Espionage and Assasination with Michael Collins' Intelligence Unit: With the Dublin Brigade (7 page)

For some months we had been engaged on attempted seizures of arms, some of which had been successful. The difficulty of importing arms was very great, as the ports were all closely watched. In spite of this, Michael Collins was able to get them in through secret channels, but we never had sufficient for our defence. So we supplemented our limited supplies by depriving the enemy of his arms and ammunition as often as we could.

One way of doing this was to attack the police barracks and force the occupants to surrender. As the police in Ireland were armed, the barracks were all well stocked.

During Easter 1920 I was sent for by the adjutant-general, Gearóid O'Sullivan, and was given verbal instructions which I was to take down to the OC of the Carlow Brigade. I was given a covering address, by means of which I would be able to get into touch with him.

I arrived very early at Kingsbridge Station, to make sure that I would be in time. Having questioned a porter, I made out which was the train for Carlow and I took my seat in a third-class compartment.

I had bought a newspaper, but I did not get a chance to read it, because I was quite preoccupied with the scenery, which was new to me, and with the conversation of my fellow passengers. There were five or six of these, apparently businessmen. I decided they were commercial travellers, and they spoke in loud tones, expressing very decided political opinions. They had looked me over at the beginning of the journey and had evidently decided that I was of no importance.

The journey to Carlow, though only about fifty miles, seemed very long to me as it was the longest journey I had ever made. When we arrived at Carlow station there were two RIC men on the platform. They closely scrutinized everyone who alighted from the train, but my youthful appearance did not rouse their suspicions.

I went to the covering address and was kept waiting for some hours before I met the OC, who, I was told, was ‘on the run', the police having raided his home several times looking to arrest him. I was taken to him at last to the Community House of the Christian Brothers' School.

He was a young man of about twenty-two years, tall and thin – a scholarly-looking fellow, I thought. But, maybe that was only because he was wearing glasses. He was the son of a hardware merchant in the town.

I knew him as Seán. I made myself known to him and conveyed my instructions, which I had committed to memory.

‘You will burn all vacated RIC barracks on Easter Saturday night.

‘You will simultaneously raid the houses of Income Tax collectors and seize all papers, which you will destroy.

‘You will cause these orders to be transmitted verbally.

‘Similar operations will be carried out in all areas on Saturday night.'

The English had already begun to vacate all the RIC barracks in isolated places which they could not hold. We destroyed these to prevent their subsequent re-occupation. The destruction of all Income Tax papers was ordered to prevent the British authorities from continuing the collection of Income Tax, which now properly belonged to the treasury of Dáil Éireann.

My interview with Seán over, I found I had some time to wait before the return train left for Dublin. I spent it in taking a look at the town, paying particular attention to the local barracks and the jail.

The next day I reported to the adjutant-general. He was lunching with some other staff officers in a restaurant in Henry Street. These men were all wanted by the authorities and had to move about cautiously, but the restaurant was owned by a supporter of ours and it was a fairly safe meeting-place.

He thanked me when I had made my report, and asked me to give him an account of my expenses and any change I had over from the money he had given me for my journey. This it was easy for me to do, as I had had no expenses other than my railway fare, the people I had met in Carlow having entertained me to both dinner and tea.

That evening I received a note from my company captain telling me to call to see him.

He instructed me to pick six or seven men and gave me the address of an Income Tax collector's office in Abbey Street. This we were to raid and burn on Easter Saturday night at 7 p.m.

The office was situated opposite the Abbey Theatre, and when we arrived queues of people were lined up, waiting for the doors to be opened.

We knocked at the door of the office, but got no answer. There was no caretaker in the place, a difficulty for which we had made allowance. Not to attract attention, we separated a little and stood away from the place. One man then went to the door and quietly and unostentatiously forced it open with a short lever he had brought for the purpose.

The door offered little resistance and we all quietly entered the house. We soon located the office we wanted and proceeded to set the papers on fire. But the progress of the fire was so slow (and it was not safe for us to stay very long), that one of us, Jimmy Conroy, went round to a nearby shop and bought a bottle of paraffin oil.

After that we had no difficulty, and the office was well on fire before we left. The papers were all burned before the Fire Brigade arrived and extinguished it. The Central Fire Office was round the corner, so they had only a few yards to come to put out the flames.

All the way home Conroy kept lamenting that the only money he had for cigarettes he had spent on paraffin.

By this time, 1920, the fight had got very hot in Dublin. The lives of our leading men were in danger, day and night. They were being continually hunted, to be shot out of hand, if not reserved for hanging, and several G men (detectives of the political branch) had been shot to anticipate their activities in this respect. At the same time, Terence MacSwiney, the Lord Mayor of Cork, was dying on hunger strike in prison in London.

The Squad, which was now reinforced by some auxiliary workers, of which I was one, received instructions to meet one Sunday morning at 7.30.

When I arrived, I found that there were about fifteen Volunteers gathered in the vicinity of Grattan Bridge, which is the nearest bridge crossing the Liffey from Dublin Castle. There were very few people about at this hour, save those passing to and from the early Masses at a nearby church – the Church of SS Michael and John.

We stood about in groups of twos and threes, not to attract the attention of any policeman who might come along. Mick Mac came up to me and the man who was with me, and allotted us a position which we were to occupy in a maze of alleyways which approached the church. We moved into position.

A party of six or seven G men, who rarely left the Castle, were coming out just before eight. At a certain signal we were to open the attack, but without the given sign they were to be allowed to pass and nothing must be done to arouse their suspicions. A motor-car was waiting on the quay outside a hotel. A Volunteer was at the wheel, and in the event of any casualties we were to rush our wounded to the car.

We had not waited many minutes when the chapel bell rang out for Mass.

We knew that it was now five minutes to eight and that the time for action was swiftly approaching. I noticed a look of nervous tension appear on the faces of our men, and I steeled myself for what was to come.

At such moments one notices everything – something happens in oneself which corresponds to the sudden silence in a room when one becomes aware of the ticking of the clock. As the minutes passed, I found it hard to check the restless feeling that came over me. At the same time I felt that the whole world, outside the scene in which our drama was being enacted, had come to a standstill.

Then one of our men came running down the alley. He was Tom Cullen, a tall, well-built man, wearing a white sweater. He looked like an athlete, out for some early morning training. He spoke hurriedly to our leader, and whatever he said caused us to scatter.

The job was off.

Neither my companion nor I had time to move away before the party of detectives came into view. We started to walk towards them, not to arouse their suspicions, and we passed them unchallenged.

We were greatly disappointed at the failure to carry out our operation and tried to learn the reasons for it. It appeared that one of the detectives was a friend who was useful to us, and it was his presence with the others which necessitated the calling off of the attack.

However, we were to get another opportunity on the following Sunday.

Again we took up our positions as before, and again we got word that we were to disperse. I was surprised, and I greatly wondered why the job was again called off. On my way home one of my comrades told me that it had been postponed by an order from headquarters. Terence MacSwiney was reported to be near death in Brixton Jail, and it was decided that the attack would be more effective as a reprisal.

On the following Saturday, the 30th September 1920, some of us decided to go to a céilidh (a party with Irish dances), which was being held at Banba Hall. We agreed to pass the night there, so that we could be in position early on Sunday morning.

Curfew ended at 6 a.m. At that hour I left the hall in the company of Joe Leonard, a fellow Volunteer. We had promised to call for Paddy, one of our men who was living alone, and who, having no one to wake him, was afraid of sleeping too late.

The three of us, having had some tea, set out for the city, it being now 7 o'clock.

As we walked along we met only a few stragglers hurrying to Mass. Dawn was just breaking, and in the twilight we noticed a large military lorry approaching us. It drew abreast of us and we saw about a dozen Tommies, wearing tin hats, standing in the lorry.

The car was slowing down as it passed us and it came to a standstill on the canal bridge some twenty yards away. The soldiers jumped out and took up positions on the bridge.

We got ready for action in case of necessity and turned down a road at right angles to the bridge (Ossory Road), expecting every minute to hear a command to halt. With our hands on our hidden weapons we were ready to draw them, but fortunately for us we were not challenged. It was now almost certain death to be found with a gun, and there could have been only one end for us anyway.

Having walked about a hundred yards and got out of sight of the soldiers, we crossed a wall and got down on to some railway lines. Here we held a council of war to decide on our action.

Taking Paddy's gun from him, we sent him along unarmed to pass through the military and warn the other Volunteers waiting near the church of the military picket. Some of them, we knew, would return that way and, if not apprised, would fall on disaster.

From our hidden look-out we saw Paddy being searched on the bridge, and saw him being allowed to continue on his way.

The light now increased and we noticed another party of soldiers coming towards the spot where we were hiding. It was time to be on the move.

We started walking along the railway lines in full view of the soldiers. But the distance between us was too great for a voice to carry. If they challenged us we did not hear them and proceeded on our way.

The railway lines on which we were walking were elevated, and ran parallel with the Royal Canal at a distance of about 200 yards. The railway crossed the intersecting roadways by overhead bridges, and from each bridge as we crossed it we saw military standing about on the corresponding canal bridge.

We rightly concluded that the north side of the city was cut off by the military cordon occupying all the canal bridges. This meant that it was now impossible for us to join our comrades, who were waiting for the G men near the church.

We reached Drumcondra Bridge, having travelled about a mile and a half along the railway embankment. We stood watching the soldiers searching pedestrians on the canal bridge opposite us.

Just then a bell rang in a nearby convent and I knew that it was half-past eight.

The sound of the bell brought to me a vivid sense of the reality of the situation.

‘Joe,' I said, ‘what will we do now? The job must be over and the fellows on their way back. Will they blame us for not turning up? They will surely walk into the
military.'

‘Can't we do something ourselves?' he replied. ‘Can't we do something to make them disperse?'

‘I think we can,' I said, turning my eye towards the soldiers on the opposite bridge. Joe's eyes followed mine. We read each other's thoughts.

We knelt down on the parapet and, with my Mauser in my hand, we levelled our pistols at three of four soldiers who were standing on the footpath of the bridge. Some civilians were crossing at the time.

As soon as they had passed, I said: ‘Now!'

We both pressed the triggers of our pistols and continued to do so until the magazines were empty.

Then, without waiting to see what was the effect of our fire, we ran along the railway for some hundreds of yards, until we found a spot where we could get down onto a road.

My heart was thumping with excitement and from running at such speed. Every moment I expected to hear the sound of a military lorry dashing after us.

But when we reached the road there was nobody in sight. We exchanged a look of infinite relief. Walking on to a house of a Volunteer in the neighbourhood, we gave him our guns to hide for us.

We were now close to the street in which I lived, and Joe and I called at my home, where we had breakfast, of which we were badly in need.

When we had finished, we went out again and were just in time to see the troops driving away.

We called at Mick Mac's house, and told him why we were unable to join him and that we had taken action on our own account. He asked us for the details of what had happened, but he did not seem to attach much importance to our exploit.

That night I was going home just before curfew, which was then at midnight, when a large touring car passed me. I noticed that there were several men in it, dressed as civilians. I was amazed to see the car draw up outside my house.

Immediately I scented danger. Already a number of Volunteers had been shot in midnight raids by military officers in mufti under the leadership of a Captain X.

I at once retraced my steps and made for the home of a Volunteer who lived nearby, where I spent the night.