A flame leaped through the mob. The men muttered imprecations as a
new light flashed from their eyes. All their misery fell from them
as a shroud. They only thought of vengeance. They were men again.
Their hearts beat as their progenitors' hearts must have beaten at
the Boyne.

The great upheaval that flashed star-like through Ireland from epoch
to epoch, burned like vitriol in their veins.

The women forgot their crying babies as they pressed forward,
screaming their paean of vengeance against their oppressors.

The crowd seemed to throb as some great engine of humanity. It
seemed to think with one brain, beat with one heart and call with
one voice.

The cry grew into an angry roar.

Suddenly Father Cahill appeared amongst them. "Go back to your
homes," he commanded, breathlessly.

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

"In the name of the Catholic Church, go!" said the priest.

"In the name of our down-trodden and suffering people, stay!"
thundered O'Connell.

"Don't listen to him. Listen to the voice of God!"