The truth is that our war policy was not popular. The military authorities did not seem to want it. The political wing certainly did not want it, and more than one T.D. strongly denounced it in private; though it was part of our good fortune to be able always to conceal our differences from the enemy—until after the Truce. The Press, of course, denounced our campaign, though since a lesson had been taught the _Independent_ the newspapers had learned that “discretion was the better part of valour,” especially in the use of certain words like “murder,” and “outrage.” The words “shootings” and “tragedies” became very popular with the newspapers after the attack on the _Independent_. The public did not want the war. They forgot that it was their vote at the 1918 General Election that had led to the formal establishment of the Republic. They only knew that attacks on police meant more severe martial law, worse curfew, more arrests and compensation for policemen’s widows. Evidently many thought at that time that liberty was a thing to be got for nothing. I must say, however, that as the war developed in intensity towards the end of 1920 and the beginning of 1921 the vast majority of the people stood with us, and cheerfully took their share of the risks and hardships. I did not intend to stay long in Dublin. I wanted to get back to Tipperary. I felt that things were too quiet there. The boys were all right, they were game for anything; all they wanted was to be told what to do. So Sean Treacy and I once more cycled that hundred miles journey, and I found myself back in Tipperary after an absence of nearly twelve months. This time we had a new plan. We decided to embark upon a campaign of a kind then scarcely known in the struggle, but one that was soon to show the world that there was no longer any doubt that Ireland was in a state of open war. (In the next chapter I shall describe that new campaign.) * * * * * Before dealing with the events which followed my return to Tipperary I must tell of an incident that almost ended my career as a gunman. Seumas Robinson and I had been spending a few days with Vincent Purfield at Balbriggan, where I had often had such a happy time. That was during Holy Week, 1920, and we decided to go to Dublin for Easter. We started from Balbriggan in a motor driven by Vincent himself on Good Friday, April 2nd, 1920.