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.