The Wind Is Rising: A Story of Revenge

By Lawrence Kelleher

Life would never again be the same for the O'Kelleher family, after the conquering of Ireland by the English butcher, Sir Oliver Cromwell, (circa1649), and the brutal consequences of his occupation. These British barbarians, who after murdering several of the O'Kelleher family, sent the remaining O'Kelleher brothers and sisters, together with some 80,000 Irish intellectuals, to the British West Indies as slaves. Then, 'Devine Providence' or fate intervened, as it sometimes does, and after an enemy of the British, sank the slave ship, the O'Kelleher's were on, they managed to find refuge on a Dutch held island. After serving five years in the Dutch navy as commandos, an opportunity presented itself, and the O'Kelleher brothers returned to Ireland, seeking their revenge on Oliver Cromwell's butchering army. As he stepped onto the shores of Ireland, Lawrence O'Kelleher, clan chieftain of the O'Kellehers', shouted, "Tis not us, but ye', who should be cowering, for we come like thieves in the night, seeking our revenge."

The 'troubles' were never ending. They are like a sore, whose scab, continues to bleed, after being picked at. "They would never heal, and they never have!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 10, 2003
• ISBN: 9781475941906

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All Rights Reserved © 2003 by Lawrence R. Kaliher

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Contents

-Preface-

-Dedication-

-Acknowledgement-

-Introduction-

Chapter 1 -The Wind Is Rising-

Chapter 2 -The Benedictine Abbey Of St. Aloysius-

Chapter 3 -The Clans-

Chapter 4 -Angus Mac Bride-

Chapter 5 -County Cork-

Chapter 6 -Cork, Waterford, Kilkenny & Tipperary-

Chapter 7 -Clare, Limerick & Kerry-

Chapter 8 -The Flanagan Clan-

Chapter 9 -Relapse-

Chapter 10 -Limerick-

Chapter 11 -Tipperary-

Chapter 12 -Bantry Bay-

Chapter 13 -Milltown-Malbay-

Chapter 14 -Waterford-

Chapter 15 -The Plan-

Chapter 16 -Dundrum-

Chapter 17 -The Surprise-

Chapter 18 -Summation & Debriefing-

Chapter 19 -Healy Pass-

Chapter 20 -Ennistymon-Ambush-

Chapter 21 -The Nightmare Returns-

Chapter 22 -Kilkenny-

Chapter 23 -Informer’s & Tinkers-

Chapter 24 -Justice-

Chapter 25 -Sergeant Geoff Blanchester-

Chapter 26 -Clonmel-

Chapter 27 -Tim And Lawrence O’kelleher-

Chapter 28 -The Plan-

Chapter 29 -The Attack-

Chapter 30 -The Massacre At Slieve-Mccallan-

Chapter 31 -The British Board Of Inquiry-

Chapter 32 -Commando Training-

Chapter 33 -Robert Cumyn-

Chapter 34 -The Wedding-

-Epilogue-

"Tis’ not us, but ye’ who should be cowering; for we come like ‘thieves in the night’, seeking our revenge!"

—Lawrence O’Kelleher

-Preface-

This story is about a family, who were part of some eighty thousand Irish intellectuals, who were deported from Ireland, by an English barbarian, who after conquering Ireland, decided in order to rid Ireland of any type of intellectual resistance to his policy of ‘genocide’, he would ship these unfortunates, to the British West Indies as ‘slaves’. Included in this mass of humanity, were the O’Kelleher brothers and sisters.

A turncoat Irishman, by the name of Curia O’Brien, tricked the O’Kellehers into surrendering to this English madman. The O’Kelleher brothers had thought, by surrendering to Sir Oliver Cromwell, he would honor his promise to free Mrs. O’Kelleher, and their youngest sister Erin, he did not.

Once again, the Irish were reminded of that old saying, Never face a charging bully never stand behind a kicking horse, and never trust a smiling Englishman

However, after a series of misfortunes, an act of ‘Divine Providence’ occurred, favoring the Irish, and some of the O’Kelleher brothers returned to Ireland to seek their revenge on Sir Oliver Cromwell’s butchers.

The characters are fictionalized. While the story has a background in fact, it is a fictional accounting of what took place to the O’Kelleher family, who were forced to leave Ireland, and those O’Kellehers, who would eventually return to Ireland, to seek their revenge on Sir Oliver Cromwell’s butchers.

Aside from actual historical figures, places, and historical events, all other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Lawrence R. Kelleher

-Dedication-

This book is dedicated to my ancestors the O’Kellehers, who through centuries of battling invaders and rival clans in Ireland, were finally beaten by the English army, which overran Ireland in 1649, under the command of Sir Oliver Cromwell, the butcher of Ireland. While they suffered their most humiliating defeat in 1649, they never gave up, and as a result, after returning to Ireland (circa 1655), to seek their revenge, they united many major Irish clans and together, they became the scourge of southern Ireland.

While most Irish left Ireland for America because of the famine and British persecution, (1846-1850), some left for other reasons, i.e., they were forced into slavery by a madman, Sir Oliver Cromwell, and were deported to the British West Indies as slaves, to work as field hands on the great English tobacco and sugarcane plantations, (circa 1649). Hardships such as this, made the O’Kellehers, and their ancestors even tougher, and re-enforced their resolve to survive, under the most brutal and degrading circumstances. In my opinion, this and other tragic events to a large degree, helped future generations of Irish, contribute to the building of America.

Lawrence R. Kelleher

-Acknowledgement-

After receiving a suggestion to write a book and receiving much encouragement from a relative and some friends, I wrote my first novel, "Seanachie’’-’A Story of the Irish’ (1783—1880). This writing thing, kind of became infectious, and at a suggestion of my nephew, Billy Kaliher, I wrote my second novel, To Shed A Tear (A Story of Irish Slavery in the British West Indies’. (1649-1655). While this second story takes the O’Kelleher clan, back some two hundred years to 1649, and much before the potato famine of 1846-1850, its story line is still about the O’Kelleher family. Then as a sequel to my second book, my third book continues the O’Kelleher adventure story. (1655-1705).

My third book is titled, "The Wind is Rising’-’A Story of Revenge’, I have now completed my trilogy about the O’Kelleher family in Ireland, the British West Indies and America, between circa 1649-1880.

P.S. And many thanks to the ‘Little people’, who without their help, I would never have to able to tell me’ stories. It was they, who also reminded me of the fact that; An Irishman, has an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustains him through temporary periods of Joy.

-Erin Go Bragh!-

Lawrence R. Kelleher

-Introduction-

Life would never again be the same for the O’Kelleher family, after the conquering of Ireland by the English butcher, Sir Oliver Cromwell (circa 1649), and the savage consequences of the occupation, by these English barbarians, who murdered several of the O’Kelleher family. The remaining brothers and sisters were forced into slavery by the English, and sent to the British West Indies.

‘Divine Providence’ or fate intervened, as it sometimes does, and after an enemy of the British, sank the slave ship they were on, the O’Kellehers managed to find refuge on a Dutch held island. After several years serving as Dutch commandos, the O’Kelleher brothers managed to kill two of the most brutal and savage overseers of the English plantation, where the Irish were forced into slavery. This action coupled with a series of other events, allowed the O’Kelleher brothers, along with several other Irish, and one Scotch commando, to return to Ireland, to seek their revenge against Oliver Cromwell and his British barbarians.

The O’Kellehers’ formed alliances with other Irish clans, who had hid out from their British enemy, after the occupation of Ireland by Oliver Cromwell’s army, and together, they attacked the British army wherever they found it, throughout southern Ireland. Their chit-an-run’ tactics used against the British, caused the British, to have to almost double the size of their occupation army, in an effort to try and combat, this new and effective resistance. This resistance was never-ending. It was much like a sore whose scab continues to bleed after being picked at. ‘It would never heal, and it never has’.

Note: The O’Kelleher Clan Chieftain, Timothy O’Kelleher, who after his life and death struggle with an enormous black Octopus, in the black and slimy sea-weed infested waters of the harbor, at St. John’s Bay, became so traumatized, that he was never quite the same again mentally. See my second book, To Shed a Tear ‘A Story of Irish Slavery in the British West Indies’

Because of his mental impairment, Timothy now realized that with his fragile mental condition, he could possibly jeopardize the O’Kelleher Clan’s success, in fighting the English. Therefore, he abdicated his position as Clan Chief, and selected his younger brother, Lawrence O’Kelleher, to carry out their mission, to harass and inflict as much damage as they possibly could, against the English psychopath, General Oliver Cromwell and his barbarous occupying army.

Lawrence R. Kelleher

CHAPTER 1

-THE WIND IS RISING-

‘Ireland’

"Τά an gaoth Ag éirí (Ag ardú) ‘The Wind is rising’ came the voice from above.

Moreover, who am I addressing, pray tell, asked the same voice. Tim answered,

Tis’ me, Timothy O’Kelleher, former high chief of the O’Kelleher Clan of Kerry, perhaps ye’ve heard of me?

Aye’, and that I have. The voice continued, What the blazes in the name of God, are ye’ doing below, don’t ye’ know of the dangers of ye’ fishing off these steep cliffs. Tim laughed,

Not really, I jest’ thought some moonlight fishing, would be a good thing on this fine, blustery night.

Tine night is it, I’ve got yer’ fine night, I have." Tim finally said after this rather lighthearted exchange,

Please sir, who ever ye’ are, we’ll be need’n yer’ strong hands, and a rope, if ye’ have one, to help pull us up and out of these rocky cliffs. The old man smiled to himself as he lowered a rope to Tim. Tim now had a chance to look at his rescuers, after he was pulled to safety, atop the sheer cliff. In the fleeting moonlight, he looked like a half animal, and half man, standing before him, surrounded by many small children.

This person looked to be about eighty years old, with a long white beard, which reached almost to his knees, with long white hair pulled back in a sort of ‘pony tail’. His clothes were nothing more than rags. He was almost naked. The top of his head reached to Tim’s chest. He wore a wide leather belt, which at one time, held a sword and sheath. The belt held nothing now, other than holding up, the old man’s kilt. The kilt was a dirty rag, wrapped around his lower body. It had long since lost its vibrant clan colors. His bony knees protruded from under this piece of rag. Covering him and his ragged clothes was a sort of cape, with a hood, much like the ‘Monks’ wore in Ireland. He stood in a semi-crouch, as he leaned on an old twisted, Blackthorn cane. Surrounding him, were young children of many ages. Some appeared to be, no more than four or five years old, and several children were even younger.

One by one, Tim and the old man, pulled each commando up and out of the steep rocky chasm, with each commando stepping gingerly onto each outcropping, while climbing, with many rocks braking loose under their weight. Those commandos below, while waiting their turn to get hold of the rope, were being pelted by falling rocks, which had broken lose from the person’s feet, who was climbing, above them. The commandos suffered bruises, cuts, and received bumps on their heads, caused by these falling rocks. Once Lawrence reached the rocky soil of this part of Ireland, he turned facing east, as he shouted at the top of his lungs,

Tis’ not us, but ye’, who should be cowering, for we come like thieves in the night’, seeking our revenge!

A rickety old cart with two pull handles, which were attached to the front of the cart, was standing next to the old man. One wheel was no longer round, as evidently, it had been broken at one time, and whoever repaired it, used a straight stick, which was fastened to the other round part of the wheel with a rope. Therefore, when it was pulled, it bumped up and down, as the flat part of the one wheel, met the ground. One pull handle was broken off, and was half the length of the other. Piled on this broken down cart or wagon, were piles of’peat’, neatly cut into small two-foot squares.

The old man said to Tim, Bail ó Dhia ort ‘God bless ye, ‘ and Céad Mile Fáilte, Ά hundred thousand welcomes’. Tim answered, Gurb amhladh duit, The same to ye ‘. The old man then asked,

Conas tâ tú (Cén chaoi a bhfuil tú) \How are ye’? Tim replied, Τ aim go maith slán go raibh tú (a bhéas tú), Very well, thank ye \ Then the old man asked,

Cad is ainm duit, ‘What are y er’ companion ‘s names?"

I’m here with me’ brothers, Conor, and Lawrence, together with John Cumyn, Francis Farrell, Seamous Corbett, and the two Ryan brothers, Cornelius and John.

The old man spoke,

I’m glad to meet the tall ones, and one of the finest fighting clans in all Ireland, the O’Kellehers. Me’ name is Malachi Kilkelly, but they all call me Cush. He continued, The Gods must have been looking out for ye’ tonight Tim me’ lad, as we don’t often pass by these cliffs, especially at night, as I’m always afraid of the children falling off of these cliffs. If fate didn’t tell me to take this road tonight, I’m afraid ye’ and yer’ companions, would have drowned, as ye’ would never have been able to climb these sheer cliffs by yer’selves, especially so, when the tide comes in. Tim then introduced his commando group individually, to Cush,

"These are me’ two brothers, Conor, Τά sé ar leathchois, ‘He is one legged", and Lawrence, and the others, John Cumyn, Cornelius, his brother John Ryan, plus Seamous Corbett, and Francis Farrell. There are a total of eight of us including me’ self."

Cush Kilkelly shook all of their hands. He stopped for a moment as he scrutinized John Cumyn, as John’s darker skin with his white ‘pony tail’, seemed to bother him. He said to John,

Me’ lad, where in the hell did ye’ get that dark skin? Ye’ remind me of an Aborigine, whose color I’ve been told about, by Irish seamen who visited Australia. Cush’s un-thinking, and rather crude comment, caused John’s eyes to narrow and his face became even darker, but he bit his lip, as Tim interrupted him before he could respond, by saying,

We’ll tell ye’ all about us and our story later, but for now, Lets dispense with the formalities, and let us go to where ever ye’ make yer’ home. The old man laughed as he said,

Home is it, home heh, we haven’t lived in any place ye’ could call home, since that bloody bastard Cromwell, came through Ireland, with his scorched earth policy.

Tim then said,

I didn’t mean to suggest a normal home, I only meant, where do ye’ hang yer’ hat, so to speak.

The old man quieted down somewhat, as he said to Tim,

We live in the basement of the old St. Benedictine Abbey of St. Aloysius, jest’ a stones throw from where we’re standing. Ye’ and yer’ group, landed in a cove, in an area known as the ‘Cliffs of Moher’ at Blackhead, which is located on the western side of County Clare. We’re about 20 kilometers north of Spanish Point, named for the area where the great Spanish Armada, was driven onto those huge rocks in 1588, which jut out from these jagged cliffs, destroying the Spanish fleet. Had they not arrived in se’ch’ a violent storm, perhaps our history might have been different than it now is. He continued,

When Cromwell’s butchering army swept through Ireland, his soldiers burned all of the Catholic Churches and destroyed all of the schools, both Catholic and public. These bloody bastards didn’t bother to see if their torches burned everything completely. They had set fire to St. Benedictine, which had its roof burned off, but the main floor was constructed of thick oak planks, which the fire only scorched. He continued,

Underneath the main floor of the abbey, the Monks had constructed a large cellar, to keep their wines and vegetables cool. The cellar or basement is jest’ about fifty yards in length, and approximately twenty yards wide. There are small openings or windows I guess they would be called, along the perimeter of the building. These openings emit enough light during the day, to allow us to see around the cellar area. Of coarse at night, we don’t light any lamps, so it is quite dark, unless the moon is out. He continued,

Both ends of the Abbey were constructed of stone, so both ends of the Abbey, are still standing. The Abbey was built in the fifth century, should ye’ be thinking of asking me. Tim then spoke up as he was somewhat curious about all of the children surrounding them, and he said,

Mr. Kilkelly sir, may I ask, who do all of these children belong to? The old man had a rather smug look on his face, as he replied,

"They are mine, at least some of them are, they belong to me’ self and Mrs. Kilkelly. The others are their playmates. Ye’ may laugh, but remember me’ lad, the Irish suffered enormous losses, when these English barbarians, came through here, murdering, butchering and plundering. Me’ family lost all of the male clan fighters, including me’ three older sons, and their wives. Therefore, I told me’ wife, jest’ as long as she was willing and able, we would begin anew and start a brand new family. Like the ‘good book,’ says, (Go forth and multiply.’Well, we stayed right here and did the deed. Ye’ know Tim, if it were up to these monks and priests, me’ wife and me ‘self, would have never left our sleeping room, only to eat and to relieve ourselves."

The old man broke out in hysterical laughter; as he watched the expression on Tim’s face, go from amusement to disbelief. We had to replace what we had lost, I guess we jest’ got kind of carried away. He looked at Tim with a smug smile on his old weather beaten face. Tim then said,

Yer’ something else Cush, but we best be getting to where it is ye’ say, we’ can find shelter, before we’re spotted by a local constable or some English soldier. The old man then piped up,

Ye’ won’t be finding too many constables or English soldiers in this part of Ireland, the devil himself wouldn’t live here, with our continuous rains and bitter winds, plus the mysterious happenings which go on around here. Tim interrupted the old man, What do ye’ mean, mysterious happenings? Well, said Cush,

There have been reports of some English soldiers and constables who turned up missing, after they ventured into this neck of the woods. The old man once again burst out in hysterical laughter, as he winked at Tim.

CHAPTER 2

-THE BENEDICTINE ABBEY OF ST. ALOYSIUS-

(Mrs. Kilkelly)

The commandos followed Cush and his family of urchins. None of the children had any decent clothes on, nothing but rags, which hung loosely on their bodies. They all looked emaciated, with their ribs sticking out from under their rags. Tim counted six children, a boy and a girl, who looked to be about sixteen years old or so, followed by twins, a boy and a girl, and a half-dozen playmates.

All of the children wore as clothing, old and filthy, fifty-pound potato sacks, with holes cut out for their heads and their arms. The bottoms were also cut off, so the children could walk about, without tripping on them.

After about a half hour of pushing and pulling the old man’s cart, loaded down with ‘peat’, they all arrived at the Abbey. The cart was unloaded and the peat was stashed in neat piles out-side, in the rear of the Abbey. It was starting to rain, and the winds were picking up, as the eight commandos, the old man and all of the children entered the cellar of the Monastery, through a hatch in the floor. In the rather dark cellar, Cush introduced the commandos to his wife, Siobhan. Mrs. Kilkelly looked to be considerably younger than her husband. Tim could tell, even in the darkened cellar, that she was rather tall, and she had reddish brown hair, streaked with silver, and pulled back in a bun. A hairstyle more

practical than glamorous, but Tim noted she evidently had been quite a beauty in her day, as she still had finely chiseled facial features with high cheekbones, small ears, a firm chin, and a very shapely body. Tim had seen porcelain figurines when he was younger, in the ‘great’ houses of the wealthy, which had shown such finely chiseled features of beautiful women. No wonder Tim thought, did Cush want to go forth and multiply? She spoke to the commandos in the ‘Irish’, as she said,

I won’t speak the ‘bloody’ English language anymore, not since Oliver Cromwell and his murdering butchers, over ran Ireland.

She motioned all of the commandos to a large table, setting in the middle of a large room. She said to Tim in the Irish,

"I’m sure ye’ and ye’ lads are a might bit hungry. Tim replied, Aye’ and we are, as we haven’t had a decent meal, since we left the West Indies."

Well said Mrs. Kilkelly, I have some ‘Aran ‘ ‘soda bread’, and a few pieces of ‘Liamhás’ ‘ham,’ and some home brew ‘Beoir’ ‘Beer’, its what they used to call, ‘pub grub,’ before these British heathens took over and ye’ all might like", as she continued,

"Cush brews this so called beer himself and he calls it, ‘Erin’s Promise.’ All of the commandos responded in unison,

Aye’ mum.’ Mrs. Kilkelly spoke with a certain bitterness in her voice, as she told about she and her husband, who had suffered the most brutal treatment by the British army, as it swept across southern Ireland, raping, murdering and slaughtering, both women, children and infants. She began her diatribe,

"No one was spared from Sir Oliver Cromwell’s ‘Divine Providence’ proclamation". Tears of rage could be seen, running down her cheeks as she spoke of these British devils. Her voice quivered as she continued,

Me’ self and Mr. Kilkelly’s loss of our three sons, and their wives, all tortured before being hung. The degrading and sub-human raping of their wives, by a dozen or more British soldiers, animals really, while their husbands were made to watch. Mr. Kilkelly’s four brothers and their wives, his three sisters and our five grandchildren, ranging in age from one year to sixteen, all raped and butchered, gender made no différence to these animals. Her shoulders shook and between sobs, she continued,

I swore an oath before our family’s most revered saint, St. Patrick, that we would someday, extract our revenge on these sub-human butchers. I believe St. Patrick has answered our prayers, with the O ‘Kellehers, and their friends, arriving on our doorstep. She went on,

"There is nothing which me’ self and me’ husband, will not give or sacrifice, to rid our beloved Ireland, of this most hated, and evil enemy. I would gladly lay down me’ life today, if I could but save, one innocent victim of these murdering butchers. "Mrs. Kilkelly was sobbing, and her shoulders shook, as she went on and on, about their families’ plight. Tim figured Mrs. Kilkelly had probably suffered a nervous breakdown early on, because of her family being murdered, and together with her fragile mental state, her emotions were just now starting to once again re-surface, as she related her sufferings to the eight commandos. She had few tears left to shed, as she recounted some of the horrors, which had befallen the Kilkelly family.

Tim could relate to her mental condition, as he too suffered relapses from a similar situation, while being embraced in the many arms, of that slimy black octopus in St. John’s Bay, which tried to drag Tim down to its black lair, and his encounter with the black giant, Konga. However, her story of the murdering of her family, by these British barbarians, brought tears to his eyes. He too swore an oath, that he and his fellow commandos would make these British barbarians pay, and pay dearly, for their murdering of her family, his own, and their trying to destroy the Irish race. Cush said after listening to his wife’s lament.

Lads, I believe a good night’s sleep would do wonders for us all, as he too wiped away a tear from his eye.

Mrs. Kilkelly turned her back to the commandos, as she retreated to a small room in the front of the Abbey cellar. She held in her arms, a homemade child’s doll, made from straw and rags, while she rocked, back and forth, back and forth, in an old broken rocking chair, mumbling incoherently to herself, as she starred at the bare wall.

This small room was part of the slightly larger room, where she and Cush slept. After her traumatic recounting of just some of the atrocities committed against her family, Mrs. Kilkelly was both physically and mentally exhausted. It would take at least two or three weeks, for her to return to her semi-normal state. However, she would never again, be quite right mentally, after witnessing such beastly acts, by these British barbarians. Like Tim, her telling of such horrible stories, forced her to re-live these same stories, as though they had just happened.

CHAPTER 3

-THE CLANS-

(Patrick O’Sullivan ‘Bere’)

After they all had a few hours sleep, Tim called a meeting of his commando group. He invited Cush and a sixteen-year-old neighbor lad, by the name of Michael Fitzsimmons or Mickey, as everyone called him. Oliver Cromwell’s soldiers had murdered Mickey’s parents and his brothers and sisters, as they swept through the little village of Cahirciveen, in County Kerry, where he and his family had lived. Cahirciveen was a small village just about five miles from the Atlantic Ocean, on the extreme western side, of the Slieve Mish Mountains. This loss of his parents, his five brothers and sisters, made him a very dangerous person, even for his young age, someone the British army would have to deal with, for a long time to come. Fact is, Mickey had become somewhat psychotic, after seeing the British army butcher his family. Mickey’s life was sparred, as the English commander, Captain Graham P. Wilson, thought he could use Mickey’s family, as an example of just what would happen to anyone who stood up to the British army and the English crown.

He figured with ‘Mickey’s re-telling of the murder of his family by the English army, the Captain felt Mickey’s story, would strike fear in the hearts of his neighbors, instead, it did just the opposite. The Irish hatred for the English only intensified. Tim asked Mickey,

Do ye’ know of Patrick O’Sullivan ‘Bere’, clan chief of the O’Sullivans? Mickey answered, "Aye’ and I do.

Mickey Fitzsimmons was acquainted with Patrick O’Sullivan ‘Bere’, clan chief of the O’Sullivans, as he and his father, a long time ago, met Patrick O’Sullivan at several clan meetings, long before the British and Oliver Cromwell, invaded Ireland. Patrick O’Sullivan ‘Bere’ hid out with his clan members, in the Caha Mountains, on the eastern approaches to Bantry Bay. Tim then told Mickey,

I would like ye’ to leave here tonight and deliver a message to Patrick O’Sullivan ‘Bere’, keeping away from the main roads, so as not to be noticed by the British army patrols. Tell him about our situation and I, Tim O’Kelleher, Chief of the O’Kelleher clan of Kerry, have returned to Ireland, along with seven commandos, to seek our revenge on these British barbarians. Tim continued,

We would like to join forces with the O’Sullivan clan as a first step in our attempt to unify, at least six or seven clans. I believe he is familiar with me’ grandfather, Fergus O’Kelleher, who was ‘Chief of all Chiefs’, of the great O’Kelleher clan. Tim went on,

At one time, our clan was the largest clan in southern Ireland and our clan extended from Kerry, Cork, Kilkenny, Tipperary, Limerick, Carlow and included parts of Clare. Tim continued,

"I would like ye’ to leave here tonight and deliver a message to Patrick O’Sullivan ‘Bere’, keeping away from the main roads, so as not to be noticed by the British army patrols. Tell him about our situation and I, Tim continued,

Tell him I would like to hold a series of meetings with him and his sub-chiefs, together with any other clan chiefs, which he may have made alliances with. Tell him I expect to meet with him in five days, at the small village of Bally-bunion on the banks of the river Shannon.

In the village of Ballybunion, sits a small pub run by a Scotchman, by the name of Angus Mac Bride, who while maintaining a loyalist position with the British, was really a Chief in the Irish McArthur Clan. The Irish considered him trustworthy and because of that, he was made a Chief in the McArthur clan, when the English army hanged Liam McArthur, after he was captured in the battle of Labasheeda, on the river Shannon in 1649.

Angus’s and his unquestioned loyalty to the British, made him and his pub, the ‘Darby Queen’, from the British point-of-view, a very unlikely place for the outlawed Irish clans, to hold their clan meetings. After all, why should they think otherwise?

CHAPTER 4

-ANGUS MAC BRIDE-

(‘The Darby Queen’)

After several days travel, and after he met with Patrick O’Sullivan ‘Bere’, Mickey and Patrick O’Sullivan, arrived at Angus Mac Bride’s pub, the ‘Darby Queen’. Mickey spent the better part of an hour, telling Mr. Mac Bride and Mr. O’Sullivan of what Tim O’Kelleher wanted of them, and he also related some of the stories told by Tim O’Kelleher and his fellow commandos, while they were living on the Dutch held island of St. Croix, in the West Indies. Mr. Mac Bride and Patrick O’Sullivan were delighted with the news that one of their heroes was back in Ireland, ready to take up arms against the British barbarians, and they were looking forward to meeting with Tim O’Kelleher.

It was just about five days later, when Tim O’Kelleher, his brother Lawrence and John Cumyn, reached the ‘Darby Queen’. They entered the pub through the rear door, so as not to be seen by either the Irish farmers or fishermen, who drank in the pub, or by any British soldiers, or Irish constables. They were immediately escorted upstairs to a secret room over the pub. Angus Mac Bride was the first to greet Tim, as he shook his and Lawrence’s hand. He gave a rather suspicious look at John Cumyn, before shaking his hand. Tim seeing his reluctance to shake John’s hand, told Angus of John’s Scottish roots, and the circumstances which brought him to Ireland as part of the small commando group. Angus then said,

John me’ lad, I’ve never seen a Scotchman as dark as ye’, but if Tim O’Kelleher says yer’ okay, then yer’ okay with me, especially a ‘Scotsman’ who is descended from ‘Red Cumyn’, the greatest king, Scotland ever had.

Tim began to speak to the assembled group and he said,

Lads, me and me’ commando group, have taken a rather circuitous route, to get back to our beloved homeland. Because of me’ absence the past five years or so, I need to get from all of ye’, the present status of any of the clans, which may have survived the brutal British army, and who are hiding out in the hills and mountains, surrounding their former villages. Patrick O’Sullivan once again spoke,

I personally know of three clans which are presently hiding in the area around Killarney. They are the Mullins, led by Francis Mullins, and there’s the Ryan clan, led by Maurice Ryan and his two sons. Finally, I believe the O’Donahues are still somewhat active, led by the older brother, Adrian. He went on,

While I’ve heard of them, I’ve not had any contact with any of them, as it seems like each clan, attacks the British army on its own, never wishing to band together, in order to offer a unified threat to the British. As ye’ know Tim, we Irish are still quarreling amongst ourselves, as we have for these past thousand years, and we don’t trust one another either. Tim answered,

How well I know, as that is exactly why the British and this barbarian Cromwell, were so successful in sweeping across Ireland. Who he didn’t beat in battle, he, through ‘rigged’ negotiations, tricked some others into surrendering on his fraudulent terms, thus weakening further, any Irish resistance. He is a bastard, pure and simple. Another example of why ye’ cannot trust a bloody Englishman.

Aye‘ said Angus Mac Bride, as he continued,

As ye’ all know, because of me’ ownership of the ‘Darby Queen’, I through conversations with me’ clientele, have made many allies in our struggle against these English devils. I’ve become privy to much information, not only about the English and their troop movements, their supplies and the like, but also about which clans are still active in and around Ban try Bay. He continued,

The drunken English soldiers who frequent me’ pub, have inadvertently told me of where the English believe certain Irish clans were hiding out, and have in some instances, told me of the English plans to try and attack these clans. I then had the opportunity to warn the clan chieftains of the English plans, and therefore, the Irish were never where the English thought they would be. This had the English commander shaking his head, as he knew someone, was telling the clan chiefs of his plans, to attack these clans. He further said,

The English commander’s name is, Sir Basil F. Lanceforth, and he commands’ the English 8th. Dragoons, located just outside of Dunmanway and he is a bastard. His brutality toward the Irish is known far and wide. His father is Lord Sichester W. Lanceforth, a senior member in the ‘English House of Lords’. Tim now spoke,

I believe we can enlist the Ryan’s, Mullin’s and the Donahue clans, in joining our cause.

Tim then proceeded to draw a map of southern Ireland on some old butcher paper. He first outlined the region of Munster, with its six counties, Kerry, Cork, Limerick, Waterford, Clare, and Tipperary. He thought for a minute longer, as if he was undecided about any other counties he wanted to consider, as his first objective in his effort to unite those clans, still operating in these individual counties. He then added Kilkenny, which was in the region of Leinster. Tim had known the leaders of two