prevailed amongst the crowds that came thronging outside the Hall. A
guard was placed at the great front door, another at the head of the
wide staircase and the rest were confined to the guard room. This
guard room had a great fascination for me. The men were sitting on
forms around an open fire; ranged along the walls were their rifles,
and hanging above them their bandoliers; at the butts of the rifles
were their haversacks containing the rest of their equipment; all was
so arranged that when they received an order each man would be armed
and equipped within a minute, and there would be no confusion or
delay. When I first went in the men were singing, with great gusto,
this Citizen Army marching tune:
We've got guns and ammunition, we know how to use them well,
And when we meet the Saxon we'll drive them all to Hell.
We've got to free our country, and avenge all those who fell,
And our cause is marching on.
Glory, glory to old Ireland,
Glory, glory to our sireland,
Glory to the memory of those who fought and fell,
And we still keep marching; on.
[Illustration: THOMAS J. CLARKE]
{37}
I knew then what was meant by sniffing a battle. I did not want to
leave that room. The atmosphere thrilled me so that I regarded with
impatience the men and women who were going about the Hall attending
to the regular business of the Union, and not in the least perturbed
by all the military display. "Business as usual," one chap remarked
to me as I stood watching them all.
I did not stand long, for a Citizen Army man came to me and said,
"You're wanted in No. 7 by Mr. Connolly." No. 7 was my father's
office. When I got there my father said, "Nora, I have a carbine up
at Surrey House and a bandolier. It is in my room." He then told me
where. "I want you to get one of the scouts, who are always at
Madame's house, to put the bandolier on and over it my heavy
overcoat. Tell him to swing the rifle over his shoulder and come
down here with it as if he were mobilizing. Get him here as soon as
you can. I'll be staying here all night," he added.
I started off immediately for Rathmines where Surrey House, Countess
de Markievicz's residence, is situated. On my way I met one of the
scouts who was going there. When I told him my errand he offered to
be the one {38} to bring the things back to Liberty Hall. When we
reached the house, I went to the room, found the things which my
father wanted and brought them down to the scout. He had just put
them on when Madame called from the kitchen and asked me to have some
tea. Of course I said I would have some. While I was waiting to be
served she said to me, "What do you think is going to happen? I am
going down to Liberty Hall immediately to take my turn of standing
guard. By-the-way, what do you think of my uniform?"
She stepped out into the light where I could get a good view of her.
She had on a dark green woolen blouse trimmed with brass buttons,
dark green tweed knee breeches, black stockings and high heavy boots.
As she stood she was a good advertisement for a small arms factory.
Around her waist was a cartridge belt, suspended from it on one side
was a small automatic pistol, and on the other a convertible Mauser
pistol-rifle. Hanging from one shoulder was a bandolier containing
the cartridges for the Mauser, and from the other was a haversack of
brown canvas and leather which she had bought from a man, who had got
it from a soldier, who in turn had brought it {39} back from the
front; originally it had belonged to a German soldier. I admired her
whole outfit immensely. She was a fine military figure.
"You look like a real soldier, Madame," I said, and she was as
pleased as if she had received the greatest compliment.
"What is your uniform like?" she asked.
"Somewhat similar," I answered. "Only I have puttees and my boots
have plenty of nails in the soles. I intend wearing my scout blouse
and hat."
"This will be my hat," she said and showed me a black velour hat with
a heavy trimming of coque feathers. When she put it on she looked
like a Field Marshal; it was her best hat.
"What arms have you?" she then asked.
"A .32 revolver and a Howth rifle."
"Have you ammunition for them?"
"Some. Perhaps enough."
I then turned to the scout who was to carry my father's rifle and
bandolier to Liberty Hall, and said, "We'd better go now." Saying
"Slán libh" ("Health with ye") we left the room. On our way to the
door we heard a heavy rap at it. I ran forward and opened {40} it.
Judge of my surprise to see two detectives standing outside.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"The Countess de Markievicz."
"Wait," I said and closed the door.
Running back to the room I said, "Madame, there are two detectives at
the door. They say they want you."
All the boys looked to their revolvers, and the boy who had my
father's rifle said, "I hope I'll be able to get these down to Mr.
Connolly."
Madame went into the hall and lit a small glimmer of light. The boys
remained in the darkened background, and I opened the door.
The detectives came just inside of the door.
"What do you want with me?" asked Madame.
"We have an order to serve on you, Madame," said one of them.
"What is it about?" asked Madame.
"It is an order under one of the regulations of the Defense of the
Realm Act, prohibiting you from entering that part of Ireland called
Kerry."
"Well," said Madame. "Is that to prevent me from addressing the
meeting to-morrow night in Tralee?" Madame was advertised to {41} at
a meeting to organize a company of boy scouts the following day in
the town of Tralee, County Kerry.
"I don't know, Madame," he answered.
"What will happen to me if I refuse to obey that order and go down to
Kerry to-morrow?" asked Madame. "Will I be shot?"
"Ah, now, Madame, who'd want to shoot you? You wouldn't want to
shoot one of us, would you, Madame?" said the detective who was doing
all the talking.
"But I would," cried Madame. "I'm quite prepared to shoot and be
shot at."
"Ah, now, Madame, you don't mean that. None of us want to die yet:
we all want to live a little longer."
"If you want to live a little longer," said a voice from out of the
darkness, "you'd better not be coming here. We're none of us very
fond of you, and you make fine big targets."
"We'll be going now, Madame," said the detective. As he stepped out
through the door he turned and said, "You'll not be thinking of going
to Kerry, Madame, will you?"
"Good-by," said Madame cordially. "Remember, I'm quite prepared to
shoot and be shot at."
{42}
"Well," she said as the door closed. "What am I going to do now? I
want to go and defy them. How can I do it? I'm so well known--but
I'm under orders. Perhaps Mr. Connolly wouldn't allow me to go
anyway. I'll go down and talk it over with him. Wait a minute,
Nora, and we'll all be down together."
On our way down a brilliant idea, as I thought, struck me. "Write
your speech out, Madame, make it as seditious and treasonable as
possible. Send some one down to Tralee to deliver it for you at the
meeting. In that way, the meeting will be held, your speech
delivered, and the authorities will not be able to arrest you on that
charge."
"I was just thinking of that and who I could send down. But I'll
decide nothing till I see Mr. Connolly," said Madame.
We met my father at the top of the staircase in Liberty Hall.
"What do you think, Mr. Connolly," cried Madame. "I've received an
internment order or rather an order prohibiting me from going down to
Tralee. What am I going to do about it? Shall I go or shall I obey
the order."
"Did you bring the carbine and bandolier?" asked my father turning to
me.
{43}
"Yes," I answered. "Harry has them."
"No, Madame," said my father. "You cannot go down to Tralee. If you
make the attempt you will probably be arrested at some small station
on the way, and sentenced to some months in jail. You are too
valuable to be a prisoner at a time like this; I'll have need of you.
If the authorities follow up their action of to-day we may be in the
middle of things to-night or to-morrow; who knows? No, you must stay
here. You are more important than the meeting."
"Should I send some one in my place, then?" asked Madame.
"That is for you to decide, though I think it would be a good thing."
"Whom will I send?" asked Madame.
"Send some one who cannot be victimized in case our hands are not
forced; some one who is already victimized. Why not ask Mairé
Perolz?"
"The very girl!" said Madame. "You can always pick out the right
person."
"You had better get hold of Perolz, then," said my father. "Tell her
what you want her to do and write out your speech. We'll relieve you
of guard duty to-night, and promise you {44} that if things look
lively we'll get word to you in time."
Madame left the Hall, and when I returned to her house a few hours
later, she was busy writing out her speech. I sat down in the room
and from time to time she read me out parts of it. It certainly was
seditious and treasonable. She wrote on for quite some time after
that and then with a sigh of satisfaction she said, "I have it
finished. Perolz will come for it in the morning--she will take an
early train."
Perolz had come and gone before I came down in the morning, but when
she returned a few days later, I heard the whole story of her
adventure, told in her own inimitable way.
She had traveled down to Limerick Junction accompanied by a very
polite, attentive detective, whose company she dispensed with there
by leaving the carriage she was in at the very last minute, and
taking a seat in another. Hers was not a case of impersonation, for
the Countess de Markievicz is very tall and rather fair while Mairé
Perolz is of medium height and has red hair. She is very
quick-witted and nimble of her tongue, never at a loss for what to do
or for what to say.
[Illustration: THE PROCLAMATION OF THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT ISSUED
AT THE G.P.O. ON MONDAY, APRIL 24TH, 1917.]
{45}
She was met at Tralee station by a guard of honor from the local
Cumann na mBan (women's organization), Irish Volunteers, and
intending boy scouts. They had never seen the Countess de Markievicz
and consequently did not know that it was not she who had arrived.
Although Mairé told me that she almost lost her composure when she
heard one of the girls say, "She isn't a bit like her photograph."
She was escorted to the hotel. When she arrived there she said to
the officers of the organization, "I am not Madame Markievicz. She
received an order last night prohibiting her from entering Kerry.
Things were looking lively in Dublin and Madame was needed. She
wrote out her speech and I am to deliver it for her. In that way the
meeting will be held and Madame's speech will be delivered, and
Madame will still be able to do useful work. There is no need to let
the public know till to-night."
The officers agreed that it would be best to keep the knowledge of
the non-arrival of Madame from the public and the police. Just then
the proprietor of the hotel came to the door and said, "Madame, there
are two {46} policemen downstairs and they want your registration
form at once." Under the Defense of the Realm Act every one entering
an hotel, or boarding or lodging house is required to fill in a form
declaring his name, address, occupation, and intended destination.
This rule was most rigidly enforced by the police authorities.
"Can't they wait till I get a cup of tea?" asked Mairé.
"No. They said they would wait and take it back to the station with
them."
"Very well," said Mairé. "Give it to me."
She filled out the form something like this, neglecting the minor
details.
_Name_:--Mairé Perolz.
_Address_:--No fixed address--vagrant.
_Age_:--20?
_Occupation_:--None.
_Nationality_:--Irish.
She then gave it to the proprietor who took it away. From the window
they watched the policemen carrying it to the police station,
apparently very much absorbed in it. They returned shortly and asked
to see the lady. When they came in to the room they still carried
the registration form.
"You haven't filled in this form satisfactorily, {47} Madame," said
one. "You must have some fixed address and some occupation."
"No indeed," said Mairé. "I live on my wits."
"And you are a Russian subject."
"How do you make that out, in the name of God?" asked Mairé.
"You are married to a Russian Count."
"First news I've heard of it," said Mairé. "Now listen here, I've
filled that form out correctly and you'll have to be satisfied with
it. I'll not fill out another."
They accepted the form at last. That night Mairé delivered Madame's
speech, told why Madame could not be present, then added a little
anti-recruiting speech of her own which evoked great applause. The
next day she returned home in great spirits at having once more
helped to outwit the police.
{48}
V
About this time the Executive of the Cumann na mBan (women's
organization) in Dublin were having trouble in procuring First Aid
and Hospital supplies. I suggested that being a Northerner and
having a Northern accent, I could probably get them in Belfast. I
knew that a number of loyalist nursing corps were in existence in
that city, and thought that by letting it be inferred that I belonged
to one of them, the loyalist shopkeepers would have no hesitation in
selling me the supplies, and in all probability would let me have
them at cost price. And that is exactly what happened. I purchased
as many of the different articles as I needed and at less than half
the price paid in Dublin.
While in Dublin I had visited the Employment Bureau in the Volunteer
Headquarters. Its business was to find employment for Irishmen and
boys who were liable for military service. Under the Military
Service Act every {49} man or boy over eighteen, residing in England
or Scotland since the preceding August, was required to report
himself for service in the British Army. The Bureau found employment
in most cases for those who preferred to serve in the Irish
Republican Army and had come to Ireland to await the call. Of
course, it was impossible to find jobs for them all; but those who
had not received jobs were busy on the work of making ammunition and
hand grenades for the Irish Republican Army. The greater number of
them had to camp out during the miserable months of February and
March, in the Dublin Mountains, so that too great a drain would not
be placed on their slender resources.
On my return to Belfast at a meeting of the Cumann na mBan I
suggested that we send hampers of foodstuffs down to those boys and
men in Dublin. The suggestion was taken up with great gusto, and the
members were divided into different squads; a butter squad, a bacon
squad, a tea, a sugar, oatmeal, cheese, and tinned goods squad; and
they were to solicit all their friends for these articles. They were
then to be sent on to the different camps in Dublin to help on the
fight. Since we had {50} done so well on the foodstuffs I thought it
would be as well to ask the men and boys in Belfast for cigarettes
and tobacco. I set about collecting on the Saturday on which we
intended sending away the first hamper of food. I was so successful
that I was unable to return home for lunch before half-past three.
When I arrived home my sister met me at the door and said there was a
man in the parlor who wanted to see me, and that he had been waiting
since noon. I went into the room and saw one of my Dublin friends.
"Why, hello, Barney," I said. "What brings you here?"
He told me that there was some work before me and that he had the
instructions. With this he handed me a letter. I recognized my
father's handwriting on the envelope. The letter merely said:
"_Dear Nora_, The bearer will tell you what we want you to do. I
have every confidence in your ability.
"Your father,
"JAMES CONNOLLY."
"What are we to do?" I asked turning to Barney.
"Liam Mellowes is to be deported to-morrow {51} morning to England
and we are to go there and bring him back."
"Sounds like a big job," I said. "What are the plans?"
"These are some of them," he answered showing me several pages
closely written. "Some one will bring the final instructions from
Dublin to-night."
The plan in the rough was that the messenger, being on the first
glance uncommonly like Liam Mellowes, was to go to the place where he
was interned and visit him. While he was visiting he was to change
clothes with Liam Mellowes and stay behind, while Liam came out to
me. We were then to make all speed to the station and lose no time
in returning to Dublin.
Liam Mellowes had received, some time previously, an order from the
military authorities to leave Ireland. This was because of his many
activities as an organizer for the Irish Volunteers--as the order had
it, because he was prejudicial to recruiting. He refused to obey and
had been arrested. He was now to be forcibly deported. As Mellowes
was absolutely essential to the plans for the Rising, being Officer
in charge of the operations in the {52} West of Ireland, the attempt
to bring him back from England was decided upon.
While waiting for the messenger to bring the final instructions from
Dublin I sent out word to some of the Cumann na mBan girls that I
should like to see them. When they came I told them that I had
received an order that necessitated my going to Dublin; and that I
should not be able to assist them in sending away the hampers. I
gave them the money that I had collected for the cigarettes and
tobacco, and they said they would see that everything went away all
right. It was with great surprise and delight that the "refugees,"
as we called them, received the hampers a few days later.
{53}
VI
After the girls left I fell to studying the instructions. The main
idea was to go in as zig-zag a course as possible to our objective.
My father had made out a list of the best possible places to break
our journey. On one sheet of paper in Eamonn Ceannt's handwriting
continued the plan; and on another, in Sean mac Diarmuida's, was a
list of people with their addresses in England or Scotland, to whom
we could go for safe hiding, if we found we were being followed by
detectives.
Shortly after seven that evening Miss Moloney arrived at our house.
She brought us a message from Dublin. It was to the effect that it
was not yet known to what place Liam Mellowes was to be deported, but
we were to go on our journey, and when we arrived at Birmingham,
there would be a message waiting us there with the desired
information. All that was known was that Liam Mellowes was to be
deported to some town in the South of England.
{54}
There was a boat leaving for Glasgow that night at eleven forty-five.
We decided to go on it; it was called the theatrical boat, because it
was on this boat many theatrical companies left Belfast; we thought
we would not be noticed among the throng. I was to ask for all the
tickets at the railway stations, as my accent is not easily placed.
On Sunday morning I went up on deck expecting to be almost the first
one there; Barney, however, was there before me. He said we would be
in Glasgow shortly. I went below for my suitcase. When I came up on
deck again I saw that we were nearer shore and that we were slowing
up. I asked a steward if we should be off soon.
"No," he said. "We are slowing up here to put some cattle off."
"Will it take long?" I asked.
"About an hour."
"How far are we from Glasgow?" I then asked.
"Two or three miles."
"Can we get off here instead of waiting?"
"Nothing to prevent you," he said.
So Barney and I picked up our traps and, as soon as the gangway was
fixed up for the {55} cattle to disembark, we went down it and on to
the quay.
We walked along as if we had been born there, although as a matter of
fact, neither Barney nor I had been in that place before. After a
few minutes we came to a street with tramway lines on it and decided
to wait for a car. We boarded the first car that came along. After
riding in it for a long time we noticed that instead of approaching
the city we seemed to be going farther away from it. We left the car
at the next stop, and took another going in the opposite direction,
and after riding for three-quarters of an hour arrived in Glasgow.
We were more than pleased to think that if the police had noticed us
when we went on the Glasgow boat at Belfast, and had sent on word for
the Glasgow police to watch out for us, the boat would arrive without
us.
Our next stop was to be Edinburgh. We went to the station and
inquired when the Edinburgh train would be leaving. There was one
leaving at eleven fifteen that would arrive in Edinburgh some time
about one o'clock. We decided to go by it. Then we remembered that
it was Sunday and that we had not been to Mass; also that if we went
by that train {56} it would be too late when we arrived at Edinburgh
to attend. It was not quite ten o'clock then; if we could find a
church nearby, we could go to Mass and still be in time for the
train. But where was there a church? "Look, Barney," I cried
suddenly. "Here's an Irish-looking guard. We'll ask him to direct
us." We asked him and he told us that there was a Catholic church
five minutes' walk away from the station, and directed us to it. It
took us more than five minutes to get there, but we arrived in time
and were back at the station before the Edinburgh train left.
We arrived at Edinburgh about one o'clock. We were very tired as we
had not slept on the boat; and we were hungry for we had not eaten in
our excitement at leaving the boat before the time. Our first
thought was to find a place to eat; but it was Sunday in Scotland and
we found no place open. After wandering around for some time,
looking all about us, we decided to ask a policeman. He directed us
to the Waverley Hotel, where we were given a good dinner. And when
we told the waiter that we were only waiting till our train came due,
and that we wanted a place to rest, he told us that we could stay in
the room we were {57} in. After dinner I found myself nodding and
lay down on the couch. I must have fallen asleep almost instantly
for it was dark when I awoke. Barney came in shortly afterwards. He
had been looking up the trains he said and our train left at ten
o'clock. It was about eight o'clock. We had something more to eat
and left the hotel to go to the railway station. To my great
surprise when we came outside everything was dark. Not a light
showed from any of the buildings, or from the street cars. Cabs and
motors went by, and only for the shouting of the drivers and the
blowing of the motor-horns we would have been run down when crossing
the streets. We have no such war regulation of darkness in Ireland.
We arrived at the station at last. We had to go down a number of
steps to get to the gate, and if it was dark in the streets it was
pitch blackness down there. I was not surprised at the number of
people I met on the steps, as I thought it might be a usual rallying
place, but I was surprised to hear them talking in whispers. We went
down till we came to the gate--it was closed and there was a man on
guard at it.
"Can we not get in?" I asked.
{58}
"Where are you going?"
"To Carlisle."
"It's not time for the Carlisle train yet."
"But can't we go in and take our seats?" I asked.
"No," he answered, and after that I could get no further response.
We waited awhile at the gate. I noticed that quite a few were given
the same answers although they were not going to the same place.
More time passed and I began to feel anxious; I was afraid that we
would miss the train.
"What time is it now?" I asked, turning to Barney. As he could not
see in the dark he lit a match. Instantly, as with one voice, every
one around and on the steps shouted, "Put out that light." And the
man at the gate howled, "What the H---- does that fool mean!" We
were more than surprised; we did not know why we could not light a
match.
Just after that a couple of soldiers came towards the gate. I could
hear the rattle of their hob-nailed boots and see the rifles swung on
their shoulders. They talked with the man at the gate for a few
minutes, then saying, "All right," went up the steps again. This
happened more than once. My eyes were {59} accustomed to the
darkness by now, and I could see a sergeant, with about twenty
soldiers, coming down the steps. As they made for the gate I
whispered to Barney, "Go close and listen to what the guard says to
the sergeant." He went--and as the sergeant turned away, came back
to me and picking up our bags said, "Come on." I followed without
asking any questions. When we were out on the street Barney turned
to me and said, "The guard told the sergeant to go to the other gate.
We'll go too."