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I informed the under secretary, who was in waiting, who I was, and what was my business, and I made an appointment to wait on Colonel McMahon at two o'clock on the following day.
McMahon calculated to relieve the tension. "If I live, I'll have the time of my life!" she declared, grimly. She turned to Mrs. Morton: "Is your husband's family any relation to the Mortons of County Clare, if I may make so bold as to ask?" "Yes," Mrs. Morton answered, with much complacency. "Mr. Morton at present keeps up his old family estate in Ireland."
A figure parted the young branches, came out into the open, ran stealthily along the road, reached a small cottage, and disappeared within it. Donald had tempted fate at a moment when fate, in the form of two eager officers of the law, was closing him in. McMahon and the Indian scout were out that night. They had made a round of the cottages.
Russell swore out a warrant for John’s arrest, and next morning, Jan. 17, 1871, Capt. S. W. Nichols, the sheriff, and John McMahon came up to the house to arrest him. John made no resistance and invited the officers to breakfast, but they declined and went back down town.
During the ensuing assizes in the Northern Province he visited several country towns, where in the crowd of suitors and defendants he could, without attracting special notice, meet and converse with those he desired to gain over. On this tour he received the important accession of Sir Phelim O'Neil of Kinnaird, in Tyrone, Sir Con Magennis of Down, Colonel Hugh McMahon of Monaghan, and Dr.
What the orderly said was perfectly true. The Colonel, and with him the General, and the two umpires in the fight, were skirting the oats and making for the little grove of trees where the casualties were. McMahon went to meet them. "Ah, McMahon," said the Colonel, "I've come to see how you've treated the wounded. I've brought the General with me. Casualties rather heavy, eh?
General Martin T. McMahon, writing of this battle in "The Century's" series of war papers, says: "I remember at one point a mute and pathetic evidence of sterling valor. The Second Connecticut Heavy Artillery, a new regiment eighteen hundred strong, had joined us but a few days before the battle. Its uniform was bright and fresh; therefore its dead were easily distinguished where they lay.
Sparhawk, "to consider the great scandal ye occasion by this unseemly altercation. Who is there doubts the godly zeal of Col. McMahon, or the loyalty of Capt. Larkham, or the valor of either? There is no cause of enmity betwixt ye, but contrariwise of peace and good will. How sweet it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!
It's a woman's trick, that's what it is and women have no place in business." Schmidt and McMahon, almost in unison, rumbled assent. At last, the badgered employer felt himself sure of his ground. "You're right, Ferguson," he declared, with intense conviction. "Women have no place in business. You don't need to argue to convince me of that fact.
But in those eight dire minutes eight colonels died while leading their regiments on to a foredoomed defeat. One of these eight, James P. McMahon of New York, alone among his dauntless fellows, actually reached the Confederate lines, and, catching the colors from their stricken bearer, waved them one moment above the parapet before he fell. Flesh and blood could do no more.
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