‘Can you see what it says?’ he asked the man next to him, who was shading his eyes with his hand.
‘I think it’s “The Irish Republic”.’
‘Well, well. Whatever will they think of next?’
If the republic was to be created by breaking windows then things appeared to be well under way. Otherwise there didn’t seem to be anything to get excited about. The crowd had already started to break up when the front door of the post office opened and a man in a slouch hat and a long green overcoat walked out. He unfolded a sheet of paper and cleared his throat uncertainly, looking up and down the street as if he was afraid somebody would come and shoo him away.
‘I know him,’ Billy exclaimed, and racked his brains for a name. Was it Parsons? No, Pearse. Of course! Patrick Pearse. Old Barton had pointed him out one morning on Usher’s Quay. Used to be a barrister, but had given it up for schoolmastering – among other things, by the look of it. Well, there was a turn-up for the books.
He listened attentively as Pearse started to read out his speech, but he wasn’t alone in being barely able to make out a word of it.
‘Speak up,’ somebody shouted from the back, and when Pearse finished there was a half-hearted smattering of applause, and a couple of wags called out ‘Encore!’ to hoots of laughter.
Pearse ignored them, folded up his speech, and went back inside. Billy strolled over to Nelson’s Pillar, where a Citizen Army man was pasting up posters.
By the time he got back to the college, the great oak door was locked once again. His pounding fist hardly seemed to make a sound, so he rapped on the wood with the head of his cane.
The door opened a crack and a face peered suspiciously out from the shadows within.
‘What do you want?’
The voice seemed familiar. Billy peered closely at the white blur of a face and took off his boater.
‘Harry Cardiff? Is that you?’
‘Oh, what ho, Billy.’ The door opened all the way and revealed the gangly shape of his former classmate. ‘You’d best come in. Orders, you know. I’ve got to keep the door closed in case they try to get in here.’
Billy stepped inside and Cardiff bolted the door behind him.
‘The Volunteers, you mean?’
‘Yes. Apparently they’re all over the place. They’ve already attacked Dublin Castle and I hear they’re digging trenches in Stephen’s Green.’
‘Good Lord. I’ve just come up from Sackville Street and they’re down there as well. Doesn’t that mean we’re surrounded?’
‘After a fashion, I suppose. They’re only taking over places at the moment. There hasn’t been an awful lot of fighting per se.’
‘Do you think they’ll try to take the college?’
‘I would, if I were them. Apart from anything else, we’ve got a pile of rifles and ammunition in the armoury. But they’ll have a job getting in now. As well as the cadets, we’ve managed to round up a good few soldiers to mount a defence.’
‘It’s one of those I’m after. Do you remember my friend Stephen Ryan? He was a maths student, but he joined up when the war started, so it’s Lieutenant Ryan now. He was shanghaied about an hour ago.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember him. Tall chap, isn’t he? I saw him earlier and I thought he looked familiar. I’d say he’s probably up on the roof. Most of the regulars are up there.’
A few minutes later Billy put his head through the trapdoor leading to the roof of the West Front.
‘Stephen,’ he called in a hoarse stage whisper, ‘permission to come up?’
Stephen turned from the low balustrade where he had rested Billy’s racing glasses to watch the goings-on in Sackville Street.
‘Yes, come on. Just keep your head down.’
Billy dashed across in a low crouch, clutching his hat to his chest. There were three other soldiers crouched in the corners of the roof, watching in all directions, but Billy’s eyes were drawn to the rifle slung on Stephen’s shoulder.
‘Where did you get that?’ he demanded, as he knelt down behind the balustrade.
‘We’ve all been issued with rifles from the cadets’ armoury,’ Stephen answered absently, focusing the glasses on the space around Nelson’s Pillar.
‘Can I have a shot?’
Stephen took down the glasses and gave him a withering look.
‘No.’
‘Oh, go on. I’ve never fired a gun before.’
‘Precisely, Billy. This is hardly the time to start. I can’t just let you blaze away at the rest of the population. Besides, your eyesight’s so bad you’d probably end up shooting me.’
‘Spoilsport.’ Billy made a face and folded his arms. ‘I’ve a good mind not to tell you what I found out!’
Stephen gave him a knowing smile. ‘You’d better tell me, or I’ll have you arrested when martial law is declared.’
This appealed to the legal part of Billy’s mind. He sat up with a grin.
‘Martial law? Do you really think they’ll declare it? I thought they’d just read the Riot Act.’
‘Almost certainly, the way things are going. There was a lot of shooting going on around Dublin Castle a little while ago. I’d say they mean business, whoever they are.’
‘Well, they’re definitely not students. Most of the ones I saw were Irish Volunteers. The man in charge is a chap called Pearse – he runs a school out Rathfarnham way, would you believe? In any event, they’ve declared themselves to be the Provisional Government of Ireland. Pearse read out their manifesto in front of the GPO.’
Stephen frowned. ‘They’ve declared themselves to be the government? On whose authority?’
‘The dead generations, or some such. I don’t know, I couldn’t hear it very well. But they’ve got guns, Stephen. I suppose that’s all the authority they need.’
‘Well, they’re going the bloody wrong way about getting Home Rule, that’s for sure.’
‘Home Rule? Don’t be silly. These boys aren’t looking for Home Rule. It’s the whole shooting match they’re after: full independence for Ireland.’
There was a sound like a whip-crack overhead and Billy looked up.
‘What was that?’
‘A rifle bullet,’ Stephen answered casually, and folded his arms as he leaned against the balustrade. His expression turned thoughtful. ‘You’re the legal expert, Billy. What do you think? Would you say this was treason? I mean, since we’re already at war.’
‘Are they shooting at us, Stephen? Hadn’t you better sit down?’
‘Oh, it was miles too high. I wouldn’t let it bother you.’
‘Really?’ Billy gave him a curious look, ‘Well, to answer your question, I suppose it depends on what happens next. True, there’s been some shooting, but no actual fighting so far – at least from what I’ve seen. No doubt the government will make their move shortly, and if those chaps in the GPO and elsewhere come out with their hands up, then it’ll be a few months in jail, a few fines, but no hard feelings. On the other hand, if they decide to scrap it out, if they actually mean to start an insurrection in time of war, then it will go very hard for them. I should imagine they’ll throw the flaming book at them – and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what that might entail if martial law is declared.’
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a loud flurry of crackling came from the direction of Sackville Street. The air overhead was slit and cut by passing bullets, and Stephen whirled around and brought up the binoculars.
‘Lancers,’ he said, and then a few moments later, ‘looks like they mounted a charge against the post office. There are horses loose, and some men lying in the street.’ He slowly brought down the binoculars and looked at Billy, appalled. ‘This is madness.’
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Billy agreed, and raised his head above the balustrade to try to see for himself. Dead men lying where he’d been standing not half an hour ago. Even the idea of it made him feel slightly sick. ‘And I’m afraid there’s something else you sho
uld know. The Volunteers aren’t the only ones involved in this little caper. When I was down there I saw Citizen Army uniforms as well, and one of the names at the bottom of Pearse’s manifesto was none other than Joe’s friend, James Connolly. I could be mistaken, but I’m very much afraid that your little brother is in this right up to his neck.’
A troubled look came over Stephen’s face. ‘I might have bloody known!’ he muttered. ‘What has the silly bastard got himself into now?’
Brennan was talking again. He’d been chattering like a monkey all morning, but now he was starting to get on Joe’s nerves. It must be the excitement, he thought, but he was in no humour for talk.
‘For fuck’s sake. Will you ever shut up?’
Brennan’s face went slack and he glumly closed his mouth.
‘Sorry, Joe.’
‘Sergeant.’
‘Sorry, sergeant.’
With Brennan looking at him like a slapped dog, Joe suddenly felt ashamed of himself. He was a decent lad, and he’d do anything you asked.
‘Barricade the window with them books,’ he said, but in a more conciliatory tone. Brennan obediently scooped up an armful of the books and started stacking them on the windowsill. Joe looked at them doubtfully. They might stop the odd bullet, but they wouldn’t be much use against a good volley. He looked around the ransacked room, but there was nothing else they could use. For all his snooty protests and bluster, the editor of the Dublin Mail & Express didn’t have much of an office.
But he did have a good view of Dame Street. Joe went to the window and looked out over the stack of books. Across the street he could see the main gate of Dublin Castle, with the big statue of Justice standing on top. Beside it stood the Grecian columns and green copper dome of City Hall. He got a thrill when he realized they were already in there. A couple of green-clad figures were moving around the roof, and the tall windows were starting to fill up with furniture and other odds and ends. It was a good spot. They’d have a clear shot right down into the castle yard from that roof, and that was all they wanted. That was the clever part. The Brits would be barricading themselves inside the castle, thinking they were under siege. But they didn’t need to take the castle, just dominate it. The Brits would have to come out eventually, and when they did they’d know all about it.
When he turned his head and looked down the length of Dame Street, though, his delight turned to dismay. He found himself looking straight at the stone front of Trinity College and it made him anxious. With its high walls and iron railings it was well fortified, and if the Brits got troops in there they’d have a near-impregnable base right in the centre of the city.
And he knew that was exactly what they would do. As soon as they realized what was going on they would bring men in from all over, reinforcing and infiltrating and slowly putting a stranglehold on the city. They weren’t stupid, and they wouldn’t take this lying down. They would do whatever it took to crush the rebellion. Connolly had once said the British wouldn’t use artillery in the city, but Joe thought he was wrong. They would. They would call this treachery and raze Dublin to the ground if they had to.
‘We’re in a great old spot here,’ Brennan grinned, looking down the street beside him. ‘We’ll have them in a right old crossfire when they come.’
He was chattering again, but Joe let it pass.
‘Just you keep your eyes on that gate,’ he said, but he kept his own eyes on the college. It reminded him of his brother and he wondered where he was. He knew he was home from Turkey – Mrs Lyons had made sure the whole bloody building knew his brother was in the army – but he had no idea if he’d gone away again. Connolly had asked about him that morning in Beresford Place. They’d all paraded there – Volunteers and Citizen Army together – and Connolly had made a point of going around and shaking hands with his men before they marched off to their allotted positions. With most of the others it had been nothing more than a handshake, but he’d taken Joe by the arm and led him out of earshot.
‘Have you heard anything from your brother, Joe?’ he asked earnestly.
Joe shook his head.
‘Well, is he still in the country? If he is, he might be sent against us. Have you thought of that?’
‘Sure, of course I have.’
‘And you might end up fighting him.’
Joe shrugged. ‘We’ve been fighting one another ever since we were kids.’
‘This is different, Joe. The next time you see him could be over the sights of your rifle.’
‘Look, Jim, we’re both grown men. He made his choice and I made mine. I’d rather not fight with him, but I’ll do whatever I have to do if the time comes. You can rely on me for that.’
Connolly thought for a moment and then held out his hand.
‘The best of luck to you, so. I’ll pray God that you get through this.’
Joe forced a smile. That morning was the first time he’d ever seen fear in Connolly’s face. Not for himself, he realized, but for the others, for the men who were following him.
‘Sure, we’ll all get through this,’ he said, though his voice cracked on the words.
‘No we won’t,’ Connolly replied, and with an unhappy shake of his head he quickly marched away.
‘A soldier!’ Brennan exclaimed, bringing Joe back to the present. He blinked and tried to follow a jabbing finger.
‘Where?’
‘Down at the gate. He’s coming out, look.’
The castle gates had been opened about a foot and a khaki figure was crouched in the gap, carefully checking the street for signs of life.
‘Well, what are you gawping at him for?’ Joe asked, seeing Brennan’s rifle still propped against the windowsill. ‘Shoot him!’
VI
Stephen yawned, stretched and scratched the stubble on his chin. He needed a shave, and he’d better see to it before Captain Lawford came around. Lawford was a regular officer home on leave from France, and he’d been put in charge of the college defences. A sharp crack from over the roof told him he had nothing to worry about for the time being. Not content with merely organizing sentries, Lawford had installed himself at a window over the front gate and started sniping at the rebel positions around Dublin Castle. He’d been at it all yesterday afternoon and on into the evening until the light grew too dim. Now it was bright he was off again. Bloodthirsty little sod.
Stephen counted the little row of cartridges that lay on the roof beside him. Twenty, same as yesterday. He hadn’t fired a shot.
But his men had. There were only three of them, all Australians here on sick leave from France. They’d tried a few shots when they saw the rebels fortifying the buildings on the corner of Sackville Street and eventually provoked a furious volley that sent them ducking down behind the balustrade as bullets spat and whizzed overhead.
‘Fucking Irish bastards!’ one of them shouted, laughing, but then looked aghast at Stephen, who pretended not to notice.
There was no sign of life in those buildings this morning, but the windows were still barricaded. When he slid Billy’s racing glasses from one to the other he saw the corpse still lying below O’Connell’s statue. There since yesterday. God knows how he wandered into the middle of it, but a sniper got him. As he watched the eastern corner, a figure walked into his field of view from further up the street. A young girl, barefoot, but wearing a fur coat and an oversized hat. The looters were growing bold now – not even a corpse would frighten them off. It was early yet, and there would probably be more as the day wore on. But nothing like the number he saw yesterday – hundreds of them pouring out of the tenements and rampaging through Dunn’s and Nobbett’s and Clery’s. They’d cleared the place out and there was hardly anything left to loot, the street carpeted with glass and strewn with discarded clothes and cardboard.
He turned around at the sound of the hatch opening. He’d only sent his men down for breakfast ten minutes ago and they couldn’t be back already. Perhaps it was Billy coming back. He’d gone down last e
vening when he finally got bored looking at the empty streets. But it certainly wasn’t Billy. He was so startled to see a woman emerging that she was halfway across the roof before he recognized her.
‘Get down,’ he whispered, waving urgently. Lillian’s smile changed to a look of surprise before she dropped into a crouch and hurried forward, her heavy skirt rustling.
‘Sorry,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Are they shooting at us?’
‘Not just at the moment,’ he admitted, carefully scanning the strongpoints again before he put the glasses down. ‘But I don’t like to encourage them.’
‘I brought you some breakfast.’ She knelt down beside him and handed him a brown-paper parcel and an earthenware bottle that felt warm in his hand. ‘Courtesy of your friend Billy. He’s been drafted into the kitchen.’
He weighed the parcel dubiously. ‘You mean Billy actually cooked something?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it as strongly as that. He’s only making sandwiches and tea at the moment, though he says he has ambitions to try his hand at soup for lunch. May I?’ She gestured at the racing glasses.
‘By all means.’ He took a bite from one of the sandwiches and chewed thoughtfully, watching her out of the corner of his eye. It was a year since he had last seen her and the time had been kind. Her face was fuller and her brown hair longer; it was now tied in a neat ponytail at the nape of her neck. She looked less gaunt and therefore less severe, a little more good-humoured. There was the faint trace of a smile on her face as she focused the glasses on the shattered shop fronts of Sackville Street.
‘I heard you were back from Turkey,’ she said, still looking through the glasses, and just as Stephen felt a jet of embarrassment burning his cheeks, she exclaimed, ‘Oh! There’s one. He just ran right across the street!’
Stephen swallowed hastily, glad of the change in subject.
‘Which way?’
‘Left to right – towards Clery’s. Here, take a look.’
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