which they have no protection. On Easter Monday they believed that
behind this sudden decision, as it appeared to them, something dark and
sinister was lurking. How else would we dare to revolt against the
British Empire? It was as if our men were not flesh and blood, but
spirits summoned up by their own bad conscience to take vengeance for
many centuries of misrule. It must have been some such feeling that
accounted for the way they lost, at the very outset, all their usual
military calm and ruthlessness.
We recognized this feeling, and it made our men stronger in spirit. We
were convinced of the justice of our cause, convinced that even dying
was a small matter compared with the privilege we now shared of fighting
for that cause. Besides, there was no traitor in our ranks. No one had
whispered a word of our plans to the British authorities. That is one
reason why our memory of Easter Week has in it something finer than the
memory of any other rising in the past. You must bear in mind that the
temptation to betray the rising must have been just as strong, that it
had in it just as much guarantee of security for the future, as
heretofore. Yet no one yielded to this temptation. Even more amazing was
the fact that the authorities had not paid any heed to those utterances
which for months past had been highly seditious. For instance, here is
what Padraic Pearse stated openly in one of his articles:
I am ready. For years I have waited and prayed for this day. We
have the most glorious opportunity that has ever presented itself
of really asserting ourselves. Such an opportunity will never come
again. We have Ireland's liberty in our hands. Or are we content to
remain as slaves and idly watch the final extermination of the
Gael?
Nothing could be more outspoken or direct. When it is remembered that
England's enemies have always been regarded as Ireland's allies; that an
English war, wherever fought, is a signal for us to rise once more, no
matter how many defeats we have suffered, it might have been supposed
the British, stationed in such numbers in and around Dublin, would not
have been put to sleep by what must have seemed, to the wary observer,
an acute attack of openness and a vigorous interest in military affairs.
There were some, of course, among the police and officials who made
their reports of "highly seditious" meetings and writings, but I suppose
the authorities did not believe we would strike. From America they
learned of aid to come by ship when Igel's papers were seized by United
States authorities. It may have been this information that put the
English patrol-boats on their guard in Tralee Harbor. It even may have
been thought that when that ship went down the rising was automatically
ended. So it might have been had our revolt been "made in Germany," but
it must be remembered that it was the Irish who approached the Germans.
Thus there was no anxiety in Dublin that Easter Monday except as to
which horse would win the Fairview races.
As soon as our men were in position in St. Stephen's Green, I rode off
down Leeson Street toward the Grand Canal to learn if the British
soldiers were now leaving Beggar's Bush or the Portobello barracks.
Everything remained quiet. That signified to me that our men had taken
possession of the post-office for headquarters and of all other premises
decided on in the revised plan of strategy adapted to a much smaller
army.
The names of these places do not sound martial. Jacob's Biscuit Factory,
Boland's Bakery, Harcourt Street Railway Station, and Four Courts are
common enough, but each had been chosen for the strategic advantage it
would give those defending Dublin with a few men against a great number.
The Dublin & Southeastern Railway yards, for example, gave control of
the approach from Kingstown where, it was expected, the English coming
over to Ireland would land.
Again I was sent out to learn if the Harcourt Street Station had been
occupied by our men. This had been done, and already telegraph wires
there, as well as elsewhere, had been cut to isolate Dublin. Telephone
wires were cut, too, but one was overlooked. By that wire word of the
rising reached London much sooner than otherwise would have been the
case. But here again, the wonder is not that something had been
overlooked, but that so much was accomplished. By the original plan,
volunteers were told off to do this wire-cutting and the hundred and one
things necessary to a revolt taking place in a city like Dublin. When
this work was redistributed to one third the original number of men, it
was hard to be certain that those who had never _drilled_ for the kind
of task assigned them could do it at all. This insurrection had been all
but rehearsed, during those months when it was being worked out on
paper, by daily and weekly drills.
Upon my return, I found our men intrenching themselves in St. Stephen's
Green. All carried tools with which to dig themselves in, and shrubbery
was used to protect the trenches. Motorcars and drays passing the Green
were commandeered, too, to form a barricade. Much to the bewilderment of
their occupants, who had no warning that anything was amiss in Dublin,
the men in green uniforms would signal them to stop. Except in one
instance, they did so quickly enough. Then they were told to get out. An
experienced chauffeur among our men would jump in at once and drive the
car to a position where it was needed. The occupants would stand for a
moment aghast, then take to their heels. One drayman refused his cart
and persisted in his refusal, not believing it when our men told him
this was war. He was shot. Two British officers were taken prisoners in
one of the autos. We could not afford men to stand guard over them, but
we took good care of them. Afterward they paid us the tribute of saying
that we obeyed all the rules of war.
Commandant Mallin gave me my first despatch to carry to headquarters at
the general post-office. As I crossed O'Connell Street, I had to ride
through great crowds of people who had gathered to hear Padraic Pearse
read the proclamation of the republic at the foot of Nelson's Pillar.
They had to scatter when the Fifth Lancers--the first of the military
forces to learn that insurgents had taken possession of the
post-office--rode in among them to attack the post-office.
[Illustration: 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 tradition of nationhood. Ireland,
through us, summons her children to her flag and strikes for her
freedom.
Having organised and trained her manhood through her secret
revolutionary organisation, the Irish Republican Brotherhood, and
through her open military organisations, 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 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,
or 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
no one 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 Mac DIARMADA,
THOMAS MacDONAGH,
P. H. PEARSE,
EAMONN CEANNT,
JAMES CONNOLLY,
JOSEPH PLUNKETT.
THE PROCLAMATION OF THE IRISH REPUBLIC
(All of its signers were executed)]
Nothing can give one a better idea of how demoralized the British were
by the first news of the rising than to learn that they sent cavalry to
attack a fortified building. Men on horseback stood no chance against
rifle-fire from the windows of the post-office. It must be said in
extenuation, however, that it probably was because this cavalry
detachment had just convoyed some ammunition-wagons to a place not far
from O'Connell Street, and so were sent to "scatter" men who, they
supposed, could be put to flight by the mere appearance of regulars on
horseback.
When I reached the open space in front of the post-office, I saw two or
three men and horses lying in the street, killed by the first volley
from the building. It was several days before these horses were taken
away, and there was something in the sight of the dumb beasts that hurt
me every time I had to pass them. It may sound harsh when I say that the
thought of British soldiers being killed in the same way did not awaken
similar feelings. That is because for many centuries we have been
harassed by men in British uniform. They have become to us symbols of a
power that seems to delight in tyranny.
Even while I was cycling toward the post-office, the crowd had
reassembled to watch the raising of the flag of the Irish Republic. As
the tricolor--green, white, and orange--appeared above the roof of the
post-office, a salute was fired. A few days later, while it was still
waving, James Connolly wrote: "For the first time in seven hundred years
the flag of a free Ireland floats triumphantly over Dublin City!"
Mr. Connolly and a few of his officers came out to look at it as it
waved up there against the sky. I saw an old woman go up to him and,
bending her knee, kiss his hand. Indeed, the people loved and trusted
him.
Inside the post-office our men were busy putting things to right after
the lancers' attack. They were getting ready for prolonged resistance.
Window-panes were smashed, and barricades set up to protect men who soon
would be shooting from behind them. Provisions were brought over from
Liberty Hall, where they had long been stored against this day. But what
impressed me most was the way the men went at it, as though this was the
usual sort of thing to be doing and all in the day's work. There was no
sign of excitement, but there was a tenseness, a sense of expectancy, a
kind of exaltation, that was almost more than I could bear.
I delivered my despatch, and was given another to carry back to
Commandant Mallin. Crowds were still in O'Connell Street when I left on
my errand. They were always there when bullets were not flying, and
always seemed in sympathy with the men in the post-office. I found this
same sympathy all over the city wherever I went. Even when men would not
take guns and join us, they were friendly.
The soldiers from Portobello barracks were sent out twice on Monday to
attack our position in St. Stephen's Green. The first time was at noon,
before we were completely intrenched. They had gone only as far as
Portobello Bridge, but a few rods from the barracks, when they were
fired on from the roof of Davies's public-house just the other side of
the bridge. Our rifle-fire was uninterrupted, and a number of the
soldiers fell. They probably thought they were dealing with a
considerable force, for they did not advance until the firing ceased or
until word was brought to the _three men_ on the roof that we were
securely intrenched. Even then they did not come on to attack us, but
went somewhere else in the city.
At six o'clock that evening, just when it was beginning to grow dusk, on
my way back from the post-office I noticed that the crowd of curious
civilians who had been hanging about the Green all day had quite
disappeared. The next thing I saw was two persons hurrying away from the
Green. These were Town Councilor Partridge and the countess. They came
to a halt in the street just ahead of me. Then I saw the British
soldiers coming up Harcourt Street!
The countess stood motionless, waiting for them to come near. She was a
lieutenant in the Irish Volunteers and, in her officer's uniform and
black hat with great plumes, looked most impressive. At length she
raised her gun to her shoulder--it was an "automatic" over a foot long,
which she had converted into a short rifle by taking out the wooden
holster and using it as a stock--and took aim. Neither she nor Partridge
noticed me as I came up behind them. I was quite close when they fired.
The shots rang out at the same moment, and I saw the two officers
leading the column drop to the street. As the countess was taking aim
again, the soldiers, without firing a shot, turned and ran in great
confusion for their barracks. The whole company fled as fast as they
could from _two_ people, one of them a woman! When you consider,
however, that for years these soldiers had been going about Dublin as if
they owned it; that now they did not know from what house or street
corner they might be fired upon by men in green uniforms, it is not to
be wondered at that they were temporarily demoralized.
As we went back to the Green, Madam told me of the attempt made that
morning by herself, Sean Connolly, and ten others to enter Dublin Castle
and plant the flag of the Irish republic on the roof of that stronghold
of British power in Ireland. There always is a considerable military
force housed in the castle, but so completely were they taken by
surprise that for a few moments it seemed as if the small group would
succeed in entering. It was only when their leader, Sean Connolly, was
shot dead that the attempt was abandoned. It seemed to me particularly
fitting that Madam had been a member of this party, for she belonged by
"right of birth" to those who always were invited to social affairs at
the castle. Yet she had long refused to accept these invitations, and
had taken the side of those who hoped for the ultimate withdrawal of
those Dublin Castle hosts.
Immediately after this gallant attempt, which might have succeeded had
it taken place on Sunday with the number of men originally intended,
Madam returned to St. Stephen's Green and alone and single-handed took
possession of the College of Surgeons. This is a big, square, granite
building on the west side of the Green. It was, as we later discovered,
impregnable. For all impression they made, the machine-gun bullets with
which the British soldiers peppered it for five days might have been
dried peas.
The countess, fortunately, had met with no resistance. She walked up the
steps, rang the bell, and, when no one answered, fired into the lock
and entered. The flag we flew from the roof of the building was a small
one I had brought on my bicycle from headquarters.
VII
We were all happy that night as we camped in St. Stephen's Green.
Despite the handicap we were under through lack of men, almost
everything was going our way. It was a cold, damp night. The first-aid
and despatch-girls of our command went into a summer-house for shelter.
It had no walls, but there was a floor to lie upon, and a roof. I slept
at once and slept heavily.
Madam was not so fortunate. She was too tired and excited to sleep.
Instead, she walked about, looking for some sheltered place and, to get
out of the wind, tried lying down in one of the trenches. But the ground
was much too chilly, so she walked about until she noticed the
motor-car of her friend, Dr. Katherine Lynn, seized that morning for the
barricade. She climbed in, found a rug, and went to sleep in comparative
comfort. When morning came she could not forgive herself for having
slept there all night while the rest of us remained outdoors. She had
intended to get up after an hour or two of it and make one of us take
her place. She did not waken, however, till she heard the hailing of
machine-gun bullets on the roof of the car. The girls in the
summer-house, with the exception of myself, were awakened at the same
moment in the same way, and ran for safety behind one of the
embankments. It seems the British had taken possession of a hotel at one
side of the Green--the Hotel Shelbourne--and had placed a machine-gun on
the roof. At four o'clock in the morning they began firing.
The chill I was having woke me, but I quickly followed the others to
their hiding-place. From the first we were aware that had we taken
possession of all buildings around the Green, according to our original
plan, this morning salute of the British would have been impossible. As
it was, our intrenchments and barricades proved of no avail. We realized
at once we should have to evacuate the Green and retire into the College
of Surgeons.
Commandant Mallin sent me with a despatch to headquarters. He recognized
immediately that a regiment could not hold the Green against a
machine-gun on a tall building that could rake our position easily.
As soon as I returned, I was sent away again to bring in sixteen men
guarding the Leeson Street bridge. If we abandoned the Green before
they could join us, they would be cut off and in great danger. As I rode
along on my bicycle, I had my first taste of the risks of
street-fighting. Soldiers on top of the Hotel Shelbourne aimed their
machine-gun directly at me. Bullets struck the wooden rim of my bicycle
wheels, puncturing it; others rattled on the metal rim or among the
spokes. I knew one might strike me at any moment, so I rode as fast as I
could. My speed saved my life, and I was soon out of range around a
corner. I was not exactly frightened nor did I feel aware of having
shown any special courage. My anxiety for the men I was to bring in
filled my mind, for though I was out of range, unless we could find a
roundabout way to the College of Surgeons seventeen of us would be under
fire. To make matters worse, the men were on foot.
After I reached this group and gave the order for their return, I
scouted ahead up streets I knew would bring us back safely to the
college, unless already guarded by the British. It was while I was
riding ahead of them that I had fresh evidence of the friendliness of
the people. Two men presently approached me. They stepped out into the
street and said quietly:
"All is safe ahead."
I rode back, told the guard, and we moved on more rapidly. At another
spot a woman leaned out of her window just as I was passing. "You are
losing your revolver," she called to me.
She may have saved my life by that warning, for my revolver had torn its
way through the pocket of my raincoat, and, in another moment, would
have fallen to the ground. Had it been discharged, the result might
have been fatal.
As we came to the College of Surgeons and were going in by a side door,
the men were just retiring from the Green. Since every moment counted, I
had ridden ahead to report to Commandant Mallin, and while he stood
listening to me, a bullet whizzed through his hat. He took it off,
looked at it without comment, and put it on again. Evidently the
machine-gun was still at work.
One of our boys was killed before we got inside the College of Surgeons.
Had the British gunners been better trained for their task, we might
have lost more, for we were completely at their mercy from the moment
they began to fire at dawn until the big door of the college closed, and
we took up the defense of our new position in the great stone fortress.
Every time I left the college, I was forced to run the gauntlet of this
machine-gun. I blessed the enemy's bad marksmanship several times a day.
To be sure, they tried hard enough to hit something. Once that day I saw
them shooting at our first-aid girls, who made excellent targets in
their white dresses, with large red crosses on them. It was a miracle
that none of them was wounded. Bullets passed through one girl's skirt,
and another girl had the heel of her shoe shot off. If I myself had not
seen this happen, I could not have believed that British soldiers would
disobey the rules of war concerning the Red Cross.
Mr. Connolly had issued orders that no soldier was to be shot who did
not have arms, and he did not consider the side-arms they always
carried as "arms." My revolver had been given me for self-defense in
case I fell into the hands of any soldiers. I confess that, though I
never used it, I often felt tempted when I saw British soldiers going
along in twos and threes, bent on shooting any of our men. I was not in
uniform, however, and had had orders not to shoot except thus clothed
and so a member of the Republican Army.
Some of the streets I had to ride through were as quiet and peaceful as
if there was no thought of revolution in Dublin, but in others I could
hear now and then scattered shots from around some corner. It was more
than likely that snipers were trying to hold up a force of British on
their way to attack one of our main positions. Sometimes I would hear
the rattle of a machine-gun, and this warned me that I was approaching
a house where the enemy was raking a position held by our men.
Generally, however, it was the complete and death-like emptiness of a
street that warned me I was close to a scene of hot fighting. This was
not always so, for there were times when the curiosity of the crowd got
the better of its caution, and it would push dangerously near the
shooting.
Several days elapsed before the people of Dublin became fully aware of
the meaning of what was going on. Riots are not rare, and this might
well seem to many of them only rioting on a large scale, with some new
and interesting features. The poor of Dublin have never been appeased
with bread or circuses by the British authorities. They have had to be
content with starvation and an occasional street disturbance. But little
by little, as I rode along, I could detect a change in attitude. Some
became craven and disappeared; in others, it seemed that at last their
souls might come out of hiding and face the day.
The spirit at the post-office was always the same--quiet, cheerful, and
energetic. I used to stand at the head of the great central staircase
waiting for answers to my despatches and could see the leaders as they
went to and fro through the corridor. Padraic Pearse impressed me by his
natural air of command. He was serious, but not troubled, not even when
he had to ask for men from the Citizen Army to eke out the scant numbers
of his Volunteers for some expedition. No one had thought it would be
that way, for the Volunteers were originally two to one compared with
the Citizen Army. Recruits were coming in every day, but at the most
there were not fifteen hundred men against twenty thousand British
soldiers stationed in or near Dublin.
Whenever there came a lull in business or fighting, the men would begin
to sing either rebel songs or those old lays dear to Irishmen the world
over. And sometimes they knelt in prayer, Protestants and Catholics side
by side. From the very beginning there was a sense of the religious
character in what we were doing. This song and prayer at the post-office
were all natural, devoid of self-consciousness. A gay song would follow
a solemn prayer, and somehow was not out of harmony with it.