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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. - -Title: My fight for Irish freedom - -Author: Dan Breen - -Contributor: Joseph McGarrity - -Release Date: February 1, 2023 [eBook #69928] - -Language: English - -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.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY FIGHT FOR IRISH -FREEDOM *** - - - - - - -MY FIGHT FOR IRISH FREEDOM - - - - -[Illustration: DAN BREEN.] - - - - - MY FIGHT FOR - IRISH FREEDOM - - _By_ - DAN BREEN - - _With an Introduction by_ - JOSEPH McGARRITY - (_Philadelphia_) - - [Illustration] - - DUBLIN - THE TALBOT PRESS LIMITED - 85 TALBOT STREET - 1924 - - First Published, August, 1924. - Second Edition, September, 1924. - Third Edition, October, 1924. - - Printed in Ireland at THE TALBOT PRESS, Dublin. - - - - - TO - SEAN TREACY - J. J. HOGAN - AND - SEUMAS ROBINSON - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -_My Fight for Irish Freedom_, 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 - - “On far foreign fields, from Dunkirk to Belgrade - Lie the soldiers and chiefs of the Irish Brigade.” - -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. - -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 -armies, and they endured the horrors of France, Flanders and the -Dardanelles. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Great as was the physical suffering he endured, 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. - -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. - -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. - - JOSEPH MCGARRITY. - -PHILADELPHIA. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - Introduction vii. - - I.—A Volunteer’s Training 1 - - II.—Preparing for the Fray 11 - - III.—Our First Munition Factory 17 - - IV.—Our Factory Blown Up 23 - - V.—The Political Landslide 29 - - VI.—Soloheadbeg 34 - - VII.—Our Escape 41 - - VIII.—Helped by the British 50 - - IX.—Our Return to Soloheadbeg 64 - - X.—Sean Hogan Captured 72 - - XI.—The Rescue at Knocklong 83 - - XII.—Our Escape from Knocklong 93 - - XIII.—Many Close Shaves 106 - - XIV.—On the Trail of Lord French 115 - - XV.—The Battle of Ashtown 126 - - XVI.—Our Escape from Ashtown 138 - - XVII.—From Tara to Tipperary 150 - - XVIII.—The Barrack Attacks 162 - - XIX.—Capture and Escape of General Lucas 173 - - XX.—Adventures with the Murder Gang 181 - - XXI.—The Drumcondra Fight 197 - - XXII.—Missed by Inches 209 - - XXIII.—Executions and Reprisals 219 - - XXIV.—My Return to Tipperary 228 - - XXV.—Married in the Battle Line 234 - - XXVI.—The Truce 239 - - XXVII.—Efforts to Avert Civil War 249 - - XXVIII.—How I was Captured 255 - - - - -MY FIGHT FOR IRISH FREEDOM - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -A VOLUNTEER’S TRAINING - - “A soldier’s life is the life for me, - A soldier’s death, so Ireland’s free.” - - —_Davis._ - - -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. - -The British Parliament had passed its Home Rule Bill for Ireland. The -Orange minority in the 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. - -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 -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.” - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -I now resume my narrative. From the outbreak of the Great War I still -continued my daily work, 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 -strange irony the books we found most handy were the official texts -supplied to the British troops, the men we were preparing to meet. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 -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. - -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 -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. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -PREPARING FOR THE FRAY. - - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -This was the time when things were going badly with England in the war. -In March, 1918, began 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -[Illustration: SEAN TREACY.] - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -OUR FIRST MUNITION FACTORY. - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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, 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. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -OUR FACTORY BLOWN UP. - - -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. - -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. - -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 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! - -“You damn fool, do you want to drown me?” he shouted. And then he added a -lot more that I prefer not to repeat. - -The destruction of our house was a heavy blow, and for a while we mourned -the loss of our little factory and its contents. - -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. - -By the way, the Black and Tans, at a later stage wreaked vengeance on it -more effectively than the explosion of the grenades. - -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 -precautions with my work. I guarded against another explosion; but other -circumstances compelled us to evacuate it within a few months. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -But good luck came to our rescue. - -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. - -The “Dairy” did not escape the attention of the enemy, who subsequently -gave it the name of “The Tin House.” - -We were terribly handicapped for want of money; not indeed for personal -comforts, which seldom troubled us, but to get round. - -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 Deputy for Dublin—all our troubles disappeared. Then and -after we never wanted for anything while Phil was about. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE POLITICAL LANDSLIDE. - - -In December, 1918, came the event which gave the Irish Volunteers the -moral sanction for their subsequent activities—the General Election. - -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. - -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. - -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 -Political Organisation were also Volunteers; and the Volunteers were also -members of the Sinn Fein club. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -[Illustration: SCENE OF SOLOHEADBEG AMBUSH.] - -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 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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -SOLOHEADBEG. - - -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. - -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. - -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 born and reared in the -vicinity, and Sean’s own farmhouse was not a stone’s throw from the -quarry. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 -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.” - -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. - -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!” - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 calm and cheerful exterior, consoling ourselves with the -thought, “We’re Irish anyhow, and all Irishmen are fighters by nature.” - -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. - -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. - -“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. - -Again and again we called upon them to put up their hands. We would have -preferred that they should surrender without bloodshed, but they were -dogged and stubborn, and now ’twas our lives or theirs. - -Their fingers were on the triggers. Another appeal on our side would be -useless—perhaps too late for ourselves. - -Quick and sure our volleys rang out. The aim was true. The two policemen -were dead. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -OUR ESCAPE. - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -On we sped, urging our poor horse to greater speed, while school children -and farmworkers watched us in amazement as we went by. - -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. - -“Do you remember, Dan, when we were reading about explosives? The book -says that they are dangerous if frozen, or if they get jolted?” - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 like many before us we felt that they would give us hope and -shelter. All through the ages since Geoffrey Keating penned his famous -_History_ 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. - -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. - -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 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.” - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -At last we reached Cahir. We were now as near to absolute collapse as -men could be. We were 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -[Illustration: POLICE NOTICE. - -£1000 REWARD - -WANTED FOR MURDER IN IRELAND. - -DANIEL BREEN - -(calls himself Commandant of the Third Tipperary Brigade). - -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. - -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. - -Information to be given at any Police Station. - -S.O. 14591. (G. 40). 5,000. 11.20.—A. T. & Co., Ltd.] - -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 now to come out in the open and let the world see that she held -Ireland by naked force, and by force alone. - -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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -HELPED BY THE BRITISH. - - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -“Who’s there?” he demanded. - -“Police!” came the prompt reply. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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? - -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. - -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:— - -“The peelers are inside, raiding!” - -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. - -From our point of vantage we waited until we saw the forces of the -British law depart to their barracks. Then we proceeded on our way, and -entered the house they had been raiding, where we enjoyed a pleasant tea. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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 _Hue and Cry_, -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -“Sorry for delaying you, gentlemen,” he shouted. - -This did not look like an ambush. I gently lowered my gun from view, and -waited for his next words. - -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 enough room for our car to pass. “’twas jolly rotten,” but he -thought we should have to get out and walk. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _Morning -Post_—“Wanted Gunmen aided and abetted by the British Army!” - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -OUR RETURN TO SOLOHEADBEG. - - -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? - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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! - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -The dear old soul has suffered much for the crime of having taught her -sons their duty to their country. 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. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -SEAN HOGAN CAPTURED. - - -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. - -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 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. - -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 -accustomed by now to taking risks, and it was long since we had had the -pleasure of a dance or a ceilidhe. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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! - -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 -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -[Illustration: J. J. HOGAN.] - -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 -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. - -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 we got a rude shock -when a bomb dropped from Robinson’s pocket, and for a moment we thought -we were being attacked. - -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. - -By 10 o’clock on the morning of May 13th, we had completed all -arrangements for the rescue of Sean Hogan. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE RESCUE AT KNOCKLONG. - - -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! - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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, too, that their hearts were right, and their -hands strong and daring. They would not turn a deaf ear to a call like -ours. - -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. - -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! - -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 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. - -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 learned why they took no part in the struggle. Perhaps it was -too late when they realised what was afoot. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 -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. - -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. - -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!” - -I had little time for studying the passengers. That first shot prevented -the escort from murdering 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 wounded, -but, in the excitement, I could not know where or how seriously, though I -knew it was in the region of the lung. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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! - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -OUR ESCAPE FROM KNOCKLONG. - - -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. - -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. - -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 a sofa. Mr. Meagher and his two daughters were at this time -busy about the farmyard preparing to send the milk to the creamery. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Then they tried still another plan. One of the policemen, pretending to -be his friend and adviser, 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. - -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 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. - -[Illustration: RAILWAY STATION, KNOCKLONG.] - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 we met some lads from the neighbourhood. They came to our assistance -and helped us to reach our destination. - -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. - -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 graves, as the newspapers -reported that “two of the attackers were believed to have been mortally -wounded.” - -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!” - -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 -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. - -When I woke up next day I was once more in West Limerick, under the care -of Sean Finn. - -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. - -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, 1921—a -month before the truce. The third prisoner, an ex-soldier (British), was -tried but acquitted. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -“What do you want a pin for?” I asked him. - -“Well,” he replied, “I’m afraid my tie isn’t hanging straight!” - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -MANY CLOSE SHAVES. - - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -One word more on this subject. I know that 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. - -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 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? - -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. - -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 his wife and family by attempting to arrest us. I’m not -saying he was wrong either. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. 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. - -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. 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. - -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. - -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. - -[Illustration: SEAMUS ROBINSON.] - -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 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. - -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. - -Still, I had to get the puncture mended. In a 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. - -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.” - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -ON THE TRAIL OF LORD FRENCH. - - -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 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -We had many good friends in Dublin. Phil Shanahan’s was a great haunt of -ours, and one of 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. - -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. - -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. -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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, 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! - -On all these occasions our information about Lord French’s arrangements -was absolutely reliable. 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. - -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. - -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 readers that -Lord French was away out of the country. I think they actually stated -that he was cruising somewhere in the North Sea. - -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. - -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. - -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? - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE BATTLE OF ASHTOWN. - - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -I have thought it necessary to describe the spot in this detail, because -even to Dublin people the Ashtown district is comparatively unfamiliar. - -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. - -[Illustration: MARTIN SAVAGE.] - -We cycled out the main road—the Cabra Road—going in pairs at different -intervals so as not to 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -“You cannot go down there for a while,” he remarked. “His Excellency is -to pass along here in a few seconds.” - -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. - -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. - -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. - -I did the only thing I could in the circumstances. I shouted at him—I -threatened him and finally told 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. Amidst a hail of bullets I dashed for -shelter of Kelly’s house round the corner and got there in safety. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -OUR ESCAPE FROM ASHTOWN. - - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 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. - -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! - -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.” - -We never got another chance of shooting Lord French. He retired -completely from public life. He scarcely ever appeared in public -afterwards. Even 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -The morning following the attack the _Irish Independent_ 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 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 _Irish Times_ was openly -and avowedly a British organ, and the _Freeman’s Journal_ 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. - -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 -_Independent_ 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 _Independent_, or any other Dublin newspaper, refer to any -I.R.A. men as murderers or assassins, and I must say that soon afterwards -the _Independent_ 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. - -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. - -One other matter I must refer to here and then I proceed with my -narrative: - -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 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. - -[Illustration: GENERAL LIAM LYNCH.] - -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 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! - -At the inquest too the Crown Counsel refused to disclose the name of the -lady who was in the car with Lord French. - -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. - -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: - -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 -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -Apart from my good and thoughtful comrades 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. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -FROM TARA TO TIPPERARY. - - -At the opening of 1920 I had plenty of leisure, while my wound was -healing, to review the year that had passed. - -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. 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! - -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.” - -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 _yet_ 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 executed prisoners of war, murdered -priests and outraged women. - -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. - -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. - -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 generation, and that I might be given strength and courage to speed -the day. - -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. - - “Let Erin remember the days of old - Ere her faithless sons betrayed her!” - -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. - -Many a day afterwards I wandered along the plains of Meath, thinking -and planning and 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 -course, denounced our campaign, though since a lesson had been taught the -_Independent_ 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 _Independent_. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -(In the next chapter I shall describe that new campaign.) - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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!” - -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, dangling -his revolver. Now, I thought, my hour had come. There is no escape this -time. - -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. - -I stepped out of the car and walked straight to the officer with an angry -scowl and demanded the meaning of this. - -“I must search your car,” was the curt reply. - -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. - -“Very well!” he said, “you may go ahead.” - -“Thank you,” I nodded to him, entered the car and we drove on. - -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. - -Our motor car was the only vehicle that entered or left Dublin without -being searched during those five days. - -The same bluff as had carried Sean Hogan and myself out of a similar -difficulty near Limerick a 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. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -THE BARRACK ATTACKS - - -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. - -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 -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 -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. - -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 -_Black and Tan_ 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 one of the best -brigades in Ireland against the British. - -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 (_alias_ “Forde”), who commanded in the attack. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 attacks, and who returned to their -work before morning. - -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. - -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 (_alias_ “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 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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -CAPTURE AND ESCAPE OF GENERAL LUCAS. - - -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.” - -When Lynch had driven his prisoners for some distance they were -conversing amongst themselves in Arabic. The purport of their -conversation was 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. - -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. - -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. - -Now, on the morning of July 30th, Sean Treacy 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. - -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. - -We expected the military car to arrive from Limerick about 10.30 a.m. A -few minutes before 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 -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. - -[Illustration: THE FLYING COLUMN IN TIPPERARY.] - -We retired without losing a man or receiving a wound. The enemy had three -dead and three wounded. - -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. - -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. - -A few days after this engagement at Oola I 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. - -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.” - -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. - -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. - -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. - -During this visit to Dublin I put a novel proposal before Headquarters, -the adoption of which changed the whole nature of the struggle. I shall -outline my proposal in the next chapter. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -ADVENTURES WITH THE MURDER GANG. - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -During these autumn days of 1920 poor Dinny Lacy was constantly with me -in Dublin, and many an exciting adventure we had together, dodging or -defying “G” men, or spies who got on our trail. - -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. - -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 in making such purchases. He gave -everything, even his life, in the cause of freedom. - -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. - -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 house was being searched from cellar to attic. All these -things were not rare, but daily occurrences. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 -not recognise me at all. Perhaps they were really on some other job. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 never recognised me. Perhaps my luck was not out yet. - -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. - -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? - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 getting hot, and since we had passed through so -many dangers together. - -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. - -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. - -I remember this Sunday well, because it indirectly led up to the fight at -Drumcondra, strange though that may seem. - -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” 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -All our worldly wealth went on the horse. And he won! - -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 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. - -[Illustration: DINNY LACEY.] - -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. - -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.” - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 held up and searched -at the door, or in the street or in the tram. - -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. - -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. - -Just as we approached the tram I stepped back to let the others get a few -yards in advance of me. 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. - -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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -THE DRUMCONDRA FIGHT. - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -I felt half inclined to tell him of the queer feeling that had come over -me, but he was himself the first to speak: - -“Dan,” he said, “do you find any queer feeling coming over you? I can’t -sleep. Can you?” - -He had, in fact, put the very questions I was trying to frame. I told him -so and we both laughed. - -“We may have a raid to-night, Sean,” I said, 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.” - -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.” - -Another moment’s silence and we both dozed off. - -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. - -There was a crash of glass in the front. A door opened. From the stairs -came the sound of rushing footsteps. - -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.” - -Crack! crack! Two bullets came whizzing through the door. Crack! crack! -My German Mauser pistol was replying. - -There was no light save the flash of the shots. Outside on the landing -an English voice was shouting, “Where is Ryan? Where is Ryan?” - -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. - -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. - -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. 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -“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 -to the room Sean may have concluded I was killed while he was trying to -settle his revolver. - -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. - -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. - -He might have escaped, I thought; but there was still the danger that he -had been shot further down the garden. - -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 stumbled over his body. I don’t know whether he was -dead or wounded. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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.” - -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. - -Then I learned who my good Samaritan was. He was Mr. Fred Holmes, whose -sympathies, I believe, were on the other side. - -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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -MISSED BY INCHES. - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -I was provided with an outfit and placed in the car. My keenest regret -was not the suit I had 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. - -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. - -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. - -“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.” - -Our car crossed Dorset Street into Mountjoy 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 on that stretcher I shook hands with Sean Treacy—for the last time. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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). - -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.” - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 -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. - -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?” - -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 kindness to us, and regret from the bottom of my heart -that he met such a sad death. May he rest in peace. - -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. - -Every house in the village and district was searched, but without avail. - -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. - -Thursday, 14th October, 1920, is a date I shall never forget. That was my -third day in the hospital. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -“It is all up this time, Dan,” I remarked to myself, “and you can’t even -pull a gun!” - -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. - -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? - -Luck favoured me once more. After a two hours’ stay the raiders departed -without even coming near my part of the house. - -When they had gone I learned the reason of their swoop. Early that -morning a young I.R.A. man 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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -EXECUTIONS AND REPRISALS. - - -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. - -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. - -Sean had almost completed the arrangements for the rescue when he went to -the “Republican Outfitters,” in Talbot Street, where he was to have 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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.” - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -As my eyes travelled along the line of spectators 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 saying they were “at war with Ireland.” -But there could not be one set of war rules for their men and another for -ours. - -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. - -There were two terrible reprisals that day for the execution of the -fourteen spies. - -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. - -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. - -Another incident of “Bloody Sunday” had, however, a sadder personal -touch for me. That 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. - -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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -MY RETURN TO TIPPERARY. - - -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. - -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. - -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 -before Christmas of 1920, I found myself back again in my own brigade -area in South Tipperary. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -The enemy party was expected to pass about 10 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.” - -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. - -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.” - -He was at once taken prisoner, and his car 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. - -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. - -Traynor’s was a particularly sad case. He was the father of a helpless -young family. His execution was fixed for April 25th. - -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. - -The message was delivered in Dublin Castle two 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -MARRIED IN THE BATTLE LINE. - - -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. - -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. - -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 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? - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -THE TRUCE. - - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -I returned to Dublin about the end of September. While I was in the -capital the Dublin Guards presented 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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? - -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. - -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. - -[Illustration: J. J. HOGAN. FATHER DAN KELLY. DAN BREEN.] - -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. - -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:— - -“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. - -“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. - -“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? - -“I take no party’s side, but I still stand by our old principle of -Complete Separation and entire Independence.” - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 the same warm -greeting from Joe McGarrity, Luke Dillon and the O’Dohertys. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -EFFORTS TO AVERT CIVIL WAR. - - -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. - -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. - -I visited the strongholds of each party in turn to explore the -possibilities. I called meetings of the old fighting crowd on each side, -but there seemed no chance of any agreement. - -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. - -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:— - -“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. - -“To avert this catastrophe we believe that a closing of the ranks all -round is necessary. - -“We suggest to all leaders, Army and Political, and all citizens and -soldiers of Ireland, the advisability 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. - -“We feel that on this basis alone can the situation best be faced, viz.:— - - “(1) The acceptance of the Pact—admitted by all sides—that the - majority of the people of Ireland are willing to accept the - Treaty. - - “(2) An agreed election with a view to - - “(3) Forming a Government which will have the confidence of the - whole country. - - “(4) Army unification on above basis.” - -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. - -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 adverse criticism. One Republican Journal, -_The Plain People_, 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. - -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. - -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. - -When the election came there was some difficulty about a vacancy which -had been created in East 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -HOW I WAS CAPTURED. - - -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. - -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 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. - -I shall conclude my story with an account of the circumstances that led -to my capture. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -I was first taken to Galbally where I met my old 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -During my imprisonment the people of Tipperary had elected me as their -senior Republican Deputy. - - Printed at - The Talbot Press - DUBLIN - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY FIGHT FOR IRISH -FREEDOM *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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