Larry interposed his cutlass, and,
before the man could again raise his weapon, inflicted so severe a wound
that he was compelled to drop it. The lieutenant and more seamen coming
up threw themselves on him, and in spite of several other people who had
come out, he also was secured. The rest retreated into the room, but
were pursued before they could make their escape from the windows, which
they were attempting to do. One fellow was hauled back just as he had
got outside, and in a short time every male inmate of the house was
captured.

Rapid as the pressgang had been in their movements, the alarm had been
given outside, and a mob was already collecting in the street, evidently
with the intention of rescuing the prisoners. There was no time,
therefore, to be lost. Mr Foley ordered his men to drag them out and
hurry them along, each of the pressgang holding a pistol to the head of
his prisoner. Larry had taken charge of the man whom Gerald supposed to
be O'Harrall. The ruffian at first waited along quietly enough, but by
the way he turned his head he was evidently on the watch for an
opportunity of escaping.

"If ye attempt to do it, a bullet will go through yer head, as shure as
ye're a living man," cried Larry, in a tone of voice which made the
prisoner feel certain that he would be as good as his word. His escape
would have been the signal for the rest to attempt breaking loose. Mr
Foley and Gerald, with two of the men who had no prisoners to guard,
brought up the rear, and had enough to do to keep the rapidly increasing
mob at bay. It was mostly composed, however, of women and boys, who
shrieked and shouted, and hurled abuse on the heads of the pressgang.
By degrees, however, they were joined by several men carrying
shillelaghs, but the strict enforcement of the law against the
possession of firearms prevented the lower orders in the city from
having them. Growing bolder as their numbers increased, and seeing that
the pressgang was about to escape from their own especial domain, they
made a furious attack on the rearguard, who could only keep them at bay
by a free use of their cutlasses, with which several of the assailants
were wounded. At length the lesson the mob received made them hold
back, though they vented their rage in still louder execrations, howling
as an Irish mob alone can howl.

"Not very pleasant work this, Tracy," observed Mr Foley to the
midshipman. "However, as we've got thus far,