tes, the order was given by the officers--"Are you ready,
lads?" "Yes," came the response. "Then over the parapet, like one man,
leaped 800 forms, the four green company flags leading." The
intervening plain measured three hundred yards. It was swept by the
close-range fire of the Germans, like rain from thunder-clouds.
Hundreds of the Munsters fell in the charge; but "The green flag was
raised on the parapet of the main German trench, and in they went,"
says Sergeant-Major Leahy. Mrs. Rickard states that the regiments on
the left and right, being unable to get near the line where the
Munsters were fighting, the position became that of a forlorn hope;
and the battalion was ordered to retire. "You were the only battalion
attacking to penetrate and storm the German trenches, although under a
hellish fire," said the Commander of the Brigade, subsequently
addressing the Munsters. "You have added another laurel to your noble
deeds during the present campaign. I am proud to command such a
gallant regiment." "So the Munsters came back after their day's work,"
writes Mrs. Rickard; "they formed up in the Rue de Bois, numbering 200
men and three officers." "It seems almost superfluous to make any
further comment," she adds. Father Gleeson was in the trenches during
the answering bombardment by the Germans. "It was terrible," said
Private Danaher; "houses, trees, and bodies flying in the air. Still,
Father Gleeson stuck to his post attending to the dying Munsters, and
shells dropping all around him. Indeed, if anyone has earned the
V.C., Father Gleeson has. He is a credit to the country he hails from,
and has brought luck to the Munsters since he joined them."

The Liverpool Irish leaped into fame and glory at the first chance
afforded them. That was at Festubert on June 16th, 1915. The
battalion, then in reserve, was rushed up to the trenches. A big
surprise movement by the French was arranged for that night, and the
Liverpool Irish were to create a diversion by an assault on the
enemy's trenches that fronted them, so as to attract reinforcements to
the spot in the hope that the lines to be attacked by the French, away
to the right, might thereby be weakened. It was what used to be called
"a forlorn hope" in ancient warfare, such as the storming of a breach,
from which the chance of a safe return was small, but which, if it did
no other good, would weaken the arm of the enemy in encountering the
main onslaught.

The detachment