MORE BOSSES DOOMED.
Now the Mollies having Gomer James dead and buried and out of their way,
it was believed by some bloodshed would cease. But the attentive reader
will have arrived at the conclusion that the end was not yet. For my own
part, I must confess to having experienced occasional periods of
disappointment. Here had I been, using my best efforts, seconded by the
most effective help the Company could furnish, and notwithstanding our
united action, despite the fact that we daily knew much of the order,
assassinations were not being entirely prevented. This midnight society,
to guard against surprise or capture, had its committees within
committees, or, in other words, its secret affairs were seldom given to
the general members, but were kept in charge of the leading officers and
prominent personages. Hence, very few of the Mollies in Shenandoah were
officially aware of the fact that Gomer James was to be put out of the
way. McAndrew, Hurley, Morris, Munley, Monaghan, McKenna, and a few more
knew it, and kept it to themselves—excepting the detective who reported
it—as those in Tamaqua and Summit Hill retained among a few leading
spirits the facts connected with the murder of Yost and the preparations
for cutting off John P. Jones. But Jones was notified by Mr. Franklin, a
guard of men put in his house, and the boss instructed to seek some
other route, by which to reach his work, than the pipe-line. For a while
he maintained a measure of caution, but not during many weeks; it became
an old story. Danger, as he thought, had been overestimated.
Carelessness and the resumption of his former habits quickly followed
this conclusion.
The convention, appointed for the twenty-fifth of August, occurred at
Carroll’s house, the members occupying three chambers in the upper part
of the building. Among those convened on this interesting occasion were
Jack Kehoe, County Delegate; Wm. Gavin, County Secretary; Christopher
Donnelly, County Treasurer; Jerry Kane, of Mt. Laffee; Francis Keenan,
of Forestville; Frank O’Neill, of St Clair; James Roarty, of Coaldale;
John Donahue—“Yellow Jack”—of Tuscarora, and Michael O’Brien, of Mahanoy
City. Tom Hurley and John Morris, of Shenandoah, were in one of the
rooms for a few minutes. Many outsiders seemed to be in the city and in
the building, but the parties mentioned transacted all the business of
the meeting. Pat Butler was on hand, but not as a legal part of the
convention’s committee—only as a sort of witness. During the session of
the lesser body, which was devoted principally to hearing grievances,
expelling and readmitting members, Tom Hurley came forward and made
known that to him, and to no one else, was the society indebted for the
killing of Gomer James. Modesty, it appears, was far from a prominent
point in Hurley’s character. At least, on this day, he not only boasted
much of his peculiar service, but put before the order, with no
circumlocution or evasion, a direct and open claim to a money reward for
putting out of the way the murderer of Cosgrove. He thought he was
entitled to a large sum for his success. James McKenna, the detective,
acting as Secretary of the committee before which Hurley’s demand was
made, was obliged to receive it, but Pat Butler, of Loss Creek,
presented himself before the same committee with the verbal demand of
one McClain, of his division, who asserted that he, and not Hurley, had
been the marksman who brought down the young Welshman. When Kehoe heard
of the difference, he ordered Pat Butler and James McKenna to act as
arbiters and to settle the difference by holding an investigation and
reporting a decision, in writing, at a subsequent date, directing to him
at his home in Girardville. They accepted the duty and appointed the
succeeding Sabbath for the appearance, in Shenandoah, of the two men and
their witnesses, when the case should be heard and adjusted according to
its real merits. Kehoe would make no movement toward rewarding the man,
who, he was free to say, deserved a fair recompense, until this trial
had been concluded. Friends of Hurley were satisfied, they urged, that a
dozen persons could swear Tom did the shooting. Every confidence was
expressed that the blood-money would go to him and to no other person.
Jerry Kane, Pat Dolan, Frank Keenan, Jack Donahue, Mike O’Brien, and
James McKenna, constituted the committee first spoken of as having been
selected by the convention.
The convention and its committee, after transacting their legitimate
business, adjourned, the members returning to their respective homes,
only Hurley, Morris, and McKenna remaining at Tamaqua over night.
The Shenandoah Mollies were very anxious to enlist the Secretary in
assisting to get bail for Chas. Hayes, who was in jail in Pottsville. He
consented, and through his influence Marks, the proprietor of the
Columbia House, was induced to sign Hayes’ bond. This resulted in the
young man’s release, and earned for McKenna the gratitude of his many
friends.
McAndrew, while in attendance upon the convention, was approached by
Kerrigan and asked to send men to do the Jones killing. The Shenandoah
President answered, assuring him he would, if he could be made to see
that assistance was, in return, ready for him when required. Kerrigan
promised to furnish the needed men on a trade, and then McAndrew said he
should have the help of his branch in doing anything reasonable.
McKenna went back to Shenandoah the day following the convention,
accompanied by Morris and Hurley, and while on the way his comrades were
anxious to know if the operative had recently seen anything of Linden.
He answered that he had not.
“If I thought, for wan moment, Linden wor doin’ anything on us, or on
you, McKenna, I’d make him a target for me revolver as sure as ever I
came up wid him!”
This sentiment of Hurley’s was echoed by John Morris, who said he’d
shoot Linden on sight, in such a contingency.
“Oh, ye naden’t spend yer precious breath over Linden!” replied McKenna.
“I know him pretty well! He’s all as right as a trivet, as square as any
man can be, and will never go back on his true friends!”
This quieted the fears of the two men for the time, and no more threats
were indulged in during the journey. McKenna informed Linden by letter,
that night, of his danger, at least regarding the empty menaces of
Morris and Hurley, hinting that it might be well that his friend have a
care for himself during the excitement prevailing, or he would possibly
find the acts of the Mollies in question not so harmless as their savage
words and looks.
The meeting to prove or refute Hurley’s assertion that he killed Gomer
James, as against the application of McClain for the same rare
distinction, took place near Number Three Breaker, Sunday, the
twenty-ninth of August. McKenna, Pat Butler, Hurley, and several of his
witnesses, gathered in the bush at the appointed time. There was little
or no evidence introduced, but Hurley’s statement was reiterated. He
said he, with his own hand, had killed the young Welshman, and demanded
recompense for the act in no measured terms. His own mother, it seems,
had been an eye-witness of the murderous work of the son. She had heard
him swear he would shoot James or be killed himself. Hurley had no
compunctions of conscience in refusing to obey her command to go home,
but repeated his oath that he “would fetch Gomer James that day, if it
cost him his life!” Too well had he kept his word. Now he wanted the
wages of his iniquity, the thirty pieces of silver for which, more than
from feelings of revenge, he had shed human blood.
Butler’s man, McClain, so the Loss Creek Bodymaster intimated, was
afraid to meet Hurley, refused to put in an appearance before the
committee, and there was no course left but to quietly acquiesce in
Hurley’s charge. This was done, and McKenna requested to prepare a
written version of the decision arrived at and forward the same to the
County Delegate. There the duty of the committee of two ended. The men
dispersed to their houses, and Hurley had made another confession,
before witnesses, of his guilt.
The following Monday, Hurley presented himself at McKenna’s
boarding-place, received the letter to Jack Kehoe, and departed in quest
of the reward for his deed. It is not known that he ever received it.
But, at a later date, Kehoe was heard by the detective to say that
Hurley should be given five hundred dollars, by right, from the
society’s treasury for the important job he had performed. Jack was
always very free-hearted as long as the money donated did not come from
his own pocket. It is fair to presume that the murderer will have to
wait until the gallows claims its own before fully realizing his worldly
recompense for that cold-blooded assassination. After finishing this
matter the two men adjourned to Tobin’s ball-alley, where they had
several games. The operative thought it necessary that he should be seen
in company with Hurley, and at the same time remember, if he could, who
observed the companionship.
It was very late when McKenna retired that night—rather quite early in
the morning—and he was so completely fagged out by the labors of the
day, not to speak of the drinks Hurley had compelled him to imbibe, that
he slept until after sunrise. When he did regain consciousness he found
another man reposing in the bed by his side. Sitting up, and somewhat
astonished that such a liberty should be taken with his apartment, the
agent learned that his companion was none other than Mike Doyle, who had
evidently arrived after all Mrs. Cooney’s couches were occupied and been
sent to repose with him. So soundly was the operative sleeping that he
was unaware of the fact that he had an unbidden bedfellow. When he
arose, which was soon after making the discovery, he saw, on the
wash-stand, a Smith and Wesson revolver, about the size of the new one
he carried, where it had probably been left by Doyle. This portended
business, as he very well knew that Doyle had no weapon of his own, and
he at once proceeded to rouse his partner and ask him what was in the
wind.
“Where did ye get the repeater?” asked McKenna, pointing to the pistol,
when Doyle had sufficiently rubbed his eyes to understand where he
really was.
“Oh, I got it from Ned Monaghan,” he replied, yawning, as if not above
half pleased that he had been called so early.
“An’ I suppose Monaghan is so rich that he can afford to be afther
givin’ away five-shooters to every man what comes along! Faix, I belave
I’ll have to get meself one that way!”
“No! I have only borrowed the pistol! There’s a big job on hand! Me an’
Jim an’ Charlie O’Donnell, Charlie McAllister an’ Munley are to go to
Raven Run an’ jist finish off Tom Sanger, the mining boss, an’ take him
afther he comes out to his dinner!”
“Is that all?” inquired McKenna, treating the matter lightly, but
feeling, in truth, very much concerned, as he knew the persons mentioned
and was very sure there would be bloody work whenever Friday O’Donnell
had a share.
“I think, for my part, that’s plenty an’ to spare,” returned Doyle, as
he proceeded to dress himself. “I don’t at all relish the thing! But of
course orders must be obeyed, an’ I’m the last man to go back on the
Bodymasther!”
Here was news for the detective—early news, at that. But what could he
do with it? By the time he was well down stairs to breakfast, Doyle
signified his readiness for that meal. In the bar who should present
himself but that early-bird, Tom Hurley, already well posted about the
proposed Raven Run matter.
“Jim, lend me your old, gray coat!” said Doyle. “I came off without
anything but a light one, an’ I nade somethin’ somewhat heavier!”
“Ye can take it, in welcome!” replied McKenna. And Doyle put the garment
on and wore it at the dining-table. It was the same unfortunate coat
John Gibbons had donned when starting upon the last expedition to take
off Wm. M. Thomas. The agent soon saw that the new situation of affairs
much resembled the former in other particulars. Not only had one of the
proposed murderers secured the loan of his gray coat, but he was himself
so hampered, through the close attendance of Hurley and others, that
there was no opportunity to send a message of any sort to Mr. Franklin,
at Philadelphia, or to Linden. In fact, as concerned the whereabouts of
the latter individual, he was at the moment entirely ignorant. He might
be in Lansford, looking after Jones, as he had been intending, or in
Tamaqua, or in Ashland. Where he was he could not tell. But as McKenna
was in the company of the Mollies, and could not avoid them on any
pretext, however specious, it made little difference. An attempt to send
off word by telegraph would be the signal for suspicion, and with men
like his companions a shadow of doubt was good enough pretext for an
assassination. Hence, hard as it really was, he endeavored to quell his
excitement, appear to enjoy the prospect, and lend seeming countenance
to that against which every thought, impulse, and instinct of his nature
recoiled.
Hurley told Doyle that if he went with the O’Donnell crowd, he would
have to act the manly part, and perform his whole duty, or they would
kill him as if he were only a mad dog. With this consoling remark the
young murderer proceeded to give Doyle particular instructions in the
fine art of assassination, showing him minutely how a man should be
killed and how not killed. He accompanied his remarks with
illustrations, made in his peculiar style, in the yard attached to
Lawler’s premises.
McKenna and Hurley, still in company—it appeared to the operative that
he would do almost anything to free himself from Tom’s friendly and
unconscious surveillance—strolled about the streets of the city, as
usual taking the prominent saloons in their route, and finally
encountering James, _alias_ Friday O’Donnell—a tall, slimly-built,
fair-complexioned man, whose smooth face, dark eyes, brown hair and
genial expression of countenance, were no indication of the murderous
passions slumbering in his being—with James McAllister, the latter a
brother-in-law of Jack Kehoe. McAllister was quickly photographed on the
memory of the detective. Some twenty-four years of age, of florid
complexion, a little freckled, light hair and mustache, and usually well
appareled, he was an average representative of his race, and by no means
unhandsome in form and figure. The latter said that Chas. O’Donnell
would soon be through his work and had promised to join them. Friday
O’Donnell carried two revolvers, which the agent saw were about the same
size as his own, bearing a number thirty-two cartridge. In company,
after Charles O’Donnell came, all repaired to Muff Lawler’s residence.
[Illustration: “_All repaired to Muff Lawler’s residence._”]
While on the way, McKenna made every excuse possible to separate himself
from Hurley, who stuck to him more closely than Carey had, through the
night following the departure of the men to shoot Wm. Thomas, and
finally, seeing that all his efforts were useless, he discontinued them
and came to the conclusion that, whatever was to be done, it would be
impossible for him to successfully interfere. The Mollies must take
their course. His life would pay the forfeit of any indiscreet word or
act. The news of the intended foray could not be forwarded to
Philadelphia, neither was it possible to admonish the intended victim.
There was nothing left for him but to endure the suspense, carry with
him the horrible thought that a man was possibly being murdered in his
neighborhood, and he impotent to warn or protect. “Where is Linden?”
“What can be keeping him?” “What shall I do?” were some of the questions
which puzzled his brain while he was making his way to Lawler’s house.
When all the men arrived, and, well prepared for the deed, again left
the locality so as to be early at Raven Run, the operative secretly
hoped Hurley would start too, but he did not. On the contrary, fastening
himself more closely to his person, he marched arm-in-arm with him to
Frank McAndrew’s place, and insisted upon treating to the drinks for all
who gathered there. And this was no small number, as McAndrew had called
a meeting of the leading members of the division for that afternoon, and
they were convening at five o’clock, so that their business might be
ended before nightfall. The liquor once consumed, there was no time to
spare until the appointed hour, and Hurley and McKenna entered the
division room, an upper chamber in the building, in company. There were
only men composing the inside ring of the lodge present. To these, after
prayer and the usual opening ceremonies, McAndrew said the time for
action had come. The Hibernians in other places were following the good
example set by his branch, and he must not be idle. He had come to the
conclusion that a boss named Reese must be cut off, and reported he had
an order from Kerrigan, Bodymaster of Tamaqua Division, for three men to
do an important job at Summit Hill. Jones was to be put out of the way,
and “there must be no growling about it!” Mike Carey was chosen to go
and assist in the Lansford scheme, but unqualifiedly refused. McAndrew
was much angered, and exclaimed that such conduct would be punished as
it deserved, when he had more time, and in a moment selected John
McGrail, Thomas Munley, and Mike Darcey to go to Tamaqua and report to
Kerrigan. As Munley lived at Gilberton and was not present, Ed Sweeney
was detailed to inform him of the affair on hand, and instruct him when
to start and where to report.
“The latest must not be later than to-morrow night!” ordered the
Bodymaster.
McKenna was requested to visit Tamaqua at once, make all right with
Kerrigan, deliver the men for his job, and secure those to do for Reese.
There was nothing to be gained by refusal. He had to go. The thought
struck him: “Here is a chance for a warning! It is my only opportunity!”
He promptly accepted the mission and at once took cars for Tamaqua. It
was a terrible ordeal, but from it there seemed to open no avenue of
escape.
Here is the situation: Campbell striving to have John P. Jones killed,
and calling upon Kerrigan for men to do the deed. McAndrew to furnish
these men to Kerrigan, and Kerrigan, to make the matter even, to repay
in a batch of assassins for the killing of Reese. Shenandoah Division
having its business transacted in the Sanger case by persons from
Girardville, part of the number being relatives of Jack Kehoe, McAndrew
was not informed—though McKenna was, through his chancing to sleep with
Doyle—of the duty the O’Donnell delegation were to perform. When the
operative thought over the complications by which he was surrounded he
hardly knew which thing to do first. But, as soon as he reached Tamaqua,
he closeted himself long enough at the Columbia House to indite a brief
letter to Mr. Franklin, setting forth the critical condition of affairs,
and breathed somewhat more freely when the dangerous paper was out of
his possession, safely deposited in the post-office. He had done all he
could, but without much hope that his endeavors would save the lives
threatened.
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