“Will you swear that?”
“Ay, will I.”
“And will you say. ‘To hell with Rigby and the Union?’”
“With all my heart,” said Jack. For Jack, like most of us young fellows in those days, thought an Irish Parliament was worth fighting and worth dying for.
“You are a True-blue and no mistake. Let the old gentleman go,” came in chorus from the crowd.
I had got up close to Jack and his fair charge. With a knowing look to me and a word of explanation to her, he asked me to take care of her, and then he put his arm inside that of the old man, who still seemed half dazed with fright. We endeavoured to make our way towards the railing, and hoped to be able to slip back to the “Robin Hood.”
But the crowd kept surging round us, and it grew more excited every minute.
“Who’s in the carriage? Out with him—out with him!”
The cry was occasioned by a carriage that was endeavouring to force its way towards the entrance of the House.
In the press, Jack, myself, and our charges were borne towards it.