The Soldier's Song (14 page)

‘Good morning, miss,’ he touched his hat politely when he saw her.

‘Good morning.’

‘I’m sorry, miss, the bakery is closed. No bread today.’

‘Why? What are you doing?’

‘We’re taking over,’ he answered with a grin.

‘You’re taking over the bakery?’

‘No, miss, the whole country.’

‘Well, I hope it keeps fine for you,’ she murmured, and started to remount her bicycle.

Rat-tat-tat! Three shots rang out a few streets away and she looked uneasily in that direction. So did the young man behind the gate.

‘You should go home, miss,’ he advised. ‘There might be a bit of fighting.’

‘I can’t. I’m going to see my sister,’ she said firmly, and cycled off towards the city centre.

It seemed to her that things became more normal as she went along. There were certainly more people about, but there was an air of confusion too. As she cycled along Westland Row, she heard a distant crackling coming from north of the river, and saw knots of people stop to stare in that direction. Then they all started to move again, picking up the threads of conversations as if they hadn’t heard anything.

She freewheeled around College Green, taking care in crossing the treacherous tram tracks, and then started the final push up Dame Street. Something cracked over her head, and she saw people on the pavement running to take shelter in doorways. A policeman came running out, waving her down as a tram shuddered to a halt with a squeal of brakes.

‘You can’t go up there, young lady,’ the policeman warned. ‘There’s people shooting. Keep back down here where it’s safe.’

As if to emphasize his warning there was another crack, and one of the tram’s windows fell in with a crash. There were screams and muffled curses. People came running off the tram and shouldered their way into the meagre shelter of the shop fronts.

‘It’s not safe, miss. Go back!’

Billy stood alone in the small crowd in Sackville Street – alone, because Stephen had been nabbed as they walked past Trinity College. The heavy oak doors had opened a crack as they ambled past, and a uniformed cadet ran out and nervously saluted. Billy thought he was making fun of them until he remembered that Stephen was in uniform. He was surprised by the change that came over his friend. Whereas before he had walked in an easy slouch, with his hands behind his back, he straightened visibly and returned a smart salute before the young man breathlessly got out his request – the cadets were defending the college. They had already rounded up some Australians on sick leave – here he broke off and pointed to the roof, where they saw the silhouette of a man with a rifle – and if the lieutenant wasn’t already under orders, they would welcome his assistance.

‘Sorry, Billy – duty calls,’ he said ruefully. ‘I’d best go inside.’

Billy handed him the racing glasses slung across his shoulder. ‘Here, take these. I dare say they’ll come in handy for keeping watch and so forth.’

‘Won’t you need them at the races?’

‘Oh, to hell with the races. It looks like all the fun’s in town today.’

Looking at the high-columned front of the General Post Office, however, he was no longer sure if this was fun at all. There was a distinct earnestness about the men he could see, and they certainly weren’t students – not the way they were putting out the windows and barricading them with books and furniture. Apart from that, they were all in uniform: most wore the leaf green of the National Volunteers, but there was a sprinkling of the darker green of the Citizen Army. After a while two flags broke out on the roof – one a tricolour of green, white and orange, and the other a plain green flag with a golden harp and some writing on it that he couldn’t make out.

‘Can you see what it says?’ he asked the man next to him, who was shading his eyes with his hand.

‘I think it’s “The Irish Republic”.’

‘Well, well. Whatever will they think of next?’

If the republic was to be created by breaking windows then things appeared to be well under way. Otherwise there didn’t seem to be anything to get excited about. The crowd had already started to break up when the front door of the post office opened and a man in a slouch hat and a long green overcoat walked out. He unfolded a sheet of paper and cleared his throat uncertainly, looking up and down the street as if he was afraid somebody would come and shoo him away.

‘I know him,’ Billy exclaimed, and racked his brains for a name. Was it Parsons? No, Pearse. Of course! Patrick Pearse. Old Barton had pointed him out one morning on Usher’s Quay. Used to be a barrister, but had given it up for schoolmastering – among other things, by the look of it. Well, there was a turn-up for the books.

He listened attentively as Pearse started to read out his speech, but he wasn’t alone in being barely able to make out a word of it.

‘Speak up,’ somebody shouted from the back, and when Pearse finished there was a half-hearted smattering of applause, and a couple of wags called out ‘Encore!’ to hoots of laughter.

Pearse ignored them, folded up his speech, and went back inside. Billy strolled over to Nelson’s Pillar, where a Citizen Army man was pasting up posters.

By the time he got back to the college, the great oak door was locked once again. His pounding fist hardly seemed to make a sound, so he rapped on the wood with the head of his cane.

The door opened a crack and a face peered suspiciously out from the shadows within.

‘What do you want?’

The voice seemed familiar. Billy peered closely at the white blur of a face and took off his boater.

‘Harry Cardiff? Is that you?’

‘Oh, what ho, Billy.’ The door opened all the way and revealed the gangly shape of his former classmate. ‘You’d best come in. Orders, you know. I’ve got to keep the door closed in case they try to get in here.’

Billy stepped inside and Cardiff bolted the door behind him.

‘The Volunteers, you mean?’

‘Yes. Apparently they’re all over the place. They’ve already attacked Dublin Castle and I hear they’re digging trenches in Stephen’s Green.’

‘Good Lord. I’ve just come up from Sackville Street and they’re down there as well. Doesn’t that mean we’re surrounded?’

‘After a fashion, I suppose. They’re only taking over places at the moment. There hasn’t been an awful lot of fighting per se.’

‘Do you think they’ll try to take the college?’

‘I would, if I were them. Apart from anything else, we’ve got a pile of rifles and ammunition in the armoury. But they’ll have a job getting in now. As well as the cadets, we’ve managed to round up a good few soldiers to mount a defence.’

‘It’s one of those I’m after. Do you remember my friend Stephen Ryan? He was a maths student, but he joined up when the war started, so it’s Lieutenant Ryan now. He was shanghaied about an hour ago.’

‘Oh, yes, I remember him. Tall chap, isn’t he? I saw him earlier and I thought he looked familiar. I’d say he’s probably up on the roof. Most of the regulars are up there.’

A few minutes later Billy put his head through the trapdoor leading to the roof of the West Front.

‘Stephen,’ he called in a hoarse stage whisper, ‘permission to come up?’

Stephen turned from the low balustrade where he had rested Billy’s racing glasses to watch the goings-on in Sackville Street.

‘Yes, come on. Just keep your head down.’

Billy dashed across in a low crouch, clutching his hat to his chest. There were three other soldiers crouched in the corners of the roof, watching in all directions, but Billy’s eyes were drawn to the rifle slung on Stephen’s shoulder.

‘Where did you get that?’ he demanded, as he knelt down behind the balustrade.

‘We’ve all been issued with rifles from the cadets’ armoury,’ Stephen answered absently, focusing the glasses on the space around Nelson’s Pillar.

‘Can I have a shot?’

Stephen took down the glasses and gave him a withering look.

‘No.’

‘Oh, go on. I’ve never fired a gun before.’

‘Precisely, Billy. This is hardly the time to start. I can’t just let you blaze away at the rest of the population. Besides, your eyesight’s so bad you’d probably end up shooting me.’

‘Spoilsport.’ Billy made a face and folded his arms. ‘I’ve a good mind not to tell you what I found out!’

Stephen gave him a knowing smile. ‘You’d better tell me, or I’ll have you arrested when martial law is declared.’

This appealed to the legal part of Billy’s mind. He sat up with a grin.

‘Martial law? Do you really think they’ll declare it? I thought they’d just read the Riot Act.’

‘Almost certainly, the way things are going. There was a lot of shooting going on around Dublin Castle a little while ago. I’d say they mean business, whoever they are.’

‘Well, they’re definitely not students. Most of the ones I saw were Irish Volunteers. The man in charge is a chap called Pearse – he runs a school out Rathfarnham way, would you believe? In any event, they’ve declared themselves to be the Provisional Government of Ireland. Pearse read out their manifesto in front of the GPO.’

Stephen frowned. ‘They’ve declared themselves to be the government? On whose authority?’

‘The dead generations, or some such. I don’t know, I couldn’t hear it very well. But they’ve got guns, Stephen. I suppose that’s all the authority they need.’

‘Well, they’re going the bloody wrong way about getting Home Rule, that’s for sure.’

‘Home Rule? Don’t be silly. These boys aren’t looking for Home Rule. It’s the whole shooting match they’re after: full independence for Ireland.’

There was a sound like a whip-crack overhead and Billy looked up.

‘What was that?’

‘A rifle bullet,’ Stephen answered casually, and folded his arms as he leaned against the balustrade. His expression turned thoughtful. ‘You’re the legal expert, Billy. What do you think? Would you say this was treason? I mean, since we’re already at war.’

‘Are they shooting at us, Stephen? Hadn’t you better sit down?’

‘Oh, it was miles too high. I wouldn’t let it bother you.’

‘Really?’ Billy gave him a curious look, ‘Well, to answer your question, I suppose it depends on what happens next. True, there’s been some shooting, but no actual
fighting
so far – at least from what I’ve seen. No doubt the government will make their move shortly, and if those chaps in the GPO and elsewhere come out with their hands up, then it’ll be a few months in jail, a few fines, but no hard feelings. On the other hand, if they decide to scrap it out, if they actually mean to start an insurrection in time of war, then it will go very hard for them. I should imagine they’ll throw the flaming book at them – and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what that might entail if martial law is declared.’

The words were hardly out of his mouth when a loud flurry of crackling came from the direction of Sackville Street. The air overhead was slit and cut by passing bullets, and Stephen whirled around and brought up the binoculars.

‘Lancers,’ he said, and then a few moments later, ‘looks like they mounted a charge against the post office. There are horses loose, and some men lying in the street.’ He slowly brought down the binoculars and looked at Billy, appalled. ‘This is madness.’

‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Billy agreed, and raised his head above the balustrade to try to see for himself. Dead men lying where he’d been standing not half an hour ago. Even the idea of it made him feel slightly sick. ‘And I’m afraid there’s something else you should know. The Volunteers aren’t the only ones involved in this little caper. When I was down there I saw Citizen Army uniforms as well, and one of the names at the bottom of Pearse’s manifesto was none other than Joe’s friend, James Connolly. I could be mistaken, but I’m very much afraid that your little brother is in this right up to his neck.’

A troubled look came over Stephen’s face. ‘I might have bloody known!’ he muttered. ‘What has the silly bastard got himself into now?’

Brennan was talking again. He’d been chattering like a monkey all morning, but now he was starting to get on Joe’s nerves. It must be the excitement, he thought, but he was in no humour for talk.

‘For fuck’s sake. Will you ever shut up?’

Brennan’s face went slack and he glumly closed his mouth.

‘Sorry, Joe.’

‘Sergeant.’

‘Sorry, sergeant.’

With Brennan looking at him like a slapped dog, Joe suddenly felt ashamed of himself. He was a decent lad, and he’d do anything you asked.

‘Barricade the window with them books,’ he said, but in a more conciliatory tone. Brennan obediently scooped up an armful of the books and started stacking them on the windowsill. Joe looked at them doubtfully. They might stop the odd bullet, but they wouldn’t be much use against a good volley. He looked around the ransacked room, but there was nothing else they could use. For all his snooty protests and bluster, the editor of the
Dublin Mail & Express
didn’t have much of an office.

But he did have a good view of Dame Street. Joe went to the window and looked out over the stack of books. Across the street he could see the main gate of Dublin Castle, with the big statue of Justice standing on top. Beside it stood the Grecian columns and green copper dome of City Hall. He got a thrill when he realized they were already in there. A couple of green-clad figures were moving around the roof, and the tall windows were starting to fill up with furniture and other odds and ends. It was a good spot. They’d have a clear shot right down into the castle yard from that roof, and that was all they wanted. That was the clever part. The Brits would be barricading themselves inside the castle, thinking they were under siege. But they didn’t need to take the castle, just dominate it. The Brits would have to come out eventually, and when they did they’d know all about it.