1916

by Morgan Llywelyn

  ON Palm Sunday, James Connolly flew the green flag of Ireland, with its golden harp unsullied by a crown, over Liberty Hall.11

  That same night Bulmer Hobson, speaking at a Cumann na mBan concert, guardedly warned the Volunteers against precipitate action.12 He insisted that Ireland’s hopes for freedom depended not upon militancy, but upon the peace conference after the European war.

  “Another bloody conference, another bloody wait,” a man in the audience muttered to his wife. “Another bloody chance for Ireland to be put on the long finger while the rest of the world goes on without us.”

  ON Tuesday the eighteenth of April, the Military Council called a special meeting for that night. Ned was entrusted with notifying everybody. As soon as he finished his shift at the Independent he was on his bicycle. His last stop was at Larkfield, where Joe Plunkett took one look at his perspiring face and offered, “Would you like to ride back with me? My father’s driver will take us and we can put your push-bike in the boot of the car.”

  Ned gave him a weary grin. “I should appreciate that very much.”

  As they drove, Plunkett asked, “Did anyone tell you what this meeting is about?”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “Oh, I think it is. Why don’t you come in with me?”

  “Are you sure? I wasn’t asked.”

  “I’m asking you, Ned. Let’s just say I have a sense of the dramatic.”

  The meeting was being held in a house in Henry Street belonging to Jenny Wyse Power, a friend of Con Markievicz.13 As the motorcar purred to a halt in front of the house Ned observed a score of Volunteers stationed up and down the street. They were trying to be unobtrusive, but he recognized both Seán Heuston and Brian Joyce.

  Plunkett knocked once, three times, once again. The door opened a crack and he whispered a password. A woman in a blue dress opened the door and showed them to an upstairs room.

  Six men were seated around a table. Pádraic Pearse looked up when Ned entered. “Joe invited me,” Ned said quickly.

  “I’m glad he did; I should have done so myself. It’s appropriate that one of the Saint Enda’s boys be a witness tonight.”

  “A witness to what, sir?”

  Pearse handed him a single sheet of paper.

  THE PROCLAMATION OF

  POBLACHT NA N-EMEANN

  THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT

  OF THE

  IRISH REPUBLIC

  TO THE PEOPLE OF IRELAND

  Irishmen and Irishwomen:

  In the name of God and of the dead generations from which she receives her old tradition of nationhood, Ireland, through us, summons her children to her flag and strikes for her freedom. Having organised and trained her manhood through her secret revolutionary organisation the Irish Republican Brotherhood, and through her open military organisations, the Irish Volunteers and the Irish Citizen Army, having patiently perfected her discipline, having resolutely waited for the right moment to reveal itself, she now seizes that moment, and supported by her exiled children in America and by gallant allies in Europe, but relying in the first on her own strength, she strikes in full confidence of victory.

  We declare the right of the people of Ireland to the ownership of Ireland, and to the unfettered control of Irish destinies, to be sovereign and indefeasible. The long usurpation of that right by a foreign people and government has not extinguished the right, nor can it ever be extinguished except by the destruction of the Irish people. In every generation the Irish people have asserted their right to national freedom and sovereignty: six times during the past three hundred years they have asserted it in arms. Standing on that fundamental right and again asserting it in arms in the face of the world, we hereby proclaim the Irish Republic as a Sovereign Independent State, and pledge our lives and the lives of our comrades-in-arms to the cause of its freedom, of its welfare, and of its exaltation among the nations.

  The Irish Republic is entitled to, and hereby claims, the allegiance of every Irishman and Irishwoman. The Republic guarantees religious and civil liberty, equal rights and equal opportunities to all its citizens, and declares its resolve to pursue the happiness and prosperity of the whole nation and of all its parts, cherishing all the children of the nation equally, and oblivious of the differences carefully fostered by an alien government, which have divided a minority from the majority in the past.

  Until our arms have brought the opportune moment for the establishment of a permanent National Government, representative of the whole people of Ireland and elected by suffrages of all her men and women, the Provisional Government, hereby constituted, will administer the civil and military affairs of the Republic in trust for the people.

  We place the cause of the Irish Republic under the protection of the Most High God, whose blessing we invoke upon our arms, and we pray that no one who serves that cause will dishonour it by cowardice, inhumanity, or rapine. In this supreme hour the Irish nation must, by its valour and discipline and by the readiness of its children to sacrifice themselves for the common good, prove itself worthy of the august destiny to which it is called.

  “This is magnificent,” Ned said when he finished reading. It was hard to speak around the lump in his throat.

  “This is freedom,” said Seán MacDermott. He produced a pen and a bottle of ink. “Pat drafted the original document and the rest of us suggested a few small changes. All that remains is to sign our names.” He spread the document on a table and held out the pen to Tom Clarke.

  For once the old Fenian was flustered. “I can’t…It’s too great an honor…Someone else…”

  Thomas MacDonagh raised his voice. “You’re our senior member. You sign first; no man will precede you.”

  Hand trembling with emotion, Tom Clarke took the pen.

  One by one they signed. Thomas J. Clarke. Seán Mac Diarmada. Thomas MacDonagh. P. H. Pearse. Eamonn Ceannt. James Connolly. Joseph Plunkett.

  Ned felt as if he had been present on the fourth of July when the American Declaration of Independence was signed, or in Paris for the storming of the Bastille.

  We declare the right of the people of Ireland to the ownership of Ireland.

  For the rest of his life he had only to close his eyes to see the seven names signed on the paper. Burning there, like words written in flame.

  Chapter Forty-four

  JOE Plunkett drove to Eoin MacNeill’s house on Lower Hatch Street to inform him of the document and ask him to agree to add his name to those of the signatories.1 He soon returned to report glumly, “MacNeill won’t promise to sign any document he hasn’t studied thoroughly. He said if I’d bring it back to him he’d look at it overnight, but otherwise, forget it.”

  Tom Clarke cried, “We can’t let him read the Proclamation, not yet! It tells too much. He’d try to stop us sure.”

  “Perhaps we could modify it,” Eamonn Ceannt suggested.

  James Connolly thundered, “Under no circumstances! If we back down now, we return to where we’ve always been. Cringing!”

  The others agreed. They would go ahead and form a national government without MacNeill.

  So Tom Clarke, as first signatory of the Proclamation, became President of the Provisional Government of Ireland. Pádraic Pearse, who was better equipped to be president, was appointed Commander-in-Chief. James Connolly was named Commandant-General of the Dublin District. The other signatories would comprise the Provisional Government, together with various prominent citizens known to be sympathetic to the nationalist cause.

  AS Ned left work the next evening he saw Seán MacDermott talking to two pretty girls just outside the Carlisle Building. The weather was warm and misty, the smell from the river drifted up to them. When Seán caught Ned’s eye he said to the girls, “I’ve promised to buy a drink for my friend there because it’s his birthday. Run along now and let us lads celebrate.”

  They protested and offered to join in the celebration, but MacDermott was an old hand at clever banter. He soon sent them on their
way laughing.

  Ned told him, “You’ve made a mistake; it isn’t my birthday.”

  “Let’s have a drink anyway.”

  “At Kirwan’s?”

  “I think not. We need someplace less likely to be watched.”

  Ned left his bicycle in the alley behind the Independent offices and followed MacDermott to a tiny pub wedged between two ramshackle warehouses on the quays. The place was empty except for a bored barman and a pair of extremely drunk dockers playing a game of darts. MacDermott motioned to a dingy, high-backed booth where they could not be seen from the doorway. “We probably won’t have long. It’s the end of the shift and this place will fill up soon. Here—take these.” Reaching under his coat, he drew out a brown envelope. “These are for Pat’s signature as commander-in-chief; you’ll probably find him at Volunteer Headquarters. I’d take them to him myself, but we better not be seen meeting for the next few days. Tell him these are the final plans and for God’s sake don’t let Hobson see them.”

  The two men shared a quick drink and then Ned hurried to Dawson Street. He kept glancing around, wondering who was watching him, how much they knew. Every policeman or soldier he saw made him sweat.

  At the same time the excitement was exhilarating.

  At Volunteer Headquarters, Pádraic Pearse was talking with Bulmer Hobson. Ned busied himself until the conversation was over and Hobson left the office for a few minutes, then he asked to speak to Pearse privately.

  They went into a back room and closed the door. “Wait while I have a look at these.” Affixing his pince-nez, Pearse read through the pages carefully, occasionally making some half-muttered comment.

  When he finished he signed his name at the bottom, then told Ned, “Here, you read these now and memorize the information. Next week you will need to know where everyone is at all times.”

  Dublin was at the heart of a complex logistical plan. The orders Pearse had just signed meant that urgent dispatches would be sent to Cork, Tipperary, Limerick, and points west, where brigade and battalion organization had already been intensified. As soon as the German weapons were landed on the southwest coast on Saturday they would be rushed to distribution points to arm the provincial Irish Volunteers, currently numbered at around thirteen thousand.2 Cork Volunteers would then link up with the Kerry Brigade, which would be in close communication with companies from Limerick, Clare, and Galway. Military camps at the Curragh and Athlone were to be contained, while Irish Volunteers from Belfast were in charge of encircling the British garrison at Enniskillen. Keeping British reinforcements from getting into Dublin was crucial.

  Meanwhile, the Easter Sunday maneuvers meant that the entire Dublin Brigade would be assembled in the city with their weapons. According to Joe Plunkett’s plan they would then be joined by the Citizen Army, and the combined force would seize and fortify strategic points throughout Dublin. The First Battalion, under the command of Kathleen Clarke’s brother, Edward Daly, was to occupy the Four Courts. From there they could cover the northwest approaches to the city center.

  Thomas MacDonagh’s Second Battalion, with Major John MacBride, husband of the celebrated beauty Maud Gonne, as second-in-command, would guard the southern approaches from a garrison in Jacob’s Biscuit Factory. The garrison would include Michael O’Hanrahan, who was appointed Quartermaster-General. “That lot will have access to all the sweet biscuits they want,” Ned remarked with a chuckle. “Who did Professor MacDonagh have to bribe?”

  Pádraic Pearse smiled. “He simply asked. Thomas thinks ahead.”

  Eamon de Valera and the Third Battalion would make Boland’s Mills and Bakery, strategically located near both the railway and the main road leading from Kingstown Harbor to Dublin, their command post.3 Their mission was to block any British reinforcements landing from England.

  Eamonn Ceannt was appointed Director of Communications. His Fourth Battalion, with Cathal Brugha as second-in-command, would seize the warehouse known as the South Dublin Union and from there control Kingsbridge Station and the southwest approaches.

  An additional rural battalion under the command of Thomas Ashe was to operate in north County Dublin and County Meath.4 The Fianna would serve as dispatch carriers and stretcher bearers throughout the area of operations. Cumann na mBan had persuaded the Volunteers to allow them to take an active part in the Rising, if only as nurses and cooks.

  With a mixed company of Volunteers and Citizen Army, James Connolly would occupy the General Post Office and oversee the establishment of the headquarters of the Provisional Government. The choice of the G.P.O. was partly practical, due to its central location, and partly symbolic. The imposing classical structure looked like the capitol building of a noble nation.

  Joseph Mary Plunkett was named Chief of Staff. Although The O’Rahilly had steadfastly refused to join the IRB because he disapproved of secret organizations,5 he was assigned as Pearse’s aide-de-camp. Con Colbert was chosen as Pearse’s bodyguard and Ned Halloran as his personal courier.

  “I certainly don’t need a bodyguard,” Pearse remarked, sounding annoyed, “but I shall need my own courier, so you will be with me in headquarters.”

  Headquarters staff, thought Ned. Me.

  EARLY next morning Ned called on Tom Clarke. The date was the twentieth of April, Maundy Thursday in the church calendar.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” Clarke said as soon as Ned entered the shop. “Have you something for me?”

  Ned handed him a sealed envelope. “Is Mrs. Clarke minding your Amiens Street shop?” he asked, to make conversation.

  “I’ve sent Katty to Limerick with some dispatches.6 She’s taking the children with her to leave them with her mother, then she will come back on the mail train.”

  “You don’t want your children in Dublin?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Is it going to be bad, do you think?”

  “Figure it out for yourself, Ned. We’re going to have three thousand armed troops in the city, counting the Dublin Brigade and the Citizen Army and a small squad of Hibernian Rifles. That doesn’t take into account how many British soldiers and policemen we may have to contend with. So for the next few weeks I want my children with their grandmother. Just in case.”

  When Ned left the news agency he hurried to the orphanage. He would be late for work, but that no longer mattered.

  Holding Precious in his arms, he told the little girl as gently as he could, “You may not see me for a while, but you’re not to fret. I’m counting on you to be good.”

  “You won’t forget me?” she asked anxiously.

  “I’ll be thinking of you almost every minute.”

  “I’ll be thinking of you, too,” she promised. Her breath was soft upon his cheek. “Where are you going, Ned-Ned?”

  “To do something for you and children like you.”

  “For orphans?”

  “For everybody.”

  She drew back and looked at him. “Something good?”

  “I hope so.”

  As he left the orphanage he almost stopped to have a word with the matron. Then he changed his mind. He could not ask her to send Precious out of the city without telling her about the Rising, and he could not betray that trust.

  Why did everything have to be so hard?

  Outside on the street he stopped and looked back at the orphanage. Its curtainless windows stared at him like blank, soulless eyes.

  “God take care of them,” Ned whispered under his breath. “All the little lambs.”

  He arrived at work very late and was taken to task for his repeated tardiness. Copyboys were at the bottom of the pecking order. Several hours were added to his shift to make up for the time he had missed. It was after ten o’clock at night when Ned finally left the newspaper office, but he decided he had best report to Volunteer Headquarters anyway.

  As he turned his bicycle into Dawson Street, he saw Seán Heuston walking toward him. He wheeled over and stopped to talk with his friend.

>   Heuston met him with a conspiratorial wink. “I have my orders. How about you?”

  “I have mine, too. Where are you assigned, Seán?”

  “I’m company leader for D Company, First Battalion. Most of the battalion’s going to the Four Courts, but we’ll be seeing action at the Mendicity Institute on the south quays.7 Our job is to delay any troops approaching the Four Courts from that direction.”8

  “Seeing action. It’s all really about to happen, isn’t it?”

  “It is. Are you scared?”

  “Not a bit of it!” Ned hesitated. “Well, perhaps a little. More anxious than scared.”

  “Me too.”

  “Do you think anyone will be killed?”

  Heuston pushed back the tweed cap he was wearing—none of them were appearing on the streets in military uniform this week—and scratched his head. “I can’t believe the British will let us seize the city without fighting back.”

  “James Connolly says a capitalist government will never destroy capitalist property.”9

  Heuston snorted. “I don’t have Connolly’s faith. I think they’ll fight like hell. I’m surprised we’re not garrisoning Trinity College, though. It’s certainly in a strategic position.”

  “The officer training corps for the British army is in there, Seán. We’d have a hard time getting any of our men inside without heavy losses. Besides, Mr. Pearse won’t hear of an assault on the college. He’s a headmaster himself, remember. Which reminds me—do you know if he’s still at Volunteer Headquarters?”

  “He was earlier, but he’s gone back to Saint Enda’s now. If you want to see him you’d best go out there.”

  The weather was cold, the hour late. For a moment Ned thought wistfully of going home and having a good sleep, but he remounted his bicycle and headed for Saint Enda’s instead. He could ask Mrs. Pearse for a bed and return to the city early in the morning with any messages Pearse needed him to carry.