You haul down the British flag, and string up your tricolour in this British village while there is one Britisher to say, 'Put up that flag again!'-- You fools!" He suddenly gave the rope a pull, and the flag ran up half-way; but as he did so a stone was thrown.

It flew past his head, grazing his temple.
A sharp point lacerated the flesh, and the blood flowed down his cheek.
He ran the flag up to its full height, swiftly knotted the cord and put his back against the pole.

Grasping his stick he prepared himself for an attack.
"Mind what I say," he cried; "the first man that comes will get what for!" There was a commotion in the crowd; consternation and dismay behind Ferrol, and excitement and anger in front of him.

Three men were pushing their way through to him.

Two of them were armed.