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, policeand 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, forlike many before us we felt that they would give us hope and shelter. All through the ages since Geoffrey Keating penned his famousHistorywhen 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 shotbefore 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 levelledmy 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 werebecoming 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,” “FearfulCrime,” “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.
POLICE NOTICE.£1000 REWARDWANTED 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.
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 hadnow 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.