Roland Patrick Curtin

Roland was studying for the Roman Catholic priesthood when the French Revolution broke out in 1792. Falling under the suspicion of the “Reds”, Curtin was arrested and quickly sentenced to be shot, as it was prior to the adoption of the decapitator invented by Monsieur Guillotine - who eventually fell a victim to his own bloody device. The night before the execution when the theological student was to be “shot at sunrise” the jailer’s daughter had slipped a note under his tin plate. “Duck”, it said, "just before the volley is fired, the firing squad will like you and will give you a chance." Curtin with his quick Irish wit ducked all right and lay unwounded among the slain. It was a tiresome "act" to lie in the hot sun face downward until dark but to move would probably mean being stabbed to death by the swarthy old brute with a black beard who kept the dogs away from the corpses. Some time after dark the burial squad arrived and all the "dead" including Curtin were put in open coffins. Soon there appeared a car drawn by a magnificent snow-white Norman stallion-it is one of the best traits of the Franks that they keep their horses entire-and the coffins were heaved into the vehicle. Again the “luck of the Curtins” manifested itself as the young Priest's "box" was put on top of the pile, else he would surely have smothered underneath. It was midnight by the time St. Sulice, the lonely graveyard was reached. The long trench was already dug and the coffins were ranged in rows within it. Nobody was around at that sepulchral hour but the bats, owls and the noisy nightjars. (like our Whippoorwills.) Union rules-the Reds had them in those days too--forbid the wagoners to touch shovels, so they went off saying the next day's grist could be covered at the same time. When the rattle of the cart and the nickering of the stallion, who was glad to be headed for his stable, died away, Curtin rose up in his box and looked around. Apparently no one guarded the dead, as they had been stripped of their valuables long before leaving their dungeons. Crawling out, the tall Gael made the run of his life, keeping going until he found himself on the road bound for the coast. Riding blind-baggage on the springs of a post chaise he got to Calais and on board an Irish brig. After that night's experience his auburn hair turned white.

After resting a while at his ancestral home in Clare he migrated to Pennsylvania and married a daughter of General Andrew Gregg