker, in a loud voice.
“Go on about your business!” answered Linden, resting one hand on his
piece. “The men in the mine are under the protection of the law! They
will stay where they are, and you must not molest them!”
“Forward!” commanded Walker. But his tone lacked confidence.
[Illustration: “_‘Halt!’ Shouted Linden._”]
“Halt!” shouted Linden.
But few obeyed Walker’s call—and they stepped back hastily, as though
they had blundered, when, at a signal from Linden, a score of Winchester
rifles promptly came to the shoulders of as many hardy and resolute men,
ready for the expected order to “fire.”
McKenna was the most eccentric and savage appearing Mollie Maguire in
the whole seven hundred. His old, soft hat, knocked in at the sides,
yellow hair flying wildly in the breeze, a long, patched, gray coat,
with two revolvers in his belt, beside a big hickory club which he
carried in his hand; even the men from Chicago looked upon him as a
prominent target to receive the contents of their already directed
weapons. By the side of the detective was a sleek bull-terrier, which he
had carefully raised and just brought out, trained ready for the pit,
its tongue protruding, and showing the white teeth appearing fully as
murderous and ugly as his master.
The Mollies knew—if the rest did not—that each one of those bright
gun-barrels could send sixteen deadly messengers into their ranks
without reloading. They also knew that Linden—“Captain Jack,” as he
there received christening—was at the head of the force and would fight
to the last drop of blood in his body. His rifle would be aimed with
those of his followers.
Walker realized the gravity of the situation in a moment, and did not
repeat his order. Soon there was a whisper of consultation. McKenna
suggested that “twenty times sixteen wor three hundred an’ twenty, an’
that was the number that must fall before them Winchesters were
exhausted! An’ wur it all worth even fifty lives?”
The Marshal and other leading men thought not, and, scowling fiercely
back at Linden and his Spartan band, they quietly moved on, in the
direction of the bridge, leaving the breaker undisturbed. The muzzles of
the Winchesters and the faces of the men behind them showed that the
police were not to be trifled with.
The mob had decided—and wisely too—it was not a propitious moment to
compel Linden and his men to retire—that another time might as well be
selected for seizing the colliery and forcing a suspension of work. Jack
Delaney, Peirce Walker, Ben Johnson, Fitzpatrick, and John Gibbons, who
had all been industrious in raising and organizing the rabble, it was
noticed, found themselves among the foremost to recognize the force
there was in Linden’s metallic argument.
The awkward squad surged along toward Mahanoy City, forcing those it
encountered to join the ranks.
At Hazleton a prisoner was rescued, and the law defied.
Fox’s Colliery, which had begun to work, was stopped by force, and the
men driven home.
The owners of Bowman’s Colliery, hearing that the crowd was coming, sent
off their miners and discontinued operations before the advance guard
hove in sight.
The Sheriff made a stand, with a few men, at Jackson’s Hill, but he was
derided, loudly cursed; and the communists marched onward in spite of
the law and its minions.
The Foundry Colliery was stopped, and its men ran away in a fright.
Soon word was brought that three hundred men, from the vicinity of
Hazleton, had already entered Mahanoy City, caused a disturbance, and
some of their number been arrested by the police and placed in the lock
up.
At last Mahanoy City was gained, and its streets found swarming with
demoralized citizens. The mob had accumulated strength until it numbered
over two thousand men, and everything was swept, like chaff in a west
wind, before it. All business was suspended.
The first cry of the communists was, “To the rescue of the Hazleton
boys!” and the Chief Burgess, Eckman by name was hunted up and politely
invited to release the men he had in custody. He carefully examined the
faces of the persons surrounding him and consented. The prisoners soon
formed part of the line of the parade. The principal streets were
marched through. Disorder and lawlessness prevailed, but as there was no
one to oppose the rioters, little, if any, personal violence ensued. The
striking miners had everything their own way. The collieries were all
blocked, and the men sent home unharmed.
One colliery sounded its shrill whistle, adding to the prevailing
confusion and alarm, the engineer having deserted the works, carrying
the cord attached to the mechanism with him. A crowd rushed to the spot.
Gibbons climbed upon the boiler, which it was feared might explode,
opened the valve, the steam escaped, and the danger was over.
McKenna, the drum corps, and those who could pay, had dinner at Clark’s
Emerald House. Those who had no money procured food, wherever possible,
from the citizens. While he was eating, the detective heard firing on
the street. Followed close by Doyle, Thompson, and McCormick, he rushed
out to see what was the trouble. It seems that the mob, when about to
attack Little Drift Colliery, had been met by a deputy sheriff, backed
by a few city policemen. The officer had read the riot act and ordered
the disturbers of the public peace to disperse, but without other effect
than to cause them to go on faster toward the colliery. One, Tim Jolley,
being excited, fired a shot into the mob, hitting nobody. Then a rush
was made on the Sheriff, and shooting became general from and in all
directions. Jolley was quickly knocked down, and his pockets searched.
Some one carried off his watch and chain, another his money, and yet
others secured his hat and outer clothing. Friday O’Donnell, according
to his own story, did some rapid shooting at about that time, but was
not aware whether he hit any one. Jim McAllister received a cut in the
head, while engaged in throwing rocks at the officers. He had no weapon.
McGinnis had a pistol wound in the head, but it was not a fatal one.
Finally, the officers having retreated without severe injury, the
disorderly procession moved for the return march to Shenandoah, and the
parade and the riot ended at the same time. Strange to say, not a person
was killed in the entire day’s transactions.
The Militia arrived that night, and thenceforward there were to be no
more serious riots in the county—at least not as long as the soldiers
remained. But violence and assassination did not cease. On the contrary,
bad blood had been stirred. It would not settle until innocent men were
murdered. A few arrests were made of the leading rioters, but no
particular punishment was ever meted out to them. The Mollies swore
_alibis_, without regard to truth or conscience.
About the sixth of June Tom Hurley, who had a brother a member of the
Girardville company of Militia, tried to accomplish, all by himself, the
butchery of Capt Heisler. James Hurley was on duty with Heisler at West
Shenandoah Colliery, and, late at night, Tom Hurley came up and spoke to
them. In Heisler’s temporary absence the brothers arranged that James
should contrive to leave Heisler alone a few moments, when Tom could
easily pick him off from an ambush. Heisler returned to his post and Tom
bid the two “good night,” saying he must go home. Walking but a short
distance, however, he plunged into the underbrush, took a detour, and
crawled stealthily up again within pistol range of Heisler and James
Hurley. Finally he heard the latter say:
“Captain, it’s coming chilly! I’ll just go to the office and get my
overcoat!”
“No!” answered the Captain. “That will never do! We are put here on
guard, and here must stay!”
Heisler acted as if he suspected Tom, at least Jim had to remain where
he was. Heisler’s life, for a time, was safe.
In about half an hour, during which Tom Hurley, with pistol leveled full
upon the Captain, remained watching in his place of concealment, Jim
Hurley exclaimed:
“Faith, I’ve come out here with no arms on me at all! I’ve left me
revolver! I’ll go and get it!”
“No!” again answered Heisler. “You can take the rifle! The navy six is
enough for me!”
Cursing the stupidity of the man who refused to be left alone, so that
he might kill him, Tom Hurley, after stopping where he was until nearly
overcome by sleep, cautiously arose from the ground, and, without making
a sound to indicate his presence, stooped low and moved skulkingly away.
He told McKenna of his adventure, the next day, and Linden was soon in
possession of the fact. When subsequently consulted about his conduct on
the occasion Capt. Heisler said he had heard considerable about Tom
Hurley, and believed that the brothers might attempt some trap upon him.
Still, when he refused to be left alone, he had not the least suspicion
that in so doing he twice thwarted the would-be assassins.
Jim Hurley was no more placed on guard at Shenandoah Colliery.
The resumption was not again interfered with, and by the sixteenth of
June became quite general in the coal regions. Even the Mollies went to
work, having stood out as long as they deemed it possible, and finding
that, without their aid, the company were able to continue their mining
operations.
Mr. Linden, at about this time, met some adventures, which must be
described.
————●————