We stood shivering on the steps, and watched Himself and O’Grady climb
into one of the lorries. Himself was wrapped up well enough; but I had
a pang at the sight of O’Grady, who was elderly and had on a threadbare
overcoat and scarf.
Mrs. Slaney denounced the British Government until the last sounds of
the wheels had died away. I listened dazed. A plait of Mrs. O’Grady’s
hair hung down her back. The spell was broken by Mrs. Slaney retreating
upstairs; but with a bound Mrs. O’Grady outstripped her, and towered
above her with her hands raised over her head.
“God forgive you for a wicked old woman! God forgive you, for I never
will. You’re a wicked, wicked woman, Mrs. Slaney. Do you hear me?”
“Hush, Mrs. O’Grady!” Mrs. Fitzgerald urged. “Hush. You’ll say
something you’ll be sorry for later. Mrs. O’Grady, be quiet.”
“Be quiet! I cannot with himself all perishing of the cold. And the
cough on his chest something awful. It’s dead he’ll be before he
reaches the Castle. You wicked, wicked woman, you were after knowing
those bullets were there.” Her voice rose and cracked, and she became
inarticulate.
“Now, Mrs. O’Grady, pull yourself together,” ordered Mrs. Slaney,
sharply. “Pull yourself together at once. You’re hysterical. O’Grady
will come out of this all right, he’ll come to no harm. Indeed, it will
be good for them both to experience what hundreds of our splendid young
men are suffering every day. Come upstairs and I’ll give you a little
wine. Come up all of you. It’s things like this, trials, that bring us
close together. Mrs. Fitzgerald will tell you that. It is trials that
have united Ireland.”
Mrs. O’Grady mouthed words that never came. We could only catch an
occasional croak of “wicked old woman.”
“We’d better go along, too,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald, “for Mrs. O’Grady’s
sake. We little thought when we watched Desmond drive away that night
that the next person would be your husband.”
“No, and I don’t quite know what to do about it, or who to go to.”
“You’ll go to the Castle the first thing in the morning. And if you
can’t do any good, I should suggest finding a Unionist solicitor. I
can only send you to Sinn Feiners, and they have all been mixed up in
court-martial cases, which make them useless as far as the Castle is
concerned. If you could get a Unionist for your husband it would be
better. You must do everything quickly. Ammunition is a serious charge.”
We had reached Mrs. Slaney’s quarters. They were upside down.
“Look at this!” she exclaimed. “Monstrous! They have no respect for sex
or age. They thought they would terrify me; but I’m not afraid, not if
the whole British Army were to come. I never flinched once, and the man
in charge was abominably rude. I showed them that an Irish woman, and
an elderly and helpless one at that, could face them. I never flinched.”
Mrs. O’Grady had recovered her voice.
“It’s black trouble you’ve brought on us all, and it’s worse you’ll
bring. Leaving bullets under your bed where little girls can find them.”
“What do you mean?”
Mrs. O’Grady shook.
“You can’t pretend that you didn’t know those bullets were there, not
to me, mum. Little Polly Pluck told me on them weeks ago, and it’s
little sleep either O’Grady or me has had ever since.”
My mind leaped back to the day Mrs. O’Grady had talked so mysteriously.
“Do you mean to say that you kept such stuff there? Why didn’t you send
it to the proper quarters?” demanded Mrs. Fitzgerald. “If you’d told
me, I could have had it all taken away by the right people.”
“A few war trophies!” Mrs. Slaney exclaimed. “A few simple war
trophies of no interest to anybody?”
“The Auxiliaries thought them interesting,” I retorted bitterly.
“Yes, mum,” chorused Mrs. O’Grady.
“How did I know what they were? Would I have kept them if I did? My son
sent his portmanteau home from France and these were a few trophies. I
didn’t know they were there. I didn’t know what they were. I told the
officer in charge so. ‘Are those bullets?’ I asked him, and you see he
believed me.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald, “that a woman of your
age doesn’t know a bullet when she sees it?”
“I don’t believe you, mum,” declared Mrs. O’Grady. “Not if you was to
go down on your knees, and what’s more, those never came home from
France, for I went through everything in your room at Christmas time
meself, and that box, too, and they were never there then. You’ll
remember, I was looking for your shoes, which you had with you all the
time.”
“I declare I didn’t know what they were. Dumdum, he called them. There
were some little ones, too, loose, or he said there were.”
“Have you anything else?” I asked.
She shuffled, but we had got her in hand.
“Well, they didn’t find everything. I told my beads all the time, and
they didn’t pull out the shutters. I had some things there. And they
must have tripped over a revolver a dozen times. By the goodness of
God, they didn’t find everything.”
“You’ll get rid of all those things at once, Mrs. Slaney,” I said.
“You’ll burn the papers and get rid of the revolver and whatever else
you have. They’ll come back, you may be certain of that.”
“You must get rid of them, Mrs. Slaney,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald, taking
up the chorus. “Our people haven’t authorised you to keep them. It’s
disgraceful.”
Mrs. Slaney sought to pour oil upon troubled waters. “I’ll make you
tea,” she suggested. “We’ll all feel better then.” She hurried out of
the room to make tea.
“She’s an astonishing woman,” I said bitterly.
Mrs. Fitzgerald looked thoughtful. “She said something about gelignite.
You’d better see that she gets rid of that.”
“Gelignite!” I exclaimed.
“If they raid again and find gelignite it will be serious.”
“I don’t feel I can battle with her to-night,” I said. “I’ll see her
about it to-morrow.”
“There’s a uniform and a rifle in this very room, too, under the books
in that cupboard!” said Mrs. O’Grady. “She’s got stuff stowed away
everywhere, and nobody knows it better than myself.”
“But why has she got it?” I demanded, “unless the I.R.A. leave it here.”
Mrs. Slaney came in briskly with the tea.
“The I.R.A. don’t leave stuff with people they can’t trust
absolutely,” declared Mrs. Fitzgerald. “I can assure you that they
wouldn’t leave it here. Mrs. Slaney, you really must get rid of
everything. It will be fatal if anything more is found. Thank goodness,
they didn’t search the house the night they took Desmond. Nothing would
have made them believe that it wasn’t his.”
Mrs. Slaney was ruffled.
“I call the attitude of you all most extraordinary,” she retorted.
“You’re making a great deal out of a very little. We’ll have some tea.
It will do us all good.”
She became busy at the tea-tray.
“I’ll tackle her in the morning about it,” I said, getting up. “I’ll
see her now about wiring to her son as soon as the office opens. He
must claim the stuff.”
“Of course, he’ll claim it,” Mrs. Fitzgerald agreed. “He’ll catch the
first boat across to-morrow, and wire ahead to the Castle.”
“You’re not going,” said Mrs. Slaney, as I turned to her. “Have some
tea first, it will pull you together. I’m quite proud of my household.
You all behaved very well. No Black-and-Tan can boast that he
terrorised us.” She beamed on me. “It’s a pity about O’Grady and your
husband, of course; but it might have been much worse.”
“I’ve got to straighten up our flat. I must go,” I said. “I want to be
at the post-office as soon as it opens. Will you write out a wire for
your son to-night, and I’ll send it off.”
“A wire to my son? We can’t bring my son into it.”
“Mrs. Slaney, what do you mean?” Mrs. Fitzgerald exclaimed. “You say
the stuff is your son’s. Of course he must claim it.”
“Oh, I know you’re thinking of your husband,” Mrs. Slaney said to me,
“and I’m thinking of my son. I can’t bring him into it.”
“Mrs. Slaney, my husband and O’Grady are in prison, do you understand
that, and they are charged with a serious offence. I insist on the
address.”
“I told the officer I was willing to go instead of them. But he
laughed. And now you want to bring my son into it.”
“Your son’s in the army. It’s quite easy for him; and if it isn’t, it’s
the least he can do. After all, the stuff isn’t mine! I expect you to
get rid of everything you have in the house, too.”
“I’ll do anything, anything. I’m a broken woman. I’ll write the wire in
the morning. I promise I will.”
“Very well. Good night. I’m going to bed.”
I was up first thing in the morning; but Mrs. O’Grady was up before me.
She looked as if she had not had a wink of sleep.
“I’m after getting your breakfast now,” she said to me. “I’ll send
Polly up with it. Sure, I thought I heard them coming a hundred times,
and you’re looking washed out yourself, mum.”
Ten minutes later Polly clattered up with an ill-fried egg upon an
ill-warmed plate. She expressed excitement in every movement. Her eyes
snapped as she put down the plate in front of me.
“Polly,” I said, “I want you to go up to Mrs. Slaney. Take this pencil
and paper and ask her to write out a wire to her son. I’m ready to go
as soon as you come back.”
I had scarcely poured out my tea before Mrs. O’Grady came back in place
of Polly.
“The mistress says she’ll not give you the address. The meanness of
her. ‘I didn’t know the bullets were there,’ sez she to me, ‘and when
they showed them to me I didn’t know what they were.’ ‘I don’t believe
you, mum,’ sez I. ‘Not a wink have I slept this night,’ sez she. ‘I was
just after settling down when you disturbed me. No one thinks of me.
You can just take that pencil back,’ sez she.”
I got up. “Thanks, Mrs. O’Grady, I’ll tackle her myself. I’m going to
get that address.”
Mrs. Slaney called “Come in” to my knock. She had prepared a line of
defence.
“I’ve been awake thinking of you all night,” she said. “I haven’t
closed my eyes. I know it’s a terrible thing for you; but I don’t think
we should wire to my son. It can do no good. I’ll just go along this
morning and see one or two men I know. Men with wise heads, who will
advise us well.”
“What objection have you to wiring to your son? I am sure your son
would hate to know his bullets had got two men into difficulties.”
“My son is so highly strung. He was a shell-shock case, and he’s never
been the same.”
“My husband was worse than a shell-shock case.”
“If it was a question of that, I would say nothing; but my son has a
sprained ankle.”
“A sprained ankle!”
“They’re not at all sure that he hasn’t seriously hurt his foot. They
may have to operate. They may have to do it to-day.”
“And if they do he can still send a wire. Mrs. Slaney, time is very
precious. I can’t leave those two men there without making some effort.”
“They were only war trophies.” Then to my relief she took the pencil
reluctantly. “What do you want me to write?”
“Simply his address. I’ll do the rest.”
She put the pencil down.
“Hadn’t I better write to my son? Yes, that would be better. I’ll write
straight away now, and then I can explain things so much better.”
“I’m going to write to your son, Mrs. Slaney, you needn’t do that. But
the wire’s to go too.”
She gave in, and ten minutes later I was sending the wire.
Then I went to the Castle.
The Castle yard was full of lorries, there were soldiers and
Auxiliaries everywhere, and men in mufti walked busily about, though as
far as I could see they had no business.
It is an easy matter to get a husband locked up; but, until I faced
the Tommies at the Castle gates and stated my case, I did not know what
a difficult matter it is to get one unlocked. Ammunition sounds so
simple. It sounds so simple to say that it belonged to somebody else,
and you had no knowledge of it. But the word ammunition changes the
expression on every face in Dublin Castle.
There seemed no one to go to. I was sent from guardroom to guardroom. I
sat upon hard forms while weary Tommies dawdled off to mysterious inner
rooms with a paper which I had filled up and signed. At last there came
one Tommy, brighter than the others, who returned and said briskly,
“This way,” and I grew hopeful.
This way proved to be across the yard and into another building with
other ill-swept corridors, with other stairs which proclaimed that
unwiped feet had climbed them for many years. The Tommy left me and
disappeared through a door.
I sat beside a small table, and one or two men eyed me. After some time
the Tommy emerged.
“Wrong,” he said cheerfully. “Fill this up.” He pulled another slip of
paper out of a box, and, while I wrote on it, argued with one of the
lounging men as to which was the best place to take me.
“Room 8,” declared one man at last. “He’s shifted lately, but I think
he’s Room 8. Anyway, Room 8 will tell you.”
Once more we made our way along dirty passages, and climbed up and down
unswept stairs.
“It’s Room 11,” declared Room 8 to our inquiries. “You’ll find what you
want there.”
“They’ve been shifting,” the Tommy apologised to me. He stopped a man
he knew. “Who’s the best person to go to?” He jerked his head in my
direction.
The man rubbed his chin with his forefinger. He thought for a long time.
“I don’t know,” he said at last.
“Have people never been here to inquire before?” I asked the Tommy.
“Lots,” he replied cheerfully. “Things have been shifted round a bit
lately. I was in armoured cars before. Wait here.” He disappeared from
my sight into Room 11. I propped up a wall and waited.
Presently the door of No. 11 opened cautiously, and a pair of eyes
stared at me.
“Come in here,” ordered the owner of the eyes mysteriously, as soon as
he had made up his mind that I was not dangerous.
It was a medium-sized room filled with photographs. There were
photographs all over the walls, all over the table, all over the
chairs. The Tommy withdrew.
The people in attendance upon the photographs, both male and female,
stared at me curiously.
“Fill this up,” said my mysterious acquaintance. He put a form before
me in secretive fashion.
“Haven’t I filled up enough before?” I asked, looking sadly at the
slips in his hand. I dipped the pen in the ink, and prepared to write
again.
The man leaned over my shoulder confidentially. “You’ve come to sign on
as a woman searcher?”
“What?”
“A woman searcher?”
“Good Heavens, no!” I cried. “If you had troubled to read those papers
you are holding you wouldn’t have thought that. Your people arrested my
husband last night because they found ammunition....”
The look of horror on his face stopped me. I glanced all round at
frozen faces. Everybody seemed to have been turned into stone. At last
the spell was broken. My mysterious acquaintance jerked himself to life
and pushed me out of the room.
“The wrong department,” he hissed. “Good God, you should never have got
in here!”
The Tommy slid slowly off the window sill. “All right?” He seemed an
old and tried friend.
“The wrong department,” I said drearily. “Why, don’t you know your way
about your old Castle?”
“It’s a tricky sort of a place.” He scratched his head at the thought
of its trickiness.
An officer was crossing the yard. I hurried after him, stopped him,
and poured forth my wrongs. He listened attentively, guiding me as he
walked by my side with gentle motions of the hand.
“Room 13,” he said with a smile, as we stopped outside it. “I think you
will find what you want in here.” He knocked on the door and went in,
leaving me outside. Presently he came out again.
“Go in. This is right.”
“To the last day of my life, I’ll never forget your goodness,” I
murmured.
He nodded and disappeared round a corner.
Room 13 was an agreeable surprise after my dreary journey. Here was
comfort; here a fire; here the carpet was swept and fairly new, and the
tables were dusted. Over six foot of man rose from behind one of the
tables.
“So you’ve had trouble getting in?” He was polite. “Come over near the
fire.” He indicated an armchair, and his manner was helpful. “Now what
can I do for you?”
“It’s about my husband,” I began. The fire gave me confidence.
Ammunition seemed a milder charge in here. I poured forth my woes. He
made no comment until I finished. “Well?” I ended.
“Of course, he is a perfectly innocent man?”
“But he really is. Would you expect my husband to know what was under
another woman’s bed?”
“I’d make it my business to know in these times,” he declared. “Your
house hasn’t much of a name. Figgis was probably up to no good there.
Fitzgerald was arrested there. And now this charge of ammunition. Why
should I believe your husband? Of course, I’m not suggesting that he
isn’t innocent. But, good God, if you’d heard that story as often as I
have! Do you know that Figgis was seen going into that house only two
days ago?”
I shook my head.
“It’s true.”
“If the ammunition was such a crime, why not arrest Mrs. Slaney, and
earn the thanks of us all?”
“Ah, there you have me. Look.” He walked over to the window and pointed
to a large building opposite. “Irish Office. Causes us more trouble
than all the Shinners put together. We can’t arrest half the people we
would like to because of them. They tie us hand and foot. The public
is so sentimental. Women can always get interest roused, and questions
asked in Parliament. Yet we know the women are as deeply in it as the
men. Oh, we know all that is to be known about them; but we’ve got to
leave them alone.”
“I see. Then you intend to keep my husband?”
“I don’t know about that. Mrs. Slaney’s son should communicate with us
soon, and if he can establish his claim to the stuff, your husband will
be released. Do you know any one who would be ready to answer for him?”
I mentioned 47’s name, and he became interested. “He’s away now,” I
said, “or I would have gone to him at once.”
“He’ll not be back for some weeks,” said the man. “If he can vouch for
your husband, it will be all right.”
“Some weeks! My poor man will be dead by then.”
“Not he. He’s very comfortable where he is. You can send him in
anything you like. He has others with him, and they’re all very happy.”
“There’s nothing more that I can do?”
“Nothing at the moment.”
“A solicitor can always see him, I understand?”
“Certainly. Any time that you like.” I got up to go. “I haven’t been
able to give you much satisfaction; but you’ll get him back as soon as
Major Slaney claims the stuff.” He walked to the door and opened it for
me. “If there’s anything I can do for you, come along and let me know.”
“There’s nothing, thank you.”
The Tommy had either died or deserted. I found my way back into the
Castle yard. As I hesitated there, a man detached himself from a group
and came smiling upon me in the warmest fashion.
“Good morning,” he cried. “So you came along to look us up?”
I tried to place him, but the effort was too much for me.
“You don’t remember me?”
“I’m afraid not.”
He laughed the heartiest of laughs. “Your memory is short. Why, I
arrested your husband last night.”
“Did you? Then perhaps you can tell me how he is?”
“He’s splendid. We’re F Company. We take special care not to manhandle
our prisoners. We take a pride in getting them to the Castle in good
condition. Shall I see you to the gate?”
“Thanks, I know the way.”
My coldness did not chill him. He smiled pleasantly after me.
I travelled far that day; but the end of it brought no reward to my
efforts. Mrs. O’Grady had become dumb, and had resigned herself to the
worst. Mrs. Slaney had retreated into the fastness of her bedroom,
where I followed her to do battle about the gelignite.
“You call this gelignite, I suppose,” she said, unearthing a tin and
showing it to me.
“Where did you get it?”
“It’s wonderful for pot plants,” she declared. “I got it to make the
plants grow.”
She put it away like a squirrel storing a nut.
The following day I went to a solicitor.
He was pessimistic. “It’s not much of a job going to the Castle!” he
exclaimed. “There are Sinn Feiners always watching. I shall be shot
as a spy.” But for all that he went. Returning to lunch, I met Mrs.
O’Grady in the hall.
“No news, mum?”
“None.”
“And her upstairs going about this way and that just as if it wasn’t
her fault. ‘God forgive you, mum,’ I sez, ‘for I never will.’ She
thinks nothing of me, never a word, but it’s ‘Mrs. O’Grady, have you
swept the stairs?’ ‘Mum,’ I sez, ‘the stairs can wait with them two
away like this.’ ‘Nonsense, Mrs. O’Grady,’ she sez, ‘rubbish! Work will
pass the time for you, so it will. Nothing like being up and doing, and
keeping yourself occupied.’”
“How I wish they’d take her!”
“It’d be a charity, mum; but there’s not one of us but would wear
ourselves thin to get her out.”
“I wonder. Mrs. O’Grady, send up lunch as soon as you can, please. I’m
off to see what I can do this afternoon.”
“Shall I order something in case they get back for dinner?”
I shook my head. “Time enough when we see them, Mrs. O’Grady.”
“It’s a drop of gin I’ll have ready for my man, God help him, if the
life’s still in him.”
The next day at five o’clock I walked into the solicitor’s office.
Himself was there. A chastened, saddened Himself. An older, dirtier
Himself; but a free man.
The solicitor was laughing. His success had exhilarated him. “Take him
home and feed him!” he said.
“Where’s O’Grady?”
“He’s on the way.”
“Go home and tell Mrs. O’Grady, and get a bath.”
“You keep out of sight of the Castle now,” said the solicitor. “Look me
up again. I didn’t hope for much success, I can tell you. I thought it
would be a court-martial. When I was at the Castle I got in touch with
somebody over the telephone, who said, ‘Ask your client if he knows
anything of the I.R.A.’”
We departed home.
Mrs. Slaney was in the hall to greet us. She wrung Himself by the hand.
“What an experience!” she exclaimed. “Now you will be able to write
about what happens every day to our splendid young Irishmen.”