More than an hour had elapsed since the action began, when Evans sallied forth to gratify not only the wishes of his kinswoman, but to satisfy his own mind as to how affairs stood. He was armed with his revolver and dirk only; and felt, notwithstanding his former resolve, a strange inclination to use them on the side of Ireland. A cowardly shot, however, he could not fire; and as he knew nothing whatever of military tactics, he at once dismissed from his mind the idea of participating in the contest. Perceiving that the conflict did not verge towards his own dwelling, he was determined to keep his eye upon that which he had just left, and yet venture as near the field where the battle was raging as a brave man might. Once he retraced his steps to inform Kate that so far as he could perceive, both armies were holding their own; returning again to the edge of a patch of wood close by. Here he had remained for some time endeavoring to form an idea as to the probable issue of the struggle, and occasionally warned of the perilousness of his position by the rifle bullets that now and then sang around him, when suddenly the red cross of St. George was seen to waver, and the next moment the British lines were broken and scattered like chaff before the gallant O’Neill and the victorious charge of his brave handful of heroes. The pulses of Evans beat quick with a sort of strange, wild joy, when he heard the shout of triumph which burst from the ranks of the Irish, as they swept like a whirlwind in the wake of their retreating foes, some of whom stood at bay but to be instantly overthrown by their pursuers. A desperate encounter between a knot of both forces took place quite near to where he stood concealed: and here, also, the enemy bit the dust; although at this precise point, they were not outnumbered. It was here that Barry and his comrades were ordered to look after the dead and wounded; the point being convenient to Wilson’s, and discernible from it, although a clump of trees shut out the house from Evans.