I was outside, gripping the white cloth, clinging with one hand to the shattered casing.

Some one called, but the words died out in the roar of musketry.

The flame of carbines seemed in my very face, the crack of revolvers at my ears.

Then a hand jerked me back head first into the debris.

I staggered to my knees, only to hear Mahoney shout, "They're coomin', lads, they're coomin'! Howly Mary, we've got 'em now!" "Who's coming ?" "Our own fellars, sorr! They're risin' out o' the groun' yonder loike so many rats.