[Frontispiece: JAMES CONNOLLY]
THE
IRISH REBELLION _of_ 1916
OR
THE UNBROKEN TRADITION
BY
NORA CONNOLLY
BONI AND LIVERIGHT
NEW YORK
Copyright, 1918,
Copyright, 1919,
By Boni & Liveright, Inc.
_Printed in the United States of America_
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
James Connolly ...... Frontispiece
Countess Markievietz
Thomas J. Clarke
The Proclamation of the Provisional Government issued at the G.P.O.
on Monday, April 24, 1917
John McDermott
Nora Connolly
Liberty Hall
Joseph Plunkett
Thomas Macdonagh
Eoin MacNeill
Patrick H. Pearse
Eamonn Ceannt
MAPS
The Journey from Belfast to Leek
The Journey from Dundalk to Dublin
Map of Dublin
{vii}
INTRODUCTION
There have been many attempts to explain the revolution which took
place in Ireland during Easter Week, 1916. And all of them give
different reasons. Some have it that it was caused by the resentment
that grew out of the Dublin Strike of 1912-13; others, that it was
the threatened Ulster rebellion, and there are many other equally
wrong explanations. All these writers ignore the main fact that the
Revolution was caused by the English occupation of Ireland.
So many people not conversant with Irish affairs ask: Why a
revolution? Why was it necessary to appeal to arms? Why was it
necessary to risk death and imprisonment for the self-government of
Ireland? They say that there was already in existence an Act for the
Self-government of Ireland, that it had been passed through the
English House of Commons, and that if we had waited till the end of
the war we would have been given an opportunity to govern ourselves.
That they are not {viii} conversant with Irish affairs must be their
excuse for thinking in that manner of our struggle for freedom.
To be able to think and to speak thus one must first recognize the
right of the English to govern Ireland, for only by so doing can we
logically accept any measure of self-government from England.
And we cannot do so, for, as a nation Ireland has never recognized
England as her conqueror, but as her antagonist, as an enemy that
must be fought. And this attitude has succeeded in keeping the soul
of Ireland alive and free.
For the conquest of a nation is never complete till its soul submits,
and the submission of the soul of a nation to the conqueror makes its
slavery and subjection more sure. But the soul of Ireland has never
submitted. And sometimes when the struggle seemed hopeless, and
sacrifice useless, and there was thought to make truce with the foe,
the voice of the soul of Ireland spoke and urged the nation once more
to resist. And the voice of the soul of Ireland has the clangor of
battle.
There have been many attempts to drown the voice of the soul of
Ireland ever since the {ix} coming of the English into our country.
There have been some who have had the God-given gift of leadership,
but still sought to misinterpret the sound of the voice; who in
shutting their ears to the call for battle have helped to fasten the
shackles of slavery more securely on their country.
There was Daniel O'Connell who possessed the divine gift of
leadership and oratory, and in whose tones the people recognized the
voice of Ireland and flocked around him. During the agitation for
the Repeal of the union between Ireland and England the people
followed O'Connell and waited for him to give the word. Never for
one moment did they believe that the movement was merely a
constitutional one. Sensibly enough they knew that speeches,
meetings and cheers would never win for them the freedom of their
country. They knew that force alone would compel England to forego
her hold upon any of her possessions.
So that when in 1844 O'Connell sent out the call bidding all the
people of Ireland to muster at Clontarf, outside Dublin, they
believed that the day had come, and from North, South, East and West
they started on the journey. Those {x} who lived in the West and
South traveled the distance in all sorts of conveyances, many of
them, especially the poorer ones, walked the distance; but the
trouble, the weariness, the hardship were all ignored by them in the
knowledge that they were once more mustering to do battle for the
freedom of their country.
But in the meantime, while the people were making all speed to obey
the summons of O'Connell, the meeting had been proclaimed by the
British Government; and the place of muster was lined with regiments
of soldiers with artillery with orders to mow down the people if they
attempted to approach the meeting place. Then it was that O'Connell
failed the people of Ireland, and rung the knell for the belief of
the Irish people in constitutionalism. He said, "All the freedom in
the world is not worth one drop of human blood," and commanded the
people to obey the order of the British Government and to return to
their homes.
There are many pitiful, heart-breaking stories told of the manner in
which this command of O'Connell reached the people. Many who had
walked miles upon miles reached the outskirts of Dublin only to meet
the people {xi} pouring out of it. When in return to their questions
they were told that it was the request of O'Connell that they return
to their homes, the heart within them broke for they knew that their
idol had failed them, and their hopes of freeing Ireland were
shattered.
Within the Repeal Association there was another organization called
the Young Irelanders, which published a paper called _The Nation_.
This paper was an immense factor in arousing and keeping alive a firm
nationalist opinion in Ireland. The Young Irelanders were
revolutionists, and by their writings counseled the people to adopt
military uniforms, to study military tactics, to march to and from
the meetings in military order. They made no secret of their belief
that the freedom of Ireland must be won by force of arms.
During the famine in 1847, when the people were dying by the
hundreds, although there was enough food to feed them, the Young
Irelanders worked untiringly to save the people. At that time
potatoes were the staple food of the people, everything else they
raised, corn, pigs, cattle, etc., had to be sold to pay the terrible
rackrents. The Young Irelanders called upon the people to keep the
food in the country {xii} and save themselves; but day by day more
food was shipped from the starving country to England; there to be
turned into money to pay the grasping landlords. It was during this
time that John Mitchell was arrested and transported for life to Van
Diemen's land.
In 1848 there was an ill-fated attempt at insurrection. Even in the
midst of famine and death, with the people dying daily by the
roadside, there was still the belief that only by an appeal to force
and arms could anything be wrung from England. In Tipperary, under
Smith O'Brien, the attempt was made, more as a protest then, for
famine, death, and misery had thinned the ranks, than with any hopes
of winning anything. Most of the leaders were soon arrested and four
of them were sentenced to be hanged, drawn, and quartered; but this
sentence was afterwards commuted to life imprisonment.
For many years after the famine the people were quiescent, and had
grown quite uncaring about Parliamentary representation. And then
was formed a revolutionary secret society calling itself the Fenians.
The members of this organization were pledged to work for, and, when
the time came, to fight for and }xiii} establish, an Irish Republic.
James Stephens was the chief organizer. The organization spread
through Ireland like wildfire. Even the English Army and Navy were
honeycombed with it. Every means possible were taken by the English
to cope with this new revolutionary movement--but they failed. The
organization decided that a Rising would take place in February,
1867. This was later postponed; but unfortunately the word did not
reach the South in time and Kerry rose. The word spread over Ireland
that Kerry was up in arms. Measures were taken by the English to
meet the insurrectionists, but before they reached the South the men
had learned that the date of the rising had been postponed and had
returned to their homes. Luby, O'Leary, Kickham, and O'Donovan Rossa
were arrested. Still the Rising took place on the appointed date,
although doomed to failure owing to the crippling of the organization
by the arrest of its leaders, and the lack of arms. Even the
elements were against the revolutionists, for a snowstorm, heavier
than any of the oldest could remember having seen, fell and covered
the country in great drifts.
They failed. But the teaching of the {xiv} Fenians and the
organization they founded are alive to-day. It was the members of
this organization that first started the Irish Volunteers. Ever on
the watch for a ripe moment to come out and work openly, ever longing
for the day when military instruction could be given to the
nationalist youth, they seized upon the fact that if the Ulster
Volunteers were permitted to drill and arm themselves to fight the
English Government so could they. And in November, 1913, they called
a meeting in the Rotunda, Dublin, and invited the men and women of
Ireland to join the Irish Volunteers, and pledge themselves "to
maintain and secure the rights and liberties common to all the people
of Ireland."
So once more the people of Ireland heard the call to arms, and right
royally they answered it. The Irish Volunteer Organization spread
throughout the land, and the youth of Ireland were being trained in
the art of soldiering.
Then it was that, like Daniel O'Connell and other constitutional
leaders, Redmond proved himself of the body and not the soul of
Ireland. He did not follow the example of Parnell, whose follower he
was supposed to be, and use the threat of this large physical force
party to {xv} gain his ends from the English Government. Parnell
used to say to the British House of Commons: "If you do not listen to
me, there is a large band of physical force men, with whom I have no
influence, and upon whom I have no control, and _they_ will compel
you to listen to them." But Redmond, jealous of all parties outside
his own (knowing well that when an Irishman had a rifle in his hands
he no longer felt subservient to, or feared England; and that when
the people of Ireland had the means to demand the freedom of their
country they grew impatient of speech-making and petitioning), grew
fearful for the loss of power of the Irish Parliamentary Party.
He knew also, that, as in the days of O'Connell, Butt, and Parnell,
the people firmly believed that all the talk and show of
constitutionalism was a blind, merely a throwing of dust in the eyes
of the English Government, and to save himself and his Party he must
approve this physical Force party. But not content with approval he
needs must try to capture the Irish Volunteers. This attempt, I
firmly believe, was made upon the advice, or the command of the
British Government. He sent a demand to the Executive Committee
{xvi} that a number of his appointees be received upon the Committee.
This would enable him to know and obstruct all measures made by the
Irish Volunteers and would prevent the loss of power of the
Parliamentary Party.
By the votes of a small majority of the Committee these appointees
were accepted. But the Committee soon found out that it was
impossible to arm and prepare men for a revolution against a
government, while the paid servants of that government were amongst
them. They decided to part company even at the risk of a division in
the ranks. They knew that every man who remained with them could be
depended upon to do his part when the time for the Rising came.
Then England went to war. Shortly before this a Home Rule Bill had
passed two readings in the House of Commons. England saw the
stupidity of appealing to Irishmen to go to fight for the freedom of
small nationalities, while any measure of freedom was denied to their
own. So the Home Rule Bill passed the final reading in the House of
Commons, and was put upon the Statute Book. Then fearful of the
dissatisfaction of the Unionists an amendment was tacked on {xvii}
that prevented its going into effect until after the war.
John Redmond dealt the final blow to his influence upon Ireland when
he began to recruit for the English Army. Many of his followers,
taking his word that Home Rule was now a fact entered the English
Army at his request. They were, in the main, young, foolish, and
ignorant fellows unable to analyze the Bill for themselves, and
therefore could not know that the so-called Home Rule was a farce.
They did not know that the Bill gave them no power over the revenue,
over the Post Office, over the Royal Irish Constabulary, that they
could not raise an army, or impose a tax, and that no law passed by
the Irish Parliament could go into effect until the English House of
Commons had given its approval. It was like telling a prisoner that
he was free and keeping him in durance.
And from the beginning of the war the Irish Volunteers spent all the
time they could in intensive drilling, not knowing at what time their
hand might be forced, or the opportune moment for the Rising might
arrive.
For in Ireland we have the unbroken tradition of struggle for our
freedom. Every {xviii} generation has seen blood spilt, and
sacrifice cheerfully made that the tradition might live.
Our songs call us to battle, or mourn the lost struggle; our stories
are of glorious victory and glorious defeat. And it is through them
the tradition has been handed down till an Irish man or woman has no
greater dream of glory than that of dying
"A Soldier's death so Ireland's free."
{1}
THE IRISH REBELLION OF 1916
OR
THE UNBROKEN TRADITION
I
My first mingling with an actively, openly drilling revolutionary
body took place during the Dublin strike of 1912-1913. I was living
in Belfast then and had come to Dublin to see how things were
managed, how the food was being distributed and the kitchens run;
and, in fact, to feel the spirit of the people.
James Connolly, my father, was at that time in Dublin assisting James
Larkin to direct the strike. He was my pilot. Liberty Hall, the
headquarters of the Irish Transport and General Workers Union, the
members of which were on strike, was first visited. It is situated
on Beresford Place facing the Custom House and the River Liffey. In
the early part of the nineteenth century it had been a Chop House.
Almost from the big front door a wide staircase starts. It ends at
the second story. From there it branches out into {2} innumerable
corridors thickly studded with doors. It took me a long time to
master those corridors. Always I seemed to be finding new ones.
Downstairs on the first floor were the theater and billiard rooms;
and below them were the kitchens. During the strike these kitchens
were used to prepare food for the strikers. It was to the kitchens
my father first piloted me.
Here the Countess de Markieviez reigned supreme--all meals were
prepared under her direction. There were big tubs on the floor;
around each were about half a dozen girls peeling potatoes and other
vegetables. There were more girls at tables cutting up meat. The
Countess kept up a steady march around the boilers as she supervised
the cooking. She took me to another kitchen where more delicate food
was being prepared for nursing and expectant mothers.
"We used to give the food out at first," she said. "But in almost
every case we found that it had been divided amongst the family. Now
we have the women come here to eat. We are sure then that they are
getting something sufficiently nourishing to keep up their strength."
She showed me a hall with a long table in the {3} center and chairs
around it. As it was near the "Mothers' dinner hour," as the girls
called it, some of the striking women and girls were there to act as
waitresses.
We came to the clothing shop next. Some persons had caught the idea
of sending warm clothing for the wives and children of the strikers;
accordingly one of the rooms of Liberty Hall was turned into an
alteration room. Several women and girls were working from morning
to night altering the clothes to fit the applicants. One of the
girls said to me, "It was a wonder to us at first the number of
strikers who had extra large families, until we found out that in
many cases their wives had adopted a youngster or two for the day,
and brought them along to get clothed." Not strictly honest,
perhaps, but how human to wish to share their little bit of good
fortune with those not so fortunate as themselves. How many little
boys and girls knew for the first time in their lives the feel of
warm stockings and shoes, and how many little girls had the delicious
thrill of getting a new dress fitted on.
Thence to Croyden Park. Some time before the strike this immensely
big place had {4} been taken over by the Union. I do not know how
large it was but there were fields and fields, and long pathways
edged with trees. It was used by the members as a football ground
and for hurley and all sorts of sports and games. But this time the
fields were ringed round with men and women watching the rows and
rows of strikers who were in the fields, marching now to the right,
now to the left at the commands of Captain White, who stood in the
center, a tall soldierly figure blowing a whistle and gesticulating
with great fervor.
Back and forth, right and left they marched with never a moment's
rest; then round and round the fields they ran at the double; the
Captain now at the head, now at the rear, now in the center shouting
commands incessantly, sparing himself no more than the men. I
remember once he stopped beside my father and myself; he was in a
terrible rage, his hands were clenched and he was fairly gnashing his
teeth. He had given a signal to one of the columns and they had
misinterpreted it.
"Easy now, Captain," said my father, "remember they are only
volunteers." Captain White turned like a flash.
"Yes," he said. "And aren't they great?" {5} And he forgot his rage
in his admiration of the men of a few weeks' training. He gave an
order, the men marched past and at a given place they received broom
handles with which they practiced rifle drill.
After rifle drill came the line up for the march home. We waited
till the last row was filing past and then fell in and marched back
to the city with the Irish Citizen Army. It was exhilarating. At no
period could I see the first part of the Army. The men and boys were
whistling tunes to serve them in lieu of bands. On they swung to
Beresford Place, where they lined up in front of Liberty Hall. Jim
Larkin and my father spoke to them from the windows. When one man
called out, "We'll stick by you to the end," he was loudly and
heartily cheered. Captain White gave the order of dismissal and the
men broke ranks but did not go away. When they were not drilling, or
sleeping, or eating, they thronged round Liberty Hall, attesting that
"where the heart lieth there turneth the feet."
When the strike was over and the men had won the right to organize,
the membership of the Irish Citizen Army dwindled rapidly. When one
takes into consideration the arduous {6} work and the long hours that
comprised the daily round of these men, the wonder was that there
were so many of them willing to meet after working hours to be
drilled into perfect soldiers. But they knew that by so doing they
were, in the words of my father, "signifying their adhesion to the
principle that the freedom of a people must in the last analysis rest
in the hands of that people--that there is no outside force capable
of enforcing slavery upon a people really resolved to be free, and
valuing freedom more than life." Also that "The Irish Citizen Army
in its constitution pledges its members to fight for a Republican
Freedom in Ireland. Its members are, therefore, of the number who
believe that at the call of duty they may have to lay down their
lives for Ireland, and have so trained themselves that at the worst
the laying down of their lives shall constitute the starting point of
another glorious tradition--a tradition that will keep alive the soul
of the nation." And this was the knowledge that lightened all the
labor of drilling and soldiering.
I was present at a lecture given to them by their Commandant, James
Connolly. It was on the art of street fighting. I remember the {7}
close attention every man paid to the lecture and the interest they
displayed in the diagrams drawn on the board the better to explain
his meaning. At the close of the lecture he asked, "Are there any
questions?" There were many questions, all of them to the effect,
whether it would not be better to do it this way, or could we not get
better results that way. All in deadly earnestness, thinking only on
how the best results might be achieved and not one man commenting on
the danger to life the acts would surely entail. That one would have
to risk death was taken for granted. Their one thought was how to
get the most work done before death came.
A few months later there were maneuvers between one company of the
Irish Citizen Army and a company of the Irish Volunteers. The Irish
Volunteers had been formed after the Irish Citizen Army and by this
time had spread over the length and breadth of Ireland. While the
Irish Citizen Army admitted none but union men the Irish Volunteers
made no such distinction. And as they both had the one ideal of a
Republican Ireland there was much friendly rivalry between the two
bodies. This time the maneuvers took the form of a {8} sham battle,
which took place at Ticknock about six miles outside of Dublin. The
Irish Citizen Army won the day. I particularly remember that
afternoon. My father came into the house, tired but pleasantly
excited--he had been an onlooker at the sham battle. "I've
discovered a great military man," he said in high glee. "The way he
handled his men positively amounted to genius. Do you know him--his
name is Mallin?"
I did not know him then. I met him later when he was my father's
Chief of Staff. During the rising he was Commandant in charge of the
St. Stephen's Green Division of the Army of the Irish Republic, and
he was executed during that dreadful time following the surrender of
the Irish Republican Army.
{9}
II
During the month of July, 1914, I was camping out on the Dublin
mountains. The annual convention of Na Fianna Eireann (Irish
National Boy Scouts) had just been held, and I was a delegate to it
from the Belfast Girls' Branch, of which I was the president. On the
Sunday following the convention we were still camping out; but were
suffering all the discomforts of blowy, rainy, stormy weather.
Madame (the Countess de Markievicz) had a cottage beside the field
where we were encamped, and it was thronged with us all that Sunday.
Nothing would tempt us out in the field that night, and we kept
putting off the retiring time, hour by hour, till it was nearly
twelve o'clock. At that time we had just taken our courage in both
hands, and were forcing ourselves to go out to our tents. We were
standing near the door with our bedding in our arms when some of the
Fianna boys halloed from outside. We {10} gladly opened the
door--another excuse for putting off the evil moment--and about half
a dozen boys came in to the cottage. They were in great spirits,
although they had tramped some miles in the rain, and exhibited
strange looking clubs to our curious eyes.
"Guess what we've been doing to-day, Madame," they said, but with an
expression on their faces which said, "you'll never guess."
"It's too much trouble to guess," said Madame. "Tell us what it was
and we will know all the quicker."
"We've been helping to run in three thousand rifles."
"Rifles--where--quick--tell me all about it. Quick."
"At Howth. But did you hear nothing about it?"
"Nothing. Tell me quick."
"Did you not hear that we had a brush with the soldiers; and that
some were shot and some were killed?"
"No--no. Begin at the beginning and tell us the whole story."
"Well, during the week we were told to report at a certain place
to-day--that there was important work to be done. This morning we
{11} met as we were told, and we were shown these clubs. They were
to be all the arms we were to have. We started out to march with the
Volunteers to Howth. We knew, somehow or other, that we were going
to get rifles but none of us knew for a fact how we were going to get
them. As we marched we made all sorts of guesses as to how the
rifles were coming. Of course, we did not carry the clubs in our
hands; we brought them with us in the trek cart. But for a few
others we were the only ones who knew what was in the cart. And do
you know, Madame," he said with a veteran's pride, "we marched better
than the Volunteers."
"When we came near Howth," said another boy as he took up the story,
"two chaps came running towards us and told us to come on at the
double. The Volunteers were rather tired but when they heard the
word 'rifles' they simply raced. When we arrived at the harbor we
saw the rifles being unloaded from a yacht. You ought to have heard
the cheers when we saw them! Then it was that the clubs were
distributed. They were given to a picked body of men and they were
formed across the entrance to the pier. They were to use the clubs
{12} if the police attempted to interfere with them. The rifles were
handed out to the men, but there were more rifles than men so some
had to be sent into the city in automobiles. Most of the ammunition
was sent into the city in automobiles but quite a lot was put into
the trek cart. But none was served out to the men."
"That was a nice thing to do," said the first boy, "to give rifles
and no ammunition. And when we were attacked we couldn't shoot back.
We had a fight with the soldiers and the police near the city. And
when the soldiers and the police attacked us and might have taken the
trek cart from us, we had only the butts of our rifles to defend it
with. But we beat them off. Later on, though, they took their
revenge when they shot down defenseless women and children. They
just knelt down in the middle of Bachelor's Walk and fired into the
crowd. I don't know how many were killed--some say five, some say
more."
"But you brought the rifles safe," said Madame.
"The whole city is excited. The people are walking up and down the
streets, they don't seem to think that they have any homes to go to."
[Illustration: COUNTESS MARKIEVIETZ]
{13}
When we heard that we wanted to dress and go down to Dublin. We
wanted a share of the excitement, if we had not had any share in the
fight. But Madame vetoed that suggestion almost as soon as it was
mooted. We had to go to bed. But we had so much to talk about that
we scarcely noticed the sogging wet tent when we were inside.
The next morning was gloriously fine. We breakfasted and were making
plans to go into the city to hear some more about yesterday's
exploit. Madame had already cycled in, and we were left to our own
devices. We had not quite finished our work around the camp when we
saw a taxi-cab stopping near the gate that was used as an entrance to
the field. As we ran towards it we wondered what had brought it
there. Before we reached it, however, one of the Fianna captains had
jumped out of the taxi and was coming towards us.
"I have about twenty rifles in the car, and I want to get them to
Madame's cottage," he said. "Will you help?"
We were glad of the opportunity. We jumped over the hedge into the
next field where there were no houses, and had the rifles handed to
us. We could only carry two at a time. The {14} captain stood at
the car on the lookout, and also handed the rifles to us. We carried
the rifles down to the window back of Madame's cottage, and when we
had them all there one of us went inside to open the window to take
the rifles from the other girls as they handed them through. We were
delighted to handle the arms.
Later on one of the neighbors said that it was wrong to leave the
rifles there. "There is a retired sergeant of the police who lives a
little way up the road and he wouldn't be above telling about them."
This rather frightened us. If the police came and took them from us,
what could we do? I decided to go in to Dublin and go to the
Volunteer office and tell them about the rifles. When I had told
about the rifles two of the men present accompanied me back to the
camp to take the rifles from there.
We set off in another taxi and arrived at the camp before there was
any sign of the police becoming active. All the rifles were carried
out again and put in the taxi. When they were all in it, it was
suggested that we should get into the taxi and sit on top of the
rifles. The police would be less suspicious of a taxi {15} with
girls in it. It was not a very comfortable seat that we had on that
trip to Dublin. But the rifles were saved. When we got back to the
office I offered to sit in any taxi with the rifles if they thought
it would divert attention. I sat on quite a number of rifles that
day. And at the end of the day I had a rifle of my own.
In the meantime, the bodies of those who had been shot by the
soldiers were laid out and brought to the Cathedral. Preparations
were made for a public funeral to honor the victims of English
soldiery in Ireland. All the Volunteers were to march in honor of
the dead, and the local trades unions, the Irish Citizen Army, the
Cumami na mBan, the Fianna, and as many of the citizens of Dublin as
desired to do so. The Fintan Lalor Pipe Band, connected with the
Irish Transport and General Workers Union, were to play the Dead
March. And there was to be a firing party of the Irish Volunteers
who were to use the rifles that had so soon been the cause of
bloodshed.
I spent all the day of the funeral making wreaths. The funeral was
not to take place till the evening so as to permit all who wished to
attend to do so. The Fianna boys went round to the different
florists asking for {16} flowers to make wreaths to place on the
graves of the dead. And they were richly rewarded. Every florist
they went to gave bunches and bunches of their best flowers, and
these the boys brought to Madame's house. Madame and I, and two or
three other girls, worked continually all during the afternoon
turning the flowers into wreaths. When we had finished we had
seventeen glorious big wreaths. Just before six we piled into an
automobile, some of the boys in Gaelic costume stood on the running
board. The saffron and green of the kilts and the many wreaths made
quite an artistic dash of color when we arrived at Beresford Place to
have our place assigned to us.
The bodies of the five victims were removed from the Cathedral and
placed in the hearses. Behind each one walked the chief mourners.
Much interest was aroused by the sight of a soldier in the English
uniform, who marched, weeping openly, after one of the hearses. He
had joined the English Army and had promised to protect the English
King, and now the soldiers of that king had shot and killed his
innocent defenseless mother.
Dublin was profoundly moved as the funeral cortege passed through the
city. Thousands {17} upon thousands marched to the cemetery after
the hearses, and thousands more lined the streets. They were
attesting their sympathy with the families of the dead, and their
realization that England still intended to rule Ireland with the
rifle and the bullet.
The firing party, as they marched after the hearses with their rifles
reversed, excited much comment. The people contrasted the difference
in the treatment accorded the Nationalists when they had a
gun-running, with that accorded the Ulster gun-runners. And they
knew once more that England would kill and destroy them rather than
permit them to have the means to protect their lives and to fight for
their liberties.
The authorities were aware of the feeling aroused in the people by
the killing of the unarmed women and men, and to prevent any further
disturbance they confined the soldiers to their barracks that
evening. Still the feeling against "The King's Own Scottish
Borderers" (the regiment that had done the shooting) ran so high that
the entire regiment was secretly sent away from Dublin.
{18}
III
About one week later, while the people were still incensed at the
shooting, England went to war. Almost immediately she issued an
appeal to the Irish to join her army. Later she appealed to them to
avenge the shooting of the citizens of Catholic Belgium. Because her
memory was short, or perhaps because her need was so great she chose
to ignore the fact that English soldiers had but shortly shot down
and killed the unarmed citizens of Catholic Dublin. But Dublin did
not forget.
The Irish Citizen Army distinguished itself when John Redmond and Mr.
Asquith, who was then Prime Minister, came over to Dublin shortly
after the outbreak of the war. They came to hold a recruiting
meeting in the Mansion House. It was supposed to be a public meeting
at which the Prime Minister and the Irish Parliamentary Leader would
appeal to the citizens of Dublin to enlist in the British Army; yet
no one was let in without a card of {19} admission. A cordon of
soldiers were drawn across both ends of the street in which the
Mansion House was situated, at Nassau Street and at St. Stephen's
Green. No one could pass these cordons without presenting the card
and being subjected to a close scrutiny by the local detectives.
This was to make sure that no objectionable person could get in to
the meeting and make a row. But the Nationalists of Dublin had no
intention of going to the meeting; there was to be another one that
would give them more pleasure.
A monster demonstration had been decided upon by the Irish Citizen
Army to prove to Mr. Asquith, and through him to England, that the
mass of the Dublin people were against recruiting for the British
Army. They mustered outside of Liberty Hall. The speakers, amongst
whom was Sean Mac Dermott who was there to represent the Irish
Volunteers, were on a lorry guarded by members of the Irish Citizen
Army armed with rifles and fixed bayonets; a squad similarly armed
guarded the front and the rear. They were determined that there
would be no arrest of anti-recruiters that night.
They marched around the city, the crowd {20} swelling as they went,
and they stopped at the "Traitors' Arch" (the popular name for the
Memorial to the Irish soldiers who fell in the Boer War), at St.
Stephen's Green, two blocks away from where the recruiting meeting
was being held. As speaker after speaker denounced recruiting, and
denounced England, and Redmond, and Asquith, feeling surged higher
and higher until it reached a climax when James Connolly called on
those present to declare for an Irish Republic. Cheers burst from
thousands of throats and a forest of hands appeared in the air as
they declared for a Republic. We were told afterwards that the
recruiting meeting had to stop till the anti-recruiters stayed their
cheering.
The armed men of the Irish Citizen Army resumed the march first to
make sure that none would be molested. Down Grafton Street they went
and halted again beside the old House of Parliament, where Jim Larkin
called on them to raise their right hands and pledge themselves never
to join the British Army. Every one present did so. Then, whistling
and singing Nationalist marching tunes and anti-recruiting songs,
they marched back to Liberty Hall and dispersed. As a result of {21}
Asquith's meeting, or because of the Irish Citizen Army meeting, only
six men joined the British Army next day.
Midnight mobilizations were a feature of the Irish Citizen Army.
They served a twofold purpose. They taught the men to be ready
whenever called upon, and were a great source of annoyance to the
police. At every mobilization of the Irish Citizen Army a squad of
police and detectives were detailed by the authorities to follow and
report all the movements. One midnight the men mobilized at Liberty
Hall; they were divided into two bodies, the attacking and the
defending. They marched to the North side of the city, one body
going across the canal, and the other remaining behind to prevent the
entrance of the attackers. The battle lasted two hours. It was a
bitter winter's night and the police were on duty all the time as
they did not dare to leave, for there was no telling what the Irish
Citizen Army might be up to.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
{22}
[Illustration: Illustrating journey from Belfast to Leek. _See
pages_ 54-71]
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{23}
[Illustration: Illustrating the journey from Dundalk to Dublin. _See
pages_ 142-163]
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After the men had completed their evolutions around the bridge they
formed ranks and marched round the city, the police following them.
They stopped at Emmet Hall, Inchicore, for refreshments. There they
had a song {24} and dance, one chap remarking that the thought of the
"peelers" (police) and the "G men" (detectives) outside in the cold
added to the enjoyment. They broke up about six o'clock a.m. and
marched back to Liberty Hall followed by the disheartened, miserable,
frozen police.
There was another midnight mobilization later on. Announcements were
made publicly that on this occasion the Irish Citizen Army would
attack Dublin Castle, the center of English Government in Ireland for
600 years. The thought of such a deed never fails to fire the
imagination of an Irish Nationalist. A favorite phrase of one of the
officers of the Irish Citizen Army, Commandant Sean Connolly, was,
"One more rush, boys, and the Castle is ours." He was in command of
the body that attacked the Castle on Easter Monday. It was while
calling on his men to rush the Castle that he received a bullet
through his brain, thus achieving his lifelong dream of dying for
Ireland while attacking the Castle.
One other mobilization which took place at midnight some time before
the Rising was a disappointment, perhaps because it was unofficial.
One of the Irish Citizen Army men {25} heard that a number of rifles
were stored in a place near Finglass. He knew the whereabouts and
whispered the news amongst his comrades. A number of them decided to
make a raid on the place and capture the rifles. They started out at
midnight, marched twenty miles before morning, but, unfortunately,
the rifles had been removed before they arrived. They were
disappointed but not downhearted; such things they considered part of
the day's work.
They had another disappointment which was more amusing, at least our
men could laugh at it when a few days were past. There was in Dublin
a body of men called the Home Defense Corps. They wore a greenish
gray uniform and on their sleeves an armlet with the letters "G.R."
in red--abbreviations for Georgius Rex. They were called the
"Gorgeous Wrecks" by the Dubliners. They were mainly men past the
military age who had registered their willingness to fight the
Germans when they invaded England, Scotland, or Ireland. These men
paraded the streets of Dublin making a fine show with their uniforms
and rifles, especially the rifles. Some of the Irish Citizen Army
thought those rifles too {26} good to be left in the hands of "those
old ones" and followed them on a march to find out where the rifles
were kept. When our men came back they gathered a number of their
friends together; after a short talk away they went for the rifles.
It was done in quite a military manner; sentries and pickets were
placed, the building surrounded and entered. Several made their way
to the room where the rifles were kept and opened the windows to hand
the rifles to the eager hands outside. Their plan was to march home
with them quite openly as if returning from a route march.
The leader of the band was well known for his lurid and swift flow of
language. Suddenly bursting out, he surpassed all his previous
efforts and completely staggered the men around him--they beheld him
examining one of the rifles. It was complete in every detail, just
like an army rifle, but on lifting it it was easy to know that it was
a very clever imitation. The men were heartbroken and disgusted, but
they brought several of the rifles away with them to show their
officers what the "Gorgeous Wrecks" were going to fight the Germans
with. During a raid by the Dublin {27} police in a well-known house
one of these rifles was taken away by them. How long it took them to
realize its uselessness we do not know as it was never returned.
{28}
IV
Towards the end of 1915 the hearts of the Irish Citizen Army beat
high, when they were summoned one night for special business. One by
one they were called into a room where their Commandant, James
Connolly, and his Chief of Staff, Michael Mallin, were seated at a
table. They were bound on their word not to reveal anything they
should hear until the time came. Something like the following
conversation took place:
"Are you willing to fight for Ireland?"
"Yes."
"It might mean your death."
"No matter."
"Are you ready to fight to-morrow if asked?"
"Whenever I'm wanted."
"Do you think we ought to fight with the few arms we've got?"
"Why wait? England can get millions to one."
{29}
"It might mean a massacre."
"In God's name let us fight, we've been waiting long enough."
"The Irish Volunteers might not come out with us. Are you still
ready?"
"What matter? We can put up a good fight."
"Then in God's name hold yourself ready. The Day is very near."
To the eternal credit of the Irish Citizen Army be it recorded that
only one man shirked that night.
Then on top of this glorious happening came the attempted raid on
Liberty Hall by the police. That morning I was in the office with my
father when a man came from the printer's shop and said, "Mr.
Connolly, you're wanted downstairs." My father went downstairs.
About five minutes later he came into the office again, took down a
carbine, loaded it and filled his pockets with cartridges.
"What is it?" I asked. "Can I do anything?"
"Stay here, I'll need you," said my father and he left the office
again. He was gone about five minutes when the door was banged {30}
open and the Countess de Markievicz burst into the office.
"Where's Mr. Connolly?" she demanded excitedly. "Where's Mr.
Connolly? They're raiding the Gaelic press--the place is surrounded
with soldiers."
"He left here five minutes ago," I said. "He took his carbine with
him and told me to remain here as he would need me."
She ran out again. In a few minutes I heard her and my father coming
back along the corridor. She was talking excitedly and my father was
laughing.
They came into the office--he took down a sheaf of papers and
commenced signing them. They called for instant mobilization of the
Irish Citizen Army. They were to report at Liberty Hall with full
equipment at once.
"Well, Nora," said my father. "It looks as if we were in for it and
as if they were going to force our hands. Fill up these orders as I
sign them. I want two hundred and fifty."
I busied myself filling in these orders. The Countess began to help
me--suddenly she stopped and cried out, "But, Mr. Connolly, I haven't
my pistol on me."
{31}
"Never mind, Madame," said my father. "We'll give you one."
"Give it to me now," she said. "So my mind will be easy."
She was given a large Mauser pistol. Just then a picket came running
in. He saluted and said, "They've left the barracks, sir." He was
referring to the police. A line of our pickets had been stationed
reaching from the barracks to Liberty Hall; their duty was to report
any move they might see made by the police. In that way no sooner
had a body of police left the barracks than word was sent along the
line and in less than three minutes Liberty Hall was aware of it.
"Now, Madame," said my father when the picket had gone. "Come along,
we'll be ready for them. Finish those, Nora, and come down to me
with them."
I finished them and went down to the Co-operative shop. Behind the
counter stood my father with his carbine laid along it; beside him
Madame, and outside the counter was Miss Moloney taking the safety
catch from off her automatic. I gave the batch of orders to my
father; he called one of the men who stood in the doorway, and said,
"Get these around at {32} once." The man saluted and went away.
Just then another picket came in and said, "They will be here in a
minute, sir, they've just crossed the bridge."
"Very well," said my father, and the men went away.
Miss Moloney then told me that some policemen had come in and had
attempted to search the store, and that she had sent word to Mr.
Connolly through the men in the printing shop, which was back of the
Coöperative shop; and then busied herself resisting the search. One
policeman had a batch of papers in his hands when my father came in.
He saw at once what was going forward, drew his automatic pistol,
pointed it at the policeman and said:
"Drop them or I'll drop you."
The policeman dropped them. My father then asked what he wanted. He
said they had come to confiscate any copies of _The Gael_, _The
Gaelic Athlete_, _Honesty_ or _The Spark_ that might be on the
premises.
"Have you a search warrant?" asked my father. This was a bluff,
because under the Defense of the Realm Act any house may be searched
on suspicion; but it worked; the policeman said he had none.
{33}
"Go and get one," said my father, "or you'll not search here."
The police went away; and it was then that my father had come back to
the office to sign the mobilization papers.
Shortly afterwards there came into the shop an Inspector of the
police, four plain-clothes men and two policemen in uniform. I was
behind the counter at this time.
"I am Inspector Banning," said the Inspector.
"What do you want?" asked my father.
"We have come to search for, and confiscate any, of the suppressed
papers we may find here."
"Where's your warrant?" asked my father.
"I have it here," said the Inspector.
"Read it," said my father.
The Inspector read the warrant--it was to the effect that all shops
and newsvendors were to be searched, and all copies of the suppressed
newspapers confiscated.
"Well," said my father when the Inspector had finished reading.
"This is the shop up to this door,"--pointing to one behind
him,--"beyond this door is Liberty Hall, and through {34} this door
you will not go. Go ahead and search."
"We have no desire to enter Liberty Hall," said the Inspector.
"I don't doubt you," said my father, whereat we all grinned.
At an order from the Inspector one of the policemen began to search
around the place where the papers were kept. He looked at my father
standing in the doorway with his carbine, and for a moment we thought
he was going to rush him. Perhaps visions of stripes danced before
him; but, at an order from his superior he went on with his work. It
was a good thing for him that he did so, as there were the best of
shots present, with less than ten paces between him and them.
"There is nothing here," he said at last to the Inspector. (We had
made sure there would not be.) And then they all left the shop.
In the meantime, a series of strange sights were to be seen all over
the city. The mobilization orders had gone forth and the men were
answering them. Women in the fashionable shopping districts were
startled by the sight of men, with their faces still grimed with the
dust of their work, tearing along at a breakneck {35} speed, a rifle
in one hand and a bandolier in the other.
Out from the ships where they were working; from the docks; out of
the factories; in from the streets,--racing, panting, with eager
faces and joyful eyes they trooped into Liberty Hall. Joyful because
they believed the call had come at last.
No obstacle was great enough to prevent their answering the order.
One batch were working in a yard overlooking a canal. A man appeared
at the door, whistled to one of the men and gave him a sign.
"Come on, boys, we're needed," cried one and made for the door. The
foreman, thinking it was a strike, closed the door. Nothing daunted
they swarmed the walls, jumped into the canal, swam across, ran to
their homes for their rifles and equipment and arrived at Liberty
Hall, wet and happy. Another batch were busy with a concrete column
and had just got it to the critical period, where one must not stop
working or it hardens and cannot be used, when the mobilizer appeared
at the door and gave them the news. Down went the tools and out they
went through the gate in the twinkling of an eye.
{36}