When Grace returned to me, her face was flushed and her eyes shone brightly. “Madame says I can take you downstairs,” she told me, and I followed her down the uneven stone steps, unprepared for what I would see.
The first shock was to see so many young boys. They were swarming about the dimly lit room, clad in khaki, chattering excitedly. I assumed they were the Fianna. In one corner a printing press was clacking away, spitting out papers. Against the side of the room men and women worked busily, moving grenades and ammunition from the piles in which they had been dumped and stacking them neatly in large wooden boxes.
“It’s our arsenal,” Grace said. “It’s being divvied up, since we’re all going to be in different places on the day.”
Jack came over to us, smiling. “An English visitor is always welcome,” he said to me ironically, but his eyes were friendly. He looked at his sister. “Isn’t it great to be so close? We’re almost there.”
“I know,” Grace murmured. “Can I show Caroline the proclamation?”
“You can show it to her, but don’t let her take it out of here. The Countess would kill me if she did that.”
Grace stepped over to the mounting pile of papers, which were being reverently counted by a Fianna boy. Jack was trembling with excitement.
“We have enough weapons here to last us a full week!” he blurted out. “God, to hold the British at bay for a week...”
“Jack, does Grace really have to fight?” I murmured desperately in his ear. “Aren’t you concerned for her? I mean, isn’t there some way she could stay on the sidelines?”
“There’ll be no sidelines,” Jack said, laughing. He didn’t even seem bothered by my question. “No, Grace is in it all the way. That’s the way she wants it. She’ll be caring for the wounded, preparing food... Of course, if our forces get low, she might have to pick up a gun.”
I stared at him. He was so cavalier; he might have been talking about a picnic in the park.
“And afterward?” I asked.
“Afterward?” Jack stared at me oddly. It was as if he had not considered the aftermath. “Well, sure we’re all in God’s hands. To tell you the truth”—he paused and then gave a fatalistic little shrug—“the leaders expect to be shot. For the rest of us, those who survive, it’s prison, I suppose.”
I was stunned and felt a shiver go through me.
“Back to work!” Jack said cheerfully as Grace came toward us with a thick piece of paper in her hands. She had evidently been reading it and she had tears in her eyes. She blinked them away.
“Have you read it yourself, Jack?” she asked.
“No time, Grace. It’s a shame we won’t get to hear it, though.”
“I know. It’s beautiful,” she sighed, passing it to me.
“Can you give us a hand now, Grace?”
“I will. I’m sorry it took me so long.”
They wandered away toward their comrades. Ashen, I curled up on a stone slab in the corner and began to read the Proclamation of the Irish Republic.
It was incredible, I thought, holding the paper n my shaking hands. I could barely concentrate, for I felt tension coursing through me, mixed with none of the joyous emotions that seemed to hold Grace and Jack in their grip. Here were lofty words, confident words, and right in front of me weaponry was being sorted and stacked by men and women who were risking their lives in this venture. History was occurring in front of my eyes. But what kind of history? Surely this uprising was bound to fail; it would be only a tragic little footnote in the long tradition of British dominion over Ireland. Would nobody step in and stop it?
I began to read. In bold type I saw a phrase in the Irish language. Then:
THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF THE IRISH REPUBLIC TO THE PEOPLE OF IRELAND. Irishmen and Irishwomen: In the name of God and of the dead generations from which she receives her old tradition of nationhood, Ireland, through us, summons her children to her flag and fights for freedom.
Having organized her manhood through her secret revolutionary organization, the Irish Republican Brotherhood, and through her open military organizations, the Irish Volunteers and the Irish Citizen Army, having patiently perfected her discipline, having resolutely waited for the right moment to reveal herself, she now seizes that moment, and supported by her exiled children in America and by gallant allies in Europe, but relying in the first on her own strength, she strikes in full confidence of victory...
I put it down, unable to read further, although there was much more. These fine, impressive words might send my lover to her death, I thought bitterly.
As I often did in moments of confusion and pain, I took out my sketchbook and began to draw. It would be a challenge to sketch that room and its occupants as they went about their tasks...
And so this was what I was absorbed in when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I started.
“And what have we here?” said a tall woman in uniform, laughing. “A war artist?”
I gazed up into merry blue eyes dancing behind spectacles. Her accent marked her as an Englishwoman. It was the Countess, I was sure of it. A revolver hung at her belt. She was lean, elegant, and oddly beautiful.
Grace trotted over from the corner of the room. “Madame, this is my friend Caroline.”
“Hmm,” said the Countess, picking up my book. “Quite talented, I see.”
I flushed.
“She painted a picture of me,” Grace said proudly.
“Well, you must hold on to that, my dear,” the Countess told her with a smile. “If your friend becomes famous one day, it may be worth quite a bit of money. You never know.”
Grace nodded, her face bright with pleasure.
“Did Grace tell you I went to art school myself?” the Countess asked. “First the Slade, then Paris. I would have kept on with it if it weren’t for my damned eyes.”
“I’m thinking of applying to the Slade,” I said nervously.
She nodded, handing my work back to me. “You should. What a pity you can’t ask me for a reference now! Well, you’ll get in without my help I’m sure. Stay here as long as you like, Caroline. Grace has vouched for you.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. As she strode away I was aware only of the curious power and vigor this woman had, and her charm. It was this charm, I thought, that turned Grace into a sweet, malleable young girl at her side. Men would die for her, for a sign of her approval.
Grace turned back to me, her face afire.
“Isn’t she wonderful?”
“She’s a fine woman,” I admitted. “I’ve never seen anybody like her.”
Pleased by my words, Grace smiled at me, and I felt myself melting, looking toward her yearningly.
“You’ve been so patient, my love,” she said quietly. No one could hear us over the noise of the press and the clink of weapons, I was sure of that.
“It’s our last day together, isn’t it?” I asked, a lump in my throat.
She nodded. “Yes, but there’s tomorrow morning to lie in together. I won’t have to leave till afternoon. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten you.”
“I should hope not,” I said, smiling.
“I must get back to it,” she told me. “Jack says he’ll take you home when you’re ready to leave.”
I nodded, looking into her curiously bright and loving eyes. Over the din of the room I could hear the Countess exclaiming in approval at what the workers had done. Grace turned and walked back into the throng.
In the afternoon tea and sandwiches were brought in—provided by the Countess, Grace whispered to me. We sat close together, legs touching, as the Countess joked and laughed with her little band of followers. She inquired whether the guns had been kept oiled according to her instructions. She described the first-aid kits that the Cumann na mBán girls had spent all week making, and how Dr. Kathleen Lynn would make sure they got medical attention if they were wounded. The level of nervous excitement in the room was overpowering. These were all general comments: She said nothing about where they were going to be on the day. “And of course,” she said beaming, “I’ll be your second-in-command, under the able leadership of Michael Mallin here.” The pleasant-looking man beside her nodded at her words. As I looked around me at the eager faces, I thought, They’re all drunk with it. For the first time in their lives, they have something to die for.
I felt strangely comfortable there. A few curious looks were cast in my direction, but it was as if the Countess’s presence—and perhaps the fact that she had talked to me earlier—gave me the benefit of the doubt. Grace’s warm body next to mine was also reassuring. If Violet could see me now! I thought at one point during this strange little tea break. She’d certainly call me a traitor to my people, wouldn’t she?
How had I got this far? It had all seemed to happen in gradual stages, so gradual that there was no point at which I had any real desire to turn and flee. Even the soldiers today, I thought, even that sordid scene had not really diminished my love for Grace... I was allowing faith and trust in Grace to build up inside me, like these fresh-faced young Dubliners in front of me who hung on every word from the Countess’s lips. Would they ever feel betrayed? I did not think so—at least not by her, or Pearse, or Connolly, or any of the others.
“I’m going to need you all for a few more hours and then I’ll let you get back to your families and loved ones,” the Countess announced. Everyone rose to their feet, and I whispered to Grace that I should probably return upstairs. She nodded, gesturing to Jack. He came over to us.
“You’ll take Caroline home?” Grace asked.
“I will, of course,” Jack responded. I cast one last look around the basement, realizing how quiet and bare it was now that the printing press had stopped and the weapons were all safely stowed away. My last sight of the Countess was of her standing gin the center of the room, absent-mindedly patting the head of a Fianna boy. I followed Jack up the stairs.
When we emerged onto the street the sun was setting, glinting in the windows of the shops we passed. Jack stretched, yawning. He seemed quite at ease with me now. He led me home by a different way, up streets that were dank and drab, where the men and women who passed us wore tattered clothes and stared at us with hostile eyes. A man came to the door of a public house and flung out a bucket of filthy water so that it splashed my skirt. Jack barely seemed to notice, humming, intent on his own thoughts. I was immensely grateful that I had not had to walk back alone.
“Long day for you, what?” Jack enquired suddenly.
“Yes,” I admitted shyly. “It was strange to be so close the Countess. She’s quite a character.”
“Ah, that’s true, but we’ve all grown up around her. She has a heart of gold, that one. But she’s as good as any man in a fight. Best of both worlds.”
“Maybe, yes,” I said, blushing. “Look, I’m sorry I asked about Grace earlier. It was impertinent. I shouldn’t have interfered.”
Jack shrugged, looking at me kindly. “You’ve every right in the world, from what I hear.”
I looked away, embarrassed.
“I’m glad you’re around, Caroline—mind if I call you that? For Grace’s sake, in case anything happens to me. I can count on you to stand by her, can I?”
“Of course,” I murmured.
He nodded, relieved to have got that tricky business over with. I stood on the steps of the house.
“Is this the last time I’ll see you?” I asked.
“Shouldn’t be. I’m calling for Grace tomorrow.”
“All the same . . . good luck,” I told him. I held out my hand and Jack clasped it in his.
“And the same to you. It can’t be easy. I’m grateful you didn’t take her away.”
“How could I have done that?” I asked, puzzled. “It was never a hard choice for her. I know that much.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, looking at me directly. “It was very hard on her. I knew she’d do the right thing but I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d left with you. She’s had so little happiness... I told her, “Get through this thing with me and then you can go off to London with your English girl.’”
I gasped, my face burning with sudden shock. “Jack, are you serious?”
“Of course,” he said. “Grace isn’t really cut out for this, you know. Not the way it’s going to be if the rising fails. It’ll be guerilla warfare then, slow, bloody, and brutal. I don’t mind giving years of my life to it but I don’t see why she should.”
I sat down on the grimy steps, clasping my hands to my knees.
“You’re surprised at me saying that, aren’t you?” he said gently.
“She’s never promised me anything,” I blurted out. “I don’t think she’s sure of anything.”
Jack shrugged. “Grace never gives promises; she doesn’t like going back on her word. Don’t despair of her, though. Sure, she’s distracted most of the time, thinking of you. She’s sweet on you, believe me. She wouldn’t have gone to meet you yesterday if she didn’t mean to stick with you. Don’t you know that?”
I could say nothing, breathless and near tears as I was. I had been keyed up for the whole day, pushing away emotion, and his words—so welcome yet strangely shocking—pierced my defenses and caused me to unravel.
“There’s always hope,” Jack said. It was his way of bidding me farewell, for when I looked up he was far away, a small figure on a darkening street heading back to Liberty Hall.