what would be the right word to substitute for fishing. After a while he
realised that there was not a boat left on the river, and, further, that
if all the boats had carried as many passengers as the three he had just
seen start, over three hundred young men from Ballybor had gone
a-fishing that Sunday morning, the majority of whom, if not all of them,
were shop-boys, the most dangerous element in the town.
The barracks commanded a good view of the reach of the river where the
boats were usually moored, and next Sunday at an early hour Blake told
off Sergeant O’Bryan with a pair of field-glasses to report how many
boats and how many men went out a-fishing. At eleven o’clock the
sergeant reported that, as usual, all the thirty-seven boats had
started, carrying two hundred and fifty young men, and that among them
he had recognised most of the prominent Sinn Fein shop-boys of the town.
But he did not add that he had seen Walsh and Lynch.
Five miles below Ballybor the Owenmore river, from being roughly two
hundred yards wide, suddenly becomes an inland sea, with a width of over
three miles and a length of a mile. Between this inland water and the
open sea runs a long narrow range of sand-hills, commonly known as Seal
Island, nearly three miles long and with an average width of four
hundred yards.
Blake came to the conclusion that the fishing expeditions every Sunday
must be connected with this lonely island; but except for drilling—and
sand-dunes did not seem a suitable place for a parade—he could think of
nothing to which this island would lend itself. Moreover, he knew that
if he tried to find out what was going on by observing from the
mainland, he would be spotted and the alarm given, and that if he tried
to approach the island in a boat from the seaside the fishermen from
Dooncarra would give him away.
In the end it was settled to wait until the following Sunday, when
Sergeant O’Bryan made his way across country before daylight and hid
himself in the tower of an old abbey on the shore of the inland sea,
from which the greater part of Seal Island was visible. On the Sunday
night he returned to barracks, and reported that the “fishermen” had all
landed at the little pier on the south side of the island, left a small
guard over the boats, and made their way into the sand-hills, where they
were hidden from his view. Some time afterwards, muffled intermittent
rifle-fire started, and continued at intervals for several hours, after
which the “fishermen” returned to their boats, and rowed back leisurely
to Ballybor on the flood tide.
But before Blake could tackle the mystery of Seal Island, he had to turn
his attention to a flying column of the I.R.A. which was reported to be
making its way towards Ballybor. On the Sunday evening when O’Bryan
returned from the old abbey, word was brought in by a Loyalist that the
flying column had been seen that day in the Ballyrick mountains, and had
taken up its quarters in the empty house of Mr Padraig O’Faherty, member
of Dail Eireann for the Ballybor country, who had been for some time
past an unwilling guest of the British Government somewhere in England.
Padraig O’Faherty’s house was (advisably was) situated in the middle of
a desolate valley in the mountains twenty miles from Ballyrick and the
same distance from Ballybor, and could only be approached by a bog road,
which winds through mountains and moors without passing a single human
habitation for the last eight miles. Moreover, there was not a tree
within fifteen miles of the house, so that any attempt at surprise, or
even attack, during the day-time was out of the question. At the first
sight of a Crossley—and they had a three-mile view of the road both ways
from the house—the flying column would simply dissolve into the
mountains, probably to reappear the next day attacking a police barrack
fifty miles the other side of Ballybor. A good example of the kind of
problem the R.I.C. has to solve daily in the wild parts of the west.
That night Blake left Ballybor with an advance-guard of police on
bicycles, and making a detour of the town, timed himself to arrive at
O’Faherty’s house just before daylight, having arranged that Jones
should follow in the Crossleys with his platoon of Blankshires and as
many police as could be spared.
Arriving too soon, they hid their bicycles in some high heather near the
road, and as soon as it was light enough took up positions at different
points round the house, so that every avenue of escape would be swept by
their rifle-fire, and waited for the main body to arrive.
As the sky became light, smoke could be seen rising from some of the
chimneys, a suspicious sign at that hour of the morning, and shortly
afterwards four young men appeared at the door, yawning and stretching
themselves. After examining the valley in every direction with
field-glasses, they proceeded to bring about forty bicycles out of a
stable and park them in military formation outside, after which they
re-entered the house.
During the next hour nothing happened, and just as Blake had given up
all hope of the main body arriving and was thinking of trying to rush
the house with his small force, a large party of men started to leave
the house and make for the bicycles, and Blake was forced to give the
order to open fire.
Several men were seen to drop at once, while the rest rushed back into
the house, carrying their wounded with them, and in a minute heavy fire
was opened from every window in the house on the police positions, the
firing of a single shot by a policeman being the signal for a hail of
bullets in that direction.
Blake was now getting very anxious at the non-arrival of Jones’s party,
fearing that instead of capturing the flying column, the Volunteers
might capture the police; and in order to deceive them, ordered his men
to withhold their fire unless the Volunteers tried to rush them. At last
Jones turned up, having been delayed repeatedly by punctures, and
completed a strong cordon round the house.
Blake now attempted to draw the cordon closer, but every time the police
and soldiers tried to advance by short rushes under heavy covering fire,
the Volunteers opened such accurate fire from every window, including
machine-gun fire from one of the upper rooms, that he had to desist.
Eventually the soldiers silenced the machine-gun with their Lewis guns.
After getting to within three hundred yards of the house, Blake found
that, owing to the formation of the ground, it would be impossible to
advance any nearer without very heavy losses, and refused to allow Jones
to make an assault with his men until all other means of reducing the
place had failed.
The day was now wearing on, and for several hours the situation had
remained a complete deadlock. The Volunteers were obviously marking time
until darkness set in, when they would stand a good chance of slipping
through the cordon; and Blake fully realised that if he did not win
during daylight, he would surely lose in the dark.
Blake and Jones lay in the heather close together, arguing as to whether
they should try to assault the house or not. Jones was keen to try,
while Blake feared a failure with heavy losses. The day was by now
blazing hot, with a steady south wind, and Jones, after lighting a
cigarette, carelessly threw the match away alight, and in a second the
dry heather took fire, and was only extinguished with great difficulty.
But the fire had given Blake the idea he had been hunting for so long.
Collecting all the matches that the men possessed, Jones made his way
round to the south side of the house, and distributed them amongst all
the men there, who, at a given signal, set fire to the heather in front
of them, and as soon as the house was enveloped in a cloud of smoke, the
whole force charged for the house. As soon as they got within range, the
police hurled Mills’ bombs through every window, and the soldiers then
dashed in with fixed bayonets, but the bombs had done the work.
They found that the Volunteers had suffered heavily, hardly a man
escaping a bomb splinter or a Lewis-gun bullet, and the question was how
to remove so many wounded. In the house they found bed and bedding for
fully forty men, and a great supply of fresh and tinned food; also
rifles (chiefly Mauser), American shot-guns, automatics, revolvers, a
quantity of ammunition, and a good stock of home-made bombs in a kind of
cellar.
Not having enough transport, Blake sent off a fast car to ask for help
from the County Inspector. Before leaving, Blake blew up Mr Padraig
O’Faherty’s house with the Volunteers’ bombs, and the party returned to
Ballybor before dark, victorious, but worn out.
As soon as they had had some sleep, Blake and Jones started to work out
their plans for a surprise attack on Seal Island the following Sunday,
and found that they had a difficult task before them.
Except at the east and west ends of the island, where the two channels
of the river cut through the ridge of sand-hills, all approaches were
visible for a long distance, and any idea of surprise out of the
question. On the other hand, if an attempt was made to cross the
channels, the Volunteers would have ample time to reach their boats at
the pier in the middle of the south shore and so escape, while at a low
tide it was possible to walk across at one point to the mainland.
In the end they gave it up, and went to consult the C.I., who decided to
call in the assistance of the Navy.
On Sunday morning Sergeant O’Bryan duly reported that the boats had gone
down the river, as usual with full crews. The previous night a destroyer
had crept into the bay with all lights covered, and after landing a
large party of bluejackets on Seal Island, had left again.
After allowing sufficient time for the Volunteers to land and get to
work, Blake followed in a commandeered motor-launch, and at the same
time Jones left the barracks with his platoon in two Crossleys, each
with a Lewis gun, one party making for the western mouth of the river,
and the other for the eastern, where they proceeded to take up positions
covering all escape across the channels.
About three hundred yards from the pier on Seal Island, Blake and his
men landed on a small round green island called Gannet Island, and took
up positions covering the boats lying alongside the pier. Directly they
landed, a small group of men were seen to leave the pier and disappear
into the sand-dunes. Meanwhile the launch, with a machine-gun mounted in
the bows, proceeded to patrol along the south shore of the island over
the shallow water.
After a short time heavy firing broke out in the sand-hills and then
died down, to break out again as a large body of Volunteers streamed
towards the pier; but before they could reach their boats, Blake’s men
on Gannet Island opened fire on them, and the launch sprayed them well
with its machine-gun. The Volunteers seemed nonplussed and at a loss
what to do; but the bluejackets, advancing in open order with fixed
bayonets from the sand-hills, quickly decided them, and they made for
the east end of the island, disappearing into a hollow followed by the
bluejackets.
Again heavy firing broke out from the direction of the hollow, and
continued at intervals for over an hour. Fearing that something was
wrong, Blake then embarked his men on the launch, and after landing at
the pier, proceeded in the direction of the firing, to find the
Volunteers holding a large house which so far the sailors had failed to
take.
The house came as a surprise to the police, none of whom had ever set
foot on the island before, and there seemed every prospect of another
deadlock. The house was old, well built, and commanded a fine field of
fire in every direction.
But sailors are handy men, and after a consultation with Blake, the
lieutenant in command decided to signal to his destroyer, which had
anchored in the bay again, to open fire with her guns on the house.
After trying in vain to get a direct view of the house, the destroyer
opened indirect fire, a sailor on a high sand-hill signalling the result
of each shot. Unfortunately the house was so sheltered by the sides of
the hollow that nothing short of a howitzer could have reached it.
But the sailors were not beaten. After putting farther out to sea, the
destroyer tried again, and this time at the third shot got home with a
direct hit, and in a few minutes it was seen that the house was on fire.
Sailors and police now held their fire, and waited for the exciting
moment when the Volunteers would be forced by the flames to bolt. A
quarter of an hour, half an hour passed, but not a Volunteer bolted from
the now fiercely burning house. At last the roof fell in with a crash
and shower of sparks, and every man gripped his rifle, thinking that at
last the rebels would be smoked out; but nothing happened. They had
either vanished into thin air or were roasted alive. Still the sailors
and police waited on, thinking that in the end somebody must come out.
Without any warning one gable-end of the house suddenly fell outwards,
and simultaneously firing broke out from the east channel of the river,
about five hundred yards away.
The spell was now broken, and every man dashed in the direction of the
firing. When they reached high ground they could see many of the
Volunteers swimming across the channel, while those who could not swim
were running towards the north side of the island.
The half-platoon of the Blankshires, with Sergeant O’Bryan as a guide,
had taken up their position in the sand-hills on the mainland commanding
the passage across the east channel, and had only been interested
spectators of parts of the battle up to the time the gable fell, when,
to their astonishment, they suddenly saw the Volunteers streaming out of
the sand-hills and dashing into the river in front of them.
Foremost among the swimmers Sergeant O’Bryan saw, to his great joy, the
heads of Walsh and Lynch, their foot-long hair floating like manes
behind them, and knew that his enemies had been delivered into his
hands. By the time the swimmers reached the mainland, and found
themselves covered by the rifles and Lewis gun of the soldiers, they had
had enough, and put up their hands of their own accord.
The sailors and police now beat the island towards the west end, and
after a hard scramble over the sand-hills captured the remaining
Volunteers.
A careful search of the place where the Volunteers had suddenly appeared
out of the ground showed that there was an underground passage running
from the house to within a short distance of the shore, probably used in
former days for smuggling purposes.
A further search explained the reason of the Volunteers’ Sunday visits
to the island. In a valley of the sand-hills they found an up-to-date
rifle-range, and afterwards learnt that it had been built during the
early part of the war, and frequently used for firing musketry courses
by units of the New Armies training in Ireland.
XIV.
A FAMILY AFFAIR.
The mac Nessa, Prince of Murrisk, claimed descent from one of the Nine
Hostages; and though proud of his lineage, he was still prouder of the
boast that, up to comparatively recent times, not one of his ancestors
had died in his bed. A violent death in some form or other, chiefly the
“middoge,” accounting for one and all.
Murrisk Abbey is a modern house, as old places go in Ireland, but in the
grounds there are the ruins of a very old castle, built in the days when
the O’Fogartys ruled a countryside as far horse could gallop in any
direction during the hours of daylight. Here the mac Nessa had spent
most of his life, hunting, shooting, fishing, and farming, and
incidentally bringing up a family of two sons and four daughters.
Both the sons, Cormac and Dominic, had served during the war in the
British Army. Dominic willingly and eagerly, and Cormac, the elder, only
because he feared his father, who was a staunch Loyalist.
The spring of 1919 found the two brothers at home. Cormac for good and
all as he believed, and Dominic until he could decide how and where to
make a living.
In England there is nowadays a large class whose one and only object in
life appears to be to take sides with any and every enemy of their
country, be he Boer, Boche, Bolshevik, or Sinn Feiner. This party never
ceases to aid and abet these enemies by every means in their power,
short of endangering their own skins, and at the same time never let an
opportunity pass of accusing our soldiers and police (in Ireland) of
every abominable crime which man has been known to commit. During the
war this class of Englishmen greatly puzzled and irritated the French,
as they have every nation that has ever admired the British as a race. A
French interpreter once said to a British officer, “Many of your race
are noble, the rest are swine.”
In Ireland, by some lucky chance, we have escaped this detestable and
despicable breed of man, to whom a sincere rebel is infinitely
preferable, but at the same time we have a class of men and women who
are first cousins to them. In many good Irish families, noted for
generations past for their unswerving loyalty, there is often one member
who is an out-and-out rebel. Luckily he or she has generally less brains
than the rest of the family, and is looked upon as a harmless lunatic,
and one of the crosses which have to be borne in the world.
A plausible reason often advanced for this sporadic appearance of a
rebel in a loyal family is the complete lack of conversation at the
dinner-table, once sport has been exhausted, when all members of a
family see eye to eye in politics; and as a “mutual admiration society”
quickly palls on many young men and women, one member expresses contrary
political opinions to the others out of pure cussedness, and the anger
and recriminations of the rest quickly turn the bored jibber into a
red-hot rebel.
Not many weeks after the brothers had returned home from the war,
Cormac, who had spent many hours of his youth reading books and
pamphlets on the wrongs England had inflicted on Ireland instead of
hunting and shooting, and had even appeared at breakfast once in a weird
ginger-coloured kilt, raised the red flag of Sinn Fein one evening at
the dinner-table. Probably he did it from sheer boredom, hoping to draw
his father into a wordy argument and so pass the time. The result,
however, had a far-reaching effect on the lives of both Cormac and
Dominic.
The mac Nessa was a big man and Cormac was not, and but for the
intervention of Dominic, the elder son would probably have had an
unpleasant and painful eviction from the dinner-table. However, the old
chieftain controlled himself with a great effort, but as soon as the
servants had withdrawn he ordered Cormac to leave the house the
following morning for good and all, and in a sullen rage Cormac stalked
out of the room.
Leaving word with the butler to pack his kit, Cormac made his way to the
house of the parish priest, about two and a half miles from the abbey,
where, being a Roman Catholic, he hoped to receive sympathy.
If there is one Church in the world which might be expected to range
itself wholeheartedly on the side of law and order it is the Church of
Rome, whose very existence depends on obedience, and it must have been a
source of wonder to many English people why, at the very beginning of
the Sinn Fein movement, this Church did not at once come into the open
and denounce Sinn Fein from the altar in plain and unmistakable terms.
Any thinking priest must know that under a semi-Bolshevik republic the
power of the Roman Catholic Church would be gone, and gone for ever.
Cormac found the old priest kind and gentle as ever, but firm in his
refusal to listen to any Sinn Fein views, and in a fresh rage he left to
make his way to the curate’s lodging in a neighbouring farmhouse, and
here he was received with open arms.
The curate quickly perceived what a valuable recruit Cormac might make,
and before he left to spend his last night at the abbey, took advantage
of the boy’s excited mood to make him swear to join the I.R.A.
After a very early breakfast, Cormac left his home on the fifteen-mile
drive to Ballybor, where he caught the mail train for Dublin, his heart
full of hatred of his family, and his mind set on revenge.
A week of dirty Dublin lodgings convinced Cormac that he had made a fool
of himself, and putting his pride in his pocket, he wrote to his father
asking to be allowed to return home. By return of post came a
typewritten post-card from the mac Nessa to the effect that while he
lived no rebel should ever darken his door.
That evening two strangers called at his rooms, and after making certain
of his identity, explained that a message had been received at the Sinn
Fein headquarters in Dublin from Father Michael of Murrisk that Cormac
was prepared to join in the Sinn Fein movement, and offering him a
high-sounding position. Cormac’s vanity was flattered, and he accepted
at once.
Knowing that Cormac’s name would carry great weight with many
half-hearted supporters and waverers, the Sinn Fein leaders employed him
solely on propaganda work, sending him to every part of the country, not
excepting the north, to speak at meetings, and always taking good care
that his name appeared in large letters on the posters, and kind friends
were not wanting to send the mac Nessa cuttings of his son’s speeches
from every Irish and English paper in which they appeared.
During his travels Cormac at different times met in trains and hotels
many friends of his own class, who one and all, to their great credit,
refused to speak to him, and this treatment embittered him still more
against all Loyalists, more especially against his father and brother.
After one trip to a town in the south, where he had tried to enter a
club, and had been ejected by the hall porter, he offered himself on his
return to Dublin for “active service,” and was at once sent to the
Ballybor district to organise outrages, the Sinn Fein leaders knowing
that the name of O’Fogarty was one to conjure with in that country even
in these days.
In the meantime Dominic had been asked by the authorities to join the
newly-formed Auxiliary Division of the R.I.C., in order that his
knowledge of the Ballybor country might be utilised, and after a short
training in Dublin found himself quartered in Ballybor with a platoon of
Cadets.
By a coincidence the two brothers arrived in Ballybor within a week of
each other, Cormac an avowed Sinn Feiner, and Dominic an officer in the
Auxiliaries, who were about to take on the rebels at their own breed of
warfare.
Every kind of news travels fast in country districts in Ireland, and
within twelve hours of the brothers’ arrival it is doubtful if you could
have found, even in the mountains of Ballyrick, a child who did not know
of the O’Fogartys’ return. Moreover, there is nothing an Irishman loves
more than a fight, and one between two brothers of the best-known family
in three counties, with armed men at their back, was something worth
looking forward to, even in these days of murder and outrage. And at
local race-meetings in the west bets were freely taken on the issue of
the fight between Cormac and Dominic O’Fogarty.
All thought of King or Republic was now completely forgotten in
Ballybor, and for many miles around the countryside was divided into two
camps. Most of the Volunteers, all nominally, were for Cormac, whilst
all Loyalists and a good many Volunteers secretly supported Dominic,
with the result that, so keen were both sides to outmanœuvre each other,
the police obtained far more information than they had for a long time
past.
Dominic made up his mind to take the offensive straight away, and
learning from one of his Volunteer sympathisers that his brother, when
in Ballybor, always slept in the house of a man called Ryan, made
arrangements to raid the place, and at any rate to put Cormac out of
action for some time to come.
However, Cormac learning of his brother’s kindly intention, thought that
it would be an excellent opportunity to raid Murrisk for arms on that
particular night, and incidentally to get some of his own back from his
father. Leaving Ballybor as soon as it was dark with a dozen men, they
bicycled to Murrisk, and after parking their machines in a wood near the
main road, proceeded to knock up the house. The butler opened the door,
but did not recognise Cormac in a mask, though his walk seemed vaguely
familiar to him.