She was led inside and told that the commandant was sleeping, but that Countess Markievicz was next in command. When the countess was handed the typewritten order by Nurse O’Farrell it was clear that she was shocked. She went off immediately to discuss it with Commandant Mallin.
Nellie watched anxiously, presuming that the order from the British general demanded some kind of offer of a truce or surrender.
Elizabeth was upset as she told them that the GPO and much of Sackville Street had been destroyed by fire. James Connolly had been shot and badly wounded, but most of the main garrison had escaped safely through the lanes to Moore Street. However, surrounded by the army and with many innocent men, women and children being caught up in the fighting, on Saturday afternoon Padraig Pearse had ordered surrender.
The commandant appeared, his face drained of colour as he told Nurse O’Farrell that he had read the general’s order but that he could not give her his immediate answer to bring to Major de Courcy-Wheeler as he needed to consult with the countess and his officers. Elizabeth returned to the major with this response.
Nellie could see despair and disbelief in the eyes of those around her as the news spread that Padraig Pearse, James Connolly and general headquarters had surrendered and had now ordered that all the other garrisons surrender too in order to avoid further slaughter of innocent people and to save the lives of their men.
Countess Markievicz sat with her head in her hands, devastated by the news of the surrender of the other garrisons. Everyone was heartbroken at the prospect of accepting defeat and surrendering themselves to a British major. Some of the women began crying.
Messengers were sent to all the outposts, ordering their men to return to the college for a meeting. The hall was silent as their commandant stood up.
‘Commandants James Connolly and Padraig Pearse have ordered us to lay down our arms and surrender to the British,’ Michael Mallin told them. ‘We will now obey this order by James Connolly to surrender.’
All around Nellie men shook their heads angrily. Some eyes filled with tears.
‘We should not surrender.’
‘We should fight on.’
Many begged the commandant to be allowed to continue the fight, no matter how hopeless it appeared; others objected, refusing to accept surrender. The countess and Bill Partridge talked to them quietly, telling them that they must obey Connolly’s orders.
Bill Partridge stood shoulder to shoulder with Michael Mallin, his arm around his commandant, as he broke the news, reading the order again to the men returning from the outposts, unable to hide the fact that he too was deeply upset.
‘We have fought the good fight, but now the fight is over and all garrisons are to obey orders from the command to surrender,’ he said firmly.
Madeleine explained the situation to the wounded and made the decision that Margaret, who was still desperately ill, must be evacuated to hospital before the British forces came for them.
Michael Mallin ordered men to go up on the roof and take down the tricolour flag of Ireland, which had flown there so proudly over the college. They all stood silent and sombre, looking at the flag when it was brought down, but Commandant Mallin was determined that the British would not get their hands on it.
He and the countess came over to Margaret and, with Madeleine’s help, carefully wrapped the Irish flag and hid it inside the injured woman’s long coat. Determined still to help, Margaret was again carrying another precious secret cargo for them. Nellie squeezed her hand as they said goodbye and a group of men lifted Margaret gently on to a stretcher, carrying her down the stairs and out of the building to a waiting ambulance which took her to the nearby hospital.
The commandant urged them to return home, encouraging some of the men to dress in civilian clothes taken from the houses they had occupied and so hide their identity. A few men talked of escaping to the Dublin Mountains, where at least they could continue their fight for freedom.
‘If any of the good ladies present wishes to flee to safety, now is the time,’ Mallin advised.
Nellie could see that, after all they had been through, the women were not prepared to be separated from the rest of their garrison. They were as much a part of the rebellion as the group of over a hundred men and they had no intention of changing their loyalties now. She had never imagined such a scene of calamity, regret and sadness.
They surrendered at midday. Commandant Michael Mallin ordered them to put down all weapons and assemble. A white flag was raised over the roof of the College of Surgeons to signal the surrender of their garrison.
Michael Mallin shook everyone by the hand, his face pale and haggard as he thanked them for their loyalty and service. He told the captains and officers to join the rest of the ranks so that they could not be singled out for punishment when the British arrived.
He and Countess Markievicz agreed to surrender when Major de Courcy-Wheeler and another officer entered the building. Mallin called the garrison to attention as he presented his own sword to the major. Countess Markievicz defiantly kissed her gun before handing it over. The major admitted his surprise at how few men and women had served in the garrison: he had expected to find at least another hundred.
Soldiers surrounded them as they left the building with a blanket each and began to march in formation. Nellie’s eyes brimmed with tears as she looked back and caught sight of the white flag now flying from the roof of the College of Surgeons.
A huge crowd had gathered outside to witness their surrender, most people booing, hissing and cursing as soon as they caught sight of them.
‘Hold your heads erect,’ William Partridge told them as they stepped outside and were immediately surrounded by the hostile crowd. The countess, dressed in her Citizen Army tunic, riding breeches and flamboyant hat with its ostrich feather, attracted huge attention.
Onlookers flung rubbish, pelting them with rotting vegetables and potato skins. Only a few wished them well, saying they would pray for them. They marched on, Nellie hurt and shamefaced by the reaction of their fellow Dubliners to their valiant attempt to gain Irish Freedom.
As they walked down Grafton Street the crowds got bigger, the supplementary women baying at them like a pack of hounds ready for blood.
‘They should be shot.’
‘They’ve destroyed the city.’
‘Bayonet the traitors!’
Nellie refused to cry and give in to their intimidation as they shoved and jostled to try to get at them. The army soldiers, arms at the ready, were now actually protecting them from the massing hostile groups who threatened them.
On Dame Street they met a cohort of the Dublin Fusiliers, just returned from fighting in the war, who jeered and taunted them as they arrived at Dublin Castle.
There they were ordered to Richmond Barracks to join the rest of the rebels.
Nellie, Mary Hyland and Rosie Hackett worried about what lay ahead. Rosie suspected that the leaders of the rebellion might possibly be hanged or transported to some far-flung British colony.
Nellie’s heart sank as she saw Michael Mallin, their stalwart commandant, being separated from his group of men and led off somewhere on his own. The countess was also singled out, a flicker of fear flitting across her thin face as she too was marched away.
‘Those two are for it now!’ one of the soldiers laughed loudly.
Chapter 82
Nellie
RICHMOND BARRACKS WAS overcrowded, everyone stacked and crammed together like sardines. Separated from the men, the women tried to get some rest, but many of the soldiers were taunting and jeering at them. Like all her comrades, Nellie was famished and glad of the bully beef and biscuits they were given.
British justice did not tarry, and she watched as men from their garrison and others were gathered to be marched to the north wall, from where they would be transported to jails in England or Wales.
‘You ladies are to be moved to Kilmainham Jail,’ they were brusquely told by a burly sergeant.
<
br /> They marched at dusk to Dublin’s infamous prison. Over the previous hundred years or more Kilmainham had held not only criminals and murderers, but the renowned Irish rebel leaders Robert Emmet and Charles Stewart Parnell.
‘They are sending us to the right place!’ joked fair-haired Madeleine ffrench-Mullen defiantly. There was a large group of women from the Citizen Army and Cumann na mBan, all of whom had played their part in the rebellion.
Nellie’s sense of bravado disappeared as they crossed the cobblestones and entered the stone archway at the entrance to Kilmainham, a tall, austere, grey-brick building. Despite its being spring, she shivered at the cold and damp in the old west wing of the jail. During the rebellion the Volunteers had cut the gas supply, so they had only candlelight to direct them to their cells. She was led into a cell where she was ordered to undress and take off her boots and stockings as two female warders searched her for hidden weapons.
Nellie was handed a blanket and moved to another cell to put her clothes back on. She was sharing with Julia Grennan and Winifred Carney, both of whom had served in the GPO. All their blankets were infested with fleas and Nellie and her companions were soon covered in bites which became a scourge as she itched at them constantly.
‘Try not to scratch them or you will only make it worse,’ Dr Lynn advised them all as they exercised in one of the prison yards.
The food was terrible, their dinner an awful stew that was more like a greasy soup served with biscuits.
‘It’s disgusting!’ complained Julia as she nibbled at the hard prison biscuits.
There was little comfort in the cramped cells and Nellie wondered how she would survive weeks or months, or even years, in such a place. But she was determined not to get downhearted. She wondered if her sisters or parents were even aware that she had been imprisoned and if they would be allowed to visit her. She supposed she and the other women might also be sent to prisons in England.
They told each other stories of their garrisons. Winnie was proud to have served as James Connolly’s secretary.
‘He’s the bravest man I know, for he was badly shot in the leg and hardly complained. I heard that he was taken to Dublin Castle, where hopefully the doctors will attend to his wounds and blood loss.’
‘He’s far too ill to be imprisoned here,’ asserted Julia, who had helped to nurse him.
Nellie had a huge regard for Connolly, who had been so kind to her every time she set foot in Liberty Hall and she prayed that he would recover from his injuries.
All the women were allowed to exercise in the yard together which gave them the opportunity to try to discover what was going on not only within the prison walls but also outside. They heard that the city, much of it destroyed, was under heavy military rule, the army suspicious of everyone, with a curfew still in operation and cordons and barricades in most parts of the city.
Countess Markievicz was also in Kilmainham but was kept isolated in a cell away from the rest of them and not allowed to exercise with them.
‘They say she will stand trial with the other leaders,’ whispered Rosie.
‘What will happen to them?’ Nellie asked, thinking of MacDonagh and Joe and their own commandant.
‘One of the wardens told me that he heard that the military governor, General Maxwell, has ordered that all the rebellion leaders are to be tried and sentenced to death for treason.’
‘They would never do that!’ Julia cried vehemently.
Nellie felt sick. Surely the British general and his men would never carry out such a sentence and instead would exile and transport them to a prison in some godforsaken colony. How would Muriel and the children ever survive without MacDonagh?
A rumour spread that Padraig and Willie Pearse and some of the other leaders were in cells on the landing on the other side of the prison. She tried to cajole a warder into giving her some information about her brother-in-law, MacDonagh, and Grace’s fiancé, Joe Plunkett, but the dour heavy-set woman was unforthcoming.
Chapter 83
Muriel
FEAR AND ANXIETY overwhelmed Muriel when she heard that the rebels had surrendered, Jacob’s garrison one of the last to capitulate to General Lowe. MacDonagh and his men had been marched to Richmond Barracks, where they were still being held.
During the Rising MacDonagh had sent her messages from Jacob’s and she in turn had managed to send him notes, but now she was frantic to see and talk to her husband.
Over the past week her Ranelagh home had been filled with the wives, sweethearts, families and friends of the Volunteers, everyone calling, desperate for news. Padraig’s mother and sister; Min Ryan and her sister; Michael O’Rahilly’s American wife, Nancy; and Aine Ceannt, who, for safety reasons, had fled her home with her son to stay with Caitlin Brugha. Muriel made pot after pot of tea and told them about the GPO as they compared the messages and information that they had received. They had all presumed that, at most, the Volunteers and the Citizen Army would hold out against the army for only a day or two, and as the week had gone on they could not believe that they were somehow managing to fight and hold their positions despite coming under such heavy attack from the British forces that were pouring into the city. No one had expected it, but the women all shared the same concern and fear of how it would all end.
Now that the rebellion was over, all Muriel wanted was to see her husband, to talk to him, to allay her fears that he had been wounded or injured. Dublin was full of rumours, with talk of trials, courts martial and arrangements for the rebels to be deported to a prison overseas. She had to discover what would happen to MacDonagh. Would he be sent to prison? She was determined to see him.
Then there was Nellie. They had word that her sister had been arrested along with Countess Markievicz and the other women from the Citizen Army who had been fighting in the College of Surgeons.
‘They won’t hurt the women,’ Grace assured her. ‘It would cause such uproar. I’m sure Nellie and the rest of the women will all be released and sent home.’
‘You know Mother won’t have her home,’ Muriel said angrily. ‘She considers Nellie and the rest of us traitors, disloyal not only to “the Crown” but to the family name. Nellie will have to come and stay here.’
‘What do you think they will do to MacDonagh and Joe?’
‘I fear that it will not go easy for them, that General Lowe will make an example of them.’
‘Some say the leaders will all be tried and executed,’ Grace cried, distraught. ‘That General Maxwell has been sent over to crush the rebellion and intends executing everyone involved.’
‘The British government and the Irish Parliamentary Party would never allow such a thing,’ Muriel said, trying to convince herself as well as her sister that the king and the Westminster parliament would not consider such drastic action when they were so deeply embroiled in the war in Europe. ‘The likelihood is that Joe and MacDonagh will be deported, imprisoned – I don’t know where or for how long. Perhaps they may even be sentenced to life in prison.’
Muriel could not imagine such a thing: being parted from her husband, not being near him when they loved each other so much. It was unbearable.
‘If MacDonagh is imprisoned I don’t know how the children and I will survive without him.’
‘Joe and I should have been married by now,’ Grace sobbed. ‘What if I never get to see him or speak to him again?’
‘That won’t happen,’ Muriel consoled her sister, hugging her. ‘We must both try to be patient and wait for news of the two of them.’
But Muriel herself was frantic and tried to talk to the Dublin Metropolitan Police to ascertain what was happening to Thomas MacDonagh.
‘If he is a prisoner I should be let visit him,’ she pleaded. ‘I am his wife.’
‘No visitors are permitted,’ they told her.
From the group of soldiers camped near their home she discovered that many of the prisoners were being sent immediately to Wales and England – perhaps her husband was
one of them.
Her mind was in turmoil and the children were lonely and upset, missing their father, while she could not hide from them the tension she was under as they awaited news.
Grace was also trying to ascertain what had happened to Joe. She had gone to Belgrave Road to talk to his sister Geraldine.
‘Geraldine told me that Joe’s parents have been arrested for their involvement with the rebels and she thinks they are being held in Richmond Barracks with George and Jack. The countess put up a bit of a fight, apparently, when the soldiers came to their house.’
‘What does Geraldine think will happen to them?’
‘A friend of Count Plunkett’s informed them of the possibility that the leaders of the Rising may be tried for treason and sentenced to death.’
Muriel felt dizzy, a desperate clanging in her ears.
‘Oh Muriel, I’m sorry to upset you,’ apologized Grace, making her sit down. ‘Perhaps they are wrong and MacDonagh will not stand trial.’
Muriel doubted that, for MacDonagh was not only a leader of the Volunteers but, along with Padraig, Joe, Tom Clarke and Sean Mac Diarmada, was part of the small circle of the Irish Republican Brotherhood who were deeply involved in planning every aspect of the rebellion. Why, he had even signed the Proclamation of the new Irish Republic – she had seen it herself.
Heavy-hearted, Muriel read the next day that by order of the Crown the leaders of the rebellion would all be tried. Thomas MacDonagh, her beloved husband, she suspected would be found guilty.
The hours went so slowly, and no matter whom she talked to Muriel could get no information about what was happening. If only Father had been well he could have used his Castle contacts, but she doubted her poor father even realized that there had been a rebellion, much less that Nellie and his son-in-law and Grace’s fiancé had all been involved.
A soldier came and knocked on their front door. Three-year-old Don ran ahead of her as she went to open it.
Rebel Sisters Page 31