time the belief grows that the Volunteers may be able to hold out
much longer than had been imagined. The idea at first among the people
had been that the insurrection would be ended the morning after it had
began. But to-day, the insurrection having lasted three days, people are
ready to conceive that it may last for ever. There is almost a feeling
of gratitude towards the Volunteers because they are holding out for a
little while, for had they been beaten the first or second day the City
would have been humiliated to the soul.

People say: "Of course, they will be beaten." The statement is almost a
query, and they continue, "but they are putting up a decent fight." For
being beaten does not greatly matter in Ireland, but not fighting does
matter. "They went forth always to the battle; and they always fell,"
Indeed, the history of the Irish race is in that phrase.

The firing from the roofs of Trinity College became violent. I crossed
Dame Street some distance up, struck down the Quays, and went along
these until I reached the Ballast Office. Further than this it was not
possible to go, for a step beyond the Ballast Office would have brought
one into the unending stream of lead that was pouring from Trinity and
other places. I was looking on O'Connell Bridge and Sackville Street,
and the house facing me was Kelly's--a red-brick fishing tackle shop,
one half of which was on the Quay and the other half in Sackville
Street. This house was being bombarded.

I counted the report of six different machine guns which played on it.
Rifles innumerable and from every sort of place were potting its
windows, and at intervals of about half a minute the shells from a heavy
gun lobbed in through its windows or thumped mightily against its walls.

For three hours that bombardment continued, and the walls stood in a
cloud of red dust and smoke. Rifle and machine gun bullets pattered over
every inch of it, and, unfailingly the heavy gun pounded its shells
through the windows.

One's heart melted at the idea that human beings were crouching inside
that volcano of death, and I said to myself, "Not even a fly can be
alive in that house."

No head showed at any window, no rifle cracked from window or roof in
reply. The house was dumb, lifeless, and I thought every one of those
men are dead.

It was then, and quite suddenly, that the possibilities of street
fighting flashed on me, and I knew there was no person in the house, and
said