The historian will yet calculate the millions of pounds worth of damage they committed and the hundreds of murders they perpetrated. It is a well-known fact that dozens of these Black and Tans have since committed suicide or gone mad because of the horrors for which they were responsible.
And all this time the I.R.A. was every day becoming a vaster and more perfect military machine. My prophecy to Sean Treacy of 1918 was being fulfilled. Once the fight for freedom started in earnest, as I had said, it was being kept up with renewed vigour.
During this visit to Dublin I put a novel proposal before Headquarters, the adoption of which changed the whole nature of the struggle. I shall outline my proposal in the next chapter.
Meantime I must here refer to my ever trusty friends, at whose houses my companions and I were ever welcome while in Dublin, even though torture and imprisonment would have been the fate of any under whose roof we might be known to shelter. I cannot recall them all now, but some I can never forget—Seumas Ryan, of The Monument Creamery; the Bolands, of Clontarf (Harry’s people); Seumas Kirwan, of Parnell Street (a Tipperary man); the Delaneys, of Heytesbury Street (now Seumas Robinson’s people-in-law); the Flemings, of Drumcondra; Mr. and Mrs. Duncan, of Irishtown; Seumas and Mrs. O’Doherty, of Connaught Street, (later my good friends in America); Martin Conlon and, of course, Phil Shanahan.
CHAPTER XX.
ADVENTURES WITH THE MURDER GANG.
The plan I put before Headquarters was the establishment of Flying Columns in every county, starting of course with Tipperary. My experience of ambushes and barrack attacks had convinced me that such a scheme would prove an immense success.
Hitherto we had been relying very much on help from men who would take part in a barrack attack at night and be at their work in the shops next morning. That was awkward for many reasons. It meant first of all, that they could only help at night. Secondly it often meant that business might often prevent them from coming and so we could not rely upon them very much. The disappointment we suffered from the Tipperary town men at Knocklong showed what serious risks there were in counting on men you had not actually at hand. Besides, these part-time volunteers could not possibly have the training that was wanted; they could not go far from home and they lived in an atmosphere of peace rather than of war.
We wanted full-time soldiers, to fight night or day, to be always at hand ready for any adventure and to devote proper time to training. They would be a mobile force striking at the enemy to-day in one district and next morning surprising him twenty or thirty miles away. Could we get this? We could. In addition to those few men who were permanently on the run—and that number was growing every day—there were scores ready to volunteer for whole-time active service in every county. Further, the tactics of the British in murdering men whom they suspected of being volunteers was making it impossible for any I.R.A. men to remain at home or at their ordinary work. We were being encumbered with hundreds of fellows who would only be in the way unless organised in proper military units acting under officers with discipline and daring.