There were many reasons for this.  In the first place, there existed an apprehension of the yeomanry and cavalry, who had on more than one occasion surprised meetings of this description before.  ’Tis true they had sentinels placed—­but the sentinels themselves had been made prisoners of by parties of yeomen and blood-hounds, who had come in colored clothes, in twos and threes, like the Ribbon men themselves.  There were other motives, however, for the stillness which prevailed—­motives which, when we consider them, invest the whole proceedings with something that is calculated to fill the mind with apprehension and fear.  Here were men unquestionably assembled for illegal purposes—­for the perpetration of crime—­for the shedding of human blood.  But in what light did they view this terrible determination?  Simply as a redress of grievances; as the only means left them of doing that for themselves which the laws refused to do for them.  They keenly and bitterly felt the scourge of the oppressor, who, under the sanction, and in the name of those laws which ought to have protected them, left scarcely anything undone to drive them to desperation; and now finding that the law existed only for their punishment, they resolved to legislate for themselves, and retaliate on their oppressor.  There is an awful lesson in all this; for it is certainly a frightful thing to see law and justice so partially and iniquitously administered as to disorganize society, and to make men look upon murder as an act of justice, and the shedding of blood as a moral triumph, if not a moral virtue.  When, therefore, the very little conversation which took place among them, and that little in so low a tone, is placed in connection with the dark and deadly object of their meeting, it is no wonder that one cannot help feeling strangely and fearfully on contemplating it.

About twelve o’clock they were all assembled but one individual, whom they appeared to expect, and for whom they looked out eagerly.  Indeed they all came to a unanimous resolution of doing nothing that pertained to the business of the night until he should come.  For this purpose they had not to wait long.  A little past twelve a tall and powerful young man entered, leading by the hand poor insane Mary O’Regan—­his pitiable and unconscious mother.  He had heard of the death of his brother, during the cruel scene at Drum Dhu, and of the other inhuman outrage which had driven her mad.  He had come from a remote part of England with the single, fixed, and irrevocable purpose of wreaking vengeance on the head of him who had brought madness, desolation, and death upon his family.