The night before the one on which McKenna had determined to take his departure from Pottsville, while in Dormer's saloon, some words passed and a quarrel arose between the detective and a young person named Philip Nash, and the drunken desperado undertook the task, it seemed, of teaching the stranger some of the tenets of the Molly Maguires by actual demonstration. Whipping out his revolver, he made known his intention of finishing him just then and there, and, had not the operative been on the alert, and immediately covered Nash with his own weapon, it is more than probable that at least one career of usefulness in the mining region would have met with a speedy termination. As it transpired, Nash appreciated it was life for life, which was far from his sort of game, and he waited action until Dormer, with his powerful person, arrived and stood between them, when he quietly lowered and put away his pistol, McKenna following the example set, but taking especial care to have the protector within ready reach of his right hand.
"Phil Nash!" exclaimed Dormer, "what is this you're afther doin' now?"
"I'll whip this fellow, or me name's not Nash!" was the angry response.
"Two can play at that trick!" retorted McKenna.
Then the combatants came together again, despite the presence of the big pacificator, Nash aiming a swinging blow with his fist upon the detective, but happily missing him. McKenna was more fortunate. His stroke, full at the side 93of the face of Nash, hit the mark, stopping with force behind his opponent's left ear, and tumbling him to the floor as if he had been a felled ox. When able to do so, he regained his feet, and, for the second time, essayed to draw his revolver; but Dormer, seizing both the young man's arms, held him in a vise-like grip, as a mere child, saying:
"No you don't, Phil! You've tried that once too often already, and I now recommend ye to drop the matther directly! McKenna, here, is an old-timer, an' was inside the ring when you were a wee gossoon! An' you're breakin' the rules in attackin' him!"
It was strange to see how quickly Dormer's words wrought a change in the irate bruiser. He released himself, promising to obey the saloon-keeper, and, saying he'd make it all right, caught both of the operative's hands in his own, and abjectly begged to be forgiven for his violence.
"Sure, an' I didn't know ye wur wan of us!" he said.
Of course McKenna, who was unhurt, and had not been knocked down, could well afford to be generous, and freely forgave the miner. They exchanged civilities, and drank a noggin with Dormer, to seal peace and reconciliation.
During the short walk to the depot, the ensuing day, McKenna was accompanied by Dormer and Kelly, now his warm and inseparable friends. At the train, the tavern-keeper took the detective aside, and gave him, beside the letter to Lawler—which he had previously put in his possession—several separate slips of paper, bearing the names and addresses of a number of leading Mollies. Among them were John Gallagher, of Coaldale, and John Mahoney, alias the Cat, of Gilberton. Each slip contained the information that the bearer was a particular friend of the writer, looking for a job of work.
"Jist plaze to remember," said the Pottsville giant, "that you're not to brathe a blessed word to any wan, that I tould ye a single point! You see I'm out, at the present, an' it 94wouldn't be the right thing to be makin' myself too forward like, wid even an old head in the business! So, kape dark! None of 'em will refuse ye help in gettin' work, depind on that!"
"I'll jist mind well what ye say, an' many thanks for your kindness, beside!" returned McKenna, as the bell struck thrice, warning passengers that the cars were about to move.
"Good luck to you, anyhow! An' be sure ye come to my house for your Christmas!" were Dormer's parting words, as he clasped McKenna's palm closely. Dan Kelly was equally warm in his requests, and profuse in regrets connected with their separation. Promising to be back in Pottsville by the holidays, if he could possibly make it convenient, the traveler stepped aboard the coach, and sped away on his journey.
The detective, thinking it inexpedient to go direct from Pottsville to Shenandoah, decided upon visiting some other localities before stopping there. Perhaps he might secure valuable points which would set him before the Mollies in a favorable light. He had, early in the week, directed Superintendent Franklin to forward any letters of his to St. Clair. Stopping over, therefore, at that town, he received from the postmaster a missive containing instructions to go to some of the neighboring places, and then repair to Shenandoah. He answered these, and also wrote to Dormer, saying (what was not true) that he had met and agreed with a man to work on a new water basin, in the mountains; hence should slightly defer his visit to Shenandoah. He also told the innkeeper that he need not write, as it was impossible to say where he might remain, but agreeing to give him the proper address as soon as it could be decided upon.
The next point to honor with his presence was Girardville, where McKenna knew there were many Mollies. Arriving there, he secured a room at a second-class hotel, 95and started out to see the place. At one of the saloons he encountered a man, who was named to him as Tom Durkin, alias Lanky, a tall, raw-boned, ugly-looking fellow, who was drinking very heavily. This party the detective easily attached himself to, and soon learned that he was about to go to Shenandoah, to see some relatives and old-time associates.
"Do you chance to know one Muff Lawler?" inquired the detective.
"Know him? Do a child know its mother? Know him? Be the staff of St. Patrick, that I do! Right well! An' are you acquainted wid him?"
"Not personally," answered McKenna, "but I'm on purty good terms wid Bushy Deenan, Capt. Gallagher, Dan Kelly, and more of his friends in Pottsville. An', sure, they're a jolly crowd!"
"Faith, an' I've been in this country, it war four years last Michaelmas, an' never met their equals, nowhere! An' you knows that set do ye?"
Lanky shook hands with the detective, making much show of pleasure, and put his right forefinger to the right side of his face in a peculiar style, at the same time watching the movements of his companion. Then he asked:
"Do you know anything about it?"
"Not just at present," responded McKenna, "but in the old times I was well posted!"
Of course this was enough for Durkin. They were companionable, fraternal, convivial, and thus traveled about the town together, Lanky introducing his new friend to all his associates as "a fine chip of the old block," or employing words of a similar significance. Finally, it was with some difficulty that McKenna shook him off, late in the day, and, pleading business as an excuse, left him to finish his spree solitary and alone.
Here was another point gained by McKenna. One of the latest signs of recognition of the Sleepers, or of some similar 96society, was in his possession. But he did not dare to use it, well remembering an unpleasant episode previously occurring to him at Pottsville. On that occasion, having encountered Fenton Cooney, a miner from Wadesville, at Dormer's, he was spoken of as an ancient Mollie—Cooney being actually what the detective assumed to be, and a sharp one at that. Cooney at once proceeded to test the new-comer, who, fortunately, was acting as though greatly intoxicated. Quickly apprehending that he was no match for the inquirer, from the direction that his questions took, he imbibed a stiff glass of grog at the bar, with his interviewer, and shortly thereafter fell over on a bench and immediately passed into a state of semi-unconsciousness, from which even Dormer himself, by a powerful shaking, failed to arouse him. Cooney was very angry, and told the innkeeper that he had a notion to kick the drunken man—drunk only in simulation—from the house. Dormer proved a friend, and insisted that it was all a mistake; there was no doubt in his mind of the man's former membership; but he was a victim of liquor—which was his only noticeable failing—and, if taken when duly sober, he had faith that Cooney would recognize him as all he represented himself to be. Some things he had forgotten, it was true, but he remembered enough to satisfy him that he was all right. Cooney, not so easily deluded, roundly swore that he could never believe the stranger a true friend until he produced his clearance card from the body to which he had belonged. Escaping so narrowly from this impending trap, the detective was more careful thereafter. Evidently he must see clearer and travel further before successfully imposing upon well-informed Sleepers. It proved also quite fortunate that he cut adrift from Lanky, as, before night, that besotted individual found himself under arrest for an aggravated assault upon a man who had indiscreetly spoken against the Mollies in his presence.
97It was the middle of December, 1873, that the detective made his début in the pleasant little town of Girardville. One of the first persons for him to meet was Pat Birmingham, a school-teacher, who addressed him:
"Stranger, didn't I see you, a few days ago, at Dormer's place, in Pottsville?"
"Faith," responded McKenna, "ye did that! I remimber ye perfectly! I wor just a little under the influence, on that occasion. An' it's that way I am much oftener than is good for me moral character! But I'm jist reformin' a bit now—by the same token, will ye have a sup wid me?—I'm flush, an' don't mind tratin'!"
"I don't care if I do have a taste," answered the schoolmaster.
During their trip to a saloon where the pedagogue said they kept the best Irish whiskey in town, McKenna gave out that he was just in receipt of his pension from the government, granted him on account of wounds he had suffered from while serving, under Commodore Davis, on the flag-ship Blackhawk, at the capture of Memphis, in 1862. And it was well taken by Birmingham, as was the liquor, when they had found it. McKenna managed to water his portion considerably, so that its effect upon him was not noticeable.
"I suppose from the company I found you in at Pottsville," said the teacher, "that you are an Ancient!"
"An' phat is that?"
"A Mollie Maguire!"
"Sure, an' you're wrong there! That is a thing I've heard of, but know nothin' about."
"Just the way with all of them! I believe if I asked Pat Dormer, he'd deny being a member, point blank! It's all right, though! Every man to his faith! But I've known some who are Mollies and, at the same time, quite decent people and honorable citizens. Now there's Jack Kehoe, for example, in the tavern over the way. He's the most 98staunch man in the business, but, for all that, a very good neighbor, an' I never saw him drunk in my life, or beating anybody, inside or outside his saloon. That you can't say of everybody, Mollie or not Mollie!"
"I have heard of Kehoe," said McKenna, "but I have not the pleasure of his acquaintance. Before I lave the borough, I mane to give him a call. Still, I wants ye to understand that, tho' rough appearin', an' given to rather hard company, I'm not quite a Mollie Maguire!"
This was thrown out as possibly suggestive to the citizen that he invite him into Kehoe's; also, by denying all knowledge of the society, to cause the hearer to more firmly believe in his membership. Birmingham did not, or would not, take the hint, and neglected to ask the new-found friend across to see Kehoe, but, as had been intended, he did gain strength in the idea that McKenna was connected with the mysterious brotherhood. Some further talk ensued, when the men separated, the pedagogue to attend to his pupils, and the operative to pursue his investigations.
"Kehoe's Residence."
The afternoon of the following day McKenna left his hotel, fully determined to secure an acquaintance with Jack Kehoe. The weather was stormy, business dull, and he would probably find a number of men congregated in the tavern. Kehoe's residence—the Hibernian House—which is expected to play an important part in the pages of this work, was and still is a two-story frame building, situated convenient to business, not a great distance from the Catholic church in Girardville. Having its gable to the street, and a single square window at either end, directly beneath the peak of the roof, the usual supply of casements and doors for a structure of the size, and painted a dull, red color, on the ground floor, front, was the bar-room, and in the rear of that the kitchen. From the latter apartment a staircase gave access to the living rooms of the family in the story above. There was also a door from the bar, leading to the cook's 99domain. Throughout the interior the arrangements for occupation were of a comfortable but inexpensive character, and everything was cared for in a manner evidencing the capacity of Mrs. Kehoe, in the rle of housekeeper, as better than ordinary. It was also reported in the town that she was the sharper member of the hymeneal firm, and fully in accord with her husband on the Mollie Maguire question. She probably approved his membership, not because of any particular bloodthirstiness in her disposition, but because the affiliation brought money to their family purse and politically elevated Jack Kehoe.
Kehoe, as the operative had already heard, was a native of the city of Wicklow, Ireland, some twenty-seven miles from Dublin, and a man of but common education. His wife had been a Miss O'Donnel, of Mahanoy. Their family consisted at the time of five children.
When the detective entered the saloon, he found several miners within, clad in their holiday suits, showing that they had not been working that day, or were on the night shift. The proprietor of the place, in person, was behind the counter, evidently in good humor, and everything passing to his satisfaction. McKenna stepped modestly to the bar, ordered a drink, swallowed it, paid the reckoning, and then occupied a seat on a bench while he filled and smoked his short pipe. Some pleasant words, dropped to a man near him, regarding the weather, were answered cheerfully, and soon the conversation took a wider range, engineered by the new arrival, and culminated in that person's second call at the bar to inquire of Kehoe as to the prospect for work brightening up, and asking about the chances for a stranger getting employment. Kehoe responded quietly, without a very pronounced brogue:
"Well, times are rather hard here at present, but there's a show of their soon mendin'. I hear that some collieries now lying idle, are to begin operations in a short time. If 100they do, then more hands will be needed. Perhaps some of the men here may know, better than I, the opportunities for immediate jobs. They are mostly miners. I say, Mike," turning to the man McKenna had previously been speaking to, "is there a show for work, for a stranger, that you know about?"
"Shure, an' I don't mind me of any! But some one else may!"
And Mike, as he was called, with several others, came up to the bar, as if willing to be consulted. McKenna, thereupon, acting as he seemed to be called upon, under the circumstances, very promptly set forward drinks for all, which Kehoe prepared and the company disposed of with evident relish. The general expression, however, was that the operative would hardly be able to secure a job until more collieries commenced active work.
While Kehoe stood concocting the different beverages, the detective embraced the opportunity, without appearing to do so, of observing the man more minutely. He was seemingly two or three years past forty, but time, in his flight, had been lenient, and left few noticeable traces upon his countenance. There were some impressions of crow's feet at the outer corners of his small, sharp, light-blue eyes, occasionally a gray hair among the plentiful brown ones of his head and in the equally dark, full whiskers and mustache. The beard was noticeably lighter in color at the far ends, as though somewhat faded. The eyes were set too close together to give a square, honest look to the face, as a whole, which was slightly cadaverous in appearance. The nose, unnaturally sharp, as though pitted by small-pox, assisted in forming for Kehoe a fox-like and cunning look, and the forehead was straight and reasonably high. It was the impression of McKenna that, if Kehoe should ever get others into a difficulty, he would probably manage to keep out of it himself. He was athletic, erect, and could hold his own 101in a crowd, but did not seem inclined to quarrel, or risk his person too rashly in an encounter from which ingenuity could extricate him. Not above medium height, or weight, his shoulders were square and strong, and his limbs muscular and well proportioned. His hands, which had seen labor, now looked fair and white. Generally agreeable in manners to strangers as well as acquaintances, he claimed a number of friends, yet no really warm and devoted personal followers. Formerly a miner, the tavern proving more profitable and less laborious, he had of late years done very little manual labor. Whisky-selling and politics were giving him plentiful money and power, and he liked both exceedingly well.
McKenna's proffered treat had touched the feelings of Kehoe in a tender place, favorably introduced him to a portion of the Girardville community, and it was not so very long before he was on the best of terms with all in the house. Finally finding that his reputation in that line had preceded him, and having been invited to do so, he was prevailed upon to strike up a song, and gave, without accompaniment, "Larboard Watch," followed soon by "Kathleen Mavourneen." At the request of a native of Scotia present, he then sung, in fair voice and accent, the "Collier Laddie," by Burns, beginning:
"Where live ye, my bonnie lass?
An' tell me what they ca' ye;
'My name,' she says, 'is Mistress Jean,
And I follow the collier laddie.
My name,' she says, 'is Mistress Jean,
And I follow the collier laddie.'"
This particularly pleased the miners, one of whom felt so merry over the strain that he called up the crowd and proposed a toast to "Bobby Burns, Mistress Jean, and the stranger singer." It was drank with highest honors, and then the landlord could do no less than follow suit. This business was kept up until nearly night.
102When the hangers-on had dropped off, one by one, to their homes, Kehoe stepped from the bar, sat down by the stranger's side, and showed himself unusually communicative. He ended by calling McKenna to the counter and drinking a toast, which, from its sound and sentiment, he was positive must have been a Mollie signal; but the detective knew too well the result to try a response, and contented himself with drinking it in silence. Kehoe went further and gave him the identical sign, with the hand to the face, which he had noticed Lanky using the day before. To this also McKenna remained blind. He was not to be caught.
"I see that you know nothing at present," said Kehoe at last.
"Faith, an' that's exactly true for ye," responded the detective. "It's a very long time since ever I was within."
"That makes no difference, for I am also an old-timer, dating back to '66."
And Kehoe peered suspiciously at the stranger from his half-shut eyes, while he awaited some identifying movement or word from McKenna.
Here was more trouble. Another Ancient had been encountered who was not to be trifled with. It was no longer stolid Pat Dormer who stood before him.
"Now for it," thought the bothered detective. "Deil a thing have I to trate him wid, barrin' some balderdash that I gave in Pottsville, an' which I'm positive 'll not fool Kehoe."
Once again fortune favored him. At this very opportune moment a man from Pittsburg, called by the saloon-keeper Tim Gallagher—a traveling liquor dealer, opened the door, entered, and greeted Kehoe as an old acquaintance. He was introduced to McKenna, who was treated by Kehoe and his friend as a true Ancient Order man, and informed that the last arrival was at the head of the society in Pittsburg. Several other persons now coming in, Kehoe forgot all 103about his investigation, and the operative was very far from giving him any hint to return to it. Just before supper-time, Gallagher, Kehoe, and McKenna—who that day by chance wore his Sunday suit of clothes, the weather being too cold for his first costume—all sallied forth, leaving the tavern to the charge of Mrs. Kehoe, to make a few informal calls upon city friends and companions. Gallagher, as they walked, enlightened his co-member upon the condition of the order in Western Pennsylvania. He said the part of country named was full of the spirit of the order, and they had everything their own way, the clergy being with them very cordially, if not inside the ring. During their round they stopped at the house of the resident Catholic clergyman, Father Bridgeman, who, despite his many and violent denunciations of the Mollies, was a personal friend of Gallagher. After the usual greetings the Pittsburg man asked the priest, jokingly:
"Have you ceased scolding the Sleepers yet?"
"No, I have not!" said the clergyman, "and never shall while they remain as they are."
"Why is it that the Church in this part of the State acts so differently in this regard from the Catholics in Pittsburg?"
"A withering curse rest upon it, and upon all in any way connected with it."
"The cases materially differ," answered the priest, warming up quickly. "With you, in the west, the members have something like friendship for one another, and the order is not managed in the interest of politicians, tavern-keepers, and other bad men. Here it is in the control of a few unscrupulous fellows, who care not for God or man, only for themselves and their own pockets. Yet they call themselves Irishmen! They can sneak around and whip and kill some unfortunate person—some mining boss, or superintendent, or destroy property, thus scandalizing those in the Church of the same nativity—but they do not dare to turn out in regalia on St. Patrick's day, with honest Irishmen, for then 104they would be known and marked for the murderers and assassins they are. Oh, it's a bad, bad society! A withering curse rest upon it, and upon all in any way connected with it!"
The priest evidently felt every word that he said, and, though one of the most generous of men, could find no good language to waste upon the Mollie Maguires.
Kehoe listened to the denunciation, his head slightly bowed, but said nothing in reply. The color of his face changed a little and his lips quivered perceptibly, yet no words escaped him. Gallagher spoke evasively, and the detective remained silent. After some talk over other and more pleasant matters, the party took leave of the priest. He made no excuse for his harsh language. He believed that it had been deserved, and had, therefore, nothing to take back. In the streets Kehoe maintained a moody silence. His small eyes wandered from object to object, however, resting on nothing long. He was wounded by the imprecations of his clergyman, yet could find no means of escaping their weight. Gallagher and McKenna endeavored to rally his sunken, sullen spirits, but in vain. Up to the time of their separation he seldom spoke. Excusing himself, the operative returned to the hotel for supper, and spent the evening writing in his bedroom. After sealing his report and preparing for an early start for Shenandoah—where he determined to go at once and encounter the lion, Lawler, in his native jungle—he retired to his bed and wooed repose.
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