_Friday, 10 a.m._
Dearest G.,--After all my letter did not get off last night, as the
roads were too dangerous to admit of Dr. W. motoring Lord S. to
Kingstown. He got a permit to pass our troops, but there were too many
Sinn Fein positions and snipers to make it possible for them to pass
through.
If the position improves, he will go to-night, so I may be able to send
this too, if I can write enough to make it worth while, but I am still
rather shaky from a fright I had last night.
Yesterday morning the Red Cross ambulance sent in to the hotel to ask
for volunteer workers to act as stretcher-bearers and do all sorts of
jobs connected with the Red Cross, and N. and several men staying in
the hotel volunteered. I was glad he should, as he is of course safer
attached to the Red Cross than roaming the streets making rescues on
his own, and if he was killed or wounded we should at least hear of it.
But the risks are many and great, as in this kind of street fighting,
where all the firing is from windows or from housetops, the ambulance
are frequently under fire.
However, N. having volunteered promptly went off, and we saw him no
more. While we were having dinner Mr. O'B., who had been out all day
with the ambulance, was dining with us. H. was called to the telephone
to receive this message: "You must not expect to see or hear from me
till this is over."
H. asked who the message was from, and the answer came back: "Your
son" in a voice that H. was sure was not N.'s. H. then asked where the
message came from, and was told "The Castle."
He returned to us greatly perturbed, and we held a consultation. We
all agreed there was only one interpretation to be put on it, viz.,
that N. had been taken prisoner by the rebels, and that someone who was
well disposed to H. had taken this opportunity of letting him know, and
that saying the message came from the Castle was just a blind. H. rang
up the head of the Red Cross, and he told us only two of the Red Cross
volunteers were missing who had been out that day, and both of them
were known, and N. was not one of them, so we were still more mystified.
It then occurred to H. that it might be possible to trace back the
message and find out where it really had been sent from, so he called
up the exchange, and after a little delay he heard the message had
actually been sent from the Castle and by N., who was there.
Imagine our relief! though still completely in the dark as to why the
boy had not come back like other workers, and why we were not to expect
to see him again.
Next morning in walked the truant, not best pleased that we had been
inquiring for him. His explanation was quite simple. He had been
attached to a branch of the ambulance that had its depôt at the Castle,
so worked from there and returned to the Castle at night. Hearing this,
and not knowing in the least to what part of the city his work would
take him, and the impossibility of sending any message or note to tell
us where he was, and knowing how anxious I should be if he did not
return, he asked the Castle authorities if he might send a message to
_relieve our minds_! He was told he might do so, but it must only be
one sentence, and he must have the censor in the box with him. This so
flustered N. that he could think of nothing to say but the words I
have quoted; they seemed to him to express the position exactly, and
he never dreamt of the interpretation we should put on them. As it was
I spent an hour I don't ever like to remember and which unnerved me
more than I thought possible, and all I got was a trouncing from N. for
being so "nervy." Surely much is expected from mothers these days!
The volunteer workers, among other things, enter houses where there are
known to be wounded Sinn Feiners and bring them out and take them to
hospitals.
This N. was doing yesterday. One of the most awful things in this
terrible time is that there must be scores of dead and dying Sinn
Feiners, many of them mere lads, that no one can get at in the houses,
and where they will remain till after the rebellion; and in some cases
the houses take fire and they are all burnt. However, whatever is
possible is being done.
Yesterday was the worst day we have had, as there was desperate
fighting in Grafton Street, just at our back, and the side streets; and
several volleys in our street.
In the morning I was sitting on a settee near the window of the lounge,
knitting and looking out and listening to the firing in Grafton
Street, when shots were fired just outside our windows, and Mr. B.,
the manager, came in and said, "We must shut all the shutters, Mrs.
N., it is getting a bit too hot, and I am taking no risks." So all the
shutters were closed, and I moved to the drawing-room above, which also
overlooks the street.
All the afternoon an awful battle raged in the neighbourhood of the
river and quays, and the din of the great guns and machine-guns was
tremendous. We now have 30,000 troops and plenty of artillery and
machine-guns, so the result cannot be uncertain, though there is
desperate work to be done before the end is in sight.
[Illustration]
The troops are said to have formed a huge semi-circle with the G.P.O.
as the centre, and, starting from the river, are driving the rebels
back street by street, till eventually they will be in a small
enclosure, when they will bombard it to pieces.
The G.P.O. has such valuable records, etc., and the contents of the
safes are so precious, that they will not raze it to the ground if they
can help it; but it has so much subterranean space, that would afford
cover to thousands of Sinn Feiners, that we hear they are going to fire
some "gas" shells into it and then rush it!
Up to yesterday afternoon they had got to Abbey Street on the right,
and no doubt were closing in equally on other sides. The shells had
started several fires; nearly all the shops on the quay on the side of
the Custom House were burning yesterday afternoon, and later in the
evening many others broke out.
I cannot give you any idea of what it was like when I went to bed. I
sent for Mrs. B., the manager's wife, such a splendid little woman, and
together we watched it from my window, which is high up and looked in
the right direction.
It was the most awe-inspiring sight I have ever seen. It seemed as
if the whole city was on fire, the glow extending right across the
heavens, and the red glare hundreds of feet high, while above the roar
of the fires the whole air seemed vibrating with the noise of the great
guns and machine-guns. It was an inferno! We remained spell-bound, and
I can't tell you how I longed for you to see it. We had only just come
down from the window--we had been standing on the window ledge leaning
out--when H. came and told us no one was to look out of the windows
as there was cross-firing from the United Service Club and another
building, and Mr. O'B., who was watching the fires from his window, had
a bullet a few inches from his head!!
About 2 a.m. I woke to find the room illuminated in spite of dark
blinds and curtains, and I rushed to the window and saw an enormous
fire; it seemed to be in the direction of the Four Courts, which is in
the hands of the Sinn Feiners, and we hear this morning that a portion
of the buildings was burnt last night.[A]
[A] This was incorrect; it was the Linen Hall barracks
that were burnt.
Yesterday Lord S. had a narrow escape from a sniper who has been
worrying this street for two days and could not be located. He was
picking off soldiers during the fighting in Grafton Street, but later
turned his attention to the cross streets between this and Grafton
Street, and there as nearly as possible got Lord S., who was coming
back to us from the Castle.
The military thought the man was on _our_ roof, which made us all
bristle with indignation--the mere idea of the wretch being on our
hotel; but a thorough search proved he was not here, though he
evidently had access to _some_ roof.
In this respect we are much better off than our friends the V.'s. They
came into their town house only about a month ago, and being in Upper
Mount Street it was in one of the most active haunts of the snipers.
They had several on their roof, and when they went up to bed at night
they could hear the snipers walking about and talking on the roof. Does
it not make one creep to think of it? Mr. V. had his bed put on the
upper landing exactly under the trap-door on to the roof, so that had
the rebels attempted to enter the house at night they would have come
down "plop" on to him in his bed. He surrounded himself with all the
arms he could muster, and the wretched Mrs. V. lay in bed and quaked,
expecting any minute to hear a battle royal raging outside her bedroom
door. In this street an old lady of seventy-three was shot through the
leg in her own room, and was taken to Dr. W.'s home, where she had to
have her leg amputated; and in another house a servant flashed on her
electric light when going to bed and was instantly shot through the
head! Our friend Miss K. also had a narrow escape. She had only just
left her drawing-room, when a bullet passed straight through the room
and buried itself in a picture.
Yesterday afternoon, when the firing in Grafton Street was over, the
mob appeared and looted the shops, clearing the great provision shops
and others. From the back of this hotel you look down on an alley
that connects with Grafton Street,--and at the corner, the shop front
in Grafton Street, but with a side entrance into this lane, is a
very large and high-class fruiterer. From the windows we watched the
proceedings, and I never saw anything so brazen! The mob were chiefly
women and children, with a sprinkling of men. They swarmed in and
out of the side door bearing huge consignments of bananas, the great
bunches on the stalk, to which the children attached a cord and ran
away dragging it along. Other boys had big orange boxes which they
filled with tinned and bottled fruits. Women with their skirts held up
received showers of apples and oranges and all kinds of fruit which
were thrown from the upper windows by their pals; and ankle-deep on
the ground lay all the pink and white and silver paper and paper
shavings used for packing choice fruits. It was an amazing sight, and
nothing daunted these people. Higher up at another shop we were told
a woman was hanging out of a window dropping down loot to a friend,
when she was shot through the head by a sniper, probably our man; the
body dropped into the street and the mob cleared. In a few minutes a
hand-cart appeared and gathered up the body, and instantly all the mob
swarmed back to continue the joyful proceedings!
H. and Lord S. were sitting at the window for a few minutes yesterday
when the fruit shop was being looted, and saw one of the funniest
sights they had ever seen. A very fat, very blousy old woman emerged
from the side street and staggered on to the pavement laden with far
more loot than she could carry. In her arms she had an orange box full
of fruit, and under her shawl she had a great bundle tied up which kept
slipping down. Having reached the pavement, she put down her box and
sat on it, and from her bundle rolled forth many tins of fruit. These
she surveyed ruefully, calling on the Almighty and all the saints to
help her!! From these she solemnly made her selection, which she bound
up in her bundle and hoisted, with many groans and lamentations, on her
back and made off with, casting back many longing looks at the pile of
things left on the pavement, which were speedily disposed of by small
boys.
On Wednesday when the looting was going on in Sackville Street a fine,
large boot shop was receiving attention from swarms of looters. Ragged
women and children were seen calmly sitting in the window trying on
boots and shoes, and one old woman with an eye to future needs made up
a bundle of assorted sizes and tied them up in her apron. She had only
reached the pavement, when she bethought her to leave her bundle in a
corner and return for a further consignment which she tied up in her
shawl. On returning to the street great was her rage and indignation
on finding the original bundle had disappeared. Then were there sore
lamentations and violent abuse of the police, who could not even
"protect the property of a poor old woman."
In Sackville Street was a very large shop called Clery's; for some
reason the looters were afraid to start on it, and old women passed up
and down gazing longingly at fur coats and silken raiment and saying
sorrowfully, "Isn't Clery's broke yet?" and "Isn't it a great shame
that Clery's is not broke!" Humour and tragedy are so intermixed in
this catastrophe. A very delicate elderly lady who is staying here said
to me this morning, in answer to my inquiry as to how she had slept: "I
could not sleep at all. When the guns ceased the _awful silence_ made
me so nervous!" I know exactly what she meant. When the roar of the
guns ceases you can _feel_ the silence.
_4 p.m._
When I had got so far this morning I got an urgent message from the Red
Cross asking me to make more armlets for the workers. With two other
ladies I had been making them yesterday, so I collected my helpers and
we worked till lunch, when another request came that we would make four
large Red Cross flags, as they were going to try to bury some of the
dead and needed the flags for the protection of the parties. We have
just finished them, and are wondering what will be the next call. It is
such a good thing I have my sewing-machine here.
On Wednesday evening Lord S. was at Mercer's Hospital with a doctor
when eleven dead were brought in, and a priest brought in a rifle he
had taken from a dead Sinn Feiner. It had an inscription in German and
the name of the factory in Berlin, which Lord S. copied. It is believed
that nearly all the arms and ammunition are of German make, and it is
said that the cruiser that was sunk on Saturday was bringing heavy guns
and forty officers, but I don't know if there is any truth in that.
The opinion is very strong that the Sinn Feiners were led to believe
that they would have great German reinforcements, and that all they
had to do was to hold the troops here for a couple of days while the
Germans landed a big force on the west coast of Ireland. We also hear
that Sir R. Casement has been shot in London, but you probably know
a great deal more about that than I do, as we see no papers and are
completely cut off from all news.
On Wednesday three of the ringleaders were caught, and it is said they
were shot immediately! It is also believed that Larkin was shot on the
top of a house in St. Stephen's Green, but as the rebels still hold the
house it has not been possible to identify him, but he is said to have
been here on Monday.[B]
[B] This was incorrect; it appears Larkin was not
in Dublin.
_5 p.m._
Colonel C. has just come in, having been in the thick of it for
forty-eight hours. He tells us the Post Office has been set on fire by
the Sinn Feiners, who have left it. If this is true, and it probably
is, I fear we have lost all our valuable possessions, including my
diamond pendant, which was in my jewel-case in H.'s safe.
To-day about lunch-time a horrid machine-gun suddenly gave voice very
near us. We thought it was in this street, but it may have been in
Kildare Street; also the sniper reappeared on the roofs, and this
afternoon was opposite my bedroom window judging from the sound. I
pulled down my blinds. A man might hide for weeks on the roofs of
these houses among the chimney stacks and never be found as long as
he had access to some house for food. When we were working in my room
this afternoon he fired some shots that could not have been more than
twenty yards away.
The serious problem of food is looming rather near, as nothing has come
into the city since Saturday. Boland's bakery, an enormous building,
is in the hands of the rebels, who have barricaded all the windows
with sacks of flour, and it is said it will have to be blown up. There
is not a chance of getting them out in any other way. The rebels also
have Jacob's biscuit factory, where there are still huge stores of
flour. Every prominent building and every strategic position was taken
before the authorities at the Castle woke to the fact that there was a
rebellion!
I was almost forgetting to tell you how splendidly one of H.'s men
behaved when the G.P.O. was taken. When the rebels took possession
they demanded the keys from the man who had them in charge. He quietly
handed over the keys, having first abstracted the keys of H.'s room!
Imagine such self-possession at such a terrible moment.
A young man has come to stay in the hotel who saw the taking of the
G.P.O. He was staying at the hotel exactly opposite the building and
went into the G.P.O. to get some stamps. As he was leaving the office a
detachment of about fifteen Irish Volunteers marched up and formed up
in front of the great entrance. He looked at them with some curiosity,
supposing they were going to hold a parade; two more detachments
arrived, and immediately the word of command was given, and they rushed
in through the door. Shots were fired inside the building, and, as
the young man said, he "hooked it" back to the hotel, which was one
of those burnt a few days later. The whole thing occupied only a few
moments, as, being Bank Holiday, there was only a small staff in the
building.
_6.30 p.m._
A party of soldiers and a young officer have just arrived to search the
roof for the sniper. They say he is on the roof of the annexe, which is
connected with the main building by covered-in bridges. They are now on
the roof and shots are being fired, so I expect they have spotted him.
When N. was out last night another ambulance had a bad experience. They
had fetched three wounded Sinn Feiners out of a house, and were taking
them to hospital, when they came under heavy fire. The driver was
killed, so the man beside him took the wheel and was promptly wounded
in both legs. The car then ran away and wrecked itself on a lamp post.
Another ambulance had to run the gauntlet and go to the rescue! On
the whole as far as possible the rebels have respected the Red Cross,
but not the white flag. In house-to-house fighting there can be no
connected action, and yesterday when a house was being stormed the
rebels hung out a white flag, and when the troops advanced to take them
prisoners they were shot down from a house a few doors higher up the
street, so now no more white flag signals are to be recognised. If they
want to surrender they must come out and take their own risks.
We asked N. if he knew what had happened to the ambulance that had two
men missing yesterday, and he told us they were in the act of entering
a Sinn Fein house to bring out wounded with two other men when the
ambulance came under such heavy fire that, as it contained one or two
other wounded men, it had to beat a retreat and moved off. Two of the
volunteer helpers ran after it and succeeded in reaching it and climbed
in, but the other two took refuge in the area, and N. did not know how
or when they were rescued. This is an instance of the extreme danger
that attends the ambulance work. The marvel is that the casualties are
so few.
Guinness's Brewery have made three splendid armoured cars by putting
great long boilers six feet in diameter on to their large motor
lorries. Holes are bored down the sides to let in air, and they are
painted grey. The driver sits inside too. They each carry twenty-two
men or a ton of food in absolute security. N. saw them at the Castle
being packed with men; nineteen got in packed like herrings, and three
remained outside. Up came the sergeant: "Now then, gentlemen, move up,
move up: the car held twenty-two yesterday; it must hold twenty-two
to-day"; and in the unfortunate three were stuffed. It must have been
suffocating, but they were taken to their positions in absolute safety.
_Saturday, 29th, 10 a.m._
Last night was an agitating one. The sniper was very active, and after
dinner several shots struck the annexe, one or two coming through the
windows, and one broke the glass roof of the bridge. Mr. B., who never
loses his head, decided to get all the people out of the annexe, with
staff (about forty people); and all we in the main building, whose
rooms look out on the back, were forbidden to have lights in our rooms
at all. There was such a strong feeling of uneasiness throughout the
hotel, and always the danger of its being set on fire, that about 10
p.m. H. said we must be prepared at any moment to leave the hotel if
necessary. So we went up to our room and in pitch darkness groped
about and collected a few things (F.'s miniature and the presentation
portrait of him, my despatch case with his letters, my fur coat, hat
and boots), and we took them down to the sitting-room, which H. uses
as an office, on the first floor. All the people in the hotel were
collected in the lounge, which is very large and faces the street, and
the whole of the back was in complete darkness. The firing quieted
down, and about 11.30 we crept up to our room and lay down in our
clothes. When dawn broke I got up and undressed and had two hours'
sleep. All the rest of the guests spent the night in the lounge.
This morning we hear an officer has been to say that the shots fired
into the hotel last night were fired by the military. People were
constantly pulling up their blinds for a moment with the lights on to
look at the city on fire, and the military have orders to fire on
anything that resembles signalling without asking questions.
Reliable news has come in this morning that nothing remains of the
G.P.O. but the four main walls and the great portico. It is absolutely
burnt out. The fires last night were terrible, but we dared not look
out. Eason's Library and all the shops and buildings between O'Connell
Bridge and the G.P.O. on both sides of Sackville Street are gone.
It is difficult to think of the position without intense bitterness,
though God knows it is the last thing one wishes for at such a time.
In pandering to Sir E. Carson's fanaticism and allowing him to raise
a body of 100,000 armed men for the sole purpose of rebellion and
provisional government the Government tied their own hands and rendered
it extremely difficult to stop the arming of another body of men, known
to be disloyal, but whose _avowed_ reason was the internal defence of
Ireland! In Ulster the wind was sown, and, my God, we have reaped the
whirlwind!
We hear that many of our wounded are being sent to Belfast, as the
hospitals here are crowded, and the food problem must soon become
acute. Mr. O'B. told me his ambulance picked up four wounded, three
men and a woman, and took them to the nearest hospital. The woman was
dying, so they stopped at a church and picked up a priest; arrived at
the hospital the authorities said they could not possibly take them in
as they had not enough food for those they had already taken, but when
they saw the condition of the woman they took her in to die, and the
others had to be taken elsewhere.
If the main walls of the G.P.O. remain standing it may be we shall find
the safe in H.'s room still intact. It was built into the wall, and
my jewel-case was in it, but all our silver, old engravings, and other
valuables were stored in the great mahogany cupboards when we gave up
our house in the autumn, as being the safest place in Dublin.
_4 p.m._
Sir M. N. has just rung up to say the rebels have surrendered
unconditionally. We have no details, and the firing continues in
various parts of the town. But if the leaders have surrendered it can
only be a question of a few hours before peace is restored, and we can
go forth and look on the wreck and desolation of this great city.
So ends, we hope, this appalling chapter in the history of
Ireland--days of horror and slaughter comparable only to the Indian
Mutiny. This seems a suitable place, dear G., to end this letter, and I
hope to start a happier one to-morrow.
Yours,
L. N.