The Macmahon; or, the Story of the seven Johns

Book I

— THE SEED PLOT. chap. page I. Before and after the Battle 1 II. The Place where the Protestants Lived 10 III. Seeking a Refuge 17 IV. The Decent Bodagh 25 V. Sir Teague O'Regan, Kt 36 VI. O'Hara Mulholland, Philomath 47 VII. The Village in the Bog 57 VIII. O'Hara Mulholland at Work 65 IX. The MacMahon's Will 75 X. The Bodagh and his Wife Discuss Affairs 85 XI. O'Hara Mulholland sees the Devil ... 93 XII. Why the Corraglen Folk were Feared... 103

Book II

— THE TARES. I. A Brief Re-union 117 II. The Bodagh and his Wife are Prayed for 126 III. The Election of the last MacMahon ... 134 IV. Father Ever brings the News 145 V. The Last of Sir Teague O'Regan 153 VI. A little of History 162 VII. The Agent is Checkmated 171 VIII. The Agent is Kind 180 IX. The Agent is again Checkmated 189 X. The Bodagh Rescues Mrs. MacMahon ... 199 XI. He Becomes a Magistrate 210 XII. His Wife Dies contents. X

Book III

— THE HARVEST. CHAP. *age I. The Struggle Begins 233 II. He Declares his Love for Mrs. MacMahon 241 III. Shooting a Witch ... 251 IV. Seeking Knowledge 260 V. The Results of the Search 270 VI. The "Never, Never" of the Phantom 281 Years . VII. The Bodagh warns his Daughter 290 VIII. Art MacMahon turns Rapparee 299 IX. Bella McKinlay is carried off 308 X. The Seven Johns in Pursuit 317 XI. In the Bowels of Slieve Muff 326 XII. The Bodagh gets Information on his own Terms 335 XIII. Gallows Hill and after

Chapter I. Before And Aftee The Battle

It was the morning of Tuesday, July 1st, 1690. When the sun rose like a poppy-red globe, far over the face of the water eastward from Drogheda, a heavy mist was rolling seaward from the Bog of Allen through the valley of the Boyne. For days, nay, weeks before, bare rocks and grey coast-sands had been blistered by the hot June sun, for in June of that year the weather had been hot. Now it was July, and the weather was hotter still. Inland, in the rich humid valleys and meadows that stretched away from the coast, crops, trees, weeds, everything that roots in and springs from the earth was growing, almost perceptibly; flourishing with rank, succulent, sub-tropical luxuriance. The sun sank evening after evening in a blaze of glory; and then from bog and marsh, from lake and stream, a thick heavy mist rose and spread itself out over meadow and upland, watering and making abundantly fecund the fair green earth.

Yet over the beautiful prospect the spirit of desolation reigned. War, famine, pestilence — the furies born of lust of power, of greed of possession, and of religious hate, had begun and were carrying on their ghastly work. By the wayside, here and there, as the troops of Wiliiam marched, a moving cloud of white swirling dust their rear-guard, they saw half-naked peasants hoaking l pig-nuts, with pointed sticks, out of the black vegetable soil. These they ate greedily. Of other kinds of food they had little; most of them had none. The lips of many were dyed a dirtyish green colour; which showed that they had been eating shamrocks, and the rank watercress of the ditches, seasoned with sea-salt; others ate clover blossoms, and the root-ends of rushes plucked up in the boggy places. Out of their hot, bleared, famine-wasted eyes they glared hatefully on the soldiers.

They crossed themselves, and in their native tongue uttered fierce curses, at once loud and deep, upon the long line of cut-throat Continental mercenaries riding by and jesting about the nakedness and misery of the wretched cultivators of the land they were spoiling. Hard by the way, which, ahead of the soldiers, was clothed in soft pale green, and behind them re clothed in white choking dust, were the ruins of a farm-house and outbuildings. Three days before the place had been inhabited. Then there was corn in the barn, and there were corn-stacks in the haggard, and cows grazed in the meadows. But the farmer's sons having gone soldiering into the north, leaving only father, mother and a sister at home, "The White Sergeant " and his brigand band of Rapparees sallied forth from their hiding-places in the caves and crannoges 2 of Allen Bog, surrounded the homestead, murdered the old man and his wife, and carried away the girl, the stock, and all the portable pro perty they could find.

Before retiring to their lairs they fired the house, the corn-stacks, and the farm buildings. 1 Rooting up. 2 Islands constructed artificially in the middle of lakes, generally by driving in a circular palisading of stakes! BEFOEE AND AFTEE THE BATTLE. As the soldiers passed the ruined homestead half a dozen savage-looking, shock-headed, hollow-eyed creaghts, 1 both men and women, were gibbering like monkeys and burrowing amid the ruins, seeking for handfuls of half-charred grain or meal which they found in places. Other creaghts were looking in the stumps of the corn-stacks for little bunches of un burnt ears which, when found, they seized with avidity and ate with greediness. A nest of young mice, smothered in the fire, was discovered, and for these they fought fiercely, like devils. They looked up for a moment while the soldiers rode by, crossed themselves, and cursed bitterly.

Then they resumed their eager hunt for something with which they might allay the pangs of hunger. In the dry ditch by the roadside and facing the sun, an old and withered woman, without one scrap of anything which could be called clothing, sat. She was very old and quite unable to join in the search for wisps of half-burnt grain ; she was feeble — doting — dying. But the tramp of the horses, the clatter of arms, the rattle of the gun carriages, and the loud vocal hum of the approaching cavalcade roused her. She turned about as if to hide her nakedness, drew her brown bony hand across her dim bleared eyes and gazed from under it at the soldiers. For an instant a flame of mortal hate glistened in and lit up the all but empty sockets ; it coursed over her nerves and animated her lean sere frame with energy; it was like a last tongue of fire spurting from dying embers.

In that last energy of hate she went down upon her knees and crossed herself; and clasping a rude bog oak crucifix between her withered fingers, she raised it above her head and invoked the most fearful curses on the soldiers. While she cursed the 1 Labourers and cattle-minders. shrivelled skin upon her skeleton cheeks quivered and twitched with a snarling, animal-like ferocity. Before they came near to her the soldiers thought she was praying or begging; from near at hand they saw by the expression of her face that she cursed. They jested about her, and about "the mere Irish" who went naked thus, and lived in the manner of the beasts of the field : some of them spat upon her. The fierceness of the famished beldam's wrath exhausted her vitality. When the army had passed, and its rear-guard of dust-cloud swirling along whiten ed the green of the fences and roadside, it lay white also, ashes to ashes, on a shrunken brown tegument that wrapped a corpse.

Her daughter came out from the burnt buildings. She was smeared with soot, and carried a handful of ears which the fire had not touched. She hurried up to the skeleton. The crucifix was clasped tightly in the skinny fingers ; from between the shrivelled chaps a bit of parched brown tongue protruded. The daughter saw in a moment that her mother was in no need of food, and she raised a wild, weird keen. ' Her fellows gave up the eager hunt for food to join in the cry. Two ragged men who were passing stopped and took part in the lamentations. In a few minutes they checked themselves and asked: "Who is it we're keenhi1 fwhor?" "Fwhor Mary Malone, the dacint woman." "Indade! Begorra, it wuz her own father that tuk in two Prodeshtans in '41, bad luck to her. God fwhorgive me fwhor cursin' ! " Mary Malone's daughter cursed back again, and the strangers went on their way.

The soldiers had heard the loud keen; they had 1 Funeral cry. BEF0EE AND AFTEE THE BATTLE. heard the like often before. They did not pause, but inarched swiftly forward. The sun blazed upon them fiercely — more fiercely than the old woman's wrath. The soft green of the meadows tantalized. The cool shadows of the copses on the hillsides invited to a siesta. On the left they heard the murmur and swish of the sea as it swept with rythmical regularity and peace-inspiring "hush!" on to the gray sandbeach, and then, silting into a thousand little foam-flakes, ran back to gather fresh strength for another futile attack upon the land. And every time it pitched itself upon the strand it called to all who heard it, especially to the hot dusty soldiers marching to battle, as if it were a soft voice speaking out of the infinite in a long drawn sibilant whisper, rising and falling — "hush!" and again — "hush!"

The soldiers did not hear the message its soft whispering voice conveyed. They only thought of its freshness, its coolness, the bracing effect of a plunge into its water. But there was no halting here, and they marched doggedly forward, choking with dust and sodden in perspiration. And when ever they came in view of a peasant, whether he was on the road or in the fields, he knelt down, crossed himself, cursed them by all the saints and by the bones of St. Patrick, and prayed to the mother of God to strike them dead. Late in the afternoon they arrived at the northern slope of the Boyne valley. The sun was far beyond the meridian and a breeze had sprung up. Earth and air, and sea and river, all of Nature that man could not defile, were enchantingly fair. Over Tredagh — hapless Tredagh — floated the flags of the houses of Stuart and Bourbon.

Under these, and not under their own green banner, the wretched Irish were gathered. Far out to sea could be seen the white sails of English men-of-war. Directly opposite, on the southern side of the river, were the soldiers of James and Louis. They lay in serried ranks behind ditches on the slope. At the back of their camp rose the hill of Donore ; and in the shadow of the little church which crowned it King James had pitched his tent. Between the assembled hosts lay the Valley of Decision with the Boyne winding along it. On the morrow must be fought a decisive fight in a long campaign between tyranny and liberty. This, for humanity, was the chiefest issue; joined with it and depending upon it were many others. William hoped to secure the crown he had seized ; James to win back that which he had forfeited.

The Irish chieftains hoped to recover their fathers' inheritances ; those already in possession of them were determined to retain, and if possible, add to them. A few unselfishly loyal to a poltroon king, and a few unselfishly loyal to high principles, could be found on both sides. But the great majority were religious fanatics, greedy adventurers seeking plunder, unprincipled soldiers of fortune owning no country and reverencing no flag. At the head of the one army was a pusillanimous bigot moved by no worthy or noble impulse; heedless of every voice more divine than that of his Confessor. At the head of the other was a bold, strenuous, sagacious soldier, stirred by selfish ambition certainly, but a selfish ambition with which others nobler by far were linked. While William was reconnoitring and making plans for the battle James was attending vespers and praying to Mary in the church of Donore; and while William's Generals were getting their men and guns in order the Irish leaders in James's army were quarrelling about posts of honour and positions of precedence on which, it was thought, would depend the final BEFOEE AND AFTEE THE BATTLE, 7 apportionment of the lands they had already, on paper, wrested from the usurper.

Slowly afternoon wore to evening, evening to night, and night to morning — the morning of Tues day, July 1st, 1690. The sun had risen clear in a cloudless sky. But presently a heavy mist rolled down the river and cut off each army from a view of the other. Wil liam got up early, dressed hastily, and took a final survey of the day's arrangements. James too, was up betimes, and with some of his followers attended Mass in Donore Church. General Douglas and Count Schomberg, son of General Schomberg, were despatch ed with 12,000 foot and 5,000 horse to the bridge of Slane and the adjacent fords, having instructions to cross the river there and attack James's army on the left flank. It was only when the mist cleared away that James's officers perceived this move. Then they sent Sir Neal O'Neal with 800 Irish dragoons to bar the progress of William's 17,000 hardy soldiers.

The best of the French troops were sent to guard the way of retreat to Dublin thro' the Pass of Duleek. A rabble host of half-armed, half-famished peasants, who had never been under fire and were undrilled, made up the bulk of those who were left to contest the passage of the Boyne at Oldbridge. When these realised that vociferation, and the brandishing of wooden pikes tipped with iron, would not frighten Wil liam's soldiers from entering the river, they ran away. The poor little band under the gallant O'Neal, though outnumbered by nearly twenty to one, made a brave attempt to defend the bridge of Slane and the ford nearer the sea. But they were beaten back at the first onset, their leader slain, and the whole troop driven before the opposing host like withered leaves before a November gale.

Only by a discreet exercise of their knowledge of the bogs, streams, and ditches, were they able to save themselves from complete annihilation. One section followed Colonel Art Oge MacMahon ; the other followed Colonel Hugh Ross Bane MacMahon. Each of these claimed to be The MacMahon — that is, titular leader or chief of the clan. At home, in the country of the little hills, each had his sup porters and partizans. So it was here. Even in the face of a common foe they could not reconcile their conflicting claims nor abate their hatred of each other. Yet, nevertheless, they both that day maintained their personal valour free from any stain of cowardice; and in the last gallant stand which they made with other Irish horse near Plattin Castle they redeemed Irish valour from an unfading disgrace.

Brought to bay at Plattin, they turned fiercely on their pursuers, the hated Enniskilleners, drove them back and slew fifty. But William, whose body guard the Enniskilleners had that day been, per ceiving the rout, made haste to put himself at the head of his valiant supporters, rallied them, and turned the tide of battle. The fierceness of the pursuit was repelled, the vigour of the Irish on slaught proved but a spasmodic effort — a last flicker of exhausted energy. In a few minutes they were flying again. The cowardly bigot, whose cause was the cause of the Irish, had watched the struggle of the day from a point near the church of Donore that was well out of the range of musket fire. " Change kings, and we'll fight the battle over again," cried the stricken, despairing Irish as the Enniskilleners, with William at their head, charged them finally.

At that moment he whom they called king, but who was fitter for the office of acolyte than of monarch, was hurrying from the hill of Donore to Dublin Castle. On his arrival there he met the wife of his BEFOEE AND AFTEE THE BATTLE. 9 lord-lieutenant, lying Dick Talbot, descending the stairs. "Madam," he said, "your countrymen run well ;" to which, with facile feminine wit, she replied : "Yes, but I see your Majesty has won the race." It was a stinging rebuke, but it was lost upon James. He continued his flight. The same night he hastened to Waterford and there embarked for France, leaving his followers to their fate and the mercy of their conquerors. At the Boyne his personal honour, his crown and kingdom, the future of his race, the fate of his loyal supporters, were all involved in the issue.

He struck not one blow, risked not one hair of his head. He attended Mass, prayed to Mary, and ran away. Surely never did man so richly deserve the loss of all that honourable men hold dear.

Chapter II. The Place Wheee The Peotestaxts Lived

Of James's army a few fled to Dublin ; the major ity went to Limerick and Athlone. With these last went the two MacMahons. When the shades of night fell upon the retreating troops Colonel Art Oge MacMahon tamed in the rear. At a cross-road, twelve miles beyond Slane, he got down to examine his saddle girths and harness. He spent so much time in this that his companions were soon out of sight behind a bend in the road. When he mounted his horse again he turned off to the right instead of following them. Their horses were weary and stumbled heavily along. They themselves were dejected as well as weary ; and reflections on the struggle of the day, and on its probable consequences, gave rise to seri ous and sad anticipations in each man's mind. They were so absorbed in these considerations that they did not observe Colonel Art Oge fall out of their ranks; nor did they miss him until they were many miles beyond the point where he turned off. ' As soon as he was out of sight the Colonel dismounted again, and in order to ease his horse walked more than a mile.

The way lay uphill. Near the top he fed the animal from his saddle bag, and gave it drink from his hat. It was a beautiful horse, pure white from nose to tail-tip, muscular, and capable of great endurance. It did not appear white now, THE PLACE WHEEE THE PBOTESTANTS LIVED. for perspiration and the dust of the conflict were dried on its coat. From the stump of a hayrick in a field by the road he procured a few wisps of hay with which he thoroughly nibbed it. Then, having fastened up the girths, he mounted again and set oft' at a gallop. The horse stretched its head forward, and went away at a thundering pace as if fresh froin the manger. In the country of the little hills they have not yet forgotten the white horses of the MacMahons, nor that particular chief of the clan whose nine tall sons were thus mounted.

The night was very sultry and the horse was soon in foam. Yet it bated not a jot of its speed, but went steadily, rapidly forward. It needed neither whip nor spur, and its pace never for a moment slackened until Ardee was reached. MacMahon entered the town by a circuitous route, and drew up at the door of a shabby inn in a back street. He knocked three "3's" on the window shutter and was answered by two "4's" from within. He got down and waited a few minutes. Then the yard door at the corner of the inn was opened and man and horse entered. The door was promptly closed again. This house of entertainment had no sign. But a board over the head of the door was a sufficient indication of its character. The board bore in English and Irish the name : — " Shane Boy O'Neal." Half an hour passed before the yard door was again opened.

The Colonel, mounted on another white horse, and having a lady behind him on a pillion, emerged from the yard. He was followed by the landlord. The horse was fresh and fiery, and eager to be gone; but MacMahon, who wanted to say a last word to O'Neal, held it in. The moon had just risen, and as the horse swerved round the light fell upon the woman's figure. She was tall, and comfortably wrapped. Her cloak was pulled closely over her face, yet not so closely as to prevent an observer from seeing that it was pale and very handsome. A lofty forehead, straight nose, and full, beautifully moulded chin, indicated Saxon rather than Celtic blood. These indications were strengthened by her large light-gray eyes and darkish golden-red hair. She was a tall, well-formed, stately woman of two and twenty.

In her left hand she carried a satchel containing money and some trinkets; with her right she was holding tightly to the Colonel's sword belt. Once she let it go for a moment to cross herself. The Colonel turned round and addressed the landlord. "O'Neal," he said, "you know I've put my last stake into this business. I'm going to entrust my wife to-night to one with whom I have no reason to doubt that she will be safe. Anyway, he's one who can protect her from danger. You know what I'm leaving in your keeping. I fought this day by the side of the chief man of your name until he fell. Now, it may be that this is the last time I'll look you in the face. Whenever anyone brings to you the letter you've seen with my signature on it, you're to deliver up to him for me that which I have left in your charge.

Now, that's all I have to say, O'Neal, except 'goodbye'. So, goodbye, and remember. I trust you." MacMahon held out his hand and O'Neal grasped it very fervidly. "Farewell, MacMahon. Gho manhi dhea ghud!1 An' may ye hev a fair chance av the foe. Ye ken thrust me, never fear. God be wid ye an' yer lady." "The same to you, O'Neal. Farewell." 1 God save you. THE PLACE WHEEE THE PEOTESTANTS LIVED. 13 They parted thus with solemn leave-taking, and in five minutes MacMahon and the lady were out of Ardee. At first the Colonel held his course seaward, and then followed a road which ran nearly parallel with the coast. Where the road was steep he got down and lead the horse. He seldom spoke to his companion. The thoughts of both were sad and heavy. They reached Dundalk shortly before one o'clock in the morning, but did not enter it.

William's army had lain before it during a great part of the preceding winter. It was now wasted and desolate. Swerving to the left, he held on his course a little to west of north until he came to Corraglen— "the place where the Protestants lived" — which was more than a score of miles beyond Dundalk. Corraglen was a canoe-shaped valley, lying nearly due north and south ; about one mile wide at its widest part, and some three miles long. The rim on every side, except the south, broke away into more or less barren hills. The valley was extremely fertile, more particularly along its western slope. Some time towards the close of the reign of Eliza beth a Scotchman named McKinlay, whose wife was first tortured and then burned to death for witch craft, left his birthplace and, together with his son and daughter, settled in Corraglen.

He bought a small farm, and from time to time added a field, first on one side and then on another, until it was of good size. Son and grandson succeeded him; other Scotchmen came and settled close to him, as other Scotchmen are in the habit of doing to this day. Long before the rebellion of 1641 Corraglen was known as "the place where the Prodeshstans live;" long after it— indeed, well into the present century — that name remained. Also, it was sometimes referred to as the place of the bodagh Sasso naghs. 1 At the first outbreak of the rebellion of 1641 the Scots were everywhere spared. They used this respite in Corraglen to make ready to sell their lives as dearly as they could. Thus it happened that when the rebels thought of attacking the Protestants were ready. They were left unmolested.

In time a great deal" of English blood was mingled with the Scotch; for the latter married and gave in marriage to the English, rarely to the Irish. At the period when our story opens the represent ative of the first McKinlay was living with his young wife and child in the house of his ancestor. In the middle of his farm on the western slope of the valley this John McKinlay had built himself a solid stone house with a second floor to it. Such an act was then considered presumptuous. Only a landlord, an ecclesiastic, or a landlord's agent, was deemed entitled to so fine a house. Not one farm house in a thousand could then boast a staircase and a second floor; five-eighths were but wattle huts thatched with straw. John McKinlay was known in the district as " the bodagh 3 McKinlay, " or " McKinlay duffe." 3 He was the leader of, and the first man among, the Protestants of Corraglen.

He was a very giant in stature and strength. Every male of his race had been a hardy powerful man ; but in height and strength John McKinlay broke the record, as we say. His hair was black as a raven's wing, his eyes dark and piercing, his 1 Pampered Saxon churls. 2 Bodagh was used variously. It signified "rich," "prosperous," "well-to-do." In conjunction with "Sasso nagh" it was a term of reproach ; qualified by the adjec tive "decent" it was complimentary. 3 Duffe — black or dark. THE PLACE WHEEE THE PEOTESTANTS LIVED. nose high in the bridge, long and thin, with a hook at the end of it. His chin was full and square, and his lips thin and firmly set. If one looked into his face it was seen that he could not be imposed upon ; also, that he could be trusted. From him no one would fear meanness, cruelty, or injustice ; but to cant and to make-believe, to knavery and oily hypocrisy, to everything that loved darkness and a lie, the flashing eyes and swarthy face were terribly forbidding.

In all things concerning form, face and mind, nature had dealt very generously with him. He used her gifts well and uprightly. "The dacint bodagh," he was often called. In his early years the man was thought to be scarcely capable of tenderness. But that opinion of him changed when, soon after he built his new home, he brought to it as his bride, Prudence White of Ardnalee in Meath. Whether as White, Bawn, Blanc, Wynne, Blond or Blunt — for by all these names had they been at one time or another known — the race of which she came had ever been celebrated for the fair hair, blue eyes, and handsome features of its men and women. Gaietv and grace, rather than strength of character and rigid virtue, had marked them. Now and then consumption had brought some of them to the grave at an early age; but neither alliances nor centuries of vicissitudes had robbed them of the goodly stature, blue eyes, handsome features and golden hair which were the birthright of the fierce warrior who had followed De Courcy to Ulster.

In the rebellion of 1641 the grandmother of Pru dence White, with her infant son Charles and an older boy named James, was suffered to escape ; her husband and two other sons were killed. When Charles grew up he married Betty Fleming, a daughter of the house of Slane. And the only child of the marriage was this tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed woman of soft voice, large heart, and generous overflowing sympathies, whom, as a girl of nineteen, John McKinlay had wedded and brought home to Corraglen. Their first, and as yet their only child, was a boy, born in 1688. Her father was proud and poor; John McKinlay was rich and not proud. Had things been otherwise the match would probably not have taken place. To the home of this couple in Corraglen Colonel Art Oge MacMahon rode. The lady behind him was his wife, and he was seeking for her a refuge where she might safely abide until the war-tempest should be over-past.

She also, like Prudence White's mother, was a Fleming, and of the same stock. The head of the family, Lord Slane, was fighting for King James. Her father, Sir John Fleming, had been High Sheriff for his county under James's Parliament. He was now dead, and her brother Richard, who had succeeded, had been killed before Londonderry in 1689. Colonel Hugh Ross Bane MacMahon, who emigrated to France after the surrender of Limerick, had been, with Bryan MacMahon, a member of King James's Parliament which met on the 7th of May, 1689. Young Art MacMahon, who disputed the leader ship of the clan with Hugh Ross Bane, was the only son of Bryan, and he had hoped to strengthen his influence by his marriage with Kathleen Fleming; for the Flemings were old English of the Pale ; more over, he loved her well.

He and John McKinlay had known each other long ; but it was not this fact, but rather the relationship between the two women, which prompted MacMahon to seek for his wife a home under McKinlay's roof.

Chapter III. Seeking

A EEFUGE. When Colonel MacMahon reached McKinlay's house he found the iron gate in front shut and locked. He tied the bridle to one of the bars, helped his wife over the gate, and then sprang across it himself. As they proceeded up the gravel walk to the door a dog behind the house barked furiously. John McKinlay heard it. He got out of bed, opened the shutter of his chamber window cautiously, and looked out. The moonlight was gone, and the dusk which precedes the grey light of a summer dawn lay upon the land. McKinlay saw the two figures advancing up the path. He suspected treach ery, and thought that what appeared to be a woman was really a man in disguise. He turned to a cupboard in the corner of the room, took out his mus ket, and then opening one half of the window, which was on a hinge, he asked : "Who goes there?"