Rebels

by Peter De Rosa

  Patience! After seven centuries of oppression! Quiet well-paid academics in their ivory towers were still calling for patience! Parasite capitalists were killing off the workers in factories and on the battlefield for a few pence extra profit and MacNeill was pleading for patience!

  ‘My God, Bill,’ he exclaimed. ‘In future, we’re going our own way, you hear me? That bourgeois lot will never do anything for Ireland.’

  Neither MacNeill nor Connolly knew that the IRB was at that very moment intent on doing something great for Ireland. In Clontarf Town Hall, in a room set aside for them by the Republican caretaker, they met to elect a new chairman of the eleven-man Supreme Council.

  Denis McCullough said to McDermott, ‘I’m going to propose Pearse.’

  ‘For the love of God,’ Sean hissed, ‘don’t be daft.’

  ‘He’s a grand chap. Why not?’

  ‘Because,’ said McDermott, through clenched teeth, ‘we can’t control him, that’s why not. Leave it to Tom and me.’

  McDermott proposed McCullough himself. As he lived in Belfast, the two ringleaders felt he would be out of their way.

  The motion was carried. McCullough said, ‘Just send me a wire any time you want me.’

  ‘We won’t be sending any wires,’ Clarke muttered for only McDermott to hear. Then, in his slow, impressive voice: ‘Gentlemen, I propose a rising for Easter 1916.’

  McDermott seconded it with a voice of thunder and Pearse was not far behind. The only member to object was McCartan. ‘How can we rise when the people are not with us?’

  Old Tom said, at his most persuasive, ‘Didn’t the Rossa funeral tell us what Ireland really wants, Paddy?’

  Next, Clarke and McDermott manoeuvred the Council into adding their names to the Military Committee. With Pearse, Plunkett and Kent already on it, the extended group of five was to be known as the Military Council.

  There were now 2,000 IRB men in leading Volunteer posts throughout the country. At Easter, Clarke and McDermott were convinced, they would answer to them and not to MacNeill.

  Their plan was to keep other top Volunteers in the dark, too, such as Hobson, the Secretary, and O’Rahilly, the Treasurer, who, like MacNeill, favoured defensive action only. This was a terrific gamble, but Clarke and McDermott felt they had no choice. Every single Irish rising had been ruined by informers. Theirs would be the exception.

  More than ever they now depended on Pearse’s leadership to bring over the entire Volunteer movement when they gave the word.

  From this time on, Clarke developed still closer links with the States. It was now imperative for Devoy to persuade the Germans to send them aid.

  With Christmas near, Casement was deeply depressed and not merely by life at Zossen. He had come to see the war less as Ireland’s opportunity than as a disaster for mankind. All those beautiful lives being lost, to no purpose. He could not forget seeing hundreds of poor on the streets of Berlin, unable to afford the official casualty sheet, waiting until lists were posted on hoardings.

  One couple stood for them all in his memory: a shawled white-haired lady and her weeping husband with his long-stemmed pipe, coming away from the list, shaking their heads in bewilderment and saying, ‘Todt, todt, todt.’ Their son was dead. It was now plain to Casement that Death was the only victor.

  He accepted Monteith’s advice to get away for Christmas. In Munich he could be hospitalized again and meet with his old friend, St John Gaffney, the American Consul.

  Casement was not the only one feeling the strain.

  In Dublin Castle, on Christmas Eve, Nathan noted in his diary: ‘Feeling rather seedy, the result of the wartime running down and fifteen months of over-pressure.’

  He was an approachable man, with a kind word for everyone. At the end of a long day, he often went out with members of the Society of St Vincent de Paul to visit the Dublin slums. He helped the SVP provide night shelters for the homeless. Though a Jew, he felt that Christmas Eve was a particularly appropriate time to help the poor, of which there were so many.

  Monteith spent most of Christmas Day at Zossen, breaking up drunken squabbles. Late at night, he settled down to write to Mollie:

  Dear old Pet,

  No letter from you yet. I am so lonely today. You remember last year in 8 Hartstonge Street, with the little ones running around wild.

  Why do you grip me so much, and why are my thoughts so centred around you? Mollie, write me. I do so want your sympathy. My work is so hard, and difficulties so many, but of course if I had you here to tell all my worries to, things would run smoothly.

  I can’t write more now. Fondest love. Kiss them all for me. Yours ever, Ça ira.

  Britain’s mood at the year’s end was also dark. Allied losses were appalling and the retreat from the Dardanelles had been a crushing blow to morale. Everyone was talking of something the English hated: conscription. The Coalition Cabinet was divided on its application to Ireland. Birrell knew Ireland’s future hung in the balance.

  Only the Military Council in Dublin felt any optimism; the Republican star was rising.

  Old Tom said, ‘If only the Germans supply us with arms.’

  When in the New Year conscription was introduced into the United Kingdom, Birrell, Nathan and Wimborne breathed a joint sigh of relief. Ireland was excluded.

  The Chief Secretary, however, was still pressurized by prominent Unionists like the Earl of Midleton to proscribe the Volunteers and some of their clerical supporters. The Anglo-Irish, Birrell thought, understood Ireland least of all. Didn’t Midleton realize that his proposals would bring about a bloody rebellion? That a sure-fire way to arouse the nation’s wrath was to imprison a priest for sedition?

  Casement returned to Zossen in early January. He seemed well enough, but a week later Monteith received an emergency call to visit him at the Golden Lion.

  He knocked on the door. No answer. He edged it open to find the room dark and airless. He threw back the curtains to find that Casement had suffered a complete breakdown. His bronzed face had turned ashen, his cheeks were pinched and his breathing was scarcely perceptible.

  Monteith felt first his forehead, it was freezing; then his hand and it burned.

  ‘How do you feel, Sir Roger?’

  The reply was like the mewing of a kitten. ‘I am dying,’ he managed to say. ‘Not long to go.’

  ‘I’m sending for a doctor.’

  ‘No, no, no. Please, no.’

  He struggled out of bed and pulled on his dressing-gown. When he tried to walk he stumbled, and Monteith caught him just before he fell. Monteith felt he was witnessing a tragic and monumental sorrow.

  ‘You know what I tried to do?’ Monteith nodded. ‘It’s important … someone … knows.’ On his desk were documents and a letter file. ‘Read these … please.’

  As he began to read, Casement said, in words glued together, ‘The Americans, not wanting to send more money. Say we’re wasting thousands dollars. But I can’t take money from Germans. Our struggle, not theirs. Devoy writing to the German Foreign Office … telling them I’m no good.’

  He turned his face to the wall and wept like a child. Monteith looked on his Chief with infinite compassion. In living for others, he had eliminated himself. In between gulps for air, Casement explained that he felt more than ever in a false position.

  ‘Think of my guilt in all this. I have got my fellow Irishmen to give up allegiance to the British in favour of the Germans who are no better.’

  Monteith said he saw things in much the same light.

  Casement swallowed painfully. ‘I refuse to let my boys risk their lives. Pointless venture. In Ireland, I mean. They would be tried, shot as traitors. Couldn’t bear that.’

  Monteith gave him a sedative and sent for the elderly Dominican priest, Fr Crotty. He also called in a specialist. Dr Oppenheim confirmed that Casement’s condition was serious and booked him in to a sanatorium in Bavaria.

  ‘By the end of the month,’ he said, ‘I’ll have him we
ll enough to travel.’

  Monteith was left to shoulder all the burdens.

  Back at Zossen, he found a fresh crisis had blown up. Twenty-four of the thirty-eight who had volunteered for Egypt withdrew. Monteith cursed them inwardly. How could the Germans trust such a rabble? Captain Nadolny, the most cynical member of the General Staff, who had developed a loathing for Casement and all he stood for, was furious. ‘I’ll send them all to the Western Front,’ he roared.

  ‘You will do no such thing,’ replied Monteith, assuming the mantle of his Chief.

  In the end, it was German officers who objected to Irishmen being given arms when they could not even hold their beer. Monteith was relieved. From then on, he was able to direct all his efforts to preparing the Brigade for the rising.

  As the rising drew nearer, Pearse met with Stack and other Volunteer leaders in Cork, Galway and Limerick. He told them there were to be manoeuvres at Easter.

  With things moving along nicely, Clarke’s chief worry was Connolly. When members of the Military Council next met, he admitted, ‘That guy’s getting me down.’

  ‘He seems to think,’ McDermott said angrily, ‘that all except his Citizen Army have gone soft.’

  ‘He’s getting anxious,’ Pearse pointed out. ‘We are sixteen months into the war, and nothing has happened.’

  McDermott snorted. ‘What can he do with his pitiful little force of a couple of hundred?’

  ‘The trouble is, Sean,’ Old Tom said, ‘if he goes it alone, the Administration will try and disarm the Volunteers. MacNeill will respond with a token gesture of defiance, and goodbye to a real rising, maybe for years.’

  Eamonn Kent, the most silent member of the Military Council, said, ‘His mouth is likely to dig all our graves.’

  Pearse said he would get MacNeill to have a word with him. ‘He can be pretty persuasive.’

  ‘If Connolly’s not stopped, sir,’ Pearse said artfully, ‘the Government might try to disarm us as well as the Citizen Army. Then we’d have no choice but to fight back.’

  MacNeill nodded. ‘I’m so pleased, Mr Pearse, that you and I both see that a rebellion now would be counter-productive. Ireland will get its freedom in stages, beginning with Home Rule. You agree?’

  ‘How could I disagree with that?’ said Pearse.

  Connolly was invited to the Volunteer HQ in Dawson Street. MacNeill was late, causing Connolly to say sarcastically to Pearse, ‘Just what you’d expect from an academic.’

  MacNeill arrived in a puff and began, ‘Maybe a little more, shall we say, caution is called for?’

  ‘Listen, Professor,’ Connolly said, an edge to his voice, ‘I intend to start a rising in Dublin. If your lot want to join in, they’ll be welcome.’

  ‘And you listen to me, Mr Connolly,’ replied MacNeill, flushed to his high cheek-bones. ‘Do not expect any support from me.’

  ‘You’ve missed my point,’ Connolly returned sharply. ‘I’ve stopped expecting anything from the likes of you.’

  ‘You can’t see over the tops of the houses. The British will squash you in ten minutes.’

  Connolly had stamped to the door. ‘Then, Professor,’ he yelled back, ‘we shall have the glory of dying for Ireland while you, you will one day give wonderful lectures on it.’

  Pearse realized things were worse than he had imagined. If Connolly did not ruin things by a premature rising, MacNeill would do his best to stop the real thing at Easter.

  When he reported back to the Council, Old Tom asked, ‘Does this Connolly guy have a bodyguard?’

  Pearse shook his head.

  Sean McDermott smiled at this further proof of Connolly’s naïveté. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘that’ll make things a lot easier.’

  On 19 January, Connolly was persuaded at gun-point to meet with Pearse, Kent and McDermott in a safe house in the Dublin suburb of Lucan.

  ‘We’d be grateful,’ McDermott said, ‘if you heard us out.’

  ‘Why should I?’ roared an utterly fearless Connolly. ‘What have I in common with you fancy nationalists?’

  Pearse said, ‘Our aims are the same.’

  ‘Never!’ Connolly roared. ‘You want to substitute Irish capitalists for British. The noses of Connemara peasants will be ground just as flat.’ His round grey eyes were watering with indignation. ‘You bourgeois rebels blether a lot and do damn all. Molly Maguires changed into Molly Coddles.’

  Pearse listened patiently. Then: ‘You are quite wrong about us.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  Pearse cast a glance at McDermott who nodded.

  ‘We are planning a rising.’

  ‘Before Doomsday?’

  ‘Soon.’ Connolly sat bolt upright in his chair. ‘You are the only one outside the IRB Executive to know this.’

  ‘The IRB!’ exploded Connolly, who hated secret societies. ‘Does MacNeill know it?’ Pearse shook his head. ‘You mean the Volunteers’ Chief of Staff doesn’t know?’

  Receiving no answer, he stomped to the door.

  ‘Won’t you hear us out?’

  ‘He’s your boss. Why not MacNeill?’

  ‘He might try and stop it.’

  Connolly was intrigued. He had never heard anything so crazy.

  ‘MacNeill,’ Pearse went on, ‘is our front-man. We needed his prestige, his reputation as a moderate.’

  Connolly nodded. ‘But how will you get his Volunteers to rebel when he is dead against it?’

  At Liberty Hall, Mallin was worried. Connolly’s orders were, that if he disappeared without word for three days, they were to presume the British had snatched him and mobilize the Irish Citizen Army.

  The Countess Markievicz said, ‘There’s something bally odd about this, Michael. I’m for taking the lads out right away.’

  Mallin restrained her. ‘Going out now would be suicide.’

  At Lucan, the IRB pointed out to Connolly that his Citizen Army had no links outside Dublin. What could they do?

  ‘Any gesture,’ Connolly retorted, ‘is better than none. Besides, can’t you see the British are just waiting to pounce and disarm us?’

  They told him their plans were better than his, broader, more developed.

  ‘Details,’ he demanded, ‘places.’

  McDermott said these matters were secret, they had to be. Too many Irish rebellions had failed because of informers, even a slip of the tongue. ‘Take our word for it.’

  ‘Your word,’ snorted Connolly. ‘I’m a so’alist, I only trust the working man.’

  ‘Won’t you listen?’ pleaded Kent.

  ‘You listen to me,’ said Connolly. ‘If I don’t turn up at the Hall in a couple of days, my lot will presume the British have lifted me. They’ll take the Citizen Army out regardless.’

  ‘It’s bilge like that,’ said Kent, fuming, ‘that makes it impossible to do business with you.’

  McDermott asked, ‘What could a force like yours achieve?’

  ‘A child may stick a pin into a giant’s heart,’ said Connolly. ‘And Britain’s heart is here, in Ireland.’

  ‘Except,’ Pearse said, coaxingly, ‘the bigger the child with the pin the more likely he is to succeed.’

  The Brotherhood went apart to discuss their predicament.

  Kent was adamant. ‘The man’s too pig-headed and impulsive. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut under water.’

  McDermott added, ‘He’s likely to put ads in that paper of his, “A Rising at Easter” or fly a flag over the Hall.’

  Not one of them was happy with cutting Connolly in, but did they have a choice?

  Pearse said, ‘He has guts,’ and all agreed he had a sound knowledge of guerilla warfare.

  ‘I’d rather have him in than out,’ Pearse said.

  In the end, he won them all round.

  ‘Grand. Let’s tell him right away.’

  They went back and began to expound their strategy: to take over major buildings in the centre of Dublin. HQ would be the General Post Office in O’Connell Street
.

  Plunkett brought out the maps. ‘Our first aim is to neutralize the British Barracks.’ He took time to explain the positions to be adopted by the four Volunteer battalions.

  Connolly said, without thinking, ‘The British will send troops to Kingsbridge from the Curragh and Athlone.’

  ‘Correct,’ Pearse said, encouraged. ‘If we can’t stop them detraining there, Ned Daly will do his best to make sure they don’t attack the GPO from the west. The 4th Battalion will be under Eamonn Kent.’ He nodded to Kent to continue.

  ‘My job will be to control the area south-west of the river around the breweries and the North Dublin Union.’

  Pearse looked hard at Connolly. ‘Well?’

  ‘Looks all right on paper,’ Connolly conceded. ‘The British’ll never shell Dublin. The capitalist property-owners will never allow it.’

  McDermott, with an effort, let this piece of socialist clap-trap pass.

  ‘How many Volunteers can you field?’

  ‘In Dublin,’ said Kent, who liked to stress their superiority over the Citizen Army, ‘we hope to have 3,000. Outside Dublin, another 13,000.’

  Connolly blinked. ‘The provinces are in on this?’

  Pearse nodded. ‘We’re also hoping for massive help in matériel from Germany.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ whistled Connolly.

  By the time they got down to details, Connolly was already voicing the possibility of his own Union members organizing trains to transport German arms.

  At Liberty Hall, many of his members were backing the Countess’s demand for instant action.

  ‘Listen,’ Mallin said, ‘the boss can’t have been picked up by the British. Otherwise they would’ve lifted the Volunteer leaders, too, and there’s no sign of that.’

  ‘Then who has jolly-well lifted him?’ asked the Countess.

  ‘I think I know,’ Mallin said.

  He put out the word on the streets that he wanted to speak with McDermott as a matter of urgency. Within the hour, he received a phone call. He was given the number of a house in the north of the city. ‘Be there in fifteen minutes.’

  He met with McDermott, Pearse and Kent.