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.