That the person of Reilly was not recognized by any of these men is accounted for by a well-known custom, peculiar to such meetings, both then and now.  The individuals before and around him were all strangers, from distant parts of the country; for whenever an outrage is to be committed, or a nocturnal drilling to take place, the peasantry start across the country, in twos and threes, until they quietly reach some lonely and remote spot, where their persons are not known.

No sooner had he mentioned his name, however, than there arose a peculiar murmur among the insurgents—­such a murmur indeed as it was difficult to understand; there was also a rapid consultation in Irish, which was closed by a general determination to restrain their vengeance for that night, at least, and for the sake of the celebrated young martyr—­for as such they looked upon him—­to allow the military to pass on without injury.  Reilly then addressed them in Irish, and thanked them, both in his own name and that of the priest, for the respect evinced by, their observation of the advice they had given them.  The priest also addressed them in Irish, aware, as he was, that one sentence in that language, especially from a person in a superior rank of life, carries more weight than a whole oration in the language of the Sassenagh.  The poor old man’s mind was once more at ease, and after these rough, but not intractable, men had given three cheers for “bould Willy Reilly,” three more for the Cooleen Bawn, not forgetting the priest, the latter, while returning thanks, had them in convulsions of laughter.  “May I never do harm,” proceeded his reverence humorously, “but the first Christian duty that every true Catholic ought to learn is to whistle on his fingers.  The moment ever your children, boys, are able to give a squall, clap their forefinger and thumb in their mouth, and leave the rest to nature.  Let them talk of their spinnet and sinnet, their fiddle and their diddle, their dancing and their prancing, but there is no genteel accomplishment able to be compared to a rousing whistle on the fingers.  See what it did for us to-night.  My soul to glory, but only for it, Mr. Reilly and I would have soon taken a journey with our heels foremost; and, what is worse, the villains would have forced us to take a bird’s-eye view of our own funeral from the three sticks, meaning the two that stand up, and the third that goes across them (The gallows).  However, God’s good, and, after all, boys, you see there is nothing like an accomplished education.  As to the soldiers, I don’t think myself that they’ll recover the bit of fright they got until the new potatoes come in.  Troth, while you were gathering in about them, I felt that the unfortunate vagabonds were to be pitied; but, Lord help us, when men are in trouble—­especially in fear of their lives—­and with twelve inches of sharp iron near their breasts, it’s wonderful what effect fear will have on them.  Troth, I wasn’t far from feeling the same thing myself, only I knew there was relief at hand; at all events, it’s well you kept your hands off them, for now, thank goodness, you can step home without the guilt of murder on your souls.”