Surrounding the grounds the British without warning poured volley after volley into the crowd, killing seventeen people and wounding about fifty. That crime was, perhaps, the most diabolical of which England had been guilty. Another incident of “Bloody Sunday” had, however, a sadder personal touch for me. That was the murder of Peadar Clancy and Dick McKee. They had been captured by the enemy shortly before, and were murdered in Dublin Castle as a reprisal for the shooting of the officers. Of course, Sir Hamar Greenwood, or his chief manufacturer of lies at the Castle, invented one of their usual explanations that they attacked the guard and attempted to escape. Fancy two highly intelligent officers attempting to attack an armed guard in the heart of a fortress from which a mouse could not escape! An independent medical examination showed that the two I.R.A. men were subjected to the most incredible tortures before they were done to death. Mick Collins and Tom Cullen (later A.D.C. to the new Free State Governor-General) arranged for this medical examination, and also for the lying-in-state of the two bodies at the Pro-Cathedral. I mention this to their credit, for few members of G.H.Q. staff would have ventured so much in public at that time of danger and uncertainty. Poor Dick and Peadar! They were two of our bravest officers and two of our staunchest supporters of the intensive war policy. They lived only five weeks after Sean, and did not even get a chance of dying fighting like him. A County Clare Volunteer named Conor Clune was murdered on the same occasion in the Castle. CHAPTER XXIV. MY RETURN TO TIPPERARY. From Dun Laoghaire I was taken in a motor car by Eamonn Fleming across the mountains into Wicklow. At one place Eamonn introduced me under an assumed name, but the man of the house laughed heartily and assured him that he knew me well as Dan Breen, for he was a patient in the same part of the Mater Hospital when I was there some weeks before. At this time I had to keep moving from place to place more rapidly, as England was now pouring troops into the country by thousands. The jails and penal settlements of Britain were being scoured for recruits for the Black and Tans, who were given every assurance by their chiefs that they need have no fears they would ever suffer for letting themselves loose on a campaign of murder, loot and arson. And they took the hint. I spent a few days at the lovely home of Bob Barton, T.D., in the Glen of Wicklow. Later I went farther south again, and finally, a few days before Christmas of 1920, I found myself back again in my own brigade area in South Tipperary. Here I met all the old comrades again—Seumas Robinson, Dinny Lacey, Sean Hogan, Sean O’Meara and many others. I was feeling strong again, but by doctor’s orders I was not allowed to walk any considerable distance.