Using old Brogan’s illness to decoy Katey home, the murderers waited until midnight, when they knocked at the door. At the time Katey was sitting by the fire making broth for her father, and at once opened the door, to be confronted by eight armed men wearing white masks and black hats, one of whom said, “Come with us.” Apparently Katey refused, whereupon they seized her, bound her wrists, and dragged her screaming and struggling to a field some hundred yards from her home.
Here they tried her by court-martial, convicted her, and no time was lost by the assassins in carrying out the death sentence. They then flung her body outside the cottage, where it was found by her mother, whose cries brought old Brogan out of his bed, and between them they managed to carry their murdered daughter in. The shock was too much for the old man, and he died shortly after he returned to bed, which finally turned the old woman’s brain.
Then followed weeks of misery. Every night Carew’s cattle were driven, his gates taken off their hinges and flung into the river, trees were cut down, fences smashed, and the showing of a light at any window was the signal for a volley of shots. Life in the trenches on the Western Front was often fearful enough, but to realise the life Carew and his herd led at this time one must remember that they had to carry on week in week out, with no rest billets ever to retire to, apart from the fact that at any moment sudden death in some horrible mutilating form might be their lot.
The first fair at which Carew tried to sell cattle warned him of the futility of attending any more. Sinn Fein “policemen,” with green, white, and yellow brassards on their arms, took care that no buyers came near him, while all the corner boys in Ballybor amused themselves by driving his cattle backwards and forwards through the fair until they could hardly move. Directly Carew would make for one set of tormentors, a fresh lot would appear behind his back and take up the chase.
After starting Coleman on his way home with the weary cattle, he went to the grocer he had dealt with for years, meaning to lay in a good stock of provisions. On entering the shop the owner took Carew into a private room, and explained that if he sold one pennyworth of food to him his shop would be burnt over his head that night, and that all the shopkeepers had received the same orders from the I.R.A. Carew then went straight to the police barracks, where the police soon bought all that he required.