The Irish rebellion of 1916

by Nora Connolly O'Brien

"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?"