FEAR AND ANXIETY overwhelmed Muriel when she heard that the rebels had surrendered, Jacob’s garrison one of the last to capitulate to General Lowe. MacDonagh and his men had been marched to Richmond Barracks, where they were still being held.
During the Rising MacDonagh had sent her messages from Jacob’s and she in turn had managed to send him notes, but now she was frantic to see and talk to her husband.
Over the past week her Ranelagh home had been filled with the wives, sweethearts, families and friends of the Volunteers, everyone calling, desperate for news. Padraig’s mother and sister; Min Ryan and her sister; Michael O’Rahilly’s American wife, Nancy; and Aine Ceannt, who, for safety reasons, had fled her home with her son to stay with Caitlin Brugha. Muriel made pot after pot of tea and told them about the GPO as they compared the messages and information that they had received. They had all presumed that, at most, the Volunteers and the Citizen Army would hold out against the army for only a day or two, and as the week had gone on they could not believe that they were somehow managing to fight and hold their positions despite coming under such heavy attack from the British forces that were pouring into the city. No one had expected it, but the women all shared the same concern and fear of how it would all end.
Now that the rebellion was over, all Muriel wanted was to see her husband, to talk to him, to allay her fears that he had been wounded or injured. Dublin was full of rumours, with talk of trials, courts martial and arrangements for the rebels to be deported to a prison overseas. She had to discover what would happen to MacDonagh. Would he be sent to prison? She was determined to see him.
Then there was Nellie. They had word that her sister had been arrested along with Countess Markievicz and the other women from the Citizen Army who had been fighting in the College of Surgeons.
‘They won’t hurt the women,’ Grace assured her. ‘It would cause such uproar. I’m sure Nellie and the rest of the women will all be released and sent home.’
‘You know Mother won’t have her home,’ Muriel said angrily. ‘She considers Nellie and the rest of us traitors, disloyal not only to “the Crown” but to the family name. Nellie will have to come and stay here.’
‘What do you think they will do to MacDonagh and Joe?’
‘I fear that it will not go easy for them, that General Lowe will make an example of them.’
‘Some say the leaders will all be tried and executed,’ Grace cried, distraught. ‘That General Maxwell has been sent over to crush the rebellion and intends executing everyone involved.’
‘The British government and the Irish Parliamentary Party would never allow such a thing,’ Muriel said, trying to convince herself as well as her sister that the king and the Westminster parliament would not consider such drastic action when they were so deeply embroiled in the war in Europe. ‘The likelihood is that Joe and MacDonagh will be deported, imprisoned – I don’t know where or for how long. Perhaps they may even be sentenced to life in prison.’
Muriel could not imagine such a thing: being parted from her husband, not being near him when they loved each other so much. It was unbearable.
‘If MacDonagh is imprisoned I don’t know how the children and I will survive without him.’
‘Joe and I should have been married by now,’ Grace sobbed. ‘What if I never get to see him or speak to him again?’
‘That won’t happen,’ Muriel consoled her sister, hugging her. ‘We must both try to be patient and wait for news of the two of them.’
But Muriel herself was frantic and tried to talk to the Dublin Metropolitan Police to ascertain what was happening to Thomas MacDonagh.
‘If he is a prisoner I should be let visit him,’ she pleaded. ‘I am his wife.’
‘No visitors are permitted,’ they told her.
From the group of soldiers camped near their home she discovered that many of the prisoners were being sent immediately to Wales and England – perhaps her husband was one of them.
Her mind was in turmoil and the children were lonely and upset, missing their father, while she could not hide from them the tension she was under as they awaited news.
Grace was also trying to ascertain what had happened to Joe. She had gone to Belgrave Road to talk to his sister Geraldine.
‘Geraldine told me that Joe’s parents have been arrested for their involvement with the rebels and she thinks they are being held in Richmond Barracks with George and Jack. The countess put up a bit of a fight, apparently, when the soldiers came to their house.’
‘What does Geraldine think will happen to them?’
‘A friend of Count Plunkett’s informed them of the possibility that the leaders of the Rising may be tried for treason and sentenced to death.’
Muriel felt dizzy, a desperate clanging in her ears.
‘Oh Muriel, I’m sorry to upset you,’ apologized Grace, making her sit down. ‘Perhaps they are wrong and MacDonagh will not stand trial.’
Muriel doubted that, for MacDonagh was not only a leader of the Volunteers but, along with Padraig, Joe, Tom Clarke and Sean Mac Diarmada, was part of the small circle of the Irish Republican Brotherhood who were deeply involved in planning every aspect of the rebellion. Why, he had even signed the Proclamation of the new Irish Republic – she had seen it herself.
Heavy-hearted, Muriel read the next day that by order of the Crown the leaders of the rebellion would all be tried. Thomas MacDonagh, her beloved husband, she suspected would be found guilty.
The hours went so slowly, and no matter whom she talked to Muriel could get no information about what was happening. If only Father had been well he could have used his Castle contacts, but she doubted her poor father even realized that there had been a rebellion, much less that Nellie and his son-in-law and Grace’s fiancé had all been involved.
A soldier came and knocked on their front door. Three-year-old Don ran ahead of her as she went to open it.
‘Where is my dada?’ he demanded, seeing the man’s army uniform.
‘Your father is to be shot,’ the man said coldly and her little boy, scared and hysterical, ran back into her arms.
Muriel began to shake.
‘Mrs Muriel MacDonagh, it has been ordered that Mr Thomas MacDonagh, who is convicted of treason, is to be executed at Kilmainham Jail tomorrow. The prisoner has requested that you visit him. You are hereby granted permission by General Lowe to visit the prisoner prior to his execution,’ the soldier said, his gaze unflinching, not even meeting hers.
Execution … execution … The very words made her feel weak and she tried to steady herself.
But this was no time for weakness. She had to see MacDonagh. Grace had gone out earlier searching for information, so she was all alone with the children, the baby already asleep, but she would ask Mary to come over and mind them.
‘I will come as soon as I can,’ she replied calmly. ‘Please inform Mr Thomas MacDonagh and General Lowe that I will be there immediately to see him.’
Less than half an hour later she was on her way. Her mind was spinning, but she tried to concentrate on the fact that she was going to see MacDonagh and would be able to talk to him. There must be some mistake, some legal loophole they could find to commute his sentence. She would talk to her husband. She would not think of him being executed.
The city was still under martial law, a war zone, full of barricades and damaged buildings, so much destruction and debris everywhere. The acrid smell of smoke still clung to the air. The curfew was still in operation and Muriel had to stop at a checkpoint manned by some soldiers with their bayonets.
‘You should not be out, missus,’ they warned. ‘Return to your home.’
‘A member of your army came to my home in Oakley Road to inform me that I was requested to visit my husband, Mr Thomas MacDonagh, who is imprisoned in Kilmainham Jail tonight,’ she said quietly.
‘Show me your permit please,’ demanded an older soldier.
‘I don’t have one. The soldier who came never gave me a permit or note from General Lowe,’ she replied, realizing that she had absolutely nothing to prove her case.
‘He would have given you a written permit to break the curfew and cross the city,’ the man said knowledgeably.
‘I promise you, he gave me nothing. He just told me that he had been sent to inform me that my husband is to be executed and that I have permission to visit him in Kilmainham.’ Muriel’s voice was breaking.
‘We have no knowledge of it,’ the army man said testily, ‘and have strict instruction to enforce the curfew as some of the rebels are still at large.’
‘Please!’ she begged. ‘Let me through. My husband is to be executed tomorrow. I have to see him … please.’
She could see three of the soldiers talking behind the older man.
‘Must be one of the traitor leaders!’ one called.
She flinched.
‘Please. My husband, Mr Thomas MacDonagh, was a commandant in the Irish Volunteers. He is in Kilmainham Jail and the governor and General Lowe himself have granted me permission to visit him. Don’t stop me doing what any wife would want to do when she hears such terrible news.’
‘We cannot let you pass,’ he repeated stubbornly. ‘You get a permit, missus, and return and we will let you through.’
‘Where can I get such a permit at this late hour?’ she pleaded. ‘Tell me …’
He shrugged his shoulders and simply turned away from her. She could hear them all laughing.
‘Come back in the morning, after curfew,’ called another younger soldier.
Muriel ran back to Oakley Road, to the home of neighbours who possessed a new telephone machine and begged them to let her use it to phone Kilmainham or someone in authority to get the necessary pass, but realizing that her husband was one of the rebels her neighbours, despite her pleas, shut the door on her.
Over the next few hours Muriel frantically attempted twice more to get through barricades and checkpoints, but all to no avail. It was long past midnight when, tearful and exhausted, she returned home, determined that tomorrow morning at first light she would go immediately to Kilmainham to see MacDonagh.
Still dressed, she curled up in their bed and tried to imagine that he was close beside her, telling her never fear, my love, all would be well and soon they would be together again …