In the dead of the night I began to take somewhat more courage and, hearing a strange noise in a lane which was divided from the garden only by a low wall, I crept on hands and knees to it, and saw a sight that drove me back to my mothers side. One wounded man had been dragged to die in that lane, and some young boys of the rebel side had mounted on horses and were galloping up and down many times across their bodies, they only showing signs of life by their groans; but, Barker, when he heard of this, put a stop to it and let them die in peace.

In the house a Protestant lady of great respectability was sheltered with her children. As a mark of goodwill towards her, a little thin stirabout was made early the next morning for them. She saw our desolation from the house and beckoning me to come, gave me a plateful of it for our children, but, though they tasted it , none could eat but the little boy; fear had deprived the others of the least appetite.

About nine, I felt such a desire to rejoin my father, that I might bring him back with me, that I left my mother and went to the garden gate. The first person I saw was Martins mother, dressed completely in new and excellent clothes and, in particular, remarkably handsome beaver hat. I was so much astonished at this, for she was very poor, that forgetting for the moment all my anxiety and fear, I asked her who had given her the hat. She answered me sterny, "Hush! `Tis not for one like you to ask me where I got it". "But Molly" said I, have you seen my father? "I have" she said " and he is dead". I forgot what I said or did for some minutes after hearing this, but, but then found that Molly Martin had drawn me away from the garden gate, lest, as she told me, my grief should tell my mother what had happened. I clung to her and entreated her to take me to him, that I might see him once more; she at first refused, but, at last, to pacify my violence, she consented.

We went about a quarter of a mile to Barrack Lane where, lying in the midst of five or six other bodies, with two pikemen looking on, I saw and knew my father. He lay on his back, with his hand across his breast and one knee raised, his shirt was steeped in blood, the lower part of his face disfigured with the gashes of the ruffians knife and his mouth filled purposly with dirt of the street Beside him lay a large mastiff, which had followed us from Clovass and which had licked all the blood of his face. This creature, though he was heard the ensuing night howling piteously `round the ruins of our cottage, was never seen afterwards by anyone.

I can now describe what they nearly killed me to look upon. I felt a suffocation come over me; I thought, as I looked at him, I could have given my mother, my brother, and all, even my own life, to have brought him back. I fell on my knees and, whilst kissing his forehead, broke out into loud cries, when one of the rebels gave me such a blow with the handle of his pike in my side as laid me breathless for a moment, beside my father, and must have broken my ribs, but, for a very strong bodice I wore. He was going to repeat the blow, but, that his comrade levalled his pike at him, crying, with an oath, "If you strike her again, I will thrust this through your body! Because the child is frightened, are you to beat her? I now knew him to be one, Jack O`Brien, who, but the preceding week had purchased some cloth from my father at a fair price which I had gone with him. He spoke with kindness to me, and he and Molly Martin brought me back to the garden where I had left my mother, advising me not to tell her what I had seen, lest she should perish with terror and sorrow.

This Hill lies close to the town of Enniscorthy. It is not high, but, rather steep and the rebels were assembled on it in thousands. They seemed to have a few tents made of blankets, but, the greater number were in the open air. I could see that some were cooking at large fires whilst others lay scattered about, sleeping on the ground. It was about sunset when we were taken to the Hill, where the men who were our fellow prisoners were separated from us, and driven like sheep higher up the Hill; whilst we and many more women and children were ordered to sit down in a kind of dry ditch or about half way up it. We had not been long here when we were accepted by a neighbour named Mary Donnelly; she was a Roman Catholic and had come that day to join her husband on the Hill. She wept over us and sat down close to my mother who, knowing that her presence was a protection, would cower down beside her when she heard the slightest noise; and the entire of that night we heard fearful sounds above us, the men who were brought with us to the Hill were massacred one by one. We could hear plainly the cries of the murdered, and the shouts of the executioners. Towards dawn, I saw in the bright moonlight, what terrified me more than any sight I had yet beheld; I saw a tall white figure rushing down the Hill directly towards us; as it drew nearer I saw it was a naked man and I felt my heart die within me, for I though he was no living being. He passed so close to me that I could see the dark streams of blood running down his sides. In a few seconds, the uproar above showed that he was pursued, and his pursuers also passed close to us. One saw me looking up and asked had I seen any one run past, but, I was given courage to deny it. This- as I afterwards heard - was a singularly fine young man, not quite twenty, named Hornock, the son of an estated gentleman in the neighbourhood. He had been piked and stripped, but surviving had fled thus from the Hill. He waded the Slaney and ran six miles to the ruins of his father’s house, where his pursuers reached him, and completed their work of destruction.

On Wednesday, about eleven in the forenoon, owing to the intercession of Mary Donnelly, we were allowed to leave the Hill. When we had gone about a furlong, I cast my eyes on my mother and was shocked at missing the infant from her arms. I cried, "Mother, where is the child?". "What child" she said, "Oh, I believe I left it in a trench in which we sat". I went back and found the poor little creature asleep on the ground. My mother being as crazed with grief and fear that she had forgotten it.

In our progress towards home, we met a poor silly fellow, a wood ranger, who called himself a pikeman, but, was armed only with the handle of a shovel with no pike-head on it: he took my little sister on his back and my brother in his arms and offered to leave us at our home. Within half a mile of it, we met a Roman Catholic lad, a school fellow of my own, whose name was Murphy; he wept bitterly on seeing us and perceiving us sinking with weakness, he led us to the next house, and insisted on our being admitted. He then flew off to his mother’s house for bread and milk, but we could only drink. We were allowed to rest here `till evening, but were then obliged to leave it, for the woman of the house said that its safety was endangered by our stay. Murphy again gave my mother his arm and towards dusk we, at last, reached our home we had so long wished for, and found, but a heap of ashes. The house and farmyard had been burnt to the ground; the side walls had fallen in and nothing was left standing, but one chimney and a small out house, from which the door had been torn. Our factory, with all our wheels, looms, presses and machines, was burned; all our wool and cloth which we concealed in the corn was carried off; our young cattle, pigs and horses (all but one) were driven to Vinegar Hill: all our hay and corn burned down, and yet we stood looking at all this destruction in utter silence as if we could not comprehend that it was ourselves on whom it had fallen.

All the provisions in the house had been given to the different parties of rebels, but we milked all the cows, both my uncles and our own (for the four milt cows had been left) and made curds which, for two days, was our only nourishment. On the third day poor Martin came to see us and gave us two sacks of barley-meal which he and his comrades had, of course, plundered from some other distressed creatures, but, which want forced us gratefully to accept. In a day or two after he came a second time, with some tea and sugar, and I almost wept with joy at receiving it, for my mother was unable to take any nourishment, and the infant was perishing for the want of her breast. I have often thought their liver were prolonged by this supply, but, my aunt and myself scrupulously refrained from touching it, not that we thought it sinful, but to make it last longer. In a day or two more, my uncle found that two of our pigs, which had been driven off had returned home, and he killed them, which gave us a great supply of food. In about a fortnight the greater number of those creatures he had sheltered departed to what homes and friends were left to the, But still, for many weeks, we and several as desolate, were almost dependant on him.

On Friday, my aunt said to me " I shall tell your mother of your fathers death, for it is better she should be in the most violent grief than in her present state". She did so, and I cannot even now bear to think of the manner in which my mother heard it, yet, in the midst of her anguish for his loss, the thoughts of his lying unburied seemed to give her most pain. My aunt, who was a woman of great strength, both of power and mind and, who loved my father as though he had been her own brother, proposed that I should accompany her the next day (Saturday) to the town, with a little car to seek for the body, and we agreed to lay it in one of those pits in which we were accustomed to bury our potatoes, but, which were now empty and open. We went accordingly and met no molestation, but on reaching the place, the body was nowhere to be seen. No other corpse was in sight, yet the smell of putridity was so strong that my aunt fainted. I got her home again and there we saw Martin, who had just brought the meal, and who told my mother that he had himself laid his masters body in a gravel-pit and covered it over; that; I know was, but a pretence to pacify my mother.