It was a bitter night in February.
Down the snow convered slopes of Glen Imaal stumbled four
weary men, their muskets clasped firmly in their cold hands.
Their leader was a man of twenty-seven. He was tall and
broad-shouldered and his face was thin and drawn. Michael
Dwyer was his name. For many weeks he and his little band of
rebels had been hunted through the mountains by English
soldiers. Here among their friends in Glen Imaal they might
at last find rest and shelter.
Slowly they made their way towards
a faint light which shone from the tiny windows of a cottage.
A dog barked and a woman came to the door. She cried out of
sight of Dwyer and his men and brought them straight to the
warmht of the cheery kitchen fire. A hot meal was served,
their clothes were dried and that night they slept in beds
for the first time for many weeks.
Dwyer was first to awaken. He
raised his head a little and listened in breathless silence.
Then he heard the noise again, the faint, soft crunch of
heavy boots on the snow. With beating heart he grabbed his
musket and sprang to the window. A look of dismay crossed his
face, for surrounding the cottage was a force of red-coated
soldiers. He and his men were trapped.
There was loud banging on the door
and the English captain called on the rebels to surrender. It
was first agreed that the people of the house should leave in
safety. Then Dwyer gave his answer.
"We are few in mumber,
captain," he shouted, "but we will did fighting
rather than surrender."
The attack began. The roar of
muskets echoed through the snow-covered hills and the sharp
smell of powder filled the air. Bravely Dwyer and his men
defended the little coattage, firing with deadly aim from the
door and windows. A lighted torch was flung upon the roof ;
the flames quickly spread and soon the cottage was blazing
fiercely. Still the guns kept up their steady fire. Still the
rebels fought bravely, though the house was filled with
blinding smoke and the burning thatch began to fall around
them.
McAllister, one of Dwyer's bravest
men, was sorely wounded. If they statyed in the burning
house, he knew they would perish in the flames ; outside
waited death. Only one hope of escape remained : one of them
must draw the enemy fire while the others made a bid for
freedom. Quickly he called his friends around him and told
them of his plan.
The redcoats waited outside the
blazing cottage, wondering if the rebels were still alive.
All shooting had stopped and the only sound was the roar and
crackle of the flames.
Suddenly the door was flung open
and McAllister sprang forward, musket in hand. There was a
deadly burst of firing from the soldiers and the bravest of
the rebels fell dead in the snow. Before the soldiers could
re-load, Dwyer leaped through the doorway and dashed across
the fields. The soldiers swiftly followed, but Dwyer knew
every road and path and laneway in hi native Glen Imaal. Soon
the chase was given up.
McAllister's plan had worked.
Bravely he gave his life to save his friends, and Michael
Dwyer was free again to carry on his gallant struggle for
freedom.
© 1999 All Rights held by Michael G Keohane BA.
ACSA.