Are you afraid to strike a blow for your homes? Must I go and
tell them that sent me that the Irishman is a coward as well as a slave?
There's fighting to be done, if there's only men to do it--fighting
with the men who wring the life's blood out of you and your land--
fighting with the toadies who are paid by England to grind you down--
fighting with the blasphemers who rob your priests and your chapels--
fighting with the soldiery who live on you, and tax you, and insult your
wives and daughters. It's no child's play is wanted of you. We want no
poltroons in the cause. We know the people's friends, and we know their
enemies; and it's little enough quarter will be going on the day we
reckon accounts. Arrah, boys!" cried he, letting go his foreign air for
a moment and dropping into the native, "it's no time for talking at all.
There's some of yez armed already; there's a gun for any mother's son
here that will use it for the people, and swear on the book to leave the
world with one tyrant less upon it. Come up, boys, and take the oath,
and shame to them that hang back."

Instantly there was a forward movement in the audience, as with shouts
and cheers they pressed towards the speaker.

He held aloft a book and recited the oath in a loud voice. As far as I
remember it bound every one to be a loyal member of the society
organised in that district to put down the tyrant and free Ireland from
the English yoke. It bound him, without question, to obey any command
or perform any service demanded of him in the cause. It pledged him to
utter secrecy as to the existence and actions of the society. And it
doomed him to the penalty of death for any breach of his vow.

In fours, each with a hand on the book, the company advanced and took
the vow, each man's name as he did so being written down and publicly
announced. Even the two sentinels were called from their posts and
replaced, in order that they might join.

Finally the leader cried,--

"Is that the whole of ye?"

"No," cried my custodian, pushing me forward with the butt-end of his
gun. "There's a boy here, plaze your honour, captain, that we took this
day. It's him that gave Larry Dugan his death that night we visited
Knockowen."

The leader turned me to the moonlight and scrutinised my face sharply.

"I had forgotten him," said he; "he should have been left behind.--That
was a bad business at Knockowen."

"'Deed, sir," said I, plucking up a little hea