The Guns of Easter (7 page)

THE FOLLOWING MORNING JIMMY WOKE EARLY
. He heard no movement. In the half-light he saw that Ma and Sarah were still asleep, their heads on the same pillow. Sarah had slept through most of yesterday, but had woken for long enough to eat some soup from one of Jimmy’s tins. It was the first food she’d had for days, a sign that her fever had lessened.

Jimmy got up quietly now. He heard no sounds outside. He didn’t hesitate: he was afraid that if he did he wouldn’t go at all. He’d feel too guilty, thinking of Ma’s worry. He wished he could leave her a note, but they had no pens or pencils and he couldn’t think what he might say.

He crept to the door and turned the handle. It made no noise. As soon as the gap was wide enough he squeezed out through it and closed the door quietly behind him.

It wasn’t fully light. The hall and stairs were still dark. There was a drunk asleep on the landing, but Jimmy skipped over him lightly and continued on his way. Outside he saw no-one, just one more huddled form snoring by some railings.

Jimmy looked mistrustfully at the sky. It had rained yesterday evening, and he hoped it wouldn’t rain again today. The thin, worn jacket that he was wearing was his only coat. His head felt a bit odd, and he hoped that he hadn’t caught Sarah’s fever. That would be a disaster.

Sackville Street was deserted. Most of the roadway and pavement were covered with broken and abandoned loot. It made a thick layer that had been soaked by the rain and then trampled underfoot.

‘What are you doing here, boy?’ The voice came from behind him. Jimmy jumped in fright and whirled around.

A Volunteer carrying a rifle was looking at him from the recess of a shop doorway. The man’s face was white, his eyes rimmed with dark circles. He looked exhausted.

‘Well?’ the Volunteer demanded. ‘Are you deaf? I said what are you doing here? Looking for something to steal, is it? You’re too late, your mates have already taken it all.’ His voice was sour under the tiredness.

‘I’m doing nothing,’ Jimmy said. He swallowed. ‘I just came to see what was happening. I was afraid the British might be here.’

The young Volunteer smiled, but it was a bitter smile. ‘They are,’ he said. He gestured up Sackville Street with his rifle. ‘Look for yourself. They haven’t started shooting yet, but they’re here all right.’

Jimmy stared up Sackville Street. There were figures moving about near the Parnell Monument at the top of the
street. Jimmy could just make out the khaki of their uniforms.

‘They came during the night,’ the young Volunteer said. ‘It’s swarming with them up there – and down the other end too, beyond the river. They took our positions around the City Hall.’

‘City Hall? I heard there was shooting down that way yesterday.’

‘There was plenty of that. I’m sure the Citizen Army gave them a lot to worry about.’

‘I’ve an uncle in the Citizen Army,’ Jimmy said. ‘He’s in the Green.’

The young Volunteer’s face softened. ‘An uncle, eh?’ he said. ‘And are you proud of him, boy?’

‘’Course I am,’ Jimmy said without hesitation.

The man nodded in approval. ‘The Green is empty now,’ he said finally. ‘The British brought machine-guns up yesterday. Mallin took the men into the College of Surgeons. There’s nobody now in the Green but the dead.’

The dead. The words hit Jimmy like a slap in the face. Was Mick one of those dead in the Green? Was he lying there now, with his arms stretched out like the young Lancer in Sackville Street on Monday?

‘I have to get across the river,’ he said to the young rebel. ‘Would I get over O’Connell Bridge?’

The young man pondered. ‘No,’ he said. ‘The shooting will start in earnest soon. They’ll attack today.’

‘And … will they drive you out?’ Again Jimmy blushed, aware that his question was two-edged. He did not want the British to drive them out, but if the army did dislodge the rebels from Sackville Street then the fighting would move somewhere else and his family would be safe.

The Volunteer pointed towards the Post Office. ‘Look at that place,’ he said. ‘It’s like a fortress. They’d need artillery to get us out – that or a very hard fight.’

He seemed to come to life now. He put the butt of his rifle on the ground, and leaned on the barrel. ‘If you have to cross the river,’ he said, ‘it might be safer down at Tara Street. You can cut down by the quays. Don’t go near Amiens Street, though; the British are there too. See what’s going on around Liberty Hall. If it’s quiet there you’ll be grand.’

‘But won’t the army attack Liberty Hall?’

‘They can if they like, but there’s nobody there.’

He stretched and yawned. Jimmy wondered if he’d been keeping watch from the doorway all night.

‘I must go,’ said the Volunteer. He reached into his pocket and felt for something. He held out a slab of chocolate. ‘Here,’ he said.

Jimmy took the chocolate. He’d had nothing to eat since yesterday. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered.

The Volunteer walked carefully to the corner and looked up and down Sackville Street. He gave Jimmy a last smile. ‘Good luck, son,’ he said, and ran out into the street.

Jimmy watched the young man go. He didn’t run in a straight line, but zigzagged after every few yards. Jimmy heard several flat cracks that must be rifles. They sounded different from the rebel guns.

None of the bullets hit the young man. He crossed Sackville Street safely and disappeared into Prince’s Street.

Jimmy looked again towards O’Connell Bridge, then back up towards the army. He would try Butt Bridge, as the Volunteer had suggested. It was the next bridge downriver. All Jimmy had to do was avoid the larger streets as he worked his way towards it. That would be simple enough; he knew the backstreets and alleyways like the back of his hand.

With a last look at the Post Office, Jimmy went back down Abbey Street. It was time to enter enemy territory.

NORMALLY IT WASN’T MUCH MORE
than a five-minute walk down Abbey Street to Beresford Place, where the bridge crossed the Liffey between Liberty Hall and the mass of the Customs House. Today, though, it took Jimmy more than twice that long to get there. He went slowly and very carefully, all the time feeling that he was being watched. He couldn’t see anybody, but there might be Volunteers in some of the Abbey Street houses. The British were close by as well; maybe they too were sending men into houses, closing in on the rebel positions.

Jimmy didn’t like feeling watched, so he took to the backstreets. After a few steps into Old Abbey Street he saw an overcoat lying in the gutter. It was a bit stained from lying in the street, but otherwise it seemed brand new. Maybe someone carrying a bundle of stolen clothes had dropped it without noticing.

It looked as if it had come from the boys’ department of some fancy shop. Jimmy took a quick look around him, but saw nobody. He bent and picked up the coat, and quickly put it on. It was too big for him, but fitted better over his jacket. He decided to keep it. He might be away
for a long time, and the coat would keep him dry if the rain came again.

Just behind Liberty Hall, Jimmy walked carefully out into Beresford Place. He saw nothing moving on either side of the river. To his left was the great bulk of the Customs House. Ahead was the river itself, the Liffey, crossed here by Butt Bridge and the overhead railway bridge.

The whole area was unnaturally quiet and empty. Jimmy was suddenly afraid, for no good reason that he could see. Maybe it was just the idea of crossing the river. He stepped out into Beresford Place, heading for the bridge.

Movement on the river caught his eye, and he looked down the Liffey. A boat was steaming up towards the bridge. Jimmy quickened his pace. The sooner he got across the river, the better he would feel.

Every step across the bridge seemed to take a very long time. He swung his arms by his sides. He wanted it to be clear to anybody looking that he was just a defenceless boy minding his own business. He had no gun. He wasn’t dangerous. There was no reason for anyone to shoot him.

In the still morning air he heard a clatter of metal on stone from behind him. He looked casually over his shoulder, and suddenly noticed men looking out from the roof of the Customs House. They wore military caps and carried rifles. They were the British army and he was
walking right under their guns!

‘You there!’ roared a voice. ‘Boy!’ For the second time that morning Jimmy’s heart skipped a beat. He stopped, uncertain, then looked over to Burgh Quay on the other side of the river, where the call had come from. A man was staring at him. He had a very red face.

‘Get off that bridge, quick!’ he roared at Jimmy. ‘Come on! Get over here!’ The man had a Northern Irish accent. There was urgency as well as command in his voice, and Jimmy found himself obeying. He ran towards Burgh Quay, his eyes fixed on the red face.

The man’s eyes glared at him. ‘Come here!’ he ordered. He was a soldier. He reached out and grabbed Jimmy’s arm, and flung the boy to the ground.

‘What have we here, then?’ he growled. ‘A little rebel spy, is it?’ He was a big man and he wore sergeant’s stripes. Two soldiers were with him. The sergeant gripped Jimmy’s arm tightly and he gasped with pain.

Fear and pain made Jimmy dumb. He shook his head, helpless. Then came the most frightening sound that he had ever heard in his life. It was a great, roaring boom, as though all the fireworks in the world had gone off at once. It came from close by, and was followed almost immediately by a huge metallic shrieking clang. Jimmy heard himself whimpering in terror. The soldiers, even the sergeant, had flinched too.

One of the younger soldiers looked down the quay,
and someone down there shouted something to him. ‘Stupid swine,’ said the soldier amiably. ‘They hit the railway bridge.’

The sergeant swore. ‘Trust the bloody navy,’ he said bitterly.

Jimmy felt himself grow suddenly cold inside. It was no longer just fear for himself. He knew now what was going on: the boat on the river was a British Navy boat. The British were shelling Dublin city!

The sergeant pulled Jimmy up until his face was only inches from his own. The sergeant’s face was hard and rough, with a scar high on one cheek. His bright blue eyes bored into Jimmy’s.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘What’s your business here?’

‘Please, sir,’ said Jimmy. ‘My Ma sent me out to look for food. There’s none on the northside.’

The sergeant still stared suspiciously into Jimmy’s eyes. Jimmy almost whimpered again. This man, now, did look like an enemy.

‘Oh, come off it, sergeant,’ said one of the other two soldiers. ‘He’s just a kid. He’s no rebel – anyone can see that.’ The soldier also had an Ulster accent, but his voice was soft and kindly.

The sergeant grunted thoughtfully. His face relaxed. His grip on Jimmy’s arm relaxed a little too. ‘You say there’s no food up there, eh?’ he asked.

‘No, sir,’ said Jimmy quickly. ‘Not a scrap. The shops
were all looted. My sister is sick and my Ma is afraid to go out and leave her.’

‘Looting, eh?’ said the third soldier. ‘Damned rebels!’

Jimmy wanted to shout at the small, thin-faced soldier that it certainly wasn’t the rebels who’d been looting, that the Volunteers had actually tried to stop it. But he kept silent, afraid of giving his sympathies away. Help came, though, from an unexpected quarter.

‘You ever been in them slums up there, Proctor?’ the sergeant asked.

‘No, sergeant,’ said the thin-faced soldier.

The sergeant grunted in scorn. ‘Then, you don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘They’re the filthiest slums in Europe – even worse than the ones you come from, Proctor. It’s a disgrace to make people live like that.’

The thin man’s face flushed, but he said nothing.

‘If there was looting,’ the sergeant said, ‘then it was them poor people up there that did it – and more power to them, I say. I’m only surprised they never did it before.’

There was another tremendous boom that caught all of them by surprise. It was followed almost immediately by the sound of rending masonry, and by a loud cheer from many voices.

‘That sounds a bit better,’ said Proctor, who seemed glad to change the subject.

‘Please, sergeant,’ said Jimmy. ‘Where are they shelling? My family is back there.’

The sergeant looked at him, tight-lipped. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Well, if the navy can shoot at all then your family should be fine. They’re firing at Liberty Hall.’

‘But it’s empty!’ Jimmy exclaimed. His words were drowned out by a rattle of machine-gun fire. The sergeant peered out over the top of the crate he was using for shelter.

‘Here, Martin,’ he said. ‘Get this kid out of here. We can’t have children wandering around with a fight about to start.’

Private Martin smiled at Jimmy. ‘Right, young fellow,’ he said. ‘You come with me.’

‘Get him a cup of tea or something,’ said the sergeant gruffly. ‘He looks as if he could do with it.’

Jimmy’s efforts to think of these men as enemies were beginning to weaken – enemies didn’t give you cups of tea.

Martin beckoned Jimmy to follow him and moved across the road, crouched down and running. Jimmy almost told him not to worry, that there was nobody shooting at him. But the world had turned so strange that he was afraid to tell anyone anything.

WHEN HE FOLLOWED THE DODGING SOLDIER
into Tara Street Jimmy got yet another shock. There was a mass of khaki figures by the fire station at the bottom of the street. He would have seen them from the bridge if the sergeant hadn’t distracted him.

‘What’s your name, lad?’ Martin asked. He was walking upright now that they were out of danger from the imagined guns.

‘Jimmy. Jimmy Conway.’

‘Good,’ Martin said. ‘I’m Jimmy too. Jimmy Martin.’

The machine-guns began to fire again from behind them, and were joined by a rattle of rifle fire. From the redbrick tower of the fire station ahead Jimmy saw a flicker of flames. He realised that there was a machine-gun post up there. It seemed strange to spend so much effort when a simple check would show that Liberty Hall was undefended.

‘There’s loads of soldiers here,’ he said.

‘Thousands in the city,’ Martin told him. ‘And fresh troops landed from England last night too. You needn’t worry – it will all be over soon. You worried about your
people back home?’

‘Yes,’ Jimmy said. And my people in the Post Office and the Green, he thought, but he kept that to himself.

‘It shouldn’t be any problem for us,’ Martin said.

Jimmy felt he should say something good about the rebels. The confidence of the army seemed almost insulting. He remembered what the young Volunteer in Abbey Street had said.

‘The Post Office is built like a fort,’ he told Martin.

Behind them the boat’s gun boomed again. Martin jerked his head in the direction of the sound.

‘Them guns knock down forts,’ he said simply.

They were close to the soldiers by the fire station now. The men were relaxing, sitting or standing around at the corner with Brunswick Street. Waiting for the order to attack, Jimmy thought. He hesitated. Martin noticed, and smiled down at him. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘They’re a rough-looking lot, but it’s not you they’re after.’

Then they were among the soldiers. Martin asked about getting some tea. After a while someone put a steaming mug in Jimmy’s hands. Jimmy felt terrified among these khaki figures. Soldiers were no longer people whose marches you followed: they were people whose job it was to shoot other people. He knew that he would never follow a parade again. Parades were just things that soldiers did in between shooting people. Jimmy tried not to think of his Da.

The tea was hot and sweet and strong and tasted very good. The soldiers were friendly in a gruff way. In between sips from the mug Jimmy tried to answer their questions about how things were beyond the river.

‘You say all the people are still in their houses up there?’ one of them asked.

‘They had no chance to get out.’

‘You got out, though,’ said another man.

Jimmy explained that he’d had to. He talked again about the lack of food, about his father fighting in France and his sick sister burning with fever. It was a good performance, and the soldiers were sympathetic.

‘He’s a brave wee fellow,’ said a corporal with hair so grey it was almost silver. ‘I hope my lad would do the same if this was Belfast.’

‘Brave!’ said Martin. ‘I should say he’s brave! Why, you should have seen him coming across that bridge, swinging his arms. Every gun in the place was aimed at him, and he crosses over as cool as you please.’

The men were impressed. There were mutterings of praise all round.

When he had gulped down his tea Jimmy said that he must be going. He invented a relative who lived, he said, in Fitzwilliam Square. But he was almost caught out by one soldier, who obviously knew Dublin fairly well.

‘That’s a very posh area for you to have a relative in isn’t it?’ he asked, eyeing Jimmy’s clothes. Even the new coat
looked shabby after its night in the gutter.

‘Oh,’ said Jimmy, thinking quickly, ‘she’s a maid there.’

The soldiers asked him to wait a minute. Jimmy thought he had given the game away.

The corporal with the silver hair went around among the men. When he had finished he came back and gave Jimmy a heavy handful of coins.

‘There’s nearly five shillings there, lad,’ he said. ‘If you can’t find your relative then you can try to get some food in a shop. Someone will tell you where to find one open.’

Jimmy took the money with a red face and stammered thanks. It was more money than he’d ever held in his hands before – almost a quarter of a guinea! He thrust the pile of coins into the pocket of his soiled new coat. As he did, he felt something else that was in the pocket already. It was something cold and metallic.

The thought struck him that it might be a gun or weapon of some kind. He was too frightened to feel it further, but pulled his hand out of the pocket as though he’d touched something red hot. He must get away and check this.

There were more delays as the soldiers argued among themselves about the best route for him to take. Jimmy listened impatiently. His heart had been pounding since finding the metal thing in his pocket. It didn’t feel heavy enough to be a gun, but he hoped that it wasn’t a bullet or a knife. If it was then he must get rid of it. It would be fatal
if he were searched by any soldiers and found to have a weapon. They would be sure he was a spy, in spite of his age.

Even when he did get away from the soldiers, Jimmy wasn’t alone. Private Martin insisted on going with him for a small part of the way.

‘You’re my responsibility,’ he said. ‘If our men at Trinity College see you walking with me they’ll know you’re all right. A true, loyal Dubliner, aren’t you?’

Loyal to what though, Jimmy wondered. He didn’t dare refuse the offer. Trembling, he thanked the other soldiers for the money. They bade him a cheerful goodbye, their good wishes blending with the boom and crack and rattle of the gunfire around them.