The Insurrection in Dublin | Page 9

horse was lying on
the footpath surrounded by blood. He bore two bullet wounds, but the
blood came from his throat which had been cut.
Inside the Green railings four bodies could be seen lying on the ground.
They were dead Volunteers.
The rain was falling now persistently, and persistently from the Green
and from the Shelbourne Hotel snipers were exchanging bullets. Some
distance beyond the Shelbourne I saw another Volunteer stretched out
on a seat just within the railings. He was not dead, for, now and again,
his hand moved feebly in a gesture for aid; the hand was completely red
with blood. His face could not be seen. He was just a limp mass, upon
which the rain beat pitilessly, and he was sodden and shapeless, and
most miserable to see. His companions could not draw him in for the
spot was covered by the snipers from the Shelbourne. Bystanders stated
that several attempts had already been made to rescue him, but that he
would have to remain there until the fall of night.
From Trinity College windows and roof there was also sniping, but the
Shelbourne Hotel riflemen must have seriously troubled the Volunteers
in the Green.
As I went back I stayed a while in front of the hotel to count the shots
that had struck the windows. There were fourteen shots through the
ground windows. The holes were clean through, each surrounded by a
star--the bullets went through but did not crack the glass. There were
three places in which the windows had holes half a foot to a foot wide
and high. Here many rifles must have fired at the one moment. It must
have been as awkward inside the Shelbourne Hotel as it was inside the
Green.
A lady who lived in Baggot Street said she had been up all night, and,

with her neighbours, had supplied tea and bread to the soldiers who
were lining the street. The officer to whom she spoke had made two or
three attacks to draw fire and estimate the Volunteers' positions,
numbers, &c., and he told her that he considered there were 3,000
well-armed Volunteers in the Green, and as he had only 1,000 soldiers,
he could not afford to deliver a real attack, and was merely containing
them.
Amiens Street station reported recaptured by the military; other stations
are said to be still in the Volunteers' possession.
The story goes that about twelve o'clock on Monday an English officer
had marched into the Post Office and demanded two penny stamps
from the amazed Volunteers who were inside. He thought their
uniforms were postal uniforms. They brought him in, and he is
probably still trying to get a perspective on the occurrence. They had as
prisoners in the Post Office a certain number of soldiers, and rumour
had it that these men accommodated themselves quickly to duress, and
were busily engaged peeling potatoes for the meal which they would
partake of later on with the Volunteers.
Earlier in the day I met a wild individual who spat rumour as though
his mouth were a machine gun or a linotype machine. He believed
everything he heard; and everything he heard became as by magic
favourable to his hopes, which were violently anti-English. One
unfavourable rumour was instantly crushed by him with three stories
which were favourable and triumphantly so. He said the Germans had
landed in three places. One of these landings alone consisted of fifteen
thousand men. The other landings probably beat that figure. The whole
City of Cork was in the hands of the Volunteers, and, to that extent,
might be said to be peaceful. German warships had defeated the
English, and their transports were speeding from every side. The whole
country was up, and the garrison was out-numbered by one hundred to
one. These Dublin barracks which had not been taken were now
besieged and on the point of surrender.
I think this man created and winged every rumour that flew in Dublin,
and he was the sole individual whom I heard definitely taking a side.

He left me, and, looking back, I saw him pouring his news into the ear
of a gaping stranger whom he had arrested for the purpose. I almost
went back to hear would he tell the same tale or would he elaborate it
into a new thing, for I am interested in the art of story-telling.
At eleven o'clock the rain ceased, and to it succeeded a beautiful night,
gusty with wind, and packed with sailing clouds and stars. We were
expecting visitors this night, but the sound of guns may have warned
most people away. Three only came, and with them we listened from
my window to the guns at the Green challenging and replying to each
other, and