September 15, 1922
Well, it’s all over now. I’ll never forget it. I don’t want to write about it, but I’d must while the memories are still fresh and ourselves getting ready to leave for America.
The Brigade, that’s me and Liam and three of the lads, whose names I’ll not put down even in this private book, and the teacher man with his camera, took over the pub early this morning. The publican and his brother and their wives were terrible scared, though we assured them that they would not be hurt if they cooperated.
Poor folk, they weren’t sure which side was which and I’m thinking they didn’t know they’d done anything wrong by cooperating with Daniel O’Kelly.
I found myself a poker, just in case I needed it.
The sky was cloudy, but it wasn’t raining and when the wind stopped, it didn’t seem all that cold for this time of the year.
Our plan is to capture Daniel when he comes into the pub and tell him there would be a gun pointed at his head when the man came with the touring car. We wouldn’t let him see the cameraman hidden behind the bar. When the man in the car came in the pub and gave Daniel the money, the cameraman would, on a signal from myself, stand up and take his picture with his artificial light thing.
In the meantime one of the lads would sneak out and disarm the driver of the car.
I thought it was a pretty thin scheme, but we’d have at least captured O’Kelly and we’d have proof that he was meeting with the man in the car which we could turn over to the Free Staters and let them take care of O’Kelly while the Brigade disbanded altogether and Liam and I left for America.
Finally the sun came out, kind of shy and bashfullike at first but then, in all her glory, and chased the clouds from the sky.
About the middle of the day, who comes along the road, whistling “The Bold Fenian Men,” but the traitor himself?
He fools us by sitting down outside and yelling for his jar. But I’m thinking that maybe that’s good for us. We send the woman of the house out to serve him and warn her that she’ll be in grave danger if she lets on the slightest hint to the man who murdered Michael Collins. We move the teacher man over to the window behind the curtain and give him a chance to set up the camera.
The woman of the house, once she knows that we’re after the killer of the general, is on our side, God bless her, and she laughs and jokes with the gombeen man.
He’s three jars taken and still there’s no car and we wonder if the meeting is off.
Then we hear it thumping down the road and we all get ready, the teacher man fixes his camera, the lad who is to take on the driver sneaks out the back door, I stand by at the curtains, me poker in me hand, and Liam and the other two lads are prepared to burst out the door and arrest the criminals.
It’s all going well, I’m thinking to myself. Too well. Something will go wrong.
Which God knows it did. O’Kelly was a quicker gombeen man than we had expected.
The car pulls up and the man in it, wearing a brown tweed suit with a cloak, gets out and walks over to O’Kelly at the table. He’s not smiling because he probably figures O’Kelly is worse than cow manure, but he has to pay him off if he wants to use him again to betray poor old Ireland.
They shake hands briefly and the man sits down. O’Kelly shouts for service and the woman of the house brings him out a jar and another one for himself.
She and her man and the other two hide behind the bar because they know there’s going to be trouble.
The two of them drink for a while and chat about politics. ’Tis clear they think the Free State is finished because they’re not getting enough guns from England to gain control of the countryside.
Then the man from the car takes out his wallet and counts out the bills. O’Kelly picks them up, counts them, and smiles.
“Now!” I says to the teacher as I pull the curtains back.
His light thing explodes. Both O’Kelly and the other fella jump out of their seats.
Liam and the two lads burst out the door.
“We arrest the both of you,” Liam shouts at them, his Mauser (with only two bullets in it) pointed at O’Kelly, “for the murder of General Michael Collins.”
Now here’s where that traitor proves how quick he is. He leaps at me man, pushes the pistol out of his way, and points his pistol right at Liam’s head, jammed behind his ear.
Liam didn’t fire, I’m thinking, because a bit of him still respects the man he thought his colonel was. He wasn’t planning to kill O’Kelly himself.
“If any of you move,” the traitor says, “I’ll kill your friend here. I’m going to retreat nice and slow to the car. You’re going to tell the man over there who’s got his gun on the chauffeur to back off, and my colleague and I are going to leave real peacefullike.”
Not at all, I’m thinking. He’ll kill Liam and maybe shoot the other lads too if he can.
“Careful, O’Kelly,” says the other fella, as cold as the ice at the North Pole. Or in the depths of hell.
Well, there’s nothing left to be done. I’m standing inside the door, where Liam ordered me to stay. O’Kelly doesn’t know I’m there at all.
“You fools don’t understand!” Daniel yelled at us. “I did it for Ireland! I don’t need the focking money! The fools in Dublin are not fit to run the country! I am! And I will! I’ll help make Ireland a great country! I only regret that you won’t be alive to see how much better a man I am than Mick Collins! Up the republic!”
He lifted the gun, about to shoot.
Without thinking about it much, I step out the door and bring me poker down on the back of his head as hard as I can.
I bashed his brains out.
Lord have mercy on the poor man’s soul. What right do I have to think I’m any better than he was?
Lord have mercy on all of us.
I can’t write any more.