shout. ‘It’s the harbinger of liberty !’ He points to a sleek little yacht beating its way toward Howth against the rising gale. It seems to be very low in the water. As the yacht draws nearer we can make out two women among the small crew on deck.
Glancing around, I see Mr MacDonagh talking withthe men in long coats. His face is flushed and his eyes are very bright.
From the far side of the harbour a coast guard vessel flying the Union Jack sets out to meet the yacht. I hold my breath, I’m not sure why. They turn back when they see how many men are gathered at quayside. There are only four or five men on the coast guard boat and almost a thousand of us.
Several taxicabs have arrived by now, and parked on the quay. They leave their motors running.
After skilful manoeuvring to avoid the fishing boats, the yacht reaches the pier. It almost overshoots, but as the lines are thrown out a couple of the Volunteers make a valiant effort to catch them and pull the yacht back. In a couple of minutes the vessel is securely docked. The Fianna in the front row – including Roger and me – quickly go aboard.
When I jump down onto the deck I can feel the yacht sway like a living thing. My stomach comes right up into my throat. But there’s no time to be queasy. The hatches have been removed and we can see the cargo waiting for us below.
The penny drops.
The Asgard is packed with rifles for the Irish Volunteers!
A man in oilskins identifies himself as ErskineChilders, the captain of the yacht, and very politely thanks us for coming. He helps the two women onto the pier, then he and three other men disembark.
Meanwhile some of the Fianna go below. They find the saloon-cabin and passageway almost blocked by stacks of guns, taking up every conceivable inch of space. More are piled onto the bunks and stowed in the lockers. ‘They’ve put their mattresses down on the guns and been sleeping on them!’ a boy shouts to those of us on deck.
They begin handing the weapons out to us through the hatches. As the first rifles appear, some of the Volunteers break ranks and rush forward, shoving the Fianna on the pier aside in their eagerness to get to the guns. It’s awfully dangerous; one boy is almost knocked into the water between the pier and the boat.
Erskine Childers shouts, ‘There’ll be no unloading until someone takes command of those men!’
An extremely tall, bespectacled officer is the first to bring his company under control. He uses his voice like a whiplash. Shame-faced, the Volunteers fall back.
‘That man is a friend of my parents,’ Roger boasts. ‘He’s a maths teacher called de Valera.’
With order restored, we begin handing the weapons up to the Fianna on the pier. The spectators on the hillside cheer! The operation goes with amazingsmoothness, every boy doing his part. By passing them hand to hand along the column, nine hundred rifles and several boxes of ammunition are unloaded in half an hour.
My arms and shoulders ache and my hands are filthy with grease. If I were not wearing my Fianna uniform I would wipe my hands on my clothes. Instead I wipe them on one of the lines securing the Asgard to the pier. I suppose a little grease won’t hurt a piece of wet rope.
The Volunteers pack the rifles into the waiting taxicabs , which roar away toward the city as soon as they are loaded. A number of the Volunteers keep rifles for themselves.
But the ammunition boxes are still sitting on the quay.
Bulmer Hobson calls us to him. ‘It appears the Fianna are the only ones who have enough discipline to be entrusted with ammunition. Empty out the trek cart and put these boxes into it. They’re your responsibility now.’
Are we proud!
In double-quick time we’ve emptied the cart of batons and stacked the wooden ammo boxes inside.
The spectators on the hill, the private motor cars, the heavily-laden taxicabs – all disappear within a matter ofminutes. By the time we leave Howth it looks just like the
Glancing around, I see Mr MacDonagh talking withthe men in long coats. His face is flushed and his eyes are very bright.
From the far side of the harbour a coast guard vessel flying the Union Jack sets out to meet the yacht. I hold my breath, I’m not sure why. They turn back when they see how many men are gathered at quayside. There are only four or five men on the coast guard boat and almost a thousand of us.
Several taxicabs have arrived by now, and parked on the quay. They leave their motors running.
After skilful manoeuvring to avoid the fishing boats, the yacht reaches the pier. It almost overshoots, but as the lines are thrown out a couple of the Volunteers make a valiant effort to catch them and pull the yacht back. In a couple of minutes the vessel is securely docked. The Fianna in the front row – including Roger and me – quickly go aboard.
When I jump down onto the deck I can feel the yacht sway like a living thing. My stomach comes right up into my throat. But there’s no time to be queasy. The hatches have been removed and we can see the cargo waiting for us below.
The penny drops.
The Asgard is packed with rifles for the Irish Volunteers!
A man in oilskins identifies himself as ErskineChilders, the captain of the yacht, and very politely thanks us for coming. He helps the two women onto the pier, then he and three other men disembark.
Meanwhile some of the Fianna go below. They find the saloon-cabin and passageway almost blocked by stacks of guns, taking up every conceivable inch of space. More are piled onto the bunks and stowed in the lockers. ‘They’ve put their mattresses down on the guns and been sleeping on them!’ a boy shouts to those of us on deck.
They begin handing the weapons out to us through the hatches. As the first rifles appear, some of the Volunteers break ranks and rush forward, shoving the Fianna on the pier aside in their eagerness to get to the guns. It’s awfully dangerous; one boy is almost knocked into the water between the pier and the boat.
Erskine Childers shouts, ‘There’ll be no unloading until someone takes command of those men!’
An extremely tall, bespectacled officer is the first to bring his company under control. He uses his voice like a whiplash. Shame-faced, the Volunteers fall back.
‘That man is a friend of my parents,’ Roger boasts. ‘He’s a maths teacher called de Valera.’
With order restored, we begin handing the weapons up to the Fianna on the pier. The spectators on the hillside cheer! The operation goes with amazingsmoothness, every boy doing his part. By passing them hand to hand along the column, nine hundred rifles and several boxes of ammunition are unloaded in half an hour.
My arms and shoulders ache and my hands are filthy with grease. If I were not wearing my Fianna uniform I would wipe my hands on my clothes. Instead I wipe them on one of the lines securing the Asgard to the pier. I suppose a little grease won’t hurt a piece of wet rope.
The Volunteers pack the rifles into the waiting taxicabs , which roar away toward the city as soon as they are loaded. A number of the Volunteers keep rifles for themselves.
But the ammunition boxes are still sitting on the quay.
Bulmer Hobson calls us to him. ‘It appears the Fianna are the only ones who have enough discipline to be entrusted with ammunition. Empty out the trek cart and put these boxes into it. They’re your responsibility now.’
Are we proud!
In double-quick time we’ve emptied the cart of batons and stacked the wooden ammo boxes inside.
The spectators on the hill, the private motor cars, the heavily-laden taxicabs – all disappear within a matter ofminutes. By the time we leave Howth it looks just like the
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