That night, Clarke sat with his back to the wall, with McDermott beside him and O’Briain next to McDermott.
Sean was insistent that the Germans were coming to help.
‘We haven’t failed,’ he said. ‘The only real failure in Ireland is the failure to strike.’
In response to a call from Major Price at Parkgate, a party of Royal Engineers left the Castle in the dead of night.
At Portobello Barracks, they repaired the damage to the wall against which Skeffy and the two editors had been shot.
That night, John Dillon, in his house north of O’Connell Street, wrote to John Redmond in London, giving him a solemn warning:
You should strongly urge on the Government the extreme unwisdom of any wholesale shooting of prisoners. The wisest course is to execute no one for the present.
If there were shootings of prisoners on a large scale the effect on public opinion might be disastrous in the extreme.
So far feeling of the population in Dublin is against the Sinn Feiners. But a reaction might very easily be created.
PART FOUR
AFTER THE BATTLE
1–12 May 1916
Be green upon their graves,
O happy Spring!
For they were young and eager
who are dead!
Of all things that are young,
and quivering
With eager life,
be they rememberéd.
James Stephens
May Day. At Kilmainham Hospital, General Maxwell stuck a cigarette in his mouth to give him strength to get up. But he was in good heart as his toe gingerly felt for the wooden floor. He had not put a foot wrong since he came to Ireland. He was only there twenty-four hours and the rebellion folded. After three days, it was all over, barring a few snipers.
Even the casualty report on his breakfast table did not dampen his spirits. He read with approval the editorial in the Irish Times calling for the utmost severity towards the trouble-makers. After taking coffee, he called in his aides, demanding they round up all potential trouble-makers.
‘So get to it, gentlemen.’
He aimed to destroy the Sinn Fein movement root and branch. He was not going to make the same mistake as Birrell and Nathan. Which reminded him. He had asked the Under-Secretary to pop in that very morning.
Nathan’s visit to Military House was his first outing since the rebellion began. It was brief enough. Maxwell really despised him for his lax approach and felt he had nothing to contribute.
The Under-Secretary returned to the Castle knowing that the military were in charge and that things, however bad, were likely to get worse.
Major Vane had no sooner marched back with his detail through cheering crowds to Portobello than he was summoned to the Orderly Room. He was in an upbeat mood, being especially proud of what his men had done at the South Dublin Union.
Colonel McCammond’s face suggested this was not to be a congratulatory session.
‘Sit down, Vane, please. Just to let you know I’ve taken over officially from Rosborough. He’s had a tough time, lately. All of you have. Better if we have a clean sweep, don’t you agree?’
‘If you say so, sir.’
‘By the way, Vane. Rivalry in the armed forces really cannot be countenanced.’
Vane wondered if he had heard correctly. ‘Sorry?’
‘Is there really any need to blacken a fellow-officer, even besmirch the honour of a regiment, out of vanity?’
Vane was speechless.
‘In justice,’ the Colonel went on, ‘I’m obliged to replace you as second in charge with Captain Colthurst.’
‘Who?’
‘That’s enough, Major,’ the CO said in a steely voice. ‘You may go.’
When he had cleared his head, Vane went to Parkgate, hoping to talk with Maxwell about Skeffy’s murder. Major Price met him with, ‘The General’s not free. Can I help?’
Vane explained that he had come about Skeffy. ‘He was murdered by one of our own officers.’
Price’s head rocked back. ‘This is war, old chap.’
‘War is no excuse for murder.’
‘In my humble opinion, men like that are best out of the way.’
‘Thank you,’ Vane said, peremptorily.
He went to the office of the Adjutant General, an old man with rheumy eyes who had known him since his youth.
He heard him out on Skeffy. Then: ‘They’re going to act even more stupidly, Francis. Execute the rebels.’
Vane said, almost casually, ‘I’d like eight days’ leave in England, sir, if I may.’
‘Good man. You need a break. A great job you did at the South Union. I’ve sent in a commendation on your behalf.’
Vane did not say what his real motives were as he left to book a place on that night’s mail boat to England.
Nora and Ina hobbled across the city. In O’Connell Street, they saw the Irish flag still flying over the hollow GPO and they smelt the horrible stench of dead horses and burning buildings. It hurt them immensely to hear everyone cursing ‘them rebel bastards’ who had brought this on the city.
They hurried on to Rathmines where they saw a poster of the Daily Sketch. Looking out at them was the face of their father with the caption, ‘The Dead Rebel Leader’.
From outside Three Rock, they heard their mother wailing and the little ones joining in. The first thing they noticed when they went in was a copy of the Sketch.
It’s not true, Mommy,’ Nora rushed to say. ‘They’ve confused Daddy with Sean Connolly. He’s wounded but not dead.’
‘Oh, my darlings,’ she said, showering them with her tears. ‘I thought I’d lost everyone, you and Daddy and Roddy.’
Wanting to be in the city near their father, they packed a few things and went to the home of his colleague, Bill O’Brien. There another shock awaited them. Both Bill and Roddy had been picked up by the police and taken to Richmond Barracks.
Bill O’Brien’s parents readily offered to put all the Connollys up in their small terraced house. The guests were unable to contribute anything since they had no savings of any kind.
In Kilmainham Jail, the Countess presumed she would be shot. It was strange being alone after the comradeship and excitement of the previous week. She worried lest her sister went frantic about her. Eva was a pacifist and a vegetarian whereas she herself believed that only through fighting could Ireland become free.
Used to the spacious grounds and large house at Lissadell in sight of Ben Bulben, County Sligo, she hated being cooped up. Nor, though she mixed with the poor, had she lost her love of beautiful things, carpets, paintings, vases, first editions of illuminated books.
No matter, she had done what she was born to do.
Under the threat of death, she thought of Surrey House in Rathmines, and the mess it must be in. And her cocker spaniel, would Poppet have forgotten her? And Mrs Connolly and Mrs Mallin and their families, were they all right?
There was one benefit of living in prison. For a change she would not exceed her quarterly allowance.
In Arbour Hill Pearse wrote a long letter to his mother, explaining how he understood the rising. Then, with his usual artful innocence, knowing that the letter would be read, he added a postscript. ‘I understand that the German expedition which I was counting on actually set sail but was defeated by the British.’
Next he wrote a couple of poems: ‘To My Mother’ and ‘To My Brother’.
The first was a lament for his reserve which he had never been able to overcome.
… O Mother (for you know me)
You must have known, when I was silent,
That some strange thing within me kept me dumb,
Some strange deep thing, when I should shout my love?
… and yet, it may be
That I have brought you something else beside –
The memory of my deed and of my name,
A splendid thing which shall not pass away.…
In his poem
to his brother, Willie, he wrote:
You only have been my familiar friend,
Nor needed I another.
He gave careful instructions about his literary effects and about unpaid bills. It was as if his only regret in dying was that he was prevented from paying his debts.
At noon, the Clarkes’ home was raided. Fortunately, Kattie had sent their three boys to the country for safety.
For over two hours, twenty soldiers went through the house. They found nothing. Tom had learned in his prison stint that a single scrap of paper can incriminate a man. All the same, Kattie was taken to Dublin Castle for interrogation.
In his State Room, James Connolly sent for the young Capuchin, Father Aloysius, and discussed with him his idea of Christian Marxism.
The British, fearing the friar might be used to smuggle out political documents, were not keen to leave them alone. But Father Aloysius said: ‘You have my word, gentlemen, that I will not bring in or take out of this room anything without your permission.’
When they withdrew, the friar drew a chair up to the bed, draped a small purple stole round his neck and said, ‘Now, my son, let us begin.’
Father Aloysius was very content with his visit. He had reconciled a sinner who had been years away from the Church and promised to return with Holy Communion next morning. He left the Castle as Kattie Clarke was being driven in.
The military found her quite as stubborn as her husband. After a wasted hour, they led her to a store room in the Ship Street Barracks behind the Castle. She had to share with five other women.
In the long and lonely hours, she worried about her husband, her brother and her three little boys. There was no self-pity in her but how she missed her sisters. It was never easy being married to a hero of the stature of Tom Clarke.
*
At 3 in the afternoon, Sir John French arrived in Downing Street to brief the Prime Minister on Ireland.
Asquith was beaming with delight at the speed with which Maxwell had sorted things out.
‘Be sure to send him my congratulations, General, and tell him it’s entirely up to him now.’
Nathan was in the Viceregal Lodge when Birrell received Asquith’s telegram accepting his resignation to be made public in the House on Wednesday.
‘I’d better leave tomorrow, then,’ Birrell said sadly.
Later that day, after dining alone at his lodge, Nathan brought his diary up to date. Having written down the numbers of dead and wounded, it struck him that the chief casualties were Augustine Birrell and Matthew Nathan. And John Redmond and Home Rule. And the future peace and prosperity of Ireland.
Even then, at Kilmainham Hospital, Maxwell had decided with General Hutchinson and Prince Alexander of Battenberg that hanging was too good for the prisoners; they were to be tried by court martial and shot.
Later, at the whiskey stage, an aide brought in a bunch of papers. ‘Letters written by the prisoner P. H. Pearse, sir. He requests you to send them on for him.’
Maxwell read out the postscript that sealed Pearse’s fate, as it was meant to do.
Hutchinson grinned. ‘Anything else?’
‘Only a lot of sentimental, revolutionary twaddle. But, wait a sec. In this poem to his brother, yes, yes, yes, he clearly implicates him in all his proceedings.’ Maxwell read aloud, ‘ “In direst peril true to me.” ’
‘A plain reference to the rebellion,’ Hutchinson said.
Maxwell nodded and continued, ‘ “Leaving all things for me, spending yourself / In the hard service that I taught to you.” Rotten poetry but clear evidence of collusion, wouldn’t you say?’
Hutchinson and Prince Alexander agreed.
‘Pearse, gentlemen, has just booked himself and his brother for the bullet.’
When, later, the aide asked Maxwell if he wished him to send on the letters to Mrs Pearse, he replied, ‘Certainly not. Court martials begin tomorrow.’
*
In Richmond Barracks, the prisoners in A. Cell were feeling better after a meal of bully beef and biscuits.
Joe Plunkett was lying in a corner with O’Briain’s quilt under his head, tossing restlessly and muttering, ‘Nothing was overlooked, nothing forgotten.’
Ned Daly, to keep their spirits up, sang, a love song from Gilbert and Sullivan.
There was a great spirit among them. The greatest of friendships in ordinary times do not begin to compare with friendships forged in the heat of battle.
Liam O’Briain said to Clarke, who was seated against the wall, ‘Want a present, Tom?’
‘Depends what it is,’ Tom said, in his American drawl.
O’Briain held out his last cigar.
‘Oh, gee,’ Tom gasped, putting it to his nose to savour it.
He lit up, took a heave and passed it on to Sean McDermott. He puffed ecstatically and handed it on to Sean McGarry. The circle passed it around like naughty schoolboys smoking out of sight in the corner of a school yard.
When finally, they settled down for the night, McDermott went to sleep on Clarke’s lap, and Willie Pearse stretched out beside O’Briain’s bunk.
Willie went to sleep immediately, but he was all the time crying fitfully, ‘Fire! Fire!’
As if McDermott could hear him, he responded in an agonizing voice, ‘Fire! Got to get the men out! Fire!’ and Old Tom stroked his head, saying, ‘It’s all right, Sean, we’re prisoners, in the Barracks.’
Major Vane jumped off the early boat train at Euston and took a taxi to the War Office. He was at once admitted to see his old friend Harold Arthur Tennant.
The Under-Secretary for War listened in silence. Then: ‘You are quite sure of your facts?’
Vane nodded vigorously.
‘You see, only yesterday, Francis, I gave the Commons my absolute assurance that no man would be shot in Dublin except after a fair trial.’ He pondered a moment. ‘I think the Prime Minister should know about this.’
After making a couple of calls, he said, ‘We should hear from the PM by midday.’
*
In the Viceregal Lodge, Birrell and Nathan met to say goodbye.
Always fond of one another, recent trials had brought them even closer together. One thing they shared that few of their predecessors ever had: an affection for Ireland and the Irish.
Birrell knew his Westminster colleagues looked on the rebellion in Dublin as they would one in Liverpool. How to make them understand that, for many Irishmen, England was a foreign country, a hostile one that had imposed its will on them for century after century?
He and Nathan had tried to make Ireland for the first time England’s friend and a willing part of Empire for ever. What made their failure so galling was that they had very nearly brought off the impossible.
When a policy fails, it is assumed that some other would have succeeded. But, as they saw it, in spite of their failure, theirs was the best and only way. Once Carson had armed Ulster and the south followed suit, to have disarmed them by force would have plunged the whole of Ireland into bloodshed – and this during a world war.
Their only mistake was in not anticipating the rising. But both suspected that quite a few who took part in it had not foreseen it either.
The Cabinet Minister and the civil servant held each other in an uncharacteristically emotional embrace. Both were doomed politically. Neither would even have a peerage for their pains.
‘Never mind, Matthew,’ Birrell said, his eyes twinkling momentarily, ‘there are some people I’d prefer to sink with than go with to the House of Lords.’
Birrell was driven by Basil Blackwood to the boat. He could hardly bear to see the city in ruins. If only he had done the obvious and used force. No politician is blamed for disasters, provided he does what Parliament and Press assure him is the obvious thing.
Now, homeward bound to feed the wolves, he found consolation in the thought that Eleanor was dead and did not have to share his shame.
As he stood at the rail, he lifted his gaze above the city to th
e hills, to the Ireland of bogs and furze and tumbledown thatched cabins, Ireland romantic and rheumatic, a land older than the alphabet and yet without a yesterday, a land he loved in spite of what it had done to him.
As the boat drew away, he remembered his first three discoveries about Ireland: Nothing there is explained. Everything of unimportance is known. So small is it, a whisper carries across the land.
The last of the three had turned out to be a lie.
Prince Alexander burst into Maxwell’s room. ‘Trouble down in Cork, sir.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Maxwell exploded. Cork had been quiet throughout the rebellion. ‘Tell me more.’
At four that morning a force of the RIC, led by Head Constable Rowe, had approached Bawnawd House, Castlelyons. It was the home of the Kents, a dissident family whose opposition to authority went back to the days of the Land League. Inside were four brothers, Tom, David, Richard and William, as well as their eighty-four-year-old mother.
‘The old lady,’ the ADC said, ‘loaded rifles and shotguns while her sons blazed away. Rowe was shot dead.’
‘Shit!’
Even after military reinforcements came from Fermoy, four miles away, the Kents resisted for three hours till they ran out of ammunition and the house was a wreck. All five came out with their hands above their heads. Richard Kent, in trying to escape, was shot and critically wounded.
‘The Irish really are a bunch of murdering bastards,’ Maxwell said. ‘I’m going to have to take them in hand.’
Midday arrived without a message from the PM, so Vane left the War Office and walked to the Commons. He shocked Redmond with his story about Skeffy. He had no sooner reached his club than a call came for him to go to Downing Street.
At No 10, instead of seeing Asquith, he was shown into the presence of Lord Kitchener.
After hearing him out, the dark-skinned General said, ‘I simply don’t believe it.’
‘I assure you it’s true, sir,’ said Vane.
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