“Men, it was your membership in the Royal Irish Constabulary that led to this battle today. It is not our wish to fight and kill fellow countrymen.”
There was a silence as the prisoners waited to hear what their fate would be.
“On behalf of the Provisional Government of the Irish Republic, you are all hereby pardoned. If ever, however, you are seen again bearing arms against the Republic, you will..be..shot. Make no mistake about that.”
Emmet heard Liam muttering beside him. “I’ll be watching.”
Emmet glanced at the scowl on Liam’s face as the prisoners were dismissed and told to go home. I can’t tell if he’s bloodthirsty or just wants everyone to think he is.
When the prisoners had all dispersed, their weapons and ammunition were loaded into the remaining vehicles to take them to their new camp in Kilsallaghan.
Emmet cycled beside his father. “I was worried for you, Da. How’s the shoulder?”
Ned was riding with only one hand on his handlebars while the other was tucked against himself. “A bit stiff but not too bad.”
“It seemed like Section One was really taking a beating.”
His father’s teeth shone white through the grime on his face in the fading light of dusk. “We gave the beating, son. I was in no real danger.”
Emmet was mostly silent on the ten-kilometre ride to the new camp as his father discussed the operation.
As the Volunteers set about making camp, Emmet overheard men around him talking. “We’ll be marching down to Dublin tomorrow. Mark my words.”
“Aye, we’ve got a good arsenal now to take with us.”
Emmet joined Liam in the line waiting for food. “Will our lives ever go back to normal, do you think?”
Liam swelled out his chest. “This is normal now, me boyo.”
“And what about your family? They must be worried about you.” And Mam. Poor Mam must be out of her mind by now.
“Sure, I’m a man now. My family’ll be glad of one less mouth to feed.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Believe it.”
“Are you done with school, then?”
“The school of life will teach me more than the Brothers ever could.”
Emmet accepted a dish of mutton stew and wandered over to sit beside his two brothers, his mind on Liam for a moment. He’s found his calling. He sat down beside his oldest brother, drawing comfort from Michael’s warmth. “What happens now, does anybody know?”
Michael scraped his bowl clean and then set it aside. “We’re waiting for orders.”
Kevin looked at Michael, who seemed to be well-informed. “What’s the news from Dublin?”
Michael shrugged. “I heard they’re holding on, but barely. The city is burning.”
Emmet frowned. “So it’s just a matter of time before they are taken over?”
Michael nodded. “It was always just a matter of time.”
“There was never any hope of winning?”
Kevin coughed a short bark of a laugh. “Emmet, are you mad? The Brits aren’t about to hand over the country they’ve been lord and master over for hundreds of years, without an almighty fight.”
Emmet felt himself flush. “But there must be some kind of hope, otherwise what’s it all for?”
Michael reached over and tousled Emmet’s hair. “You’re right. There’s hope, of course. It just won’t be easy. This is just the start of a long fight.”
Emmet sighed. No college for me, then. Life is changed forever. He felt dizzy at the thought. Blood and death. But if that’s what it takes, so be it.
Later, when they were all stretched out on the floor of the old barn, Emmet raised himself up on his elbow to look down at his father who was lying beside him.
His father opened his eyes, looking up at his youngest son. “What is it?”
“Does Mam know we’re all fine?”
“She does. I managed a quick ride out to the house earlier on.”
Emmet nodded. “That’s good.”
“Was there something else?”
“I guess I’m done with school.”
His father raised himself up on his good elbow as well. “Why is that?”
“Well, the Republic needs me.”
“The Republic will always need you. Not every man needs to carry a gun to be useful. The country needs educated men and women, trained in every skill and trade.”
Emmet blinked. “So you think I should continue on in school?”
“Without question, if that’s what you want.”
Emmet bit his lip, trying to imagine how it could work. His father and brothers out fighting with the Volunteers, and him home with his mother.
His father seemed to follow Emmet’s thoughts. “Son, this battle has almost run its course. Life will go back to what it was, but with a difference. The Brits now know that we aren’t prepared to settle for the status quo any longer.”
Emmet nodded.
His father lowered himself back to the floor and closed his eyes. “For now, though, let’s get some sleep and we’ll leave tomorrow to tomorrow.”
• • •
On Friday morning, the men walked restlessly around the camp, chatting, smoking and drinking tea. At one point Emmet saw Ashe and Mulcahy studying some papers and then Mulcahy left, riding Ashe’s Hudson motorcycle.
Emmet walked from group to group listening to the speculation. Last night’s excitement after the success of the Battle of Ashbourne, as it was already being called, was wearing off. “The police have been spotted regrouping. They’ll catch us like fish in a barrel here.”
“No, we’re being disbanded and reassigned to other battalions.”
And “We’re going down to reinforce Dublin.” That rumour was the most prevalent.
The coughing sputter of the motorbike had everyone watching when Mulcahy returned and spoke to Ashe. After a short discussion between the two of them, Ashe called everyone together for a briefing.
The men gathered close together to hear what was coming.
The smell of a week’s worth of unwashed bodies mingled with the damp wool of their jackets and the acrid smell of turf smoke. Emmet inhaled as he glanced around the group. It was a unique smell of this moment, of this group. And Emmet knew that he would remember it always.
Ashe took a deep breath, his face a frowning mask before he spoke. “Men. The orders are in. Lieutenant Mulcahy has verified the orders, so there’s no point in denying them or protesting.”
The man standing beside Emmet shifted uneasily from foot to foot.
Ashe continued. “I have here an order, signed by our Commander-in-Chief, Padraig Pearse, instructing us to surrender.”
A moan of pain and disbelief went through the group.
Ashe held up his hand. “I will read the order in full.”
Emmet looked at his father and saw tears running down his face. It was the first time he had ever seen his father cry. Emmet felt a sob building in his own throat and swallowed hard, listening as Ashe read.
In order to prevent further slaughter of the civil population and in the hope of saving the lives of our followers, the members of the Provisional Government present at headquarters have decided on an unconditional surrender, and commandants or officers commanding districts will order their commands to lay down arms.
Ashe now looked up, took a deep breath and gulped, his Adam’s apple jumping visibly. “The order is signed P.H. Pearse, Dublin, this twenty-ninth day of April, 1916.”
One of the Volunteers shouted out. “Feck it! That’s all right for Dublin City, but why do we need to surrender?”
Ashe straightened his shoulders, his moment of deep emotion conquered. “Because our Commander-In-Chief has ordered it.”
A rumble went through the group; men muttered protests and folded their arms across their chests, scowling.
Ashe continued. “What we have accomplished will be written in history. The Fifth Battalion has done the Republic proud, and you, ea
ch and every one of you, will hold your head high as we follow our orders. Know that we will fight another day and know that one day complete and absolute victory will be ours when we see our children and grandchildren live as free Irishmen and women.”
Ashe turned to Mulcahy. Everyone could hear as Ashe ordered him to go and arrange the surrender to the British cavalry.
Ashe ordered the Section leaders to form up their sections to await their official surrender.
Liam stopped beside Emmet as they were moving into place. “It’s a fecking fiasco. We should just get the hell out of here now, before the Brits show up.”
Emmet shook his head. “You go if you want to, but I’ll do as my Commander-In-Chief orders.”
Liam grimaced and moved away to join his section.
They were told to sit in formation and wait. Emmet was glad he was in the same Section as his father and Kevin. His stomach was twisting. What now? What happens now? Will they shoot us for treason?
It seemed hours, but wasn’t, before the ground vibrated with the approach of boots on the ground.
Ashe came out of the barn with his briefcase. The weapons and ammunition had already been gathered and were stacked ready to be confiscated.
Ashe nodded to the section leaders.
The orders rang out. “Men, atten-tion.”
Everyone rose and stood straight, arms by their sides.
The Lawless brothers each turned, backs to their sections, to face the enemy now coming towards them with rifles and fixed bayonets.
Emmet heard the man behind him mutter. “Just yesterday we were the ones taking prisoners.” His voice was dazed as if he couldn’t imagine how this turn of events had happened.
They watched as Ashe and Mulcahy officially surrendered to the senior British officer, and then the order was given to “Quick, march.”
During the long march to Richmond Barracks in Dublin, Emmet’s mind jumped from one thought to another. Small details took on great importance as his brain tried to come to grips with his arrest. What will happen to my bicycle? It’ll be stolen probably. Will Mam be told? He tried to think of what his classmates would be working on during the coming week. He tried everything to keep the fear from gripping him. Now what? Now what?
As they approached Dublin, Emmet’s fear gave way to shock as citizens of Dublin City jeered them. Children ran alongside, laughing and pointing. Women shouted “Youse ought to be ashamed.”
We fought for them. How can they act this way? Don’t they want to live as free Irish citizens? Emmet felt the fear melt away from him to be replaced by anger. What’s wrong with them? He pushed back his shoulders. Ashe had told them to hold their heads high.
By God I will.
They marched on, approaching the high, grey-mottled stone walls of the barracks. As he marched under the high archway leading into the barracks courtyard, he slanted his eyes to the man marching beside him. Emmet could see that he too, marched with his chin up, his cap square on his head. Emmet felt his heart contract. I love these men. Whatever happens, we did it for the right reasons and that will get me through.
Chapter Four
Richmond Barracks, Dublin, May 1916
In the two weeks following the internment of the Fingal Volunteers, Emmet learned more about Irish history than he had in his entire eleven years of schooling. He listened in awe to men like Eamon de Valera as they talked of their experience during the days of the Rising. de Valera had been at Boland’s Mill. Like the Fifth Battalion, he hadn’t believed the surrender order.
“When O’Connor and I got the message, I sent Elizabeth O’Farrell out again to get the order counter-signed by my own Commanding Officer. She went, God love her, but even without MacDonagh’s signature we were forced to believe it when we heard the silence falling everywhere.”
Emmet and Liam sat cross-legged in the warm sun of the courtyard. The sun didn’t last long. The tall stone walls on four sides made the space gloomy and damp for most of the day, but for these moments, Emmet couldn’t think of a better place to be.
They talked of the tragedy following the surrender. de Valera shook his head. “Pearse, Clarke and MacDonagh. All gone now. The bastards will pay one day for shooting them.”
Day after day, more men were taken out to Kilmainham Jail to be executed. And then, on May eighth, de Valera, Ashe and four others were taken for trial.
Emmet walked around the large yard with his father. “Da, what do you think will happen? Will they execute all of us?”
His father draped his arm around Emmet’s shoulders and gave him a quick hug. “No, they won’t. They’re going after all the leaders, but the rest of us will have to do time.”
Emmet turned his head to look in his father’s face. “So far everyone that gets taken away never comes back.”
“I know. It’s hard to see. You have to stay strong, son.”
When his father dropped his arm again, Emmet felt the loss of the connection. “You’re not considered a leader, sure, you aren’t?”
“I’m no one’s leader outside of the family, and even then, not always.”
Emmet tried to smile at the weak joke. “Michael’s not easily led.”
“No, he never was, but it’s made him into a fine, independent man.”
By the end of that day they got the news. Both Ashe and de Valera sentenced to death. They were taken to Kilmainham Jail to await their execution.
The men left at Richmond Barracks had little appetite for their supper. For the Fingal Volunteers, this was now very personal as Ashe, their leader, the man they had all known and with whom they had fought side-by-side, waited to die. As he sat with the others at a long table in the mess hall, Emmet found he could hardly choke down his bread when he thought of Ashe saying his last prayers in Kilmainham Jail.
Liam tried to talk to Emmet. “What do you think he’s thinking about?”
Emmet shrugged, unable to even talk.
“Would he be thinking of his family, or about the Cause?”
Emmet stood and walked away from friend. “I don’t know, Liam. I can’t bear to think of it.”
Emmet looked up as Kevin came striding into the room. The excitement on his brother’s face had the small groups of two and threes all turn to hear what Kevin had to say.
“The sentence has been changed.”
“What? What’s happened?” the demands for more news went around as they crowded close to Kevin.
“I just heard it from one of the guards. Ashe, de Valera and the others. It’s been changed to penal servitude for life.”
Men crossed themselves in thanks. “What’s changed?” One of the Volunteers looked to Kevin for the answer.
“The guard told me that there’s been a huge backlash after the executions. The British government is afraid to execute any more prisoners.” Kevin shrugged. “That’s what the guard said, anyway.”
Some of the men left to try and discover more information. Emmet joined Kevin as the crowd thinned. “Do you think that’s an end to the executions, Kevin?”
“It’s impossible to know. Tomorrow they could change their minds again, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Remember we’ve been hearing that people are starting to complain?”
Emmet nodded. Someone usually managed to get their hands on a newspaper which would make the rounds amongst the internees, so they had read reports of a changing attitude amongst Dubliners. Where they had made cups of tea for the British soldiers during the week of the rising, they were now coming out to protest.
“Ashe is safe. And de Valera. It’s great news.”
Kevin nodded. “They’ll be here to lead us into the next phase of the revolution.”
Emmet frowned. “They can hardly do that from jail.”
Kevin smiled. “You think not? Wait and see, little brother.”
Emmet felt more hopeful and went in search of Liam. He stepped out into the yard. Near the end, by the gates, a crowd gathered. He frowned. Visitors were allowed between eleven in the morning
and one in the afternoon. By now they should all be gone. He quickened his pace and joined the edge of the gathering crowd.
He craned to see what was in the centre of the group. “What’s going on?”
A burly man in a flat cap spoke over his shoulder to answer Emmet’s question. “Fight.”
Emmet started to back away. He’d seen enough fighting for now, but then he heard a shout of encouragement. “Come on, Liam! That’s it.”
Liam. It might be another man with the same name, but Emmet felt his stomach churn. He pushed his way forward despite the complaints and shoves he received.
Oh God, no. It is Liam. He wanted to call out to him to stop but knew it would be hopeless. He could only wait until it was over and try to offer his friend comfort.
Liam stood with his fists raised, his lip already cut and bleeding, his cap in the dust nearby. “You bastard. You’d sell out your own mother, wouldn’t you?”
Liam’s opponent was taller and older, but he was thin, with bad buckteeth, giving him the look of a weasel.
The weasel-man jabbed at Liam. “I didn’t sell out anyone.”
“I saw you. You were getting all cozy with the guards.” Liam jerked his head towards one of the guards standing close by, whose rifle with fixed bayonet rested casually on the ground. Beside him stood another guard. It seemed to Emmet that the two were making bets on the outcome of the fight, and they weren’t alone. This was great sport in a place where boredom reigned.
Liam danced around the weasel-man, bouncing from foot to foot and suddenly he moved in. He struck a fist into the man’s stomach. A sympathetic groan rumbled through the crowd as the thin man doubled over with a grunt of pain. Liam kneed him in the face while the man was bent over, but instead of striking the nose, the man turned at the last second, taking the blow on the side of his jaw. He straightened quickly, taking Liam by surprise and then it was Liam’s face taking the blows. The weasel man punched and then struck again, ignoring the spurt of blood exploding from Liam’s nose. Liam fell back, but the weasel-man clutched at him with his left arm, using his right fist to smack him again and one more time before Liam crumpled. Weasel-man aimed a kick at Liam’s ribs and then the guard stepped in.
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