After the angry words exchanged at the nomination, the most peaceable reader must have anticipated the probability of a duel; but when the inflammable stuff of which Irishmen are made is considered, together with the excitement and pugnacious spirit attendant upon elections in all places, the certainty of a hostile meeting must have been apparent. The sheriff might have put the gentlemen under arrest, it is true, but that officer was a weak, thoughtless, irresolute person, and took no such precaution; though, to do the poor man justice, it is only fair to say that such an intervention of authority at such a time and place would be considered on all hands as a very impertinent, unjustifiable, and discourteous interference with the private pleasures and privileges of gentlemen.

Dick Dawson had a message conveyed to him from O’Grady, requesting the honour of his company the next morning to “grass before breakfast!” to which, of course, Dick returned an answer expressive of the utmost readiness to oblige the Squire with his presence; and, as the business of the election was of importance, it was agreed they should meet at a given spot on the way to the town, and so lose as little time as possible.

The next morning, accordingly, the parties met at the appointed place, Dick attended by Edward O’Connor and Egan the former in capacity of his friend; and O’Grady, with Scatterbrain for his second, and Furlong a looker-on: there were some straggling spectators besides, to witness the affair.

“O’Grady looks savage, Dick,” said Edward.

“Yes,” answered Dick, with a smile of as much unconcern as if he were going to lead off a country dance. “He looks as pleasant as a bull in a pound.”

“Take care of yourself, my dear Dick,” said Edward seriously.

“My dear boy, don’t make yourself uneasy,” replied Dick, laughing. “I’ll bet you two to one he misses me.”

Edward made no reply, but, to his sensitive and more thoughtful nature, betting at such a moment savoured too much of levity, so, leaving his friend, he advanced to Scatterbrain, and they commenced making the preliminary preparations.

During the period which this required O’Grady was looking down sulkily or looking up fiercely, and striking his heel with vehemence into the sod, while Dick Dawson was whistling a planxty and eyeing his man.

The arrangements were soon made, the men placed on their ground, and Dick saw by the intent look with which O’Grady marked him, that he meant mischief; they were handed their pistols the seconds retired the word was given, and as O’Grady raised his pistol, Dick saw he was completely covered, and suddenly exclaimed, throwing up his arm, “I beg your pardon for a moment.”

O’Grady involuntarily lowered his weapon, and seeing Dick standing perfectly erect, and nothing following his sudden request for this suspension of hostilities, asked, in a very angry tone, why he had interrupted him. “Because I saw you had me covered,” said Dick, “and you’d have hit me if you had fired that time: now fire away as soon as you like!” added he, at the same moment rapidly bringing up his own pistol to the level.

O’Grady was taken by surprise, and fancying Dick was going to blaze at him, fired hastily, and missed his adversary.

Dick made him a low bow, and fired in the air.

O’Grady wanted another shot, saying Dawson had tricked him, but Scatterbrain felt the propriety of Edward O’Connor’s objection to further fighting, after Dawson receiving O’Grady’s fire; so the gentlemen were removed from the ground and the affair terminated.

O’Grady, having fully intended to pink Dick, was excessively savage at being overreached, and went off to the election with a temper by no means sweetened by the morning’s adventure, while Dick roared with laughing, exclaiming at intervals to Edward O’Connor, as he was putting up his pistols, “Did not I do him neatly?”

Off they cantered gaily to the high road, exchanging merry and cheering salutations with the electors, who were thronging towards the town in great numbers and all variety of manner, group, and costume, some on foot, some on horseback, and some on cars; the gayest show of holiday attire contrasting with the every-day rags of wretchedness; the fresh cheek of health and beauty making gaunt misery look more appalling, and the elastic step of vigorous youth outstripping the tardy pace of feeble age. Pedestrians were hurrying on in detachments of five or six the equestrians in companies less numerous; sometimes the cavalier who could boast a saddle carrying a woman on a pillion behind him. But saddle or pillion were not an indispensable accompaniment to this equestrian duo, for many a “bare-back” garran carried his couple, his only harness being a halter made of a hay-rope, which in time of need sometimes proves a substitute for “rack and manger,” for it is not uncommon in Ireland to see the garran nibbling the end of his bridle when opportunity offers. The cars were in great variety; some bore small kishes, in which a woman and some children might be seen; others had a shake-down of clean straw to serve for cushions; while the better sort spread a feather-bed for greater comfort, covered by a patchwork quilt, the work of the “good woman” herself, whose own quilted petticoat vied in brightness with the calico roses on which she was sitting. The most luxurious indulged still further in some arched branches of hazel, which, bent above the car in the fashion of a booth, bore another coverlid, by way of awning, and served for protection against the weather; but few there were who could indulge in such a luxury as this of the “chaise marine,” which is the name the contrivance bears, but why, Heaven only knows.

The street of the town had its centre occupied at the broadest place with a long row of cars, covered in a similar manner to the chaise marine, a door or a shutter laid across underneath the awning, after the fashion of a counter, on which various articles were displayed for sale; for the occasion of the election was as good as a fair to the small dealers, and the public were therefore favoured with the usual opportunity of purchasing uneatable gingerbread, knives that would not cut, spectacles to increase blindness, and other articles of equal usefulness.

While the dealers here displayed their ware, and were vociferous in declaring its excellence, noisy groups passed up and down on either side of these ambulatory shops, discussing the merits of the candidates, predicting the result of the election, or giving an occasional cheer for their respective parties, with the twirl of a stick or the throwing up of a hat; while from the houses on both sides of the street the scraping of fiddles, and the lilting of pipes, increased the mingled din.

But the crowd was thickest and the uproar greatest in front of the inn where Scatterbrain’s committee sat, and before the house of Murphy, who gave up all his establishment to the service of the election, and whose stable-yard made a capital place of mustering for the tallies of Egan’s electors to assemble ere they marched to the poll. At last the hour for opening the poll struck, the inn poured forth the Scatterbrains, and Murphy’s stable-yard the Eganites, the two bodies of electors uttering thundering shouts of defiance, as, with rival banners flying, they joined in one common stream, rushing to give their votes for as for their voices, they were giving them most liberally and strenuously already. The dense crowd soon surrounded the hustings in front of the court-house, and the throes and heavings of this living mass resembled a turbulent sea lashed by a tempest: but what sea is more unruly than an excited crowd? what tempest fiercer than the breath of political excitement?

Conspicuous amongst those on the hustings were both the candidates, and their aiders and abettors on either side O’Grady and Furlong, Dick Dawson and Tom Durfy for work, and Growling to laugh at them all. Edward O’Connor was addressing the populace in a spirit-stirring appeal to their pride and affections, stimulating them to support their tried and trusty friend, and not yield the honour of their county either to fears or favours of a stranger, nor copy the bad example which some (who ought to blush) had set them, of betraying old friends and abandoning old principles. Edward’s address was cheered by those who heard it: but being heard is not essential to the applause attendant on political addresses, for those who do not hear cheer quite as much as those who do. The old adage hath it, “Show me your company, and I’ll tell you who you are;” and in the spirit of the adage one might say, “Let me see the speech-maker, an’ I’ll tell you what he says.” So when Edward O’Connor spoke, the boys welcomed him with a shout of “Ned of the Hill for ever!” and knowing to what tune his mouth would be opened, they cheered accordingly when he concluded. O’Grady, on evincing a desire to address them, was not so successful; the moment he showed himself, taunts were flung at him: but spite of this, attempting to frown down their dissatisfaction, he began to speak; but he had not uttered six words when his voice was drowned in the discordant yells of a trumpet. It is scarcely necessary to tell the reader that the performer was the identical trumpeter of the preceding day, whom O’Grady had kicked so unmercifully, who, in indignation at his wrongs, had gone over to the enemy; and having, after a night’s hard work, disengaged the cork which Andy had crammed into his trumpet, appeared in the crowd ready to do battle in the popular cause. “Wait,” he cried, “till that savage of a baste of a Squire dares for to go for to spake! won’t I smother him!” Then he would put his instrument of vengeance to his lips, and produce a yell that made his auditors put their hands to their ears. Thus armed, he waited near the platform for O’Grady’s speech, and put his threat effectually into execution. O’Grady saw whence the annoyance proceeded, and shook his fist at the delinquent, with protestations that the police should drag him from the crowd, if he dared to continue; but every threat was blighted in the bud by the withering blast of a trumpet, which was regularly followed by a peal of laughter from the crowd. O’Grady stamped and swore with rage, and calling Furlong, sent him to inform the sheriff how riotous the crowd were, and requested him to have the trumpeter seized.

Furlong hurried off on his mission, and after a long search for the potential functionary, saw him in a distant corner, engaged in what appeared to be an urgent discussion between him and Murtough Murphy, who was talking in the most jocular manner to the sheriff, who seemed anything but amused with his argumentative merriment. The fact was, Murphy, while pushing the interests of Egan with an energy unsurpassed, did it with all the utmost cheerfulness, and gave his opponents a laugh in exchange for the point gained against them, and while he defeated, amused them. Furlong, after shoving and elbowing his way through the crowd, suffering from heat and exertion, came fussing up to the sheriff, wiping his face with a scented cambric pocket-handkerchief. The sheriff and Murphy were standing close beside one of the polling-desks, and on Furlong’s lisping out “Miste’ Shewiff,” Murphy, recognising the voice and manner, turned suddenly round, and with the most provoking cordiality addressed him thus, with a smile and a nod, “Ah! Mister Furlong, how d’ye do? delighted to see you; here we are at it, sir, hammer and tongs of course you are come to vote for Egan?”

Furlong, who intended to annihilate Murphy with an indignant repetition of the provoking question put to him, threw as much of defiance as he could in his namby-pamby manner, and exclaimed, “I vote for Egan!”

“Thank you, sir,” said Murphy. “Record the vote,” added he to the clerk.

There was loud laughter on one side, and anger as loud on the other, at the way in which Murphy had entrapped Furlong, and cheated him into voting against his own party. In vain the poor gull protested he never meant to vote for Egan.

“But you did it,” cried Murphy.

“What the deuce have you done?” cried Scatterbrain’s agent, in a rage.

“Of course, they know I wouldn’t vote that way,” said Furlong. “I couldn’t vote that way it’s a mistake, and I pwotest against the twick.”

“We’ve got the trick, and we’ll keep it, however,” said Murphy.

Scatterbrain’s agent said ’t was unfair, and desired the polling-clerk not to record the vote.

“Didn’t every one hear him say, ’I vote for Egan’?” asked Murphy.

“But he didn’t mean it, sir,” said the agent.

“I don’t care what he meant, but I know he said it,” retorted Murphy; “and every one round knows he said it; and as I mean what I say myself, I suppose every other gentleman does the same down with the vote, Mister Polling-clerk.”

A regular wrangle now took place between the two agents, amidst the laughter of the bystanders, whose merriment was increased by Furlong’s vehement assurances he did not mean to vote as Murphy wanted to make it appear he had; but the more he protested, the more the people laughed. This increased his energy in fighting out the point, until Scatterbrain’s agent recommended him to desist, for that he was only interrupting their own voters from coming up. “Never mind now, sir,” said the agent, “I’ll appeal to the assessor about that vote.”

“Appeal as much as you like,” said Murtough; “that vote is as dead as a herring to you.”

Furlong, finding further remonstrance unavailing, as regarded his vote, delivered to the sheriff the message of O’Grady, who was boiling over with impatience, in the meantime, at the delay of his messenger, and anxiously expecting the arrival of sheriff and police to coerce the villainous trumpeter and chastise the applauding crowd, which became worse and worse every minute.

They exhibited a new source of provocation to O’Grady, by exposing a rat-trap hung at the end of a pole, with the caged vermin within, and vociferated “Rat, rat,” in the pauses of the trumpet. Scatterbrain, remembering the hearing they gave him the previous day, hoped to silence them, and begged O’Grady to permit him to address them; but the whim of the mob was up, and could not be easily diverted, and Scatterbrain himself was hailed with the name of “Rat-catcher.”

“You cotch him and I wish you joy of him!” cried one.

“How much did you give for him?” shouted another.

“What did you bait your thrap with?” roared a third.

“A bit o’ threasury bacon,” was the answer from a stentorian voice amidst the multitude, who shouted with laughter at the apt rejoinder, which they reiterated from one end of the crowd to the other, and the cry of “threasury bacon” rang far and wide.

Scatterbrain and O’Grady consulted together on the hustings what was to be done, while Dick the Devil was throwing jokes to the crowd, and inflaming their mischievous merriment, and Growling looking on with an expression of internal delight at the fun, uproar, and vexation around him. It was just a dish to his taste and he devoured it with silent satisfaction.

“What the deuce keeps that sneaking dandy?” cried O’Grady to Scatterbrain. “He should have returned long ago.” Oh! could he have only known at that moment, that his sweet son-in-law elect was voting against them, what would have been the consequence?

Another exhibition, insulting to O’Grady, now appeared in the crowd a chimney-pot and weathercock, after the fashion of his mother’s, was stuck on a pole, and underneath was suspended an old coat, turned inside out; this double indication of his change, so peculiarly insulting, was elevated before the hustings, amidst the jeers and laughter of the people. O’Grady was nearly frantic he rushed to the front of the platform, he shook his fist at the mockery, poured every abusive epithet on its perpetrators, and swore he would head the police himself and clear the crowd. In reply, the crowd hooted, the rat-trap and weathercock were danced together after the fashion of Punch and Judy, to the music of the trumpet; and another pole made its appearance, with a piece of bacon on it, and a placard bearing the inscription of “Treasury bacon,” all which Tom Durfy had run off to procure at a huckster’s shop the moment he heard the waggish answer, which he thus turned to account.

“The military must be called out!” said O’Grady; and with these words he left the platform to seek the sheriff.

Edward O’Connor, the moment he heard O’Grady’s threat, quitted the hustings also, in company with old Growling. “What a savage and dangerous temper that man has!” said Edward; “calling for the military when the people have committed no outrage to require such interference.”

“They have poked up the bear with their poles, sir, and it is likely he’ll give them a hug before he’s done with them,” answered the doctor.

“But what need of military?” indignantly exclaimed Edward. “The people are only going on with the noise and disturbance common to any election, and the chances are, that savage man may influence the sheriff to provoke the people, by the presence of soldiers, to some act which would not have taken place but for their interference; and thus they themselves originate the offence which they are forearmed with power to chastise. In England such extreme measures are never resorted to until necessity compels them. How I have envied Englishmen, when, on the occasion of assizes, every soldier is marched from the town while the judge is sitting; in Ireland the place of trial bristles with bayonets! How much more must a people respect and love the laws, whose own purity and justice are their best safeguard whose inherent majesty is sufficient for their own protection! The sword of justice should never need the assistance of the swords of dragoons; and in the election of their representatives, as well as at judicial sittings, a people should be free from military despotism.”

“But, as an historian, my dear young friend,” said the doctor, “I need not remind you, that dragoons have been considered ‘good lookers-on’ in Ireland since the days of Strafford.”

“Ay!” said Edward; “and scandalous it is, that the abuses of the seventeenth century should be perpetuated in the nineteenth. While those who govern show, by the means they adopt for supporting their authority, that their rule requires undue force to uphold it, they tacitly teach resistance to the people, and their practices imply that the resistance is righteous.”

“My dear Master Ned,” said the doctor, “you’re a patriot, and I’m sorry for you; you inherit the free opinions of your namesake ‘of the hill,’ of blessed memory; with such sentiments you may make a very good Irish barrister, but you’ll never be an Irish judge and as for a silk gown, ’faith you may leave the wearing of that to your wife, for stuff is all that will ever adorn your shoulders.”

“Well, I would rather have stuff there than in my head,” answered Edward.

“Very epigrammatic, indeed, Master Ned,” said the doctor. “Let us make a distich of it,” added he, with a chuckle; “for, of a verity, some of the K. C.’s of our times are but dunces. Let’s see how will it go?”

Edward dashed off this couplet in a moment

“Of modern king’s counsel this truth may be said,
They have silk on their shoulders, and stuff in their head.”

“Neat enough,” said the doctor; “but you might contrive more sting in it something to the tune of the impossibility of making ’a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,’ but the facility of manufacturing silk gowns out of bores’ heads.”

“That’s out of your bitter pill-box, Doctor,” said Ned, smiling.

“Put it into rhyme, Ned and set it to music and dedicate it to the bar mess, and see how you’ll rise in your profession! Good bye I will be back again to see the fun as soon as I can, but I must go now and visit an old woman who is in doubt whether she stands most in need of me or the priest. It’s wonderful, how little people think of the other world till they are going to leave this; and, with all their praises of heaven, how very anxious they are to stay out of it as long as they can.”

With this bit of characteristic sarcasm, the doctor and Edward separated.

Edward had hardly left the hustings, when Murphy hurried on the platform and asked for him.

“He left a few minutes ago,” said Tom Durfy.

“Well, I dare say he’s doing good wherever he is,” said Murtough; “I wanted to speak to him, but when he comes back send him to me. In the meantime, Tom, run down and bring up a batch of voters we’re getting a little ahead, I think, with the bothering I’m giving them up there, and now I want to push them with good strong tallies run down to the yard, like a good fellow, and march them up.”

Off posted Tom Durfy on his mission, and Murphy returned to the court-house.

Tom, on reaching Murphy’s house, found a strange posse of O’Grady’s party hanging round the place, and one of the fellows had backed a car against the yard gate which opened on the street, and was the outlet for Egan’s voters. By way of excuse for this, the car was piled with cabbages for sale, and a couple of very unruly pigs were tethered to the shafts, and the strapping fellow who owned all kept guard over them. Tom immediately told him he should leave that place, and an altercation commenced; but even an electioneering dispute could not but savour of fun and repartee, between Paddies.

“Be off!” said Tom.

“Sure I can’t be off till the market’s over,” was the answer.

“Well, you must take your car out o’ this.”

“Indeed now, you’ll let me stay, Misther Durfy.”

“Indeed I won’t.”

“Arrah! what harm?”

“You’re stopping up the gate on purpose, and you must go.”

“Sure your honour wouldn’t spile my stand!”

“’Faith, I’ll spoil more than your stand, if you don’t leave that.”

“Not finer cabbage in the world.”

“Go out o’ that now, ‘while your shoes are good,’" said Tom, seeing he had none; for, in speaking of shoes, Tom had no intention of alluding to the word choux, and thus making a French pun upon the cabbage for Tom did not understand French, but rather despised it as a jack-a-dandy acquirement.

“Sure, you wouldn’t ruin my market, Misther Durfy.”

“None of your humbugging but be off at once,” said Tom, whose tone indicated he was very much in earnest.

“Not a nicer slip of a pig in the market than the same pigs I’m expectin’ thirty shillin’s apiece for them.”

“’Faith, you’ll get more than thirty shillings,” cried Tom, “in less than thirty seconds, if you don’t take your dirty cabbage and blackguard pigs out o’ that!”

“Dirty cabbages!” cried the fellow, in a tone of surprise.

The order to depart was renewed.

“Blackguard pigs!” cried Paddy, in affected wonder. “Ah, Masther Tom, one would think it was afther dinner you wor.”

“What do you mean, you rap? do you intend to say I’m drunk?”

“Oh no, sir! But if it’s not afther dinner wid you, I think you wouldn’t turn up your nose at bacon and greens.”

“Oh, with all your joking,” said Tom, laughing, “you won’t find me a chicken to pluck for your bacon and greens, my boy; so, start! vanish! disperse! my bacon-merchant.”

While this dialogue was going forward, several cars were gathered round the place, with a seeming view to hem in Egan’s voters, and interrupt their progress to the poll; but the gate of the yard suddenly opened, and the fellows within soon upset the car which impeded their egress, gave freedom to the pigs, who used their liberty in eating the cabbages, while their owner was making cause with his party of O’Gradyites against the outbreak of Egan’s men. The affair was not one of importance; the numbers were not sufficient to constitute a good row it was but a hustling affair, after all, and a slight scrimmage enabled Tom Durfy to head his men in a rush to the poll.

The polling was now prosecuted vigorously on both sides, each party anxious to establish a majority on the first day; and of course the usual practices for facilitating their own, and retarding their opponents’ progress were resorted to.

Scatterbrain’s party, to counteract the energetic movement of the enemy’s voters and Murphy’s activity, got up a mode of interruption seldom made use of, but of which they availed themselves on the present occasion. It was determined to put the oath of allegiance to all the Roman Catholics, by which some loss of time to the Eganite party was effected.

This gave rise to odd scenes and answers, occasionally: some of the fellows did not know what the oath of allegiance meant; some did not know whether there might not be a scruple of conscience against making it; others, indignant at what they felt to be an insulting mode of address, on the part of the person who said to them, in a tone savouring of supremacy “You’re a Roman Catholic?” would not answer immediately, and gave dogged looks and sometimes dogged answers; and it required address on the part of Egan’s agents to make them overcome such feelings, and expedite the work of voting. At last the same herculean fellow who gave O’Grady the fierce answer about the blunderbuss tenure he enjoyed, came up to vote, and fairly bothered the querist with his ready replies, which, purposely, were never to the purpose. The examination ran nearly thus:

“You’re a Roman Catholic?”

“Am I?” said the fellow.

“Are you not?” demanded the agent.

“You say I am,” was the answer.

“Come, sir, answer What’s your religion?”

“The thrue religion.”

“What religion is that?”

“My religion.”

“And what’s your religion?”

“My mother’s religion.”

“And what was your mother’s religion?”

“She tuk whisky in her tay.”

“Come, now, I’ll find you out, as cunning as you are,” said the agent, piqued into an encounter of wits with this fellow, whose baffling of every question pleased the crowd.

“You bless yourself, don’t you?”

“When I’m done with, I think I ought.”

“What place of worship do you go to?”

“The most convaynient.”

“But of what persuasion are you?”

“My persuasion is that you won’t find it out.”

“What is your belief?”

“My belief is that you’re puzzled.”

“Do you confess?”

“Not to you.”

“Come! now I have you. Who would you send for if you were likely to die?”

“Doctor Growlin’.”

“Not for the priest?”

“I must first get a messenger.”

“Confound your quibbling! tell me, then, what your opinions are your conscientious opinions I mean.”

“They are the same as my landlord’s.”

“And what are your landlord’s opinions?”

“Faix, his opinion is, that I won’t pay him the last half-year’s rint; and I’m of the same opinion myself.”

A roar of laughter followed this answer, and dumb-foundered the agent for a time; but, angered at the successful quibbling of the sturdy and wily fellow before him, he at last declared, with much severity of manner, that he must have a direct reply. “I insist, sir, on your answering, at once, are you a Roman Catholic?”

“I am,” said the fellow.

“And could not you say so at once?” repeated the officer.

“You never axed me,” returned the other.

“I did,” said the officer.

“Indeed, you didn’t. You said I was a great many things, but you never axed me you wor dhrivin’ crass words and cruked questions at me, and I gev you answers to match them, for sure I thought it was manners to cut out my behavor on your patthern.”

“Take the oath, sir.”

“Where am I to take it to, sir?” inquired the provoking blackguard.

The clerk was desired to “swear him,” without further notice being taken of his impertinent answer.

“I hope the oath is not woighty, sir, for my conscience is tindher since the last alibi I swore.”

The business of the interior was now suspended for a time by the sounds of fierce tumult which arose from without. Some rushed from the court-house to the platform outside, and beheld the crowd in a state of great excitement, beating back the police, who had been engaged in endeavouring to seize the persons and things which had offended O’Grady; and the police falling back for support on a party of military which O’Grady had prevailed on the sheriff to call out. The sheriff was a weak, irresolute man, and was over-persuaded by such words as “mob” and “riot,” and breaches of the peace being about to be committed, if the ruffians were not checked beforehand. The wisdom of preventive measures was preached, and the rest of the hackneyed phrases were paraded, which brazen-faced and iron-handed oppressors are only too familiar with.

The people were now roused, and thoroughly defeated the police, who were forced to fly to the lines of the military party for protection; having effected this object, the crowd retained their position, and did not attempt to assault the soldiers, though a very firm and louring front was presented to them, and shouts of defiance against the “Peelers" rose loud and long.

“A round of ball cartridge would cool their courage,” said O’Grady.

The English officer in command of the party, looking with wonder and reproach upon him, asked if he had the command of the party.

“No, sir; the sheriff, of course; but if I were in his place, I’d soon disperse the rascals.”

“Did you ever witness the effect of a fusilade, sir?” inquired the officer.

“No, sir,” said O’Grady, gruffly; “but I suppose I know pretty well what it is.”

“For the sake of humanity, sir, I hope you do not, or I am willing to believe you would not talk so lightly of it; but it is singular how much fonder civilians are of urging measures that end in blood, than those whose profession is arms, and who know how disastrous is their use.”

The police were ordered to advance again and seize the “ringleaders:” they obeyed unwillingly; but being saluted with some stones, their individual wrath was excited, and they advanced to chastise the mob, who again drove them back; and a nearer approach to the soldiers was made by the crowd in the scuffle which ensued.

“Now, will you fire?” said O’Grady to the sheriff.

The sheriff, who was a miserable coward, was filled with dread at the threatening aspect of the mob, and wished to have his precious person under shelter before hostilities commenced; so, with pallid lips, and his teeth chattering with fear, he exclaimed:

“No! no! no! don’t fire don’t fire don’t be precipitate: besides, I haven’t read the Riot Act.”

“There’s no necessity for firing, I should say,” said the captain.

“I thought not, captain I hope not, captain,” said the sheriff, who now assumed a humane tone. “Think of the effusion of blood, my dear sir,” said he to O’Grady, who was grinning like a fiend all the time “the sacrifice of human life I couldn’t, sir I can’t, sir besides, the Riot Act haven’t it about me must be read, you know, Mister O’Grady.”

“Not always,” said O’Grady, fiercely.

“But the inquiry is always very strict after, if it is not, sir I should not like the effusion of human blood, sir, unless the Riot Act was read, and the thing done regularly, don’t think I care for the d d rascals a button, sir, only the regularity, you know; and the effusion of human blood is serious, and the inquiry, too, without the Riot Act. Captain, would you oblige me to fall back a little closer round the court-house, and maintain the freedom of election? Besides, the Riot Act is up-stairs in my desk. The court-house must be protected, you know, and I just want to run up-stairs for the Riot Act; I’ll be down again in a moment. Captain, do oblige me draw your men a leetle closer round the court-house.”

“I’m in a better position here, sir,” said the captain.

“I thought you were under my command, sir,” said the sheriff.

“Under your command to fire, sir, but the choice of position rests with me; and we are stronger where we are; the court-house is completely covered, and while my men are under arms here, you may rely on it the crowd is completely in check without firing a shot.”

Off ran the sheriff to the court-house.

“You’re saving of your gunpowder, I see, sir,” said O’Grady to the captain, with a sardonic grin.

“You seem to be equally sparing of your humanity, sir,” returned the captain.

“God forbid I should be afraid of a pack of ruffians,” said O’Grady.

“Or I of a single one,” returned the captain, with a look of stern contempt.

There is no knowing what this bitter bandying of hard words might have led to, had it not been interrupted by the appearance of the sheriff at one of the windows of the court-house; there, with the Riot Act in his hand, he called out:

“Now I’ve read it fire away, boys fire away!” and all his compunction about the effusion of blood vanished the moment his own miserable carcass was safe from harm. Again he waved the Riot Act from the window, and vociferated, “Fire away, boys!” as loud as his frog-like voice permitted.

“Now, sir, you’re ordered to fire,” said O’Grady to the captain.

“I’ll not obey that order, sir,” said the captain; “the man is out of his senses with fear, and I’ll not obey such a serious command from a madman.”

“Do you dare disobey the orders of the sheriff, sir?” thundered O’Grady.

“I am responsible for my act, sir,” said the captain “seriously responsible; but I will not slaughter unarmed people until I see further and fitter cause.”

The sheriff had vanished he was nowhere to be seen and O’Grady as a magistrate had now the command. Seeing the cool and courageous man he had to deal with in the military chief, he determined to push matters to such an extremity that he should be forced, in self-defence, to fire. With this object in view he ordered a fresh advance of the police upon the people, and in this third affair matters assumed a more serious aspect; sticks and stones were used with more effect, and the two parties being nearer to each other, the missiles meant only for the police overshot their mark and struck the soldiers, who bore their painful situation with admirable patience.

“Now will you fire, sir?” said O’Grady to the officer.

“If I fire now, sir, I am as likely to kill the police as the people; withdraw your police first, sir, and then I will fire.”

This was but reasonable so reasonable, that even O’Grady, enraged almost to madness as he was, could not gainsay it; and he went forward himself to withdraw the police force. O’Grady’s presence increased the rage of the mob, whose blood was now thoroughly up, and as the police fell back they were pressed by the infuriated people, who now began almost to disregard the presence of the military, and poured down in a resistless stream upon them.

O’Grady repeated his command to the captain, who, finding matters thus driven to extremity, saw no longer the possibility of avoiding bloodshed; and the first preparatory word of the fatal order was given, the second on his lips, and the long file of bright muskets flashed in the sun ere they should quench his light for ever to some, and carry darkness to many a heart and hearth, when a young and handsome man, mounted on a noble horse, came plunging and ploughing his way through the crowd, and, rushing between the half-levelled muskets and those who in another instant would have fallen their victims, he shouted in a voice whose noble tone carried to its hearers involuntary obedience, “Stop! for God’s sake, stop!” Then wheeling his horse suddenly round, he charged along the advancing front of the people, plunging his horse fiercely upon them, and waving them back with his hand, enforcing his commands with words as well as actions. The crowd fell back as he pressed upon them with fiery horsemanship unsurpassable by an Arab; and as his dark clustering hair streamed about his noble face, pale from excitement, and with flashing eyes, he was a model worthy of the best days of Grecian art ay, and he had a soul worthy of the most glorious times of Grecian liberty!

It was Edward O’Connor.

“Fire!” cried O’Grady again.

The gallant soldier, touched by the heroism of O’Connor, and roused by the brutality of O’Grady beyond his patience, in the excitement of the moment, was urged beyond the habitual parlance of a gentleman, and swore vehemently, “I’ll be damned if I do! I wouldn’t run the risk of shooting that noble fellow for all the magistrates in your county.”

O’Connor had again turned round, and rode up to the military party, having heard the word “fire!” repeated.

“For mercy’s sake, sir, don’t fire, and I pledge you my soul the crowd shall disperse.”

“Ay!” cried O’Grady, “they won’t obey the laws nor the magistrates; but they’ll listen fast enough to a d d rebel like you.”

“Liar and ruffian!” exclaimed Edward. “I’m a better and more loyal subject than you, who provoke resistance to the laws you should make honoured.”

At the word “liar,” O’Grady, now quite frenzied, attempted to seize a musket from a soldier beside him; and had he succeeded in obtaining possession of it, Edward O’Connor’s days had been numbered; but the soldier would not give up his firelock, and O’Grady, intent on immediate vengeance, then rushed upon Edward, and seizing him by the leg, attempted to unhorse him; but Edward was too firm in his seat for this, and a struggle ensued.

The crowd, fearing Edward was about to fall a victim, raised a fierce shout, and were about to advance, when the captain, with admirable presence of mind, seized O’Grady, dragged him away from his hold, and gave freedom to Edward, who instantly used it again to charge the advancing line of the mob, and drive them back.

“Back, boys, back!” he cried, “don’t give your enemies a triumph by being disorderly. Disperse retire into houses, let nothing tempt you to riot collect round your tally-rooms, and come up quietly to the polling and you will yet have a peaceful triumph.”

The crowd, obeying, gave three cheers for “Ned-o’-the-Hill,” and the dense mass, which could not be awed, and dreaded not the engines of war, melted away before the breath of peace.

As they retired on one side, the soldiers were ordered to their quarters on the other, while their captain and Edward O’Connor stood in the midst; but ere they separated, these two, with charity in their souls, waved their hands towards each other in token of amity, and parted, verily, in friendship.