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 guerrilla 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... 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 until 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 buy the provisions.
And so the nine of us who remained were watching and waiting. The men who were with me were
- Sean Tracey, Seamus Robinson, Sean Hogan, Tim Crowe, Patrick O'Dwyer of Holyford;
Michael Ryan of Grange (Donohill); Patrick McCormack and Jack O'Meara, Tipperary... 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 Dáil Éireann 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 from 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 horses' hoofs, and the rumbling of a heavy cart
over the rough hilly road. That day I did not feel the 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 emergencies such as this. In all probability they
had just completed the special course in bomb-throwing, which had lately been added to the
accomplishments of the R.I.C [Royal Irish Constabulary]. My little squad had little
experience in the practical use of firearms. We had never been in the position of firing
one round of ball-cartridge for the sake of practise. We had often chaffed one another for
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 Irish-men 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 spies and hirelings of her enemy. Near 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 movements bring them to the ready. They were Irishmen too, and would
rather die than surrender. Again and again we called on 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.
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