And in the other corner.

Inside Trinity College

By One of the Garrison

(Blackwood’s Magazine, July, 1916)

Easter Monday, April 24, 1916 - not yet one fortnight old as I write - looked a day of peaceful thoughts if ever there was one. It was cool, bright weather. The Dublin hills stretched away to the south-west, a picture of immovable repose in the afternoon light.

Down the Dundrum road a band of the Veteran Volunteers - the “G.R.’s” came swinging along at a steady pace, their faces towards the City. An officer on horseback led them. As he passed us, we recognised in him Major Harris of the Officers’ Training Corps of the University of Dublin. He stopped us. “Have you heard that the Sinn Feiners have risen in Dublin, and seized the General Post Office and Stephen’s Green, and shot several of the police?” The Veterans passed on their way to the city, leaving us bewildered. Some of them were to meet death within an hour of that instant.

Peace indeed! Rather madness and bloodshed this fine holiday afternoon. To a change so astounding the mind at first refuses to adapt itself The blessed isolation from the horrors of invasion, for which we daily give thanks, suddenly replaced by that worst of all forms of strife - civil war. For the danger of the Sinn Fein is known to all in Ireland save, apparently, to the authorities. It is not only a danger in itself, but it possesses all the potential danger of the spark amidst the gunpowder. And now at last it is at hand, and to each one comes the same thought, - to seek his duty and to do it. To him who has not the great obligation of defence of wife and family during the unknown dangers of the coming night, the cause of law and order and of the institutions which he holds dearest may appeal for all he can give. In the minds of each one of us the same question is being debated, and the claims upon him weighed one against the other. And to each the littleness of a few years of life speaks with the same quieting voice.

I was in Trinity College by four o’clock. I had already been in the city that same morning visiting a friend. There were then no signs of the fatal events proceeding elsewhere. The Post Office was actually being seized at the time I was sitting with my sick friend. But now how different! Carriage traffic had almost ceased, and crowds hurried, partly in terror, partly in curiosity, about the streets. An occasional shot was heard. But it soon became evident that the Rebels were virtually in possession of the city.

I left Trinity cautiously by one of the side gates. I was anxious to ascertain, if possible, the magnitude of the movement and to get some idea of the numbers engaged in it. I visited the General Post Office, the central building in Sackville Street. It was a wreck. Glass littered deeply the path and pavement in front of it. Armed men stood behind its shattered windows. Useless barricades had been piled up within - mail bags, evidently filled with letters, to keep out bullets! Chairs and tables through which bullets would pass almost as easily! And, peering out from their defences, the unhappy warriors threatened with their rifles the scared crowd which alternately approached and ran away. At one window a mere boy was still knocking out the glass with the butt of his rifle. Above the building floated a huge green banner with the inscription in white letters, “Irish Republic”. Truly *Der Tag *had come! But oh, how pitiful! A fantastic chimera, and death the sure and certain wage!

The Rebels were moving about freely in the streets. All seemed armed with rifles. The police had entirely disappeared. They had done all they could, and some had offered their lives in a vain endeavour to save the city. St. Stephen’s Green, which I next visited, was closed. A sort of barrier had been placed within the large gate facing the foot of Grafton Street. Behind it stood, with set face and in Sinn Fein uniform, an armed man. He held his rifle at the ready. But neither military nor police contested his supremacy. A couple of lads of 17 or 18 years of age lay on the grass near by. They too were armed and equipped with rifle and bandolier. A man in the small crowd remarked to me on the juvenile appearance of these Sinn Feiners. What, indeed, could they know of right and wrong? What could they do to save themselves even if they knew the truth? It was a pitiful sight. One formidable-looking man of maturer years lay stretched in the most approved attitude, with rifle immovably directed towards Grafton Street. I estimated that if the distribution of men around the Green was everywhere such as it was at this point, 400 or 500 men might be within. One comforting inference could be drawn. No German officer was responsible for such strategy. For no officer in his senses would shut his men in an enclosure commanded by tall buildings on every side, from any one of which almost every comer of the Green could be reached. And as it turned out, this was just what the Sinn Feiners found to their cost a few days later.

I returned to the College but little wiser than I had left it. From the first the gates had been closed, and no unknown person allowed to enter. What force was within? I had come in almost direct from the meeting with Major Harris, and as he must moderate his pace to that of his men on foot, and as I was on a bicycle, it seemed unlikely that even by this time he could have returned. Inquiry confirmed this view. At the Headquarters of the Officers’ Training Corps I heard that several officers in khaki had been fired on, and it was believed to be doubtful if Major Harris would ever reach the College. In point of fact he never did. Approaching the town the Veterans divided into two parties. One of these was under command of Major Harris. The other, under command of Mr. Browning, was ambushed and badly cut up by the Rebel fire. The survivors of both parties were finally driven to take refuge in Beggar’s Bush Barracks, then in a state of siege, and into which they only penetrated by climbing over a back wall. The “G.R.’s” had gone on their route-march, as was their wont, totally unprovided with weapons of defence.

Thus it happened that Trinity College seemed almost without defenders. Major Tate, the C.O., was unfortunately away. But Captain Alton of the O.T.C., Lieutenant Luce of the Royal Irish Rifles, who was home from the front on sick leave, and Lieutenant Waterhouse were fortunately at hand. A few boys in khaki were about. There was no doubt of the seriousness of the position. Help from military or police was not to be expected for some time - possibly for some days. That the College had not already been captured was most inexplicable. It was obviously the most central and commanding position in the city. There was the additional attraction of the military stores of the O.T.C. depot. In this were kept some hundreds of service rifles and many thousands of rounds of ammunition. The loot of the buildings would supply many requirements of those in possession. And once captured nothing but the wholesale destruction of buildings, containing the most precious heirlooms of the ancient University, would suffice to dislodge the enemy. I visited the Provost. He faced the position with which he had been so suddenly confronted with calmness.

The Anzacs had been above on the roof of the College since an early hour. Owing to the strict order received from the Irish Command not to fire until attacked, many chances of “potting” Rebels had been missed. But later in the morning this order had been withdrawn. Already before daylight a despatch-rider of the enemy had been brought down by the fire of the Anzacs. It was wonderful shooting. He was one of three who were riding past on bicycles. Four shots were fired. Three found their mark in the head of the unfortunate victim. Another of the riders was wounded and escaped on foot. The third abandoned his bicycle and also escaped. This shooting was done by the uncertain light of the electric lamps, and at a high angle downwards from a lofty building. The body was brought in.

Later I saw him. In no irreverent spirit I lifted the face-cloth. He looked quite young; one might almost call him a boy. The handsome waxen face was on one side concealed in blood. Poor boy! What crime was his? That of listening to the insane wickedness and folly preached by those older and who ought to be wiser than he. And was not he, after all, but one of those who carry to its logical conclusion the long crusade against English rule which for generations has kept peace from Irish hearts? More honest than many of his teachers, he has been led into crime and now pays the penalty. It is true, if truth exists at all, that this life cut short and the rancour and bitterness with which it was filled are as much the handiwork of the “constitutional” agitator as of many who are doomed to summary execution for this night’s work. When will England appreciate the Irish temperament? When will our rulers learn that these rash and foolish sons of the Empire require quiet and resolute government, sane education, and protection from the fanatic and the agitator, to whose poison they are at present exposed from their earliest years?

Tuesday, April 25, was now a new day. The events of the past night seemed folded away, as if but a troubled dream. What would the new day bring forth? When might help be expected? With advancing day the numbers in the streets increased. It was evident that the public even yet had not realised the dangers of the streets. Shots from roof and windows did not seem to deter the curious from risking his life. Not a few were aimed from the roof and windows of the College at snipers lurking in surrounding buildings. One window in the top storey of a large insurance office was an object of special suspicion. A man and a woman had shown themselves at it more than once. They had been seen to fire into the streets beneath. The shooting from the College was undeniably good. The window was turned away at a sharp angle from the College, and was distant about a hundred yards. Nevertheless, spirts of lime and powdered stone were sent flying from its embrasure at every shot. Whoever was within was certainly either very foolhardy or very stupid. To look forth even for the fraction of a second under such conditions was courting death.

There can be no doubt that the accurate fire maintained from the College was an important factor in the salvation of the City. The Bank of Ireland (formerly the Irish House of Parliament) was otherwise unprotected, but no hostile being could have approached its doors. Its whole front was in view of the College. The sentries, which in ordinary times never cease to guard its doors, were absent, but the building was safe. An attempt was, in fact, made to take possession of its roof: but it was frustrated. The many important and stately buildings - banks, insurance offices, business premises - of Dame Street and Grafton Street were protected from the rebel or from the looter in the same manner. The whole length of Westmoreland Street was kept clear by the College rifles; and even the strongholds of the enemy in Sackville Street were assailed from the northern end of the College. Regarding the position as a whole, the grounds and buildings of Trinity College filled the function of a loyal nucleus, dividing the forces of the rebels and keeping open to the troops some of the principal thoroughfares of the City.

After being relieved, I joined the Anzacs on the roof: They were undoubtedly men fashioned for the enjoyment of danger. And certainly it would be harder to find nicer comrades. Alas for the thousands of these fine soldiers who have left their bones on Gallipoli! …

The great event of Tuesday was the recapture of the “Daily Express” offices by the military. We were at the time in ignorance of what was actually happening; for we were possessed with the idea that the Sinn Feiners held the Castle. When, therefore, we saw at the head of Dame Street men in successive waves rush across the street from the City Hall towards the “Express” offices, we thought they represented the enemy in process of expulsion from the Castle. As a matter of fact the waves of men were composed of the troops. From our position in front of the College we could see that a terrific fire was being directed against the “Daily Express” building: plaster and powdered brick were flying in showers from its facade. This fire was to cover the advance of our soldiers. But in spite of this we saw, more than once, one of the running figures pitch forward and fall. It was expensive tactics; and later a better method of dealing with the Rebel strongholds was found when the artillery came into the City. The fight seemed to last a considerable time - about an hour at its greatest intensity - before the firing began to wane. Not till later did we learn that the final phase of the struggle took place, under deadly conditions for the soldiers in the narrow passages of the newspaper office. But they were not to be withheld, and the Rebels were ultimately bombed out or captured.

This event took place on the afternoon of Tuesday. Shortly after a small body of troops entered at the front gate of the College - a welcome sight. But it was not certain if they were to remain for the night.

In the course of the afternoon it became necessary, in view of certain operations to be undertaken by the Regulars, to ascertain if Butt Bridge, which spans the Liffey near the notorious Liberty Hall, was occupied or not. The necessary scouting was assigned to me. Two of our O.T.C. cadets in mufti were to accompany me. We agreed that it was best not to remain together. I accordingly went by Tara Street, and my colleagues proceeded by Hawkins Street. My route being the shorter, I reached the bridge first. It was unoccupied. Being anxious to ascertain if Liberty Hall was occupied and in a state of defence, I crossed the bridge and traversed the pavement in front of the Hall. The building looked empty, but I noticed that some of the windows of the basement had been broken out. This, of course, might betoken the presence of inhabitants, and suggested sniping. As I could not turn back in front of the building, I walked past it, and turned when near the railway arches crossing the street lower down. It was unwisely done. I had probably been seen from the Hall, for as I again passed in front of it two rifle shots were fired in rapid succession from one of the lower windows. I saw the smoke so there was no doubt whence the shots came. If the intention was to hit me it was quite extraordinary they did not succeed, seeing that only some 30 or 40 yards intervened, and I was walking slowly. Two men just behind me, who seemed the only other pedestrians present, took to fright and ran across the bridge. This course I did not imitate, for I reasoned that as the bridge was commanded right across from the windows of Liberty Hall, flight might have the actual effect of drawing the fire of the rebels. No more shots were fired, and I met my O.T.C. supports on the bridge.

In spite of our better position no precaution appeared to be relaxed by Captain Alton on the ensuing night. My own duties lay at the railings and gate in the New Square, near No. 40. This house is at the end of the bay, and overlooks the entire central area of the Park. The railings beneath it command a view reaching across to Nassau Street. Here I passed two very cold hours peering across the lawn. I was to shoot any one seen beyond the railings: none of our men were to quit the quadrangles.

I spent the rest of the night on this duty. When Wednesday, April 26 at length came, I was glad to get away from that window. There was now no bread in the College and no sugar, and the hardness of the ship’s biscuits was something of scientific interest. But for all that I have never had a more delightful breakfast than I had that morning. The kitchen was filled with men trying to eat the biscuits. The interesting historical narratives of current events made it difficult to remember the duty of reporting oneself I was again stationed at one of the front windows of the College.

There were adventurous people to be seen in the streets as the day got older. The impelling force of curiosity would appear to rank with the strongest passions of mankind. Here were bullets flying about, death lurking at every comer, and yet troops of foolish people running about the streets. There had been looting already in some of the shops, and in the midst of the broad pavement in front of the College a small ragged boy was rejoicing in a toy motor car which was certainly value for three or four guineas. It was rather small for him, but he managed to sit in it and to pedal himself round Grattan’s statue. Bullets were nothing to him. For the nonce he was of the fortunate ones, and a lordly toy was his to play with. In after years this trivial sport will stand for the Great Rebellion in his memory. So it is with us all, if only we could see our actions and thoughts in the light of history.

Troops were now coming into the College in large numbers. It was arranged with the consent of the Provost that the military in Dublin should take up Headquarters in the College. There was no doubt as to the mutual benefits to be derived from the arrangement. The weather had held out, and in the Park fresh young grass was found for the horses. The Examination Hall, the Engineering School, and part of the Dining Hall were thrown open to the men. Owing to the absence of students a very large number of chambers could be placed at the disposal of officers as well as of the rank and file. These rooms were all in part furnished, and contained good sleeping accommodation. But in truth the Tommies off duty had little to do with rooms. They lay about and slept in the open all day, rejoicing in the sward of the College courts and in the brilliant sunshine. The senior officers enjoyed the hospitality of the Provost.

The immediate safety of the College was now assured. Our escape from utter destruction had indeed been marvellous. I heard the view commonly expressed among the officers that had the Sinn Feiners taken possession of the College buildings in force, nothing but shell fire would have dislodged them. Having regard to the great strength of the place, no other course but one which must probably involve the ruin of the buildings would be justifiable. Nor would any policy of starvation have availed to save the priceless treasures of the College from the same fate which befell every public building in Dublin into which the Sinn Feiner entered.

With the Library, enriched at the voluntary expense of soldiers, the most precious heirlooms of ancient Irish civilisation would perish: with the exquisite School of Engineer mg, the most beautiful structure of the kind in the world would disappear: with the Provost’s House, a treasury of art would vanish.

Early on Wednesday Liberty Hall received its quietus. Two 18-pounders and the guns of H.M.S. Helga, brought up to the Liffey, were used to demolish it. The noise was tremendous. To the general din was added the spitting of a machine-gun placed high on the tower of the Fire Brigade Station. When next I saw Liberty Hall its empty shell alone remained. Every floor had been blown out of it. It was stated that none of the Rebels had remained to face the attack. A few weeks ago O saw armed me keeping guard within this building to keep out the police: and this was known to, and suffered by, the authorities. It was known to, and noticed in, the Press. But nothing was done.

Early in the day I went on duty at the Brunswick Street gate. This is the main entrance and exit for troops and others communicating with the east and north sides of the city. I soon found myself busy. A sentry was, of course, given to me. I was to deny or grant admission or exit according to circumstances. Every precaution had to be taken. The small door was opened only in face of fixed bayonet and after preliminary parley as to who was without. There appeared to be one evident oversight in the military precautions at this point. The large business premises of MessrS. M’Kenzie & Co. overlook this entrance and command it, more especially from the inner side. The building was apparently deserted. But if the enemy by any means gained access to it the gate would obviously be untenable. As we were still none too strong, and the numbers and intentions of the Rebels were unknown, it seemed prudent to occupy the building. Accordingly 13 regulars were put into it later in the afternoon. Its occupation continued till the rebellion was substantially put down.

Casualties began to come in. No.15, a house in the College quadrangle known as Botany Bay and near the Brunswick Street gate, had been fitted up as an emergency hospital. It proved to be of the greatest value, not only for dealing with wounds, but for administering to the ailments of the soldiers within. The treatment of sore feet, for instance, was continually proceeding. A staff of Red Cross volunteers and members of the R.A.M.C. were available day and night …

We had now reached Thursday, April 27. The quadrangles presented an extraordinary appearance. Some 4,000 troops were stationed in the College. Horses tied to the chains which enclosed the grass plots gave the place the appearance of a vast open-air stable or horse fair. Men stood in ranks or sprawled on the pavements or on the doorsteps - anywhere

• sometimes closely packed and fast asleep in every conceivable attitude. Many of these men were very young, and most of them had but recently joined the Colours. Looking now at their sleeping forms and tired faces, once must remember that the work of rounding up and hunting down the Rebels is not only arduous, it is in the highest degree dangerous. Not a few of the officers and men who had been through these nocturnal and diurnal operations told me that they would prefer being at the Front. At the Front, they said, you know the direction from which you may expect a bullet. Here the enemy is all round you. He lurks in dark passages and among chimney-stack, and when at last you think you have hunted him down, you find yourself in possession of a peaceful citizen who gives some plausible reason for his presence. That these young fellows should be wearied after their night of peril and strenuous exertion was not to be wondered at.

On this day a dead soldier was brought in. He found burial in the Fellows’ Garden, service being said by the Army Chaplain. This was not the only interment within the College grounds. Later, another soldier - whose grave is now inscribed “Private A. C. Smith, 2373, 10th Cavalry Res. Regt., killed April 29, 1916” - was buried in the College Park. The boy despatch-rider was laid to rest at an earlier date.

Then a little boy was brought in on a stretcher. He had been shot through the hand on Monday, and there was fear that the wound had become septic. The father accompanied him, but even in these circumstances was not admitted to the quadrangles. He told me that none of the family had tasted food since Monday night. The child looked very ill - too ill to cry or to complain -and on hearing this I left the man in charge of the sentry and made my way into No. 15 to suggest the application of internal as well as external remedies. Hot tea was given to the little patient. There was rapid revival. He thanked us in a voice which never rose above a whisper. The manners of these little Irish children are sometimes lovely; and this child had all the confiding and appealing way about him which constitutes their special charm.

And it was quite true. The people were starving. Food supplies had early been exhausted or the shops had been closed. Wages had ceased, for there were no employers and no work to do. But wages would not have helped; there was nothing to buy. Relief of the starving was begun by the officers of the O.T.C. Later, on the Thursday, the Military Authorities humanely and wisely took the problem in hand. Stores were commandeered and warehouses opened, and the food distributed to the starving families. I heard that the people were so grateful they would do anything for the soldiers.

But I was yet to see a more terrible tragedy. There was the sound of the ambulance bell without. The van was admitted. It seems that the horse had been shot and a riding-horse substituted, and they had difficulty in getting the van farther than the College. Accordingly they sought first-aid at our Red Cross station.

A woman was lifted out. The stretcher dripped with her blood A glance showed that death was not far from her. It was a face without hope. A shocking wound was hers. Shot through the lower part of the abdomen, the infernal bullet used by the Sinn Feiners had done work which must surely be fatal. They tried to plug the wound. A little later she was brought on to hospital - where she died.

This woman had done no wrong. She was probably seeking food for her six little children when death met her. There will be no one to sing her sorrows in modulated verse. The guilty “Countess” may possibly one day evoke the strains of the bard. But this woman’s anguish of farewell to her little children will be absorbed unnoticed - save by these poor words - in that great total of human sorrow which the mind cannot evaluate or even conceive.

Two eighteen-pounder field-guns were now in the College. Today they were used to break up an enemy stronghold. The Sinn Feiners had seized and fortified a fishing-tackle and ammunition shop overlooking Carlisle Bridge. From this they maintained a fusilade upon every one within reach. The eighteen-pounders were brought out into Brunswick Street and anchored to the pavement by lifting some of the setts. They were trained on Kelly’s shop (the stronghold referred to), the shells traversing the length of D’Olier Street. Eleven shells were put into the brick walls of the premises. What the effects were within we could form no conception, but great holes were torn in the walls. The shells (shrapnel), we afterwards heard, penetrated into the adjoining house beyond and damaged a valuable photographic stock. The story that these field-guns were brought to the top of the College is, of course, absurd. They could be neither maintained on, nor fired from, a foundation of slates and rafters. Nor would it be a simple matter to hoist them up.

Fires were now raging in the city. With the approach of night the flames lit the sky. In the lurid heavens the planet Venus shone with extraordinary brilliancy.

As the struggle between the Military and the Rebels became more and more a series of isolated combats, the streets grew ever more dangerous. Even at my post at the gate bullets were constantly singing overhead. Whence they came it was impossible to find out. The only risk here, however, was from a ricochet. A case of an eighteen-pounder shrapnel shell, emanating from an unknown source, fell in the Provost’s garden. All this Thursday night firing continued, sometimes breaking out in one direction, sometimes in another. The vicious rattle of maxims, and the tap, tap, tap of some quick-firer - wickedest sound of all - mingled every now and again with the crash of bombs, filled the night with a sense of horror and danger. The streets were in many places barricaded and no one was permitted to pass. Indeed only the Military were now to be seen on the streets. Even the police, if a message had to come to the College, crossed the street at the double.

An hour past midnight on Thursday I left the gate in charge of the night watchman and the sentry and retired to rest on a sofa in the Fellows’ Common-room. This was a most luxurious indulgence.

It was, I think, on the Thursday that a strange demand was made on the hospitality of the College. An operatic company, of well-known excellence, unaware of the extraordinary conditions prevailing in the City of Dublin, had reached the City on Wednesday. They found all the hotels closed and no possibility of getting accommodation. Eighteen members of the company took refuge with the Police. The Police sent across to my gate to know if hospitality - mere housing within the College - could be extended to them. Under the conditions, to grant this request was clearly impossible. Accordingly the stranded actresses and actors had to abide in the premises of the D.M. Police.

Then a change came over that house of retribution. Strains of clever song and sounds of pleasant laughter reached my gate, mingled with the crack of distant rifles and the crash of bombs. Cheerful faces peered from door and window. Inexorable duty brought me across to the D.M.P. barracks that afternoon. The scene within was worthy of Gilbert and Sullivan at their best. The gigantic, uniformed Inspectors - grey of hair and upright of bearing - beamed with parental indulgence upon the graceful forms which tripped down the stone stairs or laughed and sung in groups in the hall. Among all the experiences of a week of novelties this was not the least novel. It may safely be predicted that such a scene of mingled gaiety and tragedy will never again visit the halls of that building. The trite saying that laughter and tears are near together seemed exemplified. I was carrying on a conversation with one of the huge Inspectors. It was about the battle of Tallaght in 1867- the last Irish Rebellion. I was surprised to find that the Inspector was unacquainted with some of the most interesting facts of that extraordinary contest. I told him of how a dozen of the Constabulary captured some hundreds of armed rebels, and to keep them from running away had cut their braces, - a clever ruse which might well be matter of instruction to a police force, and which, I hear, has been used at the Front in the case of German prisoners. But no, he had never heard of it, and was in great delight at the idea. Nor had he any reluctance in imparting it to the assembled company. “Mister Finnigan, Mister Finnigan,” he shouted to a distant Inspector just as gigantic as himself and just as paternal of countenance, “Do you hear what --- says’. How they kept the rebels from running away’. They cut their braces. Ho, ho, ho!” Then followed shrieks of laughter from giddy youth.

There were some strange happenings also within the College. There were two cases of sudden lunacy: one among our own O.T.C.; the other case was that of a Sinn Fein prisoner. Lieutenant W--- gave us a horrifying account of the treatment dealt out to the latter, who was violent. “It took four of us to hold him down. We tied his hands behind his back, and we tied his feet together. Then we laid him on a table and wound ropes round him and the table. Finally we wrapped a blanket round his head.” “I suppose,” said one of the Fellows of the College, whose remarks are generally worth listening to, “I suppose you call that ‘First Aid.’ “The strangest part of the story was the effects on the prisoner. He was left in the mummified state for six hours. At the end of that time he was found to be quite sane - except with regard to his political convictions.

A feature of these curious times was the prevalence of extraordinary rumours as to what was going on in the world outside. The tendency to imagine the worst was consistently manifested in these reports. Verdun had fallen; there had been a great naval battle disastrous to British supremacy; there had been a landing of Germans on the East Coast of England. With such items of news we were regaled, and on the most conclusive evidence. Nor were events nearer home more favourably reported. The number of risings in the Irish counties and the strength of the Rebels were alike exaggerated. All this did not conduce to our peace of mind. Fortunately the immediate surroundings were too engrossing to permit us to reflect on the calamities which appeared to be crowding upon Great Britain during our temporary sequestration from the newspapers.

For, in point of fact, all postal connection with the outer world was cut off. Such local papers as appeared, at first contained only the Military Proclamations. These were brought in by the soldiers, and proved disappointing reading. In the City the first (and last) number of the extraordinary “Irish War News” had appeared on the Tuesday morning, a small and very seditious sheet, price one penny, and headed, “Vol. 1. No. 1.” It contained the proclamation of the Rebel leaders.

On Friday the Military appear to have finally disposed of the Rebels in the General Post Office. It was only carried through by the all but complete destruction and burning of the building, the outer walls alone remaining. Fires were now increasing in number on the north side of the river. It was related that looting was going on, on a most disgraceful scale. Shops of all sorts were broken open and the goods freely distributed to the citizens of the Irish Republic. Men stripped off their old clothes and dressed themselves anew in the open streets, donning fashionable suits. Women selected jewels for their personal adornment, and rich and rare were the gems they wore on toil-stained fingers and grimy wrist. Watches were carried off heaped in aprons. Toys were given to the young. Fruit and champagne and other expensive luxuries were freely partaken of. The wines were in some cases retailed for a few pence the bottle. Bookshops only were immune from attack. It is related that some officers captured by the Rebels on Monday were conveyed by the enemy to a tobacconist’s shop, and with true Irish hospitality were treated to the best cigars, the owner of the shop having fled.

Saturday the 29th was to be my last day at the gate. There were now available many better fitted for such a duty. I was given leave for Sunday. In the streets Saturday was marked by a certain liveliness. Prisoners were coming in or passing in batches all day. A poor and pitiable lot they looked. Surrenders were taking place all over the City: surrenders accepted on unconditional terms only. The leaders were now in the hands of the authorities, and the Sinn Fein Rebellion was in a fair way to be a thing of the past, and to take its place in Irish history as one of the many insane rebellions which constitute its principal episodes. Late that night I accompanied Captain Alton to the top of the lookout tower of the Fire Brigade Station. The view northward was sublime and terrible. Acres of flame and red-hot buildings stretched across the middle distance. The lurid light, reflected on rolling clouds of smoke, rose and fell as roof and walls toppled over. Fresh fires appeared to be springing into existence at a point to the north-east, and it really looked as if we were witnessing the wholesale destruction by the devouring flames of the entire northern side of the City. The night was still, or the damage had been far greater than it was. The Brigade was said to be overwhelmed with the magnitude of the work assigned to it - as well it might be; but undoubtedly it did invaluable service. And its work was in some cases done under the fire of the Rebels. Two and a half million pounds’ worth of property were destroyed during the rising.

And from this tower, looking over unhappy Dublin, stretching like a map beneath us, we seem to be reviewing the whole miserable story. The growth of lawlessness, dating back to days of cattle-driving and boycotting. To the landlords every evil was to be traced. Settle the land question and you would have a peaceful and prosperous Ireland. Well, the landlords are gone and still you have rebellion. The long, pernicious Aberdeen *regime, *year by year bringing authority more and more into contempt. The laxity towards the Larkinite movement; the folding of the hands, no matter what might be done in Liberty Hall. “We serve neither King nor Kaiser, but Ireland”, stood for months writ across the face of that house of sedition; but still all was well. Then we have the pressure of Home Rule, leading to the arming of the North. Next comes the arming of the South. Finally arises the usual rift between the “constitutional” and the unconstitutional. All these long series of ominous events mishandled, or not handled at all, by a helpless Government.

Hundreds of the untimely dead lie beneath us in the stricken City. Upon hundreds of others the shades of death are even now closing. The ruined, unhappy leaders are there: now at length seeing all their own mischance. The pitiful dupes who took their word for the future of the “Irish Republic”; and now only look forward to death or penal servitude! Others, just as guilty, lurking in hourly fear of detection! The orphaned children crying for mother and father! Ruined lives and ruined business! All this and far, far more make up the tragedy at our feet.

And the future? Nothing can be more gloomy save the miserable present. Does any one believe that this is indeed the end of madness in this unhappy land? A bloody and desperate war to claim for its victims all we have most brave and most loyal. And when that is past our wretched domestic politics all over again, with the certainty that sacrifices for King and Empire will count for nothing. Is this sea of lambent flames, this harvest of death, a hopeful augury for the future of self-governing Ireland? Who will be found to educate my fellow-countrymen to that self-control which accepts the victory in the Senate as the final verdict? Who will be found wise and strong enough to waken them from the phantasmagoria of vain and foolish dreams the sober light of day? Be very sure that till that measure of self-mastery is attained, and till that awakening is accomplished, this is not the end of violence. To-day you deal with the Sinn Fein: tomorrow you deal with Whom?

Truly our future is as lurid as those rolling clouds which, rising around us into the night, dissipate in space the hard-won wealth of the loyal citizens of Dublin.