to come may
know happiness and peace and freedom. Swear!"

He stopped at the end of the adjuration, his right hand held high above
his head, his left--palm upward, stretched forward in an attitude of
entreaty.

It seemed as though the SOUL of the man was pleading with them to take
the oath that would bind THEIR souls to the "Cause."

Crowding around him, eyes blazing, breasts heaving, as if impelled by
one common thought, the men and women clamoured with outstretched hands:

"We swear!"

In that moment of exaltation it seemed as if the old Saint-Martyrs'
halo glowed over each, as they took the oath that pledged them to the
"CAUSE,"--the Cause that meant the lifting of oppression and tyranny:
immunity from "buckshot" and the prison-cell: from famine and murder
and coercion--all the component parts of Ireland's torture in her
struggle for her right to self-government.

A moment later the crowd was hushed. A tremour ran through it. The
sounds of marching troops: the unintelligible words of command, broke
in on them.

Father Cahill plunged in amongst them. "The constabulary," he cried.
"Back to your homes."

"Stay where you are," shouted O'Connell.

"I beg you, my children! I command you! I entreat you! Don't have
bloodshed here to-day!" Father Cahill turned distractedly to O'Connell,
crying out to him:

"Tell them to go back! My poor people! Tell them to go back to their
homes while there's time."

Turning his back on the priest, O'Connell faced the crowd:

"You have taken your oath. Would you perjure yourselves at this old
man's bidding? See where the soldiers come. Look--and look well at
them. Their uniforms stand for the badge of tyranny. The glint of their
muskets is the message from their illustrious sovereign of her feeling
to this part of her kingdom. We ask for JUSTICE and they send us
BULLETS. We cry for 'LIBERTY' and the answer is 'DEATH' at the hands of
her soldiers. We accept the challenge. Put yer women and childhren
behind you. Let no man move."

The men hurriedly placed the women and children so that they were
protected from the first onslaught of the soldiery.

Then the men of St. Kernan's Hill, armed with huge stones and sticks,
turned to meet the troops.

Mr. Roche, the resident-magistrate, rode at their head.

"Arrest that man," he cried, pointing to O'Connell.

An angry growl went up from the mob.

Father Cahill hurried to him:

"Don't interfere with them, Mr. Roche. For the lo