hes were admitted. Judge McConnell took his seat on the bench
at 2:25, and a moment later the five prisoners were ushered in over the
iron bridge leading from the jail.

John F. Beggs, a deathly pallor on his face, and his blue eyes glaring
as though protruding from the bleached bones of a skeleton, headed the
line. Next to him came Daniel Coughlin, with a nervous, cynical smile
upon his face. Then followed O'Sullivan, his jaws set firm, and the
fingers of his right hand tugging nervously at his mustache. Close
behind him came Martin Burke, with the same look of stolid indifference
that he had worn throughout the trial. Kunze, who brought up the line,
was apparently the least concerned of the five, smiling and bowing as he
passed in to the reporters and court officials.

Just as soon as the prisoners had taken their seats and the fifteen
deputy sheriffs, three to each man, had filled the space behind their
chairs, the jury was brought in. Breathless silence prevailed. Everyone
present seemed impressed with the solemnity of the moment. Even Judge
McConnell, who had maintained a calm and reserved air throughout the
trial, nervously mopped his brow, from which the perspiration threatened
to pour in torrents. In response to a question of the clerk Foreman
Clarke responded that the jury had agreed upon a verdict, at the same
time handing up a sealed paper to the bench. The painful and oppressive
stillness which prevailed was only broken when the voice of the clerk,
who had in the meantime unfolded the paper, rang out clear and distinct
in tones that penetrated through the iron doors to the corridors beyond.
This is what he read:

We, the jury, find the defendant, John F. Beggs, not guilty.

We, the jury, find the defendant, John Kunze, guilty of
manslaughter as charged in the indictment and fix his punishment at
imprisonment in the penitentiary for a term of three years.

We, the jury, find the defendants Daniel Coughlin, Patrick
O'Sullivan and Martin Burke, guilty of murder in the manner and
form as charged in the indictment and fix the penalty at
imprisonment in the penitentiary for the term of their natural
lives.

One prolonged buzz, as though a thousand bated breaths had been
loosened, filled the court-room as the clerk resumed his seat. Then
there was a wail, a despairing cry. Little Kunze, the comedian of the
prisoners, had broken down at last. The hot, scalding tears