We had to keep tramping from parish to parish without a penny in our pockets. Our clothes and boots were almost worn out, and we had no changes. Many whom we thought we could trust would not let us sleep even in their cattle byres.
When we reached the village of Dono, in County Limerick—still only seven miles from Soloheadbeg—we again met with Seumas Robinson, and I need hardly say that our joy at the reunion was unbounded. Although it was only a few weeks since we parted after the fight at Soloheadbeg, we all felt like brothers meeting after years of separation. When we met we continued our night’s march linked arm in arm.
While we were in this neighbourhood Paddy Ryan, a well-known local merchant and an old worker in the cause of freedom, proved a staunch friend to us. With Seumas again one of our band we discussed the outlook and the chances of winning over the people to engage in “one good stand-up fight” against the old enemy. We then drafted a proclamation ordering all the enemy forces out of South Tipperary. We sent it on to Dublin, but both An Dail and General Headquarters refused their consent to let us go ahead. We never found out their reason for doing so. Ours was the only logical position.
Withholding their support was a bad blow enough—but what was our horror when we found that someone had actually worked up a plan to ship us away to America! We were not consulted at all, but calmly told to be ready to sail in a couple of days. It was surely a sugar-coated pill! A deportation order in disguise, issued from the very source that should, if consistent, get behind us in the war. We refused to leave Ireland. We told them that we were not afraid to die, but would prefer to live for Ireland. To leave Ireland would be like an admission that we were criminals, or that we were cowards. Now, more than ever we declared that our place was in Ireland, and Ireland’s fight would have to be made by Irishmen on the hills and at the cross-roads in Ireland, not with printer’s ink in America, or in any other country. This was apparently regarded as a breach of discipline. We were members of an organised body and should obey our superior officers. They persisted in their plan of sending us away, and we, just as obstinately, refused to leave. At length we won, but only on condition that we should remain away in some remote part of the country. We felt that we could very soon overcome that difficulty too.
While these little quibbles were going on between G.H.Q. and ourselves we were suffering intensely. The cold weather and the weary, aimless travelling around were very trying on us. We could not get a horse to carry us even a journey of a few miles. We had to trudge from field to field, sometimes in one direction, sometimes in another. At last human nature began to assert itself. Why should we be treated so? Was not the sky as fair in one place as in another?
From Doon we went to Upperchurch, in the north of Tipperary. There we spent a few days with Patrick Kinnane, one of a family of famous Irish athletes; our next resting-place we decided would be Meagher’s of Annfield. We sent on word that they might expect us to arrive at half-past seven in the evening, when it would be quite dark. The four of us, accompanied by Patrick Kinnane, walked along the road, chatting and enjoying the cool spring air. We must have taken our time along the way, for Treacy looked at his watch and reminded us that we were overdue, as it was now nearly eight o’clock. Suddenly in the distance we saw something white fluttering in the darkness. We halted. It was a signal by a girl who was trying to attract our attention.
The four of us dropped into a place of concealment behind a thick hedge. The girl saw us and approached along the road. As she passed the spot in which she had seen us hide she whispered the words:—
“The peelers are inside, raiding!”