In this frame of mind, and with these resolutions we procured four bicycles and headed straight for Donohill—back to the very scene of our first battle, back into the middle of the military net that martial law had drawn round the whole county. Donohill is about two miles north of the Soloheadbeg quarry, and our route took us by the very road where we waited so long for the enemy, and where we at last met them. It was our first journey past the scene since January 21st, and you can picture our feelings as we saw the familiar hill once more and the turn of the road where the peelers appeared. We dismounted and lingered for a while in the neighbourhood. I am sure many of the people around never expected to lay eyes on us again, for in the old days the usual thing for men in our position to do was to clear away to America. But our work was in Ireland, and we were going to see it through to the end. At Donohill we appeared to the Horan family like men who had come back from the grave. When they realised we were not ghosts, they gave us a typical Irish welcome, and we joked and laughed long into the night. They didn’t forget to keep somebody on the look-out by the road to make sure we would not be surprised. With the Horans we stayed till the following night. My own house was only half a mile away, and, needless to remark, I took the opportunity to see my mother. It was a great surprise for her, but a very welcome one. During my period on the run I dare not even send her a card, for it would bring her endless annoyance from the enemy, and probably give them useful information, for they never scrupled to open letters going through the post. Poor woman! She was very brave and in the best of spirits, in spite of the fact that her little home was often raided and ransacked three times in twenty-four hours, in the early dawn, and in the dead of night. It gave me great courage to see her and to talk to her again. But I should not delay long, and I bade her good-bye again, taking with me her warm blessing as I left. The dear old soul has suffered much for the crime of having taught her sons their duty to their country. Even the house over her head was looted and burned, and her hens and chickens had to pay the price of English hate, for they were bayoneted by the Black and Tans. Through all her trials she never lost heart, and would always have her jibe at the enemy. Once when the British came and asked if her son was in, she sarcastically asked them if they would venture under the same roof with him. On another occasion in reply to the same question she told them I was upstairs, and invited them to enter. Their response to the invitation was a precipitate retreat to seek cover. CHAPTER X. SEAN HOGAN CAPTURED.