Then the storm burst, and the mob flung itself upon the dragoons.
"Bad cess to you!" cried Flanagan. "Will ye listen to me, ye
murthering villains" Then in despair "Char-r-r-ge!" he roared, and
headed for the gateway.
The troopers attempted in vain to reach it. The mob hemmed them
about too closely, and then a horrid hand-to-hand fight began, under
the cold light of the moon, in that garden consecrated to peace and
piety. Two saddles had been emptied, and the exasperated troopers
were slashing now at their assailants with the edge, intent upon
cutting a way out of that murderous press. It is doubtful if a man
of them would have survived, for the odds were fully ten to one
against them. To their aid came now the abbess. She stood on a
balcony above, and called upon the people to desist, and hear her.
Thence she harangued them for some moments, commanding them to allow
the soldiers to depart. They obeyed with obvious reluctance, and
at last a lane was opened in that solid, seething mass of angry clods.
But Flanagan hesitated to pass down this lane and so depart. Three
of his troopers were down by now, and his lieutenant was missing. He
was exercised to resolve where his duty lay.
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