I Signed My Death Warrant (5 page)

Eamon de Valera delivered a short presidential address. ‘Speaking with great emphasis and obvious sincerity, de Valera soared into the realms of pure theory and lofty idealism,' according to
The Irish Times
correspondent. It reminded one reporter of Woodrow Wilson's famous speech at the opening of the Paris Peace Conference in January 1919. ‘One had the same impression of moral fervour and passionate sincerity and the same unwelcome convictions that disillusionment lay in store,' the correspondent noted. ‘As a shrewd observer of human affairs remarked on that occasion when the American President resumed his seat: “
C'est magnifique
; but it is not hard tacks”.'

Speaking off the cuff de Valera caused a bit of a stir when he talked about the unmistakable answer given by the people in the recent general election. ‘I do not say that the answer was for a form of government so much, because we are not Republican doctrinaires,' he said, ‘but it was for Irish freedom and Irish independence, and it was obvious to everyone who considered the question that Irish independence could not be realised in any other way so suitably as through a Republic.' Yet he had indicated to both Smuts and Lloyd George that the unfettered status of the dominions would be acceptable.

‘Great numbers of people were not Republicans,' Robert Barton explained. ‘They were sympathetic but not sincere Republicans. They suffered willingly and gave the Republican leadership enthusiastic support because public opinion and patriotism demanded it and because the Irish Army could punish as well as the English. But the resistance of the people was measured by the resistance of the leaders. To the outside observer the demand for complete independence may have appeared to spring from the people; in reality the people were infused by the leaders and the strength of the National demand.'

In a further speech next day, 17 August, de Valera elaborated by emphasising his personal readiness to compromise on partition and defence, as well as on the issue of association with the British commonwealth. ‘I would be willing to suggest to the Irish people to give up a good deal in order to have an Ireland that could look to the future without anticipating distracting internal problems,' he said. The unionists in the six counties were ‘Irishmen living in Ireland', so he would be prepared to give up a lot to win them over. ‘We are ready,' he emphasised, ‘to make sacrifices we could never think of making for Britain.'

The main demands made by the British in the July proposals related to membership of the British commonwealth and defensive measures. De Valera openly indicated a distinct willingness to compromise. ‘We are never likely to complete with Britain in armaments,' he said. ‘Therefore, we have no hesitation in entering into any agreement on the limitation of armaments, provided it is obvious that they intend it for that good and wise purpose, and not simply for the purpose of disarming us or making us helpless.'

Since the British described their relations with the dominions as ‘free and friendly co-operation,' he intimated that such a relationship would be acceptable. ‘The cooperation of the British dominions is free,' he told the Dáil. ‘They have said that as a proof that it was free, they could get out of it, if they wanted to. They have not chosen to get out.'

Collins spoke rarely during the session, except in his capacity as minister for finance on financial matters, but one intervention was poignant in a discussion on the operation of the republican courts. There was no doubt that he was getting a dig in at Stack. ‘The courts broke down for the reason that the machinery was not held together,' the Big Fellow complained. ‘There was not enough work done locally or at headquarters.'

The way Collins crossed the bounds of his own portfolio to express views on other matters might have been more acceptable if he had not been so resentful of similar interference in his own areas. He behaved as if others should abide by certain rules, while he was free to improvise as he went along.

‘What the hell do you know about finance?' he snapped at Stack one day, when the latter had the temerity to make some suggestion.

‘I know more about finance, than you know about manners!' Stack replied.

On 18 August the Dáil went into a private session from which the press and public were excluded, and de Valera spoke much more candidly. For instance, he stated it was a fact ‘that no nation would recognise the Irish Republic, unless that nation was prepared to go to war with Britain.' While he would be very glad of such support, he said ‘that was a very vague hope.'

In the course of a rather rambling discussion during a private session on 22 August, de Valera seemed to be almost echoing the
New Statesman
when he told deputies that if they were determined to make peace only on the basis of recognition of the Republic, then they were going to be faced with war, only this time it would be a real war of British re-conquest, not just a continuation of limited military coercive measures ‘in support of the civil police' to force some people to obey the law. In short, he was saying the War of Independence had not been a real war at all.

Although de Valera's remarks were couched in terms of out­­lining stark realities so the Dáil could decide the best course for itself, there was absolutely no room for doubt about his readiness to compromise, even on important issues like the partition question. He gave the private session an idea of what he had meant when he talked publicly about making sacrifices for a settlement.

‘The minority in Ulster had a right to have their sentiments considered to the utmost limit,' he explained, according to the official record. ‘If the Republic were recognised he would be in favour of giving each county power to vote itself out of the Republic if it so wished.' The only choice would be to coerce Northern Ireland, and he was opposed to such coercion because it would not be successful and, anyway, he warned, attempting to coerce the majority in Northern Ireland would be to make the same mistake the British had made with the Irish people as a whole.

On the issue of commonwealth membership, he told deputies ‘they could not turn down what appeared to be, on the face of it, an invitation to join a group of free nations provided it was based on the principles enunciated by President Wilson.' And he also indicated they would have to make concessions to satisfy Britain's security requirements.

‘It was ridiculous of course to say that because Ireland was near Britain she should give Britain safeguards,' de Valera admitted. ‘But,' he continued, ‘America demanded such strategic safeguards from the small island of Cuba.' If security concessions were refused, Britain would depict the Irish as unreasonable, America would agree, as would the international community generally, and then ‘England would be given a free hand to deal with Ireland.' The Irish people's natural moral right to their own island would be eradicated, just as the rights of the American Indians had been trampled on in North America.

‘Look at America,' he said ominously, ‘where are the natives? Wiped off the face of the earth.' The same thing could happen in Ireland. ‘Unfortunately,' he added, ‘they were very far away from living in a world where moral forces counted'; it was ‘brute force' that mattered.

If the deputies insisted on securing recognition of the republic as a totally independent country, they would be acting like prisoners in jail going on hunger-strike to secure their freedom, he explained. If they won, they would have their freedom, but if they lost, they would be dead and have nothing. His choice of allusion was particularly significant because he had always opposed hunger-strikes himself.

De Valera gave only a vague outline of the kind of compromise alternative he had in mind. He demanded what amounted to a blank cheque to negotiate whatever agreement he thought fit, subject only to its subsequent approval by a majority of the Dáil. With the latter due to go back into public session for the formal election of the president, he told the secret session he wanted his own position clearly understood before allowing his name to be put forward.

‘I have one allegiance only to the people of Ireland and that is to do the best we can for the people of Ireland as we conceive it,' he declared. ‘If you propose me I want you all to understand that you propose me understanding that that will be my attitude.' All questions would be discussed, he said, ‘from the point of view absolutely of what I consider the people of Ireland want and what I consider is best from their point of view.'

One deputy interjected to object to the president's stated willingness to allow each of the six counties to vote itself out of the Irish Republic, but de Valera reaffirmed his position. He would be ready to consider allowing counties or provinces to vote themselves out.

‘I do not feel myself bound to consider anything,' he emphasised. ‘I feel myself open to consider everything.' He would not be confined. ‘I will not accept this office if you fetter me in any way whatever,' he declared. ‘I cannot accept office except on the understanding that no road is barred, that we shall be free to consider every method.' The policy of his government would be to do what he thought best for the country and ‘those who would disagree with me would resign.'

Brugha had said at the cabinet meeting of 25 July that the president had no right to consider anything which was not in line with allegiance to the Irish republic, so the latest remarks were a patent effort to ensure such an argument would have no validity in future. De Valera concluded by proposing the Dáil adjourn for the day. No time was allowed for any debate on what he had said; there was no room for discussion, as far as he was concerned. If the deputies wanted him as president they had to accept his terms; otherwise, they should elect somebody else.

Before the election for president on 26 August, however, there was a discrepancy to be cleared up about his actual title as president because, as de Valera admitted, ‘no such office had been created'. Back in 1919 he had simply given himself the title of president without the authority of the Dáil, which had elected him
priomh aire
(prime minister). Now the discrepancy was somewhat obliquely tackled by slipping the term ‘President' into a constitutional amendment limiting the size of the cabinet to seven specified officers – ‘the President who shall also be Prime Minister' and the ministers for foreign affairs, home affairs, defence, finance, local government and economic affairs.

De Valera was duly elected president unanimously, and he delivered a short address extolling in mythical terms the supposed unity within the Dáil. ‘When I was in America I used to be amused about the talk of extremists and moderates and differences of opinion,' he said. ‘There are no differences of opinion amongst us'. He went on to emphasise that this was not only within the cabinet, but also within the whole movement. He then proceeded on to engage in a piece of theatrics to bolster his own carefully cultivated image of passionate sincerity.

It had been agreed to release at noon the text of his latest letter to Lloyd George confirming ‘the anticipatory judgment' of the Dáil's rejection of the British offer. As there was still two minutes to go, he waited in silence for the two minutes. He then read the letter, which concluded by intimating that the British should convene a conference to negotiate a democratic peace settlement. ‘To negotiate such a peace, Dáil Éireann is ready to appoint its representatives, and, if your Government accepts the principle proposed, to invest them with plenary powers to meet and arrange with you for its application in detail.'

De Valera then nominated the six men who were to make up the new cabinet with him. He began with Griffith, then Stack, Brugha, Collins, Cosgrave and finally, Robert Barton. The president also named eight ‘Extra Cabinet Ministers,' who included Kevin O'Higgins, Count George N. Plunkett, Desmond Fitzgerald, Countess Markievicz and Ernest Blythe.

Although Collins had been dropped to fourth place in the pecking order, he delivered the first ministerial report. ‘The President has been sufficiently praised', he declared early in the address in which he went on lavish praise on James O'Mara for his work in America.

De Valera had asked Collins to come out to the United States to organise the bond drive in 1919, but the Big Fellow sent James O'Mara, one of the Dáil's trustees, instead. If it were not for the pioneering work done by O'Mara, they would not have been ‘nearly so successful in raising the money abroad,' according to Collins. He believed he was voicing the feelings of everyone who worked with, or was associated with him. ‘Everyone was particularly grateful to Mr James O'Mara for the work he had done for us,' Collins emphasised.

De Valera was so happy with O'Mara's work that he offered him the post of ambassador to the United States, but O'Mara was far from content with de Valera's performance. He declined the offer because he could no longer ‘hold any official position under the government of the Irish Republic whose President claims such arbitrary executive authority, and in whose judgment of American affairs I have no longer any confidence.' He not only refused the post but also resigned as one of the Dáil's three trustees, and he announced he would not stand for re-election to the Dáil itself. Instead of just accepting the resignation, de Valera sent O'Mara a petulant telegram announcing he was being fired. It was a blatant example of de Valera's presumption of the arbitrary authority about which O'Mara had already complained. Even if O'Mara had not already resigned, de Valera did not have the authority to remove him as a trustee, because the Dáil had appointed him.

The effusive praise that Collins heaped on O'Mara was really a figurative shot across the Long Fellow's bows, though few of those present seemed to have realised that at the time. De Valera had been so touchy about O'Mara's criticism, however, he would not have missed the significance of the Big Fellow's remarks.

The same day in some written answers to questions posed by Clyde A. Beals of
United Press
, Collins appeared to adopt a firmer approach than de Valera's much more moderate tone during the Dáil private session of recent days. He essentially dismissed any suggestion of submitting the British offer to a plebiscite of the Irish people. ‘There is unanimity in rejecting the present proposals,' Collins explained. ‘The proposals constitute no basis that any self-respecting Irish man will consider. An­­other thing – and the thing that counts – is that nationally there can be no free plebiscite while the English forces are in occupation here.'

Asked by Beals whether any alternative to a republic could be submitted to the people, Collins was evasive, rather like a typical of politician. ‘No,' he said. ‘The issue was the Irish re­­pub­­lic – that means Irish freedom. The Irish people stand solidly for that.'

Collins did some of his own posturing in the following days. ‘They have asked me to go north to Armagh for a meeting on Sunday. A rally for Ireland! I must do it although I hate a public meeting like I hate a plague,' he wrote. Armagh was one of the two constituencies from which he had been elected to the Dáil and he planned on expressing strong sentiments. ‘I'm going to endeavour making such an appeal to them as will make them rock to their foundations,' he continue. ‘At least I'm going to try.'

He had little to say about the British offer in his speech in Armagh on 4 September. ‘With regard to the terms themselves I have little to add to what has been said in our letters to the British Government,' he said. ‘These terms are not acceptable to us. They do not give us the substance of freedom.'

He was speaking to nationalists, but his remarks were really directed at the unionist population. He asked the gathering of some 7,000 in the playing field of the local seminary how Sir James Craig could believe in self-determination and deny it to the people of Fermanagh and Tyrone. ‘The Orangemen have been used as a tool in preventing up to the present, what is now inevitable,' Collins said. ‘The moment is near when they will no longer be of use as a tool – when they will, in fact, stand in the way of an agreement with Ireland which has now become essential to British interests. Then they will be thrown aside, and they will find their eyes turned to an England which no longer wants them.

‘Our proposal is,' he added, ‘that they should come in. We can afford to give them more than justice. We can afford to be generous. That is our message to the north, and it is meant for those who are opposed to us rather than for those who are with us. But to those who are with us, I can say that no matter what happens, no matter what the future may bring, we shall not desert them.'

Collins was sharing the platform with Eoin O'Duffy and Harry Boland, among others. ‘If they are for Ireland we will ex­­tend the hand of welcome as we have done in the past,' O'Duffy said. ‘If they decide that they are against Ireland and against their fellow-countrymen, we will have to take suitable action. We will have to put on the screw. The boycott of Belfast – we will tighten that screw, and, if necessary, we will have to use the lead against them.'

Mary MacSwiney complained to Harry Boland that the Collins' speech was ‘much too “safe” on the only point that matters'. The debate about the forthcoming negotiations had already begun even though it had not yet been agreed to hold negotiations. Boland told Collins what MacSwiney had written and the Big Fellow confronted her and she, in turn, protested to Boland, as the debate went in circles. ‘You need not have told your friend Mick that I thought him a compromiser,' she wrote to Boland. ‘He says he is not and I believe him but I wish people could realise that the Republic means the Republic and nothing less.'

On the afternoon of de Valera's formal election as president, when the Dáil first discussed in private session the possibility of appointing a delegation to negotiate he gave no hint that he did not intend to be a member of delegation. During the course of a rambling discussion he talked about ‘the advisability of not committing this Dáil in advance to anything that the plenipotentiaries might do.' He said that they should do ‘the best they could' under the circumstances. ‘Certainly if there was to be any limitations of any kind further than have been stated broadly in their reply he for one could not retain office.

‘Either they gave a free hand to the plenipotentiaries or they tied them up,' he continued according to the official report. ‘If they tied them up they would get no one to go.'

‘They would have to do the best they could for the country and they could not do that if they tied up the hands of their plenipotentiaries,' he repeated later. ‘He would oppose it to the extent of resigning.' He said that all the members of the delegation would have to be ratified by the Dáil. Liam de Róiste formally proposed and Pádraig Ó Máille seconded a motion that the Speaker put to the floor:

... that if plenipotentiaries for negotiation be appointed either by the Cabinet or the Dáil, such plenipotentiaries be given a free hand in such negotiations and duly to report to the Dáil.

The motion was passed unanimously.

De Valera stunned his cabinet colleagues with his announce­ment that he did not intend to take part in the conference with the British. He suggested Arthur Griffith to lead the delegation, with Michael Collins as his back up.

Griffith, who founded Sinn Féin, was born in 1872, He also established the
United Irishman
newspaper, which he used to promote the idea that Irish members of parliament should withdraw from Westminster and set up their own assembly in Dublin. He advocated the creation of a dual monarchy between Britain and Ireland on Austro-Hungarian lines, so he was not a republican, and he did not believe in the use of physical force. He took no part in the Easter Rebellion, but the British jailed him anyway. He stepped down as leader of Sinn Féin to allow de Valera become president of party in 1917. Griffith was promptly elected vice president, and he took over the acting leadership of the party and the movement when de Valera went to the United States in 1919.

The president wished for Collins to accompany Griffith. They had worked well together in the Dáil, but Collins initially refused to go. ‘I was somewhat surprised at his reluctance for he had been rather annoyed with me for not bringing him on the team when I went to meet Lloyd George earlier on in July,' de Valera wrote. ‘I now considered it essential that he should be on the team with Griffith.

‘They by themselves alone, it seemed, would form a well balanced team,' the president continued. ‘Griffith would, I thought, have the confidence of the “moderates” and Collins that of the IRB and the Army.' He added that ‘with these two as the leaders no one could suggest that the delegation was not a strong and representative one.'

Collins did not want to be a part of the delegation, especially when de Valera was staying at home, but he was urged to go by his friend Harry Boland. He and Boland discussed the whole thing for hours at de Valera's home on the night of 30 August.

‘For three hours one night, after the decision had been made to send a delegation to London, I pleaded with de Valera to leave me at home and let some other man take my place as a negotiator,' Collins recalled. ‘The point I tried to impress on de Valera was, that for several years (rightly or wrongly makes no difference) - the English had held me to be the one man most necessary to capture because they held me to be the one man responsible for the smashing of their Secret Service organisation, and for their failure to terrorise the Irish people with their Black-and-Tans.' It really did not matter whether the legend was true, or was simply the product of press sensationalism. ‘The important fact,' he emphasised, ‘was that in England, as in Ireland, the Michael Collins legend existed. It pictured me as the mysterious active menace, elusive, unknown, unaccountable, and in this respect I was the only living Irishman of whom it could be said.'

In effect, Collins was arguing that he was seen as the real leader; so he would be in a better position to influence republicans to accept a compromise if he was not involved in the negotiations. Back in April and May, for instance, Lloyd George had ruled out talks with Sinn Féin, because he did not wish to talk with Collins, whom he considered the real Irish leader. The delegation could always delay in order to consult him or demand further concessions to placate him. The Irish delegation would thereby be able to get better terms from the British without him.

De Valera was not impressed. ‘His argument,' according to Collins, ‘was that aside from whatever truth might be in my view the menace I constituted was of advantage to us.' That was how de Valera explained the situation, but his insistence on the inclusion of Collins was motivated not so much by the belief that he would be an asset to the delegation as the realisation that it would be too risky not to include the real architect of the Black and Tan war.

Collins, after all, had been questioning the president's judgment on military and political matters in the lead up to the Truce and had bitterly resented his exclusion from the delegation that went to London in July. Moreover, he had deliberately stampeded the president in the matter of demanding MacEoin's release, and de Valera – with his acute sensitivity to criticism – was no doubt suspicious of the implied criticism in the Big Fellow's lavish praise of James O'Mara in the Dáil on 26 August.

Very few in the Dáil would have thought there was any sinister significance in those remarks, but de Valera and Collins were aware. From the president's standpoint the best way of committing Collins to any settlement terms was to ensure that he was part of the negotiating team.

When the supreme council of the IRB discussed the issue on 1 September, some members were deeply suspicious of de Valera's motives and they told Collins. ‘There were certain members of the Supreme Council who thought there was something sinister behind the suggestion, and we had the temerity to tell him that he was likely to be made a scapegoat in the matter,' Seán Ó Muirthile, the secretary of the IRB's Supreme Council noted.

‘From what I have learned since I came back from America you will not succeed in overthrowing the British militarily,' Harry Boland argued. ‘If it is a question between Peace and War, I'm for Peace. If there are negotiations I think “Mick” should go, and I'll tell you why. In my opinion a “Gunman” will screw better terms out of them than an ordinary politician.'