I Signed My Death Warrant

by Ryle T. Dwyer

  The ensuing cabinet meeting, which recessed three times, lasted through the afternoon and into the late evening. Frank Gallagher was in the next room with the press, and he said he frequently talked loudly in an effort to cover ‘the raised voices’ in the cabinet room.

  De Valera accused the delegation of breaking its instructions by not consulting the cabinet before signing. They had consulted the cabinet the previous Saturday, but Griffith had said that he would not sign the Treaty.

  Collins, Barton and Gavan Duffy all said that the issue of referring the Treaty to Dublin had never arisen. ‘They had not thought of it,’ they said, according to Childers, who clearly did not think of it either.

  The president said that he would have gone to London but for the misunderstanding over Griffith’s promise. ‘I would have gone and said “go to the devil, I will not sign”.’

  The merits and drawbacks of the Treaty were examined, but not in any great detail, according to Stack, who noted that the main topic of discussion was the circumstances under which the plenipotentiaries signed the agreement. Griffith refused to ‘admit duress by the British’, which was indisputably true in his case, seeing that he had agreed to sign before Lloyd George issued his infamous ultimatum. Collins, on the other hand, said that if there had been duress it was only ‘the duress of the facts’.

  ‘I did not sign the Treaty under duress,’ he later wrote, ‘except in the sense that the position as between Ireland and England, historically, and because of superior forces on the part of England, has always been one of duress.’ He added that ‘there was not, and could not have been, any personal duress.’ But both Barton and Duffy said they had been intimidated into signing.

  They admitted that Lloyd George had not attempted coer­cion in the sense of physically threatening them. ‘The form of duress he made use of,’ according to Barton, ‘was more insidious and in my opinion, a more compelling duress, for Mr Lloyd George, knowing already from Mr Griffith himself that he was prepared to sign, demanded that every other delegate should sign or war would follow immediately, and insisted that those who refused to sign must accept the responsibility.’ As far as Barton was concerned, his refusal to sign would have meant going against the wishes of the majority of the delegation, and accepting ‘personal responsibility for the slaughter to ensue’ without having a chance ‘to consult the President, the cabinet in Dublin, the Dáil, or the people’.

  Barton ‘strongly reproached the President’, according to Childers. De Valera ‘vacillated from the beginning’ and he had even turned down a chance to go to London at the last moment when he asked him to go on Saturday. The disaster was, Barton declared, ‘we were not a fighting delegation’.

  The cabinet vote was the first crucial vote. ‘All hung on Cos­grave’s vote,’ Childers noted.

  The cabinet voted to endorse the Treaty by the narrowest margin possible. Griffith, Collins, Barton and Cosgrave lined up in favour, while the president, Brugha, and Stack were in opposition. Barton was personally opposed to the agreement, but he felt bound to vote for it, seeing that he had agreed to re­commend it to the Dáil by signing it in London.

  Kevin O’Higgins, who did not have a vote in cabinet, said that while the Treaty should never have been signed, it should nevertheless be supported because it was important to preserve a united front. Diarmuid O’Hegarty, the cabinet secretary, even interrupted to make a strong appeal to the president not to oppose the Treaty, but Childers called for a protest in the Dáil against ‘the irrevocable step of signing away independence.’

  ‘Supposing Ulster came in on the Treaty,’ de Valera was asked, ‘would you agree to it?’ He replied that it was the one consideration that might affect his judgment. ‘This surprised me,’ Childers wrote.

  Although repeatedly pressed, de Valera rejected the sug­gestion that he not speak out publicly. Speaking ‘at great length’, he explained that he had been working for unity by seeking a form of association that people like Brugha and Stack could accept, but that had been thrown away without the permission of the cabinet. Still ‘he did not despair of winning better terms yet,’ according to Childers.

  Stack appealed to the delegation ‘not to press the document on the Dáil’. At one point he turned to Collins:

  ‘You have signed and undertaken to recommend the document to the Dáil,’ he said. ‘Well, recommend it. Your duty stops there. Your are not supposed to throw all your influence into the scale.’ If the agreement were rejected, Stack argued, they would be in an even stronger position than before. ‘Will you do it?’ he asked.

  ‘Where would I be then?’ Collins snapped, according to Stack.

  The cabinet was irrevocably split. De Valera announced he would resign, if the Dáil accepted the Treaty, while both Griffith and Collins said they would do the same, if it were rejected. In the interim, however, it was decided that all should carry on until the Dáil could vote on the agreement.

  Following the meeting de Valera issued a Proclamation to the Irish People. ‘The terms of the agreement are in violent conflict with the wishes of the majority of the nation as expressed freely in successive elections during the past three years,’ he declared. ‘I feel it is my duty to inform you immediately that I cannot recommend the acceptance of this Treaty either to Dáil Éireann or to the country. In this attitude I am supported by the Ministers for Home Affairs and Defence.

  ‘The greatest test of our people has come,’ he concluded. ‘Let us face it worthily, without bitterness and above all without recriminations. There is a definite constitutional way of resolving our political differences – let us not depart from it, and let the conduct of the Cabinet in this matter be an example to the whole nation.’

  When the cabinet rejected the July proposals, the Dáil was given no say on the British terms. De Valera just informed the British that their offer had been rejected by the Dáil. After the cabinet approved of the Treaty on 8 December, however, the president announced that it must ‘be ratified by Dáil Éireann no less than by the British Parliament in order to take effect.’ Because of the differences in the cabinet he insisted that the Treaty could not be submitted ‘as a cabinet measure’, which would be ‘the usual course’. He added, ‘the motion for ratification will now be introduced by Mr Griffith as Chairman of the Delegation’.

  Though the first hurdle in the ratification process had been cleared, Collins was obviously troubled after the cabinet meeting. He called at Batt O’Connor’s home, where he had been a frequent visitor during the terror, but now he was unsure of his welcome. When O’Connor opened the door, Collins did not walk in as usual but stood on the doorstep ‘with a strange expression’ as he waited to be invited in.

  ‘Come in,’ said O’Connor somewhat puzzled. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  ‘I thought you would have no welcome for me, Batt.’ Of course, he was welcome, but he was so upset that he was unable to relax. Too agitated to sit down, he strode around the room, gesturing animatedly with his hands flailing the air. Should the Treaty be defeated, he said that he would move back down the country. ‘I will leave Dublin at once,’ he said bitterly. ‘I will go down to Cork. If the fighting is going to be resumed, I will fight in the open, beside my own people down there. I am not going to be chivvied and hunted through Dublin as I have been for the last two years.’

  ‘You have brought back this Treaty,’ O’Connor argued. ‘It is a wonderful achievement. The people want it. They must at least be given the chance to say what they think of it. Then if they reject it (only they will not reject it) you will have done your part, and will have no responsibility for the consequences.’

  ‘I will accept their verdict,’ Collins declared.

  Next day de Valera met Childers, Barton and Duffy and ex­plained that he planned to draw up an alternative to the Treaty. It was a ‘revelation’ to Childers to find that the president ‘was thinking more of one which could get extremist support’ rather than looking to the middle ground. ‘His nerve and confidence
are amazing. Seems certain of winning.’ He noted that de Valera intended to put up terms for a ‘real peace – not a sham’.

  When the supreme council of the IRB met to consider the Treaty on 10 December, Collins chaired the meeting at which Liam Lynch was the only dissenting voice. Lynch was sorry that he felt conscientiously compelled to differ with Collins, but he nevertheless felt that his opposition would not strain their friendship.

  ‘I admire Mick as a soldier and a man,’ Lynch wrote. ‘Thank God all parties can agree to differ.’

  Although the supreme council endorsed the Treaty, three other members not present at that meeting – Harry Boland, Joe McKelvey, and Charlie Daly – all subsequently opposed the Treaty. It was decided that IRB members who were Dáil deputies would be free to vote as they saw fit. The IRB was not going to try to compel its members to vote for ratification.

  Griffith and Collins were undoubtedly helped by the neg­ative reaction to the Treaty in Belfast. Sir James Craig expressed ‘grave dissatisfaction and alarm’ to the Stormont parliament. Its members were irate that the Treaty had been signed with representatives of Sinn Féin representing the whole island. Northern Ireland was included without even consulting its representatives.

  ‘We protest against the declared intention of your Govern­ment to place Northern Ireland automatically in the Irish Free State,’ Craig wrote to Lloyd George. ‘It is true that Ulster is given the right to contract out, but she can only do so after automatic inclusion in the Irish Free State.’ Among the defence provisions, for instance, Belfast Lough was mentioned as one of the four Treaty ports to be retained by the British.

  ‘What right has Sinn Féin to be recognised as parties to an agreement concerning the defences of Belfast Lough, which touches only the loyal counties of Antrim and Down?’ Craig asked indignantly.

  He could hardly have been reassured when Andrew Bonar Law expressed the belief that the Boundary Commission clauses would lead to the transfer of Fermanagh and Tyrone to the Irish Free State. And Lloyd George seemed to confirm the assessment himself in the House of Commons.

  ‘There is no doubt,’ the prime minister said, ‘certainly since the Act of 1920, that the majority of the people of the two counties prefer being with their Southern neighbours to being in the Northern Parliament. Take it either by constituency or by Poor Law Union, or, if you like, by counting heads, and you will find that the majority in these two counties prefer to be with their Southern neighbours – What does that mean? If Ulster is to remain a separate community, you can only be means of coercion keep them there, and although I am against the coercion of Ulster, I do not believe in Ulster coercing other units.’

  ‘Our Northern areas will be so cut up and mutilated that we shall no longer be masters in our own house,’ Captain Charles C. Craig, the northern prime minister’s brother complained. He was utterly vitriolic about the Treaty, as was Sir Edward Carson. In his diary Field Marshal Sir John French described the Treaty ‘as a complete surrender’. He depicted the oath as ‘farsical,’ and he concluded, ‘The British Empire is doomed’.

  At the outset de Valera had merely asked the British to stand aside and let the Irish settle the partition issue between themselves. When the British signed the agreement with Sinn Féin on behalf of the whole island without even consulting the unionists, the latter felt distinctly betrayed.

  The debate at Westminster began on the same day as in the Dáil but it was passed by an overwhelming majority just two days later, by 401 votes to 58. It enjoyed the support of most of the coalition, the Liberals, the Labour Party and even Bonar Law. The opposition was somewhat stronger in the House of Lords, where the Treaty was still passed by 166 votes to 47.

  18 - ‘I have been called a traitor’

  There was a great air of anticipation on 14 December 1921 when the Dáil convened in the main hall of University College at Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin. Collins was the first minister to arrive in the chamber. ‘He was, as usual, smiling and good humoured and, with his moustache shaved off in the last twenty-four hours, he looked more boyish than ever,’ according to The Irish Times.

  The division within the cabinet immediately manifested it­self in the seating arrangement, which saw de Valera, Brugha, and Stack positioned to the left of the speaker, while Griffith, Collins and the other members of the delegation took up their seats across the floor. Most members of the general body sat facing the speaker, with the public gallery behind them, while some 110 journalists from around the world were crammed together at the other end of the hall behind the speaker’s chair.

  Following the roll call there was supposed to be a motion to go into private session, but de Valera, who was dressed in a brown suit for a change, rose to say a few words first. It was but a foretaste of what was to come during the following days. Whenever he wanted to say something he just interrupted as if he had a right to determine procedure himself. During the thirteen days of public and private debate, he interrupted the proceeding more than 250 times. It was no doubt, a measure of his standing that he was allowed to interrupt so often. Many of those interruptions were admittedly very brief interjections, but some were quite lengthy.

  His opening remarks were patently dishonest. Speaking in Gaelic, he said that his command of the language was not a good as he would like and he would therefore speak in English, because he would be better able to arrange his thoughts. Then he proceeded to tell the Dáil in English that he was not going to continue in Gaelic because some of those present could not understand the language. He quoted the instructions to the plenipotentiaries and noted that they had not fulfilled the provision stipulating that the ‘complete text of the draft treaty about to be signed’ would be submitted to the cabinet in Dublin and a ‘reply awaited’.

  Collins rose to refute the suggestion that the members of the delegation had exceeded their authority, or violated their instructions. They ‘did not sign a treaty’, he argued but merely signed a document ‘on the understanding that each signatory would recommend it to the Dáil for acceptance.’ The document would not effectively become a treaty until it had been ratified.

  A vital consideration in signing, as far as Collins was con­­­­cerned, was the fact that there was so little difference between what the rest of the cabinet wanted and what the British were offering. In order that the circumstances would be better understood he wanted the fullest possible disclosure of all documents in relation to the negotiations. He was there­fore annoyed when the president acted selectively in reading the secret instructions given to the delegation without even mentioning their credentials.

  Standing with hands in his pockets, Collins faced the speaker and spoke slowly but firmly. ‘In repose his eyes glimmer softly with humour,’ according to John F. Boyle of The Irish Independent. ‘When roused they narrow – hard, intense and relent­­less. He speaks like this. One or two words. Then he pauses to think. His speech does not flow like a stream as it does in the case of Eamon de Valera. Yet not from one word is firmness absent.’

  ‘If one document had to be read,’ Collins said with his jaw set determinedly and his voice vibrant with the intensity of his feelings, ‘the original document, which was a prior document, should have been read first. I must ask the liberty of reading the original document which was served on each member of the delegation.’

  ‘Is that the one with the original credentials?’ de Valera asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Collins.

  ‘Was that ever presented?’ the president asked. ‘It was given in order to get the British Government to recognise the Irish Republic. Was that document giving the credentials of the accredited representatives from the Irish Government presented to, or accepted by, the British delegates? Was that seen by the British delegates or accepted by them?’

  It was a dramatic moment as de Valera stood there facing Collins across the floor. The credentials had not been given to the British, but the important point, as far as Collins was con­cerned, was that they were given to the delegate
s by de Valera himself. Collins was not therefore about to get side­tracked on the issue.

  ‘May I ask,’ he said almost jocularly to the speaker, ‘that I be allowed to speak without interruption?’

  ‘I must protest,’ the president insisted. But the speaker called for order. ‘The little incident ended in a ripple of relaxation, and some applause. De Valera sat down,’ according to The Irish Independent.

  Continuing with dramatic effect Collins read the credentials signed by the president himself. Those specifically stated that the delegates had been conferred with plenipotentiary powers ‘to negotiate and conclude’ a treaty with Britain. Collins did not stress the words ‘negotiate and conclude,’ but the reading of the terms of reference seemed to create a profound impression on all those present in the hall.

  From his ‘slow, measured tones,’ Collins gradually built himself into ‘a crescendo of anger and indignation’ as he repeated that the credentials should have been read along with the instructions so that members of the Dáil would be in a position to judge the issue on its merits. He said that he had refrained from trying to influence members of the Dáil before it met to consider the agreement, even though he knew that he was being vilified by opponents of the agreement.

  ‘I have not said a hard word about anyone,’ he emphasised as he rapped the table in front of him, ‘but I have been called a traitor.’

  ‘By whom?’ de Valera asked.

  The atmosphere was electric as the Big Fellow ignored the question. ‘If there are men who act towards me as a traitor I am prepared to meet them anywhere, any time, now as in the past,’ he continued. ‘It was a challenge – not uttered with provocative emphasis but with deep feeling,’ according to Boyle

  People were heard to murmur throughout the room. De Valera sat staring at Collins while ministers and deputies be­­came restless. But then the tension dissipated as Collins changed the subject and continued in a more ordinary tone. Even though he was opposed to a private session, he said he would accept one.