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and arranged for signals to the St Mellons and to the Aleida Johanna (made fast on the starboard side) from the top of the bridge.

Then he gave the order, “Ahead—slow," to both tugs. The ropes tightened, and, even before we had time to wonder whether she would come, the ship began to move almost imperceptibly ahead without a jar or a quiver from the rock on which she had lain for over two years. "Half," and she began to gather speed.

Then "Ahead full" to the Johanna and "slow" to the

St Mellons, and she awung gradually round and headed for the pier across the bay, alongside which we intended to put her.

It was a beautiful morning -Sunday, August 31st-the sunshine brilliant, and the waters of the bay fringed with woods, flat calm.

Grey handled her magnificently, steering her to a nicety by varying the speed of the tugs.

As we came off the end of the pier the St Mellons cast off and went out astern, and the ship came alongside so gently that one could hardly feel her touch.

(To be concluded.)

THE TERROR BY NIGHT.

BY AN IRISHWOMAN.

WITH the fatality that dogs so many of the measures for suppressing crime in Ireland, the order for motor permits considerably augmented the dangers and inconveniences of life. Before its introduction we could use our cars when and where we wished. The Government having decreed that permits signed by the British Executive were obligatory, and Sinn Fein having declared that such permits were an insult to the "Republic," the motorist ventured on the road at his peril.1 Should he fall in with a Sinn Fein picket he might merely be turned back with a caution and his permit torn to shreds. But the chances were that his ear would be wrecked under his eyes while a revolver was held against his head. The pastime of blocking the road and opening fire upon every motor that came along was extremely popular, for it could be indulged in by any one possessing firearms and a little spare time, and like most Sinn Fein practices, offered perfect safety to the aggressors.

It was past three o'clock on New Year's Eve, and forty-five miles of bad road lay between us and home, when the police sergeant at Kilfanaghan refolded the motor permit he had just

examined and handed it back to me.

"Let ye hurry, Miss, the way that ye'll be home before dark," he said, "though, indeed, 'tis dangerous to be travelling the roads day or night since them permits was invinted."

His glance strayed to the many coloured line on the chauffeur's coat.

"'Tis a target for death ye are with them medal-ribbons," he observed cheerfully. "God knows, 'tis peace and safety the soldiers should be having now wherever they'd be, and in place of it 'tis a reign of terror for them in Ireland."

As the car moved slowly on we exchanged the compliments of the season, and an ominous form of greeting that has crept into use of late: "May you be alive this day twelvemonths."

I had been duly warned of the risks of motoring long distances, but it is always difficult to realise the possibility of danger when outward conditions appear normal. The morning's run to Kilfanaghan had been a complete success, and I had no misgivings for the return journey. Indeed, the familiar country seemed peaceful enough for anything, while the roads were agreeably if significantly free of traffic.

When we emerged from the

1 The permits have been modified to suit Sinn Fein susceptibilities.

woods surrounding Kilfanaghan, the blue and violet outlines of the mountains were already growing grey grey and indistinct. An hour or so later the car broke down at a wild and lonely spot in the middle of a notoriously "republican" district. Darkness had set in, and it was an added annoyance to find that neither head-lights nor side-lights were in working order.

Twohig, the chauffeur, after a superficial examination, decided that the olutoh-diso was torn. He was confident of repairing it in "no time." I was less hopeful. Removing the clutchdise is a slow business, even by daylight. With a small electric torch propped beside him Twohig was obliged to work more by faith than by sight. He was, moreover, inexperienced as a mechanic, and the cold mountain air numbed his fingers.

Four hours later, though the clutch had been repaired, the car still refused to move. Twohig turned his attention to the gear-box.

Although the little village of Tubbernaphooka was scarcely a mile off, and there were, besides, several farms in the vicinity, yet in all those hours no living creature had come into sight. This was the more surprising because news travels fast in Ireland, and the Irish peasant has an unfailing "flair" for accidents.

In the winter of 1914 I had

a breakdown on this very read, and in less than ten minutes the car had been thronged by interested spectators proffering advice, assistance, and hospitality. It had been as difficult to restrain them from "slapping a cupful of paraffin into the machine, to see would it hearten it," as to convince them that neither the chauffeur nor I needed a "taste of whisky" to keep off a "fit of cold, or maybe a wakness."

Remembering this, I determined to follow the shortout, half-bohereen, half-watercourse, that led to Tubbernaphooka, and to ask for the loan of a lantern. At every cottage or farmhouse in Ireland the wayfarer, whether friend or stranger, is always sure of a welcome, and tea, I knew, would be pressed on us as a matter of course. As I approached the dilapidated cottages grouped

round the ancient walled-in spring1 that gives its name to the village, I felt there was something unusual about the place. The wind, blowing over the chimneys, brought no whiff of turf-smoke; no window showed a light. I went from door to door. All was silent. There was no sign of life anywhere.

Beyond the farthest cottage the whitewashed front of the police barrack standing behind its rustic fence was discernible against a dark mass of heathercovered hill. On reaching the fence, I groped stupidly for the gate before I realised that

1 Tubbernaphooka, "the well of the Phooka," i.e., a fairy horse that lives in

the fence was in ruins and the "a bit of disguise" by turning gate was gone. Inside, the his greatcoat inside out, rufnarrow slope between fence fling his hair, and using a cap and house formerly was ornahe had found in the tool-box. mented with the badge and His face, as he observed truly, monogram of the R.I.C., skil- was already black enough from fully carried out in whitened motor grease for either stones. Now the moon, sud- "Wran boy" or a raider. denly shining out, revealed an alteration in the design.

Instead of the harp and orown, the pebbles depicted a skull and cross-bones, and below, in uneven letters, ran an inscription—

DEATH TO THE R.I.C.

There is always something sinister about deserted houses at night; and though we Irish have ample opportunity for growing accustomed to the emblems of death, yet they acquire a fiotitious significance when encountered gleaming by moonlight on a lonely hill. I was glad enough to hurry back to the road and to see again the familiar dark bulk of the car.

On the road a strange figure confronted me, rising from the shadows. The creature wore an unusual-looking coat, and a cap of light material, tilted rakishly to one side of his head, gave free play on the other side to a great bush of tousled hair. The lower part of his suspiciously dark face was swathed in a muffler. I noticed his coat bulged over a hard shape-was it a revolver?

Instinctively I placed myself with my back to the car, and then I laughed outright, for Twohig's voice came from behind the muffler.

He explained that during my absence he had made up

"If any of them raiders comes along it will be best for you, Miss, to hide in a bunch of furze," he said. "I'll tell them I've secret orders from the competent military authority-Republican army -here he grinned-"and any one interfering with me will be reported! Sure, I'll go Sinn Fein for the duration of the night, and they'll not destroy the car on me then."

The scheme scarcely seemed practicable; still, stranded and helpless as we were, it was well to have any definite plan of action, and at least it offered a chance of escape should raiders come on the scene. Besides, that a respectable citizen should be obliged to disguise himself as a malefactor in order to ensure safety struck me as thoroughly in keeping with the times.

Twohig cheerfully resumed his repairs, and for another hour or two tinkered away with no result. I sat on the step of the car, ready at a moment's notice to plunge into my "bunch of furze."

The moon was hidden by clouds, and a little icy wind erept down from the mountains, stirring the bushes with a faint sound suggestive of rattling bones. Overhead plover called eerily; now and then the melancholy howl of a

find oneself the next. ing a turn into a sheltered hollow, a faint whistle sounded, and we raced past a crossroads: for a second I heard the skirl of pipes, and caught a glimpse of a long row of men drilling.

at

Round- burning in the main street of Clashagoppul. I wished to telephone to my people home, knowing they must be anxious about me; so my benefactor put me out at the grocery-store owned by one Daniel Herlihy, a very respectable man, who had installed a telephone and electric-light in his shop, and who owned a Ford car and a permit, though rumour said he had been warned to make no use of the latter.

The sudden slowing of the car, accompanied by an exclamation from my benefactor, made me open my eyes, which I had closed owing to the lashing rain. We were passing through a deep-wooded glen a few miles from Clashageppul. Just ahead, a great obstacle reared itself right in the middle of the road. At first sight, lit up as it was by the white glare from the headlights, it suggested a model of the rising sun carved in rough stone, the rays spread-. ing fan-like to either side of the road. A closer view showed it to be the stump and roots of a huge tree placed on its side, reinforced with brushwood, and to all appearance completely blocking the road.

Regan, however, must have detected a weak spot, for after & moment's hesitation he rushed the ear to the left of the obstacle, and though it grazed the roots on one side and the edge of the road on the other, it came safely through.

I fully expected a volley of shots from the high rocky banks, but it is evident that those responsible for the obstacle had grown tired of waiting in the rain for a chance car, and had taken themselves off.

In spite of the lateness of the hour, lights were still

To my surprise, before I oould reach the door it was slammed in my face; I heard the key grating in the look, and the cheerful shop-window became dark. I knocked and shook the door violently-something gave way, and it opened. The shop was plunged in complete darkness. I stumbled in a little way and stood still, uncertain what to do next. Regan, who had evidently grasped the situation, followed me.

"Ah, Danny, come out of that now," he said; "sure ye've no call to be afraid this time. 'Tis only a lady wanting to telephone." He switched on the light; Danny Herlihy rose from beneath the counter, looking foolish, and thrusting into an inner pocket something suspiciously like a revolver.

He was profuse in his apologies. "When I seen the motor at the door, I thought maybe some of them Sinn Feiners was after me permit. 'Faith, there's no knowing when they'd take a notion to come out and shoot ye; and they'd shoot ye dead, mind! They're

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