BLOODY SATURDAY.
Early in August, 1875, symptoms of smouldering disorder in the coal
regions began to increase in severity and numbers. Seeing and
appreciating this, Superintendent Franklin arranged to meet and hold
council with McKenna and Linden in the vicinity of Mauch Chunk. Glen
Onoko, one of the most entrancing of the many beautiful spots found in
the vicinity of the city named, was the chosen place. In sight of Dual
Vista, another extraordinary and charming resort, accordingly, the three
men came together, and, in the quiet shadows of the everlasting
hills—the Alps of America—covered by the close-woven branches of the
overhanging trees, they seated themselves, and, at their leisure, fully
discussed the situation and the work being performed. It was while
returning from this meeting—the particulars of which may not find record
here, as they will be developed in the history of the progress of
events—that McKenna and Linden encountered Campbell, McGehan, and
others, as mentioned in another connection. While Capt. Linden remained
at Mauch Chunk and Superintendent Franklin returned to Philadelphia,
McParlan—otherwise McKenna—was constrained to accompany Alex. Campbell
and his jolly companions to their homes. The invitation was so pressing,
and the chance so good for obtaining knowledge of facts bearing upon the
Yost case, and the threatened assassination of Jones, that the watchful
operative could not well refuse acceptance. Evening saw the collection
of Mollies, McKenna among them, gathered in the smoking-car bound for
Summit. In a seat, not far removed from them, but, to their eyes, so
effectually steeped in liquor as to be almost unrecognizable—and in fact
entirely unnoticed by Campbell—reposed the form of Linden, every nerve
really strung to the highest tension, awake, cool, determined, and
ready, at any moment, to take his brother detective’s part, should he
find himself in trouble. Happily nothing occurred to call for his
assistance, and he feigned to sleep the time away, without molestation,
until the drunken crowd left the car. Linden continued his journey to
Tamaqua, and there awaited McParlan’s arrival. Reaching Summit, Campbell
pressed that operative to remain at his house all night, and he did so,
after first viewing the basement in which the late Bodymaster was to
assist McGehan to start his gin mill. The building was situated just
above the post-office, in an eligible locality, and preparations were
being made to celebrate the formal opening, to occur on the twelfth of
the month, with appropriate observances. Campbell asked no questions,
but naturally concluded, from McParlan’s previous avowals, that his
guest was in Mauch Chunk that day to obtain a new stock of counterfeit
money, and a crisp ten dollar bill he had seen him have changed, when
treating the company in a saloon, he was quite sure would not
successfully pass examination at any banking house. In this he seriously
erred, however, as the currency was genuine and just from the Shenandoah
post-office, where McKenna had presented and received the cash upon my
postal order for fifty dollars, to be used in paying current expenses.
“I tell you, Jim,” said Campbell, “if I knew just where to get such
flimsies as you find, at about fifty cents on the dollar, I don’t know
but I’d put aside me prejudices an’ religious scruples an’ make a small
investment!”
McParlan was never communicative as to the source from whence his
bank-bills came, but pleasantly returned:
“When ye git rid of the rest of yer scruples and religious principles,
come to me wid the ready cash, an’ I’ll do what I’ve never done for any
wan afore, lade ye right up to me partner in business, an’ indorse ye to
him as a shover of the quare that’ll do to dale wid!”
Saying he would remember this, the other changed the subject to the
expulsion of Tom Fisher from the order, as an inactive and inefficient
leader, because he, Alex. Campbell, thought himself much better
qualified for, and really wanted the conspicuous place. The Shenandoah
Secretary replied he had never heard anything urged against Fisher, only
that he was not in favor of putting the enemies of the order under the
sod, but that was a serious objection to any Ancient Order man, hence he
was in favor of cutting Fisher off and electing Campbell, who was a
chief after his own heart, and would not hesitate to shoot a rascally
Welsh boss in person, if it was found for the good of the society. The
Summit official swallowed the bait, hook and all, and remarked,
self-complacently, that he believed, after the Tamaqua Convention,
already called for the 25th of August, he would have John P. Jones taken
care of, whether Kerrigan came up with his assistance or not. There were
now two men in his neighborhood, Hugh McGehan and James Roarty, who
could not be matched for excellence in shuffling off the mortal coil for
those needing such a job performed, and if he once sent them out, that
mining boss would never again have a chance to refuse a friend of his
work in the breast. Jones, the detective found out, resided at Storm
Hill, about Lansford, not far from Mike O’Donnel’s tavern, in a field
just at the foot of an old plane near the pipe-line ascending to Summit
Hill, and Campbell thought it one of the easiest things imaginable to
take the man off just after sunrise, some fine morning, when on the way
to Number Four Breaker, without a soul being the wiser for the job.
“We’ll fix him, yet!” was the late Bodymaster’s conclusion of the talk,
when suddenly interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Campbell. “Not a word
more!” was the sign made by the late Bodymaster, with a finger on his
lip, and as readily understood by McParlan, who quickly changed the
subject, saying, as a blind, he thought the “Company would very soon get
sick of standing out against the Union and offer to compromise on as
favorable a basis as that of 1874.” Mrs. Campbell suspected nothing, and
thought so too. Alex. Campbell knew it must come to that. After singing
“Widow Machree,” for the lady, the detective retired to his apartment.
The second day after the grand opening—the fourteenth of August,
rendered memorable as “bloody Saturday” in the coal regions—a fact,
however, that had not yet reached the knowledge of the little community
at Summit Hill, where few newspapers were taken and the telegraph
operatives were seriously uncommunicative—McParlan met his pretended
relative, Pat McKenna, the Bodymaster, but learned nothing new. At four
o’clock the same afternoon he repaired to McGehan’s saloon with
Campbell, and found Hugh, perfectly at his ease, smoking a pipe as
complacently as though no innocent human blood stained the hand that
supported his head. They had a pleasant chat, McParlan told one or two
stories, and also took a whiff from his cutty-pipe, and the three
enjoyed themselves in this way for an hour. At the end of that time, no
strangers being about, McParlan produced the new, nickel-plated pistol,
which he said he had taken from his hypothetical Welshman in Tamaqua,
and handed it over to McGehan for his scrutiny. He clicked the lock
critically, looked at the cylinder, and passed it back, saying it was
“an illigant affair, altogether.”
“So it is!” replied the owner of the repeater, putting it away, “but
divil a bit of good will it do me, in this or any other matter, if I
can’t find some cartridges! I don’t dare buy a single wan in the borough
of Tamaqua, for fear the gun may be traced to me ownership, an’ I don’t
care to go up on so small a job, when I can have bigger ones for the
axin’!”
McGehan hesitated a moment, looked cautiously around the room, was
assured that no one outside the Mollie ring heard him, and then
answered, in a low tone of voice:
“The cartridges for Roarty’s revolver might fit your shooter, but I am
not so sure that he has one left; an’ he too is a little timid about
purchasing, as it wor his pistol that I had to shoot Yost with!”
“Is that so?” carelessly remarked the detective, betraying no sign of
undue excitement over McGehan’s voluntary and tacit admission that he
had killed the Tamaqua police man, and at once adding “Well, never mind!
I can use the two I have in the cylinder, in case of accident, an’ as
I’m a tolerable marksman, I think no more’ll be actually wanted.”
McParlan had the three missing cartridges, at the moment, safely
secreted in his pocket. But McGehan was in for a clean breast of the
whole matter—would not stop—and went on with the narration:
“Ye see, we came to do the job in this way! Kerrigan an’ Campbell, they
had a trade between them, an’ I an’ Boyle was to go along, so was
Roarty, who started on ahead. Kerrigan agreed to get the pistols for us.
When we—Boyle and I—got over to Campbell’s we heard a messenger had been
there before us, comin’ from Roarty’s house, wid a word sayin’ as how
Roarty’s wife was taken sick, an’ for him to go straight for the doctor;
Roarty did so, but sent forward his pistol to represent him, to
Carroll’s house, where we were told to meet. When we reached Carroll’s,
sure an’ Roarty’s black pistol wor the only serviceable weapon in the
whole company, an’ Jim Carroll, he gave us a little, old,
breech-loading, single-barrel affair, which was of no account. I took
the big shooter, an’ gave the other to Boyle, after Kerrigan had been
out to try an’ borrow another, an’ returned empty-handed. An’ I told
Boyle, if he wakened, upon gettin’ up to Yost, an’ stirred a foot in
retrate, I’d shoot him down too! Kerrigan then went up Broad Street an’
put us in our places, near the fence, in the shadow of some trees, an’
after that went down town, saw the policemen together, and took a sip o’
whisky wid Yost—more’n I’d ha’ done in such a case—when he jist come
back to us, by a winding route, sayin’ all wor right, an’ the men would
be up by midnight, or a little later. They had to put out two lamps near
by. One would be taken by Yost, to outen, and the other by McCarron. It
wor nearly two o’clock when they came, both together, which wor very
different from our expectations. But they came! Kerrigan wanted to be
there, armed wid two rocks in his hands, to bate out Yost’s brains, in
case the pistols failed, but I ordered him away and made him stand fifty
yards off, rightly thinkin’ he wor too noticeable, from his small size,
an’ if any one saw him he would be known an’ remembered. Then the thing
wor done! Roarty’s pistol did it! It’s all nonsense to say McCarron did
not give chase, fur he did, an’ fired two shots at us, which I returned,
an’ then we ran away, Kerrigan, the rat, along wid us! But I made him
lave when we came out at Breslin’s White Bear tavern, an’ I would have
been much better plazed had he remained away an’ left us to find our
route by ourselves!”
“It wor a mighty slick thing!” exclaimed the operative, “an’ I’m sure
Tamaqua Division should be willin’ to send you over men to do your job
whenever ye may ask it!”
Campbell was of the same belief, saying that Kerrigan and Carroll were
all right and would come up with their help in due season.
The ensuing Sunday, at church, in company with Campbell, McParlan met
James Roarty, and the latter accompanied him to McGehan’s. Then, in
McGehan’s presence, he made more inquiry for cartridges for his
supposed-to-be-stolen revolver, and Roarty answered:
“I believe I have some belonging to the revolver McGehan used at
Tamaqua!”
He made known his willingness to supply a charge to McParlan. Then
Roarty left, expecting soon to return, and McParlan and McGehan passed
the evening, to a late hour, waiting in the damp, cool basement, but
Roarty did not get back, probably being prevented by the rain, which was
falling, and finally the operative separated from his companion,
returning to Campbell’s for a bed.
During the detective’s talk with McGehan he found that the murderer of
Yost boarded with a young widow lady named Mrs. Boyle, living near
Number Four Breaker, who was very fond of her lodger, and intended to
become his wife. It was more than probable, from this circumstance,
that, should McGehan be arrested, Mrs. Boyle would try to swear him
clear, by saying he had been in her company the night of the fifth of
July. How clearly McParlan saw future events will be shown hereafter.
Well satisfied with his trip to Lansford and vicinity, McKenna returned
to Tamaqua with Alex. Campbell the ensuing Monday, there to find very
important news. Picking up a copy of the Pottsville _Miners’ Journal_,
for Monday, the 16th of August, the agent read aloud to his comrades an
article, entitled “Bloody Saturday,” of which the following is a
summary:
“Saturday was a horrible day for the people of the Mahanoy Valley. The
devil had business on his hands. Two dastardly assassinations and one
case of manslaughter, beside several cases of lesser crimes, were his
harvest. At Girardville, possibly the most heinous act of the short but
bloody list was committed. A good citizen, and a mild, inoffensive man,
was murdered, in the person of Thomas Gwyther, Justice of the Peace.
“Saturday, the miners in the Mahanoy Valley received the first pay of
any consequence since the strike, and the result was that Girardville,
in the evening, was crowded with men in various stages of intoxication.
The rougher element grew absolutely rampant and defiant of lawful
restraint. Gangs of ruffians went about the streets, flourishing their
revolvers. Though there were special policemen, they were powerless and
cowed. One of the bands was headed by a man named Hoary, who was heard
to exclaim, as he exhibited his weapon: ‘Give me some one to shoot! I’ll
kill the first man that insults me!’ In their travels this party went to
Jacob Wendel’s tavern, and jostled a number of persons in the bar room.
Hoary struck and maltreated Mr. Sheisler. Squire Gwyther was sitting in
the room, at the time, and to him Hoary’s victim applied for a warrant.
Before matters could advance any further there, Wendel put Hoary and
party out, and then let the Squire and the complainant out by the back
way. They went to the Squire’s office and he had begun to write out a
warrant for Hoary’s arrest, when that individual and his gang entered
the office, threatening to kill both the Justice and the plaintiff if
the warrant should be issued. They were got out and the door locked. The
warrant was properly prepared, and the Squire stepped out to look for
Hoary. He was standing near his own door at the corner, when he found a
man a few yards off with a leveled gun. His daughter also saw the same
man, and cried out, ‘For God’s sake, don’t shoot father!’ Almost
immediately the gun was fired, the contents taking effect in the breast
of the Justice and in a short while causing death. The assassin fled and
escaped. A man named Thos. Love was arrested on suspicion, but he proved
an _alibi_ and was released. Subsequently it was ascertained that the
assassin was Wm. Love, who is missing. Naturally, so bold a defiance of
law and so dastardly a murder created the most intense excitement in the
borough and vicinity, where the victim was known and esteemed.
“At Shenandoah a cool and premeditated murder was committed. The motive
of this particular assassination is to be sought in the events of the
past. On Monday night, August the 11th, 1873, a Welshman, named Tom
Jones, was assaulted, knocked down and beaten by one Edward Cosgrove, in
Shenandoah. Jones’ friends ran to his rescue, and among them was a young
fellow, called Gomer James, a Welsh miner. In the trouble which
followed, Cosgrove was shot and killed, James was accused of his murder,
arrested and tried. The testimony at the trial was not sufficient to
convict him and he was acquitted. His escape incensed Cosgrove’s
friends, who believed James guilty, and threats were made to take his
life. Saturday last, the Rescue Hook and Ladder Company, of Shenandoah,
held a picnic, which being well attended, was run far into the night.
Gomer James, somewhere about 11 o’clock, was inside a bar at this
picnic, waiting upon its patrons, and a number of men came up. They
asked for beer, and while James was drawing it he was shot and killed.
In the semi-darkness and confusion the assassin escaped.
“A dispatch from Shenandoah, received last evening, says ‘Gomer James
was shot last evening, about 12 o’clock, at the picnic grounds in
Hecksher and Glover’s Grove, the ball passing through his heart,
embedding itself in his back near the skin. Dr. Quail, Coroner, assisted
by Drs. Reagan and Byers, held a _post-mortem_ examination. Deputy
Coroner Dengler impaneled the following jury: T. J. Foster, R. Stacker,
Lyam Bloom, George A. Herring, A. H. Roades, and H. C. Boyer. The jury
adjourned until Monday morning to finish hearing the testimony, there
being a large number of witnesses. The evidence so far is likely to
point suspicion on some one.’
“The usual results of a large pay were visible in Mahanoy, Saturday
night. There were numbers of drunken men on the streets, and a lawless
spirit seemed to animate some of them. There were several encounters, in
which individuals got roughly handled, and a fight which cost the life
of an innocent citizen. A disturbance arose at Phillips’ Pottsville
House, on Centre Street, between Wm. M. Thomas and a man named James
Dugan. Both drew revolvers, and fired a number of shots at each other.
Which fired first we could not ascertain. Thomas was in an intoxicated
condition. He received a bullet in his left cheek, where it now is. A
man whose name is given as Christian Zimmerman, or Christian Brenhower,
who was standing across the street, waiting for his wife to come out of
a store where she was shopping, received a bullet through his left lung.
It was taken out of his back. Though alive at five o’clock yesterday
afternoon, this unfortunate man was surely dying, having made his will.
Yesterday Dugan was arrested and held by Squire Comrey in $800, for an
aggravated assault and battery on William Thomas. Thomas was arrested
and committed by Squire Groody in default of $1,800 bail, for an
aggravated assault and battery on Dugan. He was lodged in the county
jail yesterday afternoon by officer Gorman. So it appears no one has
been arrested for the killing of the innocent man.
“A man, whose name we did not learn, received a flesh wound in a leg
during the shooting. Another, called ‘Carney,’ a shoemaker, while
standing on his own door-step, was assaulted by a party of young men,
struck on the head with a billy, and had an oyster knife stuck into his
back. His injuries are not serious!”
McKenna was astounded to find that Gomer James, after so much had been
done for him, should have engaged in any public position, especially as
booth-tender at a picnic, thus placing himself temptingly before the
Mollies, who, for over two years, as he must have known, had been
thirsting for his blood. He reached the very result that might have been
expected from such criminal recklessness.
When Alex. Campbell learned that Gomer James was killed, he almost shed
tears of delight. McKenna was forced, against his will, to participate
in the general rejoicing which followed. It proved hard for him to put
on the hateful mask, but, galling as it was, he had to wear it. The same
afternoon, he returned to Mahanoy City, finding the country in a blaze
of excitement, and none the more safe place of refuge for a man, well
known as a prominent member of the Ancient Order of Hibernians,
otherwise the Mollie Maguires, as he was. Remaining but a short time he
went, by train, to Shenandoah, saying, when he met McAndrew, Morris, and
Lawler at that place, that his friends, the Buffalo detectives, had
either been frightened off by recent occurrences, or gone away to
Canada, on a false scent, and it was no longer necessary he should hide
from them. All the Mollies were glad to meet him. The non-Mollies, as
they were aware of his prolonged absence from the vicinity, could not
look upon him as at all chargeable with the killing of Gomer James, and
therefore did not, at this time, particularly seek his life. They—the
goodly citizens—merely glanced at him, out of the corners of their eyes,
and some thought he was good enough to be hanged, but made no overt
demonstrations.
[Illustration: “_Hurley reached forward, over the counter, and fired,
the bullet striking Gomer James._”]
McKenna had not been four hours in Shenandoah when he learned, through
Muff Lawler, that there was little doubt who had done for the young
Welshman. Mike Carey, who was present, with Lawler, McAndrew, Morris,
and other Mollies, said in an impressive whisper:
“Hurley reached forward, over the counter, and fired, the bullet
striking Gomer James full in his heart, an’ he fell! Before any one
could go to his assistance he wor dead! I saw the thing done myself!”
It seems that Shenandoah Division was in session at the time of the
assassination—eleven o’clock at night of the fourteenth—when Carey
rushed in, before the members, and announced, “Tom Hurley has shot Gomer
James!” He was quickly stopped by McAndrew, and subsequently sharply
reprimanded because of his thoughtlessness, in making such a statement
before all the members. But it was doubtless true that Tom Hurley had
done the deed.
As a result of this unexpected success, all the Mollies in Shenandoah
engaged in a grand bacchanal, and few remained sober. To get rid of
them, McKenna left the place and went to Girardville. Kehoe said that
the murder of Squire Gwyther was the result of a drunken spree, and
Love, he was glad to say, had made his escape. The young man, Thomas
Love, who had been arrested by High Constable Kehoe, in person, he knew,
as well as any one, was quite innocent, but the brother, who was guilty,
had traveled off, untrammeled.
This dark day was not the end of the reign of the assassins in
Pennsylvania.
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