Behind him the mob was
solid, cutting off the dragoons from their fallen comrades. An attempt
to go back might be misunderstood and resisted, leading to a renewal
of the combat, and surely in vain, for he could not doubt but that the
fallen troopers had been finished outright.
Similarly the mob stood as solid between him and the door that led to
the interior of the convent, where Mr. Butler was lingering alive or
dead. A number of peasants had already invaded the actual building,
so that in that connection too the sergeant concluded that there was
little reason to hope that the lieutenant should have escaped the
fate his own rashness had invoked. He had his remaining seven men
to think of, and he concluded that it was his duty under all the
circumstances to bring these off alive, and not procure their
massacre by attempting fruitless quixotries.
So "Forward!" roared the voice of Sergeant Flanagan, and forward
went the seven through the passage that had opened out before them
in that hooting, angry mob.
Beyond the convent walls they found fresh assailants awaiting them,
enemies these, who had not been soothed by the gentle, reassuring
voice of the abbess. But here there was more room to manoeuvre.
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