City of Cork was in the hands of the Volunteers, and, to that extent,
might be said to be peaceful. German warships had defeated the English,
and their transports were speeding from every side. The whole country
was up, and the garrison was out-numbered by one hundred to one. These
Dublin barracks which had not been taken were now besieged and on the
point of surrender.

I think this man created and winged every rumour that flew in Dublin,
and he was the sole individual whom I heard definitely taking a side. He
left me, and, looking back, I saw him pouring his news into the ear of a
gaping stranger whom he had arrested for the purpose. I almost went
back to hear would he tell the same tale or would he elaborate it into a
new thing, for I am interested in the art of story-telling.

At eleven o'clock the rain ceased, and to it succeeded a beautiful
night, gusty with wind, and packed with sailing clouds and stars. We
were expecting visitors this night, but the sound of guns may have
warned most people away. Three only came, and with them we listened from
my window to the guns at the Green challenging and replying to each
other, and to where, further away, the Trinity snipers were crackling,
and beyond again to the sounds of war from Sackville Street. The firing
was fairly heavy, and often the short rattle of machine guns could be
heard.

One of the stories told was that the Volunteers had taken the South
Dublin Union Workhouse, occupied it, and trenched the grounds. They were
heavily attacked by the military, who, at a loss of 150 men, took the
place. The tale went that towards the close the officer in command
offered them terms of surrender, but the Volunteers replied that they
were not there to surrender. They were there to be killed. The garrison