just the man for
any dashing and daring enterprise.

I frequently met John Flood, too, whose name, with that of McCafferty,
is associated with the Chester raid. He was then about thirty years of
age, a fine, handsome man, tall and strong, wearing a full and flowing
tawny-coloured beard. He had a genial-looking face, and, in your
intercourse with him, you found him just as genial as he looked. He was
a man of distinguished bearing, who you could imagine would fill with
grace and dignity the post of Irish Ambassador to some friendly power.
He was a Wexford man, full of the glorious traditions of '98. He took an
active part in aiding the escape of James Stephens from Ireland. With
Colonel Kelly he was aboard the hooker in which the C.O.I.R. escaped,
and to his skill and courage and rare presence of mind was largely due
the fact that Stephens did not again fall into the hands of his enemies.

From then up to the time immediately preceding the Chester raid, he
frequently called on me in Liverpool in company with John Ryan.

Father McCormick, of Wigan, a patriotic Irish priest, used to tell me,
too, of the men coming to confession to him on their way to Chester, and
afterwards to Ireland, for the rising on Shrove Tuesday. And yet these
were the kind of men for whom, according to a certain Irish bishop,
"Hell was not hot enough nor Eternity long enough."

When John Ryan informed me of the plans that were being matured for the
seizure of the arms and ammunition in Chester Castle, I volunteered for
any duty that might be allotted to me. It was settled that I should hold
myself in readiness to carry out when called upon certain mechanical
arrangements in connection with the raid with a view to prevent
reinforcements from reaching Chester.

These arrangements were to consist of the taking up of the rails on
certain railway lines and the cutting of the telegraphic wires leading
into Chester. I, therefore, surveyed the ground, and besides the
required personal assistance, had in readiness crowbars, sledges, and,
among other implements, the wrenches for unscrewing the nuts of the
bolts fastening the fishplates which bound together the rails, end to
end. I now held myself prepared for the moment when the call to action
would reach me.

This, however, never came, for I found afterwards that the leaders had
learned in time of Corydon's betrayal of the project, and made their
arrangements accordingly.

I heard nothing further of