“Would you be hurting the poor men?”

There were other angry ladies who threatened Volunteers, addressing to them this petrifying query: 

“Would you be hurting the poor horses?”

Indeed, the best people in the world live in Dublin.

The lancers retreated to the bottom of Sackville Street, where they remained for some time in the centre of a crowd who were carressing their horses.  It may have seemed to them a rather curious kind of insurrection—­that is, if they were strangers to Ireland.

In the Post Office neighbourhood the Volunteers had some difficulty in dealing with the people who surged about them while they were preparing the barricade, and hindered them to some little extent.  One of the Volunteers was particularly noticeable.  He held a lady’s umbrella in his hand, and whenever some person became particularly annoying he would leap the barricade and chase his man half a street, hitting him over the head with the umbrella.  It was said that the wonder of the world was not that Ireland was at war, but that after many hours the umbrella was still unbroken.  A Volunteer night attack on the Quays was spoken of, whereat the military were said to have been taken by surprise and six carts of their ammunition captured.  This was probably untrue.  Also, that the Volunteers had blown up the Arsenal in the Phoenix Park.

There had been looting in the night about Sackville Street, and it was current that the Volunteers had shot twenty of the looters.

The shops attacked were mainly haberdashers, shoe shops, and sweet shops.  Very many sweet shops were raided, and until the end of the rising sweet shops were the favourite mark of the looters.  There is something comical in this looting of sweet shops—­something almost innocent and child-like.  Possibly most of the looters are children who are having the sole gorge of their lives.  They have tasted sweetstuffs they had never toothed before, and will never taste again in this life, and until they die the insurrection of 1916 will have a sweet savour for them.

I went to the Green.  At the corner of Merrion Row a horse was lying on the footpath surrounded by blood.  He bore two bullet wounds, but the blood came from his throat which had been cut.

Inside the Green railings four bodies could be seen lying on the ground.  They were dead Volunteers.

The rain was falling now persistently, and persistently from the Green and from the Shelbourne Hotel snipers were exchanging bullets.  Some distance beyond the Shelbourne I saw another Volunteer stretched out on a seat just within the railings.  He was not dead, for, now and again, his hand moved feebly in a gesture for aid; the hand was completely red with blood.  His face could not be seen.  He was just a limp mass, upon which the rain beat pitilessly, and he was sodden and shapeless, and most miserable to see.  His companions could not draw him in for the spot was covered by the snipers from the Shelbourne.  Bystanders stated that several attempts had already been made to rescue him, but that he would have to remain there until the fall of night.