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.