It was, in fact, only the defense attorneys who, with no other effective avenues through which to help their clients, decided to declare publicly, in ever more vehement terms, that McParlan was a liar and an agent provocateur. But this is what defense attorneys do—follow the course best calculated to gain their clients’ liberty. The juries, judges, and press did not agree, although the defense attacks nevertheless set the pattern for later efforts to support the innocence of those on trial by discrediting McParlan. These attacks have never satisfactorily explained what his motive for lying would have been. Despite Patrick Campbell’s intensive search to prove McParlan received a bonus of blood money, there is no evidence to support this contention.21 It is clearly not reasonable to suggest McParlan was anti-Irish or anti-Catholic. And there is no serious indication to back up the charge that he was an inherently evil man, one “simply outside the human pale . . . a case of almost pure evil.” [emphasis in original]22
So McParlan appears to have been mostly honest, but not totally untainted. And if he was less than entirely truthful about his story of the inner circle, it might say something about his willingness to corrupt his other testimony. In fact, a close accounting of his witness statements makes it clear that he held back the truth in various parts of his testimony, and ultimately did, in fact, commit perjury. Moreover, he did it more than once.
• • •
Molly Maguire expert Howard Crown has argued that McParlan committed perjury in the trial for assault and battery with intent to kill Bully Bill Thomas.23 On August 10, 1876, the following exchange occurred between McParlan and defense attorney Martin L’Velle:
Q: Prior to your joining the Ancient Order of Hibernians did you have any knowledge of their organization?
A: I did not; I had no knowledge, only what I gathered up through the county.
Q: Did you know of such an organization in Chicago?
A: I did not. There was a Hibernian Benevolent Society in Chicago that I was acquainted with.
Q: I am talking of the Ancient Order of Hibernians. Did you know it elsewhere in the West?
A: No; I did not know of it.24
Crown also noted a second section of testimony that he indicated furthers the case against McParlan. In the Donnelly trial, the detective was again cross-examined by L’Velle:
Q: Did you ever try to gain admission to any branch or body of the Ancient Order outside of Schuylkill County?
A: Yes, sir; at Hazleton . . .
Q: You know the Ancient Order of Hibernians to flourish elsewhere?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: In Chicago?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Of your own knowledge?
A: I have heard of them. . . .
Q: It is a matter of public notoriety that such an order does exist there?
A: Yes, sir.25
Crown argues that in the first exchange McParlan committed perjury (of which Gowen, Hughes, and Kaercher were aware) because—as proven by the report on Irish secret societies that he submitted to Pinkerton in October 1873—he already knew of the Molly Maguires and had indicated that they had simply adopted a new name: the Ancient Order of Hibernians. Crown added that the second passage directly contradicted McParlan’s previous testimony that he knew nothing of the AOH prior to coming to Schuylkill County.26
However, attorneys have pointed out that witnesses should always have been cautioned—both at McParlan’s time and more recently—to limit their testimony to information based on their personal knowledge, as opposed to secondhand accounts, which are considered hearsay. Therefore, if McParlan’s information for his report to Pinkerton was based on oral history, newspaper accounts, and other secondhand sources—as opposed to his own direct knowledge—then, assuming that he believed the question to be asking him about his actual personal knowledge, his answer (it has been argued) could be considered essentially truthful and not grounds for a perjury charge.
Further, the second passage quoted does not actually contradict McParlan’s previous testimony. The AOH meeting to which McParlan gained admission in Hazleton was in June 1874, by which time he already held his membership card from the Tamaqua division of the AOH, so it was after he learned about the organization in Schuylkill County.27 And whereas he did seem to contradict himself about knowing about the AOH in Chicago, the questions were actually not mutually exclusive. During the Kehoe case he was asked if he knew of the organization in Chicago prior to his joining in April 1874. In the second question he was asked if he was familiar with the AOH flourishing anywhere else—in November 1877, at the time of the Donnelly trial. There is nothing to prove that it was not during the intervening three and a half years that McParlan had learned of the Chicago branch of the order.
Whether one believes from these different points of view that McParlan perjured himself or not, he certainly seems to have been walking near the edge, and his earlier testimony regarding the existence of the Molly Maguires was not dissimilar. In cross-examination during the first trial for Yost’s murder, Bartholomew asked him, “When did you first get acquainted with the fact there existed a secret society known as the ‘Mollie Maguires’ in the County of Schuylkill? When did you have the fact brought to your attention so that you knew it as a fact?” McParlan replied, “The fact was brought to my attention . . . by a man named Fitzgibbons, who was a watchman at the [Tremont] crossing.” A few moments later Bartholomew asked: “That was the first knowledge that you had that there was such an organization?” McParlan responded: “Yes, sir; it was the first in this county.” [emphasis added]28
Although the answers might have led one to believe that McParlan had no knowledge of the Molly Maguires prior to meeting Fitzgibbons, due to the manner in which the first question was phrased and the second answered, McParlan was able to state the truth while leaving the meaning ambivalent.
Similarly, during the Munley trial, McParlan stated: “The object of my coming to the coal regions was to make an investigation concerning an organization which was supposed to exist, called the Mollie Maguires. I first learned in the county from parties living in the county that there was such an organization existing.”29 Again, the statement is strictly accurate: He learned “in the county” from those parties, even though he had previously learned of them outside the county. Once again, McParlan was able to create the impression he desired by being a careful wordsmith and implying more than he actually stated.
McParlan’s ability to play games with words, and thereby dance out of the defense’s traps, led Ryon to call him “the most skillful, cunning man, the most unfair witness that I ever saw on the stand in my life.”30 Even so, there are times that his written reports contradicted what the detective stated on the stand, indicating beyond question that he committed perjury.
The most significant example was McParlan’s portrayal in court of his lack of knowledge about the intended victim prior to Sanger’s murder. In his original report he stated that Doyle “told me he got it [the pistol] from Ed Monaghan and that he and James O’Donnell . . . and Chas O’Donnell and Chas McAllister . . . were going down to Ravens Run to shoot Sanger, the mining boss just as he went out to get dinner.”31
Yet, no fewer than three times in court, McParlan attempted to legitimize his inaction by claiming he did not know who was to be murdered. “Did not know the boss’ name, as there were several collieries there. I did not know what boss,” he testified in his first court appearance. “And in the communication which you received of the fact of the commission of this murder, that it was to be committed, you did not learn who it was that was to be killed?” Bartholomew asked. “I did not,” responded McParlan.32
He stated similar “facts” almost two months later, adding that it was not until the morning at Lawler’s bar that he discovered the victim’s identity. “I then learned the name of one of the parties that was shot; that was the boss, and his name was Sanger. . . . I learned it from those parties . . . a
nd in Lawler’s saloon, that the name of the boss that was shot was Sanger and that the colliery he was boss at was operated by Heatons.”33
The following year, in the Donnelly trial, McParlan revisited those tense hours: “I did not know what colliery the boss worked at, or what was the name of the boss,” he claimed, adding that, as Hurley remained with him until ten o’clock, “I could not go to Raven Run. I did not know what boss was to be killed or what colliery he was at, but if I could have found Linden, and he had got his men stationed there, the probabilities are that the boss’ life might have been saved, but those things were impossible.”34
That McParlan lied on the stand in these trials seems as mysterious as it is inescapable. Why did he choose to do so? He was called out time and again for not trying to warn Jones, but he steadfastly maintained his position that he would not risk his life for someone he did not know, and that there was a very real danger that he would be killed himself.35 He also stuck to his story that he could not warn Thomas of a second set of attackers due to his ill health and having Michael Carey with him until nearly midnight.36 And yet, although he had a similar reason for his failure to warn Sanger—he could not get away from Hurley—he added a needless falsehood.
The doubts raised by the way McParlan dealt with these issues during testimony lead to still more questions. Foremost among them is: What is the likelihood that so many men involved in heinous crimes would have so lightly confessed to someone they had not known long and did not know intimately? It is also hard to believe that these confessions would have so frequently been offered in such a way that no one else could hear the conversation.
Although it is reasonable to ask questions about McParlan’s testimony, his reports do seem to be relatively trustworthy. For one thing, they correlate closely to events that were reported by different people. In addition, although spies or undercover agents have often engaged in exaggeration, they have traditionally been hesitant to fabricate reports “because he would never be the only spy available . . . and his information could often be checked.”37 By the end of McParlan’s undercover role there were numerous Pinkerton’s operatives in the region, including Linden, so he would not have been certain if lies in his reports would be spotted.38
There are, unfortunately, numerous reports missing, and that they do not cover some significant periods of McParlan’s investigation has encouraged the conspiratorial notions that he and Linden let murders proceed in order to obtain evidence of capital crimes, allowing them to eliminate the Molly Maguires. More than Linden, however, McParlan stands square in the midst of these theories, for which he has been cast as a treacherous informer who, without the slightest remorse, accepted payment to betray his “kind,” making him worse than the murderers themselves.39
This portrayal is difficult to accept for a number of reasons. First, despite the underlying implication, the Molly Maguires were not more worthy of compassion and pity than the men who were killed in cold blood because of agreements between bodymasters. Those instigating and carrying out the murders and other outrages were not heroes—that role could more safely be ascribed to Siney and those who stood with him in the WBA, working for the betterment of the miners via a peaceful solution. In addition, as previously noted, there is no proof that McParlan received any special payment for his testimony.
Moreover, although McParlan testified against those in whose houses he had stayed and at whose tables he had eaten, he was bearing witness against men who had committed capital crimes. Just because he carried out his civic and professional duty does not mean that it was a decision he took lightly or that he did so without a sense of remorse or personal unfaithfulness. Further, to demonize him for his actions is not only to condemn the thousands of law officers who have contributed to a safer society by performing dangerous and valuable roles as undercover agents but to make the argument that McParlan would have been a better individual had he simply engaged in the supposedly lesser of the two offenses: murdering those engaged in such crimes rather than testifying against them in court. This is self-evidently ludicrous.
Pinkerton had never wanted McParlan to testify in the first place, in order to preserve his usefulness as an operative. As it turned out, McParlan’s lengthy trial appearances made him one of America’s most recognizable heroes, but they did not end his career of undercover and detective work. They did, however, force him to disappear from the public eye for some time afterward.
• • •
It seems unlikely that there was anyone who held McParlan in higher esteem than Allan Pinkerton. When the detective entered the anthracite region, Pinkerton’s agency was struggling financially. By the time McParlan completed his assignment, not only had his exploits helped stabilize its economic fortunes, they had given the agency a glowing worldwide reputation. Despite the ongoing economic depression, which lasted until 1879,40 Pinkerton’s Chicago and New York offices had turned the corner, and it was in no small part due to McParlan’s reputation.
When the thirty-three-year-old McParlan left Pottsville for the final time, the strain of so many months of testifying had triggered some of the stress-related physical complaints from which he had been suffering on and off for the previous few years. He needed a period for rest and recovery—a considerable amount of it. Almost immediately, he was taken to Allan Pinkerton’s Larch Farm,41 where, still fearful of assassination, his mind must have been eased by the manned guardhouse at each of the property’s three entrances.42
After a few months of rest, the detective traveled to Ireland to visit his family, remaining “abroad until such a time as his health was restored.”43 One can only speculate how the wandering son was received, knowing the Irish attitude toward informers. A man who claimed to “know ‘Jimmy,’ as his friends call him, well,” wrote in a widely published newspaper article: “From the vast body of Irish people he is virtually ostracized. ‘He is an informer.’ That settles it with his race.”44
About a century later, Patrick Campbell was told by McParlan’s elderly niece, then living in the “old McParland homestead” that had been passed to her from her father, McParlan’s eldest brother: “He was a very brave man. . . . We were always proud of him here.”45 However, according to Irish local historians, it is unlikely that such pride would have extended outside of his immediate family—even if it existed within it—nor could they have been outwardly supportive without running the risk of alienating the surrounding community.46
One of the mysteries about McParlan’s relations with his family is raised by his father’s will, in which James was one of only two children not mentioned.47 His father, Eneas, left his lands to his eldest and youngest sons, Patrick and Henry, who had continued to farm them. Eneas’s son Michael, a bootmaker in nearby Markethill, and three of his daughters, Rose Anne, Kate, and Eliza Jane, also received varying sums. Four of his children—John, Charles, Edward, and Teresa—each received “the sum of 2 shillings and six pence.” All four had left Ireland—the two younger lads in 1876 to join their brother, and John and Teresa later, after having married—and the small sum can easily be perceived as a loving acknowledgment of his children who had gone on to better lives.48
But what of the two who were not mentioned in their father’s will? These were the first to leave Ireland: Frank, who had settled in New Zealand, where he was married in 1868, and James. Were they left out because they were the first to leave? One would not think so, because youngsters were encouraged to go abroad for a better life. Were they excluded because they did not send funds back to those remaining in the old country, as had been expected? Or did their father simply feel that they were better off than the others and needed no token gesture? There is also the possibility that James was excluded due to his undercover role. It is impossible to know, but what it demonstrates is the risk McParlan took in fighting the Molly Maguires: exclusion from his people, and perhaps from his very own family.
Before the detective returned to Irelan
d, Charles and Edward—using versions of their mother’s maiden name—left Pinkerton’s for positions with the Philadelphia and Reading Coal and Iron Company. Charles worked in a company store in Pottsville, where he would meet both his first and second wives. Edward was at the East Norwegian Colliery, where McParlan had earlier investigated a fire. The detective wrote to Gowen that he was unhappy with the amount that Edward was being paid, but that when he mentioned it to General Pleasants, he had been told that if it weren’t for him the pair would not even be employed, as “there was no necessity for them whatsoever.”49
McParlan’s brothers were not the only people receiving special treatment from the Reading. In March 1877, Butler, who had turned state’s evidence, was given a job at a colliery under a new name. Within a week and a half, the hire proved a mistake. “I had arranged for Patrick Butler to have steady work at our best colliery,” Pleasants wrote to Franklin. “[T]he difficulty is that Patrick Butler wants good pay and light work. . . . [H]e evidently expected a ‘soft thing’ from the company.”50 Such an attitude did not disturb Franklin, who subsequently employed Butler. In court, Butler later denied that he was a detective but admitted that “I did just anything going around. I told him what was going on.”51
The Reading also provided employ to Muff Lawler at the Indian Ridge shaft—where McParlan had done his first stint—and to Frank McAndrew, about whom Gowen noted, “You will remember that this man is the one who saved McParlan’s life, and I think it no more than justice that he should have some work in our service.”52 Conversely, despite his attempts to get a job via Gowen, Pleasants, and even Kaercher, Kerrigan found himself “in a reduced condition at present myself & family, and no prospect of any supper.”53 He and his family were eventually resettled in Virginia, where he held a position as a fireman with a railroad.
Other Molly Maguires did not find such forgiveness. “Mr Linden is at the present time in Nevada hunting up some of the fugitive Mollies, as we have strong reasons to believe they are there,” Franklin wrote to Kaercher.54 But despite a flood of claimed sightings, the most wanted men continued to elude capture. Friday O’Donnell and James McAllister were reported near Montreal in September 1876, but two months later the same source indicated that they had reached Ireland.55
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