XII
It was about two-thirty on Saturday when we started to walk from Dundalk to Dublin, and when it began to grow dark we were still walking. While we were discussing the problem of where to spend the night, we came upon a barricade. We were in a quandary. What were we to do? We slowed up in our walking but that was no use; we were bound to pass it eventually—or be detained. We had not the slightest idea as to what we should do. We did not know the name of the next village, so we could not say that we were going there. We did not even know the name of the village we were in! What should we do? If we were stopped and searched—I had my revolver and ammunition and Agna wore her uniform under her coat and skirt—enough evidence to have us arrested. However, we put on a brave face and stepped forward bravely towards the barricade. About six yards from it we encountered two strong wires which were stretched across the entire width of the road, one reaching to the chin and the other to the knees. To give the impression that we had passed that way before and that we knew all about the wires, we ducked our heads under the high wire and put our legs over the lower one, then continued our walk to the barricade.
It was in charge of a corporal's guard. As we came abreast the soldiers, evidently thinking that we were country girls doing our Saturday's marketing, made some remark, in a broad Belfast accent, about carrying our bundles for us. In an accent broader than theirs, Agna gave them some flippant answer at which they roared with laughter; and while they were laughing we passed on. Further on we came to the village proper. Not until we saw the sign over the Post Office—"Dunleer P.O."—did we know the name of the village through which we were passing.
As we walked it grew darker. "What will we do—where will we spend the night?" I said to Agna. "There are no hotels about here, and if there were we could not go to them as we would have to register. If we ask at the cottages for a night's lodging they may become suspicious. If we walk all night we may meet military or police patrols, and that would mean that we would be sent to Armagh Jail instead of going to Dublin. What will we do?"
"O, pick out a nice field and spend the night there," said Agna airily.
"It looks as if that is just what we'll have to do," I said ruefully. "Come on and pick one before it gets too dark."
We heard a dog barking further down the road—that was the only sign of life. We judged that it was about nine o'clock and that every one was in bed. There was a path that turned to the right off the road which we took and walked along for about one hundred yards. Then we clambered over the hedge and into the field. It looked as if we had chosen a good place for we found ourselves in a sort of dell covered with grass and heather. We searched and found, as we thought, the softest place. Everything around us was so still that we felt compelled to talk in whispers. We could feel the darkness descending on us as Ave sat there, forgetting our weariness in the novelty of the situation.
We had been silent for a long time when Agna said, "To-morrow will be Sunday."
"Yes," I said. "We'll look queer carrying bundles through the villages on a Sunday."
"So we will," said Agna. "Look," she said suddenly. "Why couldn't we put on everything we can. It will make us fatter but it will make the bundles a respectable size. And we'll be warmer to-night," she added.
Her last remark decided me. I had been growing colder every minute I sat there and any suggestion to relieve me was welcome.
"All right," I said. "Let's start and put them on."
We opened the bundles and were very busy for some time. When we had finished there was twice the amount of clothing on than we had when we begun. We looked at each other, feeling bulky.
"I hope my coat will go on me," said Agna as she began to put it on. "There now, I've got everything on me except my towels, and brush and comb. Oh, and my putties."
"You can put them in your coat pocket," I said.
"I've got safety pins, roller bandages, my handkerchiefs and my purse in them so there's no room there."
"Put them in your raincoat pocket." She did so and stood up to inspect herself.
"O Lordy," she exclaimed. "I'm an imitation umbrella." Then she turned her attention to me.
"How did you get on?" she asked.
"Like you," I replied. "Only I've a pair of stockings left."
"Put them on you?" she said. "What's the use of getting boots two sizes too big for you, if you can't wear two pairs of stockings when you want to?"
I had forgotten that I could not get my size when I was buying my marching boots, and was compelled to take a pair two sizes too large. I put the stockings on.
"I never felt so big and heavy in my life before," I remarked.
"You'll be used to it by morning," she said consolingly. "Lie down and go to sleep."
"Sleep—" I commenced when she interrupted me to ask, "Nora, do you think there are any earwigs here? They might get into our ears when we are asleep."
"Earwigs," I repeated. "I don't know. But there's bound to be other insects and they would just as easily get into our ears as earwigs."
"What will we do?" she asked anxiously, for she was tired and wanted to sleep. I looked about and saw the towels.
"Put them around our heads," I said, pointing to them. So we each took a towel and pinned it around our heads to keep out wandering insects while we slept. But we need not have worried about what might happen to us while we slept, for we did not sleep that night.
As we lay there we could see the stars come out one by one, yet we could not sleep. The quietness of the place kept us listening expectantly for we knew not what. A heavy mist began to cover the field and wrapped itself about us till our clothes were dampened through and through. For the first time, I think, we were physically aware of the number of bones in our bodies, for each one seemed to be dancing to a tune of its own. Our teeth were chattering so that we could not speak. In an effort to keep ourselves warm we lay close together with our arms round each other. But our efforts were of no use; we could not sleep nor could we keep ourselves warm. We gave the struggle up and huddling close to the ditch we sat and waited for the dawn.
After an infinity of time the dawn came. Far off at the furthermost edge of the field we saw a streak of gray. As we watched it gradually widening we heard a cock crow in the distance. Under the descending light the fields seemed a glistening sea and our tweed skirts as if sprinkled with diamonds. The birds began to awaken and to chirrup in the hedges. For all we could see or hear, the birds and ourselves were the only stirring, living beings.
We sat on waiting for time to pass. As we did not have a watch with us we gauged the time by the sky. The distance between us and Drogheda we knew to be less than eight miles; and there was a possibility that we might get a train from Drogheda to some of the local stations. But as we were not sure we decided to recommence our walk, so that we would be all the earlier on our way to Dublin. With this thought in our minds we rose stiffly and plodded down the path to the main road. We really did not feel tired. As a matter of fact, we were anxious to have as many adventures and experiences as possible to tell our father when we reached Dublin. We pictured ourselves sitting on his knees, as we had often done before, telling him everything, watching for the ever-ready twinkle in his eye, and saw him give the quick throwback of his head, when we came to the more laughable parts of our story. It was this picture that helped us over the hard parts of our journey. As we went along the road to Drogheda our conversation consisted mainly of—"Wait till we tell Papa this—" or, "What will Papa say to that—" and, "Won't he laugh when we tell him—," so we whiled away the time, fixing firmly in our minds the most amusing parts of our journey.
It was not until we were within two miles of Drogheda that we met with any one on the road. The first person we saw was a cyclist, next we saw a man and woman going to milk the cows. And then as we went further along the road we saw many more people wending their way to town. At last, we came to Drogheda. It was practically deserted—a few milk-carts and a couple of policemen were all that we met as we proceeded into town. Then a church bell began to ring. We followed the sound and soon had joined a crowd that was hurrying to church. We were in time for seven o'clock Mass.
After Mass we wandered about a little hoping to find a place where we could get something to eat, also to find the road to Dublin. On account of it being Sunday and so early in the morning there was no place open. Although hungry we were not as much annoyed at the result of our search for food as contented when we came upon the road to Dublin. As we walked on I saw the railway station. A thought struck me, perhaps we can get a train now. I turned to Agna and said, "Go up to the station and ask if there will be a train to Skerries to-day."
In about fifteen minutes she returned and said there would be no trains running but the military trains. Then once again we started on our tramp.
Agna complained of hunger, and I was none the less hungry. We had not eaten since one-thirty the day before. "Would it be any use, do you think," I asked, turning to Agna, "to call at some of the cottages and ask them to make some tea for us?"
"It might be worth trying, anyway," she replied.
"Well," I said. "I'll wait till it gets a little later then I'll go to some of the cottages and ask."
It was after nine o'clock when I first ventured to a cottage. A woman opened the door to my knock, she had a bonnet on and was draping a shawl about her shoulders.
"We have been walking since early morning," I said, "and want to know if you will make us a cup of tea."
"I would," she replied, "only I've barely time to get to Mass. I'm sorry, but I can't miss Mass. I've to walk to Drogheda."
"No," I said. "It wouldn't do to miss Mass."
She came to the gate and bade me a cordial good-by. I tried two or three cottages after that, but from them all I had the same story—they were all going to Mass, so we had to go without our breakfast.
Just outside Drogheda we saw a milestone bearing the legend "Dublin 25 miles." And from then on the only excitement of our journey was to see who would be the first to spy a milestone. When we saw a milestone marked "Dublin 18 miles" we were exhilarated—Dublin seemed only a few steps away.
Sunday was, if any thing, warmer than the preceding day, and our double outfit made us dreadfully uncomfortable. I knew that it was not the heat or the long walk, or the two pairs of stockings that was responsible for the burning pain in my feet. My feet were burning me as never before. Agna had great faith in liniment. She likes to take it with her when she goes for a long walk; she says it takes the pain and stiffness from her muscles. When we were making our preparations the night before she had "linimented" herself as she calls the operation. I had had no pain or tiredness, but the soles of my feet were sore, and Agna, in her unfailing faith in the bottle, had "linimented" them, overruling whatever objections I had. And now, I was suffering torments—the liniment was burning its way into my flesh, made tender by the two pairs of stockings, heavy boots, and long march. At last, I could stand it no longer, so I said to Agna, "I must get my boots and stockings off—I'll have to get some relief or I'll go mad."
EOIN MACNEILL
Professor of Early Irish History, Head of the Irish Volunteers, whose
demobilization order "broke the back of the rebellion," according
to the report of the British Royal Commission. Yet in spite of this he
was sentenced to prison for life.
I walked towards the hedge that was dividing the road from the fields and looked through the branches. I saw that the land was plowed. It looked so cool and comforting that I decided to go in to cool my feet. We walked along till we saw a gap in the hedge. We went through it and found ourselves in a shady corner of the field. I lost no time in pulling off my shoes and stockings, and then I thrust my feet deep down in the cool, brown earth.
How long we sat there I do not know for we both dozed off. Then we heard a distant dull booming which must have awakened us. Agna must have wakened at the same time as myself for she was listening, her head turned away from me, and her ear cocked in the direction from which the booming came. The booming went on at regular intervals. At last, Agna turned to me, her eyes widened and a thought written on her face that she did not dare to express in words.
"What is it, Nora?" she asked.
I shook my head. "It's in Dublin," I answered.
"There might be fighting in the Irish Sea," she hazarded.
"No, it's in Dublin," I insisted. We were silent for a while, a great dread growing in our hearts. Agna broke the silence.
"Dublin, Nora," she said. "And we are—"
"We are eighteen miles away from Dublin," I said.
When we had seen the last milestone that told us that we were eighteen miles away from Dublin, we thought we were very near; but now, our thought was how very far away we were from there.
The booming continued. We could picture our friends, our comrades, boys and girls fighting with rifles against those big guns whose booming could be heard eighteen miles away.
"We must not lose a minute. We must hurry, hurry, hurry till we get to Dublin," I said, and saw that unconsciously I had been putting on my shoes and stockings, and that I was ready for the march.
In the torment of our minds as to what those big guns might be doing at the moment in Dublin, the pain, the weariness and the hunger of our bodies went unnoticed. We swung along as best we could, trying to keep to the beat of a march, and determined to be in Dublin before dark. We entered a village. Usually when we came to a village we walked at an ordinary pace so as not to attract notice by an appearance of haste. But this time, in our impatience to be in Dublin, we threw all cautiousness to the winds and went as quickly as we could. We passed through the village; but just as the main street ended and the Dublin road began again, we saw a barricade. Like the others it was made of country carts, but unlike them it was guarded by both police and soldiers. They seemed to be more particular at this one for we saw them stop a cyclist and give his bicycle a most thorough examination. They looked under the saddle, and into the tool-bag; and then they turned their attention to the rider. His pockets were turned out one by one. I suppose they were looking to see if he carried a dispatch.
After him came two boys who were stopped as they were walking past. We were almost at the barricade by this time and we saw close beside it a restaurant. As usual they had left a space for pedestrians to pass through and unfortunately for us, the door of the restaurant was on the other side of the barricade. It was, if I might use the phrase, next door to it. But the boys, who had just been stopped by the military, unintentionally did us a good turn, for they began to resist being searched. While they were talking indignantly, and struggling with the soldiers, Agna and I slipped through into the restaurant. When we had asked for something to eat we went to the window to see what was the outcome of the struggle. To our surprise, we saw the boys laughing and chatting with the soldiers who were examining their pockets.
We did not realize how hungry we were till we began to eat our dinner. We finished all before us for we had not eaten since lunch the day before; and it was three o'clock then. The waitress kept hovering around as if she would like to speak, but did not know how to begin. At length she asked us if we were going far.
"To Clontarf," I answered.
"O," she said disappointedly. "I thought you might be coming from Dublin, and would have some news."
"No," I said. "We haven't any; we left Drogheda this morning and there was no news there."
"Did you hear how things were going in Dublin?" she asked.
"No," I answered. "Did you?"
"Well," she said. "I heard they were surrendering in Dublin—that they were beaten. But I don't believe it," she added quickly.
"Nor do I," I said. "They couldn't be beaten so soon."
"That's what I've said all along," she said. Evidently she was a rebel and was trying to find out if we were, too. But before we could carry on any further conversation we heard the soldiers call "Halt," and then we saw a motor car stopping outside the window.
The waitress put her head out the window and began to chaff the occupants of the car.
"Are you bringing ammunition to the Sinn Feiners?" she asked them.
"How many Sinn Feiners have you hidden in the car?"—and so forth.
While she was doing this I said to Agna, "Come, we'll look out, too, then the soldiers may think we belong here." We did so and also joined in the chaffing while the soldiers were searching the car. When they had allowed the car to go on the waitress said to them in a very sarcastic tone:
"All day at it and you haven't caught a single Sinn Feiner yet?" The soldiers looked up at us and grinned sheepishly; but they did not seem the least disturbed at their failure to catch one.
We turned in from the window, paid our score, and went out of the restaurant just as the sergeant in command of the barricade was stepping in. My heart gave a great leap. "Was he coming in to question us?" I asked myself. But he made way for us and we went out into the street. This time we were on the right side of the barricade; still there was a chance of our being stopped. However, we looked at the soldiers, nodded and smiled to them, received nods and smiles in return and walked down the Dublin Road.
Balbriggan was the name of the town we had just left, some fifteen miles from Dublin. Now that we were refreshed by the meal, Dublin seemed no distance away from us, and we felt sure that we could reach it before dark. We met more people on this road than we had met within all the rest of our journey, some going towards Dublin, some towards Drogheda. Many a bit of news we heard as it was called across the road by friends as they passed. But there was none that we could rely upon as each bit contradicted the other. Still we began to feel that there was bad news in store for us.
We had gone along the road for about four miles when I suddenly became lame; the big muscle in my right leg was powerless. I kept on as best I could dragging my right leg after me. When I had gone about a mile this way I grew desperate. The pain was almost more than I could bear, and the milestones were dreadfully far apart. Then I said to Agna, "The first car that comes along I'll ask for a lift."
The first car that came along was a big gray touring car occupied by a lady and gentleman. I did not ask them for a lift; but the gentleman looked back at us after he had passed.
"Perhaps he knows us," said Agna. "It might be some of our friends dispatching."
"No, he's not," I answered.
"Well, he's stopping," returned Agna. "Hurry up. Perhaps he will give us a lift."
"I can't hurry," I said. "I'm going as best I can."
"Look," said Agna. "He's backing up towards us."
She was right. The big car was backing up to us. When it was near the man asked,
"Are you going far?"
"To Clontarf," answered Agna.
"I'm going within six miles of it. If you care to get in I'll take you that length."
"Thank you very much," said Agna. "My sister is almost done up."
"You're from the North, aren't you?" asked the man when we had taken our seats in the car.
"Yes," I answered. "We left Drogheda this morning."
"Who are you going to in Clontarf?" he asked after he had driven for some distance.
"My mother," I said. "She came down for the Easter holidays and has not been able to get away. She's probably terrified out of her senses as she has the two youngest children with her."
"She's probably hungry, too," he said. "Did you bring her food?"
"No," I said. "But we brought her money."
"Food would have been better," he said. "People who live on the outskirts of Dublin are in a bad way. They've always depended on Dublin for their supplies. They can get none now. I've just been to Drogheda for bread."
"To Drogheda for bread," I repeated in amazement.
"Yes," he said. "It's no joke to have to go twenty-five miles for bread. Weren't you two girls afraid to come down here?"
"We had to come," I said simply. "Papa couldn't come so he sent us."
All this time we had been spinning along at a splendid rate. We were cooled off and feeling rested. Suddenly the man slowed up the machine. "Hello, what's this?" he said. We followed his gaze and saw that the telegraph wires had been completely cut through; not one wire was left together. "Hm," he said. "We must make a note of that and keep our eyes open for more." There was no more conversation after that for some time. On our way we saw the wires cut in two places.
After some time we came to a village. There was a guard of soldiers patrolling the street in front of a building. When we came nearer we saw that it was the police barracks; and that the windows were broken and the street strewn with telegraph wires.
"O?" I said, wondering what it could mean.
"Yes," said the man. "The rebels came here, captured the police barracks, took every rifle and all the ammunition, and marched away to Dublin or Wexford. But before they did that they cut down all the telegraph wires and stopped all communication between this town and any other. They made a good job of it—every man of them got away."
He then left the car to go over to speak to the soldier in charge. When he returned he said, "I told him about the wires being cut further up the road." And then we started off again. He stopped the car outside of the village near a bridge and told us that he was not going any further. We stepped out of the car and thanked him for his kindness in bringing us so far.
"Not at all," he said. "Don't mention it. Glad to help any one."
We watched him as he turned the car up a driveway of an estate near the bridge; wondering if he would be glad to think that he had helped the daughters of the Commandant-General of the Rebels to reach Dublin.