Part 3

Out from the ships where they were working; from the docks; out of the factories; in from the streets,--racing, panting, with eager faces and joyful eyes they trooped into Liberty Hall. Joyful because they believed the call had come at last.

No obstacle was great enough to prevent their answering the order. One batch were working in a yard overlooking a canal. A man appeared at the door, whistled to one of the men and gave him a sign.

"Come on, boys, we're needed," cried one and made for the door. The foreman, thinking it was a strike, closed the door. Nothing daunted they swarmed the walls, jumped into the canal, swam across, ran to their homes for their rifles and equipment and arrived at Liberty Hall, wet and happy. Another batch were busy with a concrete column and had just got it to the critical period, where one must not stop working or it hardens and cannot be used, when the mobilizer appeared at the door and gave them the news. Down went the tools and out they went through the gate in the twinkling of an eye.

{36}

All day long the men were arriving at Liberty Hall. Tense excitement prevailed amongst the crowds that came thronging outside the Hall. A guard was placed at the great front door, another at the head of the wide staircase and the rest were confined to the guard room. This guard room had a great fascination for me. The men were sitting on forms around an open fire; ranged along the walls were their rifles, and hanging above them their bandoliers; at the butts of the rifles were their haversacks containing the rest of their equipment; all was so arranged that when they received an order each man would be armed and equipped within a minute, and there would be no confusion or delay. When I first went in the men were singing, with great gusto, this Citizen Army marching tune:

We've got guns and ammunition, we know how to use them well, And when we meet the Saxon we'll drive them all to Hell. We've got to free our country, and avenge all those who fell, And our cause is marching on. Glory, glory to old Ireland, Glory, glory to our sireland, Glory to the memory of those who fought and fell, And we still keep marching; on.

{37}

I knew then what was meant by sniffing a battle. I did not want to leave that room. The atmosphere thrilled me so that I regarded with impatience the men and women who were going about the Hall attending to the regular business of the Union, and not in the least perturbed by all the military display. "Business as usual," one chap remarked to me as I stood watching them all.

I did not stand long, for a Citizen Army man came to me and said, "You're wanted in No. 7 by Mr. Connolly." No. 7 was my father's office. When I got there my father said, "Nora, I have a carbine up at Surrey House and a bandolier. It is in my room." He then told me where. "I want you to get one of the scouts, who are always at Madame's house, to put the bandolier on and over it my heavy overcoat. Tell him to swing the rifle over his shoulder and come down here with it as if he were mobilizing. Get him here as soon as you can. I'll be staying here all night," he added.

I started off immediately for Rathmines where Surrey House, Countess de Markievicz's residence, is situated. On my way I met one of the scouts who was going there. When I told him my errand he offered to be the one {38} to bring the things back to Liberty Hall. When we reached the house, I went to the room, found the things which my father wanted and brought them down to the scout. He had just put them on when Madame called from the kitchen and asked me to have some tea. Of course I said I would have some. While I was waiting to be served she said to me, "What do you think is going to happen? I am going down to Liberty Hall immediately to take my turn of standing guard. By-the-way, what do you think of my uniform?"

She stepped out into the light where I could get a good view of her. She had on a dark green woolen blouse trimmed with brass buttons, dark green tweed knee breeches, black stockings and high heavy boots. As she stood she was a good advertisement for a small arms factory. Around her waist was a cartridge belt, suspended from it on one side was a small automatic pistol, and on the other a convertible Mauser pistol-rifle. Hanging from one shoulder was a bandolier containing the cartridges for the Mauser, and from the other was a haversack of brown canvas and leather which she had bought from a man, who had got it from a soldier, who in turn had brought it {39} back from the front; originally it had belonged to a German soldier. I admired her whole outfit immensely. She was a fine military figure.

"You look like a real soldier, Madame," I said, and she was as pleased as if she had received the greatest compliment.

"What is your uniform like?" she asked.

"Somewhat similar," I answered. "Only I have puttees and my boots have plenty of nails in the soles. I intend wearing my scout blouse and hat."

"This will be my hat," she said and showed me a black velour hat with a heavy trimming of coque feathers. When she put it on she looked like a Field Marshal; it was her best hat.

"What arms have you?" she then asked.

"A .32 revolver and a Howth rifle."

"Have you ammunition for them?"

"Some. Perhaps enough."

I then turned to the scout who was to carry my father's rifle and bandolier to Liberty Hall, and said, "We'd better go now." Saying "Slán libh" ("Health with ye") we left the room. On our way to the door we heard a heavy rap at it. I ran forward and opened {40} it. Judge of my surprise to see two detectives standing outside.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"The Countess de Markievicz."

"Wait," I said and closed the door.

Running back to the room I said, "Madame, there are two detectives at the door. They say they want you."

All the boys looked to their revolvers, and the boy who had my father's rifle said, "I hope I'll be able to get these down to Mr. Connolly."

Madame went into the hall and lit a small glimmer of light. The boys remained in the darkened background, and I opened the door.

The detectives came just inside of the door.

"What do you want with me?" asked Madame.

"We have an order to serve on you, Madame," said one of them.

"What is it about?" asked Madame.

"It is an order under one of the regulations of the Defense of the Realm Act, prohibiting you from entering that part of Ireland called Kerry."

"Well," said Madame. "Is that to prevent me from addressing the meeting to-morrow night in Tralee?" Madame was advertised to {41} at a meeting to organize a company of boy scouts the following day in the town of Tralee, County Kerry.

"I don't know, Madame," he answered.

"What will happen to me if I refuse to obey that order and go down to Kerry to-morrow?" asked Madame. "Will I be shot?"

"Ah, now, Madame, who'd want to shoot you? You wouldn't want to shoot one of us, would you, Madame?" said the detective who was doing all the talking.

"But I would," cried Madame. "I'm quite prepared to shoot and be shot at."

"Ah, now, Madame, you don't mean that. None of us want to die yet: we all want to live a little longer."

"If you want to live a little longer," said a voice from out of the darkness, "you'd better not be coming here. We're none of us very fond of you, and you make fine big targets."

"We'll be going now, Madame," said the detective. As he stepped out through the door he turned and said, "You'll not be thinking of going to Kerry, Madame, will you?"

"Good-by," said Madame cordially. "Remember, I'm quite prepared to shoot and be shot at."

{42}

"Well," she said as the door closed. "What am I going to do now? I want to go and defy them. How can I do it? I'm so well known--but I'm under orders. Perhaps Mr. Connolly wouldn't allow me to go anyway. I'll go down and talk it over with him. Wait a minute, Nora, and we'll all be down together."

On our way down a brilliant idea, as I thought, struck me. "Write your speech out, Madame, make it as seditious and treasonable as possible. Send some one down to Tralee to deliver it for you at the meeting. In that way, the meeting will be held, your speech delivered, and the authorities will not be able to arrest you on that charge."

"I was just thinking of that and who I could send down. But I'll decide nothing till I see Mr. Connolly," said Madame.

We met my father at the top of the staircase in Liberty Hall.

"What do you think, Mr. Connolly," cried Madame. "I've received an internment order or rather an order prohibiting me from going down to Tralee. What am I going to do about it? Shall I go or shall I obey the order."

"Did you bring the carbine and bandolier?" asked my father turning to me.

{43}

"Yes," I answered. "Harry has them."

"No, Madame," said my father. "You cannot go down to Tralee. If you make the attempt you will probably be arrested at some small station on the way, and sentenced to some months in jail. You are too valuable to be a prisoner at a time like this; I'll have need of you. If the authorities follow up their action of to-day we may be in the middle of things to-night or to-morrow; who knows? No, you must stay here. You are more important than the meeting."

"Should I send some one in my place, then?" asked Madame.

"That is for you to decide, though I think it would be a good thing."

"Whom will I send?" asked Madame.

"Send some one who cannot be victimized in case our hands are not forced; some one who is already victimized. Why not ask Mairé Perolz?"

"The very girl!" said Madame. "You can always pick out the right person."

"You had better get hold of Perolz, then," said my father. "Tell her what you want her to do and write out your speech. We'll relieve you of guard duty to-night, and promise you {44} that if things look lively we'll get word to you in time."

Madame left the Hall, and when I returned to her house a few hours later, she was busy writing out her speech. I sat down in the room and from time to time she read me out parts of it. It certainly was seditious and treasonable. She wrote on for quite some time after that and then with a sigh of satisfaction she said, "I have it finished. Perolz will come for it in the morning--she will take an early train."

Perolz had come and gone before I came down in the morning, but when she returned a few days later, I heard the whole story of her adventure, told in her own inimitable way.

She had traveled down to Limerick Junction accompanied by a very polite, attentive detective, whose company she dispensed with there by leaving the carriage she was in at the very last minute, and taking a seat in another. Hers was not a case of impersonation, for the Countess de Markievicz is very tall and rather fair while Mairé Perolz is of medium height and has red hair. She is very quick-witted and nimble of her tongue, never at a loss for what to do or for what to say.

{45}

She was met at Tralee station by a guard of honor from the local Cumann na mBan (women's organization), Irish Volunteers, and intending boy scouts. They had never seen the Countess de Markievicz and consequently did not know that it was not she who had arrived. Although Mairé told me that she almost lost her composure when she heard one of the girls say, "She isn't a bit like her photograph."

She was escorted to the hotel. When she arrived there she said to the officers of the organization, "I am not Madame Markievicz. She received an order last night prohibiting her from entering Kerry. Things were looking lively in Dublin and Madame was needed. She wrote out her speech and I am to deliver it for her. In that way the meeting will be held and Madame's speech will be delivered, and Madame will still be able to do useful work. There is no need to let the public know till to-night."

The officers agreed that it would be best to keep the knowledge of the non-arrival of Madame from the public and the police. Just then the proprietor of the hotel came to the door and said, "Madame, there are two {46} policemen downstairs and they want your registration form at once." Under the Defense of the Realm Act every one entering an hotel, or boarding or lodging house is required to fill in a form declaring his name, address, occupation, and intended destination. This rule was most rigidly enforced by the police authorities.

"Can't they wait till I get a cup of tea?" asked Mairé.

"No. They said they would wait and take it back to the station with them."

"Very well," said Mairé. "Give it to me."

She filled out the form something like this, neglecting the minor details.

_Name_:--Mairé Perolz. _Address_:--No fixed address--vagrant. _Age_:--20? _Occupation_:--None. _Nationality_:--Irish.

She then gave it to the proprietor who took it away. From the window they watched the policemen carrying it to the police station, apparently very much absorbed in it. They returned shortly and asked to see the lady. When they came in to the room they still carried the registration form.

"You haven't filled in this form satisfactorily, {47} Madame," said one. "You must have some fixed address and some occupation."

"No indeed," said Mairé. "I live on my wits."

"And you are a Russian subject."

"How do you make that out, in the name of God?" asked Mairé.

"You are married to a Russian Count."

"First news I've heard of it," said Mairé. "Now listen here, I've filled that form out correctly and you'll have to be satisfied with it. I'll not fill out another."

They accepted the form at last. That night Mairé delivered Madame's speech, told why Madame could not be present, then added a little anti-recruiting speech of her own which evoked great applause. The next day she returned home in great spirits at having once more helped to outwit the police.

{48}

V

About this time the Executive of the Cumann na mBan (women's organization) in Dublin were having trouble in procuring First Aid and Hospital supplies. I suggested that being a Northerner and having a Northern accent, I could probably get them in Belfast. I knew that a number of loyalist nursing corps were in existence in that city, and thought that by letting it be inferred that I belonged to one of them, the loyalist shopkeepers would have no hesitation in selling me the supplies, and in all probability would let me have them at cost price. And that is exactly what happened. I purchased as many of the different articles as I needed and at less than half the price paid in Dublin.

While in Dublin I had visited the Employment Bureau in the Volunteer Headquarters. Its business was to find employment for Irishmen and boys who were liable for military service. Under the Military Service Act every {49} man or boy over eighteen, residing in England or Scotland since the preceding August, was required to report himself for service in the British Army. The Bureau found employment in most cases for those who preferred to serve in the Irish Republican Army and had come to Ireland to await the call. Of course, it was impossible to find jobs for them all; but those who had not received jobs were busy on the work of making ammunition and hand grenades for the Irish Republican Army. The greater number of them had to camp out during the miserable months of February and March, in the Dublin Mountains, so that too great a drain would not be placed on their slender resources.

On my return to Belfast at a meeting of the Cumann na mBan I suggested that we send hampers of foodstuffs down to those boys and men in Dublin. The suggestion was taken up with great gusto, and the members were divided into different squads; a butter squad, a bacon squad, a tea, a sugar, oatmeal, cheese, and tinned goods squad; and they were to solicit all their friends for these articles. They were then to be sent on to the different camps in Dublin to help on the fight. Since we had {50} done so well on the foodstuffs I thought it would be as well to ask the men and boys in Belfast for cigarettes and tobacco. I set about collecting on the Saturday on which we intended sending away the first hamper of food. I was so successful that I was unable to return home for lunch before half-past three.

When I arrived home my sister met me at the door and said there was a man in the parlor who wanted to see me, and that he had been waiting since noon. I went into the room and saw one of my Dublin friends.

"Why, hello, Barney," I said. "What brings you here?"

He told me that there was some work before me and that he had the instructions. With this he handed me a letter. I recognized my father's handwriting on the envelope. The letter merely said:

"_Dear Nora_, The bearer will tell you what we want you to do. I have every confidence in your ability.

"Your father, "JAMES CONNOLLY."

"What are we to do?" I asked turning to Barney.

"Liam Mellowes is to be deported to-morrow {51} morning to England and we are to go there and bring him back."

"Sounds like a big job," I said. "What are the plans?"

"These are some of them," he answered showing me several pages closely written. "Some one will bring the final instructions from Dublin to-night."

The plan in the rough was that the messenger, being on the first glance uncommonly like Liam Mellowes, was to go to the place where he was interned and visit him. While he was visiting he was to change clothes with Liam Mellowes and stay behind, while Liam came out to me. We were then to make all speed to the station and lose no time in returning to Dublin.

Liam Mellowes had received, some time previously, an order from the military authorities to leave Ireland. This was because of his many activities as an organizer for the Irish Volunteers--as the order had it, because he was prejudicial to recruiting. He refused to obey and had been arrested. He was now to be forcibly deported. As Mellowes was absolutely essential to the plans for the Rising, being Officer in charge of the operations in the {52} West of Ireland, the attempt to bring him back from England was decided upon.

While waiting for the messenger to bring the final instructions from Dublin I sent out word to some of the Cumann na mBan girls that I should like to see them. When they came I told them that I had received an order that necessitated my going to Dublin; and that I should not be able to assist them in sending away the hampers. I gave them the money that I had collected for the cigarettes and tobacco, and they said they would see that everything went away all right. It was with great surprise and delight that the "refugees," as we called them, received the hampers a few days later.

{53}

VI

After the girls left I fell to studying the instructions. The main idea was to go in as zig-zag a course as possible to our objective. My father had made out a list of the best possible places to break our journey. On one sheet of paper in Eamonn Ceannt's handwriting continued the plan; and on another, in Sean mac Diarmuida's, was a list of people with their addresses in England or Scotland, to whom we could go for safe hiding, if we found we were being followed by detectives.

Shortly after seven that evening Miss Moloney arrived at our house. She brought us a message from Dublin. It was to the effect that it was not yet known to what place Liam Mellowes was to be deported, but we were to go on our journey, and when we arrived at Birmingham, there would be a message waiting us there with the desired information. All that was known was that Liam Mellowes was to be deported to some town in the South of England.

{54}

There was a boat leaving for Glasgow that night at eleven forty-five. We decided to go on it; it was called the theatrical boat, because it was on this boat many theatrical companies left Belfast; we thought we would not be noticed among the throng. I was to ask for all the tickets at the railway stations, as my accent is not easily placed.

On Sunday morning I went up on deck expecting to be almost the first one there; Barney, however, was there before me. He said we would be in Glasgow shortly. I went below for my suitcase. When I came up on deck again I saw that we were nearer shore and that we were slowing up. I asked a steward if we should be off soon.

"No," he said. "We are slowing up here to put some cattle off."

"Will it take long?" I asked.

"About an hour."

"How far are we from Glasgow?" I then asked.

"Two or three miles."

"Can we get off here instead of waiting?"

"Nothing to prevent you," he said.

So Barney and I picked up our traps and, as soon as the gangway was fixed up for the {55} cattle to disembark, we went down it and on to the quay.

We walked along as if we had been born there, although as a matter of fact, neither Barney nor I had been in that place before. After a few minutes we came to a street with tramway lines on it and decided to wait for a car. We boarded the first car that came along. After riding in it for a long time we noticed that instead of approaching the city we seemed to be going farther away from it. We left the car at the next stop, and took another going in the opposite direction, and after riding for three-quarters of an hour arrived in Glasgow. We were more than pleased to think that if the police had noticed us when we went on the Glasgow boat at Belfast, and had sent on word for the Glasgow police to watch out for us, the boat would arrive without us.

Our next stop was to be Edinburgh. We went to the station and inquired when the Edinburgh train would be leaving. There was one leaving at eleven fifteen that would arrive in Edinburgh some time about one o'clock. We decided to go by it. Then we remembered that it was Sunday and that we had not been to Mass; also that if we went by that train {56} it would be too late when we arrived at Edinburgh to attend. It was not quite ten o'clock then; if we could find a church nearby, we could go to Mass and still be in time for the train. But where was there a church? "Look, Barney," I cried suddenly. "Here's an Irish-looking guard. We'll ask him to direct us." We asked him and he told us that there was a Catholic church five minutes' walk away from the station, and directed us to it. It took us more than five minutes to get there, but we arrived in time and were back at the station before the Edinburgh train left.