We moved farther west, on towards the Kerry border. Even here we found the trail was too hot, and we had to cross the border into Kerry itself. By this time I was well on the road to recovery. Then, as at a later stage, I acquired the habit of breaking all medical precedents, and insisting on living when, according to all the rules of the game, I should have died. By the time I got to Kerry I was even able to walk a little, though I needed some support. But I could not walk far. This was a greater drawback to us, because the English troops were so busy scouring the countryside for us, day and night, that we dare not think of using motor cars or vehicles of any kind, the roads being out of bounds to us.
One bright feature always lightened our load. It was Sean Treacy’s sense of humour. No matter how dark the outlook Sean would have his little joke, and we had to laugh with him. At Knocklong he had been shot through the teeth and mouth, and for a long time afterwards his mouth was very painful. At the time I was still suffering severely from my wound through the lung and body. Hence the difficulties for both of us for satisfying our appetites. “Dan,” said Sean to me, “I wish I had your big head for half an hour. I am frightfully hungry, but I can’t eat. You can eat all right, but you won’t.” Another night on a different occasion we were cycling through Cullen to Tipperary. This was a very dangerous district for us, because it was in the Martial Law area, and was only a few miles either from Soloheadbeg or Knocklong. Besides, being near our native district, we always ran the risk of being seen and known by too many people. Suddenly while we were riding with all speed Sean asked us to pull up. We were somewhat surprised, because we knew how much any delay might mean for all of us, but we dismounted. It was raining like the very deluge at the same time. Sean turned to each one of us in turn and asked us solemnly for a pin. Each of us said we had no such commodity, the truth being that nobody wished to open his coat on such a night.
“What do you want a pin for?” I asked him.
“Well,” he replied, “I’m afraid my tie isn’t hanging straight!”
I never felt so much inclined to give my old comrade a punch. I am sure it was the same with the others; but we had to laugh as we mounted and rode ahead making remarks which were none too complimentary about some people’s conceit. Such little incidents helped us on our road, and often helped to scatter the gloom that surrounded us.
But to resume our story. In Kerry we remained for some days, occasionally amusing ourselves by reading the many grotesque accounts that were printed of the Knocklong rescue. Day after day too we read of the denunciation of our terrible crime (of saving our young comrade), by priests, bishops and politicians. We read the King’s message of sympathy to the relatives of his poor hirelings, and also Lord French’s. Most of the Kerry people with whom we came in contact were very kind to us; above all, we can never forget the O’Connors, the Hickeys and the Ahearns.
After our stay in Kerry we returned to County Limerick, keeping along the banks of the Shannon all the time. Our wounds were by this time healing rapidly, and we were feeling strong again. We used to go in for a dip nearly every day, and we fished quite a good deal. We had to be doing something. None of us could ever stand a day of inactivity.