In the grey Atlantic swells off the rugged Donegal coast bobbed a strange, black, knobby object. The young fishermen of Ballymanus village strolled down to the sea, stared and wondered. At length came the official coast watcher. It was a mine, he warned: let no one touch it.
But two bold youths—James Rogers and James Roarty—waded out waist-deep, fixed a rope to the mine's horns. Up on the beach the crowd heaved-ho. Inshore wallowed the sinister machine until, suddenly, it bumped a rock. In the black roar of the explosion, Rogers and Roarty were blown to bits, 16 others were killed,...
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