All their misery fell from them as a shroud.

They only thought of vengeance.

They were men again.

Their hearts beat as their progenitors' hearts must have beaten at the Boyne.
The great upheaval that flashed star-like through Ireland from epoch to epoch, burned like vitriol in their veins.
The women forgot their crying babies as they pressed forward, screaming their paean of vengeance against their oppressors.
The crowd seemed to throb as some great engine of humanity.

It seemed to think with one brain, beat with one heart and call with one voice.
The cry grew into an angry roar.
Suddenly Father Cahill appeared amongst them.