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Updated: May 4, 2025
Mahon exploded, and threw the engineer through the cab door. Murphy slowly picked himself up. "I see two foights on afther this one," he declared joyously. "And I'll lick the bohunk that stops a one o' thim, I will." "Somebody st'ys with the engine, any'ow," muttered 'Uggins stubbornly. "'Ere, Murphy, we'll toss." "What good's that?" asked Mahon.
The seventh of June was passed by the Army of the Valley in a quiet that seemed unnatural. For fifteen days, north from Front Royal to Harper's Ferry, south from Harper's Ferry to Port Republic, cannon had thundered, musketry rattled. Battle here and battle there, and endless skirmishing! "One male and three foights a day," said Wheat's Irishmen. But this Saturday there was no fighting.
From first to last it believed itself superior to its enemies; from first to last it was equal to the tasks which its exacting commander imposed upon it, and its spirit was indomitable throughout. "One male a week and three foights a day," according to one of Jackson's Irishmen, was the rule in the campaigns of 1862. The forced marches were not made in luxury.
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