The Insurrection in Dublin | Page 4

full insurrection and bloody
war, but I did not know anything about it. It was Bank Holiday, but for
employments such as mine there are not any holidays, so I went to my
office at the usual hour, and after transacting what business was
necessary I bent myself to the notes above and below the stave, and
marvelled anew at the ingenuity of man. Peace was in the building, and
if any of the attendants had knowledge or rumour of war they did not
mention it to me.
At one o'clock I went to lunch. Passing the corner of Merrion Row I
saw two small groups of people. These people were regarding
steadfastly in the direction of St. Stephen's Green Park, and they spoke
occasionally to one another with that detached confidence which
proved they were mutually unknown. I also, but without approaching
them, stared in the direction of the Green. I saw nothing but the narrow
street which widened to the Park. Some few people were standing in
tentative attitudes, and all looking in the one direction. As I turned from
them homewards I received an impression of silence and expectation
and excitement.
On the way home I noticed that many silent people were standing in
their doorways--an unusual thing in Dublin outside of the back streets.
The glance of a Dublin man or woman conveys generally a criticism of
one's personal appearance, and is a little hostile to the passer. The look

of each person as I passed was steadfast, and contained an enquiry
instead of a criticism. I felt faintly uneasy, but withdrew my mind to a
meditation which I had covenanted with myself to perform daily, and
passed to my house.
There I was told that there had been a great deal of rifle firing all the
morning, and we concluded that the Military recruits or Volunteer
detachments were practising that arm. My return to business was by the
way I had already come. At the corner of Merrion Row I found the
same silent groups, who were still looking in the direction of the Green,
and addressing each other occasionally with the detached confidence of
strangers. Suddenly, and on the spur of the moment, I addressed one of
these silent gazers.
"Has there been an accident?" said I.
I indicated the people standing about.
"What's all this for?"
He was a sleepy, rough-looking man about 40 years of age, with a blunt
red moustache, and the distant eyes which one sees in sailors. He
looked at me, stared at me as at a person from a different country. He
grew wakeful and vivid.
"Don't you know," said he.
And then he saw that I did not know.
"The Sinn Feiners have seized the City this morning."
"Oh!" said I.
He continued with the savage earnestness of one who has amazement in
his mouth:
"They seized the City at eleven o'clock this morning. The Green there
is full of them. They have captured the Castle. They have taken the
Post Office."

"My God!" said I, staring at him, and instantly I turned and went
running towards the Green.
In a few seconds I banished astonishment and began to walk. As I drew
near the Green rifle fire began like sharply-cracking whips. It was from
the further side. I saw that the Gates were closed and men were
standing inside with guns on their shoulders. I passed a house, the
windows of which were smashed in. As I went by a man in civilian
clothes slipped through the Park gates, which instantly closed behind
him. He ran towards me, and I halted. He was carrying two small
packets in his hand. He passed me hurriedly, and, placing his leg inside
the broken window of the house behind me, he disappeared. Almost
immediately another man in civilian clothes appeared from the broken
window of another house. He also had something (I don't know what)
in his hand. He ran urgently towards the gates, which opened, admitted
him, and closed again.
In the centre of this side of the Park a rough barricade of carts and
motor cars had been sketched. It was still full of gaps. Behind it was a
halted tram, and along the vistas of the Green one saw other trams
derelict, untenanted.
I came to the barricade. As I reached it and stood by the Shelbourne
Hotel, which it faced, a loud cry came from the Park. The gates opened
and three men ran out. Two of them held rifles with fixed bayonets.
The third gripped a heavy revolver in his fist. They ran towards a motor
car which had just turned the corner, and halted it. The men with
bayonets took position instantly on either side of the car. The man with
the revolver saluted, and