The leader then called out to Carew that if he would not agree to surrender all his lands and promise to leave the country they would drown him there and then. In order to gain time Carew pretended to be greatly frightened, and started a whining altercation with the leader on the bank. As he expected, his would-be executioners soon joined in heatedly, so much so that shortly one let go of his arm, and throwing the other off his balance with a quick wrench, Carew dived, and swimming down and across the river under water was soon in safety on the far bank. As soon as the crowd realised that their prisoner had escaped, they opened fire on the river at once, hitting one of the men in the water, whereupon the wounded man’s friends turned on another faction and a free fight ensued. Once across the river, Carew ran as hard as he could for the house of a friendly farmer living on the main road on the east side of the river, borrowed a bicycle from the man, and set off for Ballybor. By great good luck, as Carew reached the barracks in Ballybor, he found Blake on the point of setting out on a night expedition with a Crossley load of police. On hearing his story Blake at once agreed to return with him, in the hope that they might be in time to save Rossbane. In order to surprise the Volunteers, Blake went by the road on the east side of the river, and on reaching Carew’s demesne hid the car inside in the shadow of some trees. Carew then swam the river, brought back a boat, and ferried the police across in three parties. The farm buildings and main yard of Rossbane lie between the house and the river, and on entering the yard the police found Coleman lying insensible and surrounded by his weeping wife and children. Learning from the woman that the Volunteers were on the point of setting fire to the house, the police, led by Blake and Carew, who was armed with rifle and revolver, and by now in a white heat of fury, made for the house in two parties, one under Carew for the front entrance, and the other under Blake for the back. The last thing the Volunteers expected was a brutal assault by the police, and after eating and drinking all they could find and looting what happened to take their fancy, they had just sprayed petrol over the hall and set it on fire when the police entered. It is not often that the R.I.C. have the pleasure of coming to grips with the elusive I.R.A., but when they do they put paid in capital letters to the accounts of their murdered comrades, men shot in cold blood in their homes, or dragged unarmed out of trains and butchered like cattle. The R.I.C. are probably one of the finest fighting forces to be found in a continent where, at the present day, practically every man is trained to arms, and most people have seen the fight cornered rats will put up.