The long June twilight faded into night.
Dublin lay envelolped in darkness, but for the dim light of the moon, that shone through flecy clouds, casting a pale light as of approaching dawn over the streets and the dark waters of the Liffey. Around the beleagured Four courts the heavy guns roared. Here and there through the city maching guns and rifles broke the silence of the night spasmodically, like dogs barking on lone farms Republicans and Free Staters were in a raging Irish civil War.
On a roof-top near O'Connel Bridge, a Republican sniper by the name of Liam O' Flaherty was watching in the night. Beside him lay his rifle and over his shoulders were slung a pair of field-glasses. His face was the face of a student-- then and ascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleam of the fanatic. They were deep and thoughtful, the eyes of a man who is used to looking at death.
He was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had eaten nothing since morning. He had been too excited to eat. He finished the sandwich, and taking a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short swig. Then he returned the flask to his pocket. He paused for a moment, considering whether he should risk a smaoke. It was dangerous. The flash might be seen in the darkness and there were enemies watching. He decided to take the risk. Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match, inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light. Almost immediately, a bullet flattened itself against the parapet of the roof. Liam took another whiff and put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left.
