“But did they commit any personal outrages, Mr O’Joscelyn?”
“Wait till I tell you. I soon saw how the case was going to be, and I determined to be prepared. I armed myself, Mr Armstrong; and so did Mrs O’Joscelyn. Mrs O’Joscelyn is a most determined woman—a woman of great spirit; we were resolved to protect our daughters and our infants from ill-usage, as long as God should leave us the power to do so. We both armed ourselves with pistols, and I can assure you that, as far as ammunition goes, we were prepared to give them a hot reception.”
“Dear me! This must have been very unpleasant to Mrs O’Joscelyn.”
“Oh, she’s a woman of great nerve, Mr Armstrong. Mary is a woman of very great nerve. I can assure you we shall never forget that Thursday night. About seven in the evening it got darkish, but the horrid yells of the wild creatures had never ceased for one half-hour; and, a little after seven, twenty different bonfires illuminated the parish. There were bonfires on every side of us: huge masses of blazing turf were to be seen scattered through the whole country.”
“Did they burn any thing except the turf, Mr O’Joscelyn?”
“Wait till I tell you, Mr Armstrong. I shall never forget that night; we neither of us once lay down; no, not for a moment. About eight, the children were put to bed; but with their clothes and shoes on, for there was no knowing at what moment and in how sudden a way the poor innocents might be called up. My daughters behaved admirably; they remained quite quiet in the drawing-room till about eleven, when we had evening worship, and then they retired to rest. Their mother, however, insisted that they should not take off their petticoats or stockings. At about one, we went to the hall-door: it was then bright moonlight—but the flames of the surrounding turf overpowered the moon. The whole horizon was one glare of light.”
“But were not the police about, Mr O’Joscelyn?”
“Oh, they were about, to be sure, poor men; but what could they do? The government now licenses every outrage.”
“But what did the people do?” said Mr Armstrong.
“Wait till I tell you. They remained up all night; and so did we, you may be sure. Mary did not rise from her chair once that night without a pistol in her hand. We heard the sounds of their voices continually, close to the parsonage gate; we could see them in the road, from the windows—crowds of them—men, women and children; and still they continued shouting. The next morning they were a little more quiet, but still the parish was disturbed: nobody was at work, and men and women stood collected together in the roads. But as soon as it was dusk, the shoutings and the bonfires began again; and again did I and Mrs O’Joscelyn prepare for a night of anxious watching. We sat up all Friday night, Mr Armstrong.”