punishment should be light.  This did not satisfy them, and they commenced to use violent language and to throw stones.  Orders were given to clear the square, which service was performed by the dragoons, who drove them into the neighbouring streets; but as the stone-throwing was continued, the police were sent to drive them away; failing to do this, the dragoons were ordered to advance, whereupon, it is said, a shout was raised in Irish by the people to “kill them,” which was followed by a shower of stones.  Things began to look so critical, that Captain Sibthorpe asked permission from Mr. Howley to order his men to fire, but that gentleman refused the permission.  Captain Sibthorpe then asked Mr. Howley to allow him to take that responsibility upon himself, but he still refused, saying that as an important trust had been reposed in him, he would retain that trust, and allow no firing until their lives were imperilled.  The stone-throwing continued; Mr. Howley at length said to the other magistrates that there was no use in talking any more to the people, and that he must read the riot act, which he accordingly did.  He then warned them of the dangerous course they were pursuing—­a shower of stones was the response.  Captain Sibthorpe now told Mr. Howley that he would withdraw his men from the town, unless they were permitted to fire.  The order was given; the dragoons were drawn up in sections of four—­each section firing in its turn.  In this manner twenty-six shots were fired, each round being answered by a volley of stones.  When the firing had continued for some time, the people retired from the town; they were followed by the dragoons, but entrenching themselves behind the walls and ditches, they prepared to renew the conflict, under more favorable circumstances, but the opportunity was not afforded them.  It grew late—­the town, at any rate, was cleared, and the success of the troops being by no means so certain upon this new battle ground they were withdrawn by the magistrates.  On their return to town, they found two men had been wounded, and as usually happens in such cases, one of them had no connection whatever with the business, being a carter employed in carrying baggage for the troops.  When asked how he came to be among the belligerents, having no interest in the matter, he replied, that he was under the impression the troops had orders not to fire on the people, or if they did, it should be with blank cartridge; he was confirmed in this belief by the fact, that the first four or five shots took no effect; but, “at any rate,” he added, “when I saw the fun going on, I could not resist the temptation of joining in it.”

The persons arrested on the occasion, fifty-one in number, were brought up for trial before the sitting barrister in about a month afterwards.  All pleaded guilty, and received merely nominal punishment, with the exception of “lame Pat,” their leader.  He, poor fellow, was sentenced to one year’s imprisonment, although he declared he had been four days and four nights living on cabbage leaves and salt, previous to his misconduct.  But the saddest part of this Dungarvan tale is, that the poor carrier, whose name was Michael Fleming, died of his wounds on the 26th of October, in the Workhouse, to which he had been removed for medical treatment.