CHAPTER VII.
OUR ESCAPE.
Now began our career of real excitement. If we had disarmed the police without firing a shot the thing would not have been so serious. But the shots had alarmed the countryside. In a moment men and women would appear at every doorway. On the roadside were the two terrified civilians, James Godfrey, the driver of the cart, and Patrick Flynn, the County Council employee. Within an hour hundreds of police and military would be scouring the countryside for us. Henceforth I realised we were to be outlawed rapparees with a price on our heads.
But it was a time for action. We seized the rifles and equipment of the police, mounted the cart, and drove away with our booty. The cart contained more than a hundred-weight of gelignite, but thirty electric detonators which Flynn had in his pocket escaped us, as we learned a week later.
Never was a poor horse called upon to give such gallant service in a dash for life and liberty. Sean Hogan held the reins; Sean Treacy and I sat behind. The others of the party had been ordered to escape in different directions, and all got clear away.
On we sped, urging our poor horse to greater speed, while school children and farmworkers watched us in amazement as we went by.
We were heading for Donaskeigh. For a great part of our journey not a word was spoken. Treacy was the first to break the silence. He spoke in the same cool tones that he might have used if he were sitting round a fire discussing a game of cards.
“Do you remember, Dan, when we were reading about explosives? The book says that they are dangerous if frozen, or if they get jolted?”
This reminder did not add to our peace of mind, for if ever explosives got a jolting ours did. The road was rough and uneven; heaps of loose stones were scattered along the way; the cart was one of the ordinary farmyard type, heavily and roughly built, and without springs.