But the Lord Mayor was to be alive two months after that.
The National Press began a campaign for the release of the hunger strikers. Before the fast was many days old the following headlines had appeared:—
“Lord Mayor unable to speak. Signs of the end. Deathbed message.” “Sinking very rapidly.” In smaller type, “Cork captives dying.” “Just fading away. Deathbed scenes.”
But to the embarrassment of the Press, which as usual lacked restraint, the strikers delayed dying, and week after week passed, until all fasting records were broken. Little by little the fury of the Press abated, and presently the “martyrs” were shifted from the leading columns to less important places.
A cloud gathered over the affair. Then threats were tried. The Medical Officer at Cork Prison received the following letter:—
“As your professional attendance upon the eleven hunger strikers in Cork Jail gives a tinge of legality to the slow murder being perpetrated upon them, you are hereby ordered to leave the jail at once, and the country within twenty-four hours of this date—3 p.m. 6th Sept. ’20.
“Failure to comply with this order will incur drastic punishment.
“O.C. No. 1 Brigade, I.R.A.”
With the majority of the nation the strikers remained national heroes, “martyr” was the word most commonly used in connection with them; but as the fast became more and more incredible, a section of the public began to experience doubt. All sorts of rumours were afloat—that the Lord Mayor could not return to Cork owing to the rage of his friends—that the Catholic Church was troubled and divided whether this decision to starve should be considered as suicide or not. In the meantime prayers were offered for the strikers in thousands of homes, and tears stole down thousands of cheeks at thought of the men suffering for Ireland.
“One of God’s miracles!” frequently declared Mrs. Slaney, as the fast passed from fifty days to sixty days, and went on towards seventy. And this belief in Divine intervention was common to many hearts.