In the course of this morning, Willis, in whose house we were sheltered, put his wife and two infants on a horse and, mounting another, fled with them to Wexford. He never mentioned to us his intentions, nor could we blame him, for a calamity such as it in which we were all involved, would have made the most generous man selfish. He was a friendly man, but he could not save us all so, as was most natural, he took with him those that were dear to him.

At eleven in the forenoon, the visitors brought word from the Duffry Gate that rebels were advancing to the Town from the north-west, in a column that filled the road and was a mile in length; they were calculated by some of our garrison who served abroad to exceed six thousand in number. They son closed with our Enniscorthy yeomen and the shots and shouting fell sharply on our ears. I was at most greatly terrified and the children hid their faces in my lap, but in a short time I became accustomed to the noise, and could speak to my mother, endeavouring to give her some comfort, but she seemed stupefied and could say nothing in answer except to lament feebly that her son, William, was in the midst of such danger. She wanted not to comprehend that my father was equally exposed, more especially as he seeing that the disaffected inhabitants of the Town had now begun to set it on fire in several places, twice or thrice, on the enemy being partially repulsed, had quitted his post to run down and see were we yet safe, and to tell us that his William was living like a brave man and a soldier. He then, on hearing the advancing shouts of the rebels, would rush back to the fight and this imprudence in which he did, but, late too many of his comrades gave fearful advantage to the enemy. Yet they did act thus from want of courage - for they all showed proofs of even desperate - but, from their anxiety for all that was dearest on earth to them, and from or being totally unacquainted with the duties of a soldier, for the greater part of the supplementaries had never carried arms ‘til the preceeding day.

The fearful firing had now continued three hours, when the Kings men fell back on the town for our little garrison was now reduced to less than two hundred; and though they did not fall unrevenged - for more than five hundred of the rebels were taken - yet so numerous were these last, that they never felt the loss. The North Cork`s were now forced to provide for their own safety, and I have heard it said that they neglected to sound a retreat which, if done, would have enabled many more of the Enniscorthy men to have escaped in time. As it was, some few dispersed over the fields they gained Duncannon Fort in safety, amongst whom was my brother, and the rest, with whom was my father, slowly retreated through the town, now blazing in many places. They fought in the burning streets and though so few in number, more than once repulsed the enemy, who, crowded into a narrow space, impeded each other by their own numbers; then this handful of brave men would retreat again from the hundreds that still pressed on them, `till at last they gained the Market House, disputing every inch of the ground. The house which sheltered us stood exactly opposite to this building and, though none within it dared venture to the windows, yet we knew from the increased uproar, that destruction had now come near us. At last the house caught fire over us and we all rushed out from the flames into the midst of the fight. I don`t know what became of the wounded men within it, but, if they were consumed, it was a more merciful death than they would have met from the rebels. We fled across the Square to the Market House, leaving all that we had so anxiously saved the day before to be burned, without bestowing one thought upon it and I, who had never seen a dead body, had now to step over many corpses of the rebels, who had fallen by the fire of our men in the Market House, whilst whichever way I cast my eyes dozens more lay strewed around. The doors were hastily unbarred and we were admitted and once more I clung around my father and then, stupefied with fear, we sunk down amongst barrels of gun-powder, arms, provisions and furniture piled up in heaps together.

As we left the Market House, a fine infant of four years old, son of Joseph Fitzgerald, a near neighbour of ours, a child whom I had a hundred times nursed on my knee, came out beside me. Unfortunately, one of the rebels, who had a particular hatred to its father, knew the child, and exclaiming, "That’s an Orange brat" pushed him down, as I thought on his back with his pike. The child gave a faint cry and as I was stooping to raise him when I saw the pike drawn back, covered with its blood. A shiver for an instant shook its limbs -it was dead I had the strength given to me to suppress a shreik and I hid my face in my little brother’s bosom, whilst the two other little creatures, without uttering a single cry, only pressed closer to me: My mother, whose eyes were never removed from my father, fortunately, never saw it.

We were allowed to pass over the Square without being injured, and we still following Grimes towards the river, when I noticed one p[ikeman following us closely, and at last pushing between my father and me. In my fear and confusion I did not reecollect the man, but, I was told afterwards he was one Malone, whom I had many times seen and who, of all men on earth, we had least reason to fear. His mother had been of a decent Protestant family, but had married a profilgate of the opposite persuasion; he had deserted her and one infant when she was near being confined of this man, and my father’s mother took her home, and on her dying in child-birth, my kind grandmother put the deserted child to her own breast and thus preserved its life for some days,`till she hired a nurse for him; our family reared him `till he was able to provide for himself, and he was now a leather cutter. I did not know him, forever, for his face was covered with the dust and blood; his appearance consequently was horrid, and his action was suspicious; so as though I could save my father I determined not to lose sight of him, and with his three young children kept close to both. Concealed in a chimney at the corner of a lane we were now about entering, there was a yeoman who, it was said, fired more than a hundred shots a day, and bade every one tell. He at this moment took shot at a pikeman within a few paces of us, who staggered a few steps and fell dead behind me, exactly across my mothers feet. She dropped in a dead faint beside the corps; I turned to raise her and to take the young infant from the ground on which it had slid out of her arms. I thus lost sight of my father, and of the fearful pikeman that was following him, and never saw him alive again. But, Providence thus spared me the sight of his murder by the very man that had drawn his first nourishment from the same breast with him. He followed him into Barrack Lane and piked him at the door of Mr.Sparrow`s brewery; a man named Byrne, in charge of the place, saw him commit the act, and saw him too, with his leather-cutters knife, disfigure his face, after emptying his pockets, and stripping him of the new coat and hat he had on.

In a few minutes after I had lost sight of my father, my mother came to herself; she arose and we both, unconscious of our loss, went with the children towards the river, thinking we might perhaps rejoin him. My mother was quite bewildered and unable even to speak to me, much less to advise me and I, although born so near the Town, had seldom been in it, but, to church, or to market, and was quite ignorant where to seek for shelter. We asked at many doors would they admit us, but, we were constantly driven away, and sometimes even with threats and curses. At last we came, by chance, to the house of one Walsh, a baker, who knew my mother, and spoke kindly to us; he opened his door, but we hardly had time to enter, when five or six pikemen followed, and ordered him to turn us out, or they would burn the house over our heads. He dismissed us unwillingly, and put a little open book into the hands of one of the children. When we had gone a few steps I saw it was a Romish prayer book, which he seemed to have purposely opened at a picture of the Crucifixion; but, whether he meant that this was to be a token to insure our lives, or that it was to prepare us for the fate that was to await us, I cannot tell; I only recollect that I desired the child to lay it down, that we might not deny our religion in our last moments. We now followed some other desolate beings like ourselves, who led us into the garden of our Barker, who had borne a high command that day amongst the rebels. His family did not seem as though they noticed us, and we sat down, with many more, on the earth under the bushes. All were women and children, and I have since heard that thirty-two new made widows passed that night in that garden. Many of these knew their loss, yet fear had so completely conquered grief, that not one dared to weep aloud; the children were as silent as their mothers, and whenever a footstep was heard to pass along, we all hid our faces against the earth. The moon shone brightly that night and, at one time, I saw a man led into the garden.... but, Barker, who was then in the house, was so humane as not to put him to death amongst us, but, ordered him off to Vinegar Hill.