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diff --git a/old/69928-h/69928-h.htm b/old/69928-h/69928-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 0dc2074..0000000 --- a/old/69928-h/69928-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9043 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta charset="UTF-8"> - <title> - My Fight For Irish Freedom | Project Gutenberg - </title> - - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> - - <style> - -a { - text-decoration: none; -} - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -h2.nobreak { - page-break-before: avoid; -} - -hr { - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb { - width: 45%; - margin-left: 27.5%; - margin-right: 27.5%; -} - -hr.chap { - width: 65%; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -img.w100 { - width: 100%; -} - -div.chapter { - page-break-before: always; -} - -p { - margin-top: 0.5em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0.5em; - text-indent: 1em; -} - -table { - margin: 1em auto 1em auto; - max-width: 40em; - border-collapse: collapse; -} - -td { - padding-left: 2em; - padding-right: 0; - vertical-align: top; - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.tdr { - text-align: right; -} - -.tdpg { - vertical-align: bottom; - text-align: right; -} - -.blockquote { - margin: 1.5em 10%; -} - -.caption { - text-align: center; - margin-bottom: 1em; - font-size: 90%; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.caption2 { - margin-bottom: 1em; - font-size: 90%; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.center { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.larger { - font-size: 150%; -} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - right: 4%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; -} - -.poetry-container { - text-align: center; -} - -.poetry { - display: inline-block; - text-align: left; -} - -.poetry .stanza { - margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; -} - -.poetry .verse { - padding-left: 3em; -} - -.poetry .indent0 { - text-indent: -3em; -} - -.right { - text-align: right; -} - -.smaller { - font-size: 80%; -} - -.smcap { - font-variant: small-caps; - font-style: normal; -} - -.titlepage { - text-align: center; - margin-top: 3em; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.x-ebookmaker img { - max-width: 100%; - width: auto; - height: auto; -} - -.x-ebookmaker .poetry { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; -} - -.x-ebookmaker .blockquote { - margin: 1.5em 5%; -} - -/* Illustration classes */ -.illowp100 {width: 100%;} -.illowp48 {width: 48%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp48 {width: 100%;} -.illowp52 {width: 52%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp52 {width: 100%;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of My fight for Irish freedom, by Dan Breen</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: My fight for Irish freedom</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Dan Breen</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Contributor: Joseph McGarrity</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 1, 2023 [eBook #69928]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY FIGHT FOR IRISH FREEDOM ***</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_i"></a>[i]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger">MY FIGHT FOR IRISH FREEDOM</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ii"></a>[ii]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iii"></a>[iii]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="illus01" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/illus01.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">DAN BREEN.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p class="titlepage larger">MY FIGHT FOR<br> -IRISH FREEDOM</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller"><i>By</i></span><br> -DAN BREEN</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller"><i>With an Introduction by</i></span><br> -JOSEPH McGARRITY<br> -<span class="smaller">(<i>Philadelphia</i>)</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter titlepage illowp52" id="talbot" style="max-width: 10.9375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/talbot.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">DUBLIN</span><br> -THE TALBOT PRESS LIMITED<br> -<span class="smaller">85 TALBOT STREET<br> -1924</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iv"></a>[iv]</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage">First Published, August, 1924.<br> -Second Edition, September, 1924.<br> -Third Edition, October, 1924.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">Printed in Ireland at <span class="smcap">The Talbot Press</span>, Dublin.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_v"></a>[v]</span></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smaller">TO</span><br> -SEAN TREACY<br> -J. J. HOGAN<br> -<span class="smaller">AND</span><br> -SEUMAS ROBINSON</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vi"></a>[vi]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vii"></a>[vii]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</h2> - -</div> - -<p><i>My Fight for Irish Freedom</i>, by Commandant -General Dan Breen, of the Third Tipperary -Brigade, is a story written in the plain unaffected -language of one of Ireland’s bravest and most -devoted sons. Many of Ireland’s great champions -passed from this world without leaving any authentic -record of the battles in which they took part, save -that which tradition handed on from generation to -generation.</p> - -<p>As time passed, many of the most important -phases of the stories thus transmitted were forgotten, -and in some cases additions were made -which gave certain of the tales a mythical rather -than an historical character.</p> - -<p>An authentic historical record by Cuchulainn -himself, if discovered to-day, would create a greater -world interest than has the discovery of the tomb -of the Pharaohs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_viii"></a>[viii]</span></p> - -<p>The author and principal actor in this dramatic -story was born and reared in Tipperary. He had -no military knowledge whatever until he joined the -Irish Volunteers. Gallant young Irishmen of the -type of Dan Breen had been, for generations, drifting -away from their native land. Their natural -military genius and daring found outlet in the armies -of France and Spain, where</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“On far foreign fields, from Dunkirk to Belgrade</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Lie the soldiers and chiefs of the Irish Brigade.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Washington appreciated in full the valour of his -Irish emigrant soldiers, as he afterwards proved by -conceding to them equal status with the native-born -Americans. He placed unbounded confidence in the -patriotism and loyalty of his Irish generals and -soldiers who comprised almost one-half of the entire -Revolutionary Army.</p> - -<p>With the outbreak of the World War in 1914 the -manhood of the world was being rolled up into two -opposing mighty war machines—preparing to annihilate -each other. The catch-cry “to fight in -defence of small nations” was broad-casted. Under -this, and other specious pretexts, hundreds of Irishmen -were induced to join up in England’s Imperial<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ix"></a>[ix]</span> -armies, and they endured the horrors of France, -Flanders and the Dardanelles.</p> - -<p>While these newly-recruited Irish regiments were -being drafted to the various war fronts in Europe, -great minds were busy at home planning Ireland’s -regeneration. For two years the Irish Volunteer -movement, directed by Pearse, Connolly, Casement, -Clarke and the other leaders, had been -spreading like a prairie fire through the country! -Alas! because they dared to put forth the claim of -their own small nation to be master in its own house -the firing squad and the scaffold extinguished the -brave lives of sixteen noble Irish leaders.</p> - -<p>Dan Breen and his few comrades had definitely -reached the conclusion that while a foreign flag -floated over public buildings in Ireland, and while -a foreign army was garrisoned in the land, there -was one place—and one place only—for Irishmen -to fight—and that place was Ireland.</p> - -<p>He did not wait for an army to grow up, or for -some great captain to come from foreign lands to -lead his countrymen to victory. As a matter of fact -at one time our soldier-author was, with a few -comrades, practically the only force in the field -engaged in active hostilities against the enemy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_x"></a>[x]</span></p> - -<p>Such a stirring drama has seldom if ever been -acted on the stage of Irish life. It is doubtful if any -other individual in Irish history received a like -number of near-fatal wounds, fighting in defence of -his country—and survived to tell the story of the -engagements in which the wounds were inflicted.</p> - -<p>Fired with a burning love of country and a fixed -determination to achieve her independence, Dan -Breen with a handful of men declared war on -England on their own account, convinced that their -countrymen would follow their example. In this he -was not disappointed.</p> - -<p>The engagements described follow each other in -such quick succession, and are of such a thrilling -character, that from the opening of the first chapter -to the close of the last, the reader is in momentary -expectation of the story ending with the dramatic -death of the author.</p> - -<p>The author’s graphic descriptions of localities, -his giving of accurate distances between one location -and another, his recording of place-names and -family names gives the story a distinct and particular -historical value.</p> - -<p>Great as was the physical suffering he endured,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xi"></a>[xi]</span> -having been literally riddled by bullets, it was as -nothing compared to the mental torture he must -have endured later on seeing his former comrades -turn their arms against each other after the signing -of the “Treaty” in 1921.</p> - -<p>In giving to his countrymen this authentic -written record of the engagements in which he took -part, Dan Breen has rendered a service to Ireland -second only to the services rendered to her in the -engagements he describes.</p> - -<p>Let us hope that some competent Celtic scholar -will translate the story into the language of Ireland’s -ancient champions whom she had gathered to her -bosom centuries before this gallant son of Tipperary -was ready to render to his beloved country the -splendid services he has so willingly given.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Joseph McGarrity.</span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Philadelphia.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xii"></a>[xii]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> - -</div> - -<table> - <tr> - <td class="tdr smaller"><span class="smcap">Chapter</span></td> - <td></td> - <td class="tdpg smaller">PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td>Introduction</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#INTRODUCTION">vii.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">I.—</td> - <td>A Volunteer’s Training</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">II.—</td> - <td>Preparing for the Fray</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">11</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">III.—</td> - <td>Our First Munition Factory</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">17</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IV.—</td> - <td>Our Factory Blown Up</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">23</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">V.—</td> - <td>The Political Landslide</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">29</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VI.—</td> - <td>Soloheadbeg</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">34</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VII.—</td> - <td>Our Escape</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">41</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VIII.—</td> - <td>Helped by the British</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">50</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IX.—</td> - <td>Our Return to Soloheadbeg</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">64</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">X.—</td> - <td>Sean Hogan Captured</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">72</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XI.—</td> - <td>The Rescue at Knocklong</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">83</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XII.—</td> - <td>Our Escape from Knocklong</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">93</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIII.—</td> - <td>Many Close Shaves</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">106</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIV.—</td> - <td>On the Trail of Lord French</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">115</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XV.—</td> - <td>The Battle of Ashtown</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">126</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVI.—</td> - <td>Our Escape from Ashtown</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">138</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVII.—</td> - <td>From Tara to Tipperary</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">150</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVIII.—</td> - <td>The Barrack Attacks</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">162</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIX.—</td> - <td>Capture and Escape of General Lucas</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">173</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XX.—</td> - <td>Adventures with the Murder Gang</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">181</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXI.—</td> - <td>The Drumcondra Fight</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">197</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXII.—</td> - <td>Missed by Inches</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">209</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXIII.—</td> - <td>Executions and Reprisals</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">219</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXIV.—</td> - <td>My Return to Tipperary</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">228</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXV.—</td> - <td>Married in the Battle Line</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">234</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXVI.—</td> - <td>The Truce</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">239</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXVII.—</td> - <td>Efforts to Avert Civil War</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">249</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXVIII.—</td> - <td>How I was Captured</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">255</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p> - -<h1>MY FIGHT FOR IRISH FREEDOM</h1> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.<br> -<span class="smaller">A VOLUNTEER’S TRAINING</span></h2> - -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“A soldier’s life is the life for me,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A soldier’s death, so Ireland’s free.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right">—<i>Davis.</i></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>It was in 1914 that I first joined the Irish -Volunteers in the village of Donohill, some four -miles from Tipperary town. At that time I was -about twenty years of age. I soon became known -to the local police as the “Sinn Feiner,” then a -very rare sort of animal. At a later stage in my -career the same people, I believe, conferred upon -me the still higher title of “Prince of the -Assassins”! But I must beg the reader’s patience -while I briefly outline the position in Ireland the -year the Great War began.</p> - -<p>The British Parliament had passed its Home -Rule Bill for Ireland. The Orange minority in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span> -North of Ireland declared it would resist any attempt -to enforce that Bill or to set up a Parliament in -Dublin. Supported financially and morally by the -wealthiest section of the English Tory Party, the -Orangemen openly organised, drilled and armed a -Volunteer Army to defy the British Parliament.</p> - -<p>At this time Sinn Fein as a political policy was -little known outside of Dublin City. The spokesmen -of the great majority of the Irish people were -the Parliamentarians led by John Redmond. But -a few of the intellectual leaders, such as Pearse and -MacNeill, whose political influence then counted for -little, saw in the action of the Orange Volunteers an -excellent example to the rest of Ireland. They -called on the Nationalists to form a Volunteer Army. -The tradition of the Fenians still lived. Many who -cared little for the Home Rule Bill saw that we now -had got the opportunity for which they wished. -Ireland answered the call, and when the Great -War broke out there were in Ireland three armies, -though very different in equipment and in outlook. -One was the British Army of Occupation; the other -was the Orange Volunteer Army in the North; and -the third was the Irish Volunteer Force. Consequently, -when the Great War broke out Redmond -and his followers threw in their lot with the British, -and appealed for recruits for the British Army. The -Orange Volunteers, too, were in whole-hearted -sympathy with the British cause. The Irish<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span> -Volunteers for a time were split and disorganised; -thousands joined the British Army; but a small -number remained doggedly neutral and loyal to -Ireland alone. That small number was not deceived -by England’s cant of “fighting for small nations,” -and “for the sanctity of treaties.” They were -those who believed in an Independent Ireland; and -as their best speakers were supporters of the political -programme of Sinn Fein, they all gradually became -known as “Sinn Fein Volunteers.”</p> - -<p>Our little band at Donohill was part of this small -minority. We did not give much heed to John -Redmond’s call to join the British Army. We -continued to drill and train openly, in the hope that -the time would come when we might get our chance -to strike a blow at the only enemy we recognised—England.</p> - -<p>As the war developed we were closely watched -by the police. We were known as “pro-Germans.” -The majority of the people, carried away by the -campaign of lies and calumny in the Press, were in -favour of England as against Germany in the war. -The aristocracy and the wealthiest merchants and -farmers generally supported the movements that -were started to provide comforts for the British -soldiers in the trenches. But we of the Irish -Volunteers—henceforth in using that term I must -be understood to mean those who declined to take -England’s side in the war—stood aloof. It was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span> -then that I came into disfavour with the police for -my refusal to support their funds for providing -comforts for soldiers. I was an employee of the -Great Southern and Western Railway, and I have -no doubt that they acquainted my superiors with -what they regarded as my disloyal tendencies.</p> - -<p>It is necessary to explain the nature of this police -force. The Royal Irish Constabulary—a body that -has now passed into history—was not a police force -in the sense understood in other countries. It was -a semi-military force, trained to the use of arms, -and provided with carbines and rifles. As crime in -the ordinary sense was practically unknown in -Ireland, the main duty of these men was to spy -upon Volunteers and others working for an Independent -Ireland. They were known to report even -sermons delivered by Irish priests. In all there -were then about ten thousand of these police in the -country, scattered in small garrisons of two to ten -or twenty men, according to the size of the village -or town in which they were located. Sprung as they -were for the most part from Irish Nationalist -families, they were the brain of England’s garrison -in Ireland; for they knew the people and they got -the information without which England’s 40,000 -troops—ignorant alike of the country, its people -and its history—would have been of little use.</p> - -<p>I now resume my narrative. From the outbreak -of the Great War I still continued my daily work,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span> -and took no more active part than any ordinary -private in the local company of the Irish Volunteers. -We met and drilled a few times a week, and tried to -pick up a rifle or a revolver now and again; for the -Volunteers generally had very few arms at that -time.</p> - -<p>Thus we continued our routine through 1915, -and up to April, 1916. With the Insurrection of -1916 I do not propose to deal here, except to say -that owing to the confusion of orders and counter-orders -the men of Tipperary got no chance of having -their mettle tested. I must, however, remark upon -a coincidence in connection with our plans. Part -of the duty of the Volunteers of my district was to -have been the destroying of an important line of -railway communications. For that purpose we were -to have seized a quantity of gelignite, then stored -by the County Council for blasting purposes in a -neighbouring quarry. That quarry was Soloheadbeg, -where three years later my comrades and I -received our baptism of fire.</p> - -<p>The Rising of 1916 changed our whole outlook. -The people who had scoffed and sneered at the -Sinn Feiners before now swung round to our side. -But our military organisation had collapsed. -Thousands of our men all over the country were -seized and deported to England. The British forces, -both police and military, seized what arms they -could lay hands upon. We could no longer drill and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span> -parade in public; our organisation had been solemnly -proclaimed by the British to be an illegal body. For -a time we were in confusion and despair. It was -only for a very short time, however, for within a -few months those who had escaped the meshes of -the English military net after the Rising had -actually held two secret Conventions in Dublin to -re-organise the Volunteers.</p> - -<p>After a few months we set to work again. My -neighbour and comrade, Sean Treacy, and I decided -to make a fresh start, and to put our Volunteer -company at work once more. This time, of course, -we could not do it openly; we had to work on a -secret basis. As it was now considered dangerous -to have anything to do with the Irish Volunteers, -our numbers were small; but we had better and -more determined men. For a while, indeed, there -were only three of us.</p> - -<p>We met in a little wood after our work twice -every week. So we struggled on until May, 1917, -when our company had grown to be thirteen strong. -Not a man of us possessed any military knowledge, -and those in the neighbourhood who could instruct -us had either joined the British Army, or could -not be trusted to take the risks. Still we got on -very well at physical drill, scouting, signalling, -revolver practice, close-order drill, and such work. -We had to rely mainly on book-work; and by a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span> -strange irony the books we found most handy were -the official texts supplied to the British troops, the -men we were preparing to meet.</p> - -<p>Of course, we made mistakes now and again, but -our earnestness surmounted many difficulties. -Besides, we were often innocent spectators of British -drill manœuvres in the locality, and I can assure -you we kept our eyes and ears open for tips. If the -chance of picking up an odd revolver came our way, -we managed to find the money somehow, and added -to our little supply of munitions.</p> - -<p>The best tribute to our success in the art of -military education was paid by the officials of the -British Government, who, at a later stage, described -our little band as the “crack shots of the I.R.A.” -In passing it is well to observe that we ourselves -learned that anything in the nature of official statements -issued from the British military headquarters -at Parkgate Street, Dublin, or from the civil -authorities at Dublin Castle, should always be -digested with a considerable quantity of salt.</p> - -<p>It was in August, 1917, that our little handful -of men made its first public parade. By that time -the men who had been deported after the Easter -Week Insurrection had been released, and all over -the country were beginning to do what we had been -doing on our own account for nearly a year. In the -political arena two bye-elections which had occurred -in Roscommon and Longford, resulted in a triumph<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> -for candidates standing for the Republican cause. -A few months later still Eamon de Valera, on his -release from Lewes Jail, had been invited to contest -a Parliamentary vacancy in East Clare. Standing -for a Republic, and for declining to attend England’s -Parliament, he was elected by a huge majority. -Shortly after his election he addressed an enormous -meeting in Tipperary town, and we, in the dark -green uniforms of the Irish Volunteers, acted as a -bodyguard of the man who was shortly afterwards -elected President of the Irish Republic. Tipperary -was then occupied by a garrison of over one thousand -British soldiers, and as our meeting was held -almost under the shadow of their barracks we did -not carry rifles. Instead we carried hurleys. Now, -we were thus, to the amazement of all peaceful -people, committing a treble act of defiance against -England. In the first place, it was a crime to march -in military formation; secondly, it was an even more -serious offence to wear uniform; and thirdly, it -was violating a special proclamation just issued -against the carrying of hurleys.</p> - -<p>That proclamation came about in this way. A -meeting was being held in Beresford Place, Dublin, -one Sunday afternoon to protest against the treatment -of Irish prisoners detained by England. The -meeting was being addressed by Count Plunkett -and Cathal Brugha, when Inspector Mills, of the -Dublin Metropolitan Police, with some of his men<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> -attempted to prevent the holding of this peaceful -meeting of citizens. The meeting included many -young men going to or returning from a game of -hurling—Ireland’s national pastime. In the melee, -which followed the attempt to break up the meeting -and to arrest the speakers, the Inspector was struck -with a hurley, and received injuries from which he -died. Thereupon, Sir Bryan Mahon, then Commander-in-Chief -of the British troops in Ireland, -issued a proclamation making it illegal to carry -hurleys in public. To realise the absurdity of this -proclamation one has only to imagine a civilised -Government declaring it illegal to carry a walking-stick. -The result was what anybody knowing -Ireland might expect—hurleys for a time were -carried in places where their use was scarcely -known, and the British Government became a -laughing-stock.</p> - -<p>This first military display of ours in Tipperary -was not a bigger shock to the enemy than it was -to the local Sinn Feiners; for you must understand -that by this time public opinion had swung round -almost completely in favour of Sinn Fein, and we -were burdened with thousands of recruits, who were -not in their hearts in favour of any stronger weapons -than resolutions. On this occasion many of the -local Sinn Feiners were shocked by our audacity in -taking the step we did without a solemn discussion, -a formal proposition to the meeting, and a long-winded<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span> -resolution. Such poor souls often hampered -us later on, but we didn’t mind. The purely political -wing of Sinn Fein criticised us severely, I believe, -but we kept silent, just listened to all, and judged -our men.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.<br> -<span class="smaller">PREPARING FOR THE FRAY.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>The local police duly informed their headquarters -of this open defiance of British law in Tipperary. -They were ordered to arrest the culprits. But, as -we had no desire to enjoy the hospitality of His -Britannic Majesty’s jails, Sean Treacy and I went -“on the run,” that is to say, in order to evade our -pursuers we had to leave our homes, and keep -moving from the house of one trusty friend to another. -But on the Friday following our public -parade, Sean was arrested by the “Peelers.” -Members of the R.I.C. were better known in Ireland -for generations as “Peelers,” a term of contempt -coined from the name of Sir Robert Peel, who, in -the early part of the nineteenth century first -organised the force.</p> - -<p>Sean was taken to Cork Jail where he first met -the brothers Brennan, of Meelick, County Clare, -who were also unwilling guests of the British jailers. -The three brothers Brennan—Austin, Paddy and -Michael—afterwards became famous officers in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span> -Southern Command of the Irish Republican Army, -and at present hold high ranks in the Free State -Army. In passing I should say that in throwing -men into prison at that time England was really -giving them an excellent opportunity of exchanging -views, discussing plans for the future and generally -turning the prison into a “University for Rebels.” -Many indeed learned more about drill, and the -methods of making explosives, while they were in -prison than they had ever before known.</p> - -<p>Sean was eventually tried by court-martial, and -sentenced to two years imprisonment, but sixteen -months of the term were remitted. These trials -were, of course, a mere formality, for our men -never put up any legal defence, but declined to -recognise the right of any British tribunal to try -them. Very often in the early stages our men turned -the proceedings into a farce by reading a newspaper -or singing while the evidence was being taken.</p> - -<p>With a number of his comrades Sean went on -hunger-strike as a protest against their treatment. -It was the first time that Irish political prisoners -used this weapon, which later became so common. -They were removed to Mountjoy Prison, Dublin, -where they continued their hunger-strike until one -of their number, Commandant Tom Ashe, who had -taken a leading part in one of the most successful -exploits in the 1916 Insurrection—died as a result -of the attempts made by the prison doctor and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span> -officials to feed him forcibly. The tragedy raised -the whole Irish nation to fury, and the British -Government realised for the first time that our men -were in earnest, and ready to die for their principles. -An agreement was entered into whereby they were -to be treated as prisoners of war, or as political -prisoners, and forcible feeding was never again tried.</p> - -<p>Meantime I had been busy during my comrade’s -imprisonment. I organised sections of Volunteers -in all the surrounding parishes, and as similar efforts -were being made all over the country our military -organisation soon became even more perfect than it -had been in 1916. The British Government, true -to its traditions, broke the agreement made with the -prisoners, and Sean and his fellow Volunteers, who -had now been removed to Dundalk Jail, went on -hunger-strike again, and secured their release.</p> - -<p>All this time the organisation and drilling of the -Volunteers had been done secretly. Now and again -the British surprised bodies of men here and there, -and captured them. But when Sean came home -he brought back the word that we were to come out -in the open to drill, even if the British Government -attempted to arrest every man of us. It was felt -that if England carried out the policy of wholesale -arrests she would soon have tens of thousands of -Irishmen in jail, and would again make herself a -laughing-stock to the nations.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span></p> - -<p>This was in the early part of 1918. By this time -we had been getting a fair supply of arms and ammunition -by channels which may not yet be disclosed. -It must be remembered that for several years before -this no firearms were allowed into the country, no -shops could sell any they had on hands, and even -sporting cartridges could only be bought by special -permission of the British military authorities. The -enemy scented another Insurrection.</p> - -<p>They became more alert, and once more Sean -Treacy was arrested. From the moment of his -capture he again went on hunger-strike, and was -joined by Michael Brennan, of Meelick, and by -Seumas O’Neill, a teacher in Rockwell College, -both of whom had been arrested three days after -Sean.</p> - -<p>During Sean’s first term of imprisonment I had -been elected company captain; and now during his -second term I was further promoted to be -Commandant of the Battalion, and later still I -became Brigade Commandant. At that period each -company elected its own captain, each man having -a vote, and each man being eligible. The various -company officers in a battalion area then met, and -in their turn elected the officers for the battalion, -and so with the brigade. Truly, it was a democratic -army.</p> - -<p>This was the time when things were going badly -with England in the war. In March, 1918, began<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span> -the great German offensive, when the British lines -were broken through. In their despair the English -cried, “Conscript the Irish.” Within a few weeks -the necessary Act was passed in the British -Parliament, and all preparations made to force -Irishmen to fight England’s battle. Sir John -French, later Lord French, himself an Irishman by -birth, was British Viceroy in Dublin.</p> - -<p>The Irish people were roused to action. Never -before was there such a fierce determination to -resist the British plans. Bishops, priests and -political leaders of all shades of opinion met together -to face the threat. In the moment of common -danger all turned instinctively to the Irish Volunteers. -If resistance was to come it would only come -from their ranks; for England and Ireland well -knew that the Irish Volunteers would be wiped out -to the last man before they would allow a single -Irishman to be forced into the British Army.</p> - -<p>Our trouble was the shortage of arms; of men -we now had too many. At that time I was Brigade -Commandant, and we decided to make raids for -arms. We knew there were plenty of shot-guns, -revolvers, bayonets, swords, and an occasional rifle -here and there in private houses, especially in the -houses of the element loyal to England.</p> - -<p>We had very little trouble in collecting the arms. -Our men in every district had compiled exact information -regarding every house in which there was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> -a weapon. We generally went at night and asked -for the arms. Those who would have liked to refuse -knew they dare not. Many others gave them -willingly, and some even sent us word to call for -them. In no case had we to fire a shot during the -few weeks we were on this job. We had to do the -thing as quickly as possible, for as soon as the -British got wind of it they immediately issued an -order that all arms should be handed to them for -safe keeping. We generally got there first, and -more than once our visit to a house was only a few -minutes before that of the peelers.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="illus02" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/illus02.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">SEAN TREACY.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.<br> -<span class="smaller">OUR FIRST MUNITION FACTORY.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>During the summer of 1918 the threat of -Conscription hung over the land, and young and old -flocked to the ranks of the Volunteers. It is safe to -estimate that at that time nine-tenths of all able-bodied -Irishmen between the ages of sixteen and -fifty were Volunteers of a kind; while the women -had their association—Cumann na mBan—and the -boys had theirs, the Fianna or Boy Scouts, all -preparing to be our auxiliaries. As most of our -officers were in jail on one charge or another, we -who were out were kept working day and night. -All the time I felt enthusiastic, for I saw in Conscription -a glorious chance of uniting our own -people. Though poorly armed we were determined -to fight; and I believed that if the fight came the -survivors would be united in their purpose, and to -me a united Ireland of two million people would be -preferable to an Ireland of four and a half million -divided into three or four different factions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span></p> - -<p>Meantime, though the Conscription Act had -become law, England, realising our determination, -postponed its enforcement for a few months, in -order to give us an opportunity of enlisting voluntarily. -We went on with our preparations, and -became all the more daring. Sometimes it was both -bewildering and amusing to the public to witness -our manœuvres.</p> - -<p>More than once, for example, in sham battles we -attacked or defended Tipperary town, and actually -proclaimed certain roads or streets as “military -areas,” where British soldiers or police, as well as -civilians were forbidden to enter during the “operations.” -These operations were carried out by a few -hundred Volunteers, while the town was occupied -by a garrison of over a thousand British soldiers. On -such occasions we had no display of arms, though -a few of our number might for special reasons have -their revolvers in their pockets.</p> - -<p>It soon became evident that England was wiser -than to try conscripting us. The threat gradually -faded away, and so too did our great army! But -the small number that remained was of more use. -They meant to fight for Independence. The others -had been only thinking of saving themselves from -the trenches of France, and believed with the old -political leaders that Ireland’s freedom was not -worth the shedding of a drop of blood. As my -subsequent actions showed, I held a different view.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span></p> - -<p>At this time, as I have already explained, Sean -Treacy was enjoying the luxury of a hunger-strike -in Dundalk Jail. He had been thirteen days without -food, and we feared they intended to let him -die. We who were outside felt that we should do -something without delay. I got a brain wave. Why -not capture a Peeler, bring him off to a safe hiding-place, -and put him on forcible hunger-strike, and -keep him as a hostage for Sean’s safety? I discussed -the plan with some of the others: they were -favourably disposed; and as we knew that a few -policemen regularly patrolled the railway line near -the Limerick Junction every evening, we decided -they should be our hostages. All preparations -were made, and our hiding-place up in the mountainous -district on the Limerick-Tipperary border -was selected. Forty men were mobilised to carry -out the job; but for once the policemen failed to -patrol the line. Later I found out that the scheme -had been turned down by the Irish Republican -Brotherhood, a secret organisation which included -the most reliable of the Volunteers, and which -practically controlled the Volunteer Army. After -that I severed my connection with the I.R.B.</p> - -<p>Sean Treacy was released in July, 1918. When -he came home he was full of plans for organising. -I had had an overdose of it in the months that he -was away, and from my experience I was more in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> -favour of starting a fight at once than of trifling -further with organising. Sean would have his way, -and we agreed to differ. I at once started a -“munition factory” in partnership with my friend -Patrick Keogh. Many a lively dispute we had on -various points, some important, some otherwise, -but as soon as Sean appeared he always poured oil -on the troubled waters.</p> - -<p>I must give you a description of our factory, lest -the reader be picturing an Irish replica of the Krupp -works at Essen. The building itself was a small -rural cottage owned by Tom O’Dwyer, of the Boghole. -Three rooms were let to Denis O’Dwyer, of -Dervice. Both he and the owner were well-known -characters in Tipperary. Our equipment was of the -crudest kind, for we had no machinery. But it was -a simple matter to make ordinary black gunpowder. -We also turned out crude hand grenades, which, -by the way, had to be ignited by a match before -being thrown, so you can imagine the risks if these -had to be brought into action on a windy or a rainy -night. At this time, too, we collected every available -cartridge, including sporting cartridges for shot -guns, and these were refilled with buckshot. Keogh -and I always quarrelled as to whether it was better -to put four or eight grains of lead to the cartridge. -The reader can easily imagine the effect on a poor -devil who might get the full charge of one of these -refilled sporting cartridges.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span></p> - -<p>Though most of our raids for arms had been -carried out by this time, we still found occasion for -an expedition of the kind from time to time. My -first encounter with the enemy was one night while -I was returning from a raid.</p> - -<p>A small number of us, including Sean Treacy, -were cycling home from Tipperary, when my -bicycle went flat, and I had to dismount to pump it -up. I ordered the others to go ahead, saying I -would overtake them. On their way they passed -the police barrack on the outskirts of the town. It -would seem that the police heard them passing the -barrack, and came out to have a look round; or -else they were actually on the road when the men -passed, and, with their usual courage, were afraid -to confront the six Volunteers. Anyhow, I neither -heard nor saw anybody when I had pumped up my -bicycle, until I was suddenly pulled off by a burly -Peeler. In my left hand I carried a small iron bar -for forcing locks, so I tried its effect on his head. -The bar got the better of the argument. I then -drew my revolver, and covered the group of -peelers. “Surrender, or I shoot,” shouted their -officer. “Put up your hands, or I’ll shoot the lot -of you,” I replied. They complied with my order.</p> - -<p>I then stepped backwards, rolling my bicycle, -and still keeping my gun levelled at the peelers, -until I reached a laneway. I dashed up the lane,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> -mounted my bicycle, and escaped from the town -not a moment too soon. The alarm was quickly -raised, and the whole town was surrounded, and -every street and lane searched. But I was safe in -my factory with my comrades.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.<br> -<span class="smaller">OUR FACTORY BLOWN UP.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>My most exciting experience was to see our -munition factory blown into the sky. I had a narrow -escape, for I was within fifty yards of the door; but -my partner, Paddy Keogh, had an even more -wonderful escape, for he was actually on the -premises when the explosion occurred.</p> - -<p>We never knew what brought about the havoc. -I had gone out to a well to fetch a can of water, -for necessity compelled us to do all our own cooking -and cleaning. As I was returning to the cottage, I -saw the roof leaving it, and simultaneously came the -roar of the bursting grenades. In a moment the -house was in flames. It was a desperate situation. -My one thought was to save my comrade, if indeed -he was not already beyond human aid.</p> - -<p>I dropped the can of water and rushed to the -house. I dashed up the stairs and found Paddy -lying in the room either dead or unconscious. I -raised him in my arms and carried him with a heavy -heart through the rain of shrapnel down the stairs<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> -and out of the house, and away to the banks of the -Multeen, a little stream not far away from the house. -My heart was wrung with anguish as I laid him by -the stream and rushed for my can to throw some -of the fresh clean water over his pale countenance. -Before I had time to try the effects of a second -supply, Paddy was on his feet and rushing for me—very -much alive!</p> - -<p>“You damn fool, do you want to drown me?” -he shouted. And then he added a lot more that I -prefer not to repeat.</p> - -<p>The destruction of our house was a heavy blow, -and for a while we mourned the loss of our little -factory and its contents.</p> - -<p>My little capital was gone now, and the -O’Dwyers had to be compensated for the loss of -their home. I thought out my plans, and gathered -together all the tradesmen in our little army, and -put them to work. In a few days the cottage was -repaired, and looked none the worse.</p> - -<p>By the way, the Black and Tans, at a later stage -wreaked vengeance on it more effectively than the -explosion of the grenades.</p> - -<p>O’Dwyer’s house was now out of bounds for my -work, but in a very short time I got another house -from a good typical Tipperary man, Jer. O’Connell. -Here I was more successful, because I took greater<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> -precautions with my work. I guarded against -another explosion; but other circumstances compelled -us to evacuate it within a few months.</p> - -<p>During our stay in this house our condition was -far from happy. Of bodily comforts we had none. -We had neither bed nor bed coverings, and worse -still, we had no money wherewith to buy them. We -got a loan of a couple of blankets from neighbours, -and we commandeered some straw from the nearest -farmer. First we spread out the straw on the ground -and covered it over with one blanket. We then -spread over us a lot of old newspapers (which we -carefully collected every day), and over these we -placed our second blanket. The paper was excellent -for keeping us warm, and by not turning out of one -position we usually got about three hours’ sleep. -As soon as we moved, the paper tore and the cold -quickly worked its way through. Still greater discomfort -than our bed was caused by the presence -of mice! The little beggars were very numerous -and very daring. Many a night we were wakened -by their nibbling at our hair. Whenever I -protested, in action as well as in words, Sean Treacy -would plead—“Ah, the poor little creatures! They -might as well be happy when we can’t. Don’t be -vexed with them, Dan, even if they take a little of -your black hair.” I argued that it was enough to -have the peelers after us, and that if the mice had -any decency they ought to leave us alone.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span></p> - -<p>For some time things went on smoothly, and our -work progressed pleasantly. Then my partner, -Keogh, left me, and I was joined by Sean Hogan—whose -life for the next five years was to be very -closely linked up with mine.</p> - -<p>The two Seans and myself seemed to have but -one mind—I have never had any difference with -Hogan up to the present day, and never had an -angry word with my dear old comrade—Sean -Treacy—up to the day of his death.</p> - -<p>It was during our sojourn in O’Connell’s house -that we were joined by Seumas Robinson, later -elected Deputy for East Tipperary and Waterford. -Robinson, who had lived a good part of his life in -Glasgow, at once became a fast friend. The four -of us—Treacy, Hogan, Robinson and I—seemed -perfectly balanced in temperament, age, outlook -and hopes. Many an ambitious plan we made, and -many a dream we dreamed of the Free Ireland for -which alone we now lived and worked.</p> - -<p>After a few months Jer. O’Connell gave us notice -to quit. We had no tenant’s rights, no protecting -Act of Parliament, and no alternative but to depart. -Being “on the run” we dare not go looking for -lodgings in the ordinary way, even if we had money -to pay. The peelers knew every hole and corner -in their district, and were ever on the prowl for -Irishmen known to have little love for English rule.</p> - -<p>But good luck came to our rescue.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span></p> - -<p>Some cousins of Sean Hogan’s had a little dairy -or outhouse, which they generally placed at our -disposal. Here we enjoyed the luxury of bed, -clothing and other little comforts, but our meals -were few and far between. I myself lived for two -weeks in the “Dairy” on rice boiled in water, -without either sugar or milk. This abstemious life -was not new to me. For months while I was -organising I used to fast from breakfast to breakfast, -and many a night I walked twenty miles for a -bed, or even a shake-down.</p> - -<p>The “Dairy” did not escape the attention of -the enemy, who subsequently gave it the name of -“The Tin House.”</p> - -<p>We were terribly handicapped for want of money; -not indeed for personal comforts, which seldom -troubled us, but to get round.</p> - -<p>On one occasion Sean Treacy and I cycled to -Dublin to get some arms. We had no money for -train fares, and it was essential that we should reach -Dublin by 6 o’clock on a particular Monday evening. -There was a Brigade Council meeting fixed for -Sunday night—at which we were bound to attend. -That meant that we could not leave Tipperary till -about 8 o’clock on Monday morning. We covered -the 110 miles, and we reached Dublin in good time. -Of course we were very hungry, but once we -reached the house of our good friend Phil Shanahan—himself -a Tipperary man, and later a Republican<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> -Deputy for Dublin—all our troubles disappeared. -Then and after we never wanted for anything while -Phil was about.</p> - -<p>We had to remain in Dublin until the following -Saturday before we could conclude our business. -Here another difficulty arose. We were due back -in Tipperary at an officers’ meeting the same -Saturday at 6 p.m. We left Phil Shanahan’s house -at 8.30 in the morning. We carried six revolvers, -five hundred rounds of .303 (rifle) ammunition, and -half a dozen grenades, and we were the only two -who were punctual at the meeting.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.<br> -<span class="smaller">THE POLITICAL LANDSLIDE.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>In December, 1918, came the event which gave -the Irish Volunteers the moral sanction for their -subsequent activities—the General Election.</p> - -<p>It is important to bear in mind the position at -that time. No General Election had been held in -Ireland for seven years. In that interval the vast -majority of the people had completely changed their -views. They no longer had any faith in England, -or in the efficacy of sending their hundred representatives -to the British Parliament, where they were -in a helpless minority, and where their voices were -scarcely heard. England’s treachery on the Home -Rule question and her threat of Conscription had -cost her dearly. But the greatest force of all in the -awakening was the Rising of 1916. That episode -had put new life and heart into the people. The -bye-elections, to which I have already referred had -given the people their only opportunity, so far, to -indicate the growing desire for liberty, complete and -untrammelled.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span></p> - -<p>On November 11th, 1918, the Great War -virtually ended with the Armistice. A week later -it was announced that the long delayed General -Election was fixed for the 14th December. Sinn -Fein got its opportunity, for that election was to be -the first ever held under the British Constitution on -the basis of manhood suffrage, and we knew well -that the young men of Ireland would vote overwhelmingly -for our cause.</p> - -<p>But we had to educate and organise. The name -and policy of Sinn Fein were still grossly misunderstood. -The public did not clearly realise the -difference between the political body, Sinn Fein, -and the military organisation—the Irish Volunteers. -The Insurrection of 1916 was commonly called the -“Sinn Fein Rising,” and our Volunteers were -spoken of as the “Sinn Fein Volunteers.” Even -the Republican Tricolour—the Green, White and -Orange of the Young Ireland Party of 1848, and -of the Fenians of the next generation—was called -the “Sinn Fein Flag.” But misnomers did not -trouble us very much, for the Sinn Fein body had -been adjusting its programme to suit Republican -ideals. And now when Sinn Fein clubs were springing -up in every parish, it was quite usual to find -that the President or the Secretary of the club was -also captain of the local Volunteer corps. The -majority of the younger men in the Sinn Fein<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span> -Political Organisation were also Volunteers; and the -Volunteers were also members of the Sinn Fein -club.</p> - -<p>During the period of the Election the people went -Sinn Fein mad. We had most of the clergy with us, -and the earnestness and enthusiasm of our speakers -and organisers swept the country. The political -wing of the Republican cause spread like wild-fire; -but our army was gradually dwindling. While we -lamented this decay on the military side, we saw -the necessity of making an enormous success of the -elections, hoping to restore our army to its proper -strength when the election was over. So we threw -ourselves heart and soul into the contest, and -worked night and day for the Republican candidates. -We didn’t leave a dead wall or a cross-roads -in the country that we did not decorate with -appeals to “Rally to Sinn Fein,” “Vote for the -Republic,” “Stand by the men of 1916.” Such -were the rallying calls addressed to the people -during those few critical weeks. No secret was -made of our policy. Every Republican was pledged -never to take his seat in the British Parliament, but -to work at home in Ireland for the establishment and -recognition of the Republic.</p> - -<p>We knocked plenty of fun out of the election. -Alas! many of those who worked hardest in those -days have passed under the sod since. Our workers -in Tipperary included Dinny Lacy, killed during the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> -Civil War in his native county; Sean Duffy and -Paddy Maloney (whose father was our successful -candidate), later killed in an encounter with the -British not far from Soloheadbeg; Sean Allen, who -was executed by the British in Cork Jail; “Sparkie” -Breen, also killed in the Civil War. But these -memories only serve to remind one of the fine fellows -we have lost. Anyhow we won every seat in -Munster, except Waterford City. Leinster and -Connaught did equally well, and in Ulster we won -several seats. The net result was that of the one -hundred and five constituencies, seventy-three had -repudiated British rule and plumped for an Irish -Republic.</p> - -<p>A month later, on January 21st, 1919, these -elected representatives of the vast majority of the -Irish people met in public session in Dublin; -formally proclaimed the Republic, and established -a Government. The same day, and almost at the -same hour, our little handful of Volunteers were -striking the first blow since the formal repudiation -of British authority by the people. But let me -explain how it came about.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus03" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/illus03.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">SCENE OF SOLOHEADBEG AMBUSH.</p> -</div> - -<p>After the election we had more time to review -our position. The results had cleared the air; the -people had by an overwhelming verdict given us -moral sanction to drive the British forces out of -Ireland. But the election work had had a serious -effect on our army. Many had ceased to be soldiers<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> -and had become politicians. There was danger of -disintegration, a danger which had been growing -since the threat of Conscription disappeared a few -months earlier. I was convinced that some sort of -action was absolutely necessary. Over and over -again I discussed the matter with Sean Treacy. I -knew that if we once showed them the way, there -were plenty of fine fellows on whom we could rely. -Sooner than we expected the opportunity came.</p> - -<p>Let me introduce my readers to the first authentic -account of the affair known as “The Soloheadbeg -Outbreak,” or, as the hostile Press persistently -titled it, “The Soloheadbeg Murders”; for those -who read the newspaper versions of our struggle -with England must bear in mind that every newspaper -in Ireland was hostile to our policy, and so -remained to the end, though a few of them lost -their bitterness towards us as the campaign -progressed. It must also be remembered that even -when the “Great War” ended the British Press -Censorship was continued in Ireland for over a -year.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.<br> -<span class="smaller">SOLOHEADBEG.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>At the beginning of January, 1919, we received -information to the effect that a quantity of explosives -was to be conveyed to Soloheadbeg Quarry -for blasting purposes. The consignment, we knew, -would be guarded by armed policemen, as was -always the rule at that time.</p> - -<p>I spoke to Sean about it. “Here is our chance,” -I said, “let us start the war soon, or the army will -lose heart.” I knew we had but a very small -number of men with determination enough for such -a job, but I knew too that the number would -increase with time; and, in any case, it is quality, -not quantity, that counts in guerilla warfare.</p> - -<p>We discussed the proposal for a long time. -Finally we decided to disarm the guard and seize -the explosives, for, as Sean said, there was nothing -we needed more at that time than guns and explosives. -We made a careful survey of the locality. -We selected the spot for our first ambush. We -knew every inch of the ground, we had been<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> -born and reared in the vicinity, and Sean’s own -farmhouse was not a stone’s throw from the -quarry.</p> - -<p>Soloheadbeg is a small townland about two and -a half miles from Tipperary town, and less than a -mile from the Limerick Junction. The quarry -stands on an eminence on a little by-road. Farmhouses -and cottages are dotted here and there in -the neighbourhood, though there is no village -nearer than Donohill, a mile and a half distant. It -was in this plain, overshadowed by the gigantic -figure of Galteemore away to the south, that Brian -Boru and his brother Mahon fought their first great -battle with the Danes in 968, when Brian with his -gallant army of Tipperary men and Clare men -routed the invaders, and never ceased from the -pursuit till he reached Limerick twenty miles away -and burned the town over their heads. The right -wing of his army swept across the hills where the -quarry now stands, as the defeated Danes fled to -their stronghold.</p> - -<p>The quarry itself stands on the right, down the -little by-road. There is a high ditch on each side -of the road by which it is approached from -Tipperary, and here and there is the further cover -afforded by thick whitethorn bushes. I should -explain that what we call a “ditch” in Tipperary -is really a bank, or dike.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span></p> - -<p>Unfortunately our information regarding the date -of the arrival of the explosives was not quite -correct. We expected it on January 16th, but it -did not come till five days later. During these five -days we waited in readiness for the attempt. Our -men had left their homes without giving any indication -of their plans. After three days I had to -send all home except eight. We had neither provisions -to feed them nor money to purchase the -provisions.</p> - -<p>And so the nine of us who remained were -watching and waiting. The men who were with me -were—Sean Treacy, Seumas Robinson, Sean -Hogan, Tim Crowe, Patrick O’Dwyer, of Hollyford; -Michael Ryan, of Grange (Donohill); Patrick -McCormick, and Jack O’Meara, Tipperary.</p> - -<p>Our chief concern during these days of waiting -was to avoid attracting attention. We did not want -to be seen by any of the people in the locality. -Those were nearly all employed at the quarry, and -as the times were then disturbed enough any report -that strangers were hanging around the neighbourhood -might have completely upset our plans. Every -morning before daybreak we went as noiselessly as -possible to our hiding place, there to remain under -cover, but ever on the alert, while one of our -number acted as scout from the by-road to the -main road from Tipperary, along which the peelers -were bound to approach. There we waited in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span> -silence until 2 o’clock in the afternoon, and then -we abandoned our position, knowing they would not -come later, as they liked to be back in town before -darkness set in. We spent the night at my own -home, where my mother prepared breakfast each -morning about 4 o’clock. On the fifth morning she -declared, “If you don’t do something to-day you -can get your own breakfast to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>At last came the fateful morning of January 21st, -1919, the day that was to see our country rejoice -at the first meeting of the Parliament of Ireland, -the first Dail Eireann setting up the Government of -the Republic, and sending its message to the free -nations of the earth.</p> - -<p>We had taken our place behind the ditch, and -had spent many weary hours waiting and watching. -We were quietly discussing the great event that -was to take place in Dublin that day. Our scout -was away with his eyes fixed on the Tipperary road. -Suddenly our conversation was interrupted by our -scout. Dashing towards us from his look-out, his -eyes sparkling with the light of battle, and a grim -smile on his countenance, he whispered the word -of warning—“They’re coming, they’re coming!”</p> - -<p>Every man knew his post. For days we had -thought of nothing but the position we were now in. -If any of our number felt nervous or excited he -showed little outward sign of it. Like a flash every -soldier manned his post. Our hour of trial was at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span> -hand; we were to face the enemy, with life or death -in the balance. And incidentally we were to open -another phase in the long fight for the freedom of -our country.</p> - -<p>Our scout was again on the alert, and again he -returned to report. This time he gave us the actual -distance, and he told us their number.</p> - -<p>Nearer and nearer they come. In the still clear -air we hear the sound of the horses’ hoofs, and the -rumbling of a heavy cart over the rough hilly road.</p> - -<p>That day I did not feel the same coolness that I -afterwards strove to develop. My nerves were -highly strung; I realised what we were doing, and -I foresaw the consequences whether our plans -succeeded or failed.</p> - -<p>We were facing men trained to the use of firearms, -especially disciplined for such emergencies as -this. In all probability they had but just completed -the special course in bomb-throwing, which had -lately been added to the accomplishments of the -R.I.C. My little squad had little experience in -the practical use of firearms. We had never been -in a position to fire one round of ball-cartridge for -the sake of practice. We had often chaffed one -another about this want of experience, and jokingly -referred to the probable consequences if our nerves -got jumpy when the real time came. But we always -brushed aside these idle fears, and maintained a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> -calm and cheerful exterior, consoling ourselves with -the thought, “We’re Irish anyhow, and all Irishmen -are fighters by nature.”</p> - -<p>But now the hour had come. From my point of -vantage I shot a hurried glance down the road as -the party approached. The driver and the County -Council employee who was to take over the explosives -walked beside the horses. Two policemen -in their black uniforms were also on foot carrying -rifles in their hands. They were a little distance -behind the cart.</p> - -<p>Only a moment before the blood was rushing -madly through my veins; now when I saw them -actually at hand all my nervousness disappeared, -and I felt cool and strong again. I believed I could -fight a dozen of these enemy forces all by -myself. For the men who were now approaching -had deserted their country, and were the spies and -hirelings of her enemy. Nearer still they come. -They talk in low tones. They are almost under the -shadow of our revolvers.</p> - -<p>“Hands up!” The cry comes from our men as -with one voice. “Hands up!” But no! They -seize their rifles, and with the best military movement -bring them to the ready. They were Irishmen, -too, and would rather die than surrender.</p> - -<p>Again and again we called upon them to put up -their hands. We would have preferred that they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> -should surrender without bloodshed, but they were -dogged and stubborn, and now ’twas our lives or -theirs.</p> - -<p>Their fingers were on the triggers. Another -appeal on our side would be useless—perhaps too -late for ourselves.</p> - -<p>Quick and sure our volleys rang out. The aim -was true. The two policemen were dead.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.<br> -<span class="smaller">OUR ESCAPE.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Now began our career of real excitement. If -we had disarmed the police without firing a shot the -thing would not have been so serious. But the -shots had alarmed the countryside. In a moment -men and women would appear at every doorway. -On the roadside were the two terrified civilians, -James Godfrey, the driver of the cart, and Patrick -Flynn, the County Council employee. Within an -hour hundreds of police and military would be -scouring the countryside for us. Henceforth I -realised we were to be outlawed rapparees with a -price on our heads.</p> - -<p>But it was a time for action. We seized the rifles -and equipment of the police, mounted the cart, and -drove away with our booty. The cart contained -more than a hundred-weight of gelignite, but thirty -electric detonators which Flynn had in his pocket -escaped us, as we learned a week later.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span></p> - -<p>Never was a poor horse called upon to give such -gallant service in a dash for life and liberty. Sean -Hogan held the reins; Sean Treacy and I sat -behind. The others of the party had been ordered -to escape in different directions, and all got clear -away.</p> - -<p>On we sped, urging our poor horse to greater -speed, while school children and farmworkers -watched us in amazement as we went by.</p> - -<p>We were heading for Donaskeigh. For a great -part of our journey not a word was spoken. Treacy -was the first to break the silence. He spoke in the -same cool tones that he might have used if he were -sitting round a fire discussing a game of cards.</p> - -<p>“Do you remember, Dan, when we were -reading about explosives? The book says that they -are dangerous if frozen, or if they get jolted?”</p> - -<p>This reminder did not add to our peace of mind, -for if ever explosives got a jolting ours did. The -road was rough and uneven; heaps of loose stones -were scattered along the way; the cart was one of -the ordinary farmyard type, heavily and roughly -built, and without springs.</p> - -<p>But on we had to go until we reached the spot -where we had decided to hide our booty. There we -quickly deposited the gelignite, all except two sticks -which I kept for a decoy. These I threw on the -roadside at the spot where we eventually abandoned -the horse. For months later, day after day, police<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span> -and soldiers actually walked over our dug-out, but -never discovered it. They had been deceived by the -two loose sticks, and kept themselves warm by -digging trenches all over the country, but their -search was in vain.</p> - -<p>When we had hidden the booty our trouble began. -The poor old horse could go no further. Besides -we had no desire to keep him much longer, for he -would only furnish the enemy with a clue to getting -on our track later. We left him on the roadside and -went our way. A few hours later that district was -spotted with khaki figures, for the horse was found -that evening at Aileen Bridge, about four miles from -Tipperary town on the main road to Thurles.</p> - -<p>Difficulties were now looming up before our eyes. -Tipperary was no longer safe. The weather was -against us. We were tired with the excitement of -the day, and the suspense of the days before, but -we could not think of rest for a long while yet. The -weather was intensely cold, and, to make things -worse, it started to snow. That not only added to -our difficulties, but there was the danger that if the -snow lodged we might easily be traced.</p> - -<p>At Ryan’s Cross, near Aileen Bridge, we -abandoned the horse. Then we turned to the right. -Previously we had been going north, but now we -went south-east, and gradually south towards where -the Galtee mountains towered above us. We walked -forty miles over these mountains and valleys, for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> -like many before us we felt that they would give us -hope and shelter. All through the ages since -Geoffrey Keating penned his famous <i>History</i> when -there was a price on his head, the Galtee mountains -and the Glen of Aherlow have been the first refuge -of the Tipperary felon.</p> - -<p>We had travelled four miles after leaving the -horse when we took our first rest at Mrs. -Fitzgerald’s, of Rathclogheen, near Thomastown. -There we had our first square meal since my mother -gave us breakfast early that morning, and right -heartily we enjoyed the ham and eggs and tea our -hostess set before us. It was in that house that our -famous countryman, Father Mathew, was born.</p> - -<p>But we could spare no time for lingering; we had -yet to put many more miles between us and Soloheadbeg. -We resumed our journey towards the -mountains. At Keville’s Cross we crossed the Cahir -and Tipperary Road. The cold was bitter, and the -wind was piercing. The only other living things we -saw out in the open were two mountain goats, -spancelled together near the cross-roads. Several -times we lost our way after that. We dare not call -to a strange wayside farmhouse, for at that time the -people had not learned to keep a shut mouth. At -one point Sean Treacy fell into a drain about twenty -feet deep, and we thought he was killed. When -we got him out we found he was little the worse for -his fall, and he assured us he would fire another shot<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> -before handing in his gun. We continued our -journey towards the summit. Once when we had -traversed the Glen and climbed Galteemore’s -rugged slopes from the Tipperary side, we lost our -bearings on the top. In the height of the summer -you will find it chilly enough on Galteemore. You -can imagine how we felt that evening in the heart -of winter. It had taken us three hours to climb, but -after all our exertions we wandered back to the -two goats—back to our starting-point. In despair -we abandoned all hope of crossing the mountain. -As Sean Hogan said then, “’tis all very well for -poets sitting in easy chairs at the fireside to write -about the beauties of mountains, but if they had to -climb them as we had, hungry and cold, they would -be in no mood to appreciate the beauties of nature.”</p> - -<p>When we returned to Keville’s Cross we decided -on a new plan. We crossed on to the railway line, -and determined to face for Cahir. It was lucky we -did so. We had not gone many miles along the line -when we saw the lights of the military lorries that -were scouring the roads in search of us. Had we -been down on the road we could never have avoided -them.</p> - -<p>A railway is a tiresome road to travel, even at -ordinary times. For us in our condition that night -it was cruel. Yet we had to keep on. Once in the -thick darkness I saw a black figure a few paces -ahead. I was walking in front and promptly levelled<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> -my revolver, with the order “hands up!” The -figure remained motionless, having apparently -halted at my command. I advanced, with my gun -still levelled, and walked into a railway signpost -with the warning, “Trespassers will be prosecuted.” -Unhappy though our plight was, the boys laughed -at my mistake, and I had to laugh myself with -them.</p> - -<p>A little farther on Sean Hogan asked us to stop -for a moment, as his boot was feeling loose. Sean -Treacy tied the lace, but he did not travel much -farther till he again complained that it was loose. -Sean stopped to examine it, and found that the -whole boot was practically worn away by the -rocks and boulders. Only a bit of a sole and the -laced portion of the upper remained.</p> - -<p>All the time Sean Treacy tried to keep our spirits -from drooping. Several times we asked him how -far more was it to Cahir, and always got the reply, -“the next turn of the road.” He was right, of -course; but as the road and the railway which runs -parallel to it are an almost perfect straight line for -three miles, the next turn was a long way off. Now -and again we were so exhausted that we used to -stand and rest our heads against the ditch by the -railway side to take a sleep—or what we persuaded -ourselves was a sleep—for five minutes.</p> - -<p>At last we reached Cahir. We were now as near -to absolute collapse as men could be. We were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> -becoming desperate. For the first time we had to -assume that outward coolness, and take that risk -which later became almost part of our daily routine. -We walked right through the town of Cahir, a -garrison town on the main road from Limerick to -Clonmel and Waterford, and only fifteen miles from -Soloheadbeg. But we had to take the risk. Our -blood was almost congealed with cold, we were -ravenously hungry, and there was little life left in -us. But we knew one good friend on whom we -could rely for a night’s shelter. That friend was -Mrs. Tobin, of Tincurry House, near Cahir. I -shall never forget her kindness to us that night and -to others of the boys later. The British -afterwards bombed and destroyed the house in daylight -as an “official reprisal” for the shooting of -District-Inspector Potter, an incident to which I -shall refer in a later chapter.</p> - -<p>We got to bed the first time for a week. The -three of us were in the same plight. Excitement, -cold and exhaustion all combined to make sleep -impossible for us. But we lay limp for four hours, -and in this way we got some rest for our weary -limbs.</p> - -<p>We got up full of anxiety to hear the news. -Since we left Soloheadbeg we had spoken to nobody -and had not seen a newspaper. Sure enough, there -were the big splash headings, just as we anticipated, -announcing this “Tipperary Outrage,” “Fearful<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span> -Crime,” “Murder of Two Policemen,” and such -like. We saw, too, an account of the inquest on the -dead men, Constable McDonnell and O’Connell. -Most of the news of the incident was absolutely -wrong, as it often was later on. We learned, too, -that two young men had been arrested on suspicion, -but neither had anything to do with the affair, and -they were released in a few days. Two schoolboys -from the locality, Matthew Hogan, aged fifteen, -a brother of Sean’s; and Timothy Connors, aged -eleven, were also arrested by the British, as they -were supposed to have seen us. The father of the -boy Connors had been a workman employed on the -farm of Sean Treacy’s mother. Both boys were -detained for months in an effort to get them to -give information, and, in the case of Connors, a -great legal action ensued, which resulted in a verdict -against the Commandant of the R.I.C. Headquarters -for illegal detention.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="illus04" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/illus04.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">POLICE NOTICE.</p> - <p class="caption">£1000 REWARD</p> - <p class="caption">WANTED FOR MURDER IN IRELAND.</p> - <p class="caption">DANIEL BREEN</p> - <p class="caption">(calls himself Commandant of the Third - Tipperary Brigade).</p> - <p class="caption2">Age 27, 5 feet 7 inches in height, bronzed complexion, - dark hair (long in front), grey eyes, short - cocked nose, stout build, weight about 12 stone, - clean shaven; sulky bulldog appearance; looks rather - like a blacksmith coming from work; wears cap - pulled well down over face.</p> - <p class="caption2">The above reward will be paid by the Irish Authorities, to any - person not in the Public Service who may give information - resulting in his arrest.</p> - <p class="caption">Information to be given at any Police Station.</p> - <p class="caption">S.O. 14591. (G. 40). 5,000. 11.20.—A. T. & Co., Ltd.</p> -</div> - -<p>Meantime our episode at Soloheadbeg had had -its first effects. South Tipperary, that is half the -county, had been proclaimed a “military area.” -That, for all practical purposes, meant martial law. -Fairs, markets and meetings were prohibited; -military reinforcements were rushed into the district -and garrisons were established at villages which had -never before sheltered a British soldier. Night and -day they patrolled the roads and scoured the fields. -Our little band had unmasked England. She had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> -now to come out in the open and let the world see -that she held Ireland by naked force, and by force -alone.</p> - -<p>We also learned that a reward of £1,000 was -offered for any information that would lead to our -capture. A few months later this offer was increased -to £10,000. Nobody earned it nor indeed tried to -earn it, except a few members of the R.I.C. They -failed, and most of them never tried a second time.</p> - -<p>These are the plain, unvarnished facts concerning -the first shots fired after the Insurrection of 1916. -These shots were the first of a series that were to -bring Ireland’s name once more before the world, -and to make the nations look on in admiration at -Ireland’s fight for freedom.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.<br> -<span class="smaller">HELPED BY THE BRITISH.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>We spent two nights in Mrs. Tobin’s house. -Then we went to Ned McGrath’s, of Tincurry, and -from there we were taken by Ned to Gorman’s, of -Burncourt Castle. We then arranged to go to -Ryan’s of Tubrid, and sent on word that they might -expect us. But after sending word we changed our -minds and did not go to Tubrid; and lucky it was -for us—or for somebody else. Just at the time we -had expected to be there the house was surrounded -by eight peelers, and Ryan himself was arrested.</p> - -<p>We decided to go on to Mitchelstown in County -Cork, at the other end of the Galtees. We spent -a night in O’Brien’s, of Ballagh, and while we were -there a strange thing occurred. We were sleeping -upstairs when strange voices aroused us. We looked -out and saw several peelers just entering the house. -We at once got ready for a fight, expecting to see -them mounting the stairs at any moment. But they -never came. In a few minutes they took their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span> -departure. Then we learned that the object of their -visit was to ascertain if the owner of the house had -paid the licence for his dogs.</p> - -<p>Finally we reached Mitchelstown where we met -Christie Ryan, who welcomed us and gave us the -shelter of his house. While we were there we saw -eight armed policemen pass the door. They -were guarding a little packet of blasting powder. -Evidently the Soloheadbeg affair had taught them -to take no chances, and now they had quadrupled -the escort.</p> - -<p>Later we came across into East Limerick, where -Ned O’Brien, of Galbally, put us up, and then we -travelled farther to the Maloneys, of Lackelly, -the scene of a great battle with the British two -years later. At Lackelly we stayed about a week.</p> - -<p>But you must understand our position all this -time since the affair at Soloheadbeg. We were still -within a radius of ten miles of the scene. Police and -military were scouring the countryside for us, -searching houses, ditches and woods. The clergy, -the public and the press had all condemned our -action. Our only consoling thought was that so -were the men of ’98, and the Fenians of ’67, and -then the men of 1916 condemned in their day, and -we knew that as the cause of these men had been -vindicated, so too would our cause when the scales -fell from the people’s eyes. At this time, however, -scarce a word would be heard in our defence. Our<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> -point of view was not even to be listened to. The -people had voted for a Republic, but now they -seemed to have abandoned us who tried to bring -that Republic nearer, and who had taken them at -their word.</p> - -<p>Our former friends shunned us. They preferred -the drawing-room as their battle ground, and the -political resolution rather than the gun as their -weapon. We had heard the gospel of freedom -preached to us; we believed in it, we wanted to be -free, and we were prepared to give our lives as proof -of the faith that was in us. But those who preached -the gospel were not prepared to practise it.</p> - -<p>Even from the Irish Volunteers or the Irish -Republican Army, as it has now come to be called, -we got no support. Ned O’Brien and James Scanlan -of Galbally, Paddy Ryan of Doon, and Davy Burke -of Emly, certainly stood by us; but they were the -exceptions.</p> - -<p>When the news of the Soloheadbeg affair became -public, a meeting was actually summoned in -Tipperary town by a man who should have been -our friend. His purpose was to dissociate Sinn -Fein from the incident, and to denounce us for our -action. The meeting was, however, called off by -another prominent man. A local clergyman in a -sermon, in which he denounced us as murderers, -said that it used to be the custom to say, “Where -Tipperary leads Ireland follows,” but he hoped this<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span> -would not be so in the case of Soloheadbeg, the -men responsible for which would, he said, go to -their graves with the brand of Cain on their foreheads. -Such were the things said about us, but we -kept on our course.</p> - -<p>In many places we were refused shelter on a -night that one would not put out a dog. I remember -on one occasion we were sitting in a farmhouse by -the fireside when a loud knock was made at the -door. It was dark, and the farmer did not care to -open without knowing who was outside.</p> - -<p>“Who’s there?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“Police!” came the prompt reply.</p> - -<p>Simultaneously we drew our revolvers. The door -was opened, and a young neighbouring farmer -entered, laughing heartily at his attempted joke. -Before we could put away our guns the owner of -the house observed them. At once his attitude -towards us changed. He informed us point blank -that he would not permit men with guns to stay -under his roof. It was bitterly cold, but we had to -go out into one of the outhouses for the night. So -chilled were we there that we had to drive in some -of the cows to keep us warm.</p> - -<p>We had to keep tramping from parish to parish -without a penny in our pockets. Our clothes and -boots were almost worn out, and we had no changes. -Many whom we thought we could trust would not -let us sleep even in their cattle byres.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span></p> - -<p>When we reached the village of Dono, in County -Limerick—still only seven miles from Soloheadbeg—we -again met with Seumas Robinson, and I -need hardly say that our joy at the reunion was unbounded. -Although it was only a few weeks since -we parted after the fight at Soloheadbeg, we all -felt like brothers meeting after years of separation. -When we met we continued our night’s march linked -arm in arm.</p> - -<p>While we were in this neighbourhood Paddy -Ryan, a well-known local merchant and an old -worker in the cause of freedom, proved a staunch -friend to us. With Seumas again one of our band -we discussed the outlook and the chances of winning -over the people to engage in “one good stand-up -fight” against the old enemy. We then drafted a -proclamation ordering all the enemy forces out of -South Tipperary. We sent it on to Dublin, but both -An Dail and General Headquarters refused their -consent to let us go ahead. We never found out -their reason for doing so. Ours was the only -logical position.</p> - -<p>Withholding their support was a bad blow -enough—but what was our horror when we found -that someone had actually worked up a plan to ship -us away to America! We were not consulted at -all, but calmly told to be ready to sail in a couple -of days. It was surely a sugar-coated pill! A -deportation order in disguise, issued from the very<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> -source that should, if consistent, get behind us in -the war. We refused to leave Ireland. We told -them that we were not afraid to die, but would prefer -to live for Ireland. To leave Ireland would be like -an admission that we were criminals, or that we were -cowards. Now, more than ever we declared that our -place was in Ireland, and Ireland’s fight would have -to be made by Irishmen on the hills and at the cross-roads -in Ireland, not with printer’s ink in America, -or in any other country. This was apparently -regarded as a breach of discipline. We were -members of an organised body and should obey our -superior officers. They persisted in their plan of -sending us away, and we, just as obstinately, -refused to leave. At length we won, but only on -condition that we should remain away in some -remote part of the country. We felt that we could -very soon overcome that difficulty too.</p> - -<p>While these little quibbles were going on between -G.H.Q. and ourselves we were suffering intensely. -The cold weather and the weary, aimless travelling -around were very trying on us. We could not get -a horse to carry us even a journey of a few miles. -We had to trudge from field to field, sometimes in -one direction, sometimes in another. At last human -nature began to assert itself. Why should we be -treated so? Was not the sky as fair in one place as -in another?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span></p> - -<p>From Doon we went to Upperchurch, in the north -of Tipperary. There we spent a few days with -Patrick Kinnane, one of a family of famous Irish -athletes; our next resting-place we decided would -be Meagher’s of Annfield. We sent on word that -they might expect us to arrive at half-past seven -in the evening, when it would be quite dark. The -four of us, accompanied by Patrick Kinnane, walked -along the road, chatting and enjoying the cool -spring air. We must have taken our time along the -way, for Treacy looked at his watch and reminded -us that we were overdue, as it was now nearly eight -o’clock. Suddenly in the distance we saw something -white fluttering in the darkness. We halted. It -was a signal by a girl who was trying to attract our -attention.</p> - -<p>The four of us dropped into a place of concealment -behind a thick hedge. The girl saw us and -approached along the road. As she passed the spot -in which she had seen us hide she whispered the -words:—</p> - -<p>“The peelers are inside, raiding!”</p> - -<p>She was one of the Misses Meagher who had -slipped out unnoticed by the police to give warning, -knowing the road by which we would come.</p> - -<p>From our point of vantage we waited until we -saw the forces of the British law depart to their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> -barracks. Then we proceeded on our way, and -entered the house they had been raiding, where we -enjoyed a pleasant tea.</p> - -<p>From Meagher’s we came south again to Leahy’s -of Boherlahan, the famous family of Tipperary -hurlers. After that we went to Donnelly’s, of -Nodstown, in the same district, where we held a -meeting of our Brigade Council on a Sunday -evening. With our colleagues we discussed plans -for more active operations, and produced the -proclamation we had drawn up ordering all British -armed forces to leave South Tipperary under -penalty of death. Although Headquarters had -refused their sanction we decided to publish it. -About the end of February it was posted up in -several parts of the county. The newspapers -published it with mocking headlines. It seemed a -tall order no doubt at the time, but subsequent -events showed that we saw further ahead than -either the newspapers or our own Headquarters -gave us credit for.</p> - -<p>After that meeting we decided to return northwards -towards Creany, sending word ahead as we -always did. We sent a message to Patrick Kinnane -to meet us with a car, and started our long tramp -in the dismal night.</p> - -<p>At Upperchurch we were met by Kinnane, -Doherty and Patrick Dwyer, and we headed for -Murphy’s house at Creany. It was three o’clock in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> -the morning when we reached our destination. -Seldom did we suffer more than that night from -cold and exposure. The weather was harsh, even -for February, and the district was wild and mountainous.</p> - -<p>When we arrived at Murphy’s house we were -ravenously hungry. Murphy was a great character. -He was locally known as “the Stationmaster”—why, -I don’t know, for the nearest railway station -was fifteen miles from his house. He was preparing -a great meal of smoked ham and eggs for us. So -hungry was Hogan that instinctively, and half -unconsciously, he began to eat the raw ham as it -was being put on the frying pan. In a few minutes -he was seriously ill, and we thought he was going -to die. He soon revived, but for weeks afterwards -he was far from well. His illness at this time was -very unfortunate for us, because we had made up -our minds, in spite of Headquarters’ orders, that we -would try to get to Dublin, as we could no longer -endure the misery of our existence.</p> - -<p>With that purpose we went from Creany to the -Falls of Donass, that most glorious and picturesque -spot on the Shannon just across the Limerick -border from North Tipperary. Then we parted with -Robinson and Treacy, who started on their perilous -journey to Dublin, while I remained behind with -Hogan until he would be himself again. They arrived -in Dublin safely, and were welcomed by a few<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> -sympathetic friends. A full and accurate description -of each one of us, with the reward offered for information -that might lead to our capture, appeared -every week in the <i>Hue and Cry</i>, the official police -gazette, and so it was no easy thing for them either -to travel to the city, or to get about when they had -arrived there.</p> - -<p>Meantime Hogan and I could not stay long in -the district round the Keeper Mountains. But -Tommy McInerney came out from Limerick -with a motor car, accompanied by Tim Ryan. -McInerney was the man who drove the ill-fated -motor car which went to meet Roger Casement on -Good Friday of 1916, when the car ran over a cliff -in Kerry, and two of the occupants were drowned, -McInerney himself escaping.</p> - -<p>Tim Ryan knew of a friendly priest in West -Limerick who would give us shelter, and we started -on our journey to meet one of the truest friends we -ever made—a certain sagairt whose praises I should -like to sound here, but who does not wish his name -to be made known. Sean Hogan sat in front with -McInerney, who was driving, Ryan and I being in -the back.</p> - -<p>For a time our journey was uneventful until we -approached Limerick City. We were suddenly confronted -by lorry loads of soldiers dashing along in -the direction of Tipperary. We knew they were on -some big round up. We did not know then, though<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> -we found out later, that they had received information -that we were lying in a certain hiding place, and -scores of troops with armoured cars were being -rushed to the scene.</p> - -<p>Never since we left Soloheadbeg did we feel in -such a tight corner. One flash of suspicion on the -part of a single officer of the party would have ruined -us. At that time we knew that more than one -British soldier, even privates, had fond hopes of -earning the reward for our capture, and many of -them had been at great pains to study our descriptions. -Besides, it was comparatively easy for them -then, in the spring of 1919, for we were then the -only “much wanted men,” as the newspapers -described us.</p> - -<p>An apparently endless line of lorries approached -us—every soldier armed to the teeth, every lorry -equipped with a machine gun. The smallest show -of concern on our part meant our death warrant: -the slightest sign of fear or anxiety would betray us. -And there was no turning back. To attempt such -a thing would be an open challenge by three men -to several hundred soldiers. Coolness and bluff were -our only hope.</p> - -<p>We passed the first twenty lorries without turning -a hair. We just looked at the troops with that gaze -of curiosity mingled with admiration that one might -expect from any loyal citizen watching his gallant -protectors go by. We had passed the greater part<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span> -of the convoy, and were beginning to feel more at -our ease, when suddenly rounding a corner we were -confronted by a sentry with rifle upraised and -called on to “’alt.” Our driver at once put on the -brakes and pulled up.</p> - -<p>We now realised why the other braves had -allowed us to pass unchallenged. We had been led -into an ambush—permitted to get right into the -middle of the convoy, so that we had not a dog’s -chance of escaping. It was a cunning trap, but we -would show them how Irishmen can die rather than -surrender. It was all up with us, but we would sell -our lives as dearly as we could.</p> - -<p>I pulled my gun. For a fraction of a second I -fingered it fondly under the rug rapidly deciding -where I should send my bullets with best effect. I -had my finger on the trigger ready to raise my -arm to fire when an officer dashed up.</p> - -<p>“Sorry for delaying you, gentlemen,” he -shouted.</p> - -<p>This did not look like an ambush. I gently -lowered my gun from view, and waited for his next -words.</p> - -<p>He was the captain in charge of the party. -“Two of the ‘beastly’ cars, you know, have -broken down,” he explained, “and ’twas awfully -unfortunate, don’t you know, but the traffic was -almost completely blocked.” He apologised profusely -for the delay, but he feared there was not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> -enough room for our car to pass. “’twas jolly -rotten,” but he thought we should have to get out -and walk.</p> - -<p>By this time I had quite recovered my composure. -I told him politely but firmly that we had an -important business appointment to keep, and that -any further delay might mean serious loss to us. -Besides, I said, we had travelled far, and a long -motor journey was not good for rheumatics, and we -were far too tired to walk.</p> - -<p>I think he was really impressed by my protest. -At that stage British officers regarded an Irishman -who could travel in a motor car as a person of -importance who might get a “question raised in -the House,” if treated rudely. A year or two later -I know what he would have said to any Irishman -met on the road.</p> - -<p>He suddenly turned to his men, ordered three or -four of them to drop their rifles and push us in our -car for about two hundred yards till we had passed -the broken-down lorries, and could take the middle -of the road again.</p> - -<p>Never did I feel more inclined to laugh. Here -was a section of the British Army actually going -out of its way to save us the trouble of walking, -while the same army was day and night searching -the countryside for us. What a pretty heading it -would have been for the <i>Morning Post</i>—“Wanted -Gunmen aided and abetted by the British Army!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span></p> - -<p>We were more profuse in our thanks to the -soldiers, assured them they need not push our car -any further, and were very sorry to have them put -to so much trouble. A moment later we waved them -good-bye, and were dashing along the road to -Foynes. I can assure you that the speed of our car -was tested for the next quarter of an hour in case -by any chance the obliging soldiers might get -suspicious, and come after us to make enquiries. -But Sean and I laughed heartily when we had left -them behind. It was the first time since we had -become outlaws that the British helped us to -escape; it was not the last, for more than once I -had reason to feel grateful to their stupidity in -helping me out of difficulties when they little knew -who I was.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.<br> -<span class="smaller">OUR RETURN TO SOLOHEADBEG.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>That evening we reached our destination—the -house of the priest to whom I have already referred. -Here we got a right hearty welcome. No trouble -was spared to make us feel happy and cheerful. -The housekeeper—Molly—was like a mother to -us. She was a bit of a dictator, too, where dictation -was for our good. When she had given us a good -hearty meal she ordered both of us to bed, where -we remained for two whole days. Can you wonder -that we felt loth to leave the blankets, with memories -of newspapers, dirty straw and damp hay still fresh -in our minds?</p> - -<p>After two days’ rest I felt fit and active again, -but Hogan was still far from well. We can never -forget Molly’s kindness during this time. No -trouble was too great for her to make us comfortable. -I believe it was her kindness and good cookery -that really brought us to. And she was always -good-humoured and cheerful. It was a tonic to -hear her merry laugh, her banter and her bright<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> -homely talk. It was all so different to what we had -been accustomed to for months. Up to this the -people who spoke to us at all never raised their -voices above a whisper. Sometimes we had to laugh -when we saw the caution they exercised before -giving any sign that they recognised us. Whenever -we met an acquaintance on the road he looked -behind, to the right and to the left, before saluting -us. Many of them, I suppose, were afraid that if -we were caught soon after meeting them they might -lie under suspicion, and there is nothing an Irishman -fears more than to be thought an informer.</p> - -<p>It was amusing to observe the frightened look -that came into people’s eyes when they recognised -us. Of course, there was often a good reason for -their fright, for we were often several weeks without -making the acquaintance of a razor. But one is -not particular about personal beauty when there is -an army at one’s heels, and ten thousand pounds on -one’s head.</p> - -<p>No wonder then that Molly’s good nature and -good humour were such a tonic to us. And she was -brave as well as kind. She would inspire us with -hope when everything looked black. She was -unshaken in her conviction that no harm would come -to us; that God, as she said, would save us from -our enemies. She always kept a lamp burning before<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> -the image of the Sacred Heart, in intercession for -our welfare, and I am sure that many a decade of -her beads she said for us too.</p> - -<p>But if Molly was a brick the priest was a thousand -bricks. Like Molly, he never counted the cost of -“harbouring outlaws.” We were welcome to his -roof and to his table as long as we cared to stay, -and everything that his house held, or that he could -command, was at our service. We certainly enjoyed -our stay at ⸺, and would have liked to prolong -it, but it was not safe to stay over-long in the same -district, and we felt it was not fair to our host. -Moreover, we wanted to be on the move to try what -we could be doing to put more life into the cause. -After a stay of a few weeks in this place we went -on to Rathkeale.</p> - -<p>Here for the first time I met Sean Finn—as fine -a type of brave and chivalrous Irishman as ever -lived. He was then but a mere youth, but he had -been elected Commandant of his Battalion. Imbued -with a passionate desire to strike a blow for the old -land he was brave almost to rashness. But, alas! -for Ireland, he fell in his first battle with the enemy -about a year and a half later. My highest tribute -to the memory of this gallant soldier of Ireland!</p> - -<p>We did not stay long in Rathkeale. We were -restless, and longing for action. We were anxious, -too, to know how Sean Treacy and Seumas -Robinson were faring in Dublin. At this time we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> -saw the newspapers every day, and we knew that -they had so far escaped. At last, we got into -communication with them and arranged to meet -them again. We felt that the fates would have the -four of us joined hands again, and stand or fall -together. So Sean Hogan and I worked our way -from West Limerick back towards the eastern end -of the county, to the borders of South Tipperary. -Once more we found ourselves in a place where we -had already received shelter and hospitality—at -Lackelly, near Emly. We were thus within six or -seven miles of Soloheadbeg again, and within a few -miles of the spot where a few weeks later we were -to have our next most exciting and dramatic adventure—Knocklong.</p> - -<p>At Lackelly we met Treacy and Robinson once -more. We felt like a group of schoolboys on a -holiday. Somehow when the four of us were -together all the dark clouds seemed to scatter. We -forgot we were hunted outlaws with a heavy price on -our heads, and when we met we talked and joked -long into the night, and exchanged our experiences -and our adventures since we had parted. Treacy -and Robinson had gone about Dublin freely and -openly, and had quite a pleasant time. We, on our -part, tried to make them jealous by telling them of -our great time at the priest’s house, and were able -to boast of being helped by the British soldiers on -our way to that place.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span></p> - -<p>Seumas was able to retort with an equally -amusing experience. It seems that on their way -from Tipperary to Dublin the car broke down just -at Maryboro’ Jail, and immediately several soldiers -rushed to their assistance to get it started again. In -Dublin, too, they had many adventures, but these -I cannot go into.</p> - -<p>Meantime, the police and military were still busy -searching the whole county of Tipperary for us, -and digging up gardens and bogs in search of the -missing explosives. They watched our haunts, and -raided every place we were ever known to frequent. -In spite of the difficulties this state of things created, -the four of us determined that it was useless to -remain inactive. The encounter at Soloheadbeg -stirred the country, and showed the Volunteers what -could be done, but our absence might nullify these -effects. The three months that had passed since -then seemed to us to have been wasted. The I.R.A. -was still only a name. In theory there was a fairly -good organisation. Every county had its Brigade -and its Battalions, and arms were not altogether -lacking, but of what use, we asked ourselves, are -men who are soldiers only in name, and of guns that -are oiled and cleaned but never fired? The men -were not wanting in courage, but they needed more -initiative. At that time all they could do was go to -jail. All over the country men were allowing themselves<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> -to be arrested and imprisoned for drilling or -carrying arms, but they never seemed to think of -using the arms rather than go to jail.</p> - -<p>We made up our minds when we met at Lackelly -that this business of going to jail and becoming -cheap heroes must stop. We wanted a real army, -not a hollow mockery. Even if such an army numbered -a few score only, it would be far better than -the present organisation. We thought Soloheadbeg -would have been followed by active operations all -over the country, but now it was becoming a mere -memory.</p> - -<p>In this frame of mind, and with these resolutions -we procured four bicycles and headed straight for -Donohill—back to the very scene of our first battle, -back into the middle of the military net that martial -law had drawn round the whole county. Donohill is -about two miles north of the Soloheadbeg quarry, -and our route took us by the very road where we -waited so long for the enemy, and where we at last -met them. It was our first journey past the scene -since January 21st, and you can picture our feelings -as we saw the familiar hill once more and the turn -of the road where the peelers appeared. We dismounted -and lingered for a while in the neighbourhood. -I am sure many of the people around never -expected to lay eyes on us again, for in the old days<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span> -the usual thing for men in our position to do was to -clear away to America. But our work was in Ireland, -and we were going to see it through to the end.</p> - -<p>At Donohill we appeared to the Horan family -like men who had come back from the grave. When -they realised we were not ghosts, they gave us a -typical Irish welcome, and we joked and laughed -long into the night. They didn’t forget to keep -somebody on the look-out by the road to make sure -we would not be surprised. With the Horans we -stayed till the following night.</p> - -<p>My own house was only half a mile away, and, -needless to remark, I took the opportunity to see -my mother. It was a great surprise for her, but a -very welcome one. During my period on the run I -dare not even send her a card, for it would bring her -endless annoyance from the enemy, and probably -give them useful information, for they never scrupled -to open letters going through the post. Poor -woman! She was very brave and in the best of -spirits, in spite of the fact that her little home was -often raided and ransacked three times in twenty-four -hours, in the early dawn, and in the dead of -night. It gave me great courage to see her and to -talk to her again. But I should not delay long, and -I bade her good-bye again, taking with me her warm -blessing as I left.</p> - -<p>The dear old soul has suffered much for the crime -of having taught her sons their duty to their country.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> -Even the house over her head was looted and -burned, and her hens and chickens had to pay the -price of English hate, for they were bayoneted by -the Black and Tans. Through all her trials she -never lost heart, and would always have her jibe at -the enemy. Once when the British came and asked -if her son was in, she sarcastically asked them if -they would venture under the same roof with him. -On another occasion in reply to the same question -she told them I was upstairs, and invited them to -enter. Their response to the invitation was a precipitate -retreat to seek cover.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.<br> -<span class="smaller">SEAN HOGAN CAPTURED.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>From Donohill we went to Rossmore, and then -on to Rosegreen, and finally into Clonmel—the -Headquarters of the R.I.C. for South Tipperary, -and a large garrison town. We spent several days in -that district, and were not idle. We met the local -officers of the I.R.A.—they belonged to our -brigade—and found out what plans they had. We -did our best to induce them to get things moving -more rapidly, and to get on with the real serious -work.</p> - -<p>One morning while in Clonmel district I had an -unusual adventure, not very exciting in its own -way, but one that I feared was going to prove more -than exciting for me. As I was cycling up Mockler’s -Hill at 2 o’clock in the morning, when it was still -pitch dark, a cyclist coming in the opposite direction -rode right into me. I got the full force of his handle-bars -over the heart. I was thrown helplessly to the -ground, and vomited a quantity of blood. I thought -I was going to die. The prospect of such an inglorious<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span> -end did not improve me, nor hasten my -recovery. To be killed in action by an enemy bullet -was a fate I did not at all dread; but I strongly -objected to being killed by the handle-bars of an -ordinary, inoffensive push-bicycle, and, to make -things worse, I pictured myself being identified by -the R.I.C. and kicked into an even worse condition -than that in which the cyclist left me. However, -my recovery was more rapid than I hoped for. I -have always had a bad habit of pulling myself together -very quickly. In a short time I was able to -mount my bicycle again, and ride to my destination.</p> - -<p>On the 10th of May, 1919, we retraced our steps -to the village of Rossmore. It was now almost four -months since the affair at Soloheadbeg. During that -time we had been sleeping where and when we got -the chance; sometimes in a barn, sometimes in a -cattle-shed, and very seldom in bed. Our health -was not any the worse of our hardships. I suppose -with time one grows hardened. Even this night -when we got to Rossmore we were feeling fit and -game, although we had been four nights without -any rest. Still, we could do with a few hours’ sleep. -Somebody we met mentioned casually to us that -there was a dance that night in Eamon O’Duibhir’s -house in Ballagh, only a short distance away. We -forgot about our weariness; we forgot about our -danger. We were young, and had grown<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> -accustomed by now to taking risks, and it was long -since we had had the pleasure of a dance or a -ceilidhe.</p> - -<p>Without a second thought we faced for Ballagh. -Soon we were in the thick of the night’s fun. It -felt glorious to be back again, even for one night, -in the atmosphere of light-hearted gaiety. For -nearly two years I had not mingled with a crowd, -and here I was now in the midst of a typical -Tipperary party. The music was great, and the -supper and refreshments were even better. For -once we forgot the dark clouds over us; we laughed -and talked and danced in the reels and in the sets -with the lads and the lassies—in the middle of the -Martial Law area, and at a time when probably a -dozen British raiding parties were breaking in doors -in cottages and farmhouses looking for us.</p> - -<p>Of course, the boys and girls all knew us. They, -like so many others before and after, had only to -slip out, any one of them, go to the nearest police -barracks, not two miles away, and earn a thousand -pounds by saying where we were. But they never -dreamed of such a thing. Neither did we ever dream -of suspecting any one in the party, or in any other -party of Irish-Irelanders. Every one of them would -cut off his hand before he would touch that Saxon -gold. Irishmen have many faults, but very, very -few informers are bred amongst them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span></p> - -<p>We danced all through the night, and in the early -hours of the morning I returned with a few of the -boys to Rossmore. The other three did not come -with me; they stayed on for a few more dances, but -we had arranged to meet at O’Keeffe’s, of -Glenough, where we would have a right good sleep. -Shortly after I arrived there Sean Treacy and -Seamus Robinson put in an appearance. Sean -Hogan did not come with them, but none of us felt -a bit uneasy. He had two days to go before he -reached his eighteenth birthday, but we knew he -was well able to look after himself.</p> - -<p>The three of us were about as tired as we could -be. What with our five nights without sleep, and -the fatigue of a night’s dancing, we could have -slept, as Sean said, on a bed of briars. The sight -of the cosy bed that had been made ready for us -almost made us sleep before we turned into it.</p> - -<p>I think Sean Treacy had not finished his rosary -before I fell asleep. The next sound I heard was -the voice of Patrick Kinnane. It seemed very far -off. He was speaking to me I knew, but my eyes -refused to open. Then I was brought to my senses. -His words lifted me clean out of the bed; I realised -the full meaning of his early intrusion: Hogan had -been captured by the Peelers!</p> - -<p>It would have been very easy for us to believe -that “J.J.,” as we called him—his name was John -Joseph—had been shot. But to think he was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span> -arrested! I would not believe it. Was Kinnane -joking? I turned to Sean Treacy, for he too was -on his feet by now, and I read the truth in his face.</p> - -<p>I would have given a fortune for a few hours more -of sleep. I never felt so tired and weary in my life. -Robinson and Treacy were just as bad. But the -thought of “J.J.” in the enemy’s clutches brought -us quickly to our senses. Without a moment’s -hesitation we made our decision. Our faces rather -than our words conveyed to one another what was -in our minds. We must rescue Hogan, or die in -the attempt, and we knew that had any one of us -been in Hogan’s position his decision would have -been the same.</p> - -<p>Quickly we got what information there was of his -capture. He left the dance soon after us. Before -he had gone far he was surrounded by ten stalwart -policemen. He carried his gun, of course, as we -all did, but he never got a chance to use it. It was -not until a year later that the British invented the -happy trick of shooting prisoners “while attempting -to escape.” If that fashion had then existed “J.J.” -would not be with us to-day, nor would there -have been much use in planning to rescue him that -night.</p> - -<p>Our first trouble was to locate him. At that time -murders of innocent people had not yet come into -fashion, but Martial Law made people more careful, -and few ventured out late at night or early in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span> -morning because of the certainty of being held up -and questioned and probably arrested by the -British, who patrolled the roads at all hours of the -night and day. Hence we found on our first enquiry -that no one had seen whither Hogan’s escort had -departed. They might have faced for any one of -half a dozen garrisons—Thurles, Tipperary, or -Cashel, for instance. To be thus left in ignorance -of where to lay our plans was almost maddening, -and we knew that every hour that passed made the -danger greater, and that he would soon be removed -to a place beyond our reach. Gladly, I believe, -would any one of the three of us have taken the -place of our youngest comrade. Now that he was -gone from us we suddenly discovered all his excellent -points of character, though we were never in -the habit of paying him compliments while he was -with us.</p> - -<p>We searched and enquired everywhere. We sent -messengers on bicycles in all likely directions to -endeavour to pick up a trail. But his captors had -got too big a start. We were almost in despair when -at last we got on the scent: we traced him to -Thurles police barracks.</p> - -<p>To attempt to rescue him from that place -would have been worse than madness. It would -have been as easy to storm the gates of hell. -Thurles is a fairly large town, and had a big garrison -of both police and military. The barrack was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> -strongly fortified, and the peelers were always on -the alert. Their positions made alertness essential. -They were in the middle of an area that was soon -to become the centre of active warfare, and they -were on the main road from Dublin to Cork. There -was never the slightest hope of rushing the barracks -or of effecting an entrance by a ruse, and besides, -we knew that the presence of Sean Hogan in their -stronghold would make them all the more careful, -for they knew he was one of the four men -wanted for the attack at Soloheadbeg. The bits of -information they had picked up, and our disappearance -from the locality made it certain to them from -the first day that we were in that adventure.</p> - -<p>But there was one gleam of hope. We knew he -would not be kept long in Thurles. Prisoners were -only kept in these local stations for a day or two -while the preliminary enquiries and remands were -being gone through. Then they were transferred -to one of the largest prisons—Mountjoy, Cork, -Maryboro’, Dundalk or Belfast. In the case of -Tipperary men, and indeed men from all over -Munster, Cork was generally the destination. The -odds were ten to one that in a day or two Sean -Hogan would be taken by train from Thurles to -Cork.</p> - -<p>Our plans were quickly completed. We would -go to Emly, intercept the escort, hold up the train -and rescue our comrade. We chose Emly for many<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span> -reasons. It was a small station, and there were no -soldiers convenient; the police we did not -particularly mind. It was in the heart of a district -with which we were familiar, and in which we had -many friends. It almost touched the borders of -three counties, and consequently increased our -chances of evading pursuit, since the enemy would -not easily discover whether we retreated to the -mountains, to North Cork, to South Tipperary, -or to East Limerick. Above all, we had faith in -many of the boys from the neighbouring village of -Galbally.</p> - -<p>But holding up a train and making arrangements -for the removal of our rescued companion, and for -our own escape, are not operations that can be -carried out by three men. We needed help; we -must get reinforcements. We at once secured the -services of a special Volunteer despatch-rider; for, -naturally, neither telegrams nor telephones were to -be thought of. To trust these means of communication -would be the same as to send the British word -of our plans. Our first care was to send full details -of our plans to the Acting Commandant of the -Tipperary town Battalion, with orders to send us -the reinforcements. Emly would be only seven -miles, less than an hour’s cycle run, from Tipperary -town.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span></p> - -<p>Hurriedly we decided on our course of action, -and made our preparations. Ned Reilly and the -O’Keeffe brothers gave us every help in laying our -plans before we left Thurles.</p> - -<p>Having completed these arrangements we left the -town of Thurles at 11 o’clock on the morning of -May 12th, 1919. Our hearts were sad, but we -still had hopes, and our blood was boiling with anger, -anxiety and excitement.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="illus05" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/illus05.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">J. J. HOGAN.</p> -</div> - -<p>Mounted on our bicycles the three of us faced -for Emly. Except for the hour’s sleep after the -dance we had now been five nights without a rest. -In the ordinary course Emly would have been only -some thirty miles from us, but for obvious reasons -we had to avoid the main roads, and could not pass -near Tipperary town. We covered nearly fifty miles -on that journey, over rough and uneven roads. It -was one of the toughest rides we ever did. The -journeys that Sean Treacy and I had done to and -from Dublin were less wearisome. As we approached -Donohill, Seumas Robinson’s bicycle was put out of -action. We had neither the time nor the means to -try to repair it on the roadside, but we had faithful -friends. Patrick O’Dwyer, of Donohill, whose -wife was a first cousin of Sean Hogan’s, put a new -bicycle at our disposal, and we resumed our journey. -Our fatigue was telling on us. We could have fallen -off the bicycles and slept by the roadside, but the -excitement and our sense of loyalty to our comrade<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span> -kept up our strength. At Oola we actually fell -asleep on our bicycles, but again we bestirred ourselves, -and on we went doggedly, up hill and down -dale with our teeth set and our minds fixed on rescue -or death. We made a detour to the right, through -the Martial Law area, and over the border into -County Limerick, through the historic village of -Cullen, and on to Ballyneety, past the ruins of -the old castle, on the very same road that Patrick -Sarsfield took on that moonlight night three hundred -and thirty years before, when his sabre brought -terror to Dutch William’s troops. It was a strange -coincidence that we who now rode on a similar -errand of death or glory were Tipperary outlaws, -just as was Galloping Hogan, the man who made -Sarsfield’s exploit possible that night. And we were -going to rescue another Tipperary outlaw of the -same name and clan.</p> - -<p>While Sean Treacy was reminding us of these -pages of history—for he loved his Irish history—we -were interrupted by a dull thud, and looking round -we saw that poor Robinson had fallen off his bicycle -and was fast asleep by the roadside. We had to -keep moving, time was precious, and the three of -us mounted again and reached Emly at half-past -three on the morning of May 13th. On the way we -had stopped once or twice to complete our plans, -and to perfect our intelligence arrangements. Once<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> -we got a rude shock when a bomb dropped from -Robinson’s pocket, and for a moment we thought -we were being attacked.</p> - -<p>At Lackelly we called upon our old friends, the -Maloneys, and right heartily we were welcomed. -When we were discussing our plans, while enjoying -a warm and much needed breakfast, May Maloney -offered her services in any way she could help, and -gladly we accepted her offer. She became our -despatch rider for the occasion, and I do not know -how we could have got along without her help. It -was she who went to Thurles that morning, and -sent us word that Hogan was still there. The -Maloneys’ house, by the way, was later destroyed -by the Black and Tans, and both May Maloney and -her brother Dan were imprisoned during the recent -war.</p> - -<p>By 10 o’clock on the morning of May 13th, we -had completed all arrangements for the rescue of -Sean Hogan.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.<br> -<span class="smaller">THE RESCUE AT KNOCKLONG.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>As I have said, we arrived at Emly at 3.30 a.m. -The first train on which the prisoner might come -was not due till noon. When all was in readiness a -few hours before noon we waited eagerly for the -arrival of the men from Tipperary town in response -to our request. As the hour approached we grew -anxious and restive. The minutes grew into hours. -Eagerly our eyes scanned the road from Tipperary, -but no cyclist appeared. What had happened? We -could not let ourselves believe that the help we -needed so badly was not at hand. Eleven o’clock—still -no reinforcements. The minutes travelled all -too fast now. Half-past eleven came, and still no -sign. And the train was due at 12!</p> - -<p>But we were not going to let Sean Hogan be -taken away without a fight. We knew that the -escort, armed with rifles, bayonets and revolvers, -would consist of four to eight policemen, but it was -possible that other policemen or soldiers would be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -on the same train. We could only fail. At 12 -o’clock the three of us rushed up to the station just -as the engine steamed into the platform.</p> - -<p>In my hurry I dashed right into an old woman at -the entrance. To save her I had to throw my arms -around her. The two of us were swung round and -round by the force of the collision, and I finished -what must have looked like a dance by falling -heavily to the ground. Unfortunately, there was no -time for explanations or apologies, and I don’t know -whether the poor woman ever heard yet the -explanation of the collision. Before she could even -see my face, I was up again and racing along the -platform with my finger all the time on the trigger -of the revolver.</p> - -<p>But there was no prisoner! We were sadly disappointed. -In a sense, too, we felt a little relieved -for there would be still time to seek help before the -next train was due. But waiting is always the -hardest part of any fight; suspense is more severe -than action.</p> - -<p>As we returned crestfallen to our resting-place, -after scanning every carriage, our pill was made -more bitter by the thought that the Tipperary men -had failed us. Our minds searched for other help. -We thought of the old Galtee Battalion, the boys -from the mountain districts, from Galbally and -Ballylanders. Their Battalion we knew had lately -been suspended by Headquarters. But we knew,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span> -too, that their hearts were right, and their hands -strong and daring. They would not turn a deaf ear -to a call like ours.</p> - -<p>The next train was not due from Thurles till -7 o’clock in the evening. We sent word to the boys -of the Galtee Battalion, told them our errand and -the danger of the work that was to be tackled. -Within an hour the reply came. Five of their men -would join us at 5 o’clock. Never before had we got -such a heartening message.</p> - -<p>The men were as good as their word, and they -came before their time. At 4.45 p.m. they arrived, -Eamon (Ned) O’Brien, James Scanlon, J. J. -O’Brien, Sean Lynch, and poor Martin Foley, who -was hanged in Mountjoy Jail exactly two years later -for his part in the rescue. With him was hanged -poor Maher, who knew nothing in the world about -the incident for which he was hanged. But they -gave their lives gladly for Ireland, and the brave -words of their last message from the foot of the -gallows will keep their memory for ever fresh in the -hearts of Irish patriots. May they rest in peace!</p> - -<p>We were now eight strong, five of us armed with -revolvers and three unarmed. After a consultation -we decided on a slight change of plan. Sean Treacy, -Seumas Robinson, Ned O’Brien and myself cycled -on to Knocklong, the next station, about three -miles south of Emly. We selected Knocklong because, -except Emly, all the other stations were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> -held by strong British forces, but this being only a -wayside one, and a couple of miles distant from a -police barrack, was comparatively safe for us. If -this attempt failed we had plans to motor to Blarney, -where we could again intercept the escort party. -The other four men we sent to Emly station with -instructions to board the train without arousing -suspicion, to find out what carriage our comrade was -in. In that way they could give us the hint as soon -as Knocklong was reached, and no time need be -lost in getting to the rescue.</p> - -<p>We reached Knocklong just as the train’s -departure from Emly was signalled. We walked up -the platform looking as cool and unconcerned as we -could, but with our guns gripped tightly in our -hands. Little did the people who awaited the train -that evening think that they were soon to be -witnesses of a drama for which a film-producer -would have given a fortune. In the distance we saw -the smoke of the engine rise into the sky. Another -minute and the train was pulling into the platform. -At the same moment another train on the opposite -platform came in from Cork direction. It was only -the next day we learned that the second train contained -a company of armed British troops for -Dublin. There they remained within a few feet of -the struggle for life or death that ensued. I never<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> -learned why they took no part in the struggle. -Perhaps it was too late when they realised what was -afoot.</p> - -<p>Our train had not yet come to a standstill when -the signal for which we waited was given us by two -different parties. In accordance with the arrangements -made in Thurles the previous day a member -of the I.R.A. Secret Service boarded the train after -the prisoner, and was at the window to give us the -signal. Our men were at their window, too, not -knowing about the other man.</p> - -<p>There was not a moment to be lost. The train -would delay only a minute, and we had not thought -it necessary to hold up the driver. A slight motion -of the hand from our colleagues indicated the -carriage where we would find our man.</p> - -<p>It was a long corridor carriage divided into about -a dozen small compartments, each shut off from -the others, and a passage running alongside the -whole way. Our Galtee men were in the passage. -In one of the compartments we saw Sean Hogan. -He sat in the middle of the seat handcuffed, and -facing the engine. Beside him sat a sergeant of -the police, on the other side a constable. On the -opposite seat were two other constables—all four -fully armed.</p> - -<p>Sean Treacy was, by arrangement, to take -charge of the attack. He gave the word. Within -five seconds of the arrival of the train we were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> -rushing along the corridor and bursting into the -prisoner’s compartment with our guns drawn, and -with the order, “Hands up!” “Hands up!” -Only a moment before, as we heard later, Sergeant -Wallace had viciously struck his prisoner with the -sarcastic query, “Where are Breen and Treacy -now?” His query was answered; Breen and Treacy -were at his service.</p> - -<p>As we burst in the door of the compartment, the -police quickly realised our purpose. Constable -Enright had his revolver drawn and pointed at the -prisoner’s ear. Orders had been given the escort to -shoot the prisoner dead if any attempt were made -to rescue him. A fraction of a second saved Sean -Hogan. It was his life or the Constable’s. The -policeman was in the act of pulling his trigger when -he was himself shot through the heart—death being -instantaneous.</p> - -<p>And now ensued an episode in comparison with -which a Wild West show would grow pale. The -passengers realised our object. In a moment panic -reigned. My most vivid recollection of that scene -is the figure of a soldier-passenger, dressed in -England’s khaki uniform; but under that uniform -there beat an Irish heart. I shall never forget the -triumphant smile on his face as he waved his hat -and shouted, “Up the Republic!”</p> - -<p>I had little time for studying the passengers. -That first shot prevented the escort from murdering<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -their prisoner, and it was the first shot in a grim -battle that was to end in the death of two and the -wounding of four. With the first shot one of the -policemen literally dashed himself through the -window of the train, roaring like a wild bull. We -never saw him again, but I heard that he ran -through the country like a maniac and reported the -fight in a very incoherent manner at Emly police -barrack next morning.</p> - -<p>Constable Enright was dead, so that there -remained Sergeant Wallace and Constable Reilly. -A fierce and rapid exchange of shots followed. -Constable Reilly lay stiff on the floor. We thought -he was dead, but we soon found he was only shamming.</p> - -<p>Sergeant Wallace fought to the end. A braver -man I have never seen in the ranks of the enemy. -Several times we called on him to surrender, but -he never answered, even when deserted by his men. -The confusion and panic were indescribable. -Cramped as we were for space, we were in danger -not only from the bullets of the police, but also from -those of our own men. And all the time we were -struggling to push out our handcuffed comrade.</p> - -<p>We handed out our comrade in safety. Meanwhile -Sergeant Wallace had also struggled on to -the platform. I looked around me. I knew I was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span> -wounded, but, in the excitement, I could not know -where or how seriously, though I knew it was in -the region of the lung.</p> - -<p>Suddenly I realised that Treacy, Ned O’Brien -and Scanlon were also wounded, and we were the -only four with arms. Blood was streaming from all -of us. The other three had lost their guns in the -fight. I alone was in a position to fight, and I had -more than the plucky sergeant to face, for Constable -Reilly, who had shammed death a moment ago, -was now out on the platform firing continuously from -his rifle. A second bullet now found its mark in -me. I was shot in the right arm. If Constable -Reilly had been as cool as the old sergeant one of -us would never have escaped alive. He saw my -revolver drop from my wounded hand—and he saw -me pick it up again. If he had been quick he -would have dashed my brains out before I got the -chance to do so. I had always prepared for such an -emergency as this. I had practised so that I was -as good a marksman with my left hand as with my -right. I fired again, and at Reilly, and when he saw -me level my gun he turned and fled down the platform. -Meantime the Sergeant had collapsed on the -platform, and victory was ours. Reilly escaped -because I was blinded with blood and unable to -take steady aim; but I made sure that he would -not turn again, while the rest of my comrades carried -Hogan off in safety.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span></p> - -<p>We left the dead Constable and the dying -Sergeant at Knocklong Station. The people had -fled in terror from the platform, and many of the -passengers had jumped wildly from the train. Even -the engine driver, who did not apparently hear the -first shots, was about to start the train after the -usual delay while the battle was still in progress, -when a girl told him there was a battle going on. -The same girl also states that she later saw Reilly -praying near the station.</p> - -<p>Late that evening the dead body of Enright was -taken in the train to Kilmallock, as was also -Sergeant Wallace who lived until the following -afternoon.</p> - -<p>At the inquest afterwards there was of course -nobody but Reilly to give his version of the fight. -One of the jurors boldly remarked to the police: -“You are simply trying to paint your own story in -your own way.” The police witnesses were not -allowed by their superiors to answer any important -questions calculated to show that we would not have -shot their men if they had surrendered.</p> - -<p>The inquest was also noteworthy for the fact that -the jury not only refused to bring in a verdict of -murder, but spoke out. I quote the newspaper of -22nd May:—“Condemning the arrest of respectable -persons, and exasperating the people, and -called for Self-Determination for Ireland, and -blamed the Government for exposing the police to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> -danger.” Our efforts were having their effect. The -plain people were realising that ours was a fight for -Irish Freedom. They realised too that we had no -enmity against the police as such, if they confined -themselves to the work of ordinary police; but when -they became spies and soldiers in the pay of -England we had to treat them accordingly.</p> - -<p>This is the true story of Knocklong, condemned -as it was at the time by archbishop, priests and -press—the same people who, two years later, -would have treated us as heroes and loudly boasted -of “the freedom we had won.” Time works -wonders!</p> - -<p>The heroes of the fight were Sean Treacy and -the two O’Briens. In the next chapter I must tell -of our equally exciting escape from the scene, and -the story our rescued comrade had to tell when we -clasped his hand again.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.<br> -<span class="smaller">OUR ESCAPE FROM KNOCKLONG.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Before describing our escape from Knocklong -and the adventures which ensued, I must pause to -outline the experiences of our comrade, Sean -Hogan, since his arrest a few days before. They -throw an interesting sidelight on the methods of -the Peelers, though at that period these methods -were not so cold-blooded and barbarous as they -became within a year.</p> - -<p>When the dance concluded that morning at -Ballagh, and when the rest of us had gone on to -O’Keeffe’s for a sleep, Sean Hogan went up the -road with Brigid O’Keeffe to Meagher’s, of Annfield. -This was the same Meagher family at whose -house we had had such a narrow escape a few -months before, when the girl’s waving handkerchief -warned us of danger. Miss O’Keeffe was a cousin -of the Meaghers, and she had decided to go up to -their house for breakfast.</p> - -<p>So sleepy was Sean that he actually fell asleep -at the table. When breakfast was finished he took -off his belt and revolver and lay down for a rest on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span> -a sofa. Mr. Meagher and his two daughters were -at this time busy about the farmyard preparing to -send the milk to the creamery.</p> - -<p>Sean was suddenly roused from his sleep by the -warning shout: “The police are coming up the -road!” He jumped to his feet, put on his belt, and -went to the door, revolver in hand.</p> - -<p>The police had been seen a good distance off by -the Meaghers, but Sean could not see them from -the house. Assuming that they were coming from -the north side he ran from the house in the opposite -direction, along a field which is much lower than -the level of the road. When he had got to the end -of the field he thought he was now out of danger, -put away his revolver, and jumped on to the road—into -the arms of six policemen. They had, as a -matter of fact, been coming from the south, and -had got a full view of him as he ran along the field -from the house.</p> - -<p>Sean was at once handcuffed and his revolver -seized. His captors marched him back the road to -Meagher’s, just as another section of the police -raiders came out the door, having hurriedly searched -the house. They did not recognise Sean, and he refused -to give his name. Just as he was being removed -Miss O’Keeffe came and shook hands with him, -saying, “Goodbye, Sean.” That was the only -part of his name they knew. They apparently took -her to be one of the Meagher family, for had they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span> -recognised her as one of the O’Keeffes they would -probably have come down the road to search her -own house, where we were at the time.</p> - -<p>Sergeant Wallace was in charge of the police -party, and with him were Reilly and Ring amongst -the others. They marched their prisoner to Roskeen -Barracks, and at once sent word to Thurles that -they had captured an armed man whose Christian -name was Sean. A police van from Thurles soon -arrived to escort their prisoner to that town, and -one of the party recognised him as one of the much-wanted -Soloheadbeg men.</p> - -<p>After his arrest one of the Meaghers ran down -the road to Patrick Kinnane’s house, between -Meagher’s and O’Keeffe’s, and asked him to -convey word to the rest of us of Sean’s arrest.</p> - -<p>When Sean Hogan fell into their hands the -Peelers adopted every subterfuge to get him to -divulge information. First they tried to coax the -information from him, for they saw he was but a -mere boy. They failed in their efforts, and then -their tactics changed. They struck him, and beat -him unmercifully, but again they failed in their -purpose; for if Sean Hogan was but a boy in years, -he was a man in strength of character and loyalty -to his comrades. Not a word would he tell even -though they were to torture him to death.</p> - -<p>Then they tried still another plan. One of the -policemen, pretending to be his friend and adviser,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> -told him quietly that he had been betrayed by Breen -and Treacy, who, they said, were then on their way -to London, having been granted a free pardon and -a huge sum of money for the information they had -given. This was followed by a straight hint that if -Hogan would supplement the information by whatever -knowledge he had of the organisation and its -plans, he, too, would be well rewarded, and would -find himself helped to leave the country instead of -finding himself on the way to the gallows. But -J. J. knew his old comrades too well to think for a -moment that they had betrayed or deserted him. -All the threats and cajolery of the Peelers were in -vain. He refused to answer their question, and in -the end, did not pretend to hear them.</p> - -<p>At last he was put on board the train for Cork -Jail on the evening of the 13th May. Thurles is -only about 30 miles from Knocklong, and by the -time that station was reached history was once more -to repeat itself. The night before when I rode by -Ballyneety my mind had gone back to the days of -Sarsfield; to the historic episode of the destruction -of King William’s troop train. There was no story -I loved more as a boy. It was a tale of daring and -of dramatic triumph, and I pictured the dismay of -the English troops whose password was “Sarsfield,” -when in response to their challenge came -the grim reply, “Sarsfield—and Sarsfield is the -man!” Often when I was a boy I dreamed of how<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> -proud I would have been, were I with Sarsfield’s -little band that night riding out from Limerick to -strike terror into the hearts of the invaders.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus06" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/illus06.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">RAILWAY STATION, KNOCKLONG.</p> -</div> - -<p>On the train from Thurles to Knocklong Sergeant -Wallace never ceased taunting Hogan with his -plight. Repeatedly on the way he asked with savage -mockery, “Where is Breen now?” and to add to -the unhappiness of his helpless prisoner he accompanied -each question with a prick of his bayonet. -These are some of the things the world did not -know, when it looked upon us for a long time as -cold-blooded murderers. Many of our men can tell -such tales, and produce their own bodies as the -evidence, just as poor Hogan’s condition testified -to us when we rescued him.</p> - -<p>Even as the train steamed into Knocklong, -Wallace once more repeated his derisive question—“Where -are Breen and Treacy now? They sold -you to get you hanged.” Ere he had finished his -question Breen and Treacy supplied him with the -answer—an answer which he did not expect, and -one which debarred him from further promotion in -this world.</p> - -<p>And now to resume my narrative. When the last -shot had been fired, and when Constable Reilly had -fled from the scene, we moved from the platform. -The people were terror-stricken. Many had fled in -terror from the station. Others had taken shelter -by the walls and the gatepiers. A few who were too<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span> -dumfounded to take flight looked at us in amazement. -None dared to approach us, and I am not -surprised, for never before had old Galteemore -looked down on such a strange party at a hitherto -quiet and peaceful country station. There were -nine of us all told, one a handcuffed prisoner and -four of us wounded and bespattered with the -blood of ourselves and our enemies.</p> - -<p>I was no longer able to walk, and I realised now -that my last shot had been fired from my revolver, -and that it might at any moment be found highly -desirable to have it reloaded, but my right arm was -dead and I could not reload. I looked around me. -Outside the station I saw a motor car evidently -waiting for somebody who was to come from the -train. With my empty revolver raised in my left -hand I held up the car. I think my appearance was -enough to inspire any Christian with terror, not to -speak of levelling my gun. A fit of dizziness, -probably the effects of my wounds and loss of blood, -had come over me on the platform, as I made for -the gate, and I had fallen heavily against the wall, -and blood was gushing from my head. I could -scarcely walk. I groped my way along. The people -around me ran at the very sight of me, many of -them shrieking. At last somebody came to my -assistance. He was dressed in khaki—an Irishman -in England’s army! The very irony of it makes me -smile to-day. I think he was the same man who had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> -shouted “Up the Republic” on the train, though -I am not sure, for some people told me afterwards -that there was an American soldier also in khaki at -the station that evening—I believe, too, that the -soldier who cheered for the Republic was afterwards -courtmartialled by his officers—but whoever he was -that helped me, if his eyes catch these words, let -him accept my thanks; I forgot to show him my -gratitude at the time.</p> - -<p>Leaning on his arm I struggled from the station -premises on to the road. He half linked and half -carried me for I was now growing weaker every -moment. Probably I was loosing my senses too, for -I forgot all about using the motor car I had held -up, and I left it behind.</p> - -<p>The rest of the party were outside on the road. -With a butcher’s knife, procured from a man named -Walsh, they broke the handcuffs that bound Sean -Hogan, and he was once more a free man. The -unwounded men took charge of him and brought -him to a place of safety.</p> - -<p>The other four of us—Ned O’Brien, Treacy, -Scanlon and I—faced for Shanahan’s. I scarcely -remember that journey; it was growing dark, and -we did not know the road well. I was losing blood -all the time. It must have taken us hours to get to -the house. We were all weak. In a field on the way<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> -we met some lads from the neighbourhood. They -came to our assistance and helped us to reach our -destination.</p> - -<p>I was at once put to bed, and the priest and -doctor were sent for. Both soon arrived. Dr. -Hennessy, of Galbally, was very kind to me, but -both priest and doctor regarded my case as hopeless. -I was told that I had only about twenty-four -hours to live, as the bullet had gone right through -my body piercing the lung, and I had lost an -enormous quantity of blood. That news was -cheerless enough, but I was not even to get the -twenty-four hours to die in peace.</p> - -<p>When I arrived at Shanahan’s my comrades had -at once mobilised an armed guard under a chap -named Clancy, of Cush, Knocklong. I was not to -be permitted to fall into the hands of the British -alive. Scouts were sent out to watch all the -approaches to the house. We knew that the country -would be swept with columns of troops and police. -All through the night—as I learned later—reinforcements -were rushed to the neighbourhood, and the -police garrisons were strengthened at Doon, Oola, -Galbally, and all the local villages and towns. For -days afterwards a house to house search was made -in that part of East Limerick and South Tipperary, -and even the graveyards were inspected for fresh<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span> -graves, as the newspapers reported that “two of -the attackers were believed to have been mortally -wounded.”</p> - -<p>Nor can I help recalling at this stage an incident -that happened on that memorable evening. I was -told afterwards on the best authority. Four policemen -from Elton, a few miles from Knocklong, heard -the firing at the station, and took to their heels back -to their barracks. There they remained, and with -the door locked, until County Inspector Egan -arrived in a motor car and broke it in, shouting, -“You cowards! Here you are hiding, while four -of our men are shot, and the murderers at large!”</p> - -<p>But a few hours after my arrival at Shanahan’s, -when the priest and doctor had attended me, our -scouts rushed in with word that the enemy raiding -parties were hot on our heels. A hurried council of -war was held. My comrades procured a motor car -and carried me off once more, without even taking -time to say a prayer for the man who was to die -next day. They drove me right through the town -of Kilmallock, and I did not know till the next -afternoon that we had actually passed the R.I.C. -barracks where the dead Constable Enright and the -dying sergeant had been removed from Knocklong. -But there was no other means of escape—we had -to get out of the net that was closing round Knocklong. -We took our chance, and luck favoured us. -My comrades fully realised the seriousness of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span> -situation and the risks they were taking in motoring -through the town of Kilmallock, but I was blissfully -unconscious of everything save the fact that I was -soon to “cross the Jordan.” Our boys always believed -that he who puts his hand to the plough must -not turn back. They never knew what “going back” -meant. Their guiding spirit was “On, always on.” -That was the spirit that carried them through the -most glorious fight in Irish history. It is the spirit -that will carry them to the end.</p> - -<p>When I woke up next day I was once more in -West Limerick, under the care of Sean Finn.</p> - -<p>Let me pause again to tell you the sequel to the -Knocklong rescue. All of us who took part were -either already on the run, or had to get on the -run henceforth, except Sean Lynch and J. J. -O’Brien, who returned to their business. Both of -them afterwards joined Dinny Lacy’s famous South -Tipperary column and fought all through the Black -and Tan war. Ned O’Brien and Scanlon had shortly -afterwards to escape to America, as their health -was affected. They are now back in Ireland.</p> - -<p>A year later a brother of Scanlon’s was shot dead -by the British in Limerick City while a prisoner in -their hands. After the rescue several arrests were -made by the British on suspicion. All, except three, -were eventually released; but poor Martin Foley -and Maher, after being held in prison for nearly -two years, were hanged in Dublin, on June 6th,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span> -1921—a month before the truce. The third -prisoner, an ex-soldier (British), was tried but -acquitted.</p> - -<p>In West Limerick my comrades and I received -refuge and hospitality. Sean Finn was kindness -personified, and indeed all around him were equally -good to us. Especially kind and good-natured -were the Sheehans, Keanes, Longs, Duffys and -Kennedys; but our good times were not to last long. -The enemy was once more on our track. We learned -of all his movements from our Secret Service, for -you must understand that no matter where we went -it was necessary for us to keep in touch with our -Intelligence Department.</p> - -<p>We moved farther west, on towards the Kerry -border. Even here we found the trail was too hot, -and we had to cross the border into Kerry itself. -By this time I was well on the road to recovery. -Then, as at a later stage, I acquired the habit of -breaking all medical precedents, and insisting on -living when, according to all the rules of the game, -I should have died. By the time I got to Kerry I -was even able to walk a little, though I needed -some support. But I could not walk far. This was -a greater drawback to us, because the English -troops were so busy scouring the countryside for us, -day and night, that we dare not think of using -motor cars or vehicles of any kind, the roads being -out of bounds to us.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span></p> - -<p>One bright feature always lightened our load. -It was Sean Treacy’s sense of humour. No matter -how dark the outlook Sean would have his little -joke, and we had to laugh with him. At Knocklong -he had been shot through the teeth and mouth, and -for a long time afterwards his mouth was very -painful. At the time I was still suffering severely -from my wound through the lung and body. Hence -the difficulties for both of us for satisfying our -appetites. “Dan,” said Sean to me, “I wish I -had your big head for half an hour. I am frightfully -hungry, but I can’t eat. You can eat all right, but -you won’t.” Another night on a different occasion -we were cycling through Cullen to Tipperary. This -was a very dangerous district for us, because it was -in the Martial Law area, and was only a few miles -either from Soloheadbeg or Knocklong. Besides, -being near our native district, we always ran the risk -of being seen and known by too many people. -Suddenly while we were riding with all speed Sean -asked us to pull up. We were somewhat surprised, -because we knew how much any delay might mean -for all of us, but we dismounted. It was raining like -the very deluge at the same time. Sean turned to -each one of us in turn and asked us solemnly for a -pin. Each of us said we had no such commodity, -the truth being that nobody wished to open his coat -on such a night.</p> - -<p>“What do you want a pin for?” I asked him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span></p> - -<p>“Well,” he replied, “I’m afraid my tie isn’t -hanging straight!”</p> - -<p>I never felt so much inclined to give my old -comrade a punch. I am sure it was the same with -the others; but we had to laugh as we mounted and -rode ahead making remarks which were none too -complimentary about some people’s conceit. Such -little incidents helped us on our road, and often -helped to scatter the gloom that surrounded us.</p> - -<p>But to resume our story. In Kerry we remained -for some days, occasionally amusing ourselves by -reading the many grotesque accounts that were -printed of the Knocklong rescue. Day after day too -we read of the denunciation of our terrible crime (of -saving our young comrade), by priests, bishops and -politicians. We read the King’s message of sympathy -to the relatives of his poor hirelings, and -also Lord French’s. Most of the Kerry people with -whom we came in contact were very kind to us; -above all, we can never forget the O’Connors, the -Hickeys and the Ahearns.</p> - -<p>After our stay in Kerry we returned to County -Limerick, keeping along the banks of the Shannon -all the time. Our wounds were by this time healing -rapidly, and we were feeling strong again. We -used to go in for a dip nearly every day, and we -fished quite a good deal. We had to be doing -something. None of us could ever stand a day of -inactivity.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.<br> -<span class="smaller">MANY CLOSE SHAVES.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>One day while we were still in West Limerick we -had what was probably our narrowest escape after -the Knocklong affair. In was in June, 1919. Sheer -luck drove us half a mile outside a great encircling -movement made to capture us.</p> - -<p>This was the sixth great attempt by the enemy -to net us, and each time they engaged thousands of -troops—to catch four of us. They knew well by -now that each of the four of us would offer armed -resistance, and that if luck was at all favourable -many of them would fall never to rise, before they -got us dead or alive. Liberal rewards were now -offered publicly and privately for any information -concerning our movements. Our descriptions -were published broadcast, and even dropped from -military aeroplanes, with the promise of British gold -for anyone that would inform on us. It was a special -duty for every policeman in Ireland, and every -intelligence officer in the British army of occupation -to learn our description. About this time, too, the -British Government was perfecting its Secret<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> -Service machinery in Ireland. There had always -been a costly Secret Service organisation maintained -for generations; but it was not dangerous -work, relating mainly to the activities of harmless -politicians. Now, however, the work was getting -more dangerous. Besides, our Secret Service was -now becoming a thing to be reckoned with; Dublin -Castle had to bestir itself. As we well knew, the -officials there were time and again severely -reprimanded for their failure to catch us. They -always replied that the people would give no information, -that informers were very few and very -cautious, and that Scotland Yard might be asked to -give some help. They hinted at the same time that -a few Irishmen living in England might be -approached to undertake Secret Service work, as -very few could now be got in Ireland.</p> - -<p>It was in the summer of this year that the British -Government therefore reorganised its Secret Service -in Ireland, relying mainly on ex-soldiers of Irish -birth. The newspapers of the time can tell how -many score of them paid the price of their treachery -during the ensuing two years. We found them all -out in one way or another. If one reason more than -another accounts for the success of the I.R.A., it -is that we met and broke their Secret Service at -every move, until in the end there was no such thing -in practice as a British Intelligence Corps.</p> - -<p>One word more on this subject. I know that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span> -many people at the time were surprised at the -number of men who were found with the label on -their dead bodies—“Spies beware—executed by -the I.R.A.” Some people wondered if any mistakes -were made, if any of these men were executed -without sufficient evidence. I can say that of the -cases that came under my knowledge there was -always evidence enough to convince the most -scrupulous. We made no mistakes, unless indeed -we allowed many to escape against whom there was -ample evidence, though we gave them the benefit -of the slightest doubt.</p> - -<p>But the “Knocklong Gang,” as I believe we -were sometimes called, always outwitted the spies -and the battalions sent to round them up. Often, I -know, they got fairly good information about us. At -this time to which I have referred—June, 1919—for -instance, it is probably true that they knew we -were sometimes in West Limerick or North Kerry, -near the mouth of the Shannon. After that big raid, -which we so narrowly missed, we deemed it wise to -change our quarters once more—and we crossed -into East Clare, still hugging the banks of the -Shannon. We kept ourselves fit by plenty of -exercise, mostly swimming, for we had an idea that -a good stroke in the water might at some time or -other help us in getting out of a tight corner. Nobody -could say that we did not live the healthy life -of primitive men at this time. Many a day we enjoyed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> -ten or twelve hours of a glorious summer sunbath. -One day while in Clare we were basking -beside the Shannon when a boat manned by police -passed right beside us. We took no particular -notice of it at the time, thinking the whole thing but -a mere coincidence. When we got back to the -house in which we were staying that evening we -learned to our surprise that the boat was part of a -search party that had got on our trail once more. -They never suspected who we were, so that once -more our recklessness had saved us—or them?</p> - -<p>Probably the police had their eyes searching -round the corners of rocks, or peering under bushes -where they expected we should be hiding. It would -amaze them to know we were often within earshot -of their own barracks. It is a positive fact that often -a single brick alone separated us from a police -garrison, and more than once we were interested -spectators watching from a window lorries laden -with troops going out in search of us.</p> - -<p>There is another possible explanation of such -incidents as that on the Shannon. I am sure that -more than one policeman whom we met on a -country road suspected who we were; but these -Peelers often considered discretion the better part -of valour. We were never asked to produce visiting -cards. Many a policeman in such circumstances -would feel convinced that he would not be serving<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span> -his wife and family by attempting to arrest us. I’m -not saying he was wrong either.</p> - -<p>In a short time Clare became too hot for us. The -Brennan Brothers were not on the best of terms -with the British garrisons in that county, and finally -relations became so strained that the British proclaimed -Martial Law there too. Martial Law and -ourselves were never very good friends; perhaps it -was that we knew each other too well. Anyhow, we -crossed the Shannon once more, and this time found -ourselves in North Tipperary.</p> - -<p>It was at the house of a family called Whelehan -that I first came in contact with Ernie O’Malley. -Whelehans were very kind to us. While I was there -“Widger” Meagher and Frank McGrath—both -famous athletes, and the latter Brigade Commandant -of the I.R.A. in North Tipperary—visited -us.</p> - -<p>We spent a while in Mid. and South Tipperary -too. At this time money was one of our great needs. -Many, we knew, would gladly give it to us, but it -was not easy to get in touch with the right people. -The people we met most were, like ourselves, on -the run and on the rocks.</p> - -<p>Eamon O Duibhir, of Ballagh, in whose house, -you will remember, the dance was the night Sean -Hogan was captured, was a good friend to us, and -supplied us with money. Once we had to sleep in -an old castle—Castle Blake, near Rockwell College.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> -This old ruined castle was later a good friend to -many of the boys on the run, as it had a kind of -a secret apartment. At an early stage in the Civil -War it was the scene of a sad tragedy when two -Republicans—Theo English, of Tipperary, and -Mick Summers—were surprised by Free State -troops, and killed in the encounter which followed.</p> - -<p>At last we got restive again. The country showed -signs of following our example, but at this time the -signs were few—an odd attack on a police barrack -and the capture of a rifle or two from a soldier here -and there. We felt the time had come for more -energetic and general action. We knew we could -not remain any way safe within Tipperary or over -the border of Offaly. We discussed our position -time and again, and always agreed we could not -continue the life we were now living. To escape -being shipped or exiled to America by those who -should have stood by us, we had to avoid Dublin, -and to remain in some remote part of the country. -We were no longer content to accept this condition. -We wanted to know how exactly the country stood, -how we stood, and how the whole Volunteer Army -stood. At last Sean Treacy and I, leaving -Robinson and Hogan in North Tipperary, cycled -straight into Dublin. We had no adventure on the -way. At Maynooth we called on Donal Buckley, -a member of Dail Eireann, and a man who had -walked to Dublin to take part in the Rising of 1916.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> -He proved as good as his record. His house was -put at our disposal, and we stayed three or four -days there, though he tried to keep us longer.</p> - -<p>In Dublin we headed for Phil Shanahan’s again. -Every Tipperary man who was on the run, or who -wanted a good dinner, faced for Phil’s. Later we -met Mick Collins, then Adjutant-General of the -Irish Volunteers. We had a long discussion and we -spoke plainly. Finally Mick undertook to arrange -that we should stay in Dublin. With this assurance -we mounted our bicycles again, and rode back to -the country for Seumas Robinson and Sean Hogan.</p> - -<p>At this time I was dressed as a priest. That was -not an uncommon disguise at the time. The Peelers -and soldiers probably suspected that a good many -of the priests they saw travelling knew more about -guns than Theology, but seldom held any of them -up. They were not then at open war with men and -women, priests and children. There would be too -much of a National uproar if a priest was arrested, -and as the old Peelers were still overwhelmingly -Catholic they gave suspicious-looking priests the -benefit of the doubt. Next year they not only -arrested priests, but imprisoned several, and murdered -three of them.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="illus07" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/illus07.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">SEAMUS ROBINSON.</p> -</div> - -<p>On this occasion when I reached Maynooth I -discovered my back tyre was badly punctured. I -did not think it becoming my clerical dignity to -mend the puncture myself, and besides I had no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> -patience with that kind of work; so I wheeled my -machine to a local cycle mechanic’s shop and asked -him to repair it at once. Apparently he was a man -who believed in making every customer take his -turn, for he told me he could not do the job for -a few hours. I pointed out to him that I was going -on urgent business, but it was all no use. Finally -he advised me to go to the College—Maynooth -College, the world’s greatest college for the training -of Catholic priests—where they would easily -get someone to repair it. In my rage at this refusal -I forgot for a moment that I was in the garb of a -minister of peace and goodwill. I told that cycle -mechanic what I thought of him in language more -forcible than priestly, and I am sure the poor man -was amazed and shocked at the liberties which -present-day clerics take with the English language. -He was still staring at me in amazement when I -wheeled my wounded bicycle from the door.</p> - -<p>I had no desire to visit the College. Amongst -the students I would find many friends willing to -help me, but I was afraid the President and the -Professors might not be too well pleased to find -a gunman masquerading as a clergyman, and I -doubted if I would be able to play the part and -pretend I was a priest. I need hardly say I was no -master of Latin, and I always associated priests -with that language.</p> - -<p>Still, I had to get the puncture mended. In a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> -fit of bravado I turned towards the police barracks. -At the door I met a policeman who raised his hat -to me, and with a show of dignity that would have -done credit to an archbishop I acknowledged his -sign of respect.</p> - -<p>I told him my difficulties. Could he help me with -the puncture? “To be sure, Father,” he replied, -“I can get you all that you want in no time; and -if your Reverence won’t mind I’ll give you a hand -at the job.”</p> - -<p>In two minutes the whole garrison were out -tripping over one another in their eagerness to get -solution and patches and the other necessaries. -Inside the door I could see dozens of printed notices -and official documents pasted on the walls. -Amongst them, I have no doubt, was an elaborate -description of Dan Breen, and a promise of a huge -reward for his capture.</p> - -<p>When the job was finished I thanked the Peelers -most profusely for their kindness and rode away. -I suppose it was discourteous of me not to have left -my card with the sergeant.</p> - -<p>That night I reached the borders of Tipperary -and Offaly and met the others. A few days later -all four of us were safely settled in Dublin, which -was to be our new headquarters for months to come. -Within a few weeks we were planning to arouse the -world by shooting the very head of the British -Government in Ireland.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.<br> -<span class="smaller">ON THE TRAIL OF LORD FRENCH.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>When we got to Dublin in the Autumn of 1919, -there were many signs that the war with the British -was soon to develop. Any good judge of the -situation at the time could have foreseen the intensive -guerilla struggle that was to ensue for a -year and a half. Raids for arms were becoming -more numerous, and attacks on police patrols were -by no means rare. But open warfare had not yet -developed. British soldiers and police could go -about with comparative safety. Our great danger -while in Dublin was from the “G” men, Dublin’s -Scotland Yard. These were the detective branch -of the Dublin Metropolitan Police, paid by the ratepayers -of Dublin to track down criminals, but now -mainly employed on political or military work. So -far from devoting their attentions to the criminal -classes we knew that many of them actually made -use of criminals as “touts” or “spotters” to -shadow men, or to get information. In the Autumn -of 1919 the “G” men, of whom there were a few<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span> -score all told, were principally engaged in assisting -and guiding the British military in midnight raids on -the homes of Sinn Feiners, or in raids to seize Sinn -Fein literature. They even made their way into -Sinn Fein gatherings to take a note of the speeches, -and though many of them were known by appearance -to almost every person in Dublin they were not -afraid, for at that time they seldom got more than -a hiding if identified. Day after day one read in -the papers of raids on the houses of inoffensive -people who never handled firearms in their lives. -It was this form of petty tyranny that goaded many -into action. Boys and girls, not to speak of men -and women, were imprisoned for such offences as -having a copy of an Irish song. It was more than -flesh and blood could stand.</p> - -<p>Towards the end of the year several notoriously -obnoxious “G” men were shot dead or wounded -in the streets, and in every case their assailants got -safely away. Every other means of bringing these -men to their senses, or making them realise that -they were playing the part of spies and traitors had -been tried but failed. As a result of the wholesale -attacks made upon them it was in the end found -impossible for them to live in their homes, or even -to venture on the streets, and they took up their -abode in Dublin Castle, whence they issued forth -now and again to accompany raiding parties of -armed troops. Many of them too resigned when<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> -things became too hot for them. I must say, however -that a small number who did not resign were -never molested, because they confined themselves -solely to their ordinary work of arresting criminals. -These men had an understanding with our side that -they could go about their work provided they never -indulged in political activities, or assisted the -military. A few others, who remained in the force, -afterwards joined our Secret Service, and gave invaluable -assistance in the way of official documents -and information that they were in a position to -obtain. For obvious reasons I cannot go into details -on these matters.</p> - -<p>When the four of us from Tipperary had become -almost settled down in Dublin, and knew the city -well, we were soon kept busy, as we wanted to be. -Now and again a “G” man got on our track, -but we soon dealt with him. We walked about -Dublin quite freely and without any disguise. It -was a common trick on the part of the R.I.C. to -send a man who knew us up from County Tipperary -for a few days in the hope of seeing us. These men -soon learned sense. They returned home as quickly -as they could, for it would not serve their health to -get too close on our heels. Probably too a few of -them who may have chanced to see us from time -to time had wisdom enough not to know us.</p> - -<p>We had many good friends in Dublin. Phil -Shanahan’s was a great haunt of ours, and one of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span> -the most amusing recollections I have of that time -is a conversation I had there one evening with a -D.M.P. man who, of course, had no notion who I -was. He discussed the political situation with me -very confidentially, even the Soloheadbeg and -Knocklong affairs. He was in complete agreement -with the Sinn Feiners—he guessed I was one—but -he couldn’t agree to the taking of life. I think I -gave the poor man the impression that my views -were the same as his own.</p> - -<p>Ryan’s, of the Monument Creamery, in Parnell -street, and Seumas Kirwan’s were also open houses -to us, besides many others that I will mention in -the course of my narrative. Of course we frequently -met kindred spirits like Dick McKee and Peadar -Clancy and Tom Keogh, for at that time the -number of active gunmen ready for any risk in the -country’s cause was small. Many of those who later -proved their mettle did not get the chance at that -time, principally because those who were in favour -of active measures were few and far between. The -attitude of the Headquarters’ Staff of the I.R.A. -I shall have occasion to refer to very soon.</p> - -<p>In the autumn my comrades and I had long and -serious discussions about the policy of shooting -policemen and soldiers. We felt it was not enough -in itself. They, we argued, were but the tools of -higher men. Their loss did not trouble England -very much, for she could always get more dupes.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span> -Why, we asked ourselves, should we not strike at -the very heads of the British Government in -Ireland? It would arouse the world more to take -an interest in Ireland’s case; it would strike terror -into the hearts of English statesmen, and it would -prove more effective in helping to make British Rule -in Ireland impossible. England could carry on all -right with a few policemen less; it would be more -difficult to carry on without a Lord Lieutenant. -Besides, there were thousands of policemen; but -there were only a few who might become Lord -Lieutenant, and they would think twice of taking -the job if they had to risk being shot.</p> - -<p>As a result of these discussions we finally decided -to make preparations for an attack on Lord French, -the Lord Lieutenant himself. Brave and trusted -men to whom we communicated our plans readily -agreed.</p> - -<p>For three long months we watched, planned and -waited for him. We suffered many bitter disappointments -waiting. He was very rarely seen about now -and was always accompanied by a heavy escort. -Great secrecy was observed about his movements, -though our Secret Service kept us well posted. -Even the public functions usually patronised by -Viceroys were rarely attended by Lord French. -There were many reasons for that, which do not -concern my story.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span></p> - -<p>He little knew what narrow escapes he had -during these three months. Twice or three times -we missed him by a street—the altering of his route -by one corner. That, by the way, was a frequent -plan of his—to change his journey from the original -programme. It was a trick to upset any plans made -against him on the strength of information supplied -from inside. It showed what little trust he had in -those around him. On one occasion we missed him -by barely one minute.</p> - -<p>During those three months, the last months of -1919, we had no less than twelve different ambushes -planned to intercept him. But on each one of the -twelve occasions he either failed to come or arrived -too late or too early for our purpose. These plans -were connected with affairs of the city—public -functions, or visits to private houses. We were -naturally hampered, because we could not afford to -hang around a particular spot too long—our movements -would lead to suspicion, and probably to a -sudden swoop by the military.</p> - -<p>The first occasion that we were lying in wait -Mick Collins was with us. So was Tom MacCurtain, -Commandant of the 1st Cork (City) Brigade, who, -in March of the following year, when he was Lord -Mayor of Cork, was murdered in his own home -by the police. Poor Dick McKee was also there. -He was then Commandant of the Dublin Brigade, -and never believed in asking his men to take risks<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span> -he was not prepared to take himself. Dick was -murdered together with Peadar Clancy, while a -prisoner in the hands of the British a year later.</p> - -<p>On another occasion I remember vainly waiting -with Peadar Clancy for two hours outside the door -of a Merrion Square doctor whom French -occasionally visited. On November 11th, the -Anniversary of the Armistice, the Lord Lieutenant -was to attend a banquet in Trinity College. We -had every hope of intercepting him that night. Our -plan was to bomb his car as he passed Grattan -Bridge, for we knew the very hour he was due to -travel along the quays from the Viceregal Lodge to -the College.</p> - -<p>So certain were we that everything would work -out according to plan that some of our men in the -vicinity of the Bridge, within a hundred yards of -Dublin Castle, had actually drawn and thrown away -the pins from their bombs. It was a bitterly cold -night, and there they stood with their fingers -pressed on the springs of the cold metal ready to -release the bombs. But he never came. For almost -two hours our men had to endure the agony of -holding the springs of the bombs, and in the end -they had to make their escape as best they could, -still gripping the cold bombs.</p> - -<p>A fortnight later French was expected at the -Castle, and of course his journey would take him -across the same bridge. We knew of the arrangements,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span> -and again took up our positions. The -weather was bitterly cold. It was in the -early forenoon, and suddenly snow began to -fall. But we did not mind the snow. The -job we were bent upon was too serious to be -interfered with by such trifles. Some of us paced -the bridge in the blinding snow, and wondered were -we to be disappointed again, for the hour fixed for -his arrival had passed. While we were on the bridge -a friend who recognised us passed, and, evidently -realising that we were on some job remarked with -pointed sarcasm, “That’s a most convenient spot -you are taking shelter from the snow!” His words -brought us to a sense of our position. Anybody in -the shops round the bridge would have suspected -us at once. As there seemed no use in waiting any -longer we went off. Five minutes later lorry loads -of military swooped down on the bridge, and held -up and searched everyone in the neighbourhood. -Detectives who had been posted near the entrance -to Dublin Castle had seen us on the bridge, and at -once telephoned to the Viceregal Lodge, with the -result that French cancelled his appointment, and -the troops came instead. We had just got away in -time. Another instance of our luck!</p> - -<p>On all these occasions our information about -Lord French’s arrangements was absolutely reliable.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span> -No doubt he often changed his plans at the -last moment, fearing that our sources of knowledge -were as sound as indeed they always proved.</p> - -<p>Personal reasons, which do not concern me, also -often caused his plans to be altered, while of course -the advice of touts and spies had its effect. It -certainly was an eloquent commentary on British -rule in Ireland that the head of the Government -carried his life in his hands whenever he ventured -through the streets of the capital. As everybody -knew, he was wise enough to venture out only as -seldom as he could, even when accompanied by a -huge escort; though I have no reason to think that -personally he was not a brave man.</p> - -<p>At last when our patience was almost exhausted, -we got information that gave us hope of achieving -our purpose. It was in December, 1919. The -newspapers of these days seldom gave any information -at all regarding the Viceroy’s movements. -Even when he crossed to England occasionally the -newspapers were not informed until he was safely -back in Phoenix Park. They were not encouraged -to trace his movements. Sometimes, however, the -newspapers were supplied with information intended -deliberately to mislead the public in general, and -the I.R.A. in particular. At the time of which I -speak the Irish newspapers had informed their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> -readers that Lord French was away out of the -country. I think they actually stated that he was -cruising somewhere in the North Sea.</p> - -<p>We knew better. He was, as a matter of fact, -enjoying himself with a select house party of male -and female intimates, at his country residence, -French Park, Co. Roscommon. We knew a good -deal more about Lord French’s life than the public -ever suspected; but my purpose is not to give a -history of the Viceroy’s private affairs, except in -so far as they concern my narrative. Sufficient to -say that on this occasion we knew every member of -the select few at French Park, Boyle.</p> - -<p>Frenchpark is a remote country district. While -the Lord Lieutenant was in occupation the house -was garrisoned by a strong force. But that garrison -we felt we could easily overpower did we so desire. -The situation of the house too would favour our -escape when we had accomplished our object. We -would have no difficulty in covering the journey -from Dublin to Roscommon, and we believed we -would get back almost as easily. We could readily -go by roads which would avoid the towns, for it -is a much easier matter for wanted men to go from -Dublin to the West than it would be, say, to go -South or North.</p> - -<p>Why, then, it may be asked, with all the circumstances -in our favour did we not attempt to shoot -Lord French when he was in Roscommon?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span></p> - -<p>The answer is simple. We knew he would be -returning to Dublin on a particular date, and we -decided to attack him almost at his own door, and -beside the city. Why? Because what we had in -mind was the effect such an incident would create. -Against the old soldier himself we had no personal -spite, but he was the head of the alien Government -that held our country in bondage, and we knew that -his death would arouse the world to interest itself -in our fight for freedom. His name was known -throughout the world. The Phoenix Park was as -well known to the world as Hyde Park. Think then -of the sensation that would be created when this -man, a Field Marshal of the British Army, and -head of the Government in Ireland, was shot dead -at the gate of the Phoenix Park, in the capital -of the country he was supposed to rule, and within -a stone’s throw of half a dozen of England’s military -garrisons—at a spot where within five minutes -could be mustered twenty thousand British troops, -with every implement of modern warfare. The risk -to ourselves was greater, but the moral effect -would be worth the price. The world would sit up -and say: “The men who have done this are no -cowards; their country must have a grievance; -what is it?” That is the result on which we -reckoned, and our reasons for finally deciding to -plan our coup for Ashtown. I shall describe (in -the next chapter) our attack, and its many sequels.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.<br> -<span class="smaller">THE BATTLE OF ASHTOWN.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Lord French was due to arrive back in the -Viceregal Lodge on Friday, 19th December, 1919. -That arrangement was kept a dead secret, and even -the higher officials in the Lodge and in Dublin -Castle were unaware of his plans. But we were -well aware of the arrangement. The time has not -yet come when the source of our information may -be disclosed.</p> - -<p>We not only knew the day but the hour. Further, -we knew that when Lord French returned by the -Midland Railway he would not travel into the -terminus of that line (Broadstone Station) in the -city, but would alight at the little wayside station -of Ash town. So we laid our plans.</p> - -<p>Ashtown is about four English miles from the -centre of the city, but only about two miles from the -northern residential quarter. You travel to it along -the main road that leads from Dublin to the Northwest -of Ireland, one of the best trunk roads in the -country, passing in a straight line into the heart of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> -Meath, through Navan, Kells, Cavan, and on to -Enniskillen. About two and a half miles after you -leave the tramway line you come to Ashtown. The -station itself is not on the main road—it is about -two hundred yards down on a little by-road to the -right. There is no village of Ashtown; the district -has fewer houses than probably any other place so -near the city. There seems to have been no reason -for making a station there except, perhaps, for -loading and unloading horses for racing and hunting.</p> - -<p>To most people Ashtown simply means one -house—Kelly’s publichouse, commonly known as -the “Half-way House.” It stands just at the -cross-roads where you turn to your right off the -main road to go to the station. That little by-road, -which, as I have said, leads on the right hand side -to the railway, cuts across the main road almost at -right angles and leads on the left to the Phoenix -Park and to Castleknock. Thus when one travels -out from the city and stands at the cross-roads -beside the Half-way House one is within two -hundred yards of the station on the right, and within -one hundred yards of the Phoenix Park gate on the -left. At this gate there then stood a Police Barrack, -where three or four D.M.P. men used to be -stationed, but the barrack was closed a few days -before our adventure. A quarter of a mile inside -the gate was the Viceregal Lodge.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span></p> - -<p>Of houses there were very few in the vicinity. -The only one near the Half-way House was the -residence of Mr. Peard, the owner of the Park -Racecourse which adjoins the main road. On the -city side of Ashtown there were several institutions—such -as orphanages and convents—the nearest -being the famous Deaf and Dumb Institute kept -by the Christian Brothers. Away to the right of -the railway is the famous Dunsink Observatory.</p> - -<p>I have thought it necessary to describe the spot -in this detail, because even to Dublin people the -Ashtown district is comparatively unfamiliar.</p> - -<p>The special train in which the Viceroy was to -return was due to arrive at Ashtown at 11.40 a.m. -Half an hour before that our party had arrived on -the scene. We had started from Fleming’s, in -Drumcondra, that morning, and at Mrs. Martin -Conlan’s, of Phibsboro’, I had stopped for a cup -of tea. There were eleven of us all told in the -exploit—namely, Mick McDonnell, Tom Keogh -(later a Free State Officer killed in the Civil War); -Martin Savage (killed that day); Sean Treacy -(killed in action in Talbot Street, Dublin, ten months -later); Seumas Robinson, Sean Hogan, Paddy -Daly (later a Major-General in the Free State -Army); Vincent Byrne, Tom Kilkoyne, Joe -Leonard and myself.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="illus08" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/illus08.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">MARTIN SAVAGE.</p> -</div> - -<p>We cycled out the main road—the Cabra Road—going -in pairs at different intervals so as not to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> -arouse suspicion. We left our bicycles outside -Kelly’s, for at any hour of the day it was not unusual -to see a dozen bicycles outside that tavern -while the owners are refreshing themselves within. -We knew every inch of the locality, every bush and -turn, every nook and corner. As a further advantage -we knew the exact order in which Lord French -and his escort always travelled.</p> - -<p>We knew we would arouse suspicion were we to -wait on the roadside, so according as our men -arrived they entered the tavern. Inside were a few -of the local labourers and farmhands. Our appearance -in pairs did not seem to create any suspicion, -especially as the local people were not at all aware -that Lord French was to pass the spot in a short -time. In the publichouse while drinking our bottles -of minerals we indicated to any who might be -listening that our meeting was purely accidental. -We talked about cattle and paddocks and grazing -and many things except politics. But even in this -fictitious conversation we had to be careful, for the -men who were in the shop knew farming from A to -Z, while some of our men knew very little about that -industry.</p> - -<p>While we were talking about all these things for -the benefit of our audience we were beginning to -get anxious now that the time was drawing near. -More than one of us glanced at his watch from time<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> -to time, and our eyes were busy all the time watching -the cross-road, for from the shop we had a clear -view of everyone who passed either on the main -road or on the road to the Park. The first sign -of activity we saw was a large D.M.P. man coming -from the direction of the Park Gate. He evidently -knew who was to arrive, for he took up a position -near the cross-road to control any traffic that might -come that way. His spear-pointed helmet, his -shining buttons and his spotless boots, not to speak -of the care with which he pulled down his tunic -under his belt, all indicated that he felt called upon -to make an impressive display. We did not trouble -very much about the poor man, though he had a -revolver holster by his side and no doubt it was not -empty.</p> - -<p>A few minutes before the arrival of the train four -military lorries, with troops armed with rifles, drove -down from the Park Gate, passed the Half-way -House and pulled up to take their positions near the -station. In addition we knew that several armed -D.M.P. men would be lining the route from the -Park Gate to the Viceregal Lodge.</p> - -<p>Now we had of course made all our arrangements -days in advance. Nothing was left to the last -moment. Our plan was to concentrate our principal -attack on the second car in the convoy. That was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> -the car in which Lord French always travelled. Outside -Kelly’s there was a heavy farm cart lying. -Tom Keogh, Martin Savage and I were to push -this at the last moment right across the road, thus -blocking the passage of French’s car, for the road -is too narrow to allow two cars to travel abreast, -and the heavy farm cart would compel them to slow -down. At the same moment the other members of -our party were to open their deadly attack on the -Lord Lieutenant’s car with bombs and grenades, -and then rely on their revolvers to deal with the -military guard.</p> - -<p>Sharp to time we heard the whistle of the railway -engine as the train steamed into Ashtown. But we -never moved. We had two or three minutes more, -and a false step half a second too soon might upset -our whole plan. Then we heard the motor engines -throbbing. The party was about to move off from -the station. We stepped out to the cross-road. Our -men quietly took up their positions. Tom Keogh, -Martin Savage and I were beside the farm cart that -we were to use as an obstruction. It was time to get -it in motion.</p> - -<p>I caught hold of the cart and began to push it -round the corner. It was a heavy cart, far heavier -than we thought, for, needless to say, we had not -had a rehearsal of the act, nor had we judged the -weight of the cart otherwise than with our eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span></p> - -<p>I pushed it round the corner on to the narrow -road leading from the station. Suddenly I heard -a voice addressing me. It was the voice of the -D.M.P. man whose presence we had ignored.</p> - -<p>“You cannot go down there for a while,” he -remarked. “His Excellency is to pass along here -in a few seconds.”</p> - -<p>Now, I knew that His Excellency was due, much -better than the Constable did. However, I could -not explain to him that I had an appointment with -His Excellency. Time was pressing. I tried to -ignore the policeman. He evidently thought I was -too stupid for this world. He went on protesting -to me and explaining how necessary it was to have -the road clear for His Excellency’s cars.</p> - -<p>The amazing thing, when I afterwards came to -think of it, was that he was apparently too dense to -notice that I had two guns in my hands. If he did -I’m sure he would have taken out his notebook and -asked me for my name and address, for it was -illegal to carry arms.</p> - -<p>I did not want to use my gun so soon. In the -first place I had no wish to hurt the poor man, and -secondly, I knew that to fire a shot now would be -fatal to our plans, as it would at once attract the -attention and suspicion of the escort, who were now -in their cars a hundred paces from us.</p> - -<p>I did the only thing I could in the circumstances. -I shouted at him—I threatened him and finally told<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span> -him if he didn’t clear out of our way I would smash -him up. But it was no use. Even then the policeman -did not realise the position. He still kept on -talking.</p> - -<p>And while we stood there, wasting moments that -were precious, our comrades were wondering what -was wrong. One of our men who had been allotted a -position on the ditch that ran along the road apparently -realised the situation. Without considering -how he was threatening our whole scheme, not to -speak of endangering the lives of three of us who -were standing by the cart, he drew the pin from -his grenade and hurled the missile straight at the -policeman’s head. Now any one of the three of us -could easily have settled with the obstructionist with -perfect safety to ourselves, but we had no desire -to kill the poor man, and in any case we feared -that a single shot would prevent Lord French from -coming up to us from the station. He could, for -instance, if he suspected an ambush have sent his -escort ahead to clear the road, or he could have -gone right into Broadstone Station, in the city, and -so upset everything.</p> - -<p>The policeman was struck on the head with the -bomb and the weapon burst at my side without -doing serious injury to any of us beyond the fact -that the force of the explosion threw us violently -to the ground. McLoughlin, the policeman, was -not seriously injured. The rest of us quickly recovered<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> -from our shock, and we had no time now -to bother about the policeman, for at that moment -the motor cycle despatch rider (or scout, as he -really was) who always rode forty or fifty yards -ahead of the Viceroy’s party dashed by us from the -station. A second later comes the first motor and -we dash right in front of it opening fire on the -occupants. Our fire is at once returned, and so -close are we to the enemy that a new hat I had -just bought is shot right off my head. It was a -close shave, but my usual luck was with me that -day. So fast was the car travelling that we had no -time even to glance at the occupants, nor indeed -were we greatly concerned with them, for our real -object was to frighten that car into such speed that -it would quickly seek safety in flight while we would -hurl all our force against the second car, the one -in which we knew Lord French always travelled.</p> - -<p>Our cart had not completely blocked the road -when the first motor sped by—we did not intend it -to. Another dash to pull the cart right across the -road and the second car is upon us. From every -position held by our little party our concentrated -attack opens and the air is rent with rapid revolver -fire and bursting bombs and hand grenades. But -it is by no means a one-sided battle. The enemy -has his machine-gun and rifles in action, and there -we stand a target for him on the roadside while we -still pour volley after volley into car No. 2. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span> -three of us near the cart are now in a double peril. -The enemy’s bullets whistle round us and his -grenades burst at our feet, but so close are we to -our objective that we must also run the gauntlet -from the bombs which our own men are hurling -from the ditch.</p> - -<p>With our smoking guns still spitting fire at the -occupants of the car we back behind the cart, -seeking what little cover it affords from the enemy’s -hail of bullets. Another second and the cart is -being riddled and the splinters from its shafts are -flying round us. But our work must be accomplished -and the fight must be kept up. Suddenly -to our dismay another enemy car is rushing towards -us from the opposite direction. We are now in -greater danger than ever for we are trapped between -two fires. I felt a bullet pierce my left leg, but I -had no time to examine the wound though I -reckoned the bullet had passed through. The -British had by this time about a dozen rifles and a -machine gun in action; but the marksmen’s nerves -must have failed them, otherwise we could never -have stood up so long against them. One man, -however, gets his mark and poor Martin Savage -falls into my arms, shot through the body. Poor -chap! How light-heartedly he had been singing -and reciting poems about Ireland and the glory of -dying for one’s country, as we rode out to Ashtown<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> -only an hour ago. And he is breathing his last in -my arms, dying as he would have wished to die—by -an English bullet.</p> - -<p>All the time the bullets were whizzing by and the -enemy’s fire seemed to be growing more intense. -I laid my dying comrade down on the roadside. -His lips were moving as if he had a last message to -give me. I stooped and put my ear to his face and -catch the words spoken slowly and painfully but -distinctly: “I’m done, Dan, but carry on!” -Never can I forget that picture of my bleeding -pallid comrade as he lay on the road at Ashtown -that December day while bullets hopped around like -hailstones striking everything but me at whom they -were aimed.</p> - -<p>But it was no time for weeping over the dead. -Martin Savage had given his life in the cause for -which he had lived—the cause for which he had -shouldered his gun three years before when as a -lad of eighteen he had done his bit in Easter Week, -1916. But for the rest of us the duty was to live -for Ireland—to carry on.</p> - -<p>Tom Keogh had now got back to cover. I -looked around to see where were my chances of -escape. There seemed none. The blood is -streaming from my wounded leg and the enemy’s -fire is fierce and rapid whilst ours has eased off, -because our grenades are gone, many of our revolvers -are empty and one of our men is dead.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> -Amidst a hail of bullets I dashed for shelter of -Kelly’s house round the corner and got there in -safety.</p> - -<p>My gun speaks again. The enemy is silent. The -khaki warriors have suddenly fled for the safety of -the Park, followed by the whole Viceregal party.</p> - -<p>We were now left in possession of the field of -battle and with us were the wreck of the second -car, its driver McEvoy whom we had wounded and -captured in the fray, the wounded D.M.P. man, -Constable O’Loughlin, and the dead body of our -gallant comrade Martin Savage. We released our -prisoner McEvoy. By a strange irony of fate his -path crossed mine three years later, in April, 1923. -I was then a prisoner in the hands of the Free State -troops in Limerick Jail. McEvoy was there, an -officer in the prison.</p> - -<p>That December day in 1919, as we hurriedly -surveyed the ground at Ashtown we were convinced -we had achieved our purpose and had shot Lord -French. Now our next and most urgent concern -was to return to the city, for we knew that within -half an hour Ashtown and the country for miles -around it would be swarming with British troops.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.<br> -<span class="smaller">OUR ESCAPE FROM ASHTOWN.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>The ten of us now held a hurried Council of War -at the cross-road of Ashtown. Nine of our party -had escaped without a scratch: Martin Savage was -dead and I was wounded and bleeding profusely. -We had routed the whole body of British soldiers -with their rifles, their machine gun, and their -armour-plated car, and we had killed the Lord -Lieutenant.</p> - -<p>We carried poor Martin’s body into Kelly’s -shop. It was all we could do. We knew the enemy -would soon return with reinforcements and take -possession of all that was left of that gallant soldier, -but it would be suicidal to attempt to remove it to -the city. The terror-stricken occupants of the -Half-way House looked on in amazement and in -silence.</p> - -<p>With a prayer for the soul of our departed -comrade we mounted our bicycles and faced for -the city. We had scarcely started when Seumas -Robinson found that his bicycle was broken and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span> -useless for the journey. Jumping on the back of -Sean Treacy’s machine he balanced himself with -one foot on the step and held on to Sean’s broad -shoulders. But with two men on a bicycle speed -is slow, and never were we in greater need of a -speedy return to safety. In our dilemma we espied -a cyclist approaching us from the city. He was -walking and wheeling his bicycle, evidently having -alighted when he heard the battle in progress. In -war most things are fair and the temporary seizure -of his machine was not against our rules. Robinson -had his gun still in his hand. Jumping from the step -he presented his revolver at the stranger and ordered -him to hand over his bicycle. The order was -complied with. We always liked to cause as little -trouble as possible to civilians and even in our haste -that afternoon Seumas did not forget his duty to -the owner of the bicycle. He assured him that if he -called to the Gresham Hotel that evening his -machine would be forthcoming. I do not know -whether the man ever got his bicycle; I hope he -did. Anyhow it was left near the door of the hotel -that same evening as Seumas had promised.</p> - -<p>We returned to the city safely. I was now feeling -weak from the loss of blood, and went at once to -Mrs. Toomey’s house on Phibsboro’ Road, on the -north side of the city, and one of the first streets -one meets in the city when returning straight from -Ashtown. I believe the police and military later<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> -that day traced my blood-stains from Ashtown along -the Cabra Road, but fortunately they lost the trail -near the city. Mrs. Toomey was very kind to me. -I was at once put to bed and a doctor was sent for. -I was attended by Dr. J. M. Ryan, then famous as -the Captain of an All-Ireland hurling team. A -doctor from the Mater Hospital, which was only -a few hundred yards from my resting-place also -attended me.</p> - -<p>That evening Dublin rang with the newsboys’ -cry of “Attack on the Lord Lieutenant—Sensational -fight at Ashtown—One of the Attackers shot -dead!” And then I got a shock that almost drove -me mad. Lord French had escaped unhurt!</p> - -<p>It was true. We had failed. For the first time -the Viceroy had travelled not in the second car but -in the first. The car which we had scarcely bothered -about and which we had only wanted to frighten off -actually bore safely away the man we wanted. The -news made my wound worse. I never liked half -done jobs, and here we had not even half done our -work. Sean Treacy took the disappointment -philosophically. His motto was always to make -the best of things. His consolation to me was, -“You can’t always have Knocklongs, Dan.”</p> - -<p>We never got another chance of shooting Lord -French. He retired completely from public life. He -scarcely ever appeared in public afterwards. Even<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> -when he went to England armoured cars patrolled -the roads to the mail boat, and armed detectives -surrounded him, even to London. His movements -were kept a close secret and disclosed to the Press -many days later.</p> - -<p>Had we been in a position to use rifles that day -we could easily have made sure of shooting him -from Kelly’s house, but at that time our only means -of travelling to the spot was by bicycle, for -practically no motor cars were in use. This was -due to the fact that a few months previously the -British had made an order that every motor-driver -should have a special permit from the military, -bearing not only his name but his description and a -photograph, like a passport. The order was to -prevent the I.R.A. from using motor cars for -getting about, especially for night attacks. -Naturally, the only men likely to get permits from -the British would be those who could prove their -“loyalty” and were therefore not likely to assist -us or to run the risk of giving us a car. The Motor -Drivers’ Union resenting this degrading condition -met the order by refusing to apply for permits and -by declaring a general strike all over the country. -Hence as we could not get motors to travel to -Ashtown we had no means of concealing rifles as -we naturally could not strap them on bicycles. -However, I must say I am glad now that Lord<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> -French escaped. He was only doing his duty by -his adopted country, the Nation or the Empire -which had given him wealth, title and honours.</p> - -<p>Let me pause to recount some sequels to the -Ashtown attack. Church and Press denounced us -in unmeasured terms, but the public were more -guarded in their condemnation; slowly the country -was beginning to realise that we meant war with -England until, to quote the words of O’Donovan -Rossa, “she was stricken to her knees or we were -stricken to our graves.” For the most part then, -while the press and the clergy uttered bitter denunciations -the public remained silent. It was the -turning point. They were judging the situation. In -private discussions many defended our standpoint. -In public there was, of course, no means of doing -so. The great majority of our countrymen were -taking their bearings; they were perhaps shocked -at the daring force tactics, but they were beginning -to realise that we meant business, and that it was -their duty to stand by us.</p> - -<p>The morning following the attack the <i>Irish -Independent</i> published a leading article in which we -were all referred to as “assassins.” The article -was plentifully sprinkled with such terms as -“criminal folly,” “outrage,” “murder,” and so -on, and this was the very paper which depended for -its whole income on the support of the people who -had voted for the establishment of an Irish<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> -Republic. It had not even the sense of fair play, -not to speak of decency, to wait until the inquest -had been held and until Martin Savage had been -laid to rest, to express its views. The other Dublin -papers we did not mind. The <i>Irish Times</i> was -openly and avowedly a British organ, and the -<i>Freeman’s Journal</i> was beneath the contempt of -any decent Irishman. But we could not allow a -paper that pretended to be Irish and independent -to stab our dead comrade in the back.</p> - -<p>At the time I was, of course, confined to bed as -the result of my wounds and had no direct part in -what followed. I believe some of the boys favoured -the shooting of the Editor. Finally, another course -was adopted. It was decided to suppress the paper. -At 9 o’clock on Sunday night twenty or thirty of -our men in charge of Peadar Clancy entered the -building and held up the staff with revolvers. They -then informed the Editor that his machinery was -to be dismantled, and proceeding to the works department -they smashed the linotypes with sledges, -leaving the place in such a condition that it was -hoped no paper would appear for some time. With -the assistance of the other Dublin printing offices, -however, the <i>Independent</i> was able to get a paper -out as usual next day. However, we had taught -the paper a lesson, and in a way we were glad that -nobody was thrown out of work as many of the -staff were I.R.A. men. Never afterwards did the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> -<i>Independent</i>, or any other Dublin newspaper, refer -to any I.R.A. men as murderers or assassins, and -I must say that soon afterwards the <i>Independent</i> -was of much service in exposing British atrocities, -even though it never supported our fighting policy. -The proprietors got £16,000 compensation for the -raid.</p> - -<p>After the inquest on Martin Savage his body was -handed over to his relatives. The clergy refused to -have his body allowed into any church in Dublin, -and the night before its removal to his native -Ballisodare, County Sligo, it lay all night at the -Broadstone Station attended only by a faithful -few. But the funeral the next day was the greatest -tribute ever paid to an Irishman in the West. The -cortege was several miles long, and the Parish -Priest attended and recited the last prayers, while -the R.I.C., with the chivalry characteristic of them, -surrounded the graveyard with their guns and -bayonets. However, I suppose that was the best -tribute they could pay to a gallant soldier, even -though they did not intend it.</p> - -<p>One other matter I must refer to here and then -I proceed with my narrative:</p> - -<p>It may be asked why Martin Savage’s body was -allowed to leave Dublin without receiving from the -capital the last mark of respect which his sacrifice -deserved. The answer is simple. The Government -of the Republic, Dail Eireann, did not wish to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span> -associate itself directly with our actions. Without -going into details which might involve the names of -many prominent men, some living, some dead, I -wish to emphasise here and now that neither then -nor at any later stage did Dail Eireann accept -responsibility for the war against the British. -Why, I do not know, nor do I wish to enter into -any controversy on the attitude of the Dail. I can -only say what was later publicly admitted both in -the second Republican Dail and in the Free State -Dail (General Mulcahy, December, 1923), that -the I.R.A. was left to carry on the war on its own -initiative, on its own resources, without either -approval or disapproval from the Government of -the Republic. It is well that this fact should be -known to future generations.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="illus09" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/illus09.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">GENERAL LIAM LYNCH.</p> -</div> - -<p>It was amusing to read the newspaper versions -of the Ashtown attack for days afterwards. At the -inquest on Martin Savage it was stated that the -“assailants fled and were pursued.” I almost -roared laughing when I read this and pictured the -British soldiers’ precipitate flight for the cover of -the Phoenix Park wall. It was very strange indeed -that we managed to reach Dublin on our bicycles if -we were pursued by men provided not only with -rifles and machine guns but with motor cars. Another -imaginative writer described a tree by the -roadside which had been specially clipped to form -a look-out point for one of our men. Just imagine<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span> -the military genius of anyone who would send a -man up on a tree to see a train that he could see -from the road, or to become a sure target for enemy -rifles!</p> - -<p>At the inquest too the Crown Counsel refused to -disclose the name of the lady who was in the car -with Lord French.</p> - -<p>Lord French, by the way, travelled in mufti that -day—so it was stated at the inquest. Perhaps that -is why we did not recognise him in the first car. I -also learned from the inquest story that Detective -Sergeant Hally, who was wounded by our fire, was -a countryman of my own, hailing from Carrick-on-Suir.</p> - -<p>After a few days in the house of Mrs. Toomey -at Phibsboro’, I was taken across to the south side -of the city to No. 13 Grantham Street—the house -of Mrs. Malone. Three months previously I had -paid my first visit to this house. It happened in -this way:</p> - -<p>On 8th September, 1919, Seumas Robinson and -I were in difficulties to find a place to sleep; we -went to Phil Shanahan’s, where we had met Sam -Fahy, brother of Frank Fahy, T.D. We had -known Sam well in Tipperary, where he spent some -years, though at this time he was on the run like -ourselves. We told him our trouble, and he at -once gave us the latchkey of a friend’s house in -Grantham Street and told us the number, assuring<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span> -us that men on the run need never want for shelter -while that house was there. Mrs. Malone, he said, -was the woman’s name, and she could be trusted -with any secret. She had lost a son, Michael, in -the Insurrection of Easter Week.</p> - -<p>Seumas and myself then went from Phibsboro on -our way to Grantham Street. To make matters -worse we had forgotten the number of the house. -Fortunately it is not a large street, and at the first -house we knocked we were directed to Mrs. -Malone’s. We were made feel quite at home -immediately. They were all very kind to us—Mr. -and Mrs. Malone and the Misses Malone. We -stayed for the night, and next morning we learned -that the family had only four days previously suffered -the loss of one of their daughters.</p> - -<p>From that day we became close friends with the -Malone family. We brought Treacy and Hogan -there soon afterwards and introduced them to the -family. Both of the girls—Brighid and Aine—were -active members of the Cumann na mBan, and were -always anxious to help us. They carried all our -despatches and messages and even helped in removing -munitions to Kingsbridge Station. You -must understand that we were always in search of -revolvers or rifles or ammunition to buy or to -capture. Any that fell into our hands we always -sent to our Brigade in South Tipperary. The -stuff was needed very badly there, and there were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span> -far less chances of getting it than there were in -Dublin. Very often we sent on munitions by train, -in boxes labelled “Tea” or “Wines,” or some -other commodity that the person to whom they were -addressed was accustomed to receive. Of course, -we always had our arrangements made at the other -end so that the goods would be received by a -merchant who was himself an I.R.A. man or by -one of his assistants.</p> - -<p>Only a few days before the Ashtown fight I had -been joking with Aine Malone and telling her they -would have to nurse me if I was wounded. I little -thought that my joke of December, 1919, would -come true, and that I would be installed in -Grantham Street in the care of the Malones. The -wound in my leg proved more serious than I expected, -and my head too was painful. For three -whole months I was laid up, scarcely able to move -about at all. I am not so sure that I felt any way -anxious to get away from my surroundings. Everyone -was kind to me. Peadar Clancy came to see -me and gave me the news nearly every day. I have -fond, if sad, memories of pleasant hours spent with -Peadar as he chatted or read for me. Dick McKee -and Sean Treacy and Hogan were all kind too, and -came to see me regularly. Peadar and Dick and -Sean Treacy alas were not to see another Christmas. -But I know they died smiling and happy.</p> - -<p>Apart from my good and thoughtful comrades<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span> -there was an even stronger reason which made me -think little of the pain and the indoor confinement. -That was my kindest and ever attentive nurse—then -Brighid Malone—now my wife. Few people -have the good fortune to be nursed through sickness -by their future wives whose presence counts for -more than all that medical skill can give. But the -story of our marriage a year and a half later, in -circumstances that a fiction writer would discredit -as too far-fetched for any Wild West novel, I -must reserve for its proper place in a later chapter.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.<br> -<span class="smaller">FROM TARA TO TIPPERARY.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>At the opening of 1920 I had plenty of leisure, -while my wound was healing, to review the year -that had passed.</p> - -<p>Soloheadbeg had borne fruit. The best tribute -was that contained in the official statistics that -were now issued from time to time by the British -Government regarding “Crime in Ireland.” -Crime as such was, of course, almost unknown in -Ireland until the arrival of the Black and Tans. -When the British Government used the word -“crime” in reference to Ireland it generally meant -active operations against the Army of Occupation. -So it was solemnly announced to the world at the -beginning of 1920 that during 1919 scores of -attacks had been made on British troops or police, -hundreds of raids for arms had been carried out and -a dozen policemen (that is, armed spies) had been -shot dead. If the British Government thought the -publication of these statistics would make us repent -of our actions and shed our patriotism it had miscalculated.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span> -The only effect was to make us more -determined that there would be a much bigger -record of such “crimes” to be compiled at the -end of 1920. And we kept our resolution!</p> - -<p>In these statistics England took good care not -to record her own acts of warfare against the civilian -population in the same period. She did not tell -that Dail Eireann, the elected representative -Government of Ireland, had been proclaimed an -illegal assembly, and its schemes for developing the -country’s industries declared criminal activities. -She did not tell the world that the Gaelic League, -Cumann na mBan, the Irish Volunteers and Fianna -Eireann (the Irish Boy Scouts) had been similarly -declared illegal bodies. Nor did she tell of the -midnight raids and robberies officially carried out -against peaceable citizens by her troops. In a word, -to quote an expression used by Arthur Griffith at -the time, she had “proclaimed the whole Irish -nation as an illegal assembly.”</p> - -<p>But lest I should give an unfair picture of the -time to the reader unacquainted with Irish events, -I must in fairness mention a few things that the -English forces in Ireland had not <i>yet</i> done. They -had not imposed curfew; they had not murdered -men in their beds; they had not burned and bombed -towns and villages; they had not shot prisoners -“for attempting to escape”; they had not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -executed prisoners of war, murdered priests and -outraged women.</p> - -<p>I emphasise the fact that they had not done these -things in 1919, because they were guilty of every -one of these crimes during the year that was now -beginning. In order to follow my narrative it is well -to bear this fact in mind, for I may not have occasion -to mention these developments of British policy -unless they directly bear upon my story.</p> - -<p>Indeed while I was yet in Dublin in the home of -the Malones, the first Curfew Order was issued. -In an encounter with a few I.R.A. men after midnight -in February, 1920, a policeman was shot dead -in Grafton Street. The British at once issued an -order making it a criminal offence for any civilian -to be out-of-doors between midnight and 5 a.m. -Within a few months that Order was extended to -most towns and cities in the south of Ireland; not -only extended but made more severe. For instance -at one time no one was allowed to leave his house -in Limerick after 7 p.m. In Cork the hour was 4 -p.m. for a while. It then became customary for the -British to clear the streets with volley after volley -of rifle fire, scores of men, women and children -being murdered in this way during 1920 and 1921. -Incidently these curfew regulations gave the -Government’s murder gang a free field, for no -civilian would be about to see them shooting or -looting during the Curfew hours.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span></p> - -<p>In the early spring of 1920 I dragged myself -away from my pleasant surroundings in Grantham -Street, and traversing the fair plains of Fingal. I -went to spend a month in royal Meath, at the foot -of the Hill of Tara. It was my first stay in royal -Meath, the garden of Ireland’s kings in the days -of her greatness. The first day I climbed the hill—I -stayed for an hour on its summit, living in the -past, in spiritual association with the warriors of -old, and wondering if ever again our land would -see the day when her sons and daughters would have -shaken the shackles of slavery from their limbs and -have flung their flag proudly to the breeze, defiant -and free. There is little now on the Hill to tell of -those days of our greatness. No men crowd its -summit; tradition says that the curse of a saint -from my own county brought about the ruin and -decay of Tara. But the great Banquet Hall could -still be traced where the High Kings received -homage from their vassals and bestowed hospitality -upon their subjects. But a little cross on the -summit marks the “Croppies’ Grave,” where -“many a Saxon foeman fell, and many an Irish -soldier true”—the last resting place of the dauntless -few who struck a blow for Ireland in ’98, and -fell with their face to the enemy. And I knelt on -the green sward of the deserted palace and prayed -that the Croppies’ sacrifice might not be in vain; -that their dream might come true even in our<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> -generation, and that I might be given strength and -courage to speed the day.</p> - -<p>There on the sod hallowed by the footsteps of -Ireland’s warrior saints and kings of peace I -realised for the first time the full meaning of that -little poem of Moore’s, with its pathetic appeal -that always grips the Irish heart and dims the -patriot’s eye.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Let Erin remember the days of old</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ere her faithless sons betrayed her!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And then my eyes wandered over the plains at -my feet—richer than my own Golden Vale. Here -and there I saw a stately mansion or a castle; but -I knew that these were not the homes of the clansmen -of our kings, but the fortresses of those who -had deprived them of their heritage. Of farm houses -there were none; a labourer’s cottage here and -there marked the home of the Gaels who had -survived—to be the hewers of wood and drawers of -water. I searched the countryside for the men that -this fair land should have raised; but the roads were -deserted; the bullock had replaced the king and the -peasant. And I asked myself did Providence ordain -that Meath should be the home of the bullock to -feed the conquering Saxon. No! It could not be. -It was the old curse, the old blight of the foreigner.</p> - -<p>Many a day afterwards I wandered along the -plains of Meath, thinking and planning and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span> -dreaming of the happy land it might be if only -we were allowed to work out our own destiny as -God would have us. I often walked for three or -four hours without meeting a human being. Here -and there a lovely mansion; around it the gatelodge -of the serf, the winding avenue, the silent -trees and the green fields with the bullock as their -ruler. Landlordism, worked as the willing instrument -of English rule, had wrought this desolation. -And I renewed my resolve to do my share in -bringing about the change that must come.</p> - -<p>I spent pleasant, if uneventful days, with Joseph -Dardis and with Dr. Lynch and Tom Carton, of -Stamullen, and also with Vincent Purfield, of -Balbriggan. From them all I received the same -genial hospitality that so many had already shown -me. Thank God, England has not yet deprived us -of our spirit of kindness and hospitality.</p> - -<p>The summer was now approaching. I was feeling -strong and fit again. I was anxious to be doing -something. The war was developing and I could -not be idle. I felt I had no right to remain any -longer out of the fray. Some of the things I had -read in the papers had made my blood boil again. -Tom MacCurtain, Lord Mayor of Cork, who had -been with us but five or six months previously lying -in wait for Lord French, had been murdered in his -home in the presence of his wife. In Thurles two -or three similar murders had been committed by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> -the British. They were but the first of a hundred -such murders to be committed within a year by -British forces, all connived at or directly inspired -by the highest officials in the land.</p> - -<p>I resolved to be up and doing. I returned to -Dublin. There I met some of the boys and urged -an intensive guerilla campaign. Dick McKee and -Peadar Clancy enthusiastically supported my views -and favoured my “on with the war” policy.</p> - -<p>As I have already explained, our own policy was -all the time “unofficial.” Neither Dail Eireann -nor General Headquarters of the I.R.A. had sanctioned -it or accepted responsibility. Mick Collins, -I must say, seemed to favour it. He always -promised to continue to push our war policy in the -“proper quarters,” and it must be remembered that -he was then not only on the G.H.Q. staff but was -Finance Minister in Dail Eireann. I have already -recounted how he was with us on one occasion -towards the end of 1919, when we had prepared to -ambush Lord French, but the Lord Lieutenant disappointed -us.</p> - -<p>The truth is that our war policy was not popular. -The military authorities did not seem to want it. -The political wing certainly did not want it, and -more than one T.D. strongly denounced it in -private; though it was part of our good fortune to -be able always to conceal our differences from the -enemy—until after the Truce. The Press, of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span> -course, denounced our campaign, though since a -lesson had been taught the <i>Independent</i> the newspapers -had learned that “discretion was the better -part of valour,” especially in the use of certain -words like “murder,” and “outrage.” The words -“shootings” and “tragedies” became very -popular with the newspapers after the attack on the -<i>Independent</i>.</p> - -<p>The public did not want the war. They forgot -that it was their vote at the 1918 General Election -that had led to the formal establishment of the -Republic. They only knew that attacks on police -meant more severe martial law, worse curfew, more -arrests and compensation for policemen’s widows. -Evidently many thought at that time that liberty -was a thing to be got for nothing. I must say, -however, that as the war developed in intensity -towards the end of 1920 and the beginning of 1921 -the vast majority of the people stood with us, and -cheerfully took their share of the risks and hardships.</p> - -<p>I did not intend to stay long in Dublin. I wanted -to get back to Tipperary. I felt that things were -too quiet there. The boys were all right, they were -game for anything; all they wanted was to be told -what to do. So Sean Treacy and I once more cycled -that hundred miles journey, and I found myself -back in Tipperary after an absence of nearly twelve -months.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span></p> - -<p>This time we had a new plan. We decided to -embark upon a campaign of a kind then scarcely -known in the struggle, but one that was soon to -show the world that there was no longer any doubt -that Ireland was in a state of open war.</p> - -<p>(In the next chapter I shall describe that new -campaign.)</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>Before dealing with the events which followed -my return to Tipperary I must tell of an incident -that almost ended my career as a gunman.</p> - -<p>Seumas Robinson and I had been spending a few -days with Vincent Purfield at Balbriggan, where I -had often had such a happy time. That was during -Holy Week, 1920, and we decided to go to Dublin -for Easter. We started from Balbriggan in a motor -driven by Vincent himself on Good Friday, April -2nd, 1920.</p> - -<p>Now the British authorities in Ireland were always -under the impression that the Sinn Feiners would -always do something every Easter to celebrate the -anniversary of the 1916 Insurrection. As a matter -of fact we usually did, but we were always disobliging -enough to do just the thing they never expected, -and at that time they were taken most by surprise. -Anyhow, in preparation for the “annual rising,” -as people sarcastically spoke of the thing which the -Government expected, the military always let us<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span> -know that they were not to be taken by surprise. -For years they used to erect barricades at all the -roads leading into Dublin, and place military outposts -who searched every car and pedestrian passing -in or out of the city during the few days before and -after Easter. Having thus done their duty by the -Empire they usually removed their barricades after -a few days.</p> - -<p>When we left Balbriggan that morning we forgot -all about this annual manœuvre of the British, -otherwise I need hardly say we should have spent -Easter with Vincent in Balbriggan. We had a -pleasant journey until we arrived within a few miles -of the city, about half a mile beyond the tram -terminus at Whitehall. On rounding a corner we -suddenly came face to face with a military lorry -travelling towards us. The lorry slowed down -apparently to pull up and search our car, but we -looked so innocent and harmless that the officer -ordered his car to proceed. We proceeded on our -way and laughed heartily, while congratulating -ourselves on our good luck. But our good fortune -was short-lived. The noise of the military lorry had -scarcely died away when half a mile further on -towards the city we heard a sharp order to “Halt!”</p> - -<p>Straight ahead of us, just at the tramway -terminus was a military barricade, a score of -soldiers, with their rifles gripped in a business-like -way, while an officer was stepping towards us,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span> -dangling his revolver. Now, I thought, my hour -had come. There is no escape this time.</p> - -<p>Vincent kept as cool as a cucumber; not one of -us betrayed the slightest concern and the car drove -right to the barricade before it slowed down.</p> - -<p>I stepped out of the car and walked straight to -the officer with an angry scowl and demanded the -meaning of this.</p> - -<p>“I must search your car,” was the curt reply.</p> - -<p>Then I thought it was better to try civility. I -told him we had no objection to being searched, -but assured him that any delay would be serious to -us, as we were in a hurry to reach the city on -important business. He hesitated for a moment. -Then he waved to the soldiers to clear the way.</p> - -<p>“Very well!” he said, “you may go ahead.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” I nodded to him, entered the car -and we drove on.</p> - -<p>I could not have afforded to allow either the car -or ourselves to be searched. Had he attempted to -do so, it would have been his last piece of military -activity. Probably we would never have escaped -ourselves had he forced me to pull my gun, but -there was no other way out of it.</p> - -<p>Our motor car was the only vehicle that entered -or left Dublin without being searched during those -five days.</p> - -<p>The same bluff as had carried Sean Hogan and -myself out of a similar difficulty near Limerick a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span> -year before now proved successful at Whitehall, -within a few hundred yards of the house where, -seven months later, I was to have my biggest -fight for life—at Drumcondra.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.<br> -<span class="smaller">THE BARRACK ATTACKS</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Our new plan for more active operations against -the British was, in short, to attack them in their -strongholds—the police barracks throughout the -country. The peelers were now far too cautious to -patrol the roads. They seldom if ever ventured any -distance from their barracks. We could not meet -them in the open. But if the mountain would not -come to Mohammed, there was only the other thing -to be done. We had got to go to the police and -attack them on their own grounds.</p> - -<p>At this time, in the spring of 1920, they were -rapidly evacuating all outlying barracks in small -places where there was a danger that the garrison -could be cut off or surprised. They were concentrating -on the larger barracks where the garrisons -were strengthened and the buildings strongly -fortified with steel shutters and barbed wire -entanglements. It was at this time that the I.R.A. -carried out its most intensive simultaneous series of -operations. In one night no less than about a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> -thousand vacated police barracks were burned to -the ground—the operations extending to every -county in Ireland. In this way we prevented any -possibility that those barracks would ever again be -occupied by the enemy. A thousand links of the -British military chain had been severed.</p> - -<p>At this time the peelers had abandoned all -pretence of being a police force. They were openly -and avowedly a military force not attempting to -suppress crime but holding the country by brute -force for England. When the R.I.C. uniforms disappeared -from a village our I.R.A. police promptly -took over the duties that they should have -discharged, and right well they did it. The robber -and the housebreaker soon learned to have for the -I.R.A. a wholesome respect he never had for the -R.I.C.</p> - -<p>If any reader unacquainted with events in Ireland -at that time thinks it incredible that a police force -like the R.I.C. should have been so shameless as to -allow criminals a free hand I hope I shall convince -him by two simple facts. The first is that in cases -where our men were found to have arrested men for -robbery or other forms of crime, the practice of the -British was to have the criminal released and protected -and to have the I.R.A. men sent to jail. -The newspaper files with accounts of courts-martial -on our men on such charges bear out my statement. -The second fact, though never revealed in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> -newspapers, did not come under my personal -notice, but I have it from I.R.A. men concerned. -In County Meath a most cold-blooded murder was -committed by an ex-British soldier. The R.I.C. -had clear evidence that he was guilty. They arrested -him, but did they try him? No! They released -him and advised him to leave the country before he -fell into the hands of the I.R.A. But he was -arrested by the I.R.A. men within five minutes of -his release, and later paid the penalty of his crime.</p> - -<p>At this time too the Black and Tans appeared on -the scene. A great many are still in doubt as to -how they got this name, so it is as well to explain.</p> - -<p>The force was recruited by Sir Hamar Greenwood’s -instructions early in 1920 to swell the ranks -of the R.I.C. and to replace the Irishmen who had -resigned from that force in disgust. Greenwood -wanted thousands of recruits for carrying out the -policy of terrorism which had been decided upon. -He could not get them in Ireland. Even in England -he found it hard to get any decent men to come -on such work. Hence his force was recruited mainly -from the lower classes of English ex-soldiers, many -of them being known criminals or ex-convicts. -They arrived in Ireland in such numbers that the -R.I.C. could not possibly equip half of them in the -recognised dark blue uniform. There were some -black tunics to be had and some black trousers, also -some black caps. The military came to their assistance<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -with a supply of khaki. Every man was given -some portion of the black uniform to show he was -nominally a policeman, but the main portion of the -outfit was khaki. When these irregular forces first -took up duty in the South you can imagine their -grotesque appearance—one man being all in khaki -except for a black cap, another all in khaki except -for black trousers, and so on, none of them being -either completely in black or completely in khaki.</p> - -<p>Our Irish people have a sense of humour, and they -have always been noted for their happy knack of -giving appropriate nick-names. In the district which -surrounds Knocklong—South Tipperary and East -Limerick the name <i>Black and Tan</i> was born. For -generations there had been in that district a famous -pack of hounds known as the “Black and Tans.” Is -it surprising that the people soon saw how like the -new force was to their hounds, not only in colour -but in other respects? Such is the origin of a name -that will survive in all languages for terrorism, loot -and murder.</p> - -<p>These changes to which I have referred had -taken place in our native county during our -absence. We decided at once to open a series of -attacks on police barracks.</p> - -<p>Attacks on police barracks had been going on in -various parts of the South on a small scale for -months. The first case in which the garrison was -captured was at Araglen, on the borders of Cork<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span> -and Limerick, near the southern end of the Galtees. -The attack was carried out by Liam Lynch, who -was killed during the Civil War early in 1923, while -he was Chief of Staff of the I.R.A.</p> - -<p>Liam Lynch, as the struggle developed in -intensity proved himself the finest officer in Ireland -to control and handle a brigade or division. He -and Sean Moylan made an admirable combination -and their successes against the British were amazing. -Tom Barry was, I think, the best leader of a -flying column.</p> - -<p>I first met Liam Lynch at the Autumn of 1919. -We were introduced by Tom Hunter, then -Republican Deputy for Cork and Peadar Clancy’s -partner in business in Dublin. Lynch was at that -time very much on the run, like myself. On September -7th, he had carried out a daring coup in -Fermoy, disarming twelve soldiers who were going -to church. In the struggle one of the British soldiers -was killed and Liam himself was wounded. That -incident is of historic importance by reason of the -fact that it led to the first case of “reprisals”; for -the night of the attack the British soldiers, led by -some of their officers, wrecked and looted the -principal shops in Fermoy.</p> - -<p>Liam Lynch was a soldier to his finger tips. He -stood six feet in height and in his eye you read that -he was born to be a leader of men. As gentle as a -child he was a dauntless soldier, and commanded<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> -one of the best brigades in Ireland against the -British.</p> - -<p>Shortly after the capture of Araglen Barracks by -Liam Lynch, the next victory of the kind was gained -by Michael Brennan, who seized all the arms and -ammunition in a barrack in Clare. In this case the -barrack was surrendered by Constable Buckley, -who afterwards fought with the I.R.A. through the -war, and was killed in Kerry while a prisoner during -the Civil War. The next barracks that was captured -by the I.R.A. was Ballylanders on the 28th April, -1920, when three policemen were wounded and the -barrack burned to the ground after the garrison had -surrendered their arms to Sean Malone (<i>alias</i> -“Forde”), who commanded in the attack.</p> - -<p>On our return to Tipperary we very soon carried -out three attacks on police barracks, one of which -surrendered to us after a five hours’ fight.</p> - -<p>The first barrack in Tipperary to surrender to -the I.R.A. was Drangan. That was on June 4th, -1920. Drangan is situated in the eastern end of the -county, near the Kilkenny side. It is seven miles -from Killenaule.</p> - -<p>Our usual procedure in these attacks—which -always took place at night—was to mobilise 30 or -40 I.R.A. men, and have trees felled across all the -roads leading to the position. In that way we -prevented, or at least delayed, assistance from -arriving to help the besieged garrison. This blocking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span> -of the roads was carried out often for a five or ten -mile radius. Often, too, we felled trees across the -roads when we had no intention of attacking a -position—merely to annoy and confuse the enemy.</p> - -<p>Having taken these precautions to ensure that -no assistance could arrive to the garrison we also -cut the telegraph and telephone wires. Then we -quietly occupied a few houses in the front or rear -of the barracks and opened our attack, while some -of our men perhaps attempted to fire the building -by means of petrol. Very often too the first hint we -gave of our presence was the exploding of a mine -at the door or the gable of the barrack in order to -blow up the building or to make a breach. Sometimes -these plans succeeded, sometimes they failed.</p> - -<p>The fight at Drangan was a prolonged affair. -The officers who took part in the attack were Sean -Treacy, Seumas Robinson, Ernie O’Malley, Sean -Hogan and myself. Having first taken the usual -steps of blocking the roads and cutting all wires, -we quietly occupied a vacant house right in front -of the barrack—why the police were so stupid as -to leave it unguarded I cannot imagine. More of -our men went to the back and took up positions for -opening fire, while on the street in front we erected -a small barricade. About midnight we opened the -attack. After the first volley we ceased fire, and -called on the defenders to surrender. We always -did that, not only to spare their lives if possible, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> -also to spare our own supplies of ammunition which -were never plentiful. But they refused to come out. -We renewed the attack, with rifles, bombs, revolvers -and shot-guns—our munitions were always -necessarily of an assorted kind. The enemy replied -hotly to our fire, but with no effect. Suddenly the -sky was lighted up with Verey lights—rockets -discharged by the garrison as a signal to -neighbouring posts that they needed help. But we -knew it would be long before assistance could pass -our barriers. We continued the onslaught with -renewed vigour from front and rear, and some of -our men actually tore off the slates on the roof of -the barrack. Daylight was breaking amidst cracking -of rifles and the bursting of bombs when there was -a sudden lull in the replying fire from the enemy. -A moment later appeared from one of the windows -a sharp blast of a whistle, and our men ceased fire. -The order was shouted to the garrison to advance -into the open. A minute later they were disarmed -prisoners. We prepared for our return to safety -before military reinforcements cut their way -through. We marched our prisoners—two sergeants -and six constables—to the outskirts of the -village, released them and departed with our booty, -not one of our men being wounded.</p> - -<p>The same night Cappawhite police barrack, also -in Tipperary, was attacked by another party of -I.R.A. men, but the garrison held their own.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span></p> - -<p>It was sometimes amusing to read the accounts -of these attacks in the newspapers next day. -Naturally none of our men ever told the true story, -and the newspaper men had to rely mainly on the -police version. The police, of course, had to make -the best show possible in the eyes of their own -superiors, and the newspaper men had to take their -version, because they would need the information -that friendly policemen could give them later on, -and also because they might get a surprise midnight -visit from the Black and Tan torturers if -anything derogatory to the police was said. Hence -it was that often when we had only 30 or 40 men -on a job, with perhaps half a dozen rifles in all, the -police would tell the public that the “number of -attackers was estimated at 300, with several -machine guns.” And often when not one of our -men got a scratch it was reported that “several of -the attackers were seen to fall, and it is believed -three were shot dead.” There were times when we -did suffer losses, but they never suspected it.</p> - -<p>Our next operation of the kind was away on the -north-western side of the county in the mountainous -districts of Hollyford. This also was a complete -success, the same body of us being in charge of the -operation. It must be remembered that at this -time the number of men on the run was comparatively -small, and we often had to rely upon men -who were never suspected of taking part in these<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> -attacks, and who returned to their work before -morning.</p> - -<p>Our next attack was not far from the same -district—Rear Cross. Here we had a desperate -battle, and were forced to retire without capturing -the position. In this fight we had the assistance of -some men from East Limerick Brigade, and the -North Tipperary Brigade, but the South Tipperary -boys carried out the main offensive under Sean -Treacy and myself. The garrison, I must say, put -up a brave defence, and used their hand-grenades -with effect, Ernie O’Malley, Jim Gorman, Treacy -and myself all being wounded by shrapnel. We -succeeded in setting the building on fire, and I -believe that several of the enemy were burned to -death, while two others were shot.</p> - -<p>It was about this time—to be exact, on the night -of May 27th—that the famous Kilmallock attack -took place. I was not engaged on the occasion. -This attack, carried out by Sean Malone (<i>alias</i> -“Forde”) created a big sensation at the time. It -was a prolonged battle lasting from midnight until -7 o’clock in the morning. The barrack, which was -regarded as being impregnable, was situated in the -very heart of the town, and was occupied by one of -the largest R.I.C. garrisons in the south. The -I.R.A. occupied a hotel and several houses on the -principal street, and actually pumped petrol from a -hose on to the building. The barrack was burned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span> -to the ground, but our men had to cease the attack -before the garrison was forced to surrender. One -I.R.A. officer—Scully, of Kerry—was killed, two -of the enemy were killed, and six of them wounded. -The two policemen were burned to death in a room -where they had been locked because they advised -a surrender. The sergeant who commanded the -garrison was promoted to the rank of District -Inspector for his defence. He was shot dead in -Listowel a few months later.</p> - -<p>The next big engagement in which we took part -was the famous fight at Oola, the day Brigadier-General -Lucas escaped. This sensational incident -I must relate in the next chapter.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.<br> -<span class="smaller">CAPTURE AND ESCAPE OF GENERAL LUCAS.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>The capture of Brigadier-General Lucas was -effected on June 26th, 1920, by Liam Lynch, -George Power, and a few more of Lynch’s staff. -General Lucas, who was stationed at Fermoy and -commanded in that district, was accompanied by -Colonel Danford, R.E., and Colonel Tyrell. Lynch -and his comrades drove up in a motor car and surprised -the three British officers at a place called -Conna, near Castlelyons, seven or eight miles from -Fermoy, where General Lucas had taken a fishing -lodge. They were taken completely by surprise -and removed to a waiting motor car. The original -idea was to hold the General as a hostage to be -exchanged for Bob Barton, T.D., who was then -being treated as a criminal in an English prison, -where he was undergoing a 10 years’ sentence for -“sedition.”</p> - -<p>When Lynch had driven his prisoners for some -distance they were conversing amongst themselves -in Arabic. The purport of their conversation was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span> -made clear when, half an hour later, they suddenly -attacked their captors. In a sharp melee which -ensued Colonel Danford was wounded. Lynch -thereupon sent a motor back to Fermoy military -barracks by Tyrell, whom he also released, while -Lucas was removed to a place of safety in the -keeping of the I.R.A. The manner in which the -English soldiers at Fermoy showed their appreciation -of a generous foe who had released a wounded -officer was to wreck the town next night—the -second time within twelve months that Fermoy had -been wrecked because of a successful exploit by -Liam Lynch.</p> - -<p>Lucas himself was every inch a gentleman and -a soldier. For five weeks he was a prisoner of the -I.R.A., and during that time he was treated with -the courtesy and kindness befitting his rank and -character. Every facility was given him for communicating -with his relatives, and he had every -comfort that his captors—themselves “on the -run” with their prisoner—could provide. To his -credit be it said he acknowledged this later, though -I believe he got into trouble with the British War -Office.</p> - -<p>His last place of detention was a house in East -Limerick. From there he made his escape on the -night of July 29th, in circumstances which it is not -in my province to narrate.</p> - -<p>Now, on the morning of July 30th, Sean Treacy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> -and the rest of us had planned an ambush on the -road between Limerick and Tipperary. At that -time our men were creating much trouble for the -enemy by holding up trains and mail cars to censor -letters for information. In this way we got much -valuable information from time to time, including -evidence against local spies here and there. So -serious a problem did we create for the British that -they had to take special precautions to prevent -military mails and despatches falling into our hands. -For instance, the Limerick garrison adopted the -plan of sending a special military escort by road to -the Limerick Junction every morning to take the -mails off the train there, and thus avoid possible -raids on the 20 miles of the branch line from -Limerick Junction to Limerick.</p> - -<p>We determined to ambush this party. The spot -we selected was half a mile on the Tipperary side -of the village of Oola. That would be about six -miles from Tipperary town, fifteen from Limerick -city and four from Soloheadbeg. Although we were -on the main road from Limerick to Waterford we -had a great stretch of country by which we could -escape southwards, getting back towards East -Limerick. The country is comparatively flat with -good thick hedges of whitethorn as cover along the -roadside.</p> - -<p>We expected the military car to arrive from -Limerick about 10.30 a.m. A few minutes before<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> -that time we felled a tree across the road to block -their path. Then we took up our positions, still -well out of view, for it must be remembered that in -the village of Oola itself, almost in view of our -selected spot, there was a strong garrison of peelers, -and on the other side of us, two miles away at the -Limerick Junction, was another R.I.C. garrison.</p> - -<p>Sharp to time the military car came tearing along -from Limerick. Just when they turned a corner -and drove almost into the barracks we opened fire. -Like a shot every man jumped from the car and -took cover to reply to our men.</p> - -<p>A fierce encounter followed for half an hour. In -the first minute two of the British dropped their -rifles and rolled over dead, but the others continued -to pour volley after volley in the direction from which -our fire came. But we were in a difficulty. There -were only seven of us there, and we had only ten -rounds of ammunition per man.</p> - -<p>To add to our troubles we suddenly saw another -military car arrive on the scene from the Limerick -direction also. We had not calculated on that. -These reinforcements must have arrived by accident, -but with our limited supplies we could not continue -to engage the whole party. We decided to retire. -As we were retiring, still checking the enemy with -an odd volley from the fields we saw a half a dozen -R.I.C. men with rifles coming up from the village -to give further help to the military. If we had had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span> -enough men or enough ammunition in the first -instance we could, of course, have detailed a few -men to feign an attack on the barracks so as to -keep these fellows indoors; but we could not afford -that, and so our plans miscarried.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus10" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/illus10.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">THE FLYING COLUMN IN TIPPERARY.</p> -</div> - -<p>We retired without losing a man or receiving a -wound. The enemy had three dead and three -wounded.</p> - -<p>Next morning we learned more than we knew -while engaged in the attack. Brigadier-General -Lucas was actually with the enemy forces. He had, -as I said, escaped the previous night. He wandered -all through the night through the fields not knowing -exactly where he was and endeavouring in the first -place to avoid any of our men who might have been -sent in pursuit of him, and in the second place trying -to get in touch with some of his own forces, police -or military. On the morning of the ambush he -arrived at the village of Pallas, three miles on the -Limerick side of Oola, and evidently was picked up -by the passing car.</p> - -<p>We, of course, did not recognise him. As a -matter of fact we were not even aware of his escape. -The whole thing was a mere coincidence, though the -English newspapers next day splashed the story as -an “attempt to recapture the General.” Perhaps -it is as well we did not recognise him. Anyhow, we -wish him luck, now that all is past.</p> - -<p>A few days after this engagement at Oola I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span> -returned to Dublin. For some time I was kept busy -with minor activities. It was only then, too, that -I found an opportunity of having removed from my -body some of the bits of hand grenades with which -I had been wounded at the attack on Rear Cross -police barracks.</p> - -<p>This was in the autumn of 1920. We had now -been a year and a half on the run with a price on -our heads. But I was becoming more reckless. -The war was going on with greater intensity every -day. I saw that the struggle of the Irish people was -taking the shape I had always hoped. The British -soldiers and police, particularly the Black and Tans -and the Auxiliaries—the latter were all ex-officers -of the British Army, and were the garrison’s -gentlemen murderers—were day and night looting -shops, burning private houses, and murdering -prisoners and torturing youths. But the more -savage became their methods of repression the more -determined the Irish people became to fight to the -bitter end. Practically the whole country was now -on our side, helping us with food and information -when they could not give us more active assistance. -Men who had not the same views as we had on -active warfare were being driven into our ranks -because if they stayed at home in their beds they -would be murdered by the British in the dead of -night. In fact, their only hope of safety was to -get “on the run.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span></p> - -<p>If anybody not intimately acquainted with the -events of that period thinks I am accusing the -British too much I can only refer him to the Irish -newspapers of the time. These newspapers were -bitterly opposed to our policy and our methods, so -they were not likely to exaggerate on our behalf. -Moreover if they dared to suggest any charge that -could not be sustained against the British they knew -they would be at once suppressed. Yet, day after -day for a year and a half these papers reported the -murder of scores of prisoners, the shooting of men -in their beds, the looting of towns and the burning -of whole streets.</p> - -<p>The historian will yet calculate the millions of -pounds worth of damage they committed and the -hundreds of murders they perpetrated. It is a -well-known fact that dozens of these Black and -Tans have since committed suicide or gone mad -because of the horrors for which they were responsible.</p> - -<p>And all this time the I.R.A. was every day -becoming a vaster and more perfect military -machine. My prophecy to Sean Treacy of 1918 -was being fulfilled. Once the fight for freedom -started in earnest, as I had said, it was being kept -up with renewed vigour.</p> - -<p>During this visit to Dublin I put a novel proposal -before Headquarters, the adoption of which changed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> -the whole nature of the struggle. I shall outline my -proposal in the next chapter.</p> - -<p>Meantime I must here refer to my ever trusty -friends, at whose houses my companions and I were -ever welcome while in Dublin, even though torture -and imprisonment would have been the fate of any -under whose roof we might be known to shelter. I -cannot recall them all now, but some I can never forget—Seumas -Ryan, of The Monument Creamery; -the Bolands, of Clontarf (Harry’s people); Seumas -Kirwan, of Parnell Street (a Tipperary man); the -Delaneys, of Heytesbury Street (now Seumas -Robinson’s people-in-law); the Flemings, of Drumcondra; -Mr. and Mrs. Duncan, of Irishtown; -Seumas and Mrs. O’Doherty, of Connaught Street, -(later my good friends in America); Martin Conlon -and, of course, Phil Shanahan.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.<br> -<span class="smaller">ADVENTURES WITH THE MURDER GANG.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>The plan I put before Headquarters was the establishment -of Flying Columns in every county, starting -of course with Tipperary. My experience of -ambushes and barrack attacks had convinced me -that such a scheme would prove an immense -success.</p> - -<p>Hitherto we had been relying very much on help -from men who would take part in a barrack attack -at night and be at their work in the shops next -morning. That was awkward for many reasons. It -meant first of all, that they could only help at night. -Secondly it often meant that business might often -prevent them from coming and so we could not rely -upon them very much. The disappointment we -suffered from the Tipperary town men at Knocklong -showed what serious risks there were in counting on -men you had not actually at hand. Besides, these -part-time volunteers could not possibly have the -training that was wanted; they could not go far -from home and they lived in an atmosphere of peace -rather than of war.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span></p> - -<p>We wanted full-time soldiers, to fight night or -day, to be always at hand ready for any adventure -and to devote proper time to training. They would -be a mobile force striking at the enemy to-day in -one district and next morning surprising him twenty -or thirty miles away. Could we get this? We could. -In addition to those few men who were permanently -on the run—and that number was growing every day—there -were scores ready to volunteer for whole-time -active service in every county. Further, the -tactics of the British in murdering men whom they -suspected of being volunteers was making it -impossible for any I.R.A. men to remain at home -or at their ordinary work. We were being encumbered -with hundreds of fellows who would only be -in the way unless organised in proper military units -acting under officers with discipline and daring.</p> - -<p>By such arguments we convinced the Headquarters -Staff. The Flying Columns were organised -and on them fell the brunt of the war for the -remaining twelve months. Perhaps the most -successful aspect of this system was that it enabled -active counties like Tipperary and Cork to send -columns from time to time into places like Kilkenny -and Waterford, where, owing to the apathy of the -locals, the British were having too quiet a time.</p> - -<p>During these autumn days of 1920 poor Dinny -Lacy was constantly with me in Dublin, and many -an exciting adventure we had together, dodging<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span> -or defying “G” men, or spies who got on our -trail.</p> - -<p>Dinny, whose name figured prominently in the -events of 1920 to 1922, was born in Goldengarden, -in the heart of Tipperary. He was educated in -Donaskeigh School in the parish of the patriotic -Father Matt Ryan, the “General of the Land -War.” Dinny was a great sprinter and footballer; -in fact he was an all-round man. His home was -only about a mile from mine, and we knew each -other from boyhood. He went to Tipperary town -as a boy, and soon became his employer’s most -trusted man as manager of a big coal and provision -premises. He never smoked or drank and he was -always extremely religious, and could be seen at -Mass every morning in Tipperary. He was always -a keen student of the Irish language and he became -an enthusiastic Volunteer from the very start of that -force. In Easter Week of 1916 he was one of the -small band who answered the call to mobilise for -action at Galbally, six miles from Tipperary, but -the countermand sent him home, and like the rest -of the men of Tipperary, he was given no chance -of striking a blow that week.</p> - -<p>In the summer of 1916 he was one of the most -enthusiastic in favouring the reorganisation of the -Irish Volunteers as a fighting force. Modest and -unassuming he was always on the look-out for a -rifle or a revolver, and he spent all his own money<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span> -in making such purchases. He gave everything, -even his life, in the cause of freedom.</p> - -<p>During 1917 and 1918 I came into frequent contact -with him again. He took part in the big fight at -Kilmallock in May, 1920, and shortly afterwards -he had to go on the run. Henceforth he became one -of the most daring and successful fighters against -the British. So much was he hated by the Black -and Tans that they actually burned down the house -in which he had lodged in Tipperary. Poor Dinny! -He escaped the bullets of the English only to be -killed by the Free Staters in an encounter in the -Glen of Aherlow early in 1923.</p> - -<p>However, I must resume my story. I knew my -days were numbered if I remained in Dublin. The -British had spies and “touts” and “spotters” -everywhere. They had promised liberal rewards -for information, and were at this time making -desperate efforts to restore their Secret Service and -to match it against ours. Everywhere one saw the -khaki and the guns and the lorries. It was quite a -common thing for an ordinary pedestrian to be held -up and searched by troops on the streets six or seven -times in the one day. They jumped off lorries and -searched and questioned passers-by. They boarded -tramcars and searched every passenger. They -surrounded whole blocks of buildings and remained -for days with a cordon drawn around while every<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span> -house was being searched from cellar to attic. All -these things were not rare, but daily occurrences.</p> - -<p>At the same time people were brought to the -Castle and tortured for information. Letters were -opened in the post; hotel servants were bribed, and -an elaborate and speedy system of telephonic code -was arranged for the touts and spotters. Is it -surprising that in such circumstances I was often -hard-pressed to escape? I was being shadowed at -every step and I knew it, but I always carried my -gun strapped to my wrist, and concealed by the -sleeve of my coat, ready to meet whoever challenged -me.</p> - -<p>At last came an adventure which I thought would -prove my last. I was standing one Friday night -alone at the Henry Street corner of Nelson’s Pillar. -I had arranged to spend the night at Carolan’s, -between Drumcondra and Whitehall. The Whitehall -car came along and I jumped on board, going -on top. At once five men sprang on to the same -car and came up the stairs at my heels. Two of -them I immediately recognised as members of the -Castle murder gang which had recently been -organised by General Tudor, Commander of the -notorious Auxiliaries. This murder gang consisted -of a number of Irishmen and Englishmen who were -instructed to shoot any prominent I.R.A. officer -whenever they got the chance, whether he was a -prisoner in their hands or in whatever way they got<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span> -the chance. This, of course, was known to Sir -Hamar Greenwood and had his approval, the members -of the gang being not only specially paid, but -assured that no matter what evidence was brought -against them they would never even be tried. They -did, as a matter of fact, succeed in murdering a -good number of our men here and there through the -country. One of the leaders of the gang was a -Head Constable, who had served as an ordinary -constable a few years previously in my own part -of the country round Tipperary.</p> - -<p>The organisation of this murder gang was kept -a close secret, even from military and police -officials. We, of course, knew all about it from our -own Secret Service. We knew most of the -members’ names and the murders in which they -had taken part. In addition, Headquarters had -supplied photographs of some of them to our -Brigades.</p> - -<p>So when I recognised two of the gang on the -tramcar that night I did not need to be a Sherlock -Holmes to make up my mind that their three companions -were also of the same ilk. But it was not -the history of the murder gang I was recounting -when I realised my predicament. I was in a tight -corner. To attempt to retreat from the car would -be a plain invitation to them to open fire. Besides -there was the bare possibility that their presence on -the car was a mere coincidence. Perhaps they did<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span> -not recognise me at all. Perhaps they were really -on some other job.</p> - -<p>All these thoughts flashed through my mind in -a mere fraction of the time they take to relate. I -had to keep cool, to avoid betraying by the slightest -sign that I was excited or panicky. There was -nothing for it but the old game of coolness and -bluff that had served me so well on the road to -Foynes and at Whitehall a few months before.</p> - -<p>I sat down on the three-seater bench at the rear -of the car, just at the top of the steps. Then I -pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. -Immediately two of the gang sat on the same bench, -one on each side of me. A third remained standing -right opposite me gripping the railings. The other -two went along the centre passage right to the front -of the car. I never felt less comfortable in my life. -I realised my danger, but saw no way out of it.</p> - -<p>Neither they nor I made any move. The car -started on its journey, crowded with passengers who -little realised the drama that was being played -beside them. It was after 11 o’clock and everybody -was hurrying home, for curfew was at 12, and no -one dared to be out after that hour to become a -target for a dozen bullets.</p> - -<p>As the car passed up Parnell Square I began to -feel a little reassured. Often before I had had a -pleasant journey with detectives and policemen who<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span> -never recognised me. Perhaps my luck was not out -yet.</p> - -<p>Suddenly both the man on my right and his -companion on my left made a simultaneous move. -Their right hands went back to their hip-pockets. -They were pulling something out.</p> - -<p>Another second and I had pulled my gun. I had -drawn first. They realised my purpose. In another -second my three would-be murderers were rushing -headlong down the stairs. I was at their heels with -my revolver levelled. They sprang from the car on -to the street and I jumped at their heels. Now -came another moment of hesitation. Would they -open fire?</p> - -<p>It was not a favourable spot to select for a duel. -The streets were crowded with hurrying pedestrians. -Soldiers or Auxiliaries might appear at any -moment. If the three murder-men fired I had no -alternative but to return. If they didn’t, I would -not fire. But I could not afford to lose much time. -There was only one more tram to pass to Whitehall -and I had to get that or run the risk of being picked -up by a curfew patrol.</p> - -<p>We were in the middle of Dorset Street, almost -facing Gardiner Street Church. I tried a little ruse. -I stepped on to the footpath and suddenly ran -towards St. Joseph’s Terrace. But I ran only three -or four paces. Then I stamped my feet on the -pavement, making a noise as if I was on the double<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span> -At my first move the three men who were a few -yards ahead of me ran too. They turned quickly -into the little avenue which runs parallel to St. -Joseph’s Terrace. They had been deceived by my -ruse and evidently ran to intercept me at the other -end.</p> - -<p>While their running footsteps were still resounding -on the pavement the last tram from the city -appeared. I jumped on the platform as it passed, -and left the murder gang behind, probably -searching the side streets for me. What I can never -understand is why their two companions who had -come on the tram with them did not come in pursuit -of me when I chased the other three from the car. -Possibly loyalty to comrades was not part of their -creed, if it involved danger.</p> - -<p>It was one of these five men, I found out, who -later tracked us to “Fernside,” the night of the -terrible fight there. I slept that night at Fleming’s, -of Drumcondra. Next morning I told Sean Treacy -of my adventure and he laughed heartily, consoling -me with the remark that I could hardly escape much -longer. However he regarded the incident in a -more serious light later on when we discussed it. -Finally we made up our minds that never again -would either of us go out alone; that we would both -go out together or both remain indoors. It seemed -the natural compact to make now that the trail was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span> -getting hot, and since we had passed through so -many dangers together.</p> - -<p>That Saturday morning we went out to Mrs. -Fitzgerald’s in Hollybank Road, almost beside -Fleming’s. Mrs. Fitzgerald was herself a Tipperary -woman, and we had often before enjoyed the hospitality -of her home. We were tired and sleepy that -day so we spent most of the time in bed.</p> - -<p>The following day we went to Croke Park, the -headquarters of the Gaelic Athletic Association, -and only seven minutes’ walk from Hollybank -Road. It had been our custom for many Sundays -before that to visit Croke Park when we had nothing -else to do. We generally had a game of cards—our -favourite was “Forty-five”—with officials of the -G.A.A. who might happen to be present, particularly -Luke O’Toole (the Secretary of the -Association), Andy Harty, and D. P. Walsh (both -countymen of our own) and Alderman Nowlan, -the President. They were all good friends of ours, -and gave us many pleasant evenings in Luke’s -house when the matches of the day had finished.</p> - -<p>I remember this Sunday well, because it indirectly -led up to the fight at Drumcondra, strange though -that may seem.</p> - -<p>The stakes were never high, but to men in the -position of Sean and myself at the time a few -shillings seemed like riches. The evening I speak -of the game proved unusually exciting; the “kitty”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span> -or pool gradually grew to a nice sum, and I don’t -mind admitting that I eyed it jealously as it grew. -Luck favoured me—even in gambling! I won the -pool, and seldom was money more welcome to my -pocket.</p> - -<p>Now at this time our plans were not very definite. -They were not altogether in our own making. -Dinny Lacey had returned to Tipperary about a -fortnight before, and we had promised to join him -within a week. Contrary to our usual habit we had -failed to keep our appointment, but the fault was -not ours. It was due to the action of Headquarters.</p> - -<p>I have already referred plainly to the attitude -Headquarters had adopted towards us and our -campaign from the beginning, but at this time—the -early Autumn of 1920—a change was noticeable. -The war was going on even better than we -expected. Our men were meeting and beating the -British all through the south. The world was looking -on in admiration at our struggle, and in spite of -torture, burnings and lootings the people were -standing by us. It was death for the man who dared -to “harbour a rebel,” but hundreds of men and -women were every night sheltering our Flying -Columns. In spite of an Anglicised Press the people -had realised that we were right, that their cause -was ours, that Ireland could never have peace or -prosperity until we had driven the British out of -Ireland. In our delight at the change, Sean and I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span> -were becoming almost reckless. The hotter the -fighting the better and more perfect the I.R.A. -became as an organisation. Headquarters apparently -realised that the rank and file were getting -too far ahead of them, and they gradually began -to take a kind of semi-official responsibility for our -actions.</p> - -<p>In pursuance of this new policy, Headquarters -had now actually planned a certain operation for us -in Dublin, and it was for that reason we were unable -to return to Tipperary as soon as we had arranged.</p> - -<p>But the plans never matured and we were still -kept dallying round Dublin. Still we had something -to cheer us up. I got a tip for a race—a “dead -cert” that was to come off at a meeting in the -Phoenix Park. Luckier still, I had now got the -money I won at Croke Park, to make use of the -information.</p> - -<p>All our worldly wealth went on the horse. And -he won!</p> - -<p>Now for a little of the pleasures of lite that we -could still enjoy. The money we now had, meant -wealth to us. Of course I did not regard it as my -personal property—it belonged to our little -“Soviet.” Whatever we had we shared, and never -were there more real communists than we. Before -we could return to Tipperary we had now to spend -this money. Any day might be our last in this world. -A couple of bullets might make us depart at any<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span> -moment without having made our wills, and the -thought that annoyed us was the possibility that our -few pounds might provide the Black and Tans with -the wherewithal to drink our health when we were -dead.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="illus11" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/illus11.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">DINNY LACEY.</p> -</div> - -<p>But we knew we had to be careful and more -cautious than usual. The net was drawing round -us. An incident that occurred at this time on the -night of the 10th October, 1920, shows the dangers -which surrounded us. Sean Treacy and I had -decided to stay that night at the house of Seumas -Kirwan, 49 Parnell Street. We had often stayed -there before and had held several meetings there. -Seumas was a Tipperary man himself and gave us -the full run of his house. All his assistants and -employees were I.R.A. men, and whenever we -stayed there for the night they were fully armed.</p> - -<p>On this particular night we had just entered when -a man rushed in at our heels and told Seumas that -“the two men who had just come into the shop -were shadowed by a spy.”</p> - -<p>Sean and I at once rushed into the street and the -tout, who was standing near the door, ran for his -life when he saw us. He was a good judge.</p> - -<p>We changed our plans and went elsewhere that -night. Henceforth we knew that Kirwan’s would -be a marked house, and I never stayed there again -until the Truce period.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span></p> - -<p>The manner in which we were warned that night -illustrates how loyal the people were to us. It was -quite common to get friendly warnings from newsboys -and orange-sellers who saw touts hanging -about.</p> - -<p>Only a few days previously I had met a group -of the Dublin Castle murder gang face to face in -Talbot Street. We recognised each other simultaneously -and drew our guns. They did not fire. -I don’t know why. As I had no desire to engage a -whole group unless forced into it I didn’t fire, but -walked quietly away unmolested.</p> - -<p>But to return to the spending of our winnings on -the horse. Our first little dissipation was to go to -the pictures at La Scala Theatre, which had just -been opened in O’Connell Street. That was on the -afternoon of the 11th October, 1920. In the theatre -we met the two Misses Fleming, of Drumcondra, -with them was Mrs. O’Brien, wife of Eamon -O’Brien, of Galbally, one of the men who had taken -part in the rescue at Knocklong with us, and who -was now in America. Mrs. O’Brien was not only -delighted but astonished to meet us. I suppose it -was somewhat of a surprise to her to meet in a -picture house two men whom all the troops and -police in Ireland had instructions to shoot at sight. -We had grown used to taking these risks now, even -though it was quite probable that not one in that -audience that evening would get home without being<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span> -held up and searched at the door, or in the street -or in the tram.</p> - -<p>We left the theatre together. Just as we stepped -into the street the first man I saw was one of the -murder gang who had boarded the tram with me -only a few nights before. I could make no mistake -about him, for he was one of the two who sat on -either side of me on the tram. I saw him first. -Standing on the path and scrutinising the picture-goers -as they emerged he was evidently pretending -to be looking for a friend, but I guessed he was -looking for me. It is quite possible, though I do -not think it probable, that either he or some tout -had seen Sean and myself.</p> - -<p>For a moment I felt tempted to draw my gun -and shoot him on the spot. But I was between two -of the girls and I did not want to alarm them. -Besides if he had a confederate about, the return of -fire might place the girls in danger. The five of -us were facing for the Nelson Pillar to get a tram -to Fleming’s house in Drumcondra, and as the -Pillar is less than a hundred yards from the theatre -I felt it safe enough to walk on. I said nothing to -the others, nor did I look a second time at the -Castle man. I knew he must have seen me, too, -and I felt pretty certain that he was following us -up in the crowd.</p> - -<p>Just as we approached the tram I stepped back -to let the others get a few yards in advance of me.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span> -As I did so Kitty Fleming whispered, “there is a -friend following.” Evidently she had seen him too. -The girls were well trained to use their eyes in those -days.</p> - -<p>Sean and the three girls stepped into the tram. I -was at their heels. As I mounted the footboard I -wheeled round sharply and faced my enemy. He -read the message in my eye. Had he attempted to -board the tram I would have riddled him on the -spot. But he was quick to see my move, and he -quietly slunk back from the tram and lost himself in -the crowd as our car started for Drumcondra.</p> - -<p>At Fleming’s we discussed the incident over a -cup of coffee. At times I was half sorry I had -allowed him to escape with his life. Had I known -as much when I stood on the footboard as I do -now the Crown Forces would be one man the less -that evening; for, as the sequel will show, that -man or one of his touts must have boarded the -next tram to Drumcondra, and got on our trail -again that night.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.<br> -<span class="smaller">THE DRUMCONDRA FIGHT.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>That night we left Fleming’s about 11 o’clock. -In case we had been seen entering and were still -being shadowed we left by the back. It was a bright -moonlight night. From the back of the house we -got out to Botanic Avenue. There Sean and I -debated for a few minutes whether we should go -round to our friend Mrs. Fitzgerald, in Hollybank -Road, or go on to Professor Carolan’s, and we -turned to the right and came up to the bridge over -the Tolka. Curfew was at 12 o’clock, and the -streets were already deserted. As we stood for a -moment on the bridge to look round and listen we -heard the rumbling in the distance of military lorries -preparing to go on curfew patrol.</p> - -<p>From the bridge to Carolan’s is about seven -minutes’ walk. It is the main road to Belfast, and -a well-to-do residential quarter. On the left is the -great Training College for National Teachers, and -on the right, some distance back from the road, is -another well-known institution—All Hallows Ecclesiastical -College.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span></p> - -<p>We had a latchkey of Professor Carolan’s house, -“Fernside.” It was one of the many latchkeys -we had at the time, all given us by friends to whose -houses we were welcome whenever we might wish -to call at any hour.</p> - -<p>I had already stayed a few nights at “Fernside,” -having been introduced to the family by Peter -Fleming. I well remember how heartily I was -received on that first occasion by the family, and -how thoughtfully Mr. Carolan himself showed me -over the whole house, and especially the back -garden. He pointed out a low wall to me as the -best means of escape in case of a raid. “I don’t -expect you’ll need it,” he said, “but it is no harm -to know your way about.” He was a kindly, -lovable man whose clear earnest eyes would inspire -one with confidence.</p> - -<p>The house is one of a type common enough in -middle-class suburban districts in Dublin. It is a -two-storeyed brick building of eight or nine apartments. -There is a small plot in front facing the -road, and on the left, as one enters, is a tradesman’s -side door, leading to the back. Over this door it -would be easily possible for an active man to climb -into the yard.</p> - -<p>At the back there is a long garden, separated -from the adjoining garden by a wall about seven -feet high. Close up to the house, and almost under -the window was a conservatory.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span></p> - -<p>Every time that we had availed ourselves of Mr. -Carolan’s hospitality we had reached the house -before 11 o’clock at night. On this occasion we did -not arrive until about 11.30 p.m., and as there was -no light to be seen we concluded the family had -retired, and we let ourselves in as noiselessly as -possible, making our way to the bedroom which -had been reserved for us on the second floor at the -back, overlooking the conservatory. It is certain, -of course, that no member of the family was aware -of our presence in the house that night.</p> - -<p>We went to bed almost at once, both of us sleeping -together. Still we did not feel very sleepy and -for a while we chatted about our plans for the future -and our return to Tipperary. Then our conversation -lagged. My mind became possessed of a strange -presentiment. Perhaps it was the after-effects of -my few recent adventures with the murder gang. -I tried to sleep, but for once sleep would not come. -Sean, too, was still awake, though not inclined to -talk.</p> - -<p>I felt half inclined to tell him of the queer feeling -that had come over me, but he was himself the -first to speak:</p> - -<p>“Dan,” he said, “do you find any queer feeling -coming over you? I can’t sleep. Can you?”</p> - -<p>He had, in fact, put the very questions I was -trying to frame. I told him so and we both laughed.</p> - -<p>“We may have a raid to-night, Sean,” I said,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span> -half joking. “I wonder is there any danger we were -shadowed to-night coming here? If we were surrounded -in this place we’d have a very poor chance -of escaping.”</p> - -<p>Sean did not reply for a minute. “Somehow I -wouldn’t mind if we were killed now, Dan,” he said. -“The war is going to go on whatever happens, -and if we’re killed I hope we will die together.”</p> - -<p>Another moment’s silence and we both dozed -off.</p> - -<p>Suddenly we sat up in the bed. Outside in the -street was the heavy tramp of marching men. -Voices were whispering in the back. Through our -window came the flare of a dazzling searchlight. -It was about 1 a.m. We had been over an hour in -the house.</p> - -<p>There was a crash of glass in the front. A door -opened. From the stairs came the sound of rushing -footsteps.</p> - -<p>We sprang out of bed together. Simultaneously -our hands gripped our revolvers. I took a gun in -each hand. A hand was groping on our door outside. -I never spoke. Sean pressed my arm and -whispered “Goodbye, Dan, we’ll meet above.”</p> - -<p>Crack! crack! Two bullets came whizzing -through the door. Crack! crack! My German -Mauser pistol was replying.</p> - -<p>There was no light save the flash of the shots.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span> -Outside on the landing an English voice was -shouting, “Where is Ryan? Where is Ryan?”</p> - -<p>Bullets were now flying on all sides, our door -was partly open. I blazed away on to the landing. -Blood was flowing freely from my right thumb where -a flying bullet struck me, but I felt no pain. Outside -I heard a thud as if a man had fallen on the carpet. -Suddenly I realised that Sean’s gun had missed -fire. With my Mauser still raking the landing and -the stairs I shouted to Sean to get back to the -window. He stepped back, just as another bullet -from outside buried itself in the wardrobe. The -firing from the stairs had momentarily ceased. -There was a hurried rush of retreating footsteps -down towards the hall. In the back I could hear -rifle shots ringing out.</p> - -<p>I dashed out of the room on to the landing and -saw half a dozen soldiers making another attempt -to come up the stairs, their electric torches making -me an almost certain target for their bullets. Into -that khaki group my pistol poured bullet after -bullet. I knew now that the house was surrounded -and that there was little hope of escape for me. -But the rage of battle had taken possession of me. -I was going to be killed; but I would sell my life -dearly.</p> - -<p>As I blazed into the soldiers there was a hurried -rush for safety. They had now evacuated the top -landing and I was pursuing them down the stairs.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span> -When I got to the first floor they had all disappeared—some -had taken shelter in the rooms -underneath, others had retreated headlong into the -street. There was no other target for my bullets, -but now and again I heard the sharp report of a -rifle from the back, mingled with occasional groans -and cries.</p> - -<p>I rushed back to my room. At the door I tripped -over two dead officers and a wounded Tommy. I -had to pull each of them out of the way before I -could close my door. I don’t know how I had missed -tripping over them when I had first rushed out of -the room. In the heat of the battle one does not -see everything.</p> - -<p>Once back in my room I banged the door and -turned the lock. I knew I had not a moment to -spare; for with the hundreds of troops they had -apparently brought on the raid they were bound to -make another attack. I sprang to the window. A -searchlight played for a moment on the back of -the house and a shower of bullets came whizzing -through the glass. A few of them struck me, but -a couple of wounds more or less did not matter very -much, for I had already been hit more than once in -the exchange.</p> - -<p>The lower half of the window was already open. -Sean had got out that way. I stepped on to the -window-sill, and dropped into the roof of the conservatory. -In the clear moonlight I could discern<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span> -countless steel helmets all round the house. The -Tommies were blazing at me. Before I could drop -from the conservatory I saw I would have to get -away through them.</p> - -<p>With the revolver which I held in my left hand -I smashed a hole in the roof of the conservatory. -Then I gripped a beam and swung down, my -German pistol still seeking a mark on the enemy. -Right well did it accomplish its task, for within a -minute there was not a soldier to be seen—they had -disappeared.</p> - -<p>I was still dangling from the roof of the glass-house. -When I had silenced the enemy I swung -back on the roof and then jumped to the ground.</p> - -<p>I looked around for my comrade. There was -no sign of him. I called out his name, but got no -reply. I lay flat on the ground to avoid offering a -target to any venturesome Tommy who might put -his head over the garden wall. I continued to call -out for Sean.</p> - -<p>“Sean! Sean! Where are you?” But there -was no reply. I thought he might have been struck -getting through the window and might have been -lying wounded in the conservatory. Now I began -to fear he had fallen into their hands. Then I -consoled myself with the thought that after all he -had got away, though the chance was a poor one. -I knew I had been fighting on the landing and stairs -for nearly half an hour, and when I did not return<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span> -to the room Sean may have concluded I was killed -while he was trying to settle his revolver.</p> - -<p>As I lay on the ground I realised I was getting -weak. I had neither hat, boots nor overcoat. I -had only barely time to slip on trousers and coat. -I saw that I was wounded in five or six places and -was bleeding from head to foot, but I had to move -quickly. Strangely enough, I was beginning to feel -that I would escape after all.</p> - -<p>While I was still rapidly thinking what course to -take the enemy returned to the attack. Several -grenades burst around me near the conservatory. -I made another effort and rose to move. A short -distance from me I saw that low dividing wall that -my host had been so careful to point out on my -first visit. Now I appreciated his foresight as I -made for the wall. A little distance beyond the -conservatory in the garden I found the dead bodies -of two soldiers. Then I knew Sean had passed -that way.</p> - -<p>He might have escaped, I thought; but there -was still the danger that he had been shot further -down the garden.</p> - -<p>Just as I reached the wall a soldier’s head -appeared outside. He saw me and levelled his rifle, -at the same time shouting “Halt! halt!” He -fired and missed me. I fired too. When I dropped -over the wall, clear of Carolan’s garden, I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span> -stumbled over his body. I don’t know whether he -was dead or wounded.</p> - -<p>Another group of soldiers close at hand opened -fire on me, and I blazed at them in return as I rushed -for the nearest wall. I got over but did not recognise -my surroundings. All I knew was that I was -on the road. Suddenly I ran right into an armoured -car. There was nothing for it but to get in the -first shot. I hit one of their men before the -occupants of the car had time to take aim, and I -rushed by as their bullets knocked splinters out of -the roadway and the walls around me, but never -once struck me. By this time I had recognised my -surroundings. I was out on the main road between -Carolan’s house and Drumcondra Bridge. It would -be madness to keep on along the road, for if the -armoured car did not pursue me I was almost certain -to run into some of their outposts near the bridge.</p> - -<p>On my right as I ran towards the city was the -limestone wall surrounding St. Patrick’s Training -College. Could I once scale that and get into the -college grounds my chances of escape were good. -But it was about 18 feet high. I had neither boots -nor socks; one toe on my right foot was broken and -giving me terrible pain; I had at least five bullet -holes in my side, from my hip to my foot, besides -several less serious wounds. But when a man is -fighting for his life he gets strength that he has not -at ordinary times. I scrambled to the top of that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span> -wall. How I did it I often wondered afterwards as -I passed it by. When I got to the top I felt almost -happy. My hopes grew stronger, though my body -grew weaker from the terrible excitement and the -loss of blood. I slid down carefully on the inside and -faced for the west, leading towards Glasnevin or -Finglas direction. But I was still within a few -hundred yards of “Fernside,” and at any moment -I might again run into a group of soldiers. I crawled -along as noiselessly as I could. At this stage I -think it was instinct that was guiding me. I was -dazed and as near to unconsciousness as a man can -be while he still has the power to walk. I lost all -sense of time and distance.</p> - -<p>At last I found myself on the banks of a river. -I knew it must be the Tolka. I had no place to seek -shelter. My one aim was to put some distance -between me and my pursuers. I could not go out -on the road to seek a bridge. I had to cross the -river, and there was only one way of doing it. -Fortunately it was not deep and as I waded through -the cold piercing water I could feel it trickling -through my leg where some of the bullets had made -a clear passage through my flesh. I cannot say -that I felt the cold too keenly. I suppose there are -times when nature is dead to minor feelings.</p> - -<p>When I got to the other side of the river I saw -that I was close to some houses. I knew they must -be the houses in Botanic Avenue and that I was at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span> -the back. I could struggle no further. Blood was -pouring from me all the time. My only hope, if I -was not to drop down and die of exhaustion and -exposure, was to seek the shelter of some one of -these roofs.</p> - -<p>I do not know what instinct impelled me, but I -selected one particular back door. It was as if an -angel whispered that that door and that only held -out hope to me.</p> - -<p>I knocked. I realised well enough what a -spectacle I must present now, at 3 or 4 o’clock in -the morning, half-clad, dishevelled and covered -with blood.</p> - -<p>A second time I knocked. A man opened the -door. My appearance was sufficient explanation, -but I mumbled a few words to say that I needed -shelter.</p> - -<p>He did not ask me who I was, or how I had -received my wounds. He simply said, “Come in. -Whatever we can do for you we’ll do it.”</p> - -<p>He and his wife took me in. The latter quickly -summoned Nurse Long, who lived nearby. They -dressed my wounds and gave me some stimulant, -which the nurse procured from my friends, the -Flemings, at imminent danger to her own life, -having to pass twice through the excited cordon of -soldiers in the small hours of that morning.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span></p> - -<p>Then I learned who my good Samaritan was. -He was Mr. Fred Holmes, whose sympathies, I -believe, were on the other side.</p> - -<p>But he and his wife tended me that morning with -care and attention that they might have bestowed -upon a son or brother. There was no need to tell -them how I had come to be in that plight. Yet -they took me in and saved my life.</p> - -<p>Gratitude is but a poor word to express my -feelings towards that family. In the morning I told -them who I was. They assured me that everything -in their power would be done to enable me to -recover and to get to a place of safety, for I knew -I could not stay long in a house which was not half -a mile from the scene of the battle.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.<br> -<span class="smaller">MISSED BY INCHES.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Early in the morning—still October 12th, 1920—Mrs. -Holmes at my request took a note to Phil -Shanahan’s, with a message for Dick McKee. I -wanted to be removed as soon as possible. I also -wanted to report to Headquarters that Sean Treacy -had been killed in the same engagement.</p> - -<p>While I was waiting the reply I learned from the -people of the house that in each of the houses on -either side a Black and Tan was lodging, both -houses being the property of members of the Dublin -Police. You can imagine how lucky I was to select -the particular back gate I did.</p> - -<p>In a short time a motor car arrived at the door. -In it were Joe Lawless, Maurice Brennan and Tom -Kelly. They had been sent by Dick McKee to take -me away to the Mater Hospital where he had -already made arrangements that I was to be received -and treated.</p> - -<p>I was provided with an outfit and placed in the -car. My keenest regret was not the suit I had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> -been compelled to leave behind in Carolan’s, but -the six pound notes and the watch that were in the -pockets. Probably some enterprising officer had a -good night out of the discovery, for I need hardly -say that my losses did not form the subject of -compensation awards when the Truce came.</p> - -<p>I was driven up Botanic Road on through -Phibsboro’ towards the Mater Hospital. At -Phibsboro’ corner a D.M.P. man motioned us to -stop as we approached. For a moment we feared -there was something wrong. But relief came in a -few moments. We were simply being asked to -slow down while a convoy of Auxiliaries passed, -probably to raid some houses in the locality for me.</p> - -<p>We continued our journey, and as we approached -the entrance to the hospital in Eccles Street I saw -Dick McKee—himself a very much wanted man at -the time, walking slowly along the path. With -a slight wave of his hand he motioned to us to pass -the hospital. A little further down he crossed to us -to tell us we could not go into the hospital for some -time as there were two D.M.P. Inspectors, with -some military and police actually raiding the -hospital at that moment searching for wounded -men.</p> - -<p>“Dan,” he said, as he gripped my hand for a -moment, “ye got the very men we would have had -to give the next two years looking for.”</p> - -<p>Our car crossed Dorset Street into Mountjoy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span> -Square, and finally drove into an old stable in Great -Charles Street. It was one of the best known -dumping grounds used for concealing the arms of -the Dublin Brigade, though it was shortly afterwards -discovered by the enemy.</p> - -<p>It is easy to imagine how sick and tired of life I -was as I drove into this old stable, but picture my -delight at seeing Sean Treacy waiting to welcome -me.</p> - -<p>He had escaped without as much as a scratch. -Briefly—for he had not long to spare—he told me -of his adventures. He got safely away through the -back, convinced that I was killed. For hours he -had wandered almost naked through the country, -scarcely knowing where he was until as dawn broke -he knocked at a door in a last effort to gain shelter. -He did not even know in what district he was until -the door was opened by his own cousin Phil Ryan, -of Finglas! Truly, the fates were on our side that -morning.</p> - -<p>In our joy at meeting once more we almost forgot -our perils; for the streets of Dublin were being -searched that day by hundreds of troops as never -before. But our scouts reported that the way to -the Mater was now clear as the enemy had left -the hospital. The boys were anxious that no time -should be lost until I was in skilled hands, and we -moved on at once towards the Mater. They took -me on a stretcher into the hospital, and as I lay<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span> -on that stretcher I shook hands with Sean Treacy—for -the last time.</p> - -<p>Little did I think that evening that never again -on this earth would I lay eyes on my faithful -comrade—one who was dearer to me than a brother. -Had I known then that it was to be our last meeting -in this world I would have little heart to battle with -my wounds. Poor Sean! the comrade of my -adventures, the sharer of my hopes. His face is -always before me, and until my last hour his -memory will make me struggle against blinding -tears.</p> - -<p>When I arrived in the hospital Surgeon Barnaville -took me into his skilled hands, and I believe I -owe my life and my rapid recovery to his unceasing -care and devotion.</p> - -<p>Next day a friend who visited me gave me a full -story of the Drumcondra fight, or at least that -portion of it which I did not know myself. Some -he had learned from the newspapers, more from -our Intelligence Department.</p> - -<p>It seems that in spite of our precautions we were -shadowed to Fleming’s that night, and later to -Carolan’s by the very man we had seen outside the -theatre. Their Secret Service was able to report -that “Breen and ‘Lacey’ had gone to ‘Fernside.’” -I have never since discovered whether Sean Treacy -was actually mistaken for Dinny Lacey, or whether -the similarity of the surnames had confused the spy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span></p> - -<p>At once every “G” man in the Castle was -mobilised for the raid, but they refused point blank -to go on the job. At this display of cowardice and -mutiny the enemy chiefs were incensed; but they -could not afford to betray their weakness by letting -the news leak out that their whole detective force -had refused to go on a raid. So the detectives were -not punished for their indiscipline, and to cover up -the mutiny the “G” men were ordered out the -same morning on a raid on the shop owned by Mr. -J. J. Walsh (now the Free State Postmaster-General).</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the military chiefs had been communicated -with and informed of the position. They -asked “what kind of a job” it would be, and were -told they might expect “plenty of gunplay.”</p> - -<p>The military had the men willing to take the risk. -Foremost amongst those who volunteered for the -raid was Major G. O. S. Smyth, a native of Banbridge, -and formerly a District Inspector in the -R.I.C. This man had been serving in Egypt until -he got word that his brother—also a Major—a -Divisional Commissioner of the R.I.C. had been -shot dead in Cork. This Commissioner was a -notorious official who addressed the police in Kerry, -and told them to shoot any person suspected of -being a Sinn Feiner, adding “the more the -merrier.” This cold-blooded incitement to murder -even ordinary civilians led first to a mutiny of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span> -R.I.C. in Listowel, and secondly to the death of -Smyth himself within a month. He was shot dead -in the County Club, in the heart of Cork city.</p> - -<p>His brother, who had been serving in the British -Army in Egypt, at once volunteered for service in -Ireland, with the avowed intention of avenging his -brother’s death. With him he brought a chosen -band of men inspired with similar motives.</p> - -<p>He was the first to be killed that night. With -him fell another officer, Captain A. D. White. A -corporal was also wounded. These casualties the -British officially admitted, but we knew their losses -were heavier. It was quite usual at that time for -the British to conceal their real casualties.</p> - -<p>But what saddened me most of all was the news -that our faithful friend, Professor Carolan, had been -fatally wounded too. The official report issued at -the time stated that the Professor was shot by the -first bullet that came through our door. This was -the report of a secret military inquiry condemning -the shooting of the officers, for it must be remembered -that long before this the British had forbidden -the holding of coroner’s inquests. Ordinary jurors -were honest men and would insist upon having the -truth, and would thus expose the whole Murder -Campaign of the English.</p> - -<p>Poor Mr. Carolan survived for several weeks. -He was actually in the Mater Hospital at the same -time as myself, though in a different part of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span> -institution. At one time there were high hopes of -his recovery. During that period he made a statement -in the presence of witnesses which will be -found published in the Dublin newspapers of -October 21st and 22nd of 1920. That was the -death-bed statement of an honourable man and a -pious Catholic. If further proof of its accuracy be -needed it is the fact that the newspapers which -published it were not suppressed, as they would -have been within half an hour were the report inaccurate.</p> - -<p>In that statement Mr. Carolan made it quite -clear and emphatic that the time he was shot we -had escaped. We had been a quarter of an -hour out of the house, he declared, before he was -put standing with his face to the wall, and deliberately -shot by a British officer. When he first opened -the door for the raiders they asked him who was -in the house, and the faithful man said he thought -Ryan was the name—giving a name common in -that part of the country from which our accents -would tell we came. That accounted for the shouts -we heard, “Where is Ryan? Where is Ryan?”</p> - -<p>A revolver was kept pressed to the poor man’s -temple all the time, and when the British saw their -leaders killed they murdered him as a reprisal. -Generous, noble and patriotic he dared to shelter -us when few of our pretended friends would have -done so. I shall always think of him and his family’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span> -kindness to us, and regret from the bottom of my -heart that he met such a sad death. May he rest -in peace.</p> - -<p>On the evening of the 13th October, while I was -being taken into the Mater, the village of Finglas, -where Sean had found shelter, and only a mile from -the house where I had been befriended, was invested -by hundreds of British troops in full war kit. -Evidently they had either traced Sean to the -district or had suspected that I got farther than I -actually did.</p> - -<p>Every house in the village and district was -searched, but without avail.</p> - -<p>One other sequel to the Drumcondra fight I -must relate before I proceed with my own story. -Every male member of the Fleming family was -arrested next day. That is the best proof we got -that our footsteps were dogged all that night. -Michael Fleming was sentenced to six months -imprisonment for refusing to give information about -me.</p> - -<p>Thursday, 14th October, 1920, is a date I shall -never forget. That was my third day in the hospital.</p> - -<p>Early in the afternoon one of the Sisters came -running into my room. Before she spoke I could -read that she had serious news. A few hours before -I had heard some firing in the neighbourhood, but -that, I had been told, had been an encounter at -Phibsboro’ corner where an attempt to capture an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span> -armoured car proved unsuccessful—one I.R.A. man -giving his life in the effort. That occurred only three -hundred yards from where I was lying.</p> - -<p>But the Sister had more serious news than that -for me. The hospital was surrounded by troops and -armoured cars, and the hospital was being searched -for me.</p> - -<p>My bed was beside the window. I raised myself -on my elbow and looked out. Below I saw the -burly figures and the Glengarry caps of a dozen -Auxiliaries on guard outside.</p> - -<p>“It is all up this time, Dan,” I remarked to -myself, “and you can’t even pull a gun!”</p> - -<p>Somehow I felt resigned to it. For the music of -the shots I had heard that morning told me that the -fight was going to go on.</p> - -<p>Still, I cannot say that I was not excited. Now -and again I heard the engines of the military cars -throbbing. Perhaps they would go without finding -me. But they were only driving up and down to -keep back the crowds. When I looked out the -Auxiliaries were still there. The minutes grew into -hours. Would the raid ever end? When would the -door open to admit the searchers to my room?</p> - -<p>Luck favoured me once more. After a two hours’ -stay the raiders departed without even coming near -my part of the house.</p> - -<p>When they had gone I learned the reason of their -swoop. Early that morning a young I.R.A. man<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span> -named Furlong had been wounded in an explosion -which occurred near Dunboyne, ten miles outside -the city, where he had been testing some bombs. -His comrades at once rushed him in a dying condition -to the Mater. The British got to hear of this. -He was not unlike me in appearance. The poor -fellow died while the raid was in progress, and I -believe some of the Black and Tans thought they -had seen the last of Dan Breen.</p> - -<p>This raid had for me personally the saddest -sequel that could come to pass. In the next -chapter I shall relate what I afterwards learned.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.<br> -<span class="smaller">EXECUTIONS AND REPRISALS.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>While I was lying in the Mater my faithful -comrade, Sean Treacy, was never idle. His main -concern during this time was to be ever on the -watch for my safety. And that Thursday evening, -14th October, 1920, he learned that the hospital -was surrounded.</p> - -<p>Without a moment’s delay he went to Headquarters -to seek a rescue party of which he himself -would be one. His request was granted, and within -an hour he and other trusty comrades were busy -mobilising their men. In his zeal to undertake a -desperate task for my safety he forgot about himself. -He went openly through the principal streets—and -was shadowed. I cannot say for certain, -but I have a firm conviction that the man who -traced him was the same man who, three days -before, had traced us to Drumcondra.</p> - -<p>Sean had almost completed the arrangements for -the rescue when he went to the “Republican -Outfitters,” in Talbot Street, where he was to have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span> -a few final details settled. That place was a -drapery establishment owned by Tom Hunter, -T.D., and Peadar Clancy. It was perhaps the best -known centre in which I.R.A. men met from time -to time, or delivered messages, though it was so -closely watched that it was never advisable to delay -there long.</p> - -<p>When Sean arrived in the shop he found George -and Jack Plunkett, sons of Count Plunkett, T.D., -and both members of the Headquarters Staff. With -them were Joe Vyse and Leo Henderson, officers -of the Dublin Brigade, who had been holding a -hurried meeting.</p> - -<p>Peadar Clancy, who left the shop, accompanied -by a lady friend, had only reached the Nelson Pillar, -two hundred yards away, when he saw a military -raiding party dash from O’Connell Street into -Talbot Street, and at once suspected that the shop -was going to be raided. But he had no chance of -giving word to the boys. It would take the military -less than two minutes to reach the shop. Sean, who -was standing near the door, was the first to see the -enemy approach. Two or three others had to face -the front and take their chances of evading the -British.</p> - -<p>The lorries pulled up at the door. One of those -in the shop immediately ran from the door to the -street. A soldier sprang from the lorry to intercept -him. Just at the same time an Auxiliary Intelligence<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span> -officer, whose name was given as “Christian,” and -who was in civilian clothes, jumped from the first -lorry and shouted “That is not he. Here is the -man we want”—rushing towards Sean Treacy, -who was in the act of throwing his leg across the -bicycle which he had left outside the door.</p> - -<p>Sean saw he was cornered and pulled his gun. It -was a hopeless fight from the first, but like the -man that he was Sean Treacy fought till he was -riddled.</p> - -<p>The whole contingent of British troops and -Auxiliaries, regardless even of their own comrade -who was in grips with Sean, turned their rifles and -machine gun on the man they feared. They killed -Sean and three civilians who came in the line of fire, -but Sean had left “Christian” dangerously wounded -before he fell himself.</p> - -<p>Thus died the greatest Irishman of our -generation. He gave his life to save his comrades. -It was not the first time he had offered to do it.</p> - -<p>I have no hesitation in declaring that Sean Treacy -was not only the noblest patriot of our time, but -the greatest military genius of our race. It is a big -claim to make for a man who died before he was -28 years of age, and who had had none of the -training that we associate with military leaders of -fame and reputation. The world has since acknowledged -that the tactics adopted by the I.R.A. in -its guerilla warfare with the British were inspired<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span> -by genius of the highest order. I assert now for -my dead comrade that the most brilliant of these -tactics for which others were given credit, were the -product of Sean Treacy’s active brain. He gave -the hints; others elaborated them. He died with -a smile on his countenance—the noblest patriot, the -bravest man, and the cleanest and most honourable -soldier I have ever known.</p> - -<p>I knew nothing of the fight in Talbot Street for -days afterwards. I am not given either to superstition -or to flights of imagination, but so sure as -I pen these lines so sure am I that I knew that -Thursday afternoon that Sean Treacy was dead. -He stood at the foot of my bed, with a calm smile -on his countenance.</p> - -<p>That evening Mick Collins came to see me. My -first question was: “Where is Sean?” I was yet -too ill to be told the bitter truth. Mick turned his -eyes from mine and replied: “He is out in the -country.”</p> - -<p>Not for ten days did I hear the full story. From -Ship Street Barracks, whither his body had been -taken by the British, the remains of Sean Treacy -were taken to his native Tipperary, where they were -received with honour and reverence that no king -could claim. From Soloheadbeg Church, where -he had knelt in prayer as a child, the body of -Tipperary’s pride was taken through the town of -Kilfeacle. Never before had such honours been<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span> -given to a dead Tipperaryman. The British seemed -to fear him in death, for their armed ghouls sought -to interfere with the funeral. The day was observed -as a day of general mourning in South Tipperary, -and the funeral procession was several miles long. -Scarce an eye was dry that day.</p> - -<p>The country will not soon forget Sean Treacy. -His grave at Kilfeacle has become a place of -pilgrimage, and his name will rank with those who -stand highest in the roll of our people’s soldiers and -patriots.</p> - -<p>The following Friday night I was removed from -the Mater Hospital by Gearoid O’Sullivan and -Rory O’Connor. Gearoid O’Sullivan was later -Adjutant-General of the Free State Army. Rory -O’Connor, with his comrades Liam Mellows, Dick -Barrett and Joe McKelvey, was executed in -Mountjoy Jail on the 8th December, 1922, by order -of the Free State Government, as a reprisal for the -shooting of Sean Hales.</p> - -<p>These two accompanied me in a motor to the -house of a lady doctor on the south side of the city. -It was felt that the Mater was no longer a safe -place for me, though I shall always think with -gratitude of the devoted care I received from every -member of the staff, particularly Surgeon Barnaville -and the nuns. It must not be forgotten that -at this time the British had issued orders that any -doctor or nurse who attended a patient for gunshot<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span> -wounds was at once to report the case to the Castle. -The object was to trace men who were in a position -similar to mine. To their credit be it said that the -members of the medical profession, irrespective of -their personal political views, absolutely declined to -carry out these orders.</p> - -<p>At my new resting-place I was again carefully -tended, and my wounds began to heal rapidly. After -a few days I was able to get out of bed for a short -time every day.</p> - -<p>A week after my arrival at this house another -exciting incident took place. The whole block in -which my hostess lived was surrounded. Once -more, I thought, they were on my trail. From my -window I saw the troops taking up their positions. -I rushed to the skylight—for skylights had often -before proved useful to me. Just as I got to the -skylight I saw an Auxiliary outside on the roof -with a rifle in his hand.</p> - -<p>This time, I concluded, there was no chance for -me. I was to be caught like a rat in a trap. I -went to the front window again. Outside was a line -of khaki and steel. Beyond that was a throng of -curious sightseers. Some, I suppose, were full of -anxiety and fear lest any soldier of Ireland should -be caught in the trap. Others no doubt were proud -of the Empire’s Army, and hoping it would gain -another little laurel.</p> - -<p>As my eyes travelled along the line of spectators<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span> -I saw the figure of Mick Collins. Later I learned -why he was there. He had seen the troops moving -in the direction of the district in which I was being -nursed, and had actually collected a few of the boys -to be ready to attempt a rescue.</p> - -<p>Their services were not needed. The soldiers -raided almost every house in the locality, including -the house next door, but never came into the place -where I was. All the same I felt grateful to Mick. -As I have already explained, he was the only -member of G.H.Q. who stood by us consistently.</p> - -<p>It was considered advisable to remove me again. -I was taken to Dun Laoghaire to the house of Mrs. -Barry early in November, 1920. Miss O’Connor -and Miss Mason were both constant nurses of mine -while I was there and my recovery became rapid. I -had been there only three or four days when almost -every house in the avenue was raided, except that -of Mrs. Barry. Evidently the British spies were -hitting the trail but losing the scent.</p> - -<p>I was in Dun Laoghaire on “Bloody Sunday,” -November 21st. On that morning fourteen British -Intelligence officers were shot dead in their lodgings -in Dublin by our men. These officers, living the -lives of ordinary civilians in private houses, were -really spies, and the brains of the British Intelligence -Department at that time. In every land spies pay -the death penalty during war, and even the British -Ministers of the time justified all their actions by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span> -saying they were “at war with Ireland.” But -there could not be one set of war rules for their -men and another for ours.</p> - -<p>The operation was one of the most successful -carried out in Dublin. The I.R.A., however, -suffered some losses. Frank Teeling was captured -and sentenced to death, but escaped from Kilmainham -Jail before the sentence was carried out. Paddy -Moran was later captured and tried for taking part -in one of these executions although he was four -miles from the scene. He was hanged in Mountjoy -early in 1921. I knew poor Paddy well. I first -met him at the home of my friend Mrs. O’Doherty -in Connaught Street, Dublin. He was a lovable -character, and a faithful soldier of Ireland.</p> - -<p>There were two terrible reprisals that day for the -execution of the fourteen spies.</p> - -<p>In broad daylight the same afternoon hundreds of -soldiers and Black and Tans drove to Croke Park -where 10,000 people, who had not even heard of -the shootings that morning, were witnessing a football -match between Tipperary and Dublin.</p> - -<p>Surrounding the grounds the British without -warning poured volley after volley into the crowd, -killing seventeen people and wounding about fifty. -That crime was, perhaps, the most diabolical of -which England had been guilty.</p> - -<p>Another incident of “Bloody Sunday” had, -however, a sadder personal touch for me. That<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span> -was the murder of Peadar Clancy and Dick McKee. -They had been captured by the enemy shortly -before, and were murdered in Dublin Castle as a -reprisal for the shooting of the officers. Of course, -Sir Hamar Greenwood, or his chief manufacturer -of lies at the Castle, invented one of their usual -explanations that they attacked the guard and -attempted to escape. Fancy two highly intelligent -officers attempting to attack an armed guard in the -heart of a fortress from which a mouse could not -escape! An independent medical examination -showed that the two I.R.A. men were subjected to -the most incredible tortures before they were done -to death.</p> - -<p>Mick Collins and Tom Cullen (later A.D.C. to -the new Free State Governor-General) arranged -for this medical examination, and also for the lying-in-state -of the two bodies at the Pro-Cathedral. I -mention this to their credit, for few members of -G.H.Q. staff would have ventured so much in public -at that time of danger and uncertainty.</p> - -<p>Poor Dick and Peadar! They were two of our -bravest officers and two of our staunchest supporters -of the intensive war policy. They lived only -five weeks after Sean, and did not even get a chance -of dying fighting like him. A County Clare Volunteer -named Conor Clune was murdered on the same -occasion in the Castle.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.<br> -<span class="smaller">MY RETURN TO TIPPERARY.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>From Dun Laoghaire I was taken in a motor car -by Eamonn Fleming across the mountains into -Wicklow. At one place Eamonn introduced me -under an assumed name, but the man of the house -laughed heartily and assured him that he knew me -well as Dan Breen, for he was a patient in the same -part of the Mater Hospital when I was there some -weeks before.</p> - -<p>At this time I had to keep moving from place to -place more rapidly, as England was now pouring -troops into the country by thousands. The jails -and penal settlements of Britain were being scoured -for recruits for the Black and Tans, who were given -every assurance by their chiefs that they need have -no fears they would ever suffer for letting themselves -loose on a campaign of murder, loot and arson. -And they took the hint.</p> - -<p>I spent a few days at the lovely home of Bob -Barton, T.D., in the Glen of Wicklow. Later I -went farther south again, and finally, a few days<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span> -before Christmas of 1920, I found myself back -again in my own brigade area in South Tipperary.</p> - -<p>Here I met all the old comrades again—Seumas -Robinson, Dinny Lacey, Sean Hogan, Sean -O’Meara and many others. I was feeling strong -again, but by doctor’s orders I was not allowed to -walk any considerable distance.</p> - -<p>The war was now at its height. Our columns -were moving about in broad daylight with their -rifles on their shoulders, welcomed everywhere by -the people, whose offence in harbouring us was -punishment by death. The enemy now only ventured -from their strongholds in the towns when they -were in hundreds, accompanied by dozens of -armoured cars. The British machinery of Government -was completely wrecked. British courts were -deserted while litigants flocked to the Republican -Courts to get justice, even though a long term of -imprisonment was the penalty for anyone found in -one of our courts. The orders of the English -Government Departments were ignored by all our -public bodies. In a word, England’s only claim to -rule Ireland at this time was that she had about one -hundred thousand armed criminals in the country -dressed as soldiers and police.</p> - -<p>I spent a while in the neighbourhood of Solohead, -and later went on towards Cahir and Rosegreen. -Most of the remaining period of the war I passed -in that part of the county, round Fethard, Cahir<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> -and Rosegreen direction. Our columns were now -busy fighting every day, and about this time we -put into practice the idea of having elaborate dugouts -for sleeping accommodation and for concealing -arms. These underground resting places had very -narrow entrances, barely large enough to admit a -man’s body.</p> - -<p>In April, 1921, we were in Cahir district when -our Brigade Intelligence officer reported that it had -become usual for a convoy of British troops to pass -between Clogheen and Cahir every Wednesday -morning. We decided to ambush this convoy on -22nd April. Word was sent to the columns to -mobilise at the spot chosen for the attack. Con -Moloney (who became Deputy Chief of the I.R.A. -Staff during the Civil War) and I arrived in the -neighbourhood the previous night and fell in with -our columns. At this time we travelled about in a -motor car, so the reader will appreciate the change -that had taken place. In 1919 when the war had -not started I dare not stay in my own county, and -now in 1921, when the war was at its height, I -could use a motor car with comparative safety.</p> - -<p>At 5 a.m. on the morning of the 22nd all our -men rose to prepare for the ambush. It was about -midway between Clogheen and Cahir. When all -was ready Moloney, Lacey, Hogan and myself -visited the positions.</p> - -<p>The enemy party was expected to pass about 10<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span> -o’clock in the morning, and before that hour our -men were on the alert with their guns in their -hands. It was approaching 11 o’clock when we -began to fear that the soldiers would not follow -their usual custom; still we remained in readiness -until 1 o’clock, when Con Moloney and I decided -to return to Brigade Headquarters—“somewhere -in South Tipperary.”</p> - -<p>We had left the position only half an hour when -the convoy came along. Our men at once called -upon the enemy to surrender, but they replied by -opening fire. A sharp encounter followed, in the -course of which one soldier was killed and two -wounded. The remainder of the party then -surrendered to the I.R.A., who disarmed them, -destroyed their convoy, and then released their -prisoners.</p> - -<p>Our men lost no time in retiring from the position, -for the firing had probably been heard in Clogheen -and Cahir, both occupied by strong British -garrisons who would at once rush reinforcements -into the districts. The I.R.A. were marching off -with their booty, in column formation, when a single -motor car, rounding a corner at a place called -Curraghclooney, almost ran into the rear guard. -The car was halted. Our men asked the occupant -his name and got the reply, “District Inspector -Potter, of the R.I.C., Cahir.”</p> - -<p>He was at once taken prisoner, and his car<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span> -seized. Our columns had not proceeded much -farther on their way when they suddenly found -themselves being ambushed by a strong party of -enemy troops. A brisk engagement developed, but -although out-numbered three to one, our boys not -only fought their way through without losses on -their side, but carried their prisoner with them. -Their success was due to the able leadership of -Dinny Lacey and Sean Hogan.</p> - -<p>Now at this time an I.R.A. man named Traynor -was under sentence of death in Dublin. Already the -British had hanged several of our soldiers who had -fallen into their hands, but our side firmly set its -face against reprisals. On many a day that I.R.A. -men were hanged as criminals British soldiers and -police fell into our hands, but they were always -released on handing up their arms. If England -would not play the game we would.</p> - -<p>Traynor’s was a particularly sad case. He was -the father of a helpless young family. His execution -was fixed for April 25th.</p> - -<p>With Potter a prisoner in our hands we at once -decided upon a course of action which might save -Traynor’s life. We sent a special courier at once -to Dublin, with a message to be delivered at the -enemy headquarters to the effect that we were -prepared to exchange our prisoner for Traynor, and -failing this, that Potter would be executed by us.</p> - -<p>The message was delivered in Dublin Castle two<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span> -days before the time fixed for the execution. We -got no reply. I believe the Castle officials never -let the offer go beyond their own secret circle. After -all, Potter was in their eyes but one of the mere -Irish whom they had used as a tool.</p> - -<p>On the 26th we received word that Traynor had -been executed the previous day. We felt it would -show weakness on our part if we did not carry out -our threat. We thought, too, it would have a good -effect if we had to make similar offers in the future. -And besides Potter was, in our eyes, not an English -soldier but an Irish traitor.</p> - -<p>We informed him he was to be executed. We -gave him every facility for communicating with his -wife and children, and for writing any messages he -wished.</p> - -<p>I never felt more sorry in my life at having to -carry out such an unpleasant task. We discussed -the matter from every aspect and agreed we had -no alternative. Potter was a kind and cultured -gentleman, and a brave officer. Before he was -executed he gave us a diary, a signet ring and a -gold watch with the request that we should return -them to his wife. We fulfilled his request.</p> - -<p>As an official reprisal for his death the British -military authorities blew up ten farmhouses in South -Tipperary. Amongst them was Mrs. Tobin’s, of -Tincurry, where Sean Treacy, Hogan and I had -sheltered the night after the Soloheadbeg affair.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.<br> -<span class="smaller">MARRIED IN THE BATTLE LINE.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>On the 12th June, 1921, just one month before -the Truce with the English forces, I was married -in circumstances as strange as they were romantic.</p> - -<p>In an earlier chapter I have already told how I -first met my future wife, Brighid Malone, in September, -1919, and how she and her sister served -us and our cause when sympathisers were few. -From the day of our first visit to the home of the -Malone’s, our friendship began and soon developed -into a deeper feeling. I knew it was to Brighid’s -constant care and nursing that I owed my speedy -recovery from the wounds I received at Ashtown. -During the months that I spent in her mother’s -house after that encounter our attachment became -stronger, and in 1920 we became formally engaged.</p> - -<p>After the fight at Drumcondra in October, 1920, -Brighid came to see me whenever it was safe. We -decided to get married as soon as I would be completely -recovered. I knew well the risks I was -asking her to take for my sake; but she never<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span> -hesitated in taking them. To be known as a friend -of mine involved all the petty tyranny and torture -of which the British were capable. What then -would it mean for the girl against whom the terrible -crime could be laid that she was my fiancee or my -wife?</p> - -<p>I knew that spies would forever after dog her -steps, that her home would be raided night and day, -and she herself insulted, and perhaps tortured for -information. But she never flinched. She was -willing to take her chance, and I, for my part, felt -I could be still as good a soldier of Ireland.</p> - -<p>Early in 1921 we agreed that the marriage would -take place in June. Brighid would have her holidays -at that time, and therefore her journey to the -country, if noticed, might not arouse so much -suspicion.</p> - -<p>At the end of May we had completed all arrangements. -To have the ceremony in a church was out -of the question. Churches were constantly being -raided and searched, and even sacrilege was of -little concern to the Auxiliaries. Besides, a -marriage ceremony in a local church arouses the -curiosity of the neighbourhood.</p> - -<p>We decided to have the marriage at Michael -Purcell’s, of Glenagat House. Glenagat is six -miles from Clonmel, and four miles from each of the -towns of Cahir, Cashel and Fethard. All of these -towns were held by strong enemy forces who every<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span> -day and night sent out heavy columns to scour the -district in search of our units. Our chosen spot -was, therefore, in the midst of the enemy.</p> - -<p>The Purcells were a great family, and did everything -in their power to help in completing the -arrangements. They had a long record of service -in the country’s cause, and both Mr. Purcell and -his wife had seen the inside of a prison cell during the -“Land War” of the last generation. They had -been ruthlessly evicted from their homestead, but -at this time they had won back their farm.</p> - -<p>The fight was now more intense than ever. Each -side was suffering heavy casualties every day, and -the crimes of the Black and Tans were daily -becoming more fiendish and revolting.</p> - -<p>Brighid arrived in the district on the Sunday -before the wedding. It was seven months since we -had seen each other, so that our reunion was not -only romantic but delightful. It is not easy to -appreciate the risk she had taken.</p> - -<p>Meantime I had sent word from Brigade Headquarters -to all our columns, telling them of the -event that was coming off. During the early -morning of 12th June all our columns converged on -Glenagat, felled trees across the roads, and posted -armed guards at all the approaches. Glenagat that -day was as impregnable as the South Tipperary -Brigade could make it, and if the British forces -attempted to visit the area they would get a reception<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span> -such as they had never before experienced. -Never were our men so eager, so determined, or so -excited. The night before Sean Hogan, Dinny -Lacey, Mick Sheehan, Con Moloney, Sean Fitzpatrick -and several other officers slept with me in -a tent near by. I think I should have said spent -the night, for we slept very little, much to my -regret. The boys would insist on talking all through -the night and giving me all the advice that -bachelors usually give to one who is going to -become a benedict. If ever I was the target for -rapid and sustained fire it was that night—though -fortunately it was not of a dangerous kind.</p> - -<p>Early in the morning we arrived at Glenagat -House. Father Murphy, of New Inn, Cashel, who -was to perform the ceremony, had already arrived, -and Brighid was there too. Father Murphy said -Mass in the house, and both Brighid and myself -received Holy Communion. Sean Hogan was my -“best man,” and Miss Annie Malone was bridesmaid.</p> - -<p>When the ceremony was over we sat down to -breakfast, and a right merry party we were. Father -Ferdinand O’Leary, Sean Cooney and Miss Cooney -arrived on the scene just as the breakfast began.</p> - -<p>At Jack Luby’s, of Milltown House, we had a -real country wedding. All through the evening -and night the boys and girls of the neighbourhood -danced and sang and enjoyed themselves as if<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span> -there was no war on. All the time our outposts were -on the alert, though each party was relieved from -time to time to have their share in the merriment. -And even while the boys danced and laughed their -guns were ever at hand in case of need. We had -grown used to the war. No terrorism could ever -kill the spirit of the people.</p> - -<p>From Glenagat district we went across to -Donohill, back to my native parish, beside Soloheadbeg. -Larry Power, who was Captain of my -old company, saw that we had nothing to fear, and -I knew my old comrades could be trusted to the -death.</p> - -<p>Here we spent our honeymoon, moving from the -house of one friend to another, for they were all -anxious to entertain us. John Quirke, Paddy -O’Dwyer, James Ryan and Jack O’Brien, of -Ballinvassa, were each in turn our host, and spared -no pains to make us happy and safe.</p> - -<p>Truly, it was a strange wedding and a strange -honeymoon. No wedding marches, crossed swords, -confetti or rice or trips to the continent, but the -love and welcome of trusted friends with generous -warm hearts. And I do not believe that either my -wife or I would have it otherwise, if we had our -choice again.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.<br> -<span class="smaller">THE TRUCE.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Early in June, 1921, I learned that a movement -was on foot to effect a compromise with England. -It did not surprise me then to hear that a Truce had -been arranged as from July 11th, 1921.</p> - -<p>In many respects we welcomed the respite, -though we never thought it would end as it did. -For some time our area had been running short -of munitions, and just before the Truce we had sent -some of our men to the continent in the hope of -negotiating for a cargo which would attempt to run -the blockade. At the time of the Truce I was -Quartermaster of the Second Southern Division of -the I.R.A., but I resigned for reasons I do not wish -to state here. It was just about the time of the -Truce that our Brigades all over Ireland were being -grouped into Divisions.</p> - -<p>It was like a new life to us to return from the -columns to the towns and cities again. Everywhere -we were welcomed and acclaimed as heroes, even -by the people who, two years before, had been -describing us as murderers and assassins. But all<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span> -this time we were still short of money. During the -months of the Truce I went about almost every day -to race meetings and made scores of friends -amongst the racing fraternity whose information—especially -that of the owners—enabled Hogan and -myself to make some very profitable investments. -It was the only way we could obtain money, for the -I.R.A. were still an unpaid Volunteer Army.</p> - -<p>In Tipperary and Dublin I visited all my old -friends, and was welcomed everywhere. In August -I decided to give up racing. At that time the I.R.A. -was devoting special attention to the Northern -areas, endeavouring to equip and train the units -there so that when the fight would be renewed they -would play a more active part and relieve some of -the pressure from the Southern counties. I was -anxious to give a hand in this work and went to the -north, where I met Charlie Daly, who was since -executed by the Free State during the Civil War. -Daly, who was a Kerry man, was one of the -finest and ablest soldiers I ever met. I spent five -weeks with Charlie training the Northern boys in -the use of the gun and the bomb. It was hard work -for all of us, but I enjoyed it as I saw much of -Ulster in our long walks and pleasure drives. To -make it more exciting we went into Belfast itself -on a few occasions.</p> - -<p>I returned to Dublin about the end of September. -While I was in the capital the Dublin Guards presented<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span> -me with a gold watch and chain, and Paddy -Daly and others, who were later officers of high -command in the Free State Army, said some very -nice things about me. Here I must observe that -the watch I received on that occasion was looted -from my house in Carrick-on-Suir ten or eleven -months later by the Free State troops who entered -that town.</p> - -<p>I remained in Dublin until a few days before the -signing of the Treaty. Then I discovered that a -compromise was being made, and I went to the -south once more. I was convinced that if we could -show that the Army was standing solid for what it -had fought to achieve the Dail would not betray the -Army. The soldiers, I felt, would keep the politicians -on the straight track. I could not bring myself -to believe that the Dail would take upon itself the -responsibility of making a compromise, when it had -never taken responsibility for the Anglo-Irish War. -In this I was sadly mistaken. The very men who -were most bitterly opposed to the few who began -the war were now the strongest supporters of the -Treaty.</p> - -<p>I came to Dublin on December 7th, the day the -terms of the Treaty were made public, and I met -Liam Lynch, Sean Hogan, and several I.R.A. -officers. I urged Liam Lynch, who was then in -command of the 1st Southern Division, to end the -Truce right away and resume the war. In that way<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span> -we might have kept the Army united once the -common enemy was again in action against any -section of us. Nobody favoured my plan. Some -held out the vain hope that even if the Treaty were -accepted by the Dail it would be rejected by the -people at the polls. I laughed at the hope, knowing -that in any country which has wearied of war the -masses of the people will always accept a compromise.</p> - -<p>Disheartened at the failure of my efforts to get -the boys united once more against the enemy, I -made up my mind to leave Ireland. I intended to -go to India and strike a blow against the old enemy -there and help those who were fighting the same -battle as we had been fighting in Ireland. But -when Sean Hogan and I got in touch with Indian -leaders in London they asked how could Irishmen -be trusted to fight for India when they had deserted -their own country?</p> - -<p>In despair I decided to go to America. In the -middle of December I acted as “best man” for -Seumas Robinson when he was married in Dublin. -That evening I left for London.</p> - -<p>As I left Dun Laoghaire I felt completely broken -in spirit. I had seen all our efforts in vain, and the -men we trusted had told the world that the freedom -we fought for was the freedom to have our country -cut in twain, and the freedom to take an oath of -allegiance to a foreign king.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="illus12" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/illus12.jpg" alt=""> - <p class="caption">J. J. HOGAN. FATHER DAN KELLY. DAN BREEN.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span></p> - -<p>Before I left Dublin I had asked several I.R.A. -officers to stand with me in resuming the war, but -they would not accept my views. Had they agreed -I would never have left Ireland, and I warned them -that within twelve months they would be fighting a -Civil War.</p> - -<p>On the 19th of December, before leaving Ireland, -I addressed an open letter to Commandant Sean -McKeon, T.D. In this letter I made my attitude -towards the Treaty perfectly clear. These were my -exact words:—</p> - -<p>“I wish to point out to you that you are reported -to have stated in An Dail to-day, that this Treaty -brings the freedom that is necessary and for which -we are all ready to die. You also are reported to -have previously stated that this Treaty gives you -what you and your comrades fought for.</p> - -<p>“As one of your comrades I say that I would -never have handled a gun or fired a shot, nor would -I have asked any of my comrades, living or dead, to -raise a hand to obtain this Treaty.</p> - -<p>“Let me remind you that to-day is the second -anniversary of Martin Savage’s death. Do you -suppose that he sacrificed his life in attempting to -kill one British Governor-General in order to make -room for another British Governor-General?</p> - -<p>“I take no party’s side, but I still stand by our -old principle of Complete Separation and entire -Independence.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span></p> - -<p>In London I met Sean Hogan who had crossed -before me. It was the first time I had ever been -out of my own country, and for a time the novelty -of life in London and my strange surroundings -helped to keep my mind from the great tragedy of -Ireland. We stayed in London for about a fortnight. -During my stay I met Mr. P. L. Smyth, -the well-known Dublin Commission Agent, and he -proved a kind friend to us.</p> - -<p>Our next trouble was how to get to America. We -decided to attempt to cross from Canada, but we -had two great obstacles to overcome.</p> - -<p>In the first place we had very little money, and -in the second place we had no passports. How we -overcame the passport difficulty I cannot explain -here.</p> - -<p>Anyhow, after a three weeks’ journey we landed -safely in Canada. From Canada we successfully -crossed into the States, and made our way to -Chicago. Here we were met by my two brothers, -John and Pat, and my sister, Mary, all of whom -had been in the United States for some years. I -soon found that in this far away city we were almost -at home. We met fellow-countrymen and fellow-countrywomen -everywhere. One of the first we -met was Ned O’Brien, of Galbally, whose health -had broken down because of the wounds he received -in the rescue at Knocklong. Other friends we made -included Mrs. McWhorter, a great worker in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span> -Irish cause, Michael Mulryan, Jim Delaney and -Colonel O’Reilly. They all helped to make it a real -holiday for us by showing us everything of note in -that great city. Above all, I marvelled at the great -meat-curing factories, most of which are owned and -worked by Irishmen.</p> - -<p>We went from Chicago to Philadelphia where a -host of friends again greeted us. Joe McGarrity, -that veteran worker for Ireland, was one of the first -to welcome us, and we spent a while in his house -where so many before us—Sean McDermott, -Padraig Pearse, Roger Casement, and Eamon de -Valera—had been honoured and entertained. Luke -Dillon, too, welcomed us, and our old friends -Seumas O’Doherty and Mrs. O’Doherty, whom we -had known in the old days in Dublin. The kindness -of the O’Doherty family to us I shall always remember -with gratitude.</p> - -<p>From Philadelphia we travelled to California. -There I again met many Irish friends, including -Father Peter Scanlon, Father Dan Kelly, Senior; -and Father Dan Kelly, Junior, all from my own part -of the country. I was delighted to meet Mick -McDonnell too, our old comrade of the Ashtown -fight, who had been out there for quite a good -while.</p> - -<p>California is a delightful place. Although it was -mid-winter when I got there the weather was like -the weather we get in Ireland in the summer-time.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span></p> - -<p>Meantime I was far from being out of touch with -affairs in Ireland. The American papers gave much -prominence to the development of events at home -following the acceptance of the Treaty. It was -plain that our old comrades were irrevocably divided -and heading for Civil War. Every day brought -fresh stories of new differences and minor conflicts -that showed the situation could end only in one -way. In America our countrymen were divided in -the same way as our people at home.</p> - -<p>Early in March came the news that Limerick was -on the verge of an outbreak. Different posts in the -city were held by the rival sections of the Volunteers—some -supporters of the Treaty and some against -it. Ultimatums had actually passed between the -rival commanders there, and it looked as if at any -moment a single shot might begin a conflict that -would soon spread throughout the land.</p> - -<p>I was staying with Father Dan Kelly, Senior, at -Menlo Park, when a cable reached me from Ireland -asking me to return at once. This message was -the outcome of an agreement made between the -rival sections in Limerick, an agreement which -averted a conflict.</p> - -<p>Within two days of the receipt of this cablegram -I had left California for Chicago. There I again -stayed for a few days with my relatives and friends. -From Chicago I went to Philadelphia where I got<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> -the same warm greeting from Joe McGarrity, Luke -Dillon and the O’Dohertys.</p> - -<p>We had decided that New York would be the best -place from which to attempt a passage to Ireland, -for of course Hogan and I were still confronted with -the same difficulties regarding money and passports -as we had experienced on our outward journey. We -could easily have got passports from the British -Consulate if we had asked them as British subjects, -but we would rather have rotted in America. While -in New York we visited the Carmelite Fathers’ place -in 39th Street, and also the Irish Offices in 5th -Avenue, where I met Liam Pedlar.</p> - -<p>At last, through the help of some Irish friends, -both of us got taken on a vessel that was sailing for -Cobh. We were working our way as stokers. Sean -and I set to our work with a will, and had done four -hours at a task which was novel to us. The vessel -was to sail within an hour, when somebody got -suspicious of Hogan. He was questioned as to his -nationality, his experience on other vessels, and the -result was that he was ordered to leave the ship on -the spot.</p> - -<p>Now this was a nice dilemma for me. I saw our -four hours’ hard work and all our efforts to secure -the jobs gone for nothing; but I could not think of -leaving Hogan alone in New York without a cent, -in his pocket. I made up my mind that I would -not sail without him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span></p> - -<p>But it was no easy matter to escape from the -ship. The crew were marshalled for the voyage, -and to attempt to return to land was a serious -offence, for which I might find myself in irons.</p> - -<p>The risk had to be taken. I made a bold bid. I -walked straight to the gangway, but was held up -by an officer. I explained to him that I had important -business to do on shore but would not be -detained longer than a few minutes. He must have -taken me to be a simple harmless poor worker, for -he accepted my word and allowed me to land. I -never saw him or his ship afterwards.</p> - -<p>The loss was not all on his side. All the money -we had the night before we intended to sail had been -invested in guns, and these were on the ship. It -would be madness to try to bring them with me, -so I had to suffer the loss. My comrade was more -to me than Krupp’s factory.</p> - -<p>We had a few more bitter disappointments before -we could again get on a liner. Finally we found -ourselves on the high seas once more, sailing for -Cobh.</p> - -<p>We landed in Ireland early in April. A friend -to whom my wife had wired to meet me at Cobh -brought me the happy news that not only my wife -but a son was waiting my arrival in Dublin.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.<br> -<span class="smaller">EFFORTS TO AVERT CIVIL WAR.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>When I arrived in Dublin I found that the situation -was even more critical that I had expected. The -old Republican Army had definitely split into two -sections—one the new Free State Army, and the -other the I.R.A. The British troops had evacuated -Beggar’s Bush Barracks and Wellington Barracks, -and handed them over to the Free State troops. -The Republicans had seized and fortified the Four -Courts as their Headquarters. Similar divisions -existed all over the country, though the south was -overwhelmingly Republican so far as the Army -was concerned. It was clear that at any moment -a civil war might ensue. War was in the air. At -night there was constant firing, and armoured cars -rushed through the streets.</p> - -<p>I felt almost broken-hearted. Had we stood so -loyally together in the past only to turn our arms -against each other now? I decided that I at least -would not be to blame if fighting broke out.</p> - -<p>I visited the strongholds of each party in turn<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span> -to explore the possibilities. I called meetings of the -old fighting crowd on each side, but there seemed -no chance of any agreement.</p> - -<p>I then met Sean O’Hegarty (Commandant of -the 1st Cork Brigade), Florrie O’Donoghue (Adjutant -of the 1st Southern Division), Humphrey -Murphy, of Kerry; Tom Hales, of Cork; and -Sean Moylan, T.D., all of whom were opposed to -the Treaty. After some discussion we decided to -meet some officers on the other side in a last effort -to find a way out. We met Mick Collins, Dick -Mulcahy, Owen O’Duffy, Gearoid O’Sullivan, and -Sean Boylan.</p> - -<p>After a long exchange of views we agreed upon -a certain basis of settlement. This we put in writing, -and each of us signed it except Sean Moylan. This -document was published in the Press on 1st May. -I give it here in full:—</p> - -<p>“We, the undersigned officers of the I.R.A., -realising the gravity of the position in Ireland, and -appreciating the fact that if the present drift is -maintained a conflict of comrades is inevitable, -declare that this would be the greatest calamity in -Irish history and would leave Ireland broken for -generations.</p> - -<p>“To avert this catastrophe we believe that a -closing of the ranks all round is necessary.</p> - -<p>“We suggest to all leaders, Army and Political, -and all citizens and soldiers of Ireland, the advisability<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span> -of a union of forces on the basis of the -acceptance and utilisation of our present national -position in the best interests of Ireland, and we -require that nothing shall be done that would -prejudice our position or dissipate our forces.</p> - -<p>“We feel that on this basis alone can the -situation best be faced, viz.:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“(1) The acceptance of the Pact—admitted -by all sides—that the majority of the -people of Ireland are willing to accept the -Treaty.</p> - -<p>“(2) An agreed election with a view to</p> - -<p>“(3) Forming a Government which will have -the confidence of the whole country.</p> - -<p>“(4) Army unification on above basis.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>That was signed by Tom Hales, Humphrey -Murphy, Sean O’Hegarty, Florrie O’Donoghue, -Sean Boylan, Dick Mulcahy, Owen O’Duffy, -Gearoid O’Sullivan, Mick Collins and myself. That -is, five of us who opposed the Treaty and five who -favoured it. In the Civil War which followed both -Florrie O’Donoghue and Sean O’Hegarty remained -neutral.</p> - -<p>These proposals came in for severe criticism. -The Republican Headquarters in the Four Courts -at once issued a statement repudiating the terms, -and suggesting the whole thing was an attempt to -split their ranks. I myself received my full share of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span> -adverse criticism. One Republican Journal, <i>The -Plain People</i>, described me as a “Judas—with -perhaps the difference that I had not got the thirty -pieces of silver.” I do not to this day know who -the editor of this paper was. Perhaps he believed -what he wrote. I paid no heed to these observations. -My duty I believed was to strain every nerve to -avoid civil war.</p> - -<p>On May 3rd, those who had signed this suggested -basis of peace were received by the Dail, and Sean -O’Hegarty addressed the House. The result was -the appointment of a Committee representing both -sides in the Dail to discuss the proposals.</p> - -<p>The next step was to see what could be done to -bring about a reunion in the Army. A conference -was arranged between the chiefs on both sides, and -several meetings were held. But neither the Army -chiefs nor the political chiefs could come to any -lasting agreement. The one result of all the -negotiations was the Pact between Eamon de -Valera and Michael Collins agreeing to contest -the coming elections as a United Sinn Fein Party, -both Free Staters and Republicans standing on the -same ticket and not opposing each other. In that -way all the outgoing members of the Dail were -again nominated, and the agreement was that after -the election there was to be a Coalition Ministry.</p> - -<p>When the election came there was some difficulty -about a vacancy which had been created in East<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span> -Tipperary by the resignation of Alderman Frank -Drohan, of Clonmel. He had resigned before the -division on the Treaty, and a dispute arose as to -whether the Republicans or the Free Staters were -to nominate his successor. Finally, I was selected -as being more or less neutral. I was not consulted -on the matter and I knew nothing about the arrangement -until I saw the announcement in the Press. I -protested against the proposal, but for the sake of -harmony I agreed to allow my name to go forward. -I had no ambition to enter politics. I was a soldier -above all things, and I made it quite plain that I -would take no part in the election campaign. However, -both sides nominated me and I was defeated -at the polls.</p> - -<p>I had hoped that as a result of the Pact between -Collins and de Valera we would have an uncontested -election, which would result in preserving a united -front against England. However, both the Labour -Party and the Farmers prepared to send forward -candidates of their own to oppose Republicans and -Free Staters. Before the polling, Mick Collins -delivered a speech in Cork urging Labour and other -parties to carry on their campaign. This was, of -course, a flagrant violation of the agreement which -he had entered.</p> - -<p>In North, Mid. and South Tipperary I succeeded -in inducing the Farmers’ candidates to withdraw -from the contest. If all parties were as patriotic as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span> -the farmers of Tipperary civil war might have been -avoided. They had suffered more than any other -section of the community from the Black and Tan -terror. They had had martial law preventing the -holding of the fairs and markets for three years. -Their farmhouses and creameries had been wrecked -in scores, and they had stood loyally by us all -through the war. Their self-sacrifice in retiring -from the 1922 election deserves to be remembered.</p> - -<p>The Labour candidate in Tipperary would listen -to no argument. He cared nothing about presenting -a united front to the enemy. He was ambitious for -power and he insisted upon going forward. He afterwards, -I believe, boasted that he was not afraid of -Dan Breen even when a gun was put up to his -breast. Even in election campaigns such slanders -are hardly playing the game. However, I hope my -countrymen know me well enough not to believe -that I would ever put a gun up to an unarmed -opponent.</p> - -<p>All this time I still felt anxious for the future. -Mick Collins’ violation of the Pact made me -suspicious. I felt too that England would never -permit a Coalition Ministry of Free Staters and -Republicans, but my hope all the time was that if -a crisis came the Free Staters would throw the -Treaty back in her teeth rather than cause brother -to fight against brother.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.<br> -<span class="smaller">HOW I WAS CAPTURED.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>I have no intention of giving here a story of the -Civil War. I can only say that I claim to have done -my part to avoid it. But when I learned to my -amazement that the Free Staters had in the dead -of night placed British guns in position to shell the -Republicans in the Four Courts I felt there was only -one course open to me—to throw in my lot with -my old comrades and carry on the fight for the -Republic.</p> - -<p>In the course of that fight I lost nearly all my -old brothers-in-arms. Even in the war against the -Black and Tans Tipperary suffered less heavily. -Dinny Lacey gave his life for Ireland; so too did -Jerry Kiely, “Sparkie” Breen, Paddy Dalton, -Paddy McDonough, Mick Sadlier, D. Ryan, Liam -Lynch, and several others with whom I had -campaigned in the old days. They were noble and -courageous soldiers, true and unselfish comrades. -Ireland will miss such men as these. They might be -with us still if the agreement made in Limerick between<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span> -Liam Lynch and Mick Brennan had been kept -by the Free Staters. That agreement might have -saved the soldiers of the south from turning their -guns on one another. No one can say that the -Republicans have a particle of responsibility for the -breaking of the 1922 Treaty of Limerick.</p> - -<p>I shall conclude my story with an account of the -circumstances that led to my capture.</p> - -<p>When Liam Lynch was killed in County -Waterford in the early spring of 1923, Austin -Stack, Frank Barrett, David Kent, Sean Gaynor, -Maurice Walsh, George Power, and several others -of us who were together in the neighbourhood -decided to make our way to the Nire Valley to -attend an important meeting that had been called -to discuss certain peace proposals. We reached -Melleray at 1 o’clock next morning, and had a -much needed rest and some food. At 5 o’clock we -resumed our journey towards Cappoquin, and after -an hour’s march we crossed the road, for we were -anxious to keep to the fields as much as possible. -Just after we had crossed the road, and were -advancing up a hill heavy fire was opened on us -from three sides. We at once took cover, but as the -firing became more intense we decided to get away -as best we could. In the confusion we became -scattered. I never met Austin Stack from that day -until I met him four months later in Mountjoy, -where we were both prisoners.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span></p> - -<p>I fell in with Maurice Walsh and Andy Kennedy, -and we decided to face for Newcastle, near Clonmel. -When we arrived there we found to our amazement -that the place was held by a strong party of Free -Staters.</p> - -<p>We had to remain for two days on the hills, as the -Free State troops had brought up huge reinforcements -to sweep the district. There was heavy snow -on the ground, but we could not venture into any -place of shelter.</p> - -<p>After two days we slipped through the lines, and -I headed for my old haunt, the Glen of Aherlow. I -reached a dug-out on the Glen and almost collapsed -from exhaustion and hunger. I slept almost as soon -as I lay down.</p> - -<p>From that sleep I was wakened by the heavy -tramp of marching men above. I jumped out and -looked into the barrels of several Free State rifles. -I had no option but to surrender.</p> - -<p>I am not a soft-hearted man. I have gone -through too much to feel it an easy job to weep; -but my pride alone kept me from crying like a child -that day.</p> - -<p>For five years I had defied England’s garrison -in Ireland. Everything I had suffered willingly for -my country and my countrymen. And now in my -native county I was a prisoner in the hands of my -own countrymen.</p> - -<p>I was first taken to Galbally where I met my old<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span> -friend of Knocklong, Ned O’Brien, his brother John -Joe, and James Scanlan. I think they felt the -situation as keenly as I did, but they tried to cheer -me up.</p> - -<p>From Galbally I was taken under escort to my -native town, Tipperary, where I was put through -some form of trial. Next day I was taken from the -Free State Headquarters, the Abbey School, and -marched to the railway station. The humiliation -and agony I endured during that short march I -shall never forget. May the reader never know -what it is to be marched a prisoner through his -native town for doing what he believed to be his -duty and serving his country.</p> - -<p>I was taken by rail to Limerick where I was -detained for two months. I have already related -how I met, as one of the military officers in charge -of me, Lord French’s driver whom we had wounded -at Ashtown.</p> - -<p>From Limerick I was taken to Mountjoy, and -because of my treatment there I went on hunger-strike. -After twelve days of hunger-strike and six -of thirst strike, I was released.</p> - -<p>During my imprisonment the people of Tipperary -had elected me as their senior Republican Deputy.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">Printed at<br> -The Talbot Press<br> -DUBLIN</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY FIGHT FOR IRISH FREEDOM ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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