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SIX DAYS OF THE IRISH REPUBLIC
A NARRATIVE AND CRITICAL ACCOUNT OF THE LATEST
PHASE OF IRISH POLITICS
BY
L. G. REDMOND-HOWARD
NEPHEW AND BIOGRAPHER OF THE IRISH LEADER
AUTHOR OF
"LIFE OF JOHN REDMOND," "SIR ROGER CASEMENT," "AN IRISHMAN'S HOME,"
"THE NEW BIRTH OF IRELAND," ETC.
LONDON: MAUNSEL & CO. LTD.
40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.
DUBLIN: E. PONSONBY LTD.
116 GRAFTON STREET
1916
TO
WILFRED MEYNEL
ONE OF THE FEW HONEST ENGLISHMEN WHO ARE ENGLISH ENOUGH TO BE ASHAMED OF
THE STORY OF ENGLISH RULE IN IRELAND
(_Passed by Censor_)
INTRODUCTION
The following pages are an attempt at a simple narrative and criticism
of what must appear the most inexplicable occurrence in Irish history.
The climax of a century of arguments, futile only because of the
proverbial dullness of the race to which they were addressed, the rising
has lifted the Home Rule controversy at one stroke from the region of
the village pump into the very midst of the counsels of Europe, for it
was a challenge--of madmen, if you like--to the greatest Empire in the
world, at the very moment of its gravest crisis, upon the most
fundamental portion of its policy of interference with the affairs of
the Continent, namely, England's claim to be the champion of small
nationalities.
Unless Ireland can be shown to be held by her own free consent, in
perfect contentment, the whole of our contention falls to the
ground--for our policy in Ireland is only in microcosm our policy of
Empire; and Germany will be able to point the finger of scorn and
ridicule at us, and prove thereby to France and Russia that, tyrants at
home, we only used them to fight a battle we dared not fight alone.
I say nothing here of the motives that inspired the rebels, nor the
immediate causes that provoked them to rise, nor the nature of the
methods by which they were "stamped out"; I only state the moral of
their failure, and I must take this opportunity to thank Lord Decies,
the official Press censor, for the freedom with which he has allowed me
to speak at what I feel to be a very critical juncture in the history of
my country and of our common Empire; for I have gone upon the principle
that it is far better to distribute the blame all round than to try and
make the Sinn Feiners the scapegoats of faults which each party
contributed towards the catastrophe.
There never was, I believe, an Irish crime--if crime it can be
called--which had not its roots in an English folly; and I repeat here
what the late Mr. Stead always impressed upon me: Ireland is our school
of Empire, and the mistakes which would lose us Ireland would lose us
the Empire.
It is England's move next: we have protested in blood; the eyes of
Europe await her decision.
At the same time I cannot help blaming Irishmen as well for the
catastrophe, for politicians of all parties have been tending towards
isolating their followers in the old ancestral bigotries, instead of
drawing them together in sympathy, as Mr. William O'Brien has been
advocating for years, with the result that we are now threatened with
permanent constitutional separation for another generation.
It is a mistake which all the younger men deplore, and which could
easily have been avoided by bringing in the men of Ulster into the
national deliberations, as they have every right, in the name of their
Southern followers, and then giving them the option to veto the
application of any measure to their own districts--which would have been
the best guarantee of justice which the Nationalists could have given
and the most they had a right to expect of England, whose political
position of dependence upon the Irish vote is a scandal of empire.
These things, however, are beyond the scope of the present pages, and I
shall confine myself with thanking those of my many friends who have
helped me in compiling this volume--notably Councillor Keogh, who was
with me during the Battle of Mount Street Bridge, and others, whose
criticisms helped me considerably. Likewise I must thank my publishers
and Mr. O'Keefe, of O'Keefe's Press-cutting Agency; and Mr. George
Atkinson, who designed the cover, and Mr. Crampton Walker; and also Mr.
Marsh, the manager of the Coliseum, with whom I had several dangerous
adventures while in Sackville Street; and lastly, those among my Sinn
Fein friends who enabled me to get an inner view of a movement to which
I have endeavoured to do the best of justice--that of a true statement
of their intentions.
L. G. REDMOND-HOWARD.
T.C.D.,
1916.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION iii
CHAPTER THE FIRST
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 1
CHAPTER THE SECOND
JUST BEFORE THE BATTLE 14
CHAPTER THE THIRD
BATTLE 27
CHAPTER THE FOURTH
SURRENDER--COLLAPSE 40
CHAPTER THE FIFTH
AFTERMATH 54
CHAPTER THE SIXTH
SINN FEIN--GERMAN GOLD 69
CHAPTER THE SEVENTH
MINDS AND MEN 82
CHAPTER THE EIGHTH
REMOTER CAUSES OF THE REBELLION 98
CHAPTER THE NINTH
REFLECTIONS TOWARDS RECONSTRUCTION 120
SIX DAYS OF THE IRISH REPUBLIC
CHAPTER THE FIRST
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE
Those who were in Dublin on Easter Monday 1916 were privileged to
witness a scene which for dramatic setting and for paradoxical
conception is certainly the most extraordinary of any of the long line
of rebellions in Irish history, for at a time when it seemed almost
universally admitted that "Separatism" was from an economic, racial, and
military point of view utterly impossible, there suddenly arose without
warning, without apparent reason, and as if from nowhere, a body of men,
fully armed and completely organized, who within the space of a single
hour had captured every strategic point in the capital, and to its utter
amazement held it up in the name of a new "Republic," in much the same
way as a highwayman of old used to hold up coaches on Hounslow Heath.
It was in very deed a bolt from the blue. The first intimation that the
general public got of the rising was the sudden spread of the wildest
rumours--"Dublin Castle has just been taken by the Irish Volunteers,"
"The Post Office has been captured by the Sinn Feiners," "Soldiers and
police are being shot at sight," "Larkin's Citizen Army are firing on
women and children," but, for the most part, these rumours were
discredited as impossible, at most being put down as some accidental
clash between military and civilians, and it was only as people rushed
into the street and heard the stories of the encounters first-hand that
they began to realize that anything unusual was taking place.
Bodies of armed men had indeed been remarked in unusually large numbers
in the streets all the morning, increasing and concentrating towards
twelve, but everyone had grown so accustomed to these demonstrations for
the past three years, since they had been inaugurated in Ulster by Sir
Edward Carson, that nobody had taken any particular notice.
People merely remarked that it was rather strange, in view of the
abandonment of the "Easter manoeuvres" which had been organized for
Sunday, and which had been cancelled at the last moment, late on
Saturday night, by special order of Professor Eoin MacNeill, editor of
the _Irish Volunteer_, which ran: "Owing to the very critical position,
all orders given to Irish Volunteers for to-morrow, Easter Sunday, are
hereby rescinded, and no parades, marches, or other movements of Irish
Volunteers will take place. Each individual Volunteer will obey this
order strictly in every particular."
It was supposed, therefore, that the numbers were due to the new
recruits which had been the outcome of the protest against the
deportation of the Sinn Fein leaders some time previous to this, and
moderate people hoped that the Sinn Fein authorities were about to show
the same discretion in the matter of an armed demonstration in Dublin
which the authorities had shown in the matter of the proposed inclusion
of the military in the St. Patrick's Day parade in Cork.
Possibly they may have had secret information--for they had their spies
in every department--that the long-meditated disarmament had been
determined upon, and immediately decided to anticipate the offensive by
a strong defensive of their own choosing. At any rate, Monday found them
fully prepared, each in his proper place.
Accordingly, on the exact stroke of midday the Volunteers in Sackville
Street were suddenly seen to stop short opposite the Post Office. "I was
outside the building at the time," said an eye-witness of that now
historic event, Mr. E. A. Stoker, the well-known Grafton Street
jeweller, "and noticed a mixed crowd of, I should say, roughly, about
one hundred men and boys, all armed, and half the number carrying old
portmanteaux and parcels of every description. It is said that Connolly
was leading.
"He called, 'Halt! Left turn! Come on.' The crowd then ran into the Post
Office. I also followed. Several men crossed the counter and held
revolvers at the officials' heads.
"One youth, intensely pale and nervous, put a revolver at my breast and
said, 'Clear out.'
"I replied, 'What's up?'
"He said, 'Hands up, or I'll blow your heart out.'
"Up went my hands, and he backed me out to the entrance, and within five
minutes everyone else had been bundled out in the same unceremonious
way, and they were in possession."
Once in possession of the Post Office--which from its position and
character was admirably suited for a general headquarters--the next
thing was to fortify the place, for there was no knowing what had
happened to the other enterprises which had been timed to take place
simultaneously, or when the authorities would send out an armed force
for its recapture. Next, a number of shots--all blank--were discharged
with the purpose of clearing the streets of sightseers and inquisitive
idlers. These had the desired effect, after which floor after floor of
the Post Office was systematically occupied, the officials being either
placed under arrest or allowed to disperse, as each case suggested fit
to the commander, and the air began to reverberate with the sounds of
crashing glass and masonry as the lower windows were turned into
fortified loopholes with the aid of furniture and bags.
Meanwhile a small group of policemen stood near the Nelson Monument
helpless, but one must evidently have telegraphed for help, for within a
few minutes a small detachment of mounted lancers came riding up.
People stood breathless in expectation.
The insurgents just allowed the first line to get abreast of the Pillar,
and then they opened fire; and at once a couple of saddles were emptied
and the rest at once turned and galloped for all they were worth up in
the direction of the Rotunda.
One poor fellow was killed outright and a horse shot dead; after which a
great cheer went up from the crowd in the G.P.O., who proceeded to take
off the harness and carry it in triumph back to headquarters, one of the
rebels in uniform taking the young lancer's sword.
Immediately after this a tramway car was blown up with dynamite at the
corner of North Earl Street, making a sort of barricade against any
possible approach from Amiens Street Station, where the Belfast trains
were expected to arrive.
By this time I was on the scene of the crisis myself, having only heard
the news on my way into Trinity, which had been quickly occupied by the
O.T.C., who were thus able to practically cut the chief line of
communication of the rebels and command a huge area of important streets
which would otherwise have presented the utmost difficulties to the
advance of regular troops.
Only the military were allowed in College, and, anxious to be on the
spot at what everybody then expected would be no more than an hour or
so's brisk encounter, I took a car to the "Metropole" in order to be
present when the Post Office was taken--the hotel actually adjoining and
overlooking the building.
My own experience must have been that of thousands of people in Dublin,
but I quote it, as I will quote it again, because I can personally
testify to it.
Everyone at the hotel was in a state of consternation, for hardly six
yards away the windows of the Post Office were crashing to the ground in
the street, and at everyone bags of refuse were being piled up, and the
muzzles of rifles were commanding all the windows of the hotel guests.
Several soldiers were staying at the "Metropole," and as I saw the Sinn
Feiners watching us, I suggested their changing the khaki into mufti, if
only for the safety of the civilians--for on all sides soldiers were
being shot at sight by snipers--a suggestion which found acceptance, for
most of the officers were young subalterns on leave, and therefore
unarmed.
For a long time we could not tell what was going to happen; every
minute we expected the soldiers or the constabulary, and peered
anxiously out, but it seemed as if they were never coming, and men in
the hotel were anxiously consulting what to do and women packing up
their jewels.
The one man who all the while kept as cool as a cucumber was Mr. Oliver,
the manager of the "Metropole."
At last there came a martial tap, tap at the glass door of the hall
entrance, from an officer arrayed in green and gold, wearing cocked hat
and feathers and high top-boots, with a sword in one hand and a revolver
in the other.
Behind him were two minor officials, each armed with a loaded rifle of
modern pattern, with bayonets fixed.
I was at Mr. Oliver's side at the time, and we could see that only a
pane divided us from a whole line of them ranged along the pavement.
Resistance was useless, and Mr. Oliver gave orders to admit them.
"We intend to commandeer your food supply," said the man in the cocked
hat, "and I must ask you to show me the way to your provisions."
For a second Mr. Oliver hesitated. "Suppose I refuse?" he said.
"In that case I will take them and you too," was the reply, and then,
addressing the two men, he added, "Men, do your duty," and they
ransacked the place, while I took down a list of the goods they took.
Eventually the officer signed a receipt for the goods taken in the name
of the Irish Republic, and Mr. Oliver, much to my disappointment,
pocketed the precious document.
They left, and after a few minutes came back with a ten-pound note.
Again I presented myself, and ventured one or two questions.
The looting had already begun, and children were wandering through the
streets with toys and food and sweets.
"Surely," I said to the officer, "you do not approve of all this
indiscriminate theft?"
"No, certainly not," was his dignified reply.
I next asked the meaning of all the rising, and to this he simply
replied:--
"It means that Ireland is free, that English government is at an end,
and that we have established an Irish Republic. As it is, we hold the
whole city, and within a few days the provinces will be ours as well."
I still pressed for a pronouncement on the real aims and objects of the
new Government, and was referred to headquarters.
Accordingly, I took my courage in both hands and walked past the
soldiers opposite the Post Office and the sandbagged windows, and asked
the guard at the main door if I could have an interview with their
President.
At first I thought I was going to get it, but I suddenly noticed a
change come over the man, and saw guns covering me in a most
uncomfortable way.
I argued my case with some of the minor officials, and pleaded the
importance of such a pronouncement, but, taking me possibly for a spy, I
was ordered off, and told that my safest way was to get back to my
hotel, where no harm would come to me as a civilian if only I left the
men of action alone.
As soon as I realized the impossibility of penetrating the headquarters,
I returned to the "Metropole" and took up a position of vantage upon the
balcony, and was able to secure a unique snapshot of the hoisting of the
new flag of the Republic, and took another of the cheering of the
crowd--though this was very insignificant and in no way represented any
considerable body of citizens, any of the better class having
disappeared, leaving the streets to idlers and women and children or
else stray sightseers.
This was certainly a thing that struck me, and I realized at once that
the movement was at that time a dismal failure as far as the vast
majority of Nationalist Ireland was concerned. There was practically no
response whatever from the people: it seemed the very antithesis of the
emancipation of a race as we see it, say, in the capture of the Bastille
in the French Revolution. They looked on partly with amazement, partly
with curiosity--waiting for something dramatic to happen.
The point struck me with particular pathos--there they were posing as
the saviours of their country, and yet there they were already doomed
before they had even struck a single blow--and doomed by the verdict of
their own countrymen.
As I was making the remark to one of the men in the hotel, a boy with a
handful of sheets issued from the Post Office--they were the
proclamation of the new Republic of Ireland.
Instead of eagerly scanning the sheets and picking out the watchwords of
the new liberty, or glowing with enthusiastic admiration at the phrases
or sentiments, most of the crowd "bought a couple as a souvenir"--some
with the cute business instinct "that they'd be worth a fiver each some
day, when the beggars were hanged."
I give another pathetic story told to me, though I cannot vouch for it.
It was that young Plunkett was deputed to go to the base of Nelson's
Pillar and there read out the new charter of liberty to the emancipated
citizens.
He read it with deep emotion to a pack of squabbling women and
children--and he had hardly half finished the document when suddenly
there was a crash, followed by the sound of breaking glass.
At once the crowd turned round and looked in the direction whence it
proceeded, and one old woman, half sodden with drink, exclaimed with
delight, "Hooroosh!--they're raiding Noblet's toffee-shop." Whereupon
the newly emancipated slaves of a foreign tyranny rushed to partake in
the orgy of sweetmeats which came tumbling out into the street.
It was to me the saddest picture of the whole revolution, and even if
not true, was certainly typical of much of the pathos which crowned this
mixture of humour and tragedy.
The document in question, however, was by no means undignified, taken as
an explanation of the ideals that animated the rebels, but it was simply
ridiculous when judged by the hard common-sense standards of stern
reality, though it was probably never meant for anything more than a
rhetorical protest in the name of the fast-ebbing sense of Nationality.
This Utopian outburst perhaps speaks best for itself, and I quote it in
full:--
POBLACHT NA H-EIREANN.
THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT
OF THE
IRISH REPUBLIC
TO THE PEOPLE OF IRELAND.
Irishmen and Irishwomen: In the name of God and of the dead generations
from which she receives her old traditions of nationhood, Ireland,
through us, summons her children to her flag and strikes for her
freedom. Having organized and trained her manhood through her secret
revolutionary organization, the Irish Republican Brotherhood, and
through her open military organizations, the Irish Volunteers and the
Irish Citizen Army; having patiently perfected her discipline, having
resolutely waited for the right moment to reveal itself, she now seizes
that moment, and, supported by her exiled children in America and by
gallant Allies in Europe, but relying in the first place on her own
strength, she strikes in full confidence of victory.
We declare the right of the people of Ireland to the ownership of
Ireland, and to the unfettered control of Irish destinies, to be
sovereign and indefeasible. The long usurpation of that right by a
foreign people and Government has not extinguished the right, nor can it
ever be extinguished except by the destruction of the Irish people. In
every generation the Irish people have asserted their right to national
freedom and sovereignty; six times during the past three hundred years
they have asserted it in arms. Standing on that fundamental right and
again asserting it in arms in the face of the world, we hereby proclaim
the Irish Republic as a sovereign independent State, and we pledge our
lives and the lives of our comrades in arms to the cause of its freedom,
of its welfare, and of its exaltation among the nations.
The Irish Republic is entitled to and hereby claims the allegiance of
every Irishman and Irishwoman. The Republic guarantees religious and
civil liberty, equal rights, and equal opportunities to all its
citizens, and declares its resolve to pursue the happiness and
prosperity of the whole nation and of all its parts, cherishing all the
children of the nation equally and oblivious of the differences
carefully fostered by an alien Government, which have divided a minority
from the majority in the past.
Until our arms have brought the opportune moment for the establishment
of a permanent national Government representative of the whole people of
Ireland and elected by the suffrages of all her men and women, the
Provisional Government hereby constituted will administer the civil and
military affairs of the Republic in trust for the people.
We place the cause of the Irish Republic under the protection of the
Most High God, whose blessing we invoke upon our arms, and we pray that
none who serves that cause will dishonour it by cowardice, inhumanity,
or rapine. In this supreme hour the Irish nation must, by its valour and
discipline, and by the readiness of its children to sacrifice themselves
for the common good, prove itself worthy of the august destiny to which
it is called.
Signed on behalf of the Provisional Government:--
THOMAS J. CLARKE.
SEAN MACDIARMADA.
THOMAS MACDONAGH.
J. H. PEARSE. EAMONN CEANNT.
JAMES CONNOLLY. JOSEPH PLUNKETT.
But to continue the narrative. According to a young woman cleric in the
G.P.O. the Sinn Feiners had chosen the place for their headquarters
partly because they were already familiar with the place, which was
proved by the way they settled down each to his own work the moment they
entered it, and partly because they had already made it a storehouse.
All this while much the same process was going on all over the city. The
attack upon the Castle was hardly less dramatic than that upon the
G.P.O., but it seems to have been undertaken by fewer troops of
Volunteers and carried out less cleverly, so that it eventually fell
back into the hands of the military. I believe it was originally
intended to burn the place to the ground, as symbolical of the
centuries of tyranny with which it has been associated. Strategically it
might not have been of such value to the insurgents, but the moral
effect of its capture would undoubtedly have been enormous upon the
provinces if they had been able to telegraph it within the first few
hours of the rising.
The Castle, however, had never formed the main point of attack; it was
at most an emotional side-issue. The scheme for the defence of Dublin
was a far greater conception, and there was hardly a bookseller in the
city, as I learnt later from Fred Hanna, of Nassau Street, whose shop
had not been visited during the past few weeks by one or other of the
insurgent leaders with the object of securing all the standard works on
strategy and military operations--which rather goes to prove that the
step had been long in contemplation.
The idea seems to have been to draw a cordon around the city by securing
first of all the chief railway stations and the larger dominating
buildings, such as Jacob's biscuit factory, and then to man the corner
houses that overlooked the main roadways at the point where they crossed
the canals, and thus prevent all approach of the military till
messengers should be dispatched from Dublin to tell the counties to
rise.
Probably the greatest disappointment to the rebels was the capture of
the famous Magazine Fort in the Phoenix Park.
It was generally understood that this was crammed to the very door with
guns and ammunition--heavy guns especially--and the most elaborate
preparations had consequently been made for its capture, the idea
probably being that once Ireland had heard of the capture of Dublin
there would be a general movement from the country towards the capital,
and that the new recruits could be fitted out from the magazine and then
dispatched to provincial headquarters. It was probably for this reason
the long line of the quays along the Liffey had been kept clear--the
Four Courts being a sort of halfway fort.
The loss of the Magazine Fort--or rather the failure of their
expectation in its regard, for it was found to be practically empty
when searched--meant that they were bound to depend entirely upon
Germany for the larger ammunition. The railways were of course of
supreme importance, and simultaneously with the raid of the Post Office,
Jacob's, and the Castle, attacks were made on all the principal
stations.
At twelve prompt Westland Row was occupied without a struggle and the
doors closed, sentinels being placed on the bridge spanning the street
below--arousing no little local curiosity, for the news had not
circulated through the town by this time.
Harcourt Street Station was also taken over and an attempt made to
fortify it, but this was abandoned after some time, quite early in the
afternoon. Broadstone Station also fell before the insurgents; but
neither the attempt upon Amiens Street or Kingsbridge, where the
soldiers from Belfast and the Curragh would necessarily arrive,
succeeded. The military did not secure the former without a struggle,
having to stand a siege, while the latter's approaches were kept clear
by means of an engine, on which several armed snipers were placed, and
which was kept moving continually up and down, sweeping the country of
any Sinn Feiners who might attempt to approach in order to tamper with
the permanent way.
This was rendered necessary because immediately the rebels got
possession of a line their first steps were to destroy signalling points
and junctions, and in one or two instances, such as on the Kingstown
line, actually tore up the permanent way, while in several other places
attempts were made to blow up the bridges with dynamite.
Had it not been for this the whole coup might have been ended on Monday
or Tuesday at latest, instead of dragging on day after day.
Every bridge across the canal which bounds Dublin on the south was
commanded by corner-houses, entered at the point of the revolver and
turned, in spite of all protest, into fortresses in an almost mediæval
fashion.
Liberty Hall, from whence floated the green emblem which had first been
hoisted when the four Labour leaders were deported, was a sort of
central storehouse of munitions, and was strongly guarded, but strange
to say the Custom House on the other side of the railway was left
untouched.
This was probably because the docks were sufficiently defended by the
factories, like Ringsend and Boland's bakery, vast straggling buildings
on either side of the railway approach, and which were not only
occupied, but stored with food and ammunition and loopholed and
sandbagged to stand a fortnight's siege if necessary.
The one great mistake made by the rebels appears to have been the
occupation of Stephen's Green, a huge open square, which, surrounded as
it is by tall buildings on all four sides, was bound to become a
death-trap, and eventually did so become.
At exactly the same time as the Post Office was occupied, Volunteers
entered the famous square, which might almost be called a park, and
ordered the civilians out at the point of the revolver. They then
proceeded to entrench themselves and make barricades of any convenient
object, seizing trams, cabs, benches, and even holding up motor-cars and
turning them to this purpose.
In the carrying out of this several civilians were shot at and wounded,
either by accidental shots meant for soldiers or for refusing obedience
to the new self-constituted authorities.
Great carts, filled presumably with ammunition, were next escorted into
the Green, and then the doors were locked and barred and tied very
strongly, and finally the ropes greased--which shows how carefully
almost any eventuality had been planned.
Whether their danger on the Green dawned upon them in time I cannot say,
but when they saw themselves dominated by the great roof of the
Shelbourne Hotel--about half an hour after the seizure of the open
square for a camp--a rush was made for the hotel, which luckily had just
been captured in the nick of time by a few of the military, who
immediately began to fire on the rebels below, at the same time guarding
the doors. A short while afterwards the main body of new Sinn Fein
arrivals were noticed to make their way, instead, to the Royal College
of Surgeons at the opposite end, which became one of their most stoutly
defended strongholds under the famous Countess Markievicz.
Two further mistakes of the most vital importance were made in the
rebels' plan for the capture of Dublin, however, which were eventually
to be the deciding factor of the whole situation, and to which more than
anything they must be said to owe the sudden collapse of their movement
as well in the capital as in the provinces. The first was the omission
to capture the telephone system after securing the telegraphs so
completely.
This meant not only that the military authorities could still keep in
touch with the few troops that still remained in Ireland, but it meant
that the authorities at the Castle were able to get into touch with
London.
One can hardly imagine the chaos that would have ensued if, for example,
a delay of a couple of days had had to intervene between the occurrence
of the rising and communication with London--which might have been quite
possible, since they held the wireless stations as well as the cables,
and German submarines were supposed to be watching the mail boats.
The other great mistake was to allow Trinity College, which was the
strategic key to Dublin City, to fall into the hands of a few of the
Officers' Training Corps, who must be given the credit of saving the
capital from total capture and Grafton Street from pillage.
For as long as this was held by soldiers all the internal lines of
communication of the rebels were blocked and they themselves threatened
on all sides.
Otherwise the republicans had complete control of the city: the police
were confined to barracks, civilians were on all sides at the mercy of a
perfectly organized and armed body of revolutionaries all in touch with
a headquarter staff, and the military, somewhere beyond the outskirts of
the city, were--nobody knew exactly where, and the whole population on
all sides hushed in expectation of the inevitable battle.
For it had ceased to be a mere riot: it had become a revolution.
CHAPTER THE SECOND
JUST BEFORE THE BATTLE
Those who went through that period of anxious expectancy between Monday
afternoon and Wednesday morning, knowing themselves absolutely at the
mercy of what appeared to be a "secret society suddenly gone mad and in
possession of the reins of government," will never forget the
experience.
The whole thing was so sudden, so unprecedented, so inexplicable that
the intelligence simply refused to perform the ordinary functions of
thought.
Everywhere civilians were being bullied into obedience at the point of
the bayonet: young boys in their teens brandished revolvers in the high
roads: rough, brawny dockers walked about endowed apparently with
unlimited authority, and in the dark recesses of the General Post
Office, beyond the reach of law or argument, the mysterious Republican
Brotherhood--omnipotent.
All the while stories were coming in of hairbreadth escapes, of stray
shots, apparently from the sky, picking off unfortunate wayfarers, and
of whole parties of officers on their way back from the races in their
cars being captured and held up by the Volunteers--and every story went
one further than the one before it, till one was ready to believe almost
anything.
Personally, I kept within the "Metropole," expecting every minute that
the "climax" of the situation would be reached, but still the soldiery
did not arrive, and we began to come to the belief that in all
probability the authorities were only waiting until dusk.
I could not tear myself from the windows. That instinct of expectation
gripped me like a vice, and continued to do so for twenty-four solid
hours--and if I quote my own experience it is only as an example of what
others all around me went through.
It was now about four o'clock, and still I looked out into the street
below--the people were beginning to go wild with excitement, for every
now and then the Sinn Feiners would fire blank cartridges, and each time
they did so, with the one cry "The soldiers are coming!" a mass of
several thousand men, women, and children would rush now to one end of
Sackville Street, now to the other. After Noblet's it was the Saxon Shoe
Company and Dunn's hat-shop's turn to be looted, and one could see
little guttersnipe wearing high silk hats and new bowlers and straws,
who had never worn headgear before: bare-footed little devils with legs
buried in Wellington top-boots, unable to bend their knees, and drunken
women brandishing satin shoes and Russian boots till it seemed as if the
whole revolution would collapse in ridicule or pandemonium. For there
was no animosity in the crowd at first, just as there was no
enthusiasm--certainly no avarice or desire for theft--only sheer
demoralization and mischief for mischief's sake: but every hour it
became worse. Sometimes there was absolutely no point in the loot. I saw
an urchin of nine brandishing with pride More's "Utopia" and Wells's
"New Machiavelli," which he compared with a rival urchin's--a
girl's--bunch of newspapers on "Poultry" and "Wireless," and solemnly
exchanging their treasures.
I saw a tussle between two drunken harlots for the possession of a
headless dummy taken from a draper's shop, and noted a youngster go up
to the very steps of the Provisional Government House of the New
Republic of Ireland and amuse the armed rebels with impersonations of
Charlie Chaplin.
In another portion of the street I saw a drunken sailor mad with hate
make a furious assault upon a woman, and then, when the crowd yelled in
horror, suddenly change his mind from murder and kiss his victim: while
in yet another portion of the street a woman of about sixty was kneeling
with hands outstretched to heaven, clasping a rosary and crying her
prayers to the Mother of God in heaven for "Ireland to be a nation once
again!"
Time after time I felt inclined to weep with very shame at the whole
thing; for as I passed a group of young English _revue_ girls who had
come along to see the "show," I heard one exclaim, "A little bit of
heaven, and they call it Ireland!" and everyone laughed; and another
threw out the gibe: "Irish, and proud of it, eh?"
They were not meant as insults--no, certainly not--merely the happy
laughing cynicism of the common-sense view that would be taken of us by
hundreds of cartoonists; but I must say they went through me as hardly
anything else I witnessed, for they showed in such a terrible light the
contrast between the dream that had inspired these men and the reality
that they had brought forth.
Meantime, however, things were maturing, and as they matured the
ridiculous element faded and the tragic element began to come into the
picture.
Every few minutes dispatch riders would come up on motor-cycles to the
Post Office, and emerge a few minutes later with sealed orders. A long
line of motor-cars "held up" at the point of the revolver was also
requisitioned and placed at the disposal of the rebels in a queue before
the Post Office side-entrance. Then came the supplies of food and
ammunition on huge lorries from the country districts, each with its
escort of six young farmers fully armed, with double bandoliers filled
to bursting-point with cartridges; and as I stood outside the _Freeman_
offices, just at the side-gate of the "fortress," I was amazed at the
regularity of the whole proceeding: password, cheques, guards, orders,
everything, in fact, went off without the slightest hitch. And no
wonder--as I found out later--for during the past few weeks nearly every
manoeuvre had been rehearsed in mufti by the Volunteers, acting under
the orders of their chiefs, and each man knew his position, his work,
and the exact minute at which he was to perform it.
In this way, at a given signal it had been possible to hold up the whole
city of Dublin with the ease of a highwayman holding up a coach on a
lonely common in Georgian days.
I shall never forget the awful growing stillness of that afternoon as
the hours flew by, for all traffic was at an end. Now and again in the
general silence one heard the crack of a rifle, the hoot of a captured
motor and the cry "Stop, in the name of the Irish Republic!" from the
Volunteers, and the ghastly howling of the mob as more shop-fronts gave
way--but all these sounds came spasmodically and only intensified the
surrounding stillness. And all the while everyone was expecting the
arrival of the military, and saying, "When will the soldiers come?"
Then, "Will the soldiers come?" and later, "Will the soldiers never
come?"
Soon dusk began to come on more rapidly, and we conjectured that the
authorities must have determined to wait till dark. The Volunteers, too,
felt this, and took up positions on the roof and strengthened their
outposts, every hour or so a dozen or two Volunteers fully armed going
off from the Post Office.
The "Metropole" being situated alongside the Post Office, I could not
get any direct view of what I knew would be the centre of the battle,
and so I determined to move across to the "Imperial," which, situated
_vis-à-vis_ the Post Office on the top of Clery's Stores, commanded the
fullest view of the rebel headquarters.
There I found everyone, including the manager, Mr. Woods, in the same
state of bewilderment as at the "Metropole."
I mentioned who I was, and was told that a priest in the smoking-room
had just heard that John Redmond had been captured by the Sinn Feiners
and had, in all probability, been shot--but this was only one of the
thousand rumours that were by this time flying about the city, another
being that the Castle was in flames, with the Lord-Lieutenant in the
middle of the inner yard, and yet another describing the heroic death of
Father O'Doherty of Marlborough Street, who was supposed to have been
shot through the head in full vestments, having endeavoured to
remonstrate, cross in hand, with the rebels, in order to persuade them
to lay down their arms in the name of God.
The street was now (9.30) in a perfect state of pandemonium, for a fire
had begun in the premises of the Cable Shoe Company, which immediately
adjoined Clery's, and hence was an imminent danger to us.
I rushed down, and to my amazement found that the place, already looted,
had been set on fire deliberately, and that there was not one of the
crowd of two hundred spectators who seemed to be aware of, or even to
care about, the fate of the flat over the shop, which from the look of
the curtains appeared to be inhabited.
The cellars were crackling as if they contained some fatty, resinous
substance, purposely placed there with incendiary intent, and the smoke
was blinding and suffocating. The door of the side entrance was locked
and I could not force it, so I called for a few volunteers to try to
break it down by ramming it with some planks that were lying about, and
though we did not succeed in breaking it, we were able to arouse the
attention of the sleepers, and a dentist popped his head out and told us
there were women and children in the house.
Some by this time had run off for the fire-engine, and others, realizing
the danger, helped us to carry the inmates to safety, one woman being
actually in her confinement and frightened almost to death. After that
we rescued a few personal belongings with difficulty, but the smoke was
too terrible to do more, and the stairs were perfectly hot; and so I
went back with the owner to the hotel, where the family were put up and
given clothes, having been forced to rise from their beds.
Soon after this I met Mr. Marsh, the manager of the Coliseum, who told
me that the rebels had just commandeered the building, which immediately
backs the Post Office, and had placed a guard at the door to prevent
looting.
As a matter of fact, as we afterwards found out, it was merely to secure
the building as a means of retreat in case of a rout of their
headquarters at the Post Office--with the result that the building is
now burnt to the ground by naval shells, which pursued the rebels in
their retreat.
Sleep on such a night was of course out of the question--we did not know
at what time the military would arrive--but in any case we secured a
room on the second floor, looking into the street, for we were
determined to see the thing out, still never dreaming but that the whole
thing would be over within a few dramatic hours. Meanwhile the street
below became worse and worse. On all sides now the looters came up from
the black depths of the slums like packs of hungry wolves, so that every
minute we expected that Clery's underneath would be the next to go.
Indeed, over at Mansfield's opposite we heard one of the crowd telling
the looters to go over and smash William Martin Murphy's windows--Murphy
was one of the directors of Clery's--and reminding them that it was he,
Boss Murphy, was the real enemy of the people--"the man who caused the
lock-out in the days of Jim Larkin"; but the looters, having tasted the
blood of theft, were far too avaricious by this time to think of
politics in their orgy, and instead began to make a raid on a
tobacco-shop, and next a small jeweller's. One could see small boys,
too, going to the outskirts of the crowd to sell the booty, so that
those who had not the pluck to steal salved their consciences by buying
the loot, in most cases getting some fifteen or twenty shillings' worth
for as many farthings.
About twelve the Sinn Feiners, without directly encouraging loot,
unconsciously helped it by the order to "barricade the side streets,"
and for hours nothing could be heard but the crash of furniture being
pitched into the street below from second, third, and fourth story
windows, till the barricades were eight or ten feet high, composed of
chairs, tables, desks, sofas, beds, and all kinds of furniture and
stores.
In one place, "Kelly's" of Abbey Street, hundreds of cycles and motor
cycles were piled up--at least five thousand pounds' worth--and
brand-new motor-cars were then run into it, thus forming a steel wall of
solid machinery, upon which, later in the "war," the rebels poured
petrol and set the whole pile alight, with the result that the
neighbouring houses, hotels, and eventually the Hibernian Academy, with
its five hundred pictures, were burnt to the ground.
As the early hours of the morning approached the crowd began to
disperse, the most enthusiastic singing the latest music-hall songs, and
soon O'Connell Street became black and deserted, save for a few specks
of candlelight moving about in the G.P.O., which was otherwise in
complete darkness, and a few guards marching up and down beneath the
great Greek portico.
We retired then to our own room to watch and think. Never to my dying
day shall I ever forget those long hours of midnight stillness, broken
only by the distant rattle of the rifles in the direction of Phoenix
Park, where the two forces had by this time come into contact.
One could easily distinguish the crack of the respective rifles: the
Government weapons had a harsher and lower note, but for each "spit" of
the rebel guns one could hear the dread rattle of the military machine
guns; and then we knew that there could only be one possible
end--defeat, ignominious and complete.
Before us, hardly fifty yards away, stood the Post Office, lit up by the
street arc lamps in pale blues and greens, and looking for all the world
like the drop-cloth of a theatre; and there were we, it might have been
the dress circle of some gigantic opera house, and the feeling--the
feeling was excruciatingly morbid. We felt like cynical critics sent to
review a drama foredoomed to fiasco, yet with the difference that the
actors were all real and that the tragedy would be enacted in the blood
of hundreds of innocent lives.
We were watching the climax of years of planning and the culminating
point of so many lifetimes of idealism, effort, and sacrifice, however
mistaken.
We knew they would fail: we knew the penalty of the failure--the
traitor's death or the convict's cell; but we were held to the spot, to
see just how "dramatic" the fiasco would be.
The very thought was a continuous torture, and it haunted us like a
ghost or a madness.
We knew they were our own flesh and blood that had rebelled: it would be
strangers who would conquer, and yet we knew that order was right: and
this too was a torture-thought.
Hour after hour passed, and when I was not at the window Marsh was on
watch, and when he was asleep I mounted my pensive guard.
Incidents never ceased, but the incidents were as nothing compared with
the reflections they aroused.
Hour after hour unarmed Volunteers came in from the country, stayed in
an hour or so, and then moved out armed. Carts and cars of ammunition
and food arrived and gave the password and were admitted. As the early
hours of dawn approached we could see milk and bread carts driving up at
top speed, the driver with the cold muzzle of a revolver at his ear and
his captors seated behind him.
Sometimes flash signals would shoot across the sky, and at others a man
at the "Metropole" corner of the G.P.O. would open a basket and release
carrier pigeons, so complete was their organization.
At daybreak we found our room covered by a guard, with rifles pointed at
our heads, the light shining over their backs full into our faces: but
we made no movement, and an hour or so later moved to another portion of
the roof.
Next the street was cleared and barbed wire stretched across.
About six o'clock we saw Connolly emerge at the head of a band, and we
could hear one of his subordinates call out Mr. Connolly this and Mr.
Connolly that, and the commander-in-chief give his orders in a clear,
resonant, and fearless voice.
About eight we thought our last hour had come, for, looking towards the
base of Nelson's Pillar, we saw men running from a thin blue spiral of
smoke rising up, followed by a terrific explosion. They were trying to
blow up the monument.
So Tuesday had come, but it found the situation no further advanced: the
military had not come: the rebels had had time to entrench and fortify
themselves: the city was really fully in their possession: but the
battle had begun.
We could now hear it in the direction of the Castle and the Four Courts,
and we thought it could only be a matter of a few hours before they
would reach Sackville Street, for we could hear the military machine
guns raking Dame Street from Trinity College.
As a matter of fact, a machine gun had been hoisted upon the roof of
the Hibernian Bank, which commanded the old Houses of Parliament, upon
which the rebels had climbed, and in the space of a few seconds wiped
out the whole contingent.
As the afternoon wore on Sackville Street began to assume two totally
distinct characteristics--one of tragedy and the other of comedy. South
of the Pillar the scene might have been a battlefield; north of the
Pillar it might have been a nursery gone tipsy, for by this time all the
children of the slums had discovered that a perfect paradise of toys lay
at their absolute mercy at Lawrence's bazaar, and accordingly a pinafore
and knickerbocker army began to lay siege to it, the mothers taking
seats upon the stiffened corpses of the lancers' horses to watch the
sight of thousands of Union-jacks made into bonfires.