Espionage and Assasination with Michael Collins' Intelligence Unit: With the Dublin Brigade (4 page)

More than a hundred towns were deliberately sacked. The destruction of Balbriggan, which was near to Dublin and famous for its hosiery works, could not be concealed, and the
Manchester Guardian
had an article headed ‘An Irish Louvain'.
The
Times,
in a leading article, said: ‘The accounts of the arson and destruction by the military at Mallow in County Cork as revenge for a Sinn Féin raid which caught the 17th Lancers napping on Tuesday, must fill English readers with a sense of shame.' The Report of the Irish Agricultural Society for the year ending 31st March 1921, said: ‘The national damage, resulting from over fifty attacks – over sixty, indeed, if fourteen raids on one Society are to be separately included – cannot yet be exactly stated, but will, it is estimated, exceed £200,000.' Town halls and private houses were soaked with petrol and burned. Country villages were shot up, and women and children driven in terror from their blazing homes through streets raked with rifle volleys.

The British administration could no longer be regarded as a government maintaining law and order, and bringing criminals to justice, or even suppressing a political movement. It was the military organization of an enemy power waging war on the Irish nation by the methods of ruthlessness which the British had condemned elsewhere.

Between April and August 1920 coroners' juries had returned twenty-two verdicts of wilful murder or unjustifiable homicide against British military and constabulary, all of which were recorded in the Press. On 3rd September an Order-in-Council was issued making coroners' inquests illegal in ten counties. When killings took place in other counties, Dublin Castle got over the difficulty by issuing special orders that no inquests were to be held in those cases. During September and October, thirty-seven deaths by violence took place which were circumstantially charged against the armed forces of the crown. No inquest was held in any of those cases, and when any enquiry was held by the British military, it was conducted in secret. The answers given to these charges by the English Ministers were founded on the reports of the officials. The stock answers so supplied were that the shooting was done by Republicans disguised as forces of the crown, or by persons unknown, or by the forces of the crown in the execution of their duty. In no case was there any opportunity of testing the reports of the persons implicated, on which these answers were based.

Even so, the British were not ‘getting the right men'. High prices were placed on the heads of highly desired victims. Broadcast appeals were issued for anonymous accusations, with assurances that the evidence would be kept secret. The notorious convict Hardy was released and employed as an agent provocateur. It was known that a list had been prepared of persons obnoxious to the British, of whom ‘a definite clearance' was contemplated.

British officers, not wearing uniforms, were lodged under false names in private apartments in Dublin. During the day they secretly collected their ‘intelligence' by means of spies and touts. At night, when under the curfew regulations everyone had to be indoors, they issued forth on mysterious errands. When persons were found shot, no impartial enquiry was permitted. Soldiers of the IRA, in their duty of defending the lives of their Ministers, officers and private civilians, shot the disguised British Secret Service men and detectives of the RIC, and for doing so they were held up to the world by the British Government as ‘murderers'. What is certain is that, by the efficiency of Michael Collins' leadership and the thoroughness of his intelligence service, the British were defeated on the lines on which they had always been successful hitherto. Without her spies, England was helpless. The national defence was made strong where it had hitherto been weak. The Irish by their superior intelligence and boldness outwitted the vastly superior resources of the adversary.

Dáil Éireann had not only to function, but, if it were to survive, it had to prevent the British administration from functioning. The latter's power to collect Irish money to carry out what was now purely a military régime of oppression had to be brought to an end. It was with this object in view that the burning of Income Tax records, and of the documents and records of Customs and Excise which involved the destruction of the Custom House, was decreed by Dáil Éireann, as described by the author of this story. Though the loss of men on the Irish side through the capture of so large a number of the IRA in the Custom House was severe, the loss of power and control by the British was far more serious. It brought their ability to collect money in Ireland, and to continue any kind of civil administration, practically to an end.

The Sinn Féin faith of Arthur Griffith was justified. The right and the power of the Irish people to be in control in their own country was established. The attempt of the British military organization to destroy the national Sinn Féin Government failed. The Commission appointed by the Society of Friends to visit Ireland reported: ‘The British Government has ceased to function over eighty per cent of Ireland. Moderate people and many Unionists admit the only protection they enjoy is provided by the Sinn Féin police. Safety is only found in districts from which the English military and police are withdrawn. Prominent Unionists have served on the Sinn Féin Agricultural and other Commissions.'

Ireland was not being dominated or terrorized by any small body of Irishmen, but was organizing itself with a remarkable aptitude for orderly freedom in circumstances of difficulty and danger which would have daunted a people of less high spirit, intelligence and patriotic unity. The last phase of the British violence was directed not against any ‘small band of assassins', any ‘real murder gang', but against the Irish people. And for this reason – that it had not been ‘provoked' by any murders. The ‘intolerable provocation' had been not to the outraged humanity and loyalty of the Black and Tans, but to the imperial pride of the British Government. The ‘outrage' was the pushing out of the British Government and the successful establishment of a national Government in its place.

Mr Lloyd George, by an impromptu retort in the House of Commons, inadvertently let out that he was waging a war in Ireland. Mr Bonar Law blurted out the real reason for the British violence. The National Government ‘had all the symbols and all the realities of government'. When that admission had been made, the end could not long be delayed.

Two hostile nations were facing one another, each with its own government and army. No peace could be found except by a public recognition of that fact and by direct negotiation between the plenipotentiaries of each side, as the authorized representatives of two equal nations. There was not room for two governments and two armies in Ireland. One or the other must go. Which had the right and the might to prevail? When the British Prime Minister proposed the unfettered conference, and a truce was agreed to on that footing, this question had already been answered and the long-drawn struggle between the nations had ended with a victory for Ireland.

Dáil Éireann at last met openly. By the authority of Ireland's elected representatives negotiations were entered into between the two belligerent nations in order to find a basis of peace. In those negotiations what had the Irish to rely on against an infinitely more powerful nation? Was it the strength which they had gathered from the justice of their cause? Was it that they had made the most of their slender military resources, not only with skill, endurance and courage, but with a humanity which could not fail to be contrasted with the British methods during the struggle?

Not only to the Irish race throughout the world, but to all persons of generous and imaginative sympathy, the story of the Irish struggle of 1918 to 1921 is an inspiring one. The people of a small and weak nation, without training, and practically without resources, by their grit, their steadfastness, their amazing solidarity (a whole people acting with one mind), and by their genius to create and build up in the midst of violence and destruction, were able to render powerless to defeat them a mighty Empire, with all the resources of wealth and power, which had been holding them in subjection for seven hundred years.

In April of this year, 1929, I began to write down the following pages telling of my experiences as a Volunteer and intelligence officer in the struggle (1917–1921) for independence in Ireland.

I did so at the urgent request of one or two of my friends who represented to me that those who had personal knowledge should place on record an authentic account of the doings of the Dublin Brigade of the Irish Volunteers. It was put to me further that such an account might serve to show future generations of young Irishmen how a successful fight may be made in spite of many and great disadvantages, and against what might seem to be insuperable odds.

I have mentioned no incident of which I had not personal knowledge, and although certain names and places are not particularized, I have not intentionally omitted any fact or feature of the story. I have added nothing, nor have I sought to embellish the truth anywhere. Many of my comrades are still living and are witnesses to the accuracy of my narrative.

This book being confined to my own story leaves untouched the field of the personal experiences of my comrades, the record of which would be of the greatest interest. I believe there was not a single Volunteer who took an active part in the struggle but whose adventures were of a sensational nature.

It was from the survivors of the Dublin Brigade of the Irish Volunteers who took part in the Rising of 1916 that the later organization was built up. From that reorganized brigade came the men who made so successful a resistance to the intensive campaign of violence developed by the British under the regime of the Black and Tans.

As my story deals exclusively with the activities of men who belonged to one or other of the battalions (mainly the 2nd), it may not be out of place for me to give an idea of the formation of the Brigade:

1st Battalion. Area, North Liffey and West O'Connell Street.

2nd Battalion. Area, North Liffey and East O'Connell Street.

3rd Battalion. Area, South Liffey.

4th Battalion. Area, south townships, Rathmines, etc.

5th Battalion. Engineers only.

6th Battalion. Area, South County Dublin, Dun Laoghaire.

Each battalion was made up of six or seven companies.

The Brigade was commanded by Dick McKee. The vice-brigadier was Peadar Clancy. After the death of these two men in the Castle on the 21st November 1920, Oscar Traynor became brigadier and Patrick Mooney, vice-brigadier.

The Active Service Unit, which co-operated with the original Squad of less than a dozen Volunteers, was organized towards the end of 1920. It acted as a separate unit until the Truce in July 1921. There were about fifty Volunteers in the Active Service Unit. They were whole-time men, having left their employment to serve. Their pay in each case was at the same rate as they had been earning in civil employment.

As to the numbers fighting on each side – at the height of the struggle the figures of the British forces were given as 60,000 regular troops and 15,000 ‘Auxiliaries' and ‘Black and Tans', in addition to the forces of the Royal Irish Constabulary. On our side the numbers are more difficult to ascertain. The nominal strength of the Dublin Brigade was 13,500, but of these not more than 1,000 were armed and not more than fifteen per cent were free to take part in action. Except the Active Service Unit, the Volunteers could only operate when they could get away from their civil jobs. Michael Collins was heard to say on more than one occasion that in the whole of Ireland there were not more than 3,000 fighting men.

For us in Ireland ‘1916' is only another name for the Rising of Easter Week. I was thirteen years old in that year, having been born in January 1903.

I was playing around my home in North Dublin on that Easter Monday, when I heard that the Volunteers had seized the General Post Office and other buildings in O'Connell Street, and that they had erected barricades across the streets leading to the positions they occupied.

The news of the Rising came as a great surprise to me, and I was most anxious to go into town and find out what was happening. When we sat down to dinner, my father told us that a party of Lancers had ridden down O'Connell Street and that they had been fired on by the Volunteers, a few of the soldiers and horses being killed.

He said there would be terrible work now, and, perhaps reading my thoughts, he told me that on no account was I to go into town. He advised my mother to lay in provisions and to buy two hundred-weight of flour.

‘God knows how long this trouble will last,' he said. ‘It may be a case of every ha'penny being needed to buy food.'

I had a ha'penny in my pocket, and I put my hand in and gripped it tightly, as I was greatly affected by my father's words.

After dinner, I went out again and found my playfellows, and we decided that it would be dangerous to go into the city. We could hear the sound of the firing. So we began to play cards. The boys all condemned the Rising; they called the Volunteers ‘hot-heads' and other insulting names. This made me very angry. However, at the cards – in which I had been rather unwilling to join after my father's words, fearing to lose my ha'penny – I had the satisfaction of winning and increasing my capital by two pence. It gave me even greater satisfaction that I, who was for the ‘Rebels', had beaten those who were against them. I felt almost as if I were helping my heroes who were making the real fight not far away.

As the days passed, the noise of the guns grew louder and temptation got the better of me, so that I decided that I would venture to find out for myself what was happening.

I had not gone very far towards the city when I found my way barred by a cordon of military stretched across the North Circular Road. They would not allow anyone to pass except those who had entered the city to get bread at the bakery. There were no deliveries of bread made at all during that week.

I felt that I should love to join the ‘Rebels', but the sound of the firing frightened me. If only I had been older I would have helped in the fight, because maybe then, I thought, I would not have been afraid of the terrible noise made by the rifles and machine guns.

I rambled along close to the military line, not able to tear myself away. I was greatly disgusted to see women coming out of the houses to give jugs of tea to the British soldiers. That picture remained in my mind for a long time.

On the fourth or fifth morning I was talking to my mother in her bedroom. All the younger children were there too, for some reason. Suddenly the windows shook with the noise of a deafening explosion. I thought the city was being blown up and I found myself trembling. Then I heard my mother laughing. ‘Look, Charlie,' she said, ‘your hair is standing on end.' I was far too frightened even to smile.

What had happened? Everyone in our road ran to their hall doors to ask each other the same question, which none of them could answer. But they all expressed some opinion. One said: ‘It is the artillery. The Rebels will all be killed now, and the fighting will be over. That will be a good thing, anyhow.'

Another said: ‘It is the Germans landing at Howth to help the Rebels.'

The next day we learned that the explosions were caused by the gunboat
Helga
, which had been brought up the Liffey to shell the buildings occupied by the Volunteers.

That night, when we were all, as usual, gathered together upstairs to say the Rosary and to pray for the Volunteers, we did not light any lamps, thinking it too dangerous to show a light. In the dark, with the unaccustomed feeling it gave me of something solemn and mysterious, I prayed with great fervour, beseeching God to let my heroes win.

When we had finished praying I looked out of the window towards the city, where my thoughts always were, and I saw the sky all lit up with a red blaze. We thought the whole city must be on fire. This sight added to my feeling that everything was changed; that all that was safe, familiar and commonplace had disappeared.

We had to wait until the next morning to find out the meaning of it. A man who passed by our house told us that the General Post Office was in flames and that the Volunteers had surrendered. He had seen them lined up on the footpaths, he said, with a military guard around them.

I was terribly disappointed at this news. I had hoped with my whole heart that the Volunteers would win.