The detective was now competent to encounter modern as well as old-time Mollie Maguires. He apprehended no more trouble from the questions of Dormer, Lawler, or even Jack Kehoe himself, and felt that however imperfect his introductory work with the order in the coal country might have been, he was then prepared to meet all members of the order, and enabled, from his late instructions, to suit his companions. The danger coming from sudden inquiries, made by strangers, he no longer dreaded. Just as well posted in the mysteries of the society as anybody well could be—he had already learned that there were no degrees beyond the initiatory in the Ancient Order—he believed he could work his 146way into a division, or into the good graces of the people as well as any man with whom he had conversed. In fact, his memory, which was retentive to a degree, treasured every sign and password and toast much better, he discovered, than did the minds of many of his associates, some of whom had joined the body many years before, and who would therefore be presumably far more familiar with its interior workings than a mere tyro in the business. As a general rule his comrades were wholly uneducated, and their laborious occupations debarred mental exercise. In this regard McKenna held an advantage, and was really better qualified for office in the division than any member he had ever met. He had not been long in the order when this was apparent to his friends, and they commenced talking of him in connection with one of the chairs to be vacated at the next annual election.
Surely, he must not for the present leave Shenandoah.
This was a strangely inconsistent society. Having for the public eye a motto to all appearances as elevated in tone as that of any secret order in the land, and professing the noblest moral principles, its members were, with some exceptions, assassins, murderers, incendiaries, thieves, midnight marauders, gamblers, and men who did not scruple to perform almost any act of violence or cowardice that a depraved nature or abnormal animal instinct might conceive. Having "unity and true Christian charity" as its ostensible guiding-star, its constituent parts were at war each with the other—excepting in the perpetration of dark deeds, in which they stood firmly together—and one member jealous of the power obtained by another. Professing benignity and the utmost benevolence, it was a combination of enmity and malice for purposes of blood and outrage, brutally manufacturing widows and orphans—not caring for and cherishing them. Its adherents were certainly not particular as to the moral endowments of their initiates. McKenna was quickly 147accepted, yet he had not been at all cautious in concealing from Lawler and his friends that he was—at least, professedly, an escaped manslayer, and one who would not hesitate to deal in counterfeit currency, or pursue any other calling by which money could be made or old grudges repaid.
Then there was Dormer, who had formerly stood well with the organization; yet he was by no means angelic in disposition or reputation. Nor were Lawler, Monaghan, Kehoe, Dolan, and a dozen others, with whom McKenna had come in contact, at all of the character called saintly.
It was easy to see how fair the aims and objects of the original fathers of the society might have been when beginning the movement. It could even be believed that, in some parts of the country, the primal endeavor might yet be in force, but, in the mining districts of Pennsylvania, surely they had long since disappeared from view. Evil had taken up the reins and obtained undisputed sway. Acts of beneficence and charity had been succeeded by scenes of violence and carnage. Wicked-minded and reckless persons were at the helm, and made choice of their kind to fill the ranks. Good men had no chance. A murderer, an assassin, a violent party was sought after and coveted by the divisions, while one of known rectitude of purpose and strict integrity was not wanted, and sure of being rejected were his name by accident proposed. Hence it was well that McKenna took the course he did when first arriving in the coal regions. His jolly, devil-may-care manner, his habit—not really a habit, but an assumption of one—of being nearly always intoxicated, ready and willing to sing, shoot, dance, fight, gamble, face a man in a knock-down or a jig, stay out all night, sleep all day, tell a story, rob a hen-roost or a traveler—just suited those with whom he daily came in contact.
Returning to a date preceding McKenna's induction to Shenandoah Division, let me bring in some of the acts committed by the Mollies and their opponents, forming a kind of 148introduction to others of wider celebrity, if not of greater magnitude, which it will soon be the chronicler's duty to narrate.
It was the middle of March, 1874, that McKenna was invited to witness one of the milder amusements of the rougher portion of the people of the mining country—a dog-fight. The canine contest was appointed to occur at Number Three Breaker, and McAndrew, Ferguson, and Monaghan were the detective's companions. The locality was only a mile from town, and the attendance was large, some two hundred men and overgrown youths having gathered to see the expected ferocious proceeding. But all were fated to disappointment. From a failure to come to time on the part of one of the owners and backers, the ring was just one dog short. The animal on hand had to be taken home, his pugnacity unsatisfied, and the spectators, unable to get up a battle between two human beasts, were compelled to disperse, considerably disgusted with this peaceful result of what earlier bid fair to be a savage and enjoyable sensation. On the route homeward, McAndrew said he would stop at a house where he was acquainted, and see if a dog could not be procured. The attempt did not succeed, but as the men were standing near the place, Dr. Shultz, who was known to nearly all the party, came that way. He paused to chat with McAndrew, and among other matters stated that a man, named Peter McNellis, had been shot the previous night at Jenkins' Patch. The deed transpired at McNellis' own house, and was the work of one Canfield, whose father was shot, but not mortally, the preceding Saturday. McNellis had been attacked while in his dwelling, but the doctor could not say if he were dead, or would die, but the hurt was pronounced very serious by the attending surgeon. McNellis' brother had been three times notified by the Mollies to quickly leave the neighborhood, or accept the consequences. The missives conveying this delicate bit of information all bore the signature of "Mollie." The 149McNellis family, it appears, chose to accept the "consequences."
When the doctor had ridden away, Ferguson exclaimed, referring to McNellis:
"May he never rise again, the scoundrel!"
In which wish all his comrades heartily concurred, and McKenna, seeing that he was expected to express himself regarding a Sheet Iron lad, complied, saying:
"An' may the divil fly away wid his sowl!"
On the morning of the twentieth of the same month, one Dougherty was shot while passing from home to his work. It was reported that the victim in this case was a Mollie, and the outrage had been brought about by some of the dreaded Iron Clads.
This made the third or fourth person that had been killed during the time of the operative's residence in the vicinity of Shenandoah—and all before he had become a member of the organization of Mollie Maguires. I make mention of this, in the present connection, from the reason that enemies have undertaken to instruct the public that until my detective was sent to and appeared in the coal region, and was duly constituted a member of the order of Mollies, the murderous society lay comparatively dormant. This endeavour to have it seem that McKenna fomented discord and caused crimes to be perpetrated which led to the arrest and punishment of his companions and intimates, is so absurd, that only those who desire to do so, put any faith in it, and for such persons and their wretched opinions I have supreme contempt. McKenna was constantly instructed to avoid prompting outrages. He obeyed his orders faithfully. The truth is, he entered the stronghold of a gang of assassins, and, despite his presence, they succeeded in doing a few murders. He could not stop them. Before closing, I shall show some of the troubles that he did succeed in preventing. Dating from 1868, and from that year down to 1873, murder and other violence ran 150riot in the coal districts. Since the authorities have been able, through our exertions, to punish assassins and conspirators, there has been a noticeable decrease in acts to be punished. When the Mollies' ever-convenient alibi was shattered and scattered to the wind, they had nothing left to fall back upon, and there was no chance for them. They were forced to flee the country, or remain and behave like good and orderly citizens.
When McAndrew heard of the last act of blood—the shooting of Dougherty—(this was not the man of the same name—who was no Mollie—causing so much trouble at Tamaqua, as related in another and preceding chapter)—he was very indignant, and passionately exclaimed that "if such things continued, there would soon be regular war in Schuylkill county!"
These words must have reached the ears of some of the Chain Gang—or those who were not Mollies—as, only a few days subsequently, a message was received by Muff Lawler that a portion of the Modocs (Germans) and Sheet Irons had made common cause against McAndrew, Monaghan, Garritty, Ferguson, Lawler, and several others, all of whom would meet the fate of Dougherty if they did not cease their cruel work, or depart from that portion of the State. When Monaghan heard about this, he said:
"Some fire will fly and some blood be spilled before I get out of this neighborhood!"
He evidently did not intend to be frightened away with merely hard words.
An incident, which may be given in this connection, was related by Lawler to McKenna, one night, after his return from a meeting of the Miners' and Laborers' Association, to which Muff also belonged. It was about a Welsh boss in one of the mines, not far from Shenandoah, and had only recently occurred. According to Lawler, this superintendent, whose name was not given, had been discharging all the 151Irishmen operating under him and putting his country men in their places. The natural result was, the Mollies notified the boss that he must leave. He disregarded the injunction, saying that it would "make no difference, if he obeyed, as the proprietors would run the colliery if he were in h—l!"
A few days after using this language, a man visited the exasperated Welshman and gave him a warning letter.
"Where are you from?" asked the boss.
"From h—l!" answered the messenger, and quickly disappeared.
This boss did not listen to the warning, and as a consequence, the Mollies, in a body, demons as they were, went to his house, at the dead hour of night, broke up his furniture, ill-treated his family, and taking the stubborn fellow into the yard, in his night garments, beat him with clubs until he was nearly dead. He was satisfied from this treatment, which might be called striking evidence, that the colliery was not exactly a healthy place of residence or refuge for him, and, as soon as able to do so, removed to Pottsville. In this case, as in many others, no arrests were made, and no efforts put forth to hunt up the guilty parties. It could hardly be expected that there would be, when it is considered that the Mollies controlled the magistrates and other officials of the city, and partly those of the county.
McKenna, judging from Lawler's manner while relating the story, more than from the words he used, suspected that the beating of the Welshman had been performed by him, or at least by men acting under his orders. Still, as he was not yet a member of the Mollies, he could not be expected to have reliable information on the subject. Mike concluded his story by saying that he never allowed his men to know about his movements, and ordinarily, when anything was to be done, he preferred attending to it himself rather than let others into the secret.
152"So there's a ring within a ring!" mentally ejaculated the detective, as Lawler left him to attend upon a customer at the bar.
The strike of that winter, which has before been alluded to, ended nigh the first of April, 1874. About this time McKenna heard, from one Foley, living near Indian Ridge colliery, that at the water station a man named Keating had been shot and instantly killed. The event occurred about five o'clock in the afternoon, and, as usual, the murderer made his escape. It was again charged that the Sheet Iron lads were the guilty parties. Lawler and the detective were at the colliery looking for work to do, when they learned about Keating's death.
Another of the more innocent diversions of the Sleepers was the indulgence in cock-fighting. In this, from his known intimacy with Lawler, the operative was naturally expected to take part, and he did not disappoint his friends. Knowing that whatever he did he must, under the circumstances, gain fast hold upon the good will of Lawler and the remainder of the gang, thus exhibiting his qualifications for a good Mollie, he strained every faculty with that view, and even consented to take charge of the interests of the tavern keeper in the impending chicken-fight, acting as trainer, manager, and all hands, in getting ready the birds for the great occasion. As fortune would have it, in his boyhood he had received a few lessons in the art, hence was not wholly unprepared for the position and its duties. Having ten of the game chickens to commence with, he devoted considerable time and attention to their breaking-in for the pit.
The opposing birds were bred in the vicinity of Girardville, coming from the flock of, and to be handled by, one Dennis Murphy.
Here is something of the style in which McKenna trained Lawler's pets. In the first place the chickens were clipped and gaffed in scientific style; that is, their spurs were skilfully 153amputated and steel gaffs, or artificial spurs, fitted in their places. The fowl were then physicked with a soft compound consisting of oil, bread, and milk, and some sugar, which reduced them somewhat in weight, the process continuing until the proper shrinkage had been accomplished. Empty barrels were taken, and a piece of one stave carefully removed, forming a coop, which was properly ventilated, and each chicken thus given a separate shelter. After their usual strength had returned, daily exercise of a peculiar kind, calculated to give them muscle and endurance, was entered upon. McKenna would get upon his knees, on an old mattress spread on the ground in the back yard of the tavern, for the purpose, and taking a bird between his two hands, toss it high in the air, then catch it again and repeat the process, until he was weary or the rooster was nearly exhausted, when it would be returned to its coop. Every bird had to take this lesson once each day, and under it all rapidly gained in fighting qualities. No soft food was now permitted, but they received plenty of water and corn, wheat and oats. If one refused to feed he was immediately presented with a supply of raw apples. Out of the ten thus treated only seven came out capable of contesting in the pit. Some of them, less than one year of age, were called stags. Those more than a twelvemonth old assumed the dignity and cognomen of game-cocks.
On the occasion selected for the match, Lawler's house and grounds presented the characteristics of a grand gala day. Murphy was early on the spot—scarce two hundred yards from the tavern—where were congregated men, women, and children to the number of two hundred or more, all interested in seeing and enjoying the exciting sport.
There was at first a great difference in opinion as to who should be the winner, the bets ranging from five to ten dollars each battle, and being plentiful for both sides. Of course Mike Lawler was reaping at the same time a plentiful 154harvest through the sale of drinkables at the bar. It employed his own services and those of his wife to keep pace with the impatient orders of the thirsty ones. Meantime McKenna, dressed for the occasion in his Sunday clothes, with his hair straightened out and his beard trimmed, wearing a new, soft hat, which was the envy of all the men and the wonder of all the women, was attending to his part of the business.
At first the odds ran heavy in favor of Murphy's brood,—and they certainly were very handsome chickens; but when McKenna put aside the brand-new hat, and, with a red bandanna handkerchief wound in the shape of a turban round his red head, a strap encircling his waist, coat and vest off, sleeves rolled up, and game chicken in hand, entered the ring, the betting changed, and the difference was two to one in favor of the mufflers. They were certainly ferocious-looking bipeds.
It is needless to attempt a description of the chicken-match. Appropriate language fails. But it is sufficient to say that Lawler's mufflers carried off the honors. As a consequence, McKenna acquired a wide-spread reputation throughout the mines as a manager of such affairs.
"Lawler's Mufflers carried off the honors."
Murphy accepted defeat all in good part, as everything had been fair and above-board, and challenged Muff Lawler for a return match, to take place early the next month, at his house, near Girardville. This was promptly accepted by the Shenandoah party, and time named, when the crowd dispersed, leaving the innkeeper to count over his day's gains, which were not inconsiderable.
Of course McKenna's services were once more in requisition to train the birds, and afterward to fight them. When the morning arrived he had to carry the chickens on his back, in a bag, a distance of over three miles to Connor's Patch, where Murphy lived. The rwas rough, his burden not light; and when he returned, again the winner of the 155fight, to Shenandoah, late at night, from Girardville, he was weary enough, and heartily sick of cock-fighting as a profession, or even for amusement.
There was a great crowd assembled at the Patch—if anything, larger than the one Lawler had secured—and Murphy, though twice defeated, said he was "enthirely contint wid the results!" So were most of those in attendance.
Lawler gave a treat to all the "boys" that night, as he was confidently expected to do after winning two fights in succession, and everything passed off smoothly, with a single exception. One Dick Flynn, charged to the muzzle with bad liquor, and being naturally of a fiery disposition, was very mad because he had lost five dollars which he ventured on Murphy's chickens, and wanted to fight Lawler, to secure his revenge. The innkeeper having other duties to attend to, besides being in a sportive humor from the success of the day, only laughed at his big antagonist, telling him to "call at another time, when he could have all the fighting he might feel in want of."
Flynn lived in the town of Colorado, was a known ruffian, capable of shooting a man from behind a bush, or performing almost any infamous act, and it is more than probable that Lawler had rather make no attack upon him. Be this as it may, Flynn left late at night, swearing many oaths and loudly threatening that he would beat Lawler or kill McKenna, his "butty," if he had to wait a dozen years for the opportunity. It would appear, from an incident transpiring a few weeks later, that Flynn had a good memory, and did his best to carry this promise into execution. The event, however, will have to await relation in another chapter.
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