combat for the sake of Empire and Fatherland, and here were the very
children they were fighting for--some dying for--revelling in a
children's paradise of toys--balloons, soldiers, rackets, and lollypops,
as if it had all been arranged for their special benefit.
An air-gun battalion was now formed of the young highwaymen--two guns
each, one on each shoulder--followed up by a toy anti-aircraft gun on
wheels, and the whole cavalcade brought up by a Noah's Ark the size of a
perambulator.
The captain, about eight years of age, wore a blue silk waistcoat (with
its price ticket) and a new grey silk hat. The band then formed up in
Indian file, marched up to the G.P.O., saluted majestically, and then
impertinently fired their pellets slap-bang into the faces of the
insurgents, and then broke up and ran for all they were worth.
All the while, in the opposite direction, Red War was at its height: the
rifle-fire along the quays was terrific, and ambulances were rushing
backwards and forwards and relays of Volunteers were issuing from the
central depôt to the firing-line.
Probably never in the world's history had there been such a strange
combination of pathos and humour, and it will haunt everyone who saw it
to their dying day: and if mere passive spectators felt the clash of
divergent emotions how much more must these, for all their idealism must
have appeared to them as crashing down at the first touch of reality.
It was so much the repetition of Emmet's revolt, ending in riot and loot
and degradation--nay, worse, it seemed a very pantomime.
Suddenly, as the sound of maxims grew louder, a terrific black cloud
rose into the sky. A fire had broken out in the heart of the bazaar and
the flames had just reached the fireworks, and for a solid half-hour the
whole gaze of rebel and civilian alike was centred upon Lawrence's,
which presented the appearance of a diminutive Crystal Palace, with
Catherine wheels, Roman candles, Chinese crackers going forth in all
directions. At last, in a big blue, green, red and yellow bouquet, the
main stock went bodily into the air, scattering the crowd of men and
women head-over-heels over the dead horses, and all was still.
What the scene must have been like to the leaders, I do not dare to
imagine: but it was so symbolical of the whole eruption that I cannot
forbear to describe it.
It was shortly after this--about 4.30--that Mr. Marsh and myself came
off the roof, where we had been four solid hours watching, tired, sad,
and sick at heart. I was a mass of tingling nerves, for the whole thing
was set in the background and framework of the penal days and the times
of the famine. He was as cool as an icicle--he even suggested chess, and
had a pocket set--but, chess in revolution?--what next!
We were not at a loss for our next course, however, for we had no sooner
sat down to lunch--three hours late--than we noticed two of the Sinn
Feiners who had long watched us on the roof suddenly come across the
street.
For one moment we made sure we were going to be taken out and shot for
spies: for we had kept our eyes fixed on them twelve hours, and of
course, as the telephone system still worked, could have kept in
continual communication with the military authorities--it was the Sinn
Feiners' one oversight, to leave the telephone intact--but we were soon
reassured, for Mr. Woods came up and announced that the hotel had been
taken over by the rebels.
The next moment the dining-room was invaded by a crowd who might have
stepped direct off the French Revolution scenes of the "Scarlet
Pimpernel" or "The Only Way," but their officer was perfectly courteous.
"Finish your meal, gentlemen," he said; "there is no hurry, but I must
ask you to leave with all possible speed." And then, addressing his men,
he added: "Now, then, two men to every window; take furniture, tables,
chairs, anything, and barricade away--we may have to stand siege."
"Is there any immediate danger?" I ventured; "and if so, where do you
wish us to go?"
"No immediate danger whatever, sir, save from your own resistance," was
his reply. "Civilians are all perfectly safe: we are only fighting the
troops of England.
"There is no cause for excitement or flurry," he added; "you may find
our men firing over your heads as you pass into the street, but take no
notice.
"These are partly our own signallers giving us warning, and also they
are intended to clear the streets of loiterers. You will have safe
conduct out of the city by the north, where our guards have orders to
allow all citizens to pass--I can only counsel you to move as far from
the city as possible, as it is more than probable that our positions
will be shelled from the sea at any time, and gas bombs may be used in
order to save the buildings, which I need not say would be equally fatal
to civilians as to ourselves."
With that he asked the way to the fire-escape and the roof, which one of
us showed him, and then we hastily made parcels of anything we wished to
take with us.
I took occasion to get into conversation with one of the guards, a
rough-looking fellow, upon the aims of the revolution, but could elicit
nothing very intelligent, save that "England always hated Ireland, and
that now was the time to free her, or within a couple of years everyone
would be slaves and conscripts."
There seemed to be a rumour, too, that John Redmond had consented to
conscription for Ireland and that it was to be passed at the secret
session--but I could gather nothing definite, and before I could get
further details a superior officer came and severely reprimanded him for
allowing himself to be drawn into conversation at all.
There was nothing for it, therefore, but to march out, and as I could
not cross a bridge to get back to the south side of the city, I accepted
an offer of hospitality for the night with Mr. Marsh--provided I was
willing to walk to Howth for it, nine miles away.
The rain was drizzling as we made our way into Sackville Street.
Lawrence's was a blazing furnace, and on the roof we could see a woman
and child, caught by the fire, trying to reach the ladders of the fire
brigade, which were short; the side wall was tottering, there were
screams, but I turned my head: I felt too sick to look, save at the
gaping crowd, that even disgusted the rebels, who fired several blank
shots among them in the vain attempt to scatter them.
As soon as we reached the Parnell Monument, close to the Rotunda, we
turned to the right, and made our way through the long lines of
tenements--refugees.
There was quite a string of refugees, as one might have seen fleeing
from Ypres, for we knew that the place was now doomed to be shelled--it
only remained the chance of a tossed coin where the blows would fall.
The rain poured down, but the seven of us, including the manager of the
Coliseum and the manager of the "Imperial," who made up our party,
trudged on, on, on. Every cross-road had its Sinn Fein sentries, every
point of vantage was loopholed for miles around, and it was a mere
stroke of luck that Annesley Bridge had not been blown up and so cut off
Amiens Street Station, which held 300 troops, from the north. We only
saw two soldiers in nine miles, and these were at a pier-head at
Dollymount, half way.
When we arrived at Howth we were wet as fish and black as miners, for we
finished the last couple of miles upon a charitable coal-cart.
The next morning was bright and warm as a midsummer day, but in the
distance across the bay we could hear the sound of the naval guns
thundering out shot and shell.
They had given the rebels till eight to surrender--and they had refused.
It was no longer a riot--it was civil war.
CHAPTER THE THIRD
BATTLE
Monday and Tuesday were for the most part employed in clearing the
streets and preparing the field for the battle which was to last
continuously until late on Saturday evening, but it seems a pity,
looking back on the situation, that the time was not employed in trying
to avoid such a fatal issue; and that it would have been possible is
proved by the example of Cork, where all conflict was avoided by a
timely negotiation between the rebels and the ordinary civil and
ecclesiastical authorities.
However, of this more later; it was decided to treat the matter in the
sternest possible manner, which was just, as it turned out, what the
Sinn Feiners wanted, and the military authorities, as it were, fell into
the trap prepared for them by those astute politicians: for that they
foresaw the political effects of ruthless suppression is now an admitted
fact.
On Tuesday, April 25th, therefore, the day following the _coup_, the
citizens of Dublin--or such as were not totally isolated--read in their
morning _Irish Times_ (the _Express_ and the _Freeman_ having ceased
publication) two proclamations announcing the official English view of
the rising, and people noted particularly the words that traced the
attempt to subvert the supremacy of the Crown "to the foreign enemies of
their King and country"--in a word, it was to be put down purely and
simply to Germany.
As regards details, however, the inhabitants had to content themselves
with the simple statement that "yesterday morning an insurrectionary
rising took place in the City of Dublin"; that "the authorities had
taken active and energetic measures to cope with the situation, which
measures were proceeding favourably"; but this official condolence in
their plight was rather discomforting, as the whole city was still in
the possession of the insurgents.
Next, another proclamation was issued declaring the county of Dublin
under martial law, warning all peaceable and law-abiding subjects within
the area of the danger of frequenting or being in any place in the
vicinity of which His Majesty's forces were engaged in the suppression
of disorder, and enjoining upon them the duty and necessity of remaining
so far as practicable within their own homes so long as such dangerous
conditions prevailed, and proclaiming that all persons found carrying
arms without lawful authority were liable to be dealt with severely by
virtue of such proclamation.
All this, of course, was anything but reassuring, especially in view of
the danger everybody felt of a provincial rising and the whispers of a
German invasion; but towards the evening another statement was issued to
the effect that the trouble was confined to Dublin and one or two other
districts only in a minor way.
Yet the trouble was by no means even at its height.
All Tuesday the Sinn Feiners had been preparing for the inevitable
battle, but these preparations merely took the shape of consolidating
the positions already occupied.
At O'Connell Bridge, for example, Kelly's shop at the corner of
Bachelors' Walk was garrisoned, and Hopkins's jewellery establishment at
the opposite corner was similarly occupied.
In Lower Abbey Street, opposite Wynn's Hotel, a formidable barricade was
erected, composed partly of paper taken from the _Irish Times_ store.
The wireless station was also seized, and all day long messages were
flashed to the four corners of the world announcing the establishment of
an Irish Republic, which messages were picked up at sea by special
envoys who had been forewarned, and sent on till they finally reached
New York and Petrograd.
The amazement of Russia and America must have been
considerable--especially Russia's.
Yet it was not all preparation, for already the troops, or such as
could be brought up in time, had come into contact with the Sinn Feiners
on the outskirts of the town; but the chief activity appears to have
been the strengthening of the position in Trinity College, which allowed
the troops to form a wedge between Westland Row at one end and Dame
Street on the other, thus cutting off Stephen's Green from Sackville
Street.
On Monday night the danger in this quarter had been from the eastern
side, but on Tuesday morning it was the College Green entrances that
appeared most open to attack, and which were accordingly strengthened by
sandbags within the windows of the main entrance and wings.
Irish Volunteer scouts on bicycles tried several times to get past
through Grafton Street, but they could not get past the Colonial
sharpshooters posted in the College, and tried by way of side streets,
which were more or less covered by their own snipers, but in vain also.
Machine guns swept right up Dame Street on the one hand and on the other
through Westmorland Street as far up as O'Connell's Statue at the end of
the bridge; but this was as far north as the military got, for all along
to Clontarf, Glasnevin, and Drumcondra the insurgents held practically
undisputed sway.
Another minor position of great importance was the clearing of Stephen's
Green by means of a maxim from the "Shelbourne."
The first actual entry of the military in force from an outside area
took place on Tuesday evening, when a body of Royal Dublin Fusiliers
forced their way into the centre of the city by Cabra Road. The
insurgents had placed barricades both on the Park Road and on Cabra
Road, near the point at which Charleville Road links up these
thoroughfares. Houses overlooking the barricades were occupied by the
insurgents, and some brisk fighting took place before the way was
cleared for the military advance. A well-directed shell or two
demolished the barricades, and within a short time the defenders, under
the thunder of artillery, machine guns and rifle-fire, were forced from
these positions. There were a couple of civilian casualties resulting
from the shrapnel. Attempts by the insurgents to blow up the Cabra
Bridge and the bridge crossing the Midland Railway on the North Circular
Road beyond Phibsborough Church were unsuccessful.
It was not until Wednesday morning, as we have already seen, that the
city realized that an attack in full force was contemplated, and if
necessary heavy artillery would be used to dislodge the rebels.
Up to that it had been thought that at the worst gas shells might be
dropped upon the enemy strongholds and that the city would be spared:
but it early became evident that the disproportion would be too great in
the street fighting, which everyone now saw was becoming inevitable.
Accordingly, during the early hours of Wednesday morning a party of six
volunteers from Trinity--including both civilians and members of the
O.T.C.--went forth to dig holes below the cobbles for the gun-trails.
The position was at the Tara Street end of Butt Bridge, and the object,
in order to be ready to begin early the shelling of Liberty Hall, which
was looked upon as the centre and symbol of the anarchy.
After much difficulty two 18-pounders were brought up and machine guns
were placed on the tower of the Fire Station and the Tivoli, and then,
when all was ready, the bombardment began. Evidently the rebels had got
wind of this intention, however, and though much damage was done,
practically no casualties were scored, the rebels getting away through
the basement or along the roofs.
The _Helga_, an old police patrol boat belonging to the Fisheries
Department, next contributed, though the task was an extremely delicate
one, owing to the position of the Custom House and the Railway Bridge,
having eventually to retire further down the river and adopt a dropping
instead of a direct fire.
For over an hour this naval bombardment continued without eliciting any
reply.
It seemed to be generally hoped that the very threat of artillery would
be sufficient to cow the rebels, but this was far from being the case.
There was a perfect rabbit warren of retreat, and when the troops
rushed forward with bayonets fixed and cheering triumphantly, their
onrush was unchecked and they found themselves established in--ruins.
The rebel loss was a considerable gain to the troops, for it meant that
the military would find themselves connected up with Amiens Street
Station; but this was not so easy: they needed more reserves to
accomplish a junction, and it was in order to secure these that the
"Battle of Mount Street" bridge was fought, an engagement which has been
called the "Dardanelles of Dublin," because the place commanded the
direct approach of the troops from Kingstown, and I quote my own
experience to illustrate the kind of struggle that went on at every
entrance to the city.
The "battle" was in every way typical of the kind of fighting which we
were destined to witness for the rest of the week, and I was lucky
enough to get back from Howth, a journey which I had to cover on foot,
just in time to see it from a few minutes after the start.
The Sinn Feiners had got Clanwilliam House--a corner
residence--wonderfully barricaded, and the Sherwood Foresters, who had
just taken Carisbrook House and Ballsbridge after considerable losses,
were now advancing to cross over the canal and so enter the town and
relieve the O.T.C. in Trinity.
Clanwilliam House not only dominated the bridge, but also the whole of
Northumberland Road.
Along this road the troops had to pass, and they crouched down in long
rows of heads--like great khaki caterpillars--in a most terribly exposed
order, so that if the rebel shot failed to hit the first head it was
bound to hit the second head, provided the rifle was anywhere in the
vertical line. For the most part the soldiers were boys in their early
twenties, utterly ignorant of the district, with orders to take the
town, which was reported in the hands of a body of men whose very name
was a mysterious puzzle in pronunciation, and not an enemy in sight,
only a mass of civilian spectators up to within fifty yards of them and
directly in front, blocking the street--the rebel enemy meanwhile
inside private houses to the right and left of the narrow bridgehead,
they knew not where.
I arrived on the scene a few minutes after the start of the engagement,
but already one could see the poor fellows writhing in agony in the
roadway, where the advanced line had been sniped by the terrible leaden
bullets of the Sinn Feiners.
For half an hour or so I was a passive spectator, though intensely
interested by the sight of a real battle going on under my very eyes at
a distance hardly more than that of the gallery from a large music-hall
stage; but suddenly I felt a complete change come over me, which I yet
fail to explain to myself. The usual cowardice of the spectator seemed
to leave me, and I wanted to rush over and help, but I was assured that
it would mean instant death to come between the line of combatants--"The
Sinn Feiners would fire on anyone, the blackguards." This I refused to
believe, and spoke to a Methodist clergyman, who soon shared my views,
and together we made our way to Dun's Hospital, where the doctors and
nurses in white stood in the doorway. Within a couple of minutes'
conversation we had all spontaneously decided to venture under the Red
Cross and put it to the test. They gave me the white coat of an
ambulance worker, and within five minutes we were all on the bridge
together.
Anticipating us all, however, were two little girls of sixteen and
seventeen--Kathleen Pierce and Loo Nolan by name--who rushed out of the
throng with water in a jug for one of the wounded Tommies who was lying
across the bridge bleeding.
A great shout went up from the crowd as they saw this, and both
combatants ceased firing, and, after having given the soldiers a drink,
they came back amidst the cheers of soldiers, crowd, and Sinn Feiners
alike, and they are now known as the bravest colleens in Ireland--God
bless them! But little as they realized it, the danger was considerable,
and it must ever reflect to the credit of Sir Patrick Dun's Hospital,
that scene of the young nurses who flocked out in a body, in spite of
the hail of bullets which passed over them and around them on every
side. For, try as they would, the two sides could not completely cease
fire when every second and every yard was a question of life and death,
defeat or victory.
Never shall I forget the experience--the whole staff of doctors gave a
hand, together with a clergyman, the Rev. Mr. Hall, of St. John's
Voluntary Aid Detachment. I was with Councillor Keogh myself, and poor
Hylands, who was afterwards killed, with whom I bore a stretcher,
continually bringing in wounded between us. In little over an hour we
brought in about seventy poor fellows, who lay about all along the road
and canal banks, heavy packs upon their backs.
At last, however, when we had cleared the road of wounded, about dusk,
there came a shout from Captain Melleville: "Now, lads, up and all
together!" Immediately there was a simultaneous rush across the
bridge--a tactic which should have been adopted from the very first.
Some dropped, but the numbers were too many for the handful of snipers.
We moved aside to give them room, and the next moment the bombers were
in the garden of Clanwilliam House--one poor fellow falling and blowing
the top of his head off at the gate with his own grenade.
There was a "Crash! crash! crash!" as the windows burst with the
concussion, and within a few seconds the sky was lit up with the flare
of the burning houses and the air rent with the screams of the Sinn
Feiners as they faced cold steel. It was a ghastly scene!
The smell of roasting flesh was still around the blazing buildings at
ten o'clock, when we brought in the last of the dead--some of them mere
boys of thirteen--and laid them out in dread rows like a Raemaeker
cartoon.
One lad of twelve whom I carried in I afterwards interrogated as to why
he was out in such an exposed position. He wanted to give a poor Tommy a
drink, and got sniped as he was preparing to get down to the water of
the canal.
The Dardanelles had been forced, however, and the highway into Dublin
secured.
All Wednesday night the whole town was kept awake by the snipers, who
now became one of the main features of the turmoil; they seemed to be
everywhere, but it was almost impossible to locate them.
Troops lined the streets in the direction of Merrion and Fitzwilliam
Squares, and were picked off from windows and roofs all night in the
most bewildering fashion, while the slum courts in the centre of the
large blocks of buildings re-echoed with the sharp click of the old
rebel mausers, till the military were tempted to fire on any strange
figure looming up in the distance.
During the night several transports had arrived, we now heard, and the
troops soon began to land in force.
All Thursday I spent with the Red Cross at Sir Patrick Dun's, which was
crowded with casualties, poor fellows! one raving and asking "Is the
school taken?--is the school taken?": for this point had been the
strategic point in the Battle of Mount Street Bridge. It was pathetic.
All day long the troops arrived, but whenever crossing the side streets,
which were slums honeycombed with snipers, they would have to "double"
and rush across in single file; but each time one or two were picked off
by the deadly snipers, all firing from cover, with thick lead bullets
that spread and made dreadful wounds--some, inches wide. In the yard the
Raemaeker picture of the dead soldiers--Sinn Feiners--was broader by
some half-dozen: for several had died of wounds during the night. The
small boy who had been sniped while trying to get the soldiers a drink
lay stiff now, and my mind went back to the scene of the night before as
I made a little space of a couple of yards in the corner of the crowded
ward, with everyone lying on the floor, while the good priest anointed
him just before he died.
All day long and all around there was a perfect hail of bullets from the
snipers, some going right through the hospital grounds from Boland's
bakery, which, sandbagged and loopholed, was filled with Sinn Feiners.
It was a terrible fight, for of course it was next to impossible for the
soldiers to distinguish them, being all in civilian clothes so that they
just had to doff their bandoliers and they could go about from house to
house in safety. Sometimes they did this purposely, having arms in
several places. Hence the order had to go out that all civilians would
have to stay indoors, and after that all suspicious characters were shot
at, with the terrible result that innocent civilians were killed on all
sides.
Accordingly, while on our way to pick up a body I went with one of the
stretcher-bearers and a priest and a parson to warn them to keep
indoors.
One poor fellow we brought in, shot through the breast, was apparently a
civilian, but on examination we found on him a curious document,
undoubtedly proving him a Sinn Feiner.