I crossed the park in a straight line for Dublin; I did not meet a living soul; 'twas dark, but not very dark.

When I reached the Butcher's Wood, all on a sudden, I heard a horrid screech, and two blows quick, one after the other, to my right, not three score steps away--heavy blows--they sounded like the strokes of a man beating a carpet.
'With the first alarm, I hollo'd, and ran in the direction shouting as I went; 'twas as I ran I heard the second blow; I saw no one, and heard no other sound; the noise I made myself in running might prevent it.

I can't say how many seconds it took to run the distance--not many; I ran fast; I was not long in finding the body; his white vest and small clothes showed under the shadow; he seemed quite dead.

I thought when first I took his hand, there was a kind of a quiver in his fingers; but that was over immediately.

His eyes and mouth were a bit open; the blood was coming very fast, and the wounds on his head looked very deep--frightful--as I conjectured they were done with a falchion (a name given to a heavy wooden sword resembling a New Zealand weapon); there was blood coming from one ear, and his mouth; there was no sign of life about him, and I thought him quite dead.