Espionage and Assasination with Michael Collins' Intelligence Unit: With the Dublin Brigade (13 page)

‘Come on,' said I, still breathless with excitement, ‘the car will be along any minute.'

They came out into the street. At the same moment the car appeared. We saw it turning out of the avenue and coming towards us.

I saw Emmet and Joe picked up. And then, the happiest young man in Dublin that morning, I cycled away to the stable in Abbey Street.

There I found Michael Collins waiting. His look searched mine for an answer to the question there was no need to ask. He was overjoyed, and my satisfaction was unbounded to be the bearer of such good news to him. He was all smiles.

‘I hope the second part will be as successful,' he said.

The next day being Sunday, I went to find Pat McCrea to hear the rest of the story.

I had already read the newspaper versions of the ‘Daring Attempted Rescue of MacEoin', but I wanted to hear the true account. I was fortunate enough to find Emmet in his company.

Pat began: ‘When we left the abattoir,' he said, ‘I had a lot of trouble with the car. I only succeeded in keeping it in motion. I was afraid every minute the engine would stop running. I knew if it did I would never get it going again. There was no self-starter, and as the spare driver had not turned up there was no one available to swing the car.

‘When I turned up the avenue leading to the prison, I was greatly worried to see how narrow it was. I did not know how I was going to turn the car in it and drive away again when the job was over.

‘At the gates Emmet put his head out of the turret. A warder had come forward at once at our approach.

‘“I have an important order for the governor,” he said, holding an envelope bearing the letters OHMS in his hand so that it could be seen. “Open the gates at once to admit the car.”

‘The warder consulted somebody whom we could not see, and to our joy we saw the outer gates being opened. Then I drove in.

‘I drove in,' repeated Pat, ‘and I was unpleasantly surprised to see two more gates inside, barring our way. They shut the outer gate before they opened the two inner ones. As the sentry with his key opened the third and inmost gate, he said to me, “Will you be coming out again soon?” “I will,” said I, while at the same time I turned round the car between the two inner gates, which were close together, in such a way that neither of them could be closed.

‘Emmet opened the door of the car, and he and Joe Leonard jumped out, and I saw them, accompanied by a warder, disappear into the prison to see the governor.

‘Tom Kehoe got out at the same time. There was a sentry standing inside the gate, and Tom meant to see that he didn't interfere with the gates.

‘When our two British officers, Emmet and Joe, had passed into the prison, I thought I had better try and complete the turning round of the car in the narrow courtyard where we were, between the gates. I succeeded. I don't know how I did it. I know I could never do it again. Somebody was saying a Hail Mary for me, I suppose.

‘There was yet the outer gate which was still shut. We had made arrangements about that; but if they failed, we were all trapped, as there was a sentry on the roof with a machine gun trained on the gate.

‘Well, you know what the plan was, Charlie? Some of our men were to come with parcels, pretending they were relatives of some untried prisoners inside, but, really, to see that the gates were kept open for our escape, and at that moment I saw the warder open the wicket gate in response to a knock from outside.

‘There, sure enough, was one of our fellows with a parcel in his hand. But the warder was in no mood that morning for a little friendly conversation to pass the time and he went to close the wicket again.

‘I saw the visitor draw a revolver and with the help of two or three more of our men who were suddenly beside him, also with parcels (and also with revolvers), they held up the warder and, taking the keys off him, they opened the outer gate.

‘That was a very happy moment, but my joy was short-lived.

‘The sentry inside the gate had seen what had happened. He immediately fired on our men with the parcels, slightly wounding one and raising the alarm.

‘As soon as the firing started, Tom Kehoe shot the sentry and at once I drove forward the car so that the outer gate could not be shut. There I waited, while shots were raining on us from the machine gun on the roof, until I heard one of our men shout, “Drive on! Joe and Emmet are on the back of the car.”

‘I did not need any second bidding. I “drove on” as I never thought I could have driven that car. The other Volunteers, who had been acting the part of the visitors, also jumped on behind; and I don't know how they were not all killed, as the machine gun kept up a continuous fire upon us the whole length of the avenue.

‘Once on the North Circular Road again we were safe, as we were out of the line of fire. But we had not MacEoin. You know that.'

‘No, we failed,' said Emmet, ‘it was hopeless from the moment the firing started. If it could have been delayed for a couple of minutes we might have got him.

‘What happened was this. It was plain sailing at the beginning. Joe and I followed the warder first through the outer iron gate, and then through an inner door also of iron. These were locked behind us. We were taken to the governor's office. It is just inside the prison, in the circular vestibule from which the corridors of the cells radiate. It was rather awful the sort of labyrinth we had got into.

‘When we entered, we saluted.

‘I told the governor, in my best English accent acquired in Flanders, that I had an order to receive MacEoin who was to be taken to Dublin Castle, while I showed him the forged order we had prepared. I thought it was all right, and that he would send for MacEoin to be brought to the office. But, unfortunately, he was not prepared to do so at once. He must telephone to the Castle, he said, to get our instructions confirmed.

‘So there was nothing to do but to seize him, and we had him gagged before he had time to call out. Then, binding him, I told Joe to keep guard over him, while I would get the chief warder to take me to MacEoin's cell. I thought he might raise no objection, seeing I had just left the governor's room.

‘But at that moment the firing burst out. The game was up. Fortunately the two prison doors were opened for us, our connection with the shooting outside not yet being suspected. Once outside we dashed through the courtyard. I saw a sentry lying dead with his rifle beside him. Picking up the rifle, we jumped on to the back of the car, which was now in motion and we got away.'

‘What did you do with the car, Pat?'

‘I drove it as far as I could from the prison, until I found we were on the Howth Road, two miles away. Here the engine stopped and I couldn't get it going again. It was a quiet stretch of road, and we stripped it of the two machine guns and the ammunition and set it on fire.

‘We crossed some fields, where I took off my dungarees and my Tommy's hat. I hid them in a ditch. Then we hid the machine guns and the ammunition.

‘Our work done, we parted.

‘I went back in to town to give a hand to my brother, Saturday being a busy day for him. You know he supplied Portobello Barracks with their provisions, and the first job he gave me, when I arrived, was to deliver a big order to the Auxiliaries' mess there.

‘I thought he might wonder if I raised any objection, so I got out the van and drove it to the barracks. I found the gates closed. After a short parley, they cautiously opened them and let me drive in. They were taking precautions, they told me, “against a surprise attack by an armoured car”.

‘While I was delivering the goods, the Auxiliaries were all excitement.

‘“What's all the alarm about?” said I.

‘In reply they brought me into their canteen, and while standing me a few drinks, they told me in whispers about the terrible coup of the morning and that the car was “still at large”.

‘I felt very safe where I was, thinking of the fine alibi I would have in case of any trouble, when I suddenly remembered that I had left my collar, with my laundry mark on it, in the pocket of my discarded dungarees.

‘I consoled myself thinking that there was little chance of their being found. But I was mistaken. They were discovered, and I thought it best to go to Michael and tell him.

‘“Which is your laundry, Pat?” he asked me.

‘I told him.

‘“That's all right. I'll send along someone to see the manager. He won't answer any questions. He will know what to expect if he does.”'

They did not find the machine guns. When a suitable opportunity came, we sent them to the country.

On the 21st May 1921 the Custom House was burned by the Dublin Brigade.

This was done as a necessary part of our campaign. It was one of the headquarters of what was left of the British civil administration in Ireland. Through their tax officials they were still able to continue to extract Irish money for the purpose of keeping the country in subjection, and it was therefore decided to destroy their documents and records. At the Custom House were kept not only those referring to Customs and Excise, but also the documents and records of the Local Government and other departments. All authority to deal with these matters of civil government had been transferred by the people to the National Parliament – Dáil Éireann.

To burn the contents of the Custom House in broad daylight, while holding up the large staff of hundreds of officials and clerks, was a big undertaking, and about 120 Volunteers were told off for the job. It was in the hands mainly of the 2nd Battalion of the Dublin Brigade, but all the men on active service were engaged for it, and also any Volunteers of the brigade who, while not whole-time men, could get off for the necessary hours from their workshops and offices.

No intelligence officers were engaged for this operation, but we were conversant with the plan of action.

At one o'clock on the 21st May, Tom Cullen (another I/O) and I left our office in Brunswick Street to have a look at the burning of the Custom House, as we knew that the Volunteers were to enter the building at that hour. Joe and Jimmy were both taking part.

Tom Cullen was a great favourite with us all. He came from Wicklow, and in him, Tom Kehoe and Pat McCrea, we had three splendid soldiers from that county, which otherwise played but a poor part in the fight. He had lived in Dublin for a number of years and was one of the two or three men most trusted by Michael Collins, and was his intimate friend. Though not yet thirty years old, he had a powerful physique, being fond of all kinds of athletics. He was a brilliant shot. His nature was cheerful and generous; he had nearly always a smiling, mischievous expression so that all who met him were attracted to him. He had a large heart and was immediately distressed by the sight of any poverty or cruelty. He loved Dublin, and knew every newsboy in the city, his ready sympathy causing him often to help them when they were in difficulties. So that they loved to serve him in return, were forever on the watch for him and kept him informed of enemy movements and the whereabouts of military patrols. His sad death by drowning in Lough Dan in County Wicklow in 1925 was one of the most cruel of our many losses, and deprived me of my most beloved friend.

Tom and I walked down the south quays to a spot from which we could see the Custom House across the river. There seemed to be nothing unusual happening and we began to wonder if the orders had been cancelled.

After about ten minutes, however, we noticed smoke coming from one of the upper windows, and while we were watching it we heard shots fired.

On the other side of the river we saw some tenders of Auxiliaries rapidly approaching the Custom House along the north quays. Immediately there were loud explosions and continuous firing, and we concluded that a Volunteer outpost on Butt Bridge was engaging the Auxiliaries.

The firing continued, and thinking the operation was over and the Volunteers safely retreating, we decided to hurry away as we had no business to be loitering round.

We started to run. The people were all standing in their doorways. Seeing us running they assumed we had been in the engagement, and shouted to us offering shelter and encouragement. Some women ran out and seized us, dragging us into their house, telling us we could get away from the back. We had trouble in convincing them that we were all right and had not taken part in the firing. They had made up their minds that we had been carrying out an ambush.

We walked on until we could cross the Liffey by the upper bridge. From the bridge we saw the Custom House in flames.

Later in the day reports came in which greatly disconcerted us. Six Volunteers had been killed in action, many wounded and about sixty had been captured.

This news greatly troubled us, as practically all the active Volunteers in Dublin had been engaged and it would be almost impossible to fill the vacant places in the ranks.

Jimmy was one of the men trapped in the building. Joe and I spent a very gloomy night thinking of the serious losses we had sustained. Of the original Squad, besides Jimmy, Tom Kehoe was a prisoner and Jim Slattery was badly wounded.

The weeks following the destruction of the Custom House were very trying ones for us. Many of our best men had been killed or were in jail and it was necessary for us to conceal our crippled state from the enemy, who might otherwise have taken advantage of it to deal us a decisive blow. Ambushes were, therefore, carried out nearly every day by idle Volunteers, or those who could leave their employment for a couple of hours.

During this month, June 1921, I was introduced to two Americans. Two Thompson machine guns had been successfully smuggled in and the Americans had come to show us how to use them.

I listened to a lecture they gave to a few of us on the working of the gun, but it was purely theoretic, as the guns themselves had to be kept carefully hidden until the moment came to bring them into action.

The officer who was now in command of the Active Service Unit sent for me one evening and told me I was to go on an ambush on the following morning and that I was to operate one of the Thompson guns.

On turning up at the meeting place, I now saw for the first time the two machine guns which were concealed in a waiting motor-car and I met the Volunteer who was to be my companion.

We drove to the position selected for the ambush and waited near a railway embankment. We had information that a troop train would pass by. A fresh detachment was arriving in Ireland from Silesia and was on its way to the Curragh.

We waited alongside the motor-car until we heard bombs exploding and the sound of gun-shot fire. We each took out one of the Thompsons and knelt down in readiness. As this was the first time I had the gun in my hand, it took me a minute to locate the various gadgets and, while looking it over, the train, badly wrecked by the bombing party, passed by.

It had been our expectation that, on being bombed, the train would be pulled up, when we could have entered into an engagement with the troops. But the engine driver did not even slacken speed and I failed to operate my gun, as I had not sufficient practical knowledge of it to get it working in the thirty seconds which the train took to pass our position.

The other Volunteer was more fortunate. He was in time to fire one magazine of twenty rounds before the train disappeared from view.

I was greatly disappointed not to have been able to use the gun. Subsequently I was asked for an explanation and my opinion of it. I reported that it was satisfactory and that I would have been able to demonstrate its powers if I had had an opportunity beforehand to look over the mechanism.