Fifty Years a Detective: 35 Real Detective Stories

by Thomas Furlong

As stated previously, the strike was called at ten o'clock on the morning of March 4, 1886. The sound of the big whistle, the blowing of which was the signal for the men to quit work, had hardly died away before the main yards of the company at St. Louis, which were just west of the old Twelfth St. station, were filled with a mob of at least ten thousand Knights of Labor and sympathizers. The company's shops at Chouteau and 29th Streets were also at once taken possession of by the strikers and their friends. Notwithstanding the fact that many of the employes of the company were loyal, and did not want to leave their jobs, these demonstrations caused them to do so. A call was sent in to police headquarters by General Superintendent Kerrigan, who was in charge of the operation of the Missouri Pacific and Iron Mountain roads, in the absence of Vice-President and General Manager Hoxie, who was detained at his home on account of illness, asking for police protection for the company's loyal employes and property. Maj. Lawrence Harrigan, then chief of police, responded to this call by detailing Sergt. Jack Campbell, who was afterwards chief of police, and eighteen men for duty on the company's property. The reader can easily imagine the predicament in which this little handful of officers found themselves in attempting to handle a mob of at least ten thousand. On orders from Mr. Kerrigan, I secured three engines and crews, and we began to make up a train. At this sign of activity the mob became frantic. Two of the engines were soon derailed and disabled. I then placed my force of special officers, which consisted of but a few men, on the remaining engine, and attempted to continue the switching of cars in order to get out a train of perishable goods, but we could not make any headway, as the mob pulled the pins, threw switches, derailed cars and otherwise interfered with the work. After a couple of hours had been thus consumed, I suggested to Mr. Kerrigan that we had furnished enough entertainment for the mob for one day, and told him I was going to take the engine to the round house to keep it from being disabled. "Do you think you can succeed in doing it, Tom?" asked Mr. Kerrigan. "I will do my best," I replied. "For goodness sake, do it, then, and when you get through come to my office as I want to consult with you."

The engine, which had been abandoned by the engineer and fireman, was standing just east of 12th St., a portion of it being under the viaduct which spanned that thoroughfare. The viaduct was lined with spectators and strikers and their sympathizers, many of the latter being armed with paving stones, links, pins, etc. As I climbed aboard the cab some miscreant hurled a paving stone at me. It came within a few inches of landing on my head. It is needless to state that if it had struck me I would not be writing this story. David R. Francis, at that time Mayor of St. Louis, was viewing the situation from the viaduct, and witnessed the attempt on my life. Turning to Robert S. McDonald, former Circuit Attorney, and a well-known lawyer, the Mayor exclaimed, "That man Furlong will get killed by that mob." After the incident, I espied the engineer standing in the crowd. I called to him in a loud voice, "Come here and let us take this engine to the roundhouse." On hearing this a mighty shout went up from the mob, and there was much rejoicing and clapping of hands, they thinking they had achieved a great victory—just what I wanted them to think. The engineer climbed on the engine and we made the trip to the roundhouse without molestation.

After the engine had been safely placed in its stall, I went at once to the office of General Superintendent Kerrigan. After thoroughly discussing the situation which confronted us, I suggested that he call on Judge Portis, at that time General Attorney of the Missouri Pacific, and insist on him preparing a legal notice to be served on the Mayor and Police Board and sheriff of St. Louis, setting forth that the company was being hindered in the operation of its property within the City and County of St. Louis, and State of Missouri, by a mob; that the company had many hundred thousand dollars' worth of perishable property in its cars in the yards in St. Louis, and also had plenty of competent and loyal employes who were willing and anxious to do the work of switching the cars and running the trains, but were prevented from doing so by said mob. Therefore, the company, after the serving of this notice, intended to hold the said city and county and state liable for all damages sustained by the company by reason of said mob's interference, as aforesaid. Mr. Kerrigan, acting on this suggestion, immediately called in Judge Portis, C. G. Warner, general auditor, W. H. Newman, the general freight traffic manager, and some other officers of the road, and had me repeat the suggestion to them, which I did. The attorney did not take kindly to the proposition at first, but at the demand of Mr. Kerrigan the notices were prepared, and later served on the officials named.

The receiving of these notices by the officials awakened them to their responsibilities. That evening a meeting of the Police Board was called by President Blair, and at its close an order was issued to Chief of Police Harrigan, instructing him to don his uniform early the next morning and lead every available man in the department to the Missouri Pacific yards, where he was to so station his men that none but loyal employes could enter the yards. The board's orders were carried out, the chief causing a line of men to be formed around the yards before the strikers had entered upon the property of the company.

At the head of a force of twenty-eight men, including a full train crew, conductor, engineer, fireman and three brakemen, I made up a train of ten cars and started west with them. We were not molested until we arrived at the Compton Avenue crossing. At this point a number of strikers under the leadership of a notorious agitator named Geary, were seen on the track. Each striker carried a small American flag, which they stuck up in the middle of the track at the crossing, and then every one began signalling us to stop, shouting to us that "we did not dare run over an American flag."

I want to state right here, that no man in this country has a greater respect for Old Glory than I have. I put in four years, one month and eight days defending it on one occasion, and thus helped to make it what it is today, and it made me feel pretty bad to see it put to the use it was on this occasion, and it is the only time in my life that I failed to pay the flag the respect due it. To make the story shorter, we paid no attention to the flags, and would have run over the mob had they not skeedaddled out of the way of that train.

At the city limits, Sergt. Campbell, who had been riding on the engine with me, left the train, and we continued on our journey westward. Sitting on the running board on either side of the engine I had two men, Billy Bonnell and Mike Gibbons, each armed with a shot gun. On the deadwood, or cowcatcher, in front of the engine, I had two other men, Jim McCane and W. K. Moir, each armed with revolvers, and each carrying a clawbar. We had expected to find some spiked switches, and these clawbars were to be used in pulling the spikes. The balance of my guards, all armed, were placed in the caboose and on top of the box cars. No trouble was encountered until we neared Pacific. We pulled into the town slowly, with all brakes set, so there would be no slack in the train, thus making it impossible for any one to dodge in between the cars and pull the pins, thus uncoupling the cars. We knew a lot of strikers had gone out to Pacific over the Frisco that morning, and expected trouble on arriving at that town. We were not disappointed. The first switch encountered had been turned for the side tracks and spiked, as had every other switch leading from the main line. My men who were armed with clawbars soon pulled the spikes and reset the switches and we slowly creeped into the town. The strikers were holding a meeting in an old brick house on the first road east of Pacific, but on hearing our train coming the meeting was broken up and the men ran to a sand bin located just east of the depot and took refuge behind it. As our train pulled by this sand bin at least 100 shots were fired at the train. Strange to say, not one of my men was hurt, but the cab and caboose and some of the cars were badly splintered by the bullets. After pulling by the sand bin the mob ran after the train, and one of the leaders, named Davis, picked up a drawbar and rushed to the front of the caboose, which he was enabled to do as we were running so slowly, and attempted to throw the draw bar under the front wheels of the caboose, for the purpose of derailing it. He would probably have succeeded had not Marshall F. McDonald, the noted St. Louis attorney, who had volunteered to act as one of my guards, saw what the man was attempting to do. The lawyer was so enraged at Davis' audacity that he picked up a coupling pin, which was lying on the platform of the caboose, and hit the striker over the head with it. It is needless to add that we had no more trouble with Davis that day, as he went down for the count, as the sporting writer would put it.

When we were fired upon by the mob entrenched behind the sand bin, I had hard work to control my men, they wanting to return the fire. I had previously told them not to fire a shot without my orders, but in the event I was compelled to order them to fire, I had instructed them to shoot to kill. After the first volley, and there being no return fire, the strikers concluded the guards were afraid to shoot, and immediately set about to uncouple the train. In this they were foiled, as they could not pull the pins. They then tried to climb to the top of the cars for the purpose of disarming the guards and throwing them from the train. In this they were again foiled, for the guards, using their weapons for clubs, beat them off. As soon as a striker's head appeared at the top of the ladder he received a blow over it that caused him to either fall to the ground or scamper back down the ladder. Many of them were badly injured, either from the fall or the blow from the weapon in the hands of the guards. One of the mob singled me out and kept peppering away at me with a revolver. One of my men, Mike Gibbons, from his seat on the running board of the engine, and who was armed with a shotgun, wanted to "get" this man, but I would not let him do it. The fight was fast and furious, however, and lasted until our train had passed through the town.

Our train met with no further trouble of importance until we arrive at Chamois, the end of the first freight division. Here the foreman of the round house had deserted his post and joined the strikers, and was acting as leader, and not one of the company's employes were on duty—that is, for the company. As soon as we pulled in the strikers surrounded the train, but attempted no acts of violence, they evidently being over-awed at the sight of the twenty-two armed guards. I made a short but "impressive" talk to the men, using as near as I can recall it, the following language: