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."
"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 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."
"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 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.
"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 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 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.
All day long the men were arriving at Liberty Hall. Tense excitement 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.
THOMAS J. CLARKE
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 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 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 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 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."
"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.
"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 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.
THE PROCLAMATION OF THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT ISSUED AT
THE G.P.O. ON MONDAY, APRIL 24TH, 1917.
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 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, 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.