So he quickly disappeared
down the railway cutting once more, and again came up to the top on
the right front of the second German barricade. Here there was a
machine-gun. In fact the officer in command had just slewed round the
gun on the Irish Guards still busy at the first barricade, and had his
finger on the button to let go the hail of lead upon them when he was
dropped by a bullet from O'Leary's rifle. Michael also shot two other
Germans, and the remaining five surrendered by putting up their hands
to the deadly, unerring marksman on the embankment.

Thus it happened that when the No. 1 Company of the Irish Guards got
to the second barricade without a single casualty, instead of, as they
had expected, serious loss of life, their surprise was turned into
amazement on seeing O'Leary there before them in sole and complete
possession of the place, with a German machine-gun and five prisoners
as spoil. "How the divil did you get here, Mike!" Such was the
exclamation of O'Leary's intimate comrades. Mike only realised that he
had done something of importance and value, as well as of splendid
gallantry, when officers and men crowded round him to shake his hand.
The commanding officer, Major the Hon. J.F. Trefusis, promoted him
full sergeant on the field.

There must always be an element of chance or luck in such an abnormal
achievement. But it is the man that is the thing. All the good fortune
in the world would be without avail if the man were not of an
exceptional type, possessed of perfect courage, marvellous
self-confidence, and supreme resolution. Not less wonderful than what
O'Leary did was the deliberate and efficient way in which he
accomplished it. He knew that death might come at any moment. But he
put the fear immediately aside lest it might in the least unnerve him
in the pursuit of his purpose. Everything showed that he was in full
possession of all his faculties.

What the United Kingdom thought of the deed was expressed by London in
the tumultuous welcome which it gave to Sergeant Michael O'Leary,
when, in his war-stained uniform, he drove through the streets with
Mr. T.P. O'Connor, to speak in Hyde Park on Saturday afternoon, July
10th, 1915. There was terrific crushing and rushing on the part of
hundreds of thousands of people eager to catch a glimpse of the
hero--a slim youth of twenty-five, in khaki, with fair hair, and a
pleasant smile lighting up his blue eyes and freckled face. No wonder,
indeed