We perceived, on consultation, that if it were possible to land 400 or 500 staunch men in the north-west—­say, at Sligo or Killala—­where the Government were completely off their guard (all their anxieties being centred on the south), an important movement might follow in Sligo, Leitrim, Roscommon and Mayo.  It would be like hitting the enemy in the back of the head.  It would necessarily draw off some of the forces from Munster, through the valley of the Upper Shannon, which, with its continuous chain of lake, bog and mountain frontier, would be difficult ground for the movements of a regular army.

It was necessary, as our informant said, that “someone with a name” should go over and concert with the Irishmen in Scotland the mode and time of action, and I was the only person at hand willing for that service.  For my encouragement, Meagher assured me I would be “as famous as Paul Jones” if I got the men out of the Clyde, and Mr. Dillon suggested as a landing-place “the old ground, Killala.”

That afternoon I left Dublin, and on Tuesday morning I was in Scotland.

I cannot give the exact particulars of my movements while there.  All who were in my confidence are still in Scotland, with the exception of Mr. Peter M’Cabe of Glasgow, now in the United States.  I will only say that I visited and consulted our friends in four of the principal towns—­Edinburgh included.  I attended meetings of the clubs and in each instance instituted committees.  I obtained in a few days a list of nearly 400 men, pretty well equipped, ready for the risk.  A sub-committee surveyed the Broomielaw and the Clyde, and although their report was unfavourable to the attempt of getting out in one body, a gentleman, now in America, gained over the crew and officers of an Irish steamer to take us as passengers from Greenock where the tides in a few days would answer for departure about ten o’clock at night.  The arms were to be previously shipped as merchandise or luggage, and the destination was to be Sligo.

These arrangements occupied from Tuesday till Friday of the last week of July.  In the meanwhile, the London Journals arrived with news that O’Brien and his friends had been received with open arms in the south, and great excitement and suspicion of strangers arose in Scotland.  In the Reading Room at Paisley I read myself in The Hue and Cry.  One paper stated I was in Waterford, another said I was “revelling among the clubs in the Co.  Dublin.”  The Times did me the honour to couple me with Meagher, calling us “the two most dangerous men now abroad.”  No one suspected my real locality.