Richmond Barracks was for the military the clearing house for rebels; for the police it was their last chance of a stroke. Marching tunes are in military orders, and the men in khaki perceived no difference between one tune and another; but the little groups in dark green became twice as sullen, and twice as anxious to lay their victims by the heels, one way or another. Without a doubt Richmond Barracks was of great value from the dramatic point of view. We were housed in the second and third storey rooms of the barracks. The troops occupied the ground floor, the guards were posted at the doors and on the landings, Not till Asquith’s visit were these things rectified; and even thereafter conditions were only slowly, and, as it were, grudgingly, amended. By the time I arrived at the clearing-house, a fortnight after the Rising had concluded, the amendment was in progress. The cause for this was simple. Far more potent than a very questionable beneficence in Premiers, was the grim and bitter mood that had settled on the country. This had to be propitiated. Asquith’s visit was but a token of political sagacity; and while I was at Richmond, the dawning of the same sagacity on the Thus, soon after our arrival P. J. D. and I were apportioned a blanket apiece, and at nightfall, on the call of the bugle, we were instructed by the others in their use. We all slept with our heads to the wall and our feet toward the centre of the room. We slept in couples for the better use of our blankets. One blanket was stretched on the floor, the other served for coverlet, and our coats made our pillows. So we slept each night, fully dressed, for the nights were bitterly cold. It was extraordinary how soon one’s hip-bones hardened to the floor, and the simplicity of toilet was a great boon to anyone who had found dressing and undressing labyrinths of inconvenience. In the morning the reveille sounded at six o’clock; and from then until about eight we were taken out in squads under armed guards, to wash at the pumps and washbowls in the yard. For our meals, we sat where we could or would, on the ground, or, if one were tactful, on the window-sills. We were all allowed to retain up to a pound in cash, and some of the men had purchased jack-knives from the soldiers. Others had managed to retain their own pen-knives. Such men were fortunate, for they were able at once to proceed with their meals. The others either waited until an implement was available, or they did not wait. Yet all these were but campaigning inconveniences. The great thing was that we were, by necessity, permitted one another’s company; and the utmost joviality prevailed. None would have thought that in one of the barrack buildings within sight of our windows, the courtsmartial were sitting, and that men were being picked out from the rooms and sent to long terms of penal servitude. No one knew whose turn would come next. The selections were, by any reckoning, an extraordinary hazard. Some who confidently expected a summons, were passed over in silence. Others were selected whose choice was inexplicable, except on the supposition (which indeed was no supposition) that some local spite was exerted against them. Any evening an officer might enter and hand One such case stands out vividly in my memory because of an interesting personal relation that was suggested. Thrice a certain officer had entered, and we had all stood in a line before him while he, accompanied by a detective, inspected us each carefully in turn. Each time he had turned away dissatisfied; and on the third occasion, as he did so, one of our number made some jest, at which we all laughed. Instantly the officer turned about and fixed on one of our number. “You’re Captain L——, aren’t you?” he said. “I am.” “You were at the Post Office, in charge of the prisoners?” “I was.” “Just so. I didn’t recognise you out of your uniform. You are the man. I fixed you just now when you laughed by your gold teeth.” When he had gone we gathered round L—— to ask him who the man was; and we learned that he had been a prisoner in the Post Office. When the Post Office had been set on fire, and became untenable, the building had been evacuated in haste. Not until they were filing out into the street were the prisoners remembered, and then O’Rahilly had sent L—— back to bring them out to safety. As the prisoners were housed in a room next to that in which the ammunition and high explosives were stored, beside the lift-shaft, down through which the sparks were falling, this was a task of some considerable danger. |