But the “Knocklong Gang,” as I believe we were sometimes called, always outwitted the spies and the battalions sent to round them up. Often, I know, they got fairly good information about us. At this time to which I have referred—June, 1919—for instance, it is probably true that they knew we were sometimes in West Limerick or North Kerry, near the mouth of the Shannon. After that big raid, which we so narrowly missed, we deemed it wise to change our quarters once more—and we crossed into East Clare, still hugging the banks of the Shannon. We kept ourselves fit by plenty of exercise, mostly swimming, for we had an idea that a good stroke in the water might at some time or other help us in getting out of a tight corner. Nobody could say that we did not live the healthy life of primitive men at this time. Many a day we enjoyed ten or twelve hours of a glorious summer sunbath. One day while in Clare we were basking beside the Shannon when a boat manned by police passed right beside us. We took no particular notice of it at the time, thinking the whole thing but a mere coincidence. When we got back to the house in which we were staying that evening we learned to our surprise that the boat was part of a search party that had got on our trail once more. They never suspected who we were, so that once more our recklessness had saved us—or them? Probably the police had their eyes searching round the corners of rocks, or peering under bushes where they expected we should be hiding. It would amaze them to know we were often within earshot of their own barracks. It is a positive fact that often a single brick alone separated us from a police garrison, and more than once we were interested spectators watching from a window lorries laden with troops going out in search of us. There is another possible explanation of such incidents as that on the Shannon. I am sure that more than one policeman whom we met on a country road suspected who we were; but these Peelers often considered discretion the better part of valour. We were never asked to produce visiting cards. Many a policeman in such circumstances would feel convinced that he would not be serving his wife and family by attempting to arrest us. I’m not saying he was wrong either. In a short time Clare became too hot for us. The Brennan Brothers were not on the best of terms with the British garrisons in that county, and finally relations became so strained that the British proclaimed Martial Law there too. Martial Law and ourselves were never very good friends; perhaps it was that we knew each other too well. Anyhow, we crossed the Shannon once more, and this time found ourselves in North Tipperary. It was at the house of a family called Whelehan that I first came in contact with Ernie O’Malley. Whelehans were very kind to us. While I was there “Widger” Meagher and Frank McGrath—both famous athletes, and the latter Brigade Commandant of the I.R.A. in North Tipperary—visited us.