MARTIN SAVAGE.
We cycled out the main road—the Cabra Road—going in pairs at different intervals so as not to arouse suspicion. We left our bicycles outside Kelly’s, for at any hour of the day it was not unusual to see a dozen bicycles outside that tavern while the owners are refreshing themselves within. We knew every inch of the locality, every bush and turn, every nook and corner. As a further advantage we knew the exact order in which Lord French and his escort always travelled.
We knew we would arouse suspicion were we to wait on the roadside, so according as our men arrived they entered the tavern. Inside were a few of the local labourers and farmhands. Our appearance in pairs did not seem to create any suspicion, especially as the local people were not at all aware that Lord French was to pass the spot in a short time. In the publichouse while drinking our bottles of minerals we indicated to any who might be listening that our meeting was purely accidental. We talked about cattle and paddocks and grazing and many things except politics. But even in this fictitious conversation we had to be careful, for the men who were in the shop knew farming from A to Z, while some of our men knew very little about that industry.
While we were talking about all these things for the benefit of our audience we were beginning to get anxious now that the time was drawing near. More than one of us glanced at his watch from time to time, and our eyes were busy all the time watching the cross-road, for from the shop we had a clear view of everyone who passed either on the main road or on the road to the Park. The first sign of activity we saw was a large D.M.P. man coming from the direction of the Park Gate. He evidently knew who was to arrive, for he took up a position near the cross-road to control any traffic that might come that way. His spear-pointed helmet, his shining buttons and his spotless boots, not to speak of the care with which he pulled down his tunic under his belt, all indicated that he felt called upon to make an impressive display. We did not trouble very much about the poor man, though he had a revolver holster by his side and no doubt it was not empty.
A few minutes before the arrival of the train four military lorries, with troops armed with rifles, drove down from the Park Gate, passed the Half-way House and pulled up to take their positions near the station. In addition we knew that several armed D.M.P. men would be lining the route from the Park Gate to the Viceregal Lodge.
Now we had of course made all our arrangements days in advance. Nothing was left to the last moment. Our plan was to concentrate our principal attack on the second car in the convoy. That was the car in which Lord French always travelled. Outside Kelly’s there was a heavy farm cart lying. Tom Keogh, Martin Savage and I were to push this at the last moment right across the road, thus blocking the passage of French’s car, for the road is too narrow to allow two cars to travel abreast, and the heavy farm cart would compel them to slow down. At the same moment the other members of our party were to open their deadly attack on the Lord Lieutenant’s car with bombs and grenades, and then rely on their revolvers to deal with the military guard.
Sharp to time we heard the whistle of the railway engine as the train steamed into Ashtown. But we never moved. We had two or three minutes more, and a false step half a second too soon might upset our whole plan. Then we heard the motor engines throbbing. The party was about to move off from the station. We stepped out to the cross-road. Our men quietly took up their positions. Tom Keogh, Martin Savage and I were beside the farm cart that we were to use as an obstruction. It was time to get it in motion.
I caught hold of the cart and began to push it round the corner. It was a heavy cart, far heavier than we thought, for, needless to say, we had not had a rehearsal of the act, nor had we judged the weight of the cart otherwise than with our eyes.
I pushed it round the corner on to the narrow road leading from the station. Suddenly I heard a voice addressing me. It was the voice of the D.M.P. man whose presence we had ignored.