I Signed My Death Warrant

by Ryle T. Dwyer

  ‘Mr Collins was passionate, forcible, and at times almost theatrical,’ according to The Irish Times. Although he had a pre­pared speech before him, he rarely consulted it. Now and again he would rummage among his papers, feel his smooth chin, or toss his hair with one of his hands. At times he stood erect and at other times he learned forward. He spoke slowly until aroused by the intensity of his conviction, and then vibrating with emotion, the words would come in a torrent.

  Early in the address he complained that a deputy had suggested the delegation had broken down before the first bit of British bluff. ‘I would remind the deputy who used that expression,’ the Big Fellow said indignantly, ‘that England put up a good bluff for the last five years here and I did not break down before that bluff.’

  ‘That’s the stuff,’ someone shouted while the gathering ap­­­plauded.

  Collins said that he was recommending the Treaty as one of the signatories. ‘I do not recommend it for more than it is,’ he emphasised. ‘Equally I do not recommend it for less than it is. In my opinion it give us freedom, not the ultimate freedom that all nations desire and develop to, but the freedom to achieve it.’

  As a result of the guarantee of the ‘constitutional status’ of dominions like Canada and South Africa, he contended that those countries would be ‘guarantors of our freedom, which makes us stronger than if we stood alone’. He admitted that allowing Britain to retain four ports was a ‘departure from the Canadian status’, but he felt the Free State’s association with the dominions on an equal footing would ensure that Britain would not use the ports ‘as a jumping off ground against us’. He also admitted the partition clauses were ‘not an ideal arrangement, but if our policy is, as has been stated, a policy of non-coercion, then let somebody else get a better way out of it.’ He had planned to compare the Treaty with Document No. 2 but explained that in deference to the president’s request, he would not make use of his prepared arguments.

  ‘Rejection of the Treaty means that your national policy is war,’ Collins continued. ‘I, as an individual, do not now, nor more than ever shirk war. The Treaty was signed by me, not because they held up the alternative of immediate war. I signed it because I would not be one of those to commit the Irish people to war without the Irish people committing themselves.’ This was a rather ironic statement coming from him in the light of his own role in deliberately trying to precipitate a state of general disorder back in 1919.

  According to one seasoned parliamentarian, Collins’ speech was ‘worthy of a lawyer as well as a politician. It was big enough for a trained statesman. I was surprised by its precision and detail, and rhetoric,’ Tim Healy wrote. Interspersing the speech with some wry humour Collins observed that one deputy had complained the Free State could not enjoy the same freedom as Canada because that freedom was largely dependent on that country’s distance from Britain. ‘It seems to me,’ Collins continued alluding to the same deputy, ‘that he did not regard the delegation as being wholly without responsibility for the geographical propinquity of Great Britain to Ireland.’

  The speech also contained what may well have been a subtle effort to depict some of his leading opponents as something less than fully Irish. ‘I am a representative of Irish stock,’ Collins said. ‘I am the representative equally with any other member of the same stock of people who have suffered through the terror in the past. Our grandfathers have suffered from war, and our fathers or some of our ancestors have died of famine. I don’t want a lecture from anybody as to what my principles are to be now. I am just a representative of plain Irish stock whose principles have been burned into them, and we don’t want any assurance to the people of this country that we are not going to betray them We are one of themselves.’

  Few people would have failed to notice that some of the leaders on the other side of the floor, like the American-born de Valera with his Spanish father, or Childers and Brugha with their English backgrounds – were not able to boast of such strong Irish ancestry.

  It was a trying day for Collins, who afterwards explained to Kitty that it was ‘the worst day I ever spent in my life.’ He wrote that ‘the Treaty will almost certainly be beaten and no one knows what will happen. The country is certainly quite clearly for it but that seems to be little good, as their voices are not heard.’

  According to Desmond Ryan, who witnessed the proceedings as a journalist, the debate developed into ‘one long wrestle be­tween ghosts and realities with all the stored up personal spleen of five years flaming through the rhetoric.’ He concluded the two groups in the Dáil appeared ‘to hate each other far more than they ever hated the Black and Tans’.

  Numerous speakers argued that the various dead heroes would never have accepted the Treaty, but Collins decried the practice. ‘Out of the greatest respect for the dead,’ he complained, ‘we have refrained from reading letters from relatives of the dead. We have too much respect for the dead.’ He thought that deputies should not presume to speak for those deceased, though he was understanding when Kathleen Clarke, the widow of one of the 1916 leaders, told him that evening that she was going to vote against the Treaty because she believed her late husband would have wished to do so.

  ‘I wouldn’t want you to vote for it,’ Collins told her. ‘All I ask is that if it is passed, you give us the chance to work it.’

  With Christmas approaching and no likely end to the debate in sight, Collins proposed that Dáil recess on 23 December until January 3 1922. He realised that this would have the advantage of allowing the deputies from around the country to consult their constituents. Even de Valera had admitted the majority of the people were in favour of the Treaty. Countess Markievicz seconded the recess motion.

  Seán MacEntee proposed an amendment for the debate to continue ‘until we finish, and that there be no adjournment over Christmas. Instead of seeing any national advantage I see a grave national danger in adjourning.’ The amendment was seconded and a vote taken, with de Valera, Brugha, Stack and Childers voting to continue the debate, but the amendment was defeated by 77 votes to 44. The substantive motion proposed by Collins was then put and carried by acclamation.

  During that recess the press, which was solidly behind the Treaty, encouraged local bodies to endorse the agreement, and more than twenty county councils responded in a unanimous show of support. But the struggle for ratification was to become a long drawn-out affair. Labour Party leaders took the initiative during the recess to try to avoid a division in the Dáil on the question of the Treaty. They suggested the Dáil allow the Treaty to become operative by passing legislation to establish the southern Parliament as a committee of the Dáil so that the Provisional Government would also derive its authority from the Dáil. De Valera’s strongest objections could be surmounted in this way and the Irish people would be given an opportunity of evaluating the Treaty in practice.

  From a practical standpoint Collins really did not care whether Irish freedom was symbolically derived from the British or anyone else, so long as that freedom was real. He therefore welcomed the Labour Party initiative. ‘I think there are the basis of something that can be hammered into an agreement,’ he told the Labour Party representatives on 23 December. Griffith, too, was hopeful on Christmas Day, but de Valera rejected the plan two days later.

  Nevertheless Collins was not prepared to forget about the initiative so easily. When the Dáil reconvened on 3 January, 1922 he suggested the Treaty be accepted without a division and the Dáil then authorise the establishment of the Provisional Government so that it could demonstrate the extent of the country’s freedom. ‘If necessary,’ he said to those across the floor, ‘you can fight the Provisional Government on the Republican question afterwards.’

  ‘We will do that if you carry ratification, perhaps,’ the presi­dent replied, spurning the suggestion.

  Interviewed that evening, Collins explained that he was not asking his opponents to do anything dishonourable:

  They are not asked to abandon any princ
iple; they may, if need be, act as guardians of the interests of the nation – act as guarantors of Irish requirements, and act as censors of the Government of the Irish Free State. The Government of the Irish Free State may have difficulties in carrying on and in fulfilling promises contained in the Treaty. If these promises are less in their working out than we who are standing for the Treaty declare, then there is a glorious opportunity for the present opponents of the Treaty to show their ability to guard the Irish nation and to act on its behalf. At the present moment we ask not to be hampered, and if we do not achieve what we desire and intend, we shall willingly make room for the others, and they will have no more loyal supporters than ourselves. This is the one way of restoring unity in the Dáil and to preserve [it] as a body truly representative of the Irish people.

  However, de Valera had plans of his own. Next day he released a revised version of Document No. 2, which some rather derisively called Document No. 3. The six partition clauses of the Treaty had initially been included in Document No. 2, but those had since been dropped and replaced by an addendum stipulating, ‘we are prepared to grant to that portion of Ulster which is defined as Northern Ireland in the British Government of Ireland Act of 1920, privileges and safeguards no less substantial that those provided for in the “Articles of Agreement”.’

  The president gave notice of his intention to move it as an amendment to the resolution calling for the approval of the Treaty, even though it had already been agreed that there could be no amendments until the Treaty had been voted on first. This raised the spectre of extending the already drawn-out debate further by allowing each of the more than one hundred deputies to speak again - this time on the amendment.

  Collins argued that the vote should be taken on the Treaty first, and he was supported by Kevin O’Higgins, but the president was determined to get his own way. Each person was supposed to speak on the Treaty only once, with the exception of Griffith, who had the right to start and wind up the debate as the pro­poser of the motion. But de Valera spoke virtually at will.

  Despite having spoken already and having submitted and withdrawn Document No 2, he now tried to submit an amended version. ‘It is not within any member’s power to do such a thing without the unanimous consent of this House, and I entirely object to it,’ Griffith complained. ‘A document has been put into our hands this evening that is not Document No. 2.’

  ‘You are quibbling,’ de Valera responded. ‘The Minister for Foreign Affairs is quibbling now.’

  ‘The President is a touchy man,’ a backbench deputy inter­jected. ‘He jumps up very quickly when one puts his own interpretation on this document. Is it in order for the Pres­ident to call the Minister for Foreign Affairs a quibbler?’

  ‘I say that the word “quibble” has been used here several times,’ the president explained. ‘If ever it was once true it is in this case, because there is nothing changed but in the setting up – a slight change to have it in final form.’

  Document No. 2 consisted of twenty-three clauses and an app­endix,’ Griffith observed. ‘This new document consists of sev­enteen clauses. Six clauses are omitted.’

  ‘I am responsible for the proposals and the House will have to decide on them,’ de Valera declared. ‘I am going to choose my own procedure.’

  The Dáil was staggered. Griffith rose and responded in a cold intent manner. ‘I submit it is not in the competence of the President to choose his own procedure,’ he declared. ‘This is either a constitutional body or it is not. If it is an autocracy let you say so and we will leave it.’

  ‘In answer to that I am going to propose an amendment in my own terms,’ the president maintained. ‘It is for the House to decide whether they will take it or not.’ He seemed to want to ‘hurl another few words across the floor, but the soothing hand of a supporter from the bench behind tapping him gently on the shoulder had a calming effect.’ The undignified spectacle was thus mercifully ended and the Dáil recessed for the evening.

  Griffith was so annoyed at de Valera’s conduct that he gave a copy of the original Document No. 2 to the press. Nine backbenchers representing various shades of opinion – among them Seán T. O’Kelly, Liam Mellows, Paddy Ruttledge, Eoin O’Duffy, and Michael Hayes - met at O’Kelly’s home in an effort to find a formula that would prevent a complete split within Sinn Féin. With only Mellows dissenting, they came up with a proposal in line with the idea that opponents should abstain from voting against the Treaty and allow the Provisional Government to function drawing its powers from the Dáil, while de Valera would remain as president in order ‘that every ounce can be got out of the Treaty’.

  Griffith and Collins accepted the plan that night, but O’Kelly was unable to contact de Valera. Unfortunately the atmosphere next morning was poisoned by a savage attack on de Valera in the Freeman’s Journal, whose political correspondent accused him of ‘arrogating to himself the rights of an autocrat’.

  ‘It seems as though he wanted to wreck the Dáil before a vote could be taken, and then carry the devastating split as far as his influence could reach, throughout the length and breadth of the land,’ the correspondent continued. ‘The worst disaster which has befallen Ireland since the Union is imminent, and can only be averted by the deputies who love their country more than they love Mr de Valera, refusing to share his terrible responsibility.’

  In the same issue there was also a vitriolic editorial denouncing him for a ‘criminal attempt to divide the nation’ by pressing ‘an alleged alternative’ that was not really an alternative at all. The editorial continued:

  It contains all the articles for which the Treaty has been assailed by the ‘ideal orators of Dáil Éireann,’

  Only it is much worse.

  It agrees to Partition, but unlike the Treaty, it abandons Tyrone and Fermanagh to Orange domination.

  The Document is the answer to all the criticism of the Treaty.

  What then is the explanation?

  Is it Mr de Valera’s vanity?

  Apparently, he cannot forgive the Irishmen who have made the Treaty for their success.

  And for this he is ready to sacrifice the country.

  He has not the instinct of the Irishman in his blood.

  It is the curse of Ireland at this moment that its unity should be broken by such a man acting under the advice of an Englishman who has achieved fame in the British Intelligence Service.

  Document No. 3 is largely the work of Mr Erskine Childers.

  Mr Childers won his spurs as a fighter against the South African Republic.

  His next achievement was his ‘Riddle of the Sands’, a record of British spying on the German coast.

  As a Flight Commander of the Navy he fought against Roger Casement’s ally.

  These are the men for whom the nation is to put aside Arthur Griffith, Michael Collins, and Richard Mulcahy.

  When the fight was on Mr de Valera and Mr Erskine Childers fell accidentally into the hands of the military.

  They were immediately released.

  That was the time there was £10,000 for the corpse of Michael Collins.

  The Irish people must stand up, and begin their freedom by giving their fate into the hands of their own countrymen.

  Whether or not Collins had wished to draw attention to the president’s foreign background in his own Dáil speech a fortnight earlier, he quickly disassociated himself from the Freeman’s Journal attack. He not only denounced it in the Dáil but also complained to the editor that he did not want his ‘name associated with any personal attack on those who are opposed to me politically in the present crisis.’

  De Valera remained deeply irritated by the attack. Flatly rejecting the backbench initiative, he insisted that Document No. 2 be accepted instead.

  Next morning, 6 January, 1922, the Dáil went back into private session to consider the backbench initiative, but the president was adamantly opposed. ‘I am going to settle all this thing by resigning publicly at the public session,’ he stat
ed banging the table in front of him. ‘I am not going to connive at setting up in Ireland another government for England.’

  Erskine Childers believed that Harry Boland, who had re­turned from the United States the previous day, persuaded de Valera to announce his resignation and force and election of president before any vote on the Treaty.

  20 - ‘The man who won the war’

  The public session reconvened in an air of expectation on the afternoon of 6 January. The president began by announcing his resignation in the course of a truly extraordinary speech. ‘Even in his happiest moments Mr de Valera has scarcely surpassed himself in declaratory power,’ one reporter noted. The remarkable address claimed the full attention of the whole Dáil.

  De Valera began slowly and deliberately, but his voice be­came charged with emotion as he defended his alternative. ‘Now, I have definitely a policy,’ he explained, ‘not some pet scheme of my own, but something that I know from four years’ experience in my position – and I have been bought up among the Irish people. I was reared in a labourer’s cottage here in Ireland.’

  The Dáil applauded. This was obviously the president’s answer to the snide questioning of his credentials as an Irish man by the Freeman’s Journal. ‘I have not lived solely amongst the intellectuals,’ he continued. ‘The first fifteen years of my life that formed my characters were lived among the Irish people down in Limerick; therefore, I know what I am talking about; and whenever I wanted to know what the Irish people wanted I had only to examine my own heart and it told me straight off what the Irish people wanted.’ Consequently, he said, he knew that the Irish people did not want the Treaty, and he was determined to wreck it. He announced his resignation as president and said the Dáil would have ‘to decide before it does further work, who is the be the Chief Executive in this Nation’. And he was going to stand for re-election.