Title: The Sinn Fein rebellion As I Saw It.
Author: Norway, Mrs. Hamilton
Language: English
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CONTENTS

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original publication.

  Preface
  Illstrations
  First Letter
  Second Letter
  Third Letter
  Fourth Letter
  Proclamation Declaring Martial Law
  Proclamation Posted Outside the General Post Office
  Manifesto Issued from the Rebel Headquarters



THE SINN FEIN REBELLION

AS I SAW IT



[Illustration:

    _Photo._]      [_Chancellor, Dublin._

BURNT-OUT SHELL OF GENERAL POST OFFICE, SHOWING THE FALLEN
FLAGSTAFF WHICH BORE THE REPUBLICAN FLAG.]



    THE SINN FEIN REBELLION
    AS I SAW IT

    BY
    MRS. HAMILTON NORWAY
    (WIFE OF THE SECRETARY FOR THE POST OFFICE
    IN IRELAND)

    _With Illustrations, and Reproduction of the Irish
    Republican Stamp on Cover_

    LONDON
    SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE
    1916



For these letters I claim no literary merit: they were written during
a period of extraordinary strain for family perusal only, and are a
faithful record hour by hour of the Sinn Fein rebellion as I saw it.
The wide interest the letters excited in the family circle and the
little that seems to be known of a period of such intense interest is
my reason for offering them to a wider public.

    M. L. N.

    _July, 1916._



ILLUSTRATIONS


    BURNT-OUT SHELL OF GENERAL POST OFFICE,
      SHOWING THE FALLEN FLAGSTAFF WHICH
      BORE THE REPUBLICAN FLAG                 _Frontispiece_

    ARMOURED CAR                               _Facing p. 86_



The Sinn Fein Rebellion as I Saw It


ROYAL HIBERNIAN HOTEL, DAWSON STREET, DUBLIN,

_Tuesday, April 25th._

DEAREST G.,--I am afraid by this time you will have seen a
good deal in the papers to cause you alarm, and as it is impossible
to get a letter or telegram through, I will write you a detailed
account of what we are going through and post it to you at the first
opportunity.

To begin at the beginning, the Sinn Fein movement, which is now
frankly revolutionary and which must not be confounded with Redmond's
Nationalist Party, has been in existence for years, but has always been
looked on as a small body of cranks who were thirsting for notoriety.
Redmond's policy has always been to treat them with utter contempt, and
the Government adopted his view.

Since the outbreak of war this movement, encouraged no doubt by German
intrigue and German money, has grown by leaps and bounds, and about
eighteen months ago a large number broke away from Redmond's National
Volunteers and formed a volunteer force which they called the Irish
Volunteers. They are frankly and openly revolutionary, and when it
became known some months ago that they were obtaining large quantities
of arms and ammunition various persons did all they could to open the
eyes of the authorities to the dangerous situation that was growing up.
But as the explanation was always given that the force was for national
defence only, the Government failed to take any steps to put down the
movement.

During the past six months the body has grown enormously, as many as
seven hundred recruits being enlisted on one night, and of course
doing enormous harm to recruiting for the Army. On St. Patrick's Day
they held a large review of several battalions, armed, and the trams
were all held up for about an hour in College Green. Up to the last
moment there was hope that this would be stopped, but protests were
like a voice crying in the wilderness. Another time they held a full
dress rehearsal of what has actually taken place when they "took" the
Castle, St. Stephen's Green, and various buildings. About a month ago
one of their meetings in the country was broken up and the two leaders
arrested and deported to England. A huge meeting of protest was held
at the Mansion House, almost opposite this hotel, and attended by the
Volunteers, all armed, who marched in procession. After the meeting
they marched down Grafton Street, singing "Die Wacht am Rhein" and
revolutionary songs; a slight disturbance with the police took place
and some shots were fired. People began to ask anxiously what next? but
the Government looked on and smiled and H. tore his hair.

On Saturday we were going to tea with friends at Bray, when just as we
were starting H. got an "official" from the Castle, so I went alone and
he went to the Castle. News had come that a boat had been taken off the
Kerry coast, landing ammunition, and a very important arrest had been
made. Easter Sunday passed off in absolute calm, and yesterday (Easter
Monday) morning H. said he had a lot of letters to write and he would
go and write them at his club, almost next door to the Sackville Street
G.P.O. He found he wanted to answer some letters that were in his desk
at the G.P.O., so he walked over to his room and was just sitting down
when his 'phone went, an urgent message to go at once to the Castle.

He had only just arrived there, and was in consultation with Sir M. N.,
when suddenly a volley of shots rang out at the Castle gate, and it
was found armed bodies of men were in possession of the City Hall and
other houses that commanded the other gates to the Castle, and anyone
attempting to leave the Castle was shot. All the officials in the
Castle were prisoners.

News quickly came that the magazine in the Park had been taken, the
G.P.O., two stations, and all the houses that commanded O'Connell
Bridge had been stormed and taken, and the rebels had taken St.
Stephen's Green, where they were entrenching themselves.

Meantime, knowing nothing of this, N. went for a country motor bike
ride, and I did some sewing and wrote letters, etc., and when N. came
in about 12.30 I said I wanted a walk before lunch and we would walk
down to the club and meet H. The streets were quiet and deserted till
we crossed O'Connell Bridge, when N. remarked there was a dense crowd
round Nelson's Pillar, but we supposed it was a bank holiday crowd
waiting for trams. We were close to the General Post Office when two
or three shots were fired, followed by a volley, and the crowd began
rushing down towards the bridge, the people calling out "Go back, go
back; the Sinn Feiners are firing." N. said, "You'd better go back,
Mother; there's going to be a row; I'll go on to the club and find
Dad"; so I turned and fled with the crowd and got back safely to the
hotel.

Here was excitement and consternation. Every moment people were
coming in with tales of civilians being shot in the streets, and
houses commanding wide thoroughfares and prominent positions being
taken possession of by the Sinn Feiners, whose method was to go in
detachments of four or six armed men, ring the bell, and demand to see
the owners of the houses. In many instances they were away for the
Easter holidays, when the frightened servants were just turned into the
street to go where they would; but if the master or mistress were at
home they were told with a revolver at their heads that the house was
required by the Irish Republic for strategic purposes, and the owners
were given the option of leaving the house or remaining as prisoners
in the basement. A few elected to do this in preference to leaving all
their household goods to the mercy of the rebels; but most thought
"discretion the better part of valour" and cleared out to friends,
in some instances only to be hunted out from their house of refuge
a second time. The windows of the houses were then barricaded with
a reckless disregard to valuable furniture, which in many cases was
turned into the street to form barricades.

You remember my nice housemaid Mary, gentle as a dove and timid as a
hare. I had got her a very nice place with a lady who had taken a large
house in Leeson Street close to the bridge and commanding Fitzwilliam
Place. She went this morning by appointment to meet the lady at the
house and found the Sinn Feiners on the steps, who pointed their
revolvers at her and told her to clear out. She was so scared she
nearly fell into the area, and came to the hotel looking like a ghost.

But to return to our own adventures. Directly I got back to the hotel
I rang up the club and was told by old MacDermott, the hall-porter,
that H. had left the club at 11.30 to go to the G.P.O., saying he
would be back shortly; but he had not returned, and since then the Post
Office had been stormed and the guard shot or overpowered, and the Sinn
Feiners were in possession of the whole building, and firing volleys on
the police from the windows! Imagine my feelings!

About 1.30 N. returned, having failed to find any trace of H., but he
had seen some cavalry shot coming out of Talbot Street into Sackville
Street. The first three or four were just picked off their horses and
fell wounded or dead, and the horses were shot. He said the scene of
excitement in Sackville Street was indescribable. We were just going
in to lunch when a telephone message came through saying H. was at the
Castle but could not leave.

This relieved our minds as to his fate, and after lunch I was kept
busy at the telephone answering distracted messages from Post Office
officials who were wandering about looking for H. At about 4 p.m.
N. returned from a tour of inspection, and told me all was quiet in
Sackville Street, and begged me to go out with him and see the G.P.O.

I quaked rather, but we set off and reached Sackville Street safely.

Over the fine building of the G.P.O. floated a great green flag with
the words "Irish Republic" on it in large white letters. Every window
on the ground floor was smashed and barricaded with furniture, and a
big placard announced "The Headquarters of the Provisional Government
of the Irish Republic." At every window were two men with rifles, and
on the roof the parapet was lined with men. H.'s room appeared not to
have been touched, and there were no men at his windows.

We stood opposite and were gazing, when suddenly two shots were fired,
and, seeing there was likely to be an ugly rush, I fled again,
exhorting N. to take refuge at the club.

He never reached the club, but came back to the hotel, and we had tea,
and he then went to inspect St. Stephen's Green.

He found all round the Green, just inside the railings among the
shrubberies, the rebels had dug deep pits or holes, and in every hole
were three men. They had barricaded the street opposite the Shelbourne
Hotel, and there had been a lot of firing and several people killed,
and shots had gone into the hotel, which is, as you know, a fine
building facing the Green.

All the evening we heard firing in all directions of the city and
rumours of troops having arrived from the Curragh. While at dinner
another message came through from H. to say we were not to be alarmed;
he was quite safe, but might not get home that night.

After dinner N. went out to see if he could get near the Castle, but he
found awful fighting. The troops were storming the City Hall and using
machine-guns, and it was too "unhealthy" for him to get near, so he
came back at 9 and went to bed.

I stayed up in case of being wanted on the 'phone, and at 11.30 p.m.
went up to my room, and a few minutes later H. walked in, to my immense
relief.

The troops had arrived from the Curragh at about 5 p.m. and had
promptly stormed the City Hall, which commanded the main gate of the
Castle, and had taken it after fierce fighting.

H. saw prisoners being brought into the Castle yard, and when all
was quiet he and several other officials crept out and reached their
various homes.

People are appalled at the utter unpreparedness of the Government.
In the face of a huge body of trained and armed men, openly
revolutionary, they had taken no precautions whatever for the defence
of the city in the event of an outbreak. At the beginning of the war H.
obtained a military guard, armed, for the G.P.O., and they have always
been there. When the outbreak occurred yesterday the armed guard were
there, but with no ammunition! The sergeant was wounded in two places
and the rest overpowered.

All night the firing continued. Between 1 and 2 a.m. it was awful, and
I lay and quaked. It was all in the direction of the Castle.

This morning we hear the military are pouring into the city, and are in
the Shelbourne Hotel and Trinity College.

The rebels have barricaded Sackville Street, and it is expected to be
very fierce fighting over the G.P.O. It is terrible!

All our valuables were stored in H.'s safe and cupboard when we
gave up our house, and all our dear F.'s books, sword, and all his
possessions, which we value more than anything else in the world. We
would not trust them with the stored furniture.

[Illustration]

Yesterday afternoon the mob broke all the windows in various streets
and looted all the shops. The streets were strewn with clothes, boots,
furniture, tram cushions, and everything you can imagine.

While I am writing now there is incessant firing in St. Stephen's
Green, and we fear there may be street fighting in this street.

In case you have forgotten, I will put a little plan here (see p. 14).


_Tuesday, 5 p.m._

This morning martial law was proclaimed (I will try and get a copy of
the proclamation) at 11.30 and the rebels given four hours to surrender.

A cruiser and two transports are said to have arrived at Kingstown,
with troops from England. At 3.30 p.m., as there had been no surrender,
the troops started to clear St. Stephen's Green, and raked it with
machine-guns from the top of the Shelbourne Hotel and the United
Service Club. We hear there are many casualties. N. has just come
in, and says a big fire is raging in Sackville Street in the shops
opposite the G.P.O., supposed to have been caused by the mob finding
fireworks in a toy shop. The fire brigade arrived almost at once and
could easily have overcome the fire, but the brigade was fired on by
the Sinn Feiners, making it impossible for them to bring the engines
into action, and they had to beat a retreat and leave the shops to burn
themselves out. N. says the troops are clearing the houses of rebels
behind Dame Street and the region of the Castle, and there is a lot of
firing. It has turned to rain, which has cleared the streets of people.

A telegram has just come from the Admiralty stopping the mail boat from
crossing. No boat has gone to-day, and we are absolutely cut off.

All the roads leading out of Dublin are in the hands of the rebels.

H. and N. have just come in, having seen Dr. W. (now Major W.),
Surgeon to the Forces in Ireland. He told them that so far we had had
about 500 casualties, two-thirds of them being civilians, shot in the
streets.

The first thing Dr. W. heard of the outbreak was a 'phone message
telling him to go at once to the Shelbourne as a man had been shot.
He supposed it was a case of suicide, so jumped into his car and went
off, fortunately in mufti. In Nassau Street his car was stopped and he
was ordered to get out by rebels. He attempted to argue, and was told
if he did not obey instantly he would be shot. Had he been in uniform
he would have been shot at sight. As a civilian doctor they allowed
him to go, and he took his bag and ran. He found three men shot in the
Shelbourne, and a boy was shot as he reached the door.


_Wednesday, April 26th, 9.30 a.m._

Last evening was quiet till we went to bed at 10.30, when almost
immediately a furious machine-gun fire began. It seemed just at the
back of the hotel, but was really at the top of Grafton Street and the
street leading to Mercer's Hospital. It lasted about twenty minutes,
and then almost immediately after we got into bed a 'phone came that
H. was to go at once to the Vice-Regal Lodge in the Phoenix Park, so
he dressed and tried every way to get a motor; but of course no motor
would go out. After some delay he got the field ambulance of the fire
brigade at Dr. W.'s suggestion; but when it came the men told H. they
had been carrying wounded all day, and that they had been constantly
stopped by pickets and the car searched, and if they went and the car
was stopped and found to contain H. they would undoubtedly all be shot;
so H. considered it too risky, and it had to be abandoned. Eventually
his Excellency gave his instructions over the 'phone, first in French,
but that particular 'phone either did not speak or did not understand
French, so eventually he took the risk of the 'phone being tapped and
gave them in English. At last H. got to bed about 1 a.m., to be at the
'phone again at 5 a.m.

While we were dressing a terrific bombardment with field guns
began--the first we had heard--and gave me cold shivers. The sound
seemed to come from the direction of the G.P.O., and we concluded
they were bombarding it. It went on for a quarter of an hour--awful!
big guns and machine-guns--and then ceased, but we hear they were
bombarding Liberty Hall, the headquarters of Larkin and the strikers
two years ago, and always a nest of sedition. It is now crammed with
Sinn Feiners. The guns were on H.M.S. _Helga_, that came up the river
and smashed it from within about three hundred yards. It made me feel
quite sick.

We think that they are leaving the Post Office for a time with the hope
that when other strongholds are taken the Republican Government will
surrender. H. has just been summoned to the Castle, and there is no
knowing when he will be back. All who go out carry their lives in their
hands. I went out twice yesterday, but we were turned back by shots
being fired from upper windows, and the Lord Lieutenant has issued a
proclamation begging people to keep in their houses, so I must restrain
my curiosity.

All the shops remain closed, and no papers are issued except the
proclamation, and we know nothing of what is going on in other parts of
Ireland. But there are wild rumours of insurrection in Cork and other
places.

This morning there is firing again in St. Stephen's Green, so the
rebels are still there.

N. did a very fine thing yesterday. After the Green had been raked by
our machine-gun fire he strolled up, in his casual way, to see the
result! In front of one of the side gates in the railings, which are
seven feet high and spiked three ways, he saw a small group of men
peering into the Green. He went to see what they were looking at. The
rebels had barricaded the gate, which opened inwards, by putting one
of the heavy garden seats against it _upside down_ and on the top of
it another _right side up_, and lying full length on the seat, face
downwards, was a man, a civilian, with all his lower jaw blown away and
bleeding profusely. N. immediately climbed the railings and dropped
down on the Sinn Fein side and found that the man was still living; he
then turned and fairly cursed the men who were looking on, and asked
if there was not one man enough to come over the railings and help him.
Whereupon three men climbed over and together they lifted down the seat
with the poor creature on it, dragged away the other seat, when they
were able to open the gate, and then brought out the seat and the man
on it and carried him to the nearest hospital, where he died in about
five minutes.

N.'s theory is he was probably one of the civilians taken prisoner by
the Sinn Fein the previous day, and was trying to escape from the awful
machine-gun fire when he was shot down and fell back on to the seat. It
was a terrible case.

The rebels from St. Stephen's Green are now also in possession of the
College of Surgeons and are firing across the Green at the troops in
the Shelbourne Hotel.

Lord S. tells me that 30,000 troops were landed at Kingstown this
morning, and we hear they are amazed at their reception, as they had
been told that they were going to quell a rebellion in Ireland, and
lo! on their arrival at Kingstown the whole population turned out to
cheer them, giving them food, cigarettes, chocolate, and everything
the hospitable inhabitants could provide, so that the puzzled troops
asked plaintively: "Who then are we going to fight, and where is the
rebellion?" However, they were quickly disillusioned, for in marching
into Dublin, when they reached Ballsbridge they came within range of
several houses occupied by Sinn Feiners, and without a word of warning
the battalion of Sherwood Foresters came under terrible cross-fire and
were just shot down, unable to return a single shot. I have not heard
how many casualties occurred, but two or three officers and many men
were killed and a number wounded. So surely soon we must be relieved.


_Thursday, April 27th._

Last night the mail boat left carrying passengers, and if it goes this
evening Lord S. may be crossing, and he will take this to you.

Yesterday afternoon and evening there was terrible fighting. The rebels
hold all the bridges over the canal, one on the tram line between this
and Blackrock, another at the end of Baggot Street, and the other at
Leeson Street. The fighting was terrible, but in the end we took the
Leeson Street bridge, and I hope still hold it, as this opens a road to
Kingstown. We failed to take the other two.

At the end of Lower Mount Street the rebels held the schools, and there
was fierce fighting: our troops failed to surround the schools, and in
the end, when they at last took them by a frontal attack with the loss
of eighteen men and one officer, only one rebel was taken, the rest
having escaped by the back.

Yesterday, to our great indignation, the public-houses were allowed to
be open from 2 till 5, though every shop, bank, and public building was
closed--just to inflame the mob, it could not have been on any other
grounds; and yet at 8 p.m., after being on duty from 5 a.m., H. could
not get a whiskey and soda, or even a glass of cider with his dinner,
as it was out of hours. I was _furious_!

I must close this, as Lord S. has come in and says he expects to go
to-night and will take this and H.'s report, so I will start a fresh
letter to-morrow.

Don't worry overmuch about us. We quite expect to come out of this, but
if we don't N. is _yours_.

    L. N.



SECOND LETTER.


_Friday, 10 a.m._

Dearest G.,--After all my letter did not get off last night, as the
roads were too dangerous to admit of Dr. W. motoring Lord S. to
Kingstown. He got a permit to pass our troops, but there were too many
Sinn Fein positions and snipers to make it possible for them to pass
through.

If the position improves, he will go to-night, so I may be able to send
this too, if I can write enough to make it worth while, but I am still
rather shaky from a fright I had last night.

Yesterday morning the Red Cross ambulance sent in to the hotel to ask
for volunteer workers to act as stretcher-bearers and do all sorts of
jobs connected with the Red Cross, and N. and several men staying in
the hotel volunteered. I was glad he should, as he is of course safer
attached to the Red Cross than roaming the streets making rescues on
his own, and if he was killed or wounded we should at least hear of it.
But the risks are many and great, as in this kind of street fighting,
where all the firing is from windows or from housetops, the ambulance
are frequently under fire.

However, N. having volunteered promptly went off, and we saw him no
more. While we were having dinner Mr. O'B., who had been out all day
with the ambulance, was dining with us. H. was called to the telephone
to receive this message: "You must not expect to see or hear from me
till this is over."

H. asked who the message was from, and the answer came back: "Your
son" in a voice that H. was sure was not N.'s. H. then asked where the
message came from, and was told "The Castle."

He returned to us greatly perturbed, and we held a consultation. We
all agreed there was only one interpretation to be put on it, viz.,
that N. had been taken prisoner by the rebels, and that someone who was
well disposed to H. had taken this opportunity of letting him know, and
that saying the message came from the Castle was just a blind. H. rang
up the head of the Red Cross, and he told us only two of the Red Cross
volunteers were missing who had been out that day, and both of them
were known, and N. was not one of them, so we were still more mystified.

It then occurred to H. that it might be possible to trace back the
message and find out where it really had been sent from, so he called
up the exchange, and after a little delay he heard the message had
actually been sent from the Castle and by N., who was there.

Imagine our relief! though still completely in the dark as to why the
boy had not come back like other workers, and why we were not to expect
to see him again.

Next morning in walked the truant, not best pleased that we had been
inquiring for him. His explanation was quite simple. He had been
attached to a branch of the ambulance that had its depôt at the Castle,
so worked from there and returned to the Castle at night. Hearing this,
and not knowing in the least to what part of the city his work would
take him, and the impossibility of sending any message or note to tell
us where he was, and knowing how anxious I should be if he did not
return, he asked the Castle authorities if he might send a message to
_relieve our minds_! He was told he might do so, but it must only be
one sentence, and he must have the censor in the box with him. This so
flustered N. that he could think of nothing to say but the words I
have quoted; they seemed to him to express the position exactly, and
he never dreamt of the interpretation we should put on them. As it was
I spent an hour I don't ever like to remember and which unnerved me
more than I thought possible, and all I got was a trouncing from N. for
being so "nervy." Surely much is expected from mothers these days!

The volunteer workers, among other things, enter houses where there are
known to be wounded Sinn Feiners and bring them out and take them to
hospitals.

This N. was doing yesterday. One of the most awful things in this
terrible time is that there must be scores of dead and dying Sinn
Feiners, many of them mere lads, that no one can get at in the houses,
and where they will remain till after the rebellion; and in some cases
the houses take fire and they are all burnt. However, whatever is
possible is being done.

Yesterday was the worst day we have had, as there was desperate
fighting in Grafton Street, just at our back, and the side streets; and
several volleys in our street.

In the morning I was sitting on a settee near the window of the lounge,
knitting and looking out and listening to the firing in Grafton
Street, when shots were fired just outside our windows, and Mr. B.,
the manager, came in and said, "We must shut all the shutters, Mrs.
N., it is getting a bit too hot, and I am taking no risks." So all the
shutters were closed, and I moved to the drawing-room above, which also
overlooks the street.

All the afternoon an awful battle raged in the neighbourhood of the
river and quays, and the din of the great guns and machine-guns was
tremendous. We now have 30,000 troops and plenty of artillery and
machine-guns, so the result cannot be uncertain, though there is
desperate work to be done before the end is in sight.

[Illustration]

The troops are said to have formed a huge semi-circle with the G.P.O.
as the centre, and, starting from the river, are driving the rebels
back street by street, till eventually they will be in a small
enclosure, when they will bombard it to pieces.

The G.P.O. has such valuable records, etc., and the contents of the
safes are so precious, that they will not raze it to the ground if they
can help it; but it has so much subterranean space, that would afford
cover to thousands of Sinn Feiners, that we hear they are going to fire
some "gas" shells into it and then rush it!

Up to yesterday afternoon they had got to Abbey Street on the right,
and no doubt were closing in equally on other sides. The shells had
started several fires; nearly all the shops on the quay on the side of
the Custom House were burning yesterday afternoon, and later in the
evening many others broke out.

I cannot give you any idea of what it was like when I went to bed. I
sent for Mrs. B., the manager's wife, such a splendid little woman, and
together we watched it from my window, which is high up and looked in
the right direction.

It was the most awe-inspiring sight I have ever seen. It seemed as
if the whole city was on fire, the glow extending right across the
heavens, and the red glare hundreds of feet high, while above the roar
of the fires the whole air seemed vibrating with the noise of the great
guns and machine-guns. It was an inferno! We remained spell-bound, and
I can't tell you how I longed for you to see it. We had only just come
down from the window--we had been standing on the window ledge leaning
out--when H. came and told us no one was to look out of the windows
as there was cross-firing from the United Service Club and another
building, and Mr. O'B., who was watching the fires from his window, had
a bullet a few inches from his head!!

About 2 a.m. I woke to find the room illuminated in spite of dark
blinds and curtains, and I rushed to the window and saw an enormous
fire; it seemed to be in the direction of the Four Courts, which is in
the hands of the Sinn Feiners, and we hear this morning that a portion
of the buildings was burnt last night.[A]

    [A] This was incorrect; it was the Linen Hall barracks
        that were burnt.

Yesterday Lord S. had a narrow escape from a sniper who has been
worrying this street for two days and could not be located. He was
picking off soldiers during the fighting in Grafton Street, but later
turned his attention to the cross streets between this and Grafton
Street, and there as nearly as possible got Lord S., who was coming
back to us from the Castle.

The military thought the man was on _our_ roof, which made us all
bristle with indignation--the mere idea of the wretch being on our
hotel; but a thorough search proved he was not here, though he
evidently had access to _some_ roof.

In this respect we are much better off than our friends the V.'s. They
came into their town house only about a month ago, and being in Upper
Mount Street it was in one of the most active haunts of the snipers.
They had several on their roof, and when they went up to bed at night
they could hear the snipers walking about and talking on the roof. Does
it not make one creep to think of it? Mr. V. had his bed put on the
upper landing exactly under the trap-door on to the roof, so that had
the rebels attempted to enter the house at night they would have come
down "plop" on to him in his bed. He surrounded himself with all the
arms he could muster, and the wretched Mrs. V. lay in bed and quaked,
expecting any minute to hear a battle royal raging outside her bedroom
door. In this street an old lady of seventy-three was shot through the
leg in her own room, and was taken to Dr. W.'s home, where she had to
have her leg amputated; and in another house a servant flashed on her
electric light when going to bed and was instantly shot through the
head! Our friend Miss K. also had a narrow escape. She had only just
left her drawing-room, when a bullet passed straight through the room
and buried itself in a picture.

Yesterday afternoon, when the firing in Grafton Street was over, the
mob appeared and looted the shops, clearing the great provision shops
and others. From the back of this hotel you look down on an alley
that connects with Grafton Street,--and at the corner, the shop front
in Grafton Street, but with a side entrance into this lane, is a
very large and high-class fruiterer. From the windows we watched the
proceedings, and I never saw anything so brazen! The mob were chiefly
women and children, with a sprinkling of men. They swarmed in and
out of the side door bearing huge consignments of bananas, the great
bunches on the stalk, to which the children attached a cord and ran
away dragging it along. Other boys had big orange boxes which they
filled with tinned and bottled fruits. Women with their skirts held up
received showers of apples and oranges and all kinds of fruit which
were thrown from the upper windows by their pals; and ankle-deep on
the ground lay all the pink and white and silver paper and paper
shavings used for packing choice fruits. It was an amazing sight, and
nothing daunted these people. Higher up at another shop we were told
a woman was hanging out of a window dropping down loot to a friend,
when she was shot through the head by a sniper, probably our man; the
body dropped into the street and the mob cleared. In a few minutes a
hand-cart appeared and gathered up the body, and instantly all the mob
swarmed back to continue the joyful proceedings!

H. and Lord S. were sitting at the window for a few minutes yesterday
when the fruit shop was being looted, and saw one of the funniest
sights they had ever seen. A very fat, very blousy old woman emerged
from the side street and staggered on to the pavement laden with far
more loot than she could carry. In her arms she had an orange box full
of fruit, and under her shawl she had a great bundle tied up which kept
slipping down. Having reached the pavement, she put down her box and
sat on it, and from her bundle rolled forth many tins of fruit. These
she surveyed ruefully, calling on the Almighty and all the saints to
help her!! From these she solemnly made her selection, which she bound
up in her bundle and hoisted, with many groans and lamentations, on her
back and made off with, casting back many longing looks at the pile of
things left on the pavement, which were speedily disposed of by small
boys.

On Wednesday when the looting was going on in Sackville Street a fine,
large boot shop was receiving attention from swarms of looters. Ragged
women and children were seen calmly sitting in the window trying on
boots and shoes, and one old woman with an eye to future needs made up
a bundle of assorted sizes and tied them up in her apron. She had only
reached the pavement, when she bethought her to leave her bundle in a
corner and return for a further consignment which she tied up in her
shawl. On returning to the street great was her rage and indignation
on finding the original bundle had disappeared. Then were there sore
lamentations and violent abuse of the police, who could not even
"protect the property of a poor old woman."

In Sackville Street was a very large shop called Clery's; for some
reason the looters were afraid to start on it, and old women passed up
and down gazing longingly at fur coats and silken raiment and saying
sorrowfully, "Isn't Clery's broke yet?" and "Isn't it a great shame
that Clery's is not broke!" Humour and tragedy are so intermixed in
this catastrophe. A very delicate elderly lady who is staying here said
to me this morning, in answer to my inquiry as to how she had slept: "I
could not sleep at all. When the guns ceased the _awful silence_ made
me so nervous!" I know exactly what she meant. When the roar of the
guns ceases you can _feel_ the silence.


_4 p.m._

When I had got so far this morning I got an urgent message from the Red
Cross asking me to make more armlets for the workers. With two other
ladies I had been making them yesterday, so I collected my helpers and
we worked till lunch, when another request came that we would make four
large Red Cross flags, as they were going to try to bury some of the
dead and needed the flags for the protection of the parties. We have
just finished them, and are wondering what will be the next call. It is
such a good thing I have my sewing-machine here.

On Wednesday evening Lord S. was at Mercer's Hospital with a doctor
when eleven dead were brought in, and a priest brought in a rifle he
had taken from a dead Sinn Feiner. It had an inscription in German and
the name of the factory in Berlin, which Lord S. copied. It is believed
that nearly all the arms and ammunition are of German make, and it is
said that the cruiser that was sunk on Saturday was bringing heavy guns
and forty officers, but I don't know if there is any truth in that.
The opinion is very strong that the Sinn Feiners were led to believe
that they would have great German reinforcements, and that all they
had to do was to hold the troops here for a couple of days while the
Germans landed a big force on the west coast of Ireland. We also hear
that Sir R. Casement has been shot in London, but you probably know
a great deal more about that than I do, as we see no papers and are
completely cut off from all news.

On Wednesday three of the ringleaders were caught, and it is said they
were shot immediately! It is also believed that Larkin was shot on the
top of a house in St. Stephen's Green, but as the rebels still hold the
house it has not been possible to identify him, but he is said to have
been here on Monday.[B]

    [B] This was incorrect; it appears Larkin was not
        in Dublin.


_5 p.m._

Colonel C. has just come in, having been in the thick of it for
forty-eight hours. He tells us the Post Office has been set on fire by
the Sinn Feiners, who have left it. If this is true, and it probably
is, I fear we have lost all our valuable possessions, including my
diamond pendant, which was in my jewel-case in H.'s safe.

To-day about lunch-time a horrid machine-gun suddenly gave voice very
near us. We thought it was in this street, but it may have been in
Kildare Street; also the sniper reappeared on the roofs, and this
afternoon was opposite my bedroom window judging from the sound. I
pulled down my blinds. A man might hide for weeks on the roofs of
these houses among the chimney stacks and never be found as long as
he had access to some house for food. When we were working in my room
this afternoon he fired some shots that could not have been more than
twenty yards away.

The serious problem of food is looming rather near, as nothing has come
into the city since Saturday. Boland's bakery, an enormous building,
is in the hands of the rebels, who have barricaded all the windows
with sacks of flour, and it is said it will have to be blown up. There
is not a chance of getting them out in any other way. The rebels also
have Jacob's biscuit factory, where there are still huge stores of
flour. Every prominent building and every strategic position was taken
before the authorities at the Castle woke to the fact that there was a
rebellion!

I was almost forgetting to tell you how splendidly one of H.'s men
behaved when the G.P.O. was taken. When the rebels took possession
they demanded the keys from the man who had them in charge. He quietly
handed over the keys, having first abstracted the keys of H.'s room!

Imagine such self-possession at such a terrible moment.

A young man has come to stay in the hotel who saw the taking of the
G.P.O. He was staying at the hotel exactly opposite the building and
went into the G.P.O. to get some stamps. As he was leaving the office a
detachment of about fifteen Irish Volunteers marched up and formed up
in front of the great entrance. He looked at them with some curiosity,
supposing they were going to hold a parade; two more detachments
arrived, and immediately the word of command was given, and they rushed
in through the door. Shots were fired inside the building, and, as
the young man said, he "hooked it" back to the hotel, which was one
of those burnt a few days later. The whole thing occupied only a few
moments, as, being Bank Holiday, there was only a small staff in the
building.


_6.30 p.m._

A party of soldiers and a young officer have just arrived to search the
roof for the sniper. They say he is on the roof of the annexe, which is
connected with the main building by covered-in bridges. They are now on
the roof and shots are being fired, so I expect they have spotted him.

When N. was out last night another ambulance had a bad experience. They
had fetched three wounded Sinn Feiners out of a house, and were taking
them to hospital, when they came under heavy fire. The driver was
killed, so the man beside him took the wheel and was promptly wounded
in both legs. The car then ran away and wrecked itself on a lamp post.
Another ambulance had to run the gauntlet and go to the rescue! On
the whole as far as possible the rebels have respected the Red Cross,
but not the white flag. In house-to-house fighting there can be no
connected action, and yesterday when a house was being stormed the
rebels hung out a white flag, and when the troops advanced to take them
prisoners they were shot down from a house a few doors higher up the
street, so now no more white flag signals are to be recognised. If they
want to surrender they must come out and take their own risks.

We asked N. if he knew what had happened to the ambulance that had two
men missing yesterday, and he told us they were in the act of entering
a Sinn Fein house to bring out wounded with two other men when the
ambulance came under such heavy fire that, as it contained one or two
other wounded men, it had to beat a retreat and moved off. Two of the
volunteer helpers ran after it and succeeded in reaching it and climbed
in, but the other two took refuge in the area, and N. did not know how
or when they were rescued. This is an instance of the extreme danger
that attends the ambulance work. The marvel is that the casualties are
so few.

Guinness's Brewery have made three splendid armoured cars by putting
great long boilers six feet in diameter on to their large motor
lorries. Holes are bored down the sides to let in air, and they are
painted grey. The driver sits inside too. They each carry twenty-two
men or a ton of food in absolute security. N. saw them at the Castle
being packed with men; nineteen got in packed like herrings, and three
remained outside. Up came the sergeant: "Now then, gentlemen, move up,
move up: the car held twenty-two yesterday; it must hold twenty-two
to-day"; and in the unfortunate three were stuffed. It must have been
suffocating, but they were taken to their positions in absolute safety.


_Saturday, 29th, 10 a.m._

Last night was an agitating one. The sniper was very active, and after
dinner several shots struck the annexe, one or two coming through the
windows, and one broke the glass roof of the bridge. Mr. B., who never
loses his head, decided to get all the people out of the annexe, with
staff (about forty people); and all we in the main building, whose
rooms look out on the back, were forbidden to have lights in our rooms
at all. There was such a strong feeling of uneasiness throughout the
hotel, and always the danger of its being set on fire, that about 10
p.m. H. said we must be prepared at any moment to leave the hotel if
necessary. So we went up to our room and in pitch darkness groped
about and collected a few things (F.'s miniature and the presentation
portrait of him, my despatch case with his letters, my fur coat, hat
and boots), and we took them down to the sitting-room, which H. uses
as an office, on the first floor. All the people in the hotel were
collected in the lounge, which is very large and faces the street, and
the whole of the back was in complete darkness. The firing quieted
down, and about 11.30 we crept up to our room and lay down in our
clothes. When dawn broke I got up and undressed and had two hours'
sleep. All the rest of the guests spent the night in the lounge.

This morning we hear an officer has been to say that the shots fired
into the hotel last night were fired by the military. People were
constantly pulling up their blinds for a moment with the lights on to
look at the city on fire, and the military have orders to fire on
anything that resembles signalling without asking questions.

Reliable news has come in this morning that nothing remains of the
G.P.O. but the four main walls and the great portico. It is absolutely
burnt out. The fires last night were terrible, but we dared not look
out. Eason's Library and all the shops and buildings between O'Connell
Bridge and the G.P.O. on both sides of Sackville Street are gone.

It is difficult to think of the position without intense bitterness,
though God knows it is the last thing one wishes for at such a time.
In pandering to Sir E. Carson's fanaticism and allowing him to raise
a body of 100,000 armed men for the sole purpose of rebellion and
provisional government the Government tied their own hands and rendered
it extremely difficult to stop the arming of another body of men, known
to be disloyal, but whose _avowed_ reason was the internal defence of
Ireland! In Ulster the wind was sown, and, my God, we have reaped the
whirlwind!

We hear that many of our wounded are being sent to Belfast, as the
hospitals here are crowded, and the food problem must soon become
acute. Mr. O'B. told me his ambulance picked up four wounded, three
men and a woman, and took them to the nearest hospital. The woman was
dying, so they stopped at a church and picked up a priest; arrived at
the hospital the authorities said they could not possibly take them in
as they had not enough food for those they had already taken, but when
they saw the condition of the woman they took her in to die, and the
others had to be taken elsewhere.

If the main walls of the G.P.O. remain standing it may be we shall find
the safe in H.'s room still intact. It was built into the wall, and
my jewel-case was in it, but all our silver, old engravings, and other
valuables were stored in the great mahogany cupboards when we gave up
our house in the autumn, as being the safest place in Dublin.


_4 p.m._

Sir M. N. has just rung up to say the rebels have surrendered
unconditionally. We have no details, and the firing continues in
various parts of the town. But if the leaders have surrendered it can
only be a question of a few hours before peace is restored, and we can
go forth and look on the wreck and desolation of this great city.

So ends, we hope, this appalling chapter in the history of
Ireland--days of horror and slaughter comparable only to the Indian
Mutiny. This seems a suitable place, dear G., to end this letter, and I
hope to start a happier one to-morrow.

    Yours,
        L. N.



THIRD LETTER


_Sunday, April 30th, 10 a.m._

Dearest G.,--When I closed my letter last night with the news that the
rebel leaders had surrendered I hoped to start this new letter in a
more cheerful strain; but while we were dining last night H. was rung
up from the Castle to hear that the whole of Sackville Street north of
the G.P.O. right up to the Rotunda was on fire and blazing so furiously
that the fire brigade were powerless; nothing could go near such an
inferno. There was nothing to be done but let the fire exhaust itself.

If this was true, it involved the loss of the Post Office Accountant's
Office opposite the G.P.O., the Sackville Street Club, Gresham and
Imperial Hotels, and other important buildings, and would have
increased H.'s difficulties enormously, as it would have been
necessary to build up the Post Office organisation again, with no
records, registers, accounts, or documents of any kind--at best a
stupendous task. However, fortunately this morning we hear the reports
were exaggerated. The Imperial Hotel, Clery's great shop, and one or
two others were burnt, but the upper part of the street escaped, and
the Accountant's Office and the Sackville Street Club were not touched.

This morning Mr. C, who has been H.'s great support all through this
trying time (his second in command being away ill), and several other
members of the staff are coming here, and with H. they are going down
to see what remains of the G.P.O. It is being guarded from looters,
as, from the enormous number of telegraph instruments destroyed, there
must be a large quantity of copper and other metal,--a very valuable
asset,--and also several thousand pounds in cash for payment of staff
and soldiers' dependants, besides heaps of other valuable property.

Here I must tell you how absolutely heroic the telephone staff have
been at the Exchange. It is in a building a considerable distance from
the G.P.O., and the Sinn Feiners have made great efforts to capture
it. The girls have been surrounded by firing; shots have several times
come into the switch-room, where the men took down the boards from the
back of the switch-boards and arranged them as shelters over the girls'
heads to protect them from bullets and broken glass. Eight snipers have
been shot on buildings commanding the Exchange, and one of the guard
was killed yesterday; and these twenty girls have never failed. They
have been on duty since Tuesday, sleeping when possible in a cellar
and with indifferent food, and have cheerfully and devotedly stuck to
their post, doing the work of forty. Only those on duty on the outbreak
of the rebellion could remain; those in their homes could never get
back, so with the aid of the men who take the night duty these girls
have kept the whole service going. All telegrams have had to be sent by
'phone as far as the railway termini, and they have simply saved the
situation. It has been magnificent!

The shooting is by no means over, as many of the Sinn Fein strongholds
refuse to surrender. Jacob's biscuit factory is very strongly held, and
when the rebels were called on to surrender they refused unless they
were allowed to march out carrying their arms!

    As the book passes through the press, I learn on the one
    unimpeachable authority that the story about Messrs. Jacob &
    Co., however picturesque, is purely apocryphal.

    M.L.N.

    THE SINN FEIN REBELLION AS I SAW IT, page 59.

It is said that when Jacob was told that the military might have to
blow up the factory he replied: "They may blow it to blazes for all I
care; I shall never make another biscuit in Ireland." I don't know
if this is true, but it very well may be, for he has been one of the
model employers in Dublin, and almost gave up the factory at the time
of the Larkin strike, and only continued it for the sake of his people;
and so it will be with the few great industries in the city. Dublin is
ruined.

Yesterday I made a joyful discovery. When we came back from Italy in
March, H. brought back from the office my large despatch-case in which
I keep all F.'s letters. I did not remember what else was in it, so
I investigated and found my necklet with jewelled cross and the pink
topaz set (both of these being in large cases would not go in the
jewel-case), also the large old paste buckle; so I am not absolutely
destitute of jewellery. But, best of all, there were the three little
handkerchiefs F. sent me from Armentières with my initial worked on
them; for these I was grieving more than for anything, and when I
found them the relief was so great I sat with them in my hand and cried.

This week has been a wonderful week for N. Never before has a boy of
just seventeen had such an experience. Yesterday morning he was at the
Automobile Club filling cans of petrol from casks for the Red Cross
ambulance. He came in to lunch reeking of petrol. In the afternoon he
went round with the Lord Mayor in an ambulance collecting food for
forty starving refugees from the burnt-out district housed in the
Mansion House, and after tea went out for wounded and brought in an old
man of seventy-eight shot through the body. He was quite cheery over
it, and asked N. if he thought he would recover. "Good Lord! yes; why
not?" said N., and bucked the old man up!

Some of the staff who came here this morning had seen a copy of the
_Daily Mail_ yesterday, which devoted about six lines to the condition
of things in Ireland and spoke of a Sinn Fein riot in which four
soldiers and about six rebels had been killed. If that is all the
English people are being told of a rebellion which 30,000 troops and
many batteries of artillery are engaged in putting down, my letter
will be rather a surprise to you; and as the news must come out, the
English people will hardly be pleased at being kept in the dark. Such a
rebellion cannot be suppressed like a Zeppelin raid. During the first
three days our casualties were nearly 1,000; now we hear they are close
on 2,000.[C]

    [C] This was exaggerated, our total casualties being
        about 1,380.

The College of Surgeons in St. Stephen's Green is still held by the
rebels, so the firing of machine-guns from the Shelbourne Hotel and
the United Service Club goes on as before, and there is intermittent
firing in all directions. I doubt if it will quite cease for some days,
as these strongholds will not surrender. Also the incendiary fires
will probably continue. The great fire in Sackville Street last night
was no doubt the work of incendiaries, as all the fires had died down.
There was no wind, no shells were being fired, and no reason for the
outbreak, but with all the relations and sympathisers of the rebels at
large the fires may very well continue.

The staff have just returned. They are quite unnerved by what they have
seen; they report nothing left of the G.P.O. but the four outside walls
and portico, so we have lost everything. They say it is like a burned
city in France.


_May 1st, 11 a.m._

I had no time to continue this yesterday, but during the afternoon
three of the rebel strongholds surrendered--Jacob's, Boland's, and the
College of Surgeons on St. Stephen's Green. From this last building 160
men surrendered and were marched down Grafton Street. It is said that
among them was Countess Markievicz, dressed in a man's uniform. It is
also said that the military made her take down the green republican
flag flying over the building herself and replace it by a white one:
when she surrendered she took off her bandolier and kissed it and her
revolver before handing them to the officer. She has been one of the
most dangerous of the leaders, and I hope will be treated with the same
severity as the men. People who saw them marched down Grafton Street
said they held themselves erect, and looked absolutely defiant!


_2 p.m._

To-day for the first time since Easter Monday the _Irish Times_ issued
a paper with news of the rebellion. Very pluckily they had brought
out a paper on Tuesday, but it contained only the proclamation and
no reference to the rebellion, but a long account of Gilbert and
Sullivan's operas which were to have been performed this week.

To-day's paper bears the dates "Friday, Saturday, and Monday, April
28th, 29th, and May 1st"--an incident unique, I should think, in the
history of the paper.

It contains the various proclamations in full, which I will cut out
and send to you. Please keep them, as they will be of interest in the
future.

The paper states that Sir R. Casement is a prisoner in the Tower. So he
was not shot without trial, as we were told. It also gives a list of
the large shops and business establishments that have been destroyed--a
total of 146.

It really seemed delightful to hear the little paper boys calling their
papers about the streets again, and they had a ready sale for their
papers at three times their value. This so encouraged them that in the
afternoon they were running about again calling "Stop press." Several
people went out and bought papers, only to find they were the same
papers they had paid 3_d._ for in the morning.

"But this is the same paper I bought this morning."

"Sure, and it is, ma'am, but there's been a power of these papers
printed, and they're not going to print any more till they're all sold."

Another lady thought she would drive a lesson home, so she said: "But
you said it was a 'Stop press,' and you knew it was not."

"It is, miss, but sure they hadn't time to print the 'stop press' on
it!!"

("Stop press" is the latest news, usually printed on the back of the
paper.)

Anyway, so great was the relief at seeing a paper again that no one
grudged the urchins their little harvest.

Yesterday H. visited the Telephone Exchange, and a point was cleared up
that has mystified everyone; and that is why, when the rebels on Easter
Monday took every building of importance and every strategic position,
did they overlook the Telephone Exchange? Had they taken it we should
have been absolutely powerless, unable to send messages or telegrams
for troops. The exchange is situated in Crown Alley, off Dame Street,
and the superintendent told H. an extraordinary story. It seems when
the rebels had taken the G.P.O. they marched a detachment to take the
exchange, when just as they were turning into Crown Alley an old woman
rushed towards them with arms held up calling out, "Go back, boys, go
back; the place is crammed with military"; and supposing it to be in
the hands of our troops they turned back. This was at noon. At 5 p.m.
our troops arrived and took it over.

This saved the whole situation. Whether the woman was on our side or
whether she thought she had seen soldiers will never be known.

When at the Castle yesterday H. got a copy of _The Times_ for Saturday,
the first paper we have seen since Monday, so you can imagine how
eagerly we scanned the news about Ireland. More has got out than we
expected, but still nothing like the true position. We rubbed our
eyes when we read that "two battalions" had been sent to Ireland, and
wondered if it could possibly have been a printer's error for two
divisions (40,000 men) which actually arrived on Wednesday. The people
were in the streets of Kingstown for twenty hours watching the troops
pass through. Since then many more troops and artillery have come in.


_2 p.m._

I have just returned from walking round the G.P.O. and Sackville
Street with H. and some of the officials. It passes all my powers of
description, only one word describes it, "Desolation." If you look at
pictures of Yprès or Louvain after the bombardment it will give you
some idea of the scene.

We looked up through the windows of the G.P.O. and saw the safe that
was in H.'s room still in the wall, and the door does not appear to
have been opened or the safe touched, but the whole place has been such
an inferno one would think the door must have been red-hot. Among all
the _débris_ the fire was still smouldering, and we could not penetrate
inside. I picked up a great lump of molten metal, a fantastic shape
with bits of glass embedded in it. It is bright like silver, but they
tell me it is lead. It is quite curious. Do you realise, G., that out
of all H.'s library he now does not possess a single book, except one
volume of his Dante, and I not even a silver teaspoon!!

Everything belonging to F. has gone; as he gave his life in the war, so
an act of war has robbed us of everything belonging to him--our most
precious possession.

It has almost broken H. up; but he has no time to think, which is
perhaps a good thing.

The old Morland and Smith mezzotints have also gone--things we can
never replace.

Behind the G.P.O. was the Coliseum Theatre, now only a shell; and on
the other side of the street was the office of the _Freeman's Journal_,
with all the printing machinery lying among the _débris_, all twisted
and distorted; but, worst of all, behind that was a great riding
school, where all the horses were burnt to death.

If at all possible you ought to come over for Whitsuntide. You will
see such a sight as you will never see in your life unless you go to
Belgium.

When we came here H. was scandalised at the condition of the G.P.O. The
whole frontage was given up to sorting offices, and the public office
was in a side street, a miserable, dirty little place, that would have
been a disgrace to a small country town.

H. found that plans had been drawn up and passed for the complete
reconstruction of the interior, building in a portion of the courtyard
an office for sorting purposes, leaving the frontage for the public
office with entrance under the great portico.

So H. _hustled_, and the work was completed and opened to the public
six weeks ago.

It was really beautiful. The roof was a large glass dome, with
elaborate plaster work, beautiful white pillars, mosaic floor, counters
all of red teak wood, and bright brass fittings everywhere--a public
building of which any great city might be proud; and in six weeks all
that is left is a smoking heap of ashes!

N. had an extraordinary find inside one of the rooms. About six yards
from the main wall he found, covered with ashes and a beam lying across
it, a motor cycle. It was lying on its side. He got it out and found it
perfect, tyres uninjured and petrol in the tank, and he rode it to the
hotel, and has now taken it to the Castle to hand over to the police.


_May 2nd, 10 a.m._

Last evening after tea I walked all round the ruined district with N.
and two ladies from the hotel. The streets were thronged with people,
and threading their way among the crowd were all sorts of vehicles:
carts carrying the bodies of dead horses that had been shot the first
day and lain in the streets ever since; fire brigade ambulances,
followed by Irish cars bringing priests and driven by fire brigade men.
Then motors with Red Cross emblems carrying white-jacketed doctors
would dart along, followed by a trail of Red Cross nurses on bicycles,
in their print dresses and white overalls, their white cap-ends
floating behind them, all speeding on their errand of mercy to the
stricken city.

From time to time we came across on the unwashed pavement the large
dark stain telling its own grim story, and in one place the blood had
flowed along the pavement for some yards and down into the gutter; but
enough of horrors. We came sadly back, and on the steps we met Mr. O'B.
returning from a similar walk. He could hardly speak of it, and said
he stood in Sackville Street and cried, and many other men did the same.

Last night after dinner we were sitting in the room H. uses as a
temporary office overlooking the street, when firing began just
outside. They were evidently firing at the offices of the Sinn Fein
Volunteers at the bottom of the road. It was probably the last stand of
the rebels, and the firing was very sharp and quick. We thought bullets
must come into the hotel. I was reading aloud some bits out of the
_Daily Mail_, and the men were smoking. They moved my chair back to the
wall between the windows out of the line of fire; but the firing became
so violent we decided it was foolhardy to remain, so we deserted the
room, took our papers, and went and sat on the stairs till it was over.

Since then we have not heard a shot fired; and it would seem that as
we were present at the first shots fired in Sackville Street on Easter
Monday so we have been present at the last fired eight days later in
Dawson Street.

Out of all the novel experiences of the last eight days two things
strike me very forcibly. The first is that, under circumstances that
might well have tried the nerves of the strongest, there has been no
trace of fear or panic among the people in the hotel, either among the
guests or staff. Anxiety for absent friends of whom no tidings could be
heard, though living only in the next square, one both felt and heard;
but of fear for their own personal safety I have seen not one trace,
and the noise of battle after the first two days seemed to produce
nothing but boredom. The other is a total absence of thankfulness at
our own escape.

It may come; I don't know. Others may feel it; I don't. I don't
pretend to understand it; but so it is. Life as it has been lived for
the last two years in the midst of death seems to have blunted one's
desire for it, and completely changed one's feelings towards the
Hereafter.

Now, G., I will end this long letter, and my next will probably deal
with normal if less interesting matters, but intense interest must
remain in the reconstruction of this great city.

Surely it must be possible to find men who will rule with firmness and
understanding this fine people--so kindly, so emotional, so clever,
so easily guided, and so magnificent when wisely led. One prays they
may be found, and found quickly, and that we may live to see a Dublin
restored to its former stateliness with a Government worthy of the
nation.

    Ever yours,
        L. N.



FOURTH LETTER


_Thursday, May 4th._

Dearest G.,--I had not intended writing again so soon, but things are
still happening that I think you will like to know, so I am going on
with this series of letters, though I don't know when you will get
them. But as by this time you will have seen N. you will have heard
many details from him. How much he will have to tell his school-fellows
when he returns to Shrewsbury to-morrow! I hoped to have sent my second
and third letters by N., and in fact had actually packed them with his
things. But when I told H. he said the rules were so stringent about
letters that N. would certainly be questioned as to whether he was
carrying any, and if he replied in the affirmative, which he certainly
would have done, the letters would undoubtedly be confiscated and N.
might get into serious trouble. So I had to unpack them again and must
keep them till the censorship is removed, which will probably be in a
few days. They have been written under much stress of circumstances,
and are the only record we have of this most deeply interesting time,
so I don't want to lose them altogether.

I am not too well, as they say here. The loss of eight nights' sleep
seems to have robbed me of the power of sleeping for more than an
hour or two at a stretch, and even that is attended often with horrid
dreams and nightmares. But this is only the effect of over-strain, and
no doubt will pass, though my head feels like a feather bed; so don't
expect too much from these later letters.

Last night after dinner, when H. and I were sitting upstairs in
attendance on the telephone, who should walk in but Dr. W. We had not
met throughout the rebellion, so he had heaps to tell us. His wife
and children were down at Greystones, and the poor thing had had a
terribly anxious time, hearing nothing reliable of her husband or of
her father, Lord S. What she did hear was that Dr. W. had been killed
and also that H. had been shot in the G.P.O. She became so anxious that
her faithful Scotch nurse was determined to get into Dublin and get
news or die in the attempt. I must tell you her adventures, not only
to show you how impossible it was to get into the city, but also it is
such an extraordinary story of endurance and devotion that it ought to
be recorded.

The girl started from Greystones at 2.30 p.m. on the Thursday, I think
it was, carrying for the officers' home 14 lbs. of beef and 4 lbs. of
butter, as Mrs. W. feared supplies would have run short, since nothing
could be got in Dublin except at exorbitant prices (7_s._ a dozen for
eggs and 14_s._ for a pair of chickens); so the girl started carrying a
dead weight of 18 lbs.

She walked to Bray (five miles) and took train to Kingstown; here she
had to take to the road, as the line beyond Kingstown was wrecked.
She walked to Merrion Gates along the tram line about four miles,
when she was stopped by sentries. She retraced her steps as far as
Merrion Avenue (one mile), went up Merrion Avenue, and tried the
Stillorgan-Donnybrook route. Here she got as far as Leeson Street
Bridge (six miles), when she was within 300 yards of her destination,
Dr. W.'s house. Here again she was stopped by sentries and turned back.
She walked back to Blackrock (seven miles), when she was again stopped
by sentries. She then returned up Merrion Avenue and, seeing that all
routes were impossible to Dublin, took the road to Killiney (five
miles), where she arrived about 11.30 p.m., having done thirty miles.
Here she got hospitality at a cottage and stayed the remainder of the
night there, paying for her accommodation with the 4 lbs. of butter,
but she stuck gamely to the beef.

Next day she walked five miles to Shankhill, when she met a cart
going to Bray _viâ_ Killiney, so she rode back to Killiney on it and
from thence to Bray. She then walked the five miles from Bray back to
Greystones, her starting point.

Arrived back, she reached home absolutely exhausted, having walked
forty miles, and dropped down saying, "There's your beef, and I never
got there or heard anything." Mrs. W. was greatly distressed at her
having carried the meat back when so exhausted and asked her why she
had not given it away. "And what for should I give it away when we'll
be wanting it ourselves maybe?"

Next day Dr. W. managed to get a telephone message through to his wife
and relieved her anxiety.

He told us that on the first or second night of the rebellion--he could
not remember which--two ladies of the Vigilance Committee patrolling
the streets at night came on a soldier lying wounded in an alley off
Dawson Street, where he had crawled on being wounded. They went to
Mercer's Hospital and gave information, and stretcher-bearers were sent
out to bring in the man, the ladies accompanying them. When he was on
the stretcher the two ladies walked up to the railings of St. Stephen's
Green and gave the Sinn Feiners inside a regular dressing down, telling
them they were skunks and cowards to shoot people down from behind
bushes and asking them why they did not come out and fight in the open
like men. Meanwhile the stretcher-bearers had taken the man to the
hospital, where Dr. W. saw him.

"Well, my man; where are you hurt?"

"Divil a pellet, sorr, above the knee," laughing.

"Does it pain you?"

"Not at all, sorr. Wait till I show you." He pulled up his trousers and
showed five bullet shots below the knee.

"What regiment?"

"Royal Irish, sorr, like Michael Cassidy, of Irish nationality; and I
bear no ill-will to nobody."

Cheery soul! His great pride was that about forty shots had been fired
at him and not one hit him above the knee.

Dr. W. must bear a charmed life. He told us of several escapes he had.
One, the most dramatic, I must tell you.

You know he is one of the surgeons to Mercer's Hospital, and had to be
perpetually operating there at all hours of the day and night, besides
having his own private hospital, in which he takes wounded officers. It
too was filled with rebellion victims, so his work was tremendous.

One night he left Mercer's about 1 a.m., accompanied by another doctor.
When passing in front of the Shelbourne Hotel they were challenged
by our troops there. On explaining who they were they were of course
allowed to proceed, and they stepped briskly out, wanting to get home.
Suddenly, on the same pavement, about twenty yards away as far as they
could judge in the black darkness, out flashed two little lights from
small electric lamps, evidently Sinn Fein signals. Dr. W. stopped and
said to his companion: "Did you see that? it was a signal," when almost
before the words were out of his mouth two rifles blazed straight
at them, almost blinding them with the flash, and they _felt_ the
bullets whiz past their heads. The two Sinn Feiners, having signalled,
waited long enough to see if their signal was returned, and then fired
straight at where by their footsteps they supposed Dr. W. and his
friend to be, and missed them by an inch or two.

Dr. W. and his friend got into the shelter of a doorway and flattened
themselves out, trying to look as if they were not there, and quite
forgetting that they both had lighted cigarettes, whose red tips should
have been a beacon light to a vital spot had the Sinn Feiners noticed
them. But for some reason they did not proceed further, and Dr. W.
heard their steps dying away in the distance. Meanwhile his companion
had his finger on the electric bell of the doorway where they were
hiding, and after a time which seemed like an eternity an upper window
opened and a voice inquired who was there, whereupon the woman of the
house came down and let them in, and they spent the remainder of the
night there.

Yesterday the Post Office was able to pay the separation allowances to
the soldiers' wives. Last week of course it was impossible, but as it
would have been equally impossible for them to have bought anything it
did not so much matter. The question was how to get so large a sum of
money round to the outlying post offices in safety, for, though the
city is now comparatively safe, there are still snipers in outlying
districts, and any party of Post Office officials known to have
possession of large sums of money would undoubtedly have been attacked.
So H. bethought him to requisition for one of the boiler armoured cars
with military guard, and it was at once granted him. We had heard of
them from N., but had not seen one, and great was the excitement at
the hotel when this huge monster arrived for H.'s instructions. We all
went out and examined it.

It was not one of Guinness's, but one that had been rigged up by one of
the railway companies, with an engine boiler fixed on to a huge motor
trolley, all painted light grey; and all down each side were black dots
in an elegant design--something like this:--

      []      []      []
    [][][]  [][][]  [][][]
      []      []      []

Here and there one of these squares was cut out and acted as an
air-hole, but they all looked exactly alike, so a sniper on a roof or
from a window aiming at one of these squares probably found his bullet
struck iron and bounded off to the accompaniment of derisive jeers from
the "Tommies" inside.

[Illustration: ARMOURED CAR.]

From the hotel the car proceeded to the Bank of Ireland, and took
over £10,000 in _silver_, and started on its round to all the post
offices, delivering the money in perfect safety. I will try and send
you a photograph of one of these most ingenious conveyances.

After it had started on its round I went with H. to see the temporary
sorting offices. H. had secured an enormous skating rink at the back
of the Rotunda, and here all the sorting of letters was going on, with
no apparatus whatever except what the men had contrived for themselves
out of seats, benches and old scenery. They were all hard at work--a
regular hive of bees. We think it is greatly to the credit of the
Post Office staff that in twelve days from the _outbreak_ of the
rebellion and three days after the actual cessation of hostilities the
whole service was reorganised, with two deliveries a day in Dublin,
besides the ordinary country and mail deliveries. The engineers and
telegraphists were no less wonderful. Indeed the staff from top to
bottom of the office have worked splendidly, and H. is very proud of
them. We looked in at the poor G.P.O. on our way back. It is still
smouldering, and it will be quite a fortnight before any excavations
can be begun, but H. hopes to get the safe that contains many of our
treasures out of the wall and opened in a few days.

To-day a Dr. C. who is staying in the hotel told me of an extraordinary
escape he had had during one of the days of the rebellion. He was
walking through one of the squares, which he had been told was clear
of snipers, with an old friend of about eighty, when suddenly a bullet
struck the pavement at the feet of his friend and ricochetted off. It
was within an inch of the old gentleman's feet, and he was greatly
interested, wanting to find the bullet to keep as a memento. While
they were looking about for it a man who had been walking just behind
them passed them on the pavement, and had only gone a few yards when
they heard a second rifle shot, and the man dropped like a stone, shot
through the heart. Dr. C. ran up to him, but he was quite dead. There
was absolutely no safety anywhere from the snipers; man, woman, or
child, nothing came amiss to them. It was dastardly fighting, if it
could be called fighting at all.

A few days after St. Stephen's Green was supposed to have been cleared
of rebels, we were told of a young woman whose husband was home from
the war wounded and in one of the hospitals. She was going to see him,
so took a short cut through the Green, when she was shot through the
thigh; it is supposed by a rebel, in hiding in the shrubberies.


_Sunday, 7th._

I am sending off my other letters to you to-morrow, as we hear the
censorship is no longer so strict, and as from the papers the position
here seems now to be known in England private letters are not likely to
be stopped. I will keep this till the safe is opened and tell you the
result.


_15th._

To-day Mr. O'B. brought his wife to see me, and they have offered us
their lovely house, Celbridge Abbey, about ten miles from Dublin, for
five or six weeks from June 1st as they are going abroad again, and
they thought we should like it for a change. We are more than grateful,
as all our plans for going to Greystones for June and July are knocked
on the head; but to Celbridge there is a good train service, and H. can
come into Dublin every day, while I can revel in the lovely garden and
grounds and recover in the peace and quiet my lost powers of sleep.
What a kind thought it is, and how welcome at such a time! Celbridge
Abbey was the home of Swift's "Vanessa," and later of Grattan,
Ireland's greatest orator, so is a most interesting and historical
place.


_17th._

To-day the safe was opened, and contained nothing of any value,--only a
few official papers!

With this has gone our last hope of any salvage from the wreck of our
property. Dillon's "perfect gentlemen," of whom he expressed himself
so proud in the House the other night, had evidently broken open H.'s
great official desk, and found the key of the safe and abstracted my
jewel-case, F.'s field-glasses and several other of his much-prized
possessions, and then locked the safe again. The only document they
stole from among the official documents was F.'s commission. Why, we
cannot imagine, unless the fact that it bore the King's signature made
it worthy of special insult and desecration.

H. was very sad when he told me, but I think I am past caring about
any possessions now. F. and all his precious things are gone. Nothing
else seems worth considering. Perhaps some day we may pluck up heart to
collect things again around us, but at present one can only feel, "Let
the dead bury the dead."


_20th._

To-day they are beginning on the excavations of H.'s room; the fire
burnt with such ferocity that there is much less rubble in it than
one would imagine. As you probably remember, H.'s room was on the
first floor, with a storey above it. When the whole place fell in,
H.'s room fell through into the room below, and a portion of that had
fallen through to the cellars. The men are removing everything of
the nature of bricks and iron and stone coping of the roof, and then
four extra-careful men are to be put on to shovel up the rest of the
_débris_, which is burnt to powder, and Noblett, H.'s confidential
messenger, is going to be there to receive anything of ours that may be
found.


_23rd._

Yesterday morning and this morning I have been down watching the
excavations of H.'s room. It is quite like the excavations at Pompeii.
Every shovelful is most carefully overlooked, and several of our things
have turned up, though so far nothing of any intrinsic value. When I
went there yesterday morning Noblett produced a great lump of molten
glass of no shape or form with one or two metal nobs sticking up at
odd angles. He thought it was the remains of a cruet, but we had none;
and on further examination it flashed across my mind that it was the
cut-glass bottles in the large rosewood and brass-bound dressing-case
in which I had packed all my jewellery--family miniatures, four gold
watches and chains, diamond pendant, etc. It had been stolen out of
the safe, and evidently the looters had not been able to get it away.
Noblett was thrilled, and the men redoubled their carefulness, hoping
to find some of the jewellery. When I went down again in the afternoon
Noblett produced three little brooches that F. had given me on various
birthdays when a wee boy. He always went out with his own sixpence, and
nearly always returned with a brooch, which I used to wear with great
pride. One, a Swastika brooch, he gave me when he was at Margate after
that terrible illness, and he used to go on the pier in his bath-chair.
The blue enamel on it was intact in several places; the other two were
intact in form, but charred and black, with the pins burnt off. But
how glad I was to see them again! During the afternoon two or three
more brooches turned up, but nothing of any value whatever. So we came
to the conclusion the rebels had broken open the box and taken out
everything of value and thrown away the rest. The few burnt bits of
jewellery that were found all came from one spot.

This morning when I went Noblett had nearly a sackful of curiosities,
which I sorted over. Evidently these were the whole contents of the
canteen of plated things we used to take with us when we took a
furnished house and put the silver in a bank, quantities of spoons
and forks, black, and looking like old iron, many twisted into weird
shapes, and the knives, which were new when we came here, without a
scrap of ivory handle, and the blades burnt and twisted in the most
extraordinary way. A most miserable-looking collection, fit only for
the dust-heap.


_25th._

They are nearing the end of the excavations, and nothing of any value
has been found. This morning when I went I found them cutting into
a mound of what looked like solid white chalk. I could not imagine
what it could be, but the men told me it was the books that had been
stored in one of the great mahogany presses; not a trace of burnt wood
was found. I could not believe that books could be reduced to such a
substance. I had expected to find quantities of charred black paper,
with possibly some fragments of binding, and was quite incredulous.
However, on examining it I found the substance was in layers like the
leaves of a book, but when I picked some up it felt like silk between
my fingers, and you could blow it away like thistle-down. Had I not
seen it myself I should never have believed such a thing possible.
Besides H.'s and P.'s books there were a number of great official books
in leather bindings half an inch thick, but _all_ was reduced to the
same substance.

Noblett gave me to-day one of Princess Mary's gift boxes that had been
sent to me by a soldier at the front; except for being black instead of
bright brass, it was absolutely uninjured--the medallion in the centre,
and the inscription, date, etc., perfect. The Christmas card inside and
the Queen's letter were just black charred paper, but you could see the
M. and the crown above it on the card. Also an antique brass snuff-box
inlaid with mother-of-pearl turned up but little injured.


_26th._

To-day the men finished their work on H.'s room. At the last about
eight fragments of silver forks and two tablespoons were taken out
and a foot of a silver sugar-bowl with a bit of something that looked
like burnt tissue paper attached to it; and that was all that was found
of all our silver. The half of a copper base of one of our beautiful
Sheffield plate candelabra came out of one of the last shovelfuls,--and
there was an end of all our property.

So that page is turned, and it seems a good place to end this over-long
letter. On Thursday we go down to Celbridge, where with memories of
Swift and the wretched and foolish Vanessa and in company with a
beautiful swan and swaness, which bring their babies to the lawn to be
admired and duly fed, I am going to rest and recuperate for the next
five weeks and try to remember out of this awful time only the kindness
and sympathy that has been shown to us by so many Irish friends.
I shall not write any more of these diary letters unless there are
further acute developments, which God forbid.

    Ever yours,
        L. N.



PROCLAMATION DECLARING MARTIAL LAW.


WHEREAS, in different parts of Ireland certain evilly disposed
persons and associations, with the intent to subvert the Supremacy
of the Crown in Ireland, have committed divers acts of violence, and
have with deadly weapons attacked the Forces of the Crown, and have
resisted by armed forces the lawful authority of His Majesty's Police
and Military Forces:

And, WHEREAS, by reason thereof, several of His Majesty's
liege subjects have been killed, and many others severely injured, and
much damage to property has been caused:

And, WHEREAS, such armed resistance to His Majesty's authority
still continues,

Now I, IVOR CHURCHILL BARON WIMBORNE, Lord Lieutenant General
and General Governor of Ireland, by virtue of all the powers thereunto
me enabling,

DO HEREBY PROCLAIM that, from and after the date of this
Proclamation, and for the period of one month thereafter (unless
otherwise ordered), that part of the United Kingdom called Ireland is
under and subject to Martial Law.

AND I DO HEREBY call on all loyal and well-affected subjects
of the Crown to aid in upholding and maintaining the peace of this
Realm and the Supremacy and authority of the Crown, and to obey and
conform to all Orders and Regulations of the Military Authority. And I
warn all peaceable and law-abiding subjects in Ireland of the danger of
frequenting, or being in, any place in or in the vicinity of which His
Majesty's Forces are engaged in the suppression of disorder.

AND I DO DECLARE that all persons found carrying arms, without
lawful authority, are liable to be dealt with by virtue of this
Proclamation.

    GIVEN AT DUBLIN
    This 29th Day of April 1916.
    (Signed) WIMBORNE.

    GOD SAVE THE KING.



PROCLAMATION POSTED OUTSIDE THE GENERAL POST OFFICE.

    POBLAGHT NA H EIREANN.

    The Provisional Government
    of the
    IRISH REPUBLIC.
    To the People of Ireland.


IRISHMEN AND IRISHWOMEN: In the name of God and of the dead
generations from which she receives her old tradition of Nationhood,
IRELAND, through us, summons her Children to her flag and
strikes for her freedom.

Having organised and trained her manhood through her secret
revolutionary organisation, the Irish Republican Brotherhood, and
through her open military organisations, the Irish Volunteers and the
Irish Citizen Army, having patiently perfected her discipline, having
resolutely waited for the right moment to reveal itself, she now
seizes that moment, and, supported by her exiled Children in America
and by gallant Allies in Europe, but relying in the first on her own
strength, she strikes in full confidence of victory.

WE DECLARE the right of the people of Ireland to the ownership
of Ireland, and to the unfettered control of Irish destinies, to be
sovereign and indefeasible. The long usurpation of that right by a
foreign people and Government has not extinguished the right, nor
can it ever be extinguished except by the destruction of the Irish
people. In every generation the Irish people have asserted their
right to national freedom and sovereignty; six times during the
past three hundred years they have asserted it in arms. Standing on
that fundamental right and again asserting it in arms in the face
of the world, we hereby proclaim the Irish Republic as a Sovereign
Independent State, and we pledge our lives and the lives of our
comrades-in-arms to the cause of its freedom, of its welfare, and of
its exaltation among the nations.

THE IRISH REPUBLIC is entitled to, and HEREBY CLAIMS,
the allegiance of every Irishman and Irishwoman. The Republic
guarantees religious and civil liberty, equal rights and equal
opportunities to all its citizens, and declares its resolve to pursue
the happiness and prosperity of the whole nation and of all its parts,
cherishing all the children of the Nation equally, and oblivious of
the differences carefully fostered by an Alien Government, which have
divided a minority from the majority in the past.

Until our arms have brought the opportune moment for the establishment
of a permanent National Government, representative of the whole people
of Ireland and elected by the suffrages of all her men and women, the
Provisional Government hereby constituted, will administer the civil
and military affairs of the Republic in trust for the people.

We place the cause of the Irish Republic under the protection of the
Most High God, Whose blessing we invoke upon our arms, and we pray
that no one who serves that cause will dishonour it by cowardice,
inhumanity, or rapine. In this supreme hour the Irish Nation must,
by its valour and discipline and by the readiness of its children to
sacrifice themselves for the common good, prove itself worthy of the
august destiny to which it is called.

Signed on behalf of the Provisional Government,

    THOMAS CLARKE.
    SEAN MACDIARMADA.
    THOMAS MACDONAGH.
    P. H. PEARSE.
    EAMONN CEANNT.
    JAMES CONNOLLY.
    JOSEPH PLUNKETT.



MANIFESTO ISSUED FROM THE REBEL HEADQUARTERS, GENERAL POST OFFICE.

HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF THE IRISH REPUBLIC.


General Post Office, Dublin.

28th April 1916--9.30 a.m.

The Forces of the Irish Republic, which was proclaimed in Dublin on
Easter Monday 24th April, have been in possession of the central part
of the Capital since 12 noon on that day. Up to yesterday afternoon
Headquarters was in touch with all the main outlying positions, and
despite furious and almost continuous assaults by the British Forces
all those positions were then still being held, and the Commandants in
charge were confident of their ability to hold them for a long time.

During the course of yesterday afternoon and evening the enemy
succeeded in cutting our communications with our other positions in the
city, and Headquarters is to-day isolated.

The enemy has burnt down whole blocks of houses, apparently with the
object of giving themselves a clear field for the play of artillery and
field guns against us.

We have been bombarded during the evening and night by shrapnel and
machine-gun fire, but without material damage to our position, which is
of great strength.

We are busy completing arrangements for the final defence of
Headquarters and are determined to hold it while the buildings last.

I desire now, lest I may not have an opportunity later, to pay homage
to the gallantry of the soldiers of Irish Freedom who have during the
past four days been writing with fire and steel the most glorious
chapter in the later history of Ireland. Justice can never be done to
their heroism, to their discipline, to their gay and unconquerable
spirit in the midst of peril and death.

Let me, who have led them into this, speak in my own, and in my fellow
Commanders' names, and in the name of Ireland present and to come,
their praises, and ask those who come after them to remember them.

For four days they have fought and toiled, almost without cessation,
almost without sleep; and in the intervals of fighting they have sung
songs of the freedom of Ireland.

No man has complained, no man has asked "Why?" Each individual has
spent himself, happy to pour out his strength for Ireland and for
freedom. If they do not win this fight, they will at least have
deserved to win it. But win it they will, although they may win it in
death. Already they have won a great thing. They have redeemed Dublin
from many shames, and made her name splendid among the names of cities.

If I were to mention names of individuals my list would be a long one.
I will name only that of Commandant General James Connolly, commanding
the Dublin division. He is wounded, but is still the guiding brain of
our resistance.

If we accomplish no more than we have accomplished, I am satisfied. I
am satisfied that we have saved Ireland's honour. I am satisfied that
we should have accomplished more, that we should have accomplished
the task of enthroning, as well as proclaiming the Irish Republic as
a Sovereign State, had our arrangements for a simultaneous rising of
the whole country, with a combined plan as sound as the Dublin plan
has been proved to be, been allowed to go through on Easter Sunday. Of
the fatal countermanding order which prevented those plans from being
carried out, I shall not speak further. Both Eoin MacNeill and we have
acted in the best interests of Ireland.

For my part, as to anything I have done in this, I am not afraid to
face either the judgment of God, or the judgment of posterity.

    (Signed) P. H. PEARSE,
        Commandant General,
        Commanding-in-Chief the Army of the Irish Republic
            and President of the Provisional Government.

The day following this proclamation the rebels surrendered
unconditionally.



Bradbury, Agnew & Co. Ld., London and Tonbridge.





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