Among the whole six hundred there might have been about one hundred muskets. Pistols, blunderbusses, and other arms there were in considerable numbers, but these were not available for a portion, at least, of the purposes which had brought them together.
After some preliminary preparation a light was struck, a candle lit, around which a certain number stood, so as to expose it to as little chance of observation as possible. A man then above the middle size, compact and big-boned, took the candle in one hand, and brought it towards a long roll which he held in the other. He wore a white hat with a low crown, had large black whiskers which came to his chin, and ran besides round his neck underneath. The appearance of this man, and of those who surrounded the dim light which he held was, when taking their black unnatural faces into consideration, certainly calculated to excite no other sensations than those of terror mingled with disgust.
“Now,” said he, in a strong rich brogue, “let every man fall into rank according as his name is called out; and along with his name he must also repate his number whatever it may be, up until we come to a hundred, for I believe we have no more muskets. Where is Sargin Lynch?”
“Here I am,” replied that individual, who enjoyed a sergeant's pension, having fought through the peninsular campaign.
“Take the lists then and proceed,” said the leader; “we have little time to lose.”
Lynch then called over a list until he had reached a hundred; every man, as he answered to his name, also repeated his number; as for instance,
“Tom Halloran.”
“Here—one!”
“Peter Rafferty!”
“Here—two!” and so on, until the requisite number was completed, and every man as he responded fell also into rank.