We knew that the men were to rise at twelve o'clock and as that hour drew nigh we watched and listened anxiously to hear or see if the news had reached the North before us. At twelve o'clock we left the train at Portadown. There was a large body of men belonging to an Orange Band parading up and down the platform beating their drums. They were going to some meeting in Derry. The noise was terrific but we bore it gladly for it told more than words that our men in Dublin had been able to carry out their plans without any untoward accident. We changed into the other train and finished our journey in a less anxious frame of mind. But there was disappointment awaiting us at Tyrone; when we arrived there the men had already received the demobilizing order of MacNeill and had obeyed it. The Belfast contingent was already in Belfast and the country divisions had not had time to mobilize before the order from MacNeill hadarrived. When I found this out I sent messengers to the various bodies advising them of what was going on in Dublin. The principal dispatch was the one given us by Pearse and that one was sent off in care of my sister, other girls going to other places. There was nothing for the rest of us to do but to await the return of the messengers.
At eight o'clock that night a boy came from Belfast who said that he had been sent to advise us to return to Belfast and asked us to go back with him. I asked the officer of the local Volunteer Corps if they intended to go on with the fight now that the men in Dublin were out, or if they intended to obey MacNeill's order. He replied that they were in honor bound to assist the Dublin men. I said that being the case I would remain with them and that we would attach ourselves to their body as they had no First Aid Corps.
About an hour later the local organizer came to the hotel and asked for me. I went out to him; he said that it would be better if we were in a less conspicuous place—would we go to some place out in the country? It was nearer to the meeting place. We agreed to go and started out about ten o'clock.
It was a night of pitch darkness, a heavy rain was pouring steadily. After a ten minutes' walk we were out on a country road where the darkness seemed to grow thicker with every step. We could see nothing but trusting to our guides soughed up and down in the mud. For twenty minutes we walked on, then we were told to turn to the right. We could see nothing that showed a turning, still we turned and found that we were in a narrower road than before. It was even muddier than the road we had left but it was shorter. At the end we were stopped by a door of what appeared to be a barn. One of the men rapped on it and it was opened to us. We stepped inside and when our eyes were used to the light again, saw a number of men with their rifles. The hall was filled with standing men, a place was cleared around the hearth upon which was blazing the biggest turf fire I had ever seen. On a bench near the fire were a half dozen women; they had brought food to the men and were now waiting to take the girls home with them. After a short wait we started out again, still following blindly where we were led. At length we came to a crossroads and there the party divided. I, along with some other girls,was taken to a large farmhouse where the folk were waiting up for us. We went into a large kitchen and sat around a big turf fire. There was porridge, in a pot hanging over the fire from a long hook, for those who liked it; and the kettle was boiling for those who preferred tea. We had a long talk around the fire. The old man told us of his experiences when he was a Fenian and drew comparisons between that time and this. Our time was nothing like his—so he told us.
In the morning we rose early; we expected to have word from Belfast every minute telling us to get on the march. But no word came that day. As the hours passed my anxiety became unbearable. I had had no word from anybody since I had come there. The men and the boys could not work for fear the word would come when they were in the fields and might be delayed if they were not on hand. And all the day long they were riding up and down the roads on the watch for the messenger who would give them the orders to rise. The second day passed, still the word never came. The men and boys came to us every hour to report all they knew. And on Wednesday at noon a man burst into the farmhouse crying,"Pack up in the name of God, the word has come!" With what joy we packed up. How quickly the water bottles were filled and the haversacks stuffed with food. Butter, eggs, bread, and milk were thrust upon us. We could not take enough to satisfy the good people. The place was full of bustle and excitement, and then—the order was rescinded; it was a false alarm.
That disappointment ended my patience. I determined to go after my sister, who had not returned since she had left me to deliver the dispatch written by Pearse; and when we were together again we would both start for Dublin. I told the girls that I did not think that there would be any need of us in the North, that the men in command were waiting too long. That being the case it would be better for them to go home to Belfast and Agna and I would go to Dublin. They did not want to go from me, but I said I was speaking to them as their officer and they should obey. After a good deal of explaining they agreed to go home the next day.
I found that if I wanted to go to the town where my sister had gone, I would need to goby car. So a car was hired for me the next day. Just before the hour set for them to leave, a brother of one of the girls came to see what had happened to them. They all went home together. The car for myself came a little later and in it I piled as many of the Ambulance supplies as I could. There was only room for myself in the back, most of the room being taken up with the bundles. We started on our journey about six o'clock.
The town to which my sister had taken the dispatch was called Gortin; but later I had heard that she was at Carrickmore, since when I had not had any news of her. Before my mother had left Belfast she had entrusted Agna to my care, therefore I felt that I could not return without her. While on my way to Carrickmore to see if she was still there I had to pass through a village whose streets were thronged with soldiers. As we went out of the village and on into the country we met at least half a dozen motor trucks filled with soldiers. There were more marching behind, so many in fact that I asked the driver if there was a training camp near here.
"No," he said. "There is not. I'm afraidthose fellows spell trouble." Conscious that the soldiers were looking sharply at myself and the bundles, I felt more than relieved when the car spun on out of their sight.
It was about eight o'clock when we reached the farm at Carrickmore. Fortunately the man to whom my sister had carried the dispatch was there. As I was telling him who I was and why I had come, his sister broke on me and exclaimed sharply:
"My God! Why did you come here?"
"Why," I asked in surprise.
"Did you not meet the soldiers on your way here?" she asked.
"Indeed, I did. I saw lots of them. What are they doing here?" I asked, turning to her brother.
"They raided this place this afternoon," he said, "and have only left here three-quarters of an hour ago."
"Raided the place!" I cried. "But, of course, they found nothing."
"They did, though," he said. "They found three thousand rounds of ammunition."
"Three thousand rounds!" I cried amazedand angry. "Where did you have it hidden?"
"In the turf stack," he replied.
"In the turf stack! Good God! What made you put it there? Doesn't every one who isn't a fool know that that would be one of the first places they would look for it. Three thousand rounds of ammunition in a turf stack! Couldn't you have hidden it some place else? Couldn't you have divided it? Couldn't you have——" and I broke off almost crying with anger and dismay.
"I know, Miss Connolly, you can't say or think anything more of the loss than I do. But I haven't been able to look after things this past week. I'm in hiding, chasing from pillar to post trying to find out what is to be done."
"And what are you going to do?" I asked. "This is Thursday and the men have been fighting in Dublin since Monday noon. What are you going to do? Think of the numbers of men and boys, women and girls who are at this minute in Dublin offering up their lives while the men of the North are doing nothing. It's a shame! It's a disgrace!"
"What could we have done? The men were all dispersed when I received the last dispatch. It's a different thing to mobilize men in thecountry from what it is in the city. There are a dozen or so here; six miles off there is a score; ten miles off there are some more, and so it goes all over the country. What were we to do?"
"Weren't you in a terrible hurry to obey MacNeill's order? Why were the men chased home on Sunday night and Monday morning? They were all gone when we arrived at Coalisland on Monday at one o'clock. Why were you in such a hurry to demobilize the men when their Easter holidays lasted till Tuesday? Did you not want them to fight? Were you afraid that another order would come rescinding MacNeill's?" The questions poured from me breathlessly; I was emptying my mind of all the riddles and puzzles that had been tormenting it.
"Say what you like, Miss Connolly, what can I say?" And he spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
"It's a shame," I commenced again. "Why did you not tell the men and give them the option of going on to Dublin? Why were the girls so honored? Why, the North can never lift up its head again. The men in Dublin preparing to lay down their lives while the Northmen were being chased home by their commanders. It's awful!"
"Miss Connolly, can't you believe that I feel it as much as you do? Think what it means to me that the men in Dublin are being killed while we are here doing nothing."
"The men in Dublin are fighting for Ireland. In a short while you may be fighting up here—and why? Because the Ulster Division is already quartered in Dungannon and Coalisland, and are trying to provoke a party riot by parading the streets in numbers, crying 'To Hell with the Pope.' There are bunches of them sitting on the doorsteps of Catholic houses singing 'Dolly's Brae' (the worst of all their songs). And if they go beyond bounds and those Catholics lose their temper, it will be in the power of England to say that while one part of the country was in rebellion, another part was occupied in religious fights. If you had issued another mobilization order when you received the dispatch from Pearse, that could never happen. Why didn't you issue that order?"
"We were waiting, Miss Connolly——"
"You were waiting. What for?" I broke in. "And now you have waited too long.There has been a flying column sent from Belfast, some two hundred strong, and it has taken up such positions that you are prevented from coming together. Dungannon, Coalisland, and all around there is completely cut off from this part. There is nothing now for the North men to do but sit tight and pray to God that the Dublin men will free their country for them. My God! A manly part! Where is my sister? I want to get her and go on to Dublin. I would be ashamed to stay here while the people in Dublin are fighting."
"She took a dispatch to Clogher and is still there."
"Is Clogher far from here? Can I get there, to-night?" I asked him.
"No, you cannot get there to-night; it is too far away. It is over the mountains. Stay here the night and you can set out in the morning. Stay here as long as you like, make this place your home, and don't be too hard on the North. We acted as we thought best, and perhaps we are sorry for it now. It is MacNeill's order that must be blamed. Good night, Miss Connolly."
"Are you going out? Do you not stop here?" I asked as I saw him gathering up hisraincoat and cap. He straightened up his tall figure.
"No," he replied. "I have not slept here since Monday. I am determined that I shall not be arrested without doing something worth while. Good night again, and remember that this is your home for as long as you wish to stay."
"Good night," I answered as he left the room. Then it seemed that all the hopelessness of the world descended on me as I thought that here was another day gone, and I had not been able to accomplish anything.
I left the room in a few minutes and entered the kitchen. One side of the large farm kitchen was taken up by a fireplace. A large pot that was suspended over a huge turf fire the light of which reached across the room and danced and glistened upon the dishes that were standing on the top rack of the dresser. It was a sparsely furnished kitchen, for besides the dresser I could see only a table placed under the window, some farm implements on the other side of the room, and some benches. Except for the blazing of the fire there was no light, and while the ceiling was a roof of ruddy light, the rest of the kitchen was kept insemi-darkness by the farm laborers, who were sitting round the fire. The first thing I did was to arrange and make tidy my bundles of bandages which had been carried into the kitchen by the driver of the car. As I straightened up, my glance fell upon one of the men sitting by the fire, whom to my surprise I recognized as Lieutenant Hoskins of the Belfast Volunteers.
"Why, Rory," I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought you were in Dublin. Didn't you go there Saturday night?"
"I did," I answered. "But I came North with a dispatch on Monday. I intend to go to Dublin to-morrow. But you didn't say what you are doing here."
"There was more chance of something happening here—we could do nothing in Belfast."
"There will be nothing happening here," I said. "That's why I am going to Dublin."
"Perhaps I'll try and make my way there to-morrow."
"I'd advise you to," I said as I left the kitchen. I was shown to my room and lost no time in getting to bed.
When my sister was leaving with the dispatch, I took her haversack from her so that she would not attract any unnecessary attention. That I might look like an ordinary traveler I put her haversack along with mine in a suitcase, and that suitcase had been carried to my room. The events of the night proved that it was a lucky thing for me that it had been brought to the bedroom. As I looked at it I wondered if a suitcase had ever before been packed in a like manner.
I could not have been asleep fifteen minutes when I was awakened by a tremendous rapping. In a few seconds the girl came to my room.
"Miss Connolly," she said. "What will we do? They are here again." I instantly thought of my revolver and cartridges which I had carried with me.
"Listen," I said. "Put on my coat and go down and open the door before they get angry."
"Why should I put on your coat?" she asked.
"Because I have something in it that I do not wish them to see. Put it on," I said, "and hurry down to the door."
When she had the coat on she went to one of the windows and opened it. She put her head out and asked who was there. While she was parleying with the soldiers I remembered that I had one hundred rounds of ammunition in one of the haversacks wrapped up in some clothing. I jumped out of bed and opened the suitcase. I had to rummage because I dare not make a light. I pulled article after article out of one of the haversacks in hot haste, but it was not there.
I turned to the other one and began searching it. I had just felt it when I heard a step on the stairs. Grasping it in my hand I sprung back into the bed. I had only arranged myself and was lying down when a light was flashed in my face.
The light was so strong that I could only lie there and blink my eyes. In a few minutes the light was removed from my face and flashed about the room, enabling me to see that it was held by a District Inspector of Police, and that he was accompanied by a military officer and some of the Royal Irish Constabulary. The D.I. switched the light back on my face suddenly and asked:
"Are you only waking up?"
"Just now," I answered.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "We heard that some more stuff came to this house to-day and we have come for it."
"It's not the most reassuring thing in the world to have soldiers and police come into your room at this time of night," I returned.
"What is your name?" he asked. I told him. I did not give a false one, as I did not know whether he had asked the girl downstairs my name or not.
"Where are you from?" was his next question.
"Belfast," I replied.
"Is that your suitcase?" he asked, pointing to it.
"Yes," I said.
"Look in it," he said to the officer.
"There is nothing there but my personal property," I said.
"All the same we must look," the D.I. said to me, as he went down to his knees beside the officer.
JOSEPH PLUNKETTJOSEPH PLUNKETT
They gave it a rather cursory examination. Then they opened the wardrobe and looked into it, glanced into the drawers of the bureau. My heart almost stopped beating when theycame near the bed. What should I do if they told me to rise? But they only looked under it, and passed out into the sitting room adjoining my bedroom. After they had examined the room they went downstairs again. I could hardly believe my luck. I was silently congratulating myself when I heard their heavy steps on the stairs again.
They came into the room again. The D.I. said, as he poured the rays of his lamp on my face, "We have found something downstairs which made us come up here to look again." I did not say anything in reply, only lay there and wondered to myself if they had found the revolver on the girl and if she had told them to whom it belonged. The military man was down on his knees at my suitcase once more.
"Did you say that there was nothing here but your personal property?" asked the D.I. as he knelt down beside him.
And then began the second search of my suitcase. Very carefully he lifted out each article and examined it. The stockings were turned inside out as a woman turns them when looking for holes. The reason for such an act I do not know, save that they might have thought that I had a dispatch concealed inthem. The very fact that I knew that there was nothing incriminating in the suitcase made me lie back in the bed unconcernedly. Suddenly the officer said, "Ah!" and passed something to the District Inspector. As they were between me and the suitcase I could not see what it was. The District Inspector turned his head over his shoulder and asked again, "Did you say that there was nothing here but your own personal property?"
"I did," I replied.
"Well, what do you call this?" he asked, holding up two bundles wrapped in blue paper. "Do you call these personal property?"
"Yes, they are," I said, seeking hurriedly in my mind for an explanation. The parcel he was holding up for me to see held two dozen roller bandages. "They're mine," I said with sudden inspiration, "I got them cheap at a sale."
The answer evidently tickled the two men, for they laughed and one said to the other, "Just like a woman." They next came upon a box of tea, sugar, and milk tablets. The District Inspector asked as he held it up, "Are you going to start a commissariat department with these?"
"No," I answered. "They are no good."
Having completely overhauled my suitcase they next directed their attention to the bureau drawers. Every piece of paper in the drawers, letters, bills, etc., were read, and even the pages of books were turned over to make sure that nothing escaped them. They looked under the bed again and then passed out to the sitting room, where they remained but a few minutes. Shortly afterwards they went downstairs and then I heard them going out through the door.
Hardly were they out of the house when the girl came running to my room. "Get up, Miss Connolly," she said. "Get up and go. They'll come back and arrest you. Get up."
"Nonsense," I said. "If they intended to arrest me they would have done it now and not wait till they came back. You're excited, but there is no danger."
"You've just got to go, Miss Connolly," she said. "You can't stay here."
"That's all very well," I said. "But don't you know that I am a stranger round these
I was down in the kitchen before six o'clock. The girl had put some bread and butter on the table, a cup of tea and an egg. My heart was so full I could not eat but I managed to drink the tea. I then turned to the place where I had stacked my bundles of bandages the night before. They were gone, even the knapsack that held my few days' rations.
"Where are all my things gone to?" I asked.
"The soldiers took them away last night."
"When?" I asked. "How did they come to see them?"
"After they came down from your room the first time," she replied. "They asked me who owned those bundles. I said the girl upstairs. Then they examined them, called in the soldiers and told them to take those bundles."
"Did they take the haversack with my rations?"
"They took everything. And they asked me the name of the girl upstairs. And I said I didn't know; that you came last night andasked for a night's lodging, and that I never turned any one away from the door."
"You told them that!" I cried. "Did you want to make them suspect me? Do you usually give your guest room to women tramps? In the name of Heaven, how could you be so foolish?"
"Well," she said. "I wasn't going to let on that I knew you."
"What will I do?" I said. "Now they will be on the watch for me. I can't go to Clogher by train. I'll have to walk. How far is it?"
"It's not five miles," she answered. "You can walk it easily. About two miles from it you will come to a place called Ballygawley, and there you can get a tram that will take you to Clogher."
"Five miles," I said. "I'll get there easily before noon. Which way do I go?"
Before she answered a woman came in with a message from the girl's brother. She looked at me suspiciously till she was told who I was. I told her that I was going to walk to Clogher to get my sister who was there, and that after that we would make our way to Dublin.
"To Clogher!" she said and looked at me in astonishment.
"Yes," I said. "Does your road go near Ballygawley? If so, I'll go with you and you can point it out to me."
"Yes," she answered. "But——"
But I was already on my way to get the suitcase and did not wait to listen to her objections. As I came down again I heard the girl say:
"—that's what I'd like to know."
"Well," I said. "What I'd like to know is who the girls were who brought the message to Dublin from Tyrone. There were two, I know; one was redhaired but it was the other delivered the message by word of mouth. I'd like to know who she is."
"I brought the message," said the girl who belonged to the house.
"You brought the message," I said and stared at her. "YOU—did you know that it was a wrong one? Don't you know that you reported a false state of affairs? How could you?"
"Well enough," she answered. "You've ruined this farm with your capers. The men are unsettled, my two brothers are in hiding, and not a thing being done on the farm."
"Farm," I repeated and turned to thevisitor. I saw her blush for her acquaintance with the woman who had no soul but for a farm.
"Come," said the visitor to me. "I'll show you the road." And without another word we left. We went silently on our way. We crossed fields which brought us out on to a road, along which we walked for about ten minutes till we came to a branching of it. "We'll go up here," said my guide. I saw that it was a kind of boreen leading up to a very small farm cottage. As soon as we entered the woman turned to me and said, "We're not all like that"—not saying who or what she meant. Then again she said, "It's our shame and disgrace that our men are not helping the men in Dublin." A young man had risen from his seat when we entered. She next spoke to him and gave him a message. "It's for him," she said, nodding her head in the direction we had come from.
As she pointed to me she said to the young man, "She's going to walk to Clogher."
"To Clogher," he repeated. "It's a long walk."
"I've the day before me," I answered.
"Well, I've got my message to deliver orI'd go part of the way with you. It wouldn't be so long or lonely if you had company."
"Thank you," I said. "But I'll get along all right."
"Can I do anything for you before you start?" asked the woman when he was gone.
"Yes," I said. "You can give me a drink of water."
"Water!" she exclaimed. "Water! Indeed you'll get no water from me! You'll just take a long drink of milk. You'll need some nourishment to bring you over the long walk that's before you." With that she handed me a huge bowl of milk. She stood by me till I finished it, then she asked me if I had anything with me to eat in case I got hungry on the way.
"No," I replied. "The D.I. and his men took away the bag containing my rations."
"Well," she said, "you've got to have something." She commenced to butter some biscuits.
"Don't bother," I said to her. "I'll get along all right without that. I'll be in Clogher about twelve."
"O, you will," she said. "Well, just take these in case you don't. And I don't think you will."
I took the biscuits, then lifted up my suitcase and started to leave the house. "Wait a minute," she cried. She went into a room and returned with a Holy Water bottle. She sprinkled me with it and said, "May God bless and look after you, and bring you safely to your journey's end."
She then pointed out the road to me and I began my walk to Clogher. The road lay between low, flat-lying lands for the better part of two miles. There was neither hedge nor ditch dividing the fields from the road; nor were there any trees for shade. It was a most lonely road; I walked on for hours and never met a soul. The sun was roasting hot that day, and I was heavily laden. Besides the suitcase containing the two kits which I was carrying, I was wearing a tweed skirt and a raincoat over my uniform. As I walked, the fields on one side of the road changed and in their place were bogs. An intolerable thirst grew upon me and there was nothing with which to slake it.
Gradually the road became a mountain road. Had I not been so tired, what with the weight of the suitcases and the clothes I was wearing and the broiling sun, I could have admiredthe quiet, shadeless road that stretched along for miles trimming the skirt of the mountains. The mountains sloped away so gently from the road as to seem no more than hills. Patches of olive green and brown edged with a brighter green rose one above the other, each one more pleasing. Here and there the trimming was the golden furze or whin bushes; and on towards the top patches of purple and blue told of the presence of wild hyacinths. And above all was the pure blue and white of the sky. Below, the mountains, on the left of the road stretched the bog as far as I could see, brown, brown, browner, and finally black. Here and there, standing cut sharply against the dark background, danced the ceanawan—the bogrose—disputing for place with the ever-present furze. Yet all I could think of was that I must walk for miles on that lonely country road, with never a tree for shade and never a house to get a drink in.
I knew by the height of the sun that it was nearly twelve o'clock, yet I had not come to Ballygawley. In terror I thought for an instant that I had taken the wrong road, and then I remembered that the woman had toldme that there was only the one road until I came to Sixmilecross.
At a distance from me and walking towards me I saw an old man. I tried to hurry towards him but could not. With every step the suitcase was growing heavier and my hands were becoming so sore that to hold the handle was absolute pain. And my thirst was growing. I could not understand how it was that I had not met with running water, it is usually so plentiful in Ireland. Finally my thirst grew so clamorous that I knelt down by the bog, lifted some of the brackish, stagnant bog-water in my hands and drank it. Immediately I began to think, "What if I contract some illness from drinking that water—what if I get fever——" And I had visions of being taken ill by the roadside with no one to look after me. Rut the old man was very near me now, and as we came abreast I asked him, "Am I near Ballygawley?"
"Ballygawley," he replied. "Daughter dear, you are six weary long miles from Ballygawley."
"Six miles!" I thought in despair. "How had the girl made such a mistake?"
I stumbled on till I was completely wornout and not able to go more than a few yards at a time. And then, while I sat by the roadside feeling that I could not rise again, I saw two girls coming towards me on bicycles. When they were nearer I thought that I recognized a voice. And I was right, for one of the cyclists was my sister. I struggled up from the ditch and staggered out on to the road in dread that they might pass me. Agna jumped from her bicycle and let it fall to the ground as she saw me swaying. She helped me back to the ditch. All I could say to her at first was, "I'm thirsty, so thirsty." She peeled an orange and gave it to me. I knew that I was babbling all the time, but neither of us could remember what I had been saying when we tried to think of it afterwards. I did not know that I had been crying till Agna said, "Don't cry, Nora. Here, let me wipe your eyes." Then I saw where the tears had splashed down on my raincoat and felt that my cheeks were wet. I suppose I was weeping from sheer physical exhaustion.
"Weren't we lucky to come this road, Teasie? This is my sister Nora," said my sister to the girl who accompanied her. "We were going to take the lower road," she said,turning to me, "but we were told that although this was the longer it was the easier for cycling. And now, I'm glad we took the longer one, for if we hadn't we would never have met you."
"Where were you going?" I asked.
She told me.
"Why," I cried, "that is the place I have left."
"Is that so?" said Agna. "Then we needn't go. You can tell us the news. We wanted to find out what happened during the raid yesterday."
As I sat there on the ditch I told them all that had happened from the capture of the three thousand rounds of ammunition to my own expediences. When I finished Agna took the suitcase and balanced it on her bicycle and said:
"We may as well go back now."
"I'll cycle on in to Ballygawley," said Teasie, "and find out when there will be a train this afternoon. You can come on after me."
"How far are we from Ballygawley?" I asked.
"About two miles," she answered.
"Never mind," said Agna, when she saw myexpression at that news. "We will go so slowly that you'll never notice it."
The three of us went slowly along the road, Agna and Teasie taking turns at carrying the suitcase. At a turn in the road Teasie mounted her bicycle and rode off. After we had walked a long distance I said:
"Agna, I can't walk any further. I'll have to sit down."
I sat for quite a while till Agna said, "Try again, Nora. Keep at it as long as you can. When we get to Ballygawley you'll not have any more walking to do."
"Wait a while," I answered.
While we were sitting Teasie returned.
"You'll be in plenty of time," she said.
I stood up and we started off again. When we arrived at the outskirts of Ballygawley Teasie said, "I called in at a house I knew, and they are making tea for us. You'll be refreshed after it."
It was into a shop we went and in a room back of it a table was laid, and tea was ready for us. I drank the tea thirstily but was too tired to eat, although various things were pressed on me. When tea was over Teasie said to Agna:
"We'll go on our bicycles and meet Nora at the station of Augher. That," she said, turning to me, "is the station before Clogher. I think it would be better to get off there than in the station at Clogher. Every one would see you and they would be making all the guesses in the world as to who you are. The police would see you, too, as you would have to go past the police station. If you get off at Augher you can cross the fields to our place without any one seeing you. That's all right, isn't it?"
"Yes," I said.
THOMAS MACDONAGHTHOMAS MACDONAGH
They rode away. A young lad took my suitcase to the station for me and waited till the train came. The train was only the size of a trolley but had the dignified title of the Clogher Valley Railway. I sat in the corner and closed my eyes. I opened them at every stop to see if there was any sight of the girls. But it was not till the conductor called out, "Next stop Augher," that I had any glimpse of them. Over the hedge that divided the rails from the road I saw Agna's black curly head bobbing up and down and caught a smile from under Teasie's big-brimmed hat. They were peddling for all they were worth in an attemptnot to be too far behind the train in arriving at Augher.
I waited at the station for about ten minutes before they came. They jumped off their bicycles; and we commenced to walk along the side of the rails. About fifteen minutes after we crossed over into a field. It was a stiff piece of work for the girls to push their bicycles through the fields and lift them over hedges. When we had gone through four fields we commenced to climb a hill. Near the top of the hill we clambered over another hedge and crossed one more field before we arrived at the farm which was Teasie's home. Teasie's father and mother had made it a home for Agna since she arrived at the town; and to me they also extended a very kindly welcome.
"She has walked all the way from Carrickmore," said Teasie to her mother. "We met her two miles outside of Ballygawley."
"Did you walk all that distance?" asked Mrs. Walsh.
"Yes," I answered. "I don't see how it took me so long to walk it, I'm usually a good walker."
"When did you start?" she asked me.
"Before eight," I answered.
"I think you did very well to walk it in one day," she returned. "Agna and Teasie were going to cycle there and stay over night because it was such a long ride."
"I was told that it wasn't five miles," I said.
"Five miles!" cried the mother. "It's fifteen if it's one, and a bad road at that. You'll want to rest after it. Take her into a bedroom, girls, and let her lie down."
The girls brought me to a bedroom and gave me cool water to bathe my face and hands and feet. Then they ordered me to go to bed. But although I went to bed I did not sleep.
I had been lying there for about two hours when Agna peeped in to see if I was awake.
"Come in," I said.
"Nora, what are we going to do?" was her first question.
"I am going to Dublin as soon as we can and you, of course, are going with me."
"I had my mind made up to try and get there to-morrow when we came back, but I am glad you are here, for now we can be together and won't have to worry about one another." She was speaking in her usual breathless fashion. "I'm afraid we can't goto-night," she said. "Did you hear that there is fighting in Ardee?"
"No," I answered. "I did not hear that; but if there is, we'll go there. It's on our way to Dublin. The men who are fighting will probably make their way to Dublin. If we can catch up with them we will be safer and more sure of getting there. Find out if there is a train to-night."
She went out and returned in a few minutes.
"No," she said. "There is no train to-night, but there is one leaving at five minutes to six in the morning."
"Well," I said. "I suppose we'll have to wait for that."
We caught the five minutes to six train in the morning. It brought us to a junction where we took tickets for Dundalk.
"You're going to a dangerous place," said the ticket agent.
"We won't mind that," we replied.
When we arrived at Dundalk the station was full of soldiers and constabulary. We hurried along out of the station so as not to attract attention. Agna went back and asked a porter if she could get a train to Dublin. The porter told her that the only train goingthere was a military one, and that the line was in the hands of the military. "There's no telling when there will be a train," he said.
It was then about one o'clock. "Come along," I said to Agna. "We will look for a restaurant and decide what we will do while we are eating." We walked down the street looking for a restaurant. At the foot of the street we saw one, a very small place. Just at the restaurant the street curved, and around the curve we saw that a barricade had been erected by the police authorities. Luckily we did not have to pass it to get to the restaurant. When we had entered and had given our order to the proprietress, she said that it would take some time—would we mind waiting? We assured her that we would not mind waiting and went into the parlor to talk over our situation.
The first decision arrived at was, that as we did not know the name of the villages and towns on the road to Dublin and could not hire a car to take us to any of them, it would be necessary for us to walk. Our next decision was that we would have to abandon our suitcase as it would be likely to attract attention. In order to carry out the second I told Agna that she must go out to buy some brown paperand string. Also, that while she was doing so she must find out if we would have to pass the barricade to get to the Dublin road. The reason why I sent Agna on this business, and did not go myself, was that Agna was so childish looking that no one would suspect her of trying to get to Dublin. Then again I knew that I could trust her to find any information necessary to us; she had been a girl scout and had learned the habit of observation. Also, her accent was more strongly Northern than mine.
With a parting adjuration from me not to be too long lest I become anxious, Agna went out on her errand. As she reached the door the proprietress came out of a room and said, "Are you going out, little girl?"
"Yes," said Agna, "I am going out to get a paper."
"Will you do a message for me while you are out?"
"Certainly," said Agna, "What is it?"
"Do you know the town?" asked the woman.
"No," said Agna, "I haven't been in it this long time." (She had never been in it before.)
"Well," said the woman. "I had bettercome to the door and show you the place I want you to go to." She did so and gave Agna a message to the butcher's. Agna was glad to do the message because if she were stopped now and asked where she was going to, she could give a definite answer. She left the door and walked towards the barricade. The policeman on duty there did not stop her as she walked through. The barricade was formed simply of country carts drawn across the roadway, leaving room for only one vehicle to pass through, and it was at this space that the policeman stood. As I sat by the window, I saw the policeman stop and examine cyclists, automobilists, and all other vehicles that were passing through. The barricade was on the road running from Dublin to Belfast.
Within twenty minutes Agna returned. She came into the parlor and gave me a bundle of brown paper and string, and then went out to deliver up her other message. She came back quickly and began to tell me the result of her observations. The best thing was that we were on the right side of the barricade and we should not have to pass it when we started out. But her next bit of information was not so pleasant; it was that according to theautomobile signs there were fifty-six miles to Dublin. Still, nothing daunted, we began to transfer our kits from the suitcase to the brown paper. When we had finished we had two tidy-looking bundles much more convenient to carry than the suitcase.
While we were eating our dinner the question arose as to what we should do with the suitcase. We settled it by asking the proprietress to take care of it till we came back from Carlingford. She was quite willing to oblige us, she said, as Agna had been so obliging to her. I then paid the bill and we left the restaurant. I felt rather badly at leaving the suitcase behind me, as it had accompanied me for some ten thousand miles of my travels; it was like abandoning an old friend.
It was about two-thirty on Saturday when we started to walk from Dundalk to Dublin, and when it began to grow dark we were still walking. While we were discussing the problem of where to spend the night, we came upon a barricade. We were in a quandary. What were we to do? We slowed up in our walking but that was no use; we were bound to pass it eventually—or be detained. We had not the slightest idea as to what we should do. We did not know the name of the next village, so we could not say that we were going there. We did not even know the name of the village we were in! What should we do? If we were stopped and searched—I had my revolver and ammunition and Agna wore her uniform under her coat and skirt—enough evidence to have us arrested. However, we put on a brave face and stepped forward bravely towards the barricade. About six yards from it we encountered two strong wireswhich were stretched across the entire width of the road, one reaching to the chin and the other to the knees. To give the impression that we had passed that way before and that we knew all about the wires, we ducked our heads under the high wire and put our legs over the lower one, then continued our walk to the barricade.
It was in charge of a corporal's guard. As we came abreast the soldiers, evidently thinking that we were country girls doing our Saturday's marketing, made some remark, in a broad Belfast accent, about carrying our bundles for us. In an accent broader than theirs, Agna gave them some flippant answer at which they roared with laughter; and while they were laughing we passed on. Further on we came to the village proper. Not until we saw the sign over the Post Office—"Dunleer P.O."—did we know the name of the village through which we were passing.
As we walked it grew darker. "What will we do—where will we spend the night?" I said to Agna. "There are no hotels about here, and if there were we could not go to them as we would have to register. If we ask at the cottages for a night's lodging they maybecome suspicious. If we walk all night we may meet military or police patrols, and that would mean that we would be sent to Armagh Jail instead of going to Dublin. What will we do?"
"O, pick out a nice field and spend the night there," said Agna airily.
"It looks as if that is just what we'll have to do," I said ruefully. "Come on and pick one before it gets too dark."
We heard a dog barking further down the road—that was the only sign of life. We judged that it was about nine o'clock and that every one was in bed. There was a path that turned to the right off the road which we took and walked along for about one hundred yards. Then we clambered over the hedge and into the field. It looked as if we had chosen a good place for we found ourselves in a sort of dell covered with grass and heather. We searched and found, as we thought, the softest place. Everything around us was so still that we felt compelled to talk in whispers. We could feel the darkness descending on us as Ave sat there, forgetting our weariness in the novelty of the situation.
We had been silent for a long time when Agna said, "To-morrow will be Sunday."
"Yes," I said. "We'll look queer carrying bundles through the villages on a Sunday."
"So we will," said Agna. "Look," she said suddenly. "Why couldn't we put on everything we can. It will make us fatter but it will make the bundles a respectable size. And we'll be warmer to-night," she added.
Her last remark decided me. I had been growing colder every minute I sat there and any suggestion to relieve me was welcome.
"All right," I said. "Let's start and put them on."
We opened the bundles and were very busy for some time. When we had finished there was twice the amount of clothing on than we had when we begun. We looked at each other, feeling bulky.
"I hope my coat will go on me," said Agna as she began to put it on. "There now, I've got everything on me except my towels, and brush and comb. Oh, and my putties."
"You can put them in your coat pocket," I said.
"I've got safety pins, roller bandages, myhandkerchiefs and my purse in them so there's no room there."
"Put them in your raincoat pocket." She did so and stood up to inspect herself.
"O Lordy," she exclaimed. "I'm an imitation umbrella." Then she turned her attention to me.
"How did you get on?" she asked.
"Like you," I replied. "Only I've a pair of stockings left."
"Put them on you?" she said. "What's the use of getting boots two sizes too big for you, if you can't wear two pairs of stockings when you want to?"
I had forgotten that I could not get my size when I was buying my marching boots, and was compelled to take a pair two sizes too large. I put the stockings on.
"I never felt so big and heavy in my life before," I remarked.
"You'll be used to it by morning," she said consolingly. "Lie down and go to sleep."
"Sleep—" I commenced when she interrupted me to ask, "Nora, do you think there are any earwigs here? They might get into our ears when we are asleep."
"Earwigs," I repeated. "I don't know.But there's bound to be other insects and they would just as easily get into our ears as earwigs."
"What will we do?" she asked anxiously, for she was tired and wanted to sleep. I looked about and saw the towels.
"Put them around our heads," I said, pointing to them. So we each took a towel and pinned it around our heads to keep out wandering insects while we slept. But we need not have worried about what might happen to us while we slept, for we did not sleep that night.
As we lay there we could see the stars come out one by one, yet we could not sleep. The quietness of the place kept us listening expectantly for we knew not what. A heavy mist began to cover the field and wrapped itself about us till our clothes were dampened through and through. For the first time, I think, we were physically aware of the number of bones in our bodies, for each one seemed to be dancing to a tune of its own. Our teeth were chattering so that we could not speak. In an effort to keep ourselves warm we lay close together with our arms round each other. But our efforts were of no use; we could notsleep nor could we keep ourselves warm. We gave the struggle up and huddling close to the ditch we sat and waited for the dawn.
After an infinity of time the dawn came. Far off at the furthermost edge of the field we saw a streak of gray. As we watched it gradually widening we heard a cock crow in the distance. Under the descending light the fields seemed a glistening sea and our tweed skirts as if sprinkled with diamonds. The birds began to awaken and to chirrup in the hedges. For all we could see or hear, the birds and ourselves were the only stirring, living beings.
We sat on waiting for time to pass. As we did not have a watch with us we gauged the time by the sky. The distance between us and Drogheda we knew to be less than eight miles; and there was a possibility that we might get a train from Drogheda to some of the local stations. But as we were not sure we decided to recommence our walk, so that we would be all the earlier on our way to Dublin. With this thought in our minds we rose stiffly and plodded down the path to the main road. We really did not feel tired. As a matter of fact, we were anxious to have as manyadventures and experiences as possible to tell our father when we reached Dublin. We pictured ourselves sitting on his knees, as we had often done before, telling him everything, watching for the ever-ready twinkle in his eye, and saw him give the quick throwback of his head, when we came to the more laughable parts of our story. It was this picture that helped us over the hard parts of our journey. As we went along the road to Drogheda our conversation consisted mainly of—"Wait till we tell Papa this—" or, "What will Papa say to that—" and, "Won't he laugh when we tell him—," so we whiled away the time, fixing firmly in our minds the most amusing parts of our journey.
It was not until we were within two miles of Drogheda that we met with any one on the road. The first person we saw was a cyclist, next we saw a man and woman going to milk the cows. And then as we went further along the road we saw many more people wending their way to town. At last, we came to Drogheda. It was practically deserted—a few milk-carts and a couple of policemen were all that we met as we proceeded into town. Then a church bell began to ring. We followed the sound and soon had joined a crowdthat was hurrying to church. We were in time for seven o'clock Mass.
After Mass we wandered about a little hoping to find a place where we could get something to eat, also to find the road to Dublin. On account of it being Sunday and so early in the morning there was no place open. Although hungry we were not as much annoyed at the result of our search for food as contented when we came upon the road to Dublin. As we walked on I saw the railway station. A thought struck me, perhaps we can get a train now. I turned to Agna and said, "Go up to the station and ask if there will be a train to Skerries to-day."
In about fifteen minutes she returned and said there would be no trains running but the military trains. Then once again we started on our tramp.
Agna complained of hunger, and I was none the less hungry. We had not eaten since one-thirty the day before. "Would it be any use, do you think," I asked, turning to Agna, "to call at some of the cottages and ask them to make some tea for us?"
"It might be worth trying, anyway," she replied.
"Well," I said. "I'll wait till it gets a little later then I'll go to some of the cottages and ask."
It was after nine o'clock when I first ventured to a cottage. A woman opened the door to my knock, she had a bonnet on and was draping a shawl about her shoulders.
"We have been walking since early morning," I said, "and want to know if you will make us a cup of tea."
"I would," she replied, "only I've barely time to get to Mass. I'm sorry, but I can't miss Mass. I've to walk to Drogheda."
"No," I said. "It wouldn't do to miss Mass."
She came to the gate and bade me a cordial good-by. I tried two or three cottages after that, but from them all I had the same story—they were all going to Mass, so we had to go without our breakfast.
Just outside Drogheda we saw a milestone bearing the legend "Dublin 25 miles." And from then on the only excitement of our journey was to see who would be the first to spy a milestone. When we saw a milestone marked "Dublin 18 miles" we were exhilarated—Dublin seemed only a few steps away.
Sunday was, if any thing, warmer than the preceding day, and our double outfit made us dreadfully uncomfortable. I knew that it was not the heat or the long walk, or the two pairs of stockings that was responsible for the burning pain in my feet. My feet were burning me as never before. Agna had great faith in liniment. She likes to take it with her when she goes for a long walk; she says it takes the pain and stiffness from her muscles. When we were making our preparations the night before she had "linimented" herself as she calls the operation. I had had no pain or tiredness, but the soles of my feet were sore, and Agna, in her unfailing faith in the bottle, had "linimented" them, overruling whatever objections I had. And now, I was suffering torments—the liniment was burning its way into my flesh, made tender by the two pairs of stockings, heavy boots, and long march. At last, I could stand it no longer, so I said to Agna, "I must get my boots and stockings off—I'll have to get some relief or I'll go mad."
EOIN MACNEILLEOIN MACNEILLProfessor of Early Irish History, Head of the Irish Volunteers, whosedemobilization order "broke the back of the rebellion," accordingto the report of the British Royal Commission. Yet in spite of this hewas sentenced to prison for life.
I walked towards the hedge that was dividing the road from the fields and looked through the branches. I saw that the land wasplowed. It looked so cool and comforting that I decided to go in to cool my feet. We walked along till we saw a gap in the hedge. We went through it and found ourselves in a shady corner of the field. I lost no time in pulling off my shoes and stockings, and then I thrust my feet deep down in the cool, brown earth.
How long we sat there I do not know for we both dozed off. Then we heard a distant dull booming which must have awakened us. Agna must have wakened at the same time as myself for she was listening, her head turned away from me, and her ear cocked in the direction from which the booming came. The booming went on at regular intervals. At last, Agna turned to me, her eyes widened and a thought written on her face that she did not dare to express in words.
"What is it, Nora?" she asked.
I shook my head. "It's in Dublin," I answered.
"There might be fighting in the Irish Sea," she hazarded.
"No, it's in Dublin," I insisted. We were silent for a while, a great dread growing in our hearts. Agna broke the silence.
"Dublin, Nora," she said. "And we are—"
"We are eighteen miles away from Dublin," I said.
When we had seen the last milestone that told us that we were eighteen miles away from Dublin, we thought we were very near; but now, our thought was how very far away we were from there.
The booming continued. We could picture our friends, our comrades, boys and girls fighting with rifles against those big guns whose booming could be heard eighteen miles away.
"We must not lose a minute. We must hurry, hurry, hurry till we get to Dublin," I said, and saw that unconsciously I had been putting on my shoes and stockings, and that I was ready for the march.
In the torment of our minds as to what those big guns might be doing at the moment in Dublin, the pain, the weariness and the hunger of our bodies went unnoticed. We swung along as best we could, trying to keep to the beat of a march, and determined to be in Dublin before dark. We entered a village. Usually when we came to a village we walked at an ordinary pace so as not to attract noticeby an appearance of haste. But this time, in our impatience to be in Dublin, we threw all cautiousness to the winds and went as quickly as we could. We passed through the village; but just as the main street ended and the Dublin road began again, we saw a barricade. Like the others it was made of country carts, but unlike them it was guarded by both police and soldiers. They seemed to be more particular at this one for we saw them stop a cyclist and give his bicycle a most thorough examination. They looked under the saddle, and into the tool-bag; and then they turned their attention to the rider. His pockets were turned out one by one. I suppose they were looking to see if he carried a dispatch.
After him came two boys who were stopped as they were walking past. We were almost at the barricade by this time and we saw close beside it a restaurant. As usual they had left a space for pedestrians to pass through and unfortunately for us, the door of the restaurant was on the other side of the barricade. It was, if I might use the phrase, next door to it. But the boys, who had just been stopped by the military, unintentionally did us a good turn, for they began to resist being searched.While they were talking indignantly, and struggling with the soldiers, Agna and I slipped through into the restaurant. When we had asked for something to eat we went to the window to see what was the outcome of the struggle. To our surprise, we saw the boys laughing and chatting with the soldiers who were examining their pockets.
We did not realize how hungry we were till we began to eat our dinner. We finished all before us for we had not eaten since lunch the day before; and it was three o'clock then. The waitress kept hovering around as if she would like to speak, but did not know how to begin. At length she asked us if we were going far.
"To Clontarf," I answered.
"O," she said disappointedly. "I thought you might be coming from Dublin, and would have some news."
"No," I said. "We haven't any; we left Drogheda this morning and there was no news there."
"Did you hear how things were going in Dublin?" she asked.
"No," I answered. "Did you?"
"Well," she said. "I heard they weresurrendering in Dublin—that they were beaten. But I don't believe it," she added quickly.
"Nor do I," I said. "They couldn't be beaten so soon."
"That's what I've said all along," she said. Evidently she was a rebel and was trying to find out if we were, too. But before we could carry on any further conversation we heard the soldiers call "Halt," and then we saw a motor car stopping outside the window.
The waitress put her head out the window and began to chaff the occupants of the car.
"Are you bringing ammunition to the Sinn Feiners?" she asked them.
"How many Sinn Feiners have you hidden in the car?"—and so forth.
While she was doing this I said to Agna, "Come, we'll look out, too, then the soldiers may think we belong here." We did so and also joined in the chaffing while the soldiers were searching the car. When they had allowed the car to go on the waitress said to them in a very sarcastic tone:
"All day at it and you haven't caught a single Sinn Feiner yet?" The soldiers looked up at us and grinned sheepishly; but they didnot seem the least disturbed at their failure to catch one.
We turned in from the window, paid our score, and went out of the restaurant just as the sergeant in command of the barricade was stepping in. My heart gave a great leap. "Was he coming in to question us?" I asked myself. But he made way for us and we went out into the street. This time we were on the right side of the barricade; still there was a chance of our being stopped. However, we looked at the soldiers, nodded and smiled to them, received nods and smiles in return and walked down the Dublin Road.
Balbriggan was the name of the town we had just left, some fifteen miles from Dublin. Now that we were refreshed by the meal, Dublin seemed no distance away from us, and we felt sure that we could reach it before dark. We met more people on this road than we had met within all the rest of our journey, some going towards Dublin, some towards Drogheda. Many a bit of news we heard as it was called across the road by friends as they passed. But there was none that we could rely upon as each bit contradicted the other.Still we began to feel that there was bad news in store for us.
We had gone along the road for about four miles when I suddenly became lame; the big muscle in my right leg was powerless. I kept on as best I could dragging my right leg after me. When I had gone about a mile this way I grew desperate. The pain was almost more than I could bear, and the milestones were dreadfully far apart. Then I said to Agna, "The first car that comes along I'll ask for a lift."
The first car that came along was a big gray touring car occupied by a lady and gentleman. I did not ask them for a lift; but the gentleman looked back at us after he had passed.
"Perhaps he knows us," said Agna. "It might be some of our friends dispatching."
"No, he's not," I answered.
"Well, he's stopping," returned Agna. "Hurry up. Perhaps he will give us a lift."
"I can't hurry," I said. "I'm going as best I can."
"Look," said Agna. "He's backing up towards us."
She was right. The big car was backing up to us. When it was near the man asked,
"Are you going far?"
"To Clontarf," answered Agna.
"I'm going within six miles of it. If you care to get in I'll take you that length."
"Thank you very much," said Agna. "My sister is almost done up."
"You're from the North, aren't you?" asked the man when we had taken our seats in the car.
"Yes," I answered. "We left Drogheda this morning."
"Who are you going to in Clontarf?" he asked after he had driven for some distance.
"My mother," I said. "She came down for the Easter holidays and has not been able to get away. She's probably terrified out of her senses as she has the two youngest children with her."
"She's probably hungry, too," he said. "Did you bring her food?"
"No," I said. "But we brought her money."
"Food would have been better," he said. "People who live on the outskirts of Dublin are in a bad way. They've always dependedon Dublin for their supplies. They can get none now. I've just been to Drogheda for bread."
"To Drogheda for bread," I repeated in amazement.
"Yes," he said. "It's no joke to have to go twenty-five miles for bread. Weren't you two girls afraid to come down here?"
"We had to come," I said simply. "Papa couldn't come so he sent us."
All this time we had been spinning along at a splendid rate. We were cooled off and feeling rested. Suddenly the man slowed up the machine. "Hello, what's this?" he said. We followed his gaze and saw that the telegraph wires had been completely cut through; not one wire was left together. "Hm," he said. "We must make a note of that and keep our eyes open for more." There was no more conversation after that for some time. On our way we saw the wires cut in two places.