Friend or Foe

by Brian Gallagher

  ‘No, I haven’t seen them. What’s happened?’

  ‘Da was taken prisoner. It looks like he’s being held by the rebels in the South Dublin Union.’

  ‘God,’ said Emer, lowering her untouched glass of milk. ‘I’m really sorry to hear that, Jack.’

  ‘Thanks. I wanted … I wanted to ask you a big favour.’

  ‘Anything, Jack.’

  ‘You mightn’t say that when you know what it is.’

  ‘So, what is it?’

  Jack hesitated, then took the plunge. ‘I have to try and get Da out of the Union. The army and the rebels are battling it out there – he could wind up getting killed. But I need your help to do it.’

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘I want to pretend to be a Fianna runner. It’s the only way I could get to Da and try to free him. Will you back my story if I pretend I’m a runner for the rebels?’

  Emer looked taken aback. ‘Do you … do you know what you’re asking, Jack?’

  ‘For you to go against your beliefs. It’s an awful thing to ask, and I hate doing it – but Da’s life is at stake. I promise I won’t involve you any more than I have to. I swear I won’t do anything against the rebels, I won’t betray them in any way. I just want to get in, free my da, and get out again.’

  Jack could see that Emer was in a quandary. He looked her in the eye, then spoke softly again. ‘I know it’s not fair asking you. But I have to. So, will you help me?’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The roar of exploding shells carried on the warm morning air as the rebel positions came under a barrage of fire. It was Wednesday, the third day of the Rising, and British artillery based at Trinity College unleashed lethal salvoes, while the gunboat Helga had sailed up the River Liffey and was bombarding the city centre. Emer could hear the explosions as she and Jack made their way along James’s Street, and she silently gave thanks that her father wasn’t on the receiving end of the shellfire raining down upon the rebels.

  Dublin was being wrecked, with soldiers and civilians getting killed and maimed, and Emer wondered how she could ever have thought that war could be a glorious thing. She still believed that the Volunteers were brave, and that they were right to fight for Irish freedom. Seeing Dad with his leg shattered, however, and knowing that men on both sides would die agonising deaths, had made her see that warfare was anything but glamorous.

  She passed the Guinness brewery, where huge metal boilers were being commandeered by the army, drilled with rifle holes, mounted on wheels and turned into makeshift armoured cars. It was as if normal life had stopped, to be replaced by a world in which everything had been turned on its head. Last night, her own loyalties had been abruptly challenged by Jack’s request, and even now, as she walked alongside him, she wasn’t certain she was doing the right thing.

  Her father had insisted that their family’s role in the Rising was over and that she was to keep her head down until Mam got back from Ennis. Yet here she was, making her way with Jack towards the South Dublin Union, where she was going to pretend that he was a fellow rebel and Fianna runner. She trusted Jack when he said he wouldn’t betray the rebels in any way, and that he just wanted to rescue his father, but she still felt uncomfortable. It had been really tough to choose between her loyalty to the rebel cause and her loyalty to Jack as a friend. In the end she had been swayed by the memory of her fear for Dad when she heard City Hall had been captured. Clearly Jack felt the same way about his father, and Emer’s gut instinct was to help him, even if it meant telling lies to people on the rebel side.

  Her thoughts were broken now by a burst of machine-gun fire, and Jack nodded in the direction of the South Dublin Union.

  ‘Getting close,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  He stopped and looked at her seriously. ‘Are you ready to do this?’

  Emer paused, took a deep breath, then nodded. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go.’

  Jack dropped from the top of the boundary wall and hit the ground with a thud. The impact sent a wave of pain up through his feet, but he ignored it and turned back to the wall. Emer was poised to drop too, and Jack moved quickly towards where she was likely to land, to catch her and help cushion the fall.

  He was hugely grateful to Emer for agreeing to his plan, and he admired the plucky way she had committed herself to the rescue once she overcame her qualms. Now he helped to break her fall as Emer dropped from the wall and landed inside the grounds of the South Dublin Union.

  ‘All right?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, fine.’

  The Union’s buildings were spread over a sprawling site between James’s Street and Rialto. In addition to the workhouse, there were two churches, various residences, an infirmary, a nurses’ home and a bakery. Jack and Emer crouched down low as they got their bearings, the air around them resounding with gunfire.

  Jack took in his surroundings carefully. He needed to figure out which areas were in rebel hands, and to discover where Da might be held. And then what? He wasn’t sure – his plan only went so far, and after that he would have to improvise. His thoughts were interrupted by a bout of sustained rifle fire. Jack saw British troops in the distance raining a hail of bullets at a tall, grim-looking stone building, from which the rebels were returning rifle and small-arms fire. Presumably the building was a rebel stronghold, and Jack pointed it out to Emer.

  ‘The Volunteers seem to be holed up in there. If we skirt around the boundary wall, we could approach it from the rear.’

  ‘If it’s that easy, why aren’t the army doing that?’

  ‘Maybe that route can be fired on from another rebel stronghold.’

  ‘Maybe it can be fired on by the army too.’

  Jack considered this, then nodded. ‘You could be right. But there’s fighting all over the place; there’s no completely safe way of doing this.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  Jack felt a stab of guilt, and he looked his friend in the eye.

  ‘Look, I could go on by myself at this stage, Emer. And you could–’

  ‘No,’ she interjected firmly. ‘I said I’d help you, and I’m not backing out now.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive. We’re in it together.’

  ‘OK. Let’s stay low and skirt the wall then. All right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Further away in the complex a machine gun opened up, but Jack ignored it and looked at Emer. ‘On a count of three?’ he said.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘One … two … three!’ he counted, then they rose from the ground and sprinted along the perimeter wall.

  Emer heard a scream, and she realised that some of the bullets flying through the air had hit their target. The cry came from a low building whose ground-floor windows had all been shattered, but Emer and Jack didn’t stop to investigate and instead continued running along the inside of the wall.

  She thought of how outraged her father would be if he knew she was putting herself in danger again. But in spite of what Dad had said – and her own unease at tricking his comrades in the Volunteers – she couldn’t deny the loyalty she felt towards Jack.

  Even if they got safely inside the rebel stronghold, however, there was no guarantee that Mr Madigan would be easily found. In such a large complex as the South Dublin Union, he could be anywhere. Or he could already be dead. It was a frightening thought, and she prayed for Jack’s sake that his father was alive and well.

  They reached a turn in the boundary wall, and Jack halted and dropped down in a crouch. Emer joined him, glad to catch her breath.

  ‘Look,’ said Jack, pointing. ‘They’re going to use bayonets.’

  Emer looked across an expanse of open ground and saw a patrol of British soldiers attaching bayonets to their rifles. Clearly they were expecting hand-to-hand fighting, and it brought home to Emer how territory held by both the army and the rebels was in a state of flux. The sooner she and Jack made their move, the better. She turned
to him and indicated the building whose rear they were now facing.

  ‘OK, that’s where we want to get. Time to become a Fianna runner.’

  Emer reached inside her coat and pulled out an old, side-brimmed military hat of her father’s that she had found at home. It was the same type of hat as was worn by Fianna members, but it was a little big for Jack, so she pulled it down tight on his head. ‘Ready to make a run for it?’ she asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

  ‘Yeah, the army don’t seem to be firing on this side.’

  ‘OK, then. Let’s do it!’

  Jack ran flat out, not wanting to be exposed in the open for a second longer than he had to be. He could hear Emer sprinting right on his heels as they made for the rear door of the grim stone building. ‘Fianna despatches!’ he cried out loudly. ‘Don’t shoot, Fianna despatches!’

  Jack and Emer reached the door, and he immediately tried the handle. The door was locked, and Jack pounded on it and again called out, ‘Fianna despatches, don’t shoot!’

  There was movement at a nearby window, then he heard a shouted command. The bolt of the door was loudly undone, and it swung open.

  ‘Where the hell did you come from?!’ asked a red-haired man with thick stubble on his chin. He was dressed in a soiled Volunteer’s uniform and held a Mauser pistol that was pointed at Jack.

  ‘We’re runners from HQ! Let us in before we’re shot!’ cried Jack.

  The man ushered them in, and immediately they encountered another Volunteer – an older man carrying a rifle that was trained on Jack’s chest.

  Jack had decided that the best way to carry off his deception was to sound completely confident, and to behave as though his presence here was entirely plausible. ‘You can lower the rifle. It’s enough being shot at by the Tommies!’

  The man slowly lowered the weapon but looked quizzically at Jack. ‘What’s she doing here?’ he asked, indicating Emer.

  ‘I’m from this area,’ she answered. ‘I know every back lane, so I offered to be a runner.’

  The man raised an eyebrow, but Jack was pleased that Emer was following his lead by responding confidently. ‘You needn’t look down your nose!’ she said. ‘I’ve been risking my life since Monday!’

  ‘Sorry …’ said the man slightly sheepishly.

  Jack decided to go for broke while they seemed to have the upper hand. ‘Where’s the police prisoner being held?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ queried the red-haired man.

  ‘We’ve orders about him from Padraig Pearse,’ answered Jack, reasoning that the name of the commanding officer of the Volunteers would carry some weight.

  ‘Yeah?’ said the older man.

  ‘Yeah. Where can we find him?’

  ‘He’s in the annexe. It’s a white-roofed building in behind the next block,’ said the man, indicating the direction.

  Jack felt a surge of elation. ‘Right,’ he replied.

  ‘The Tommies are trying to take that area. You want to be really careful.’

  ‘We will,’ answered Emer.

  ‘OK, let’s go then,’ said Jack. ‘Thanks for your help,’ he added to the two men as he turned for the door.

  ‘Not so fast, son.’

  Jack thought that he had carried off the deception, but the red-haired man’s words chilled him. He looked around, praying that his fear wasn’t obvious. There was no telling what these men might do if they discovered he was on the side of the enemy, but if he dwelt on that he would lose his nerve. ‘What is it?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

  The red-haired man looked him in the eye. ‘We’ve been pinned down here for nearly two days. What’s the latest news from the city?’

  Jack was glad that the man wasn’t suspicious after all, but he made sure to hide his relief. ‘Mixed news,’ he said. ‘The army retook City Hall, and they’ve artillery at Phibsboro and Trinity College. But we’re holding out in the Four Courts and the Mendicity Institute, so they can’t get their reinforcements down the quays.’

  ‘And the troops that landed in Kingstown are pinned down at Mount Street Bridge,’ said Emer, ‘so the fight goes on!’

  Jack didn’t want to delay any further, and he thought this was a good note on which to depart. ‘So, up the Republic!’ he said.

  ‘Up the Republic!’ answered the Volunteers, as Jack and Emer made for the door.

  The blast of detonating grenades could be heard from nearby, but Emer tried not to flinch in front of the battle-hardened rebels. She was inside the annexe with Jack now, having persuaded its defenders that they were Fianna runners with an important message to deliver.

  ‘Where’s Commandant Ceannt?’ asked Emer briskly, wanting to give the impression that they had official business with the officer in charge of the Volunteers in the South Dublin Union. While visiting her father in hospital last night, she had discovered that Eamonn Ceannt, one of the signatories to the proclamation of independence, was leading the rebels here, and she hoped that her confident use of his name would make herself and Jack seem credible as Fianna runners.

  Most of the Volunteers here were manning sandbag-filled windows, from which they unleashed rifle fire. Two rebels had let her and Jack in, a gaunt youth of about twenty, who Emer suspected was struggling to mask his fear, and a more aggressive, stocky man in his forties who now asked her suspiciously, ‘What’s it to you where Commandant Ceannt is?’

  ‘We need to know if he’s still in command,’ answered Jack. ‘We’ve orders from HQ.’

  ‘Yes, he’s still in command,’ replied the stocky man.

  ‘But he’s not here. He’s up at the Rialto gate,’ added his younger companion.

  ‘Doesn’t really matter,’ said Emer. ‘Our orders are to bring a message for the DMP prisoner. Is he still here?’

  ‘He’s down the corridor,’ said the youth.

  ‘What the hell are you doing bringing a message for a copper?’ asked the stocky man.

  ‘Padraig Pearse is allowing the prisoner to receive a letter from his family,’ said Jack.

  ‘What?!’ exclaimed the older rebel.

  ‘Pearse wants to show that the Volunteers are behaving properly,’ explained Emer. ‘So he’s letting the prisoner have a letter. That way his family knows he’s being treated well.’

  Emer found herself holding her breath as the stocky man considered her answer. More grenades exploded nearby. Emer tried not to react too much to the explosions, but prayed instead that the man would swallow their story.

  ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘Though it’s more than the English would do for us.’

  Emer felt a flood of relief, but before she could respond the man spoke again.

  ‘Give me the letter, and I’ll get it to him.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Jack, ‘but our orders are to give it to him personally.’

  Emer was impressed with Jack’s quick thinking. Suddenly a hail of bullets thudded into the sandbag at the nearest window.

  ‘You’ve enough to do here,’ said Jack. ‘Just tell us where he is, and we’ll go there.’

  ‘Bring them to the prisoner, Sean, and don’t dilly-dally!’ said the stocky man, before picking up his rifle and going to the window.

  ‘OK,’ said the youth importantly, ‘follow me!’

  Jack saw the amazement in his father’s eyes. He quickly raised a finger to his lips, hoping that Da wouldn’t call out his name. They were in a small storage room down the corridor from where the other Volunteers were exchanging rifle fire with the British troops. Jack knew that Emer was deliberately trying to distract the young Volunteer who had escorted them here. He took advantage of being behind the youth to raise his fingers to his lips again and mime urgently to Da not to give the game away.

  To Jack’s relief his father gave a tiny nod to indicate that he got the message. Da looked unharmed, but the bad news was that although he was seated in a chair, his wrist was handcuffed and attached to a radiator via a chain. The sound of gunfire and explod
ing grenades was getting louder all the time, and before Jack could improvise his next move, a loud blast from outside shattered the room’s only window. Fragments of glass flew in all directions, and Jack instinctively shielded his face and turned away.

  The young Volunteer had been nearest to the window, and blood flowed down his cheek from a deep cut over his eyebrow. He raised his hand to the wound, and immediately it was covered in crimson blood. The youth had looked frightened to begin with, and Jack saw that now he was in shock.

  ‘We need to get you to a medic,’ said Emer, and Jack admired his friend’s speed in taking advantage of the situation.

  ‘We’ve no medics here,’ said the youth.

  ‘To be bandaged then. Have you first-aid supplies somewhere?’

  ‘Back in the command room.’

  ‘Leave them to sort out the letter,’ said Emer, indicating Jack and his father. ‘Let’s get you back there before you lose any more blood!’

  ‘All right,’ said the youth shakily.

  Jack could have hugged Emer for her inventiveness, but instead he moved towards Da as his friend helped the young Volunteer out the door.

  ‘What are you doing here, Jack?’ asked his father.

  ‘I came to free you!’

  ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘They think we’re Fianna runners. I’ll explain later – we haven’t time now! Where’s the key to this chain?’

  ‘With a pile of other keys in the drawer of that press,’ said Da, indicating a tall wooden cabinet against the far wall.

  Jack quickly crossed the room and pulled open the drawer. To his dismay there were dozens of keys, some on rings, others loose in the bottom of the drawer. ‘There’s loads! How do we know which it is?’ he cried, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. The fighting was getting ever nearer, and now black smoke was wafting in through the broken window. Most worrying of all was the fact that at any moment the injured Volunteer or one of his comrades might come back.

  ‘It’s a squat silver key,’ said Da.