their heads or their hearts to let that man and me off, they would have been, probably, treated like dogs for neglecting their duty.  I am, as you know, a minister of God, and a man of peace, whose duty it is to prevent bloodshed whenever I can, and save human life, whether it is that of a Catholic or a Protestant.  Recollect, my friends, that you will, every one of you, have to stand before the judgment throne of God to seek for mercy and salvation.  As you hope for that mercy, then, at the moment of your utmost need, I implore, I entreat you, to show these men mercy now, and allow them to go their way in safety.”

“I agree with every word the priest has said,” added Reilly; “not from any apprehension of the threat held out against myself, but from, I trust, a higher principle.  Here are only six men, who, as his Reverence justly said, are, after all, only in the discharge of their public duty.  On the other hand, there are at least forty or fifty of you against them.  Now I appeal to yourselves, whether it would be a manly, or generous, or Christian act, to slaughter so poor a handful of men by the force of numbers.  No:  there would be neither credit nor honor in such an act.  I assure you, my friends, it would disgrace your common name, your common credit, and your common country.  Nay, it would seem like cowardice, and only give a handle to your enemies to tax you with it.  But I know you are not cowards, but brave and generous men, whose hearts and spirits are above a mean action.  If you were cowardly butchers, I know we might speak to you in vain; but we know you are incapable of imbruing your hands, and steeping your souls, in the guilt of unresisting blood—­for so I may term it—­where there are so few against so many.  My friends, go home, then, in the name of God, and, as this reverend gentleman said, allow these men to pass their way ’without injury.’”

“But who are you?” said their huge leader, in his terrible voice, “who presumes to lecture us?”

“I am one,” replied Reilly, “who has suffered more deeply, probably, than any man here.  I am without house or home, proscribed by the vengeance of a villain—­a villain who has left me without a shelter for my head—­who, this night, has reduced my habitation, and all that appertained to it, to a heap of ashes—­who is on my trail, night and day, and who will be on my trail, in order to glut his vengeance with my blood.  Now, my friends, listen—­I take God to witness, that if that man were here at this moment, I would plead for his life with as much earnestness as I do for those of the men who are here at your mercy.  I feel that it would be cowardly and inhuman to take it under such circumstances; yes, and unworthy of the name of William Reilly.  Now,” he added, “these men will pass safely to their quarters.”

As they were about to resume their journey, the person who seemed to have the command of the military said: 

“Mr. Reilly, one word with you:  I feel that you have saved our lives; I may requite you for that, generous act yet;” and he pressed his hand warmly as he spoke, after which they proceeded on their way.