At last came the fateful morning of January 21st, 1919, the day that was to see our country rejoice at the first meeting of the Parliament of Ireland, the first Dail Eireann setting up the Government of the Republic, and sending its message to the free nations of the earth. We had taken our place behind the ditch, and had spent many weary hours waiting and watching. We were quietly discussing the great event that was to take place in Dublin that day. Our scout was away with his eyes fixed on the Tipperary road. Suddenly our conversation was interrupted by our scout. Dashing towards us from his look-out, his eyes sparkling with the light of battle, and a grim smile on his countenance, he whispered the word of warning—“They’re coming, they’re coming!” Every man knew his post. For days we had thought of nothing but the position we were now in. If any of our number felt nervous or excited he showed little outward sign of it. Like a flash every soldier manned his post. Our hour of trial was at hand; we were to face the enemy, with life or death in the balance. And incidentally we were to open another phase in the long fight for the freedom of our country. Our scout was again on the alert, and again he returned to report. This time he gave us the actual distance, and he told us their number. Nearer and nearer they come. In the still clear air we hear the sound of the horses’ hoofs, and the rumbling of a heavy cart over the rough hilly road. That day I did not feel the same coolness that I afterwards strove to develop. My nerves were highly strung; I realised what we were doing, and I foresaw the consequences whether our plans succeeded or failed. We were facing men trained to the use of firearms, especially disciplined for such emergencies as this. In all probability they had but just completed the special course in bomb-throwing, which had lately been added to the accomplishments of the R.I.C. My little squad had little experience in the practical use of firearms. We had never been in a position to fire one round of ball-cartridge for the sake of practice. We had often chaffed one another about this want of experience, and jokingly referred to the probable consequences if our nerves got jumpy when the real time came. But we always brushed aside these idle fears, and maintained a calm and cheerful exterior, consoling ourselves with the thought, “We’re Irish anyhow, and all Irishmen are fighters by nature.” But now the hour had come. From my point of vantage I shot a hurried glance down the road as the party approached. The driver and the County Council employee who was to take over the explosives walked beside the horses. Two policemen in their black uniforms were also on foot carrying rifles in their hands. They were a little distance behind the cart.