378 Narrative of some Events [Aprit; 
Roman Catholic lad, a school-fellow of my own, named Murphy, who 
wept bitterly on seeing us, and, perceiving that we were sinking with 
weakness, he led us to the next house, insisted on our admission, and 
then flew off to his father’s cottage for some bread and milk, but though 
two days had now fully passed since we had eaten, we could only 
moisten our lips. We were allowed to rest. here till towards evening, 
but were then ordered to leave the house by the owners, for they said 
that our stay endangered their own safety: Murphy again gave my 
mother his arm; towards dusk we at last reached the home we had so 
long wished for, and found the house only a heap of ruins. It had been 
burned to the ground, the side walls had fallen in, and nothing remained 
standing but one chimney and a barn, from which the doors and part of 
the roof had been torn. Our little factory also lay in ashes, with all our 
looms, presses, wheels, and machines. All our cloth and wool, which 
we had concealed in the corn, was carried off ; our young cattle, horses, 
and pigs, were all driven to Vinegar Hill, our stacks of hay and corn 
were burnt down, and yet we stood looking on all this desolation in 
utter silence, as if we could not comprehend that it was on ourselves it 
had fallen. 
My father's brother lived within two fields of us: his wife had been 
uncommonly charitable to beggars, or poor travellers, as they called 
themselves, and even had an outhouse, with clean straw, purposely for. 
them to sleep in. Oue of these, a woman of the very lowest class, when 
she saw the family on the preceding Sunday, preparing to take refuge, 
as we did, in Enniscorthy, clung round them, and between intreaties 
and threats prevailed on them to remain in their house. She remained 
also, and protected them ; and owing to her courage and presence of 
mind, she saved nearly their entire property from destruction, for she 
turned back more than one party of rebels who were bent on murder 
and plunder. My uncle hearing that we were standing at the ruins of 
our house, came to us, and led us to his, where we found more than fifty 
women and children, many of the highest class, who had no other place 
in which to lay their heads, nor a morsel to satisfy the hunger, which 
(now that they were no longer in immediate terror for their lives) they 
began to feel. 
All the provisions in the house had been given to the different parties 
of rebels who had called, but we milked all the cows, both those of my 
uncle and our own (which had not been carried away with the rest - 
of our cattle) and made curds, which for some days was our only food. 
On the third day, poor Martin came to see us, he wept with us, and 
gave us two sacks of barley meal, which he and his comrades had plun- 
dered from some other distressed family, but want forced us to accept 
them with gratitude. My uncle, in a day or two more, found that two 
of our pigs had returned home, and he killed them, which gave us a 
great supply of food. In about a fortnight the greater part of those 
creatures he had sheltered, departed to whatever homes or friends were 
left to them, but still for many weeks we, and several as desolate, were 
entirely dependent on him. - , 
In a few days after Martin’s first visit he came again, with some tea 
and sugar for my mother, whose health was now so precarious, that, 
for many days, it was her only nourishment; and until he was killed, 
about the latter end of June, at Borris, he continued to shew us similar 
kindness. Even when dying, he made his comrades promise to carry 
