“Thirty troopers in the glen,
Thirty, stalwart fearless men;
All alert and cool and steady;
Sabres loose and carbines ready,
But who are moving through the trees?
Bang! Bang! they are the Rapparees!
Chorus:
Bang! Bang! they are the Rapparees!
“Twenty troopers in the glen——,
That volley emptied saddles ten?
Twenty troopers gain the hill——,
‘Halt,’ their captain cries ‘until
We breathe our horses.’ ‘If you please,
You’ll first ask leave of the Rapparees.’
Chorus:
‘You’ll first ask leave of the Rapparees.’
“The heather seems alive to-night;
Muskets flash a-left, a-right.
Troopers ten are scurrying fast
As clouds before the winter blast,
And empty ten more saddle trees.
’Tis you can shoot, my Rapparees.
Chorus:
‘’Tis you can shoot, my Rapparees.’”
The applause which followed the song had barely ceased, when a low whistle was heard from outside.
“Open!” cried the captain of the Rapparees.
The barrier closing the entrance to the cave was removed, and a man covered with perspiration, and almost fainting for want of breath, rushed in.
“Two troops of infantry left Adamstown Barracks three hours ago. Shaun-na-cappal was with them.”
“Shaun-na-cappal!”
“Yes! They made for the red lanes, and ought to be in the glen by this.”
Another low whistle was heard, when the door was again opened, and a lad burst in.