The Sheridan House, Patrick Dormer, proprietor, situated in Centre Street, Pottsville, was somewhat celebrated in annals of the town, and its reputation among the inhabitants by no means doubtful or uncertain. While in some regards the tavern boasted entire respectability, in certain others it bore a name far from enviable. Its isolated honors were due to Mrs. Dormer; its many dishonors to her physically gigantic but morally erratic lord and master, and the calling he followed. Many were the drunken brawls and midnight orgies transpiring beneath its steep roof and within its tawny brick walls; but against the lady of the house nothing could be truthfully charged—except she was Dormer's wife. The edifice was neither private residence nor hotel, but a compound of the two. Three stories in height, having a long, low extension in its rear, lighted by a skylight, and in which was located the well-patronized ten-pin alley; the basement of the main structure was employed as dining-room, kitchen, and laundry, and the first, or business floor, front, for saloon purposes. Just back of the latter was a card-playing and bagatelle division. Entering from the street, the first place to the southward, or right hand of the visitor, was the bar, the counter of which extended as far as the partition dividing the tap-room proper from the small parlor. In the last named apartment were stands and chairs for card-players, and the bagatelle table. From this sitting room admission was found to a gallery, or small balcony, overlooking the ball-alley and from which spectators might watch the progress 74of the game going on below. Leaving the same corridor, or hallway, a staircase led to the sleeping and other apartments of the second story. There were two approaches to the house from the street, one at the south and right hand, penetrating to the rooms above-stairs, without troubling people in the public places, and the other at the centre, reaching directly to the bar room. The latter was a capacious, comfortable affair, and the supply of drinkables in cut-glass decanters, and beer, ale, and porter on draught, always quite large, if not select as to quality and brand. The patronage extended to the saloon was miscellaneous, but apparently very profitable to the keeper.
When McKenna paused before the house, from the interior came sounds of rude music, evidently emanating from some discordant and faultily-fingered violin. He succeeded, however, in recognizing an air to which he had tripped many a jig in the old country. Considering for a moment the course he should take, the detective gave his tangled locks an extra twist, stuck his hat on one side of his head, rolled unsteadily up to the door, fumbled awkwardly with the knob, finally turned it, and stood in the bar room. The picture then presented to his eye was considered not uncommon to behold in the mining district, yet rather striking to and never to be forgotten by an uninitiated spectator. The place exposed to view was about half filled with men, the majority of whom were clad in rough attire—somewhat different from the miner's shifting clothes, however—and, with their companions, stood and sat around a sprinkling of citizens, mechanics, street laborers, and others. Pat Dormer, towering high above all, and whose form the detective was not slow to single out and know, through Jennings' description, seemed to be making himself actively useful outside, conversing glibly with his customers, while his spouse, fresh-faced, short in figure, and matronly looking, stood behind the counter, dispensing with steady hand, ready smile, and 75pleasant word the various stimulants in demand by her patrons.
In one corner, uneasily perched at the top of an empty whisky barrel—stolid of eye and face, frowzy-haired, low-browed, stunted in body, long of arm, and crooked spined—was the spasmodic little fiddler, drawing away industriously at his bow, his sallow cheek resting caressingly on the old violin, and producing semi-musical tones not so easily understood as entering into the composition of that frolicsome piece, called "The Devil's Dream." With one big, boot-clad foot he kept time irregularly against the staves forming part of his throne.
"He struck an attitude and without further prelude began his best Irish break-down."
All in the saloon were perfect strangers to McKenna, but that made no difference. He staggered about near the threshold for an instant, while he mentally measured the people in whose company he was, and made a hurried inventory of the immediate surroundings; then, appearing to gather inspiration from the lively squeak of the fiddle, he advanced to the middle of the floor, where remained a few square yards of vacant space, struck an attitude, and, without further prelude, begun his best Irish break-down. The steps were nimble, well chosen, emphasized with heel and toe, and, despite his assumed state of semi-intoxication, the time was fairly kept with the measure of the tune. Dormer looked upon the strange intruder, at first, as though undecided whether he should toss him outside his door, as he would a mangy cur, or applaud his terpsichorean performance. Then he gradually absorbed the magnetism of the dance, and the music made by feet and bow and string, and, seating himself on a convenient chair, held his face between his two brawny hands, the elbows resting on his knees, and interestedly scanned McKenna's movements, keeping the rhythm, meanwhile, by swaying his brshoulders from side to side. The agile shuffling evidently gave him pleasure, and, turning to the sleepy musician he loudly ordered him 76to "play fasther!" The request was instantly obeyed, and quicker and quicker came the inspiriting notes, faster and faster were the manuvres of the dance executed, and the more fantastically the dancer turned and whirled, and threw out leg and arm, in gesticulations more grotesque than graceful.
"Nae cotillion brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in his heels."
It was not long before every occupant of the place, Mrs. Dormer inclusive, took up the measure and, while none but the central personage actually indulged in a reel, beat time to the chords the violinist touched.
Dormer, as usual, was somewhat overcome by liquor, but arose at the conclusion of the jig, advanced to McKenna, who stood, for a few seconds, almost exhausted by his exertions, took the detective by the hand and warmly welcomed him to the place, saying:
"Very good! Very good! Be the sowl of me great-grandfather! I've niver seen such a jigger since the days of jolly Dan Carey! Walk up, stranger, an' have a sup of the best in the house; an' be the same token, let everybody else take somethin' at my cost! I am greatly plazed, that I am, to recave such iligant company!"
"Av coorse I hev no objection in the worruld," answered McKenna, returning Dormer's strong grasp with interest, "wid the understandin', if it be quite convanient, that I'm to give all of yez a bit of a song afther the wettin' of me whistle!"
"Sure, an' a stave or so of a song is jist what we're afther the wantin'," responded a man the operative had heard called Kelly.
The drinks were prepared by Mrs. Dormer with even more than her usual dexterity. Then the uncanny fiddler vacated his barrel-head, McKenna assumed his place, hat on head, arms akimbo, and, without any accompaniment, gave the following ballad:
77"Pat Dolan, it's my Christian name,
Yes, an' my surname too, sir;
An' oft you've listened to me sthrane,
I'll tell you somethin' new, sir!
In Cavan-town, where we sat down,
Our Irish hearts to inspire,
There's bould recruits an' undaunted yout's,
An' they'r led by Mollie Maguire!
CHORUS.
"With my riggadum du, an' to h—l wid the crew
Wouldn't help to free our nation;
When I look back, I count 'em slack,
Wouldn't join our combination!
"Said Mollie to her darlin' sons,
'What tyrant shall we tumble?
That filthy tribe we can't abide,
They rob both meek and humble;
There is one Bell, a child of h—l,
An' a Magistrate in station,
Let lots be drew an' see which av you
Will tumble him to damnation!'—CHORUS.
"The lot's now cast, the sentence passed,
I scorn to tell a lie, sir!
I got my chance, it wur no blank;
I wur glad to win the prize, sir!
To swate Bill Cooney's I did repair,
To meet the parson, Bell, sir!
At his brain I took me aim,
Sayin' 'Come down, ye fin' o' h—l, sir!'—CHORUS.
"Those Orangemen, they gathered then,
An' swore they'd kill us all, sir!
For their frien' Bell, who lately fell,
An' got a terrible fall, sir!
But Mollie's sons, wid swords an' guns,
Wid pikes—pitchforks—glancin',
Those bould recruits an' undaunted yout's,
Stepped into the field just prancin'.—CHORUS.
78"Those Orangemen, they all stood then,
To fight they thought it a folly;
They'd rather run an' save their lives,
An' leave the field to Mollie!
Altho' I'm in a foreign land,
From the cause I'll ne'er retire,
May heaven smile on every chil'
That belongs to Mollie Maguire!—CHORUS.
"One night as I lay upon me bed,
I heard a terrible rattle;
Who wor it but Bell, come back from h—l,
To fight another battle!
Then at his brain I took me aim—
He vanished off in fire—
An' as he went the air he rent
Sayin', 'I'm conquered by Mollie Maguire!'—CHORUS.
"Now I'm in America,
An' that's a free nation!
I generally sit an' take my sip
Far from a police station!
Four dollars a day—its not bad pay—
An' the boss he likes me well, sir!
But little he knows that I'm the man
That shot that fin' o' h—l, sir!
CHORUS.
"Wid me riggadum du—an' to h—l wid the crew
Wouldn't fight to free our nation,
When I look back I count 'em slack
Wouldn't join our combination!"
During the progress of the ditty—the air of which no description can do justice to—the audience, the members of which had gradually drawn nigh the singer, joined in the refrain with a strength of lung and depth of voice causing the casements to rattle and the air to resound. The enthusiasm evolved was so intense and found such loud vent, that some moments necessarily elapsed before quiet was so far restored as to permit McKenna to make himself understood, 79after descending once more to the floor, as wanting the friends present to "stand furninst the bar an' have a noggin of poteen wid him!" The request, when fairly heard, was readily complied with.
It was very soon revealed to the acute senses of the operative that he had made an impression which could not well fail in being useful to him in the future. The effect, in the landlord's case, was not to be misunderstood, and he, Jennings had said, was a "captain among the Sleepers," or Mollies. The overgrown fellow was zealous in his openly-expressed, newly-awakened regard for the stranger, and after hearing some sentimental and comical songs, seated himself by McKenna's side and entered upon a course of minute inquiry as to the detective's nativity, residence, last occupation, business in the mines, etc. Mrs. Dormer, in the meantime, attended to the drinks, and was not long in perceiving that their visitor—the lion of the evening, in fact—had some money with him, and was, sailor-like, dispensing it freely for the gratification of her guests. Dormer, on his part, was soon in possession of the fact that McKenna was from Colorado—but latest from New York—looking for work, after which he proposed a trial at cards in the back sitting-room, honoring the stranger by choosing him as his partner. Kelly and a scowling, heavy-set, large-boned man, named Frazer, were to be pitted against them. It was euchre that they entered upon, the stakes being refreshments for the four. The game progressed peacefully, Dormer and his friend at first gaining some advantages, but the landlord soon losing his little remaining wit, with accession of more whisky, they began to fall off in the winnings. McKenna was quick to see plentiful cause for this ill-success. Frazer, when dealing, passed himself six cards instead of the proper number, and played other tricks generally classed as among cheats and frauds. The operative seized Frazer's hand and exposed the deceit to the gaze of his companions, 80denouncing the swindler in no measured terms. The game was broken up; Dormer was raving furiously, and all hands returned to the bar, where many of its former occupants still remained. Once there, Frazer threw off his coat, and challenged his accuser to fight him, saying:
"I'll maul the sod wid any cowardly bog-trotter in sivin counties that says I chate at cards!"
"I'll bate ye fairly, an' the coat on me back at that!"
McKenna, in spite of the liquor he had been compelled to imbibe, still retained his mental faculties and physical strength in perfection—although, following the scheme he had started, he pretended to be more deeply intoxicated than when he first made his appearance at Dormer's—and he scornfully looked upon his opponent's portly form as he defiantly responded:
"Do ye think, fur wan moment, that I'm afraid of the likes of you? Ye may live to larn better. I'll bate ye fairly, an' wid the coat on me back, at that!"
The detective tossed only his hat aside and squared himself pluckily, while Dormer volunteered to act as his second, giving the word to his friends, who cheered lustily for the stranger.
Mrs. Dormer had disappeared at the first signs of a rupture, and the bar took care of itself.
Kelly seconded Frazer. The ring was formed and the two men entered it, Frazer confident in his great strength and the detective relying upon some experience in the manly art of self-defense. The contest commenced. At the outset McKenna acted purely on the defensive, only seeking to throw off or evade Frazer's many unskillful but heavy strokes. He desired to study his antagonist's tactics and test his muscle before using offensive measures. The result was, at the end of a protracted round, the smaller sparrer was dropped to the floor by a sledge-hammer blow, fair on the ear. First blood and first knock-down were claimed for the heavy-weight. But these were all he secured to boast of during the continuance of the fight—excepting severe punishment—as McKenna carried off the honors in five consecutive rounds, at 81the close of all of which he deftly sent his opponent to the earth, each time with a new wound of some sort to remember him by. Between the bouts Dormer would take him to their corner, place spirits to his principal's lips, sponge off his face and arms in regular prize-ring fashion, and return him in due season for more work. The opposing man was equally well served by Kelly, but, after so many fast-following and disastrous defeats, his right eye being fully closed and useless, and the other badly damaged, Frazer could not be coaxed or driven to come forward to the mark again. Then his backers gave him up, and Kelly took him away, a badly whipped and quite crest-fallen bully. Victory was proclaimed by Dormer for McKenna, and the Pottsville Giant was in great glee, stroking the shoulder of his new-discovered pet and making grimaces that he intended to be pleasing, but which were more like demoniacal grins than smiles. Dormer shouted as Frazer went out:
"Good! Good! for me laddy-buck from the West! He's the true grit from head to toe! An', hereafter, if anybody in Schuylkill County jist wants to bother wid him, they must deal wid Pat Dormer fust! An' he's no dawshy infant!"
"I'll have the laste taste of gin in mine!" said McKenna, "an' I belave all here present will join us in drinkin' confusion to all mane scuts and chates!"
The sentiment was applaudingly echoed and the drinks very quickly absorbed.
Among others, one whom McKenna had heard called Tom Hurley, came up and congratulated the victor, hoping he had received no serious hurts.
"Oh! nothing but a wee flea-bite on me smeller," answered McKenna, "which by the mornin' will be all correct again! A scrimmage like this every avenin' in the wake, would only jist give me jints nadeful exercise!"
Thus ended the detective's first experience in the amateur prize-ring.
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