The 13th Apostle: A Novel of a Dublin Family, Michael Collins, and the Irish Uprising Read Online Free Page B

always in them because of something, usually a scandal involving a woman other than his wife, Maud Gonne, who was often referred to around Dublin City as “Gone Mad” because of her nationalistic and suffragette endeavors. MacBride’s hatred of the British was also legendary—it had carried him as far as South Africa to fight against them in the Boer War. “Will you join us?” he asked of Eoin.
    “I can’t,” replied Eoin, again pointing. “The children.”
    “Well,” said MacBride, “at least you can march with us to Jacob’s.” Eoin could and would. Soon the brigade was mustered into shape. MacBride and Thomas MacDonagh, the commandant in charge, led them down to the Harcourt Street side of the Green to Cuffe Street, where they made a smart right. They marched the short distance to the rotunda of Jacob’s Biscuit Factory, where Bishop and Aungier Streets met. There they came to a halt. The air was heavy with tension as concerned citizens came out of their tenements to see what all the fuss was about.
    Eoin had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was about to miss one of the greatest moments in Irish history. “I’ll be buggered,” he said under his breath, took then took Mary and Dickie in each hand, and walked them back up Aungier Street, just a block from home.
    “Mary,” he said to his sister, “take Dickie by the hand and bring him home to Mammy.”
    “Where are you going?” she asked.
    Eoin was conflicted. But it was time to stand and deliver. Finally he blurted out, “Jacob’s Biscuit Factory.” He paused. “Tell that to Mammy and Da. Here, take this proclamation, which will explain it to them. Now hold onto Dickie’s hand, and go straight home.” He watched them go down Whitefriar Place by the side of the Carmelite Church, holding their paper boats in their little hands.
    “I’m back,” Eoin said to Vinny at the back of the column.
    Vinny smiled, his tears now just a memory. “It’s going to be a grand adventure,” reassured Vinny.
    Eoin fell in line, and the only thing he could think of was the sentence from the first paragraph of the proclamation: “Ireland, through us, summons her children to her flag and strikes for her freedom.” He looked at Vinny and some of the other young lads, and, with a shiver running down his spine, wondered how Vinny’s grand adventure would play out.

3

    T he two children burst into the tiny scullery, Mary dragging Dickie by the hand. Instinctively, Rosanna knew something was wrong. “Where’s Eoin?” she asked tentatively.
    “He’s gone with the others to Jacob’s,” replied Mary, breathlessly.
    “Why?”
    “Jacob’s has been taken over by the . . .”
    “Fookin’ Fenians,” interjected Dickie, parroting what he had just heard in the street.
    Joseph looked at Rosanna and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Now, now, son,” he finally said, “we shouldn’t be using that dirty word.”
    “Fenian?” replied Dickie.
    “No, the other one,” interrupted Rosanna. She turned to Joseph sternly. “You better go out and get that boy. I don’t know what’s happening. I thought the maneuvers were canceled.”
    “So did I,” replied her husband, putting on his jacket and grabbing his cap.
    Before he could go through the door, Mary held the proclamation out. “Eoin says this will explain all.” They unrolled the proclamation, and, as soon as they saw
    POBLACHT NA H EIREANN .
    their hearts sank. The signatures told the tale.
    “Jesus, Rosanna,” said Joseph. “Pearse, Clarke, and MacDiarmada. It’s the bold Fenian men themselves!” Rosanna sank into a chair in despair. Joseph tried to reassure her. “I’ll be back with the boy in a few minutes.” But it was not a few minutes—he didn’t return for nearly an hour.
    “Well?” asked Rosanna.
    “No luck,” replied Joseph. “The Volunteers have the street cordoned off. They wouldn’t let me through. The fellow I spoke with said he didn’t know any Eoin