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I asked a young American non-commissioned officer how he liked DeValera. He seemed to be as stirred by the name as the young members of DeValera's regiment who besiege Mrs. DeValera for some little valueless possession of the "chief's."
James Connolly, the magisterial Countess Plunkett, Commandant O'Neill of the Citizens' Army, Sean Milroy, who escaped from Lincoln jail with DeValera, and two or three others. Rows of constables were backed against the walls at irregular intervals.
No. There would be no armed revolt till all peaceable methods had failed. If Sinn Fein succeeded in getting separation, would it establish a bolshevistic government? DeValera returned that he was not sure what bolshevism is. As far as he understood bolshevism, Sinn Fein was not bolshevistic. But perhaps, by the way, bolshevism had been as misrepresented in the American press as Sinn Fein.
The last two men had recently escaped from prison and were wanted by the police both, as they say in Ireland, were "on the run." "England kills Irish industry," said the succinct Arthur Griffith as he rose from the right hand of DeValera to address the delegates. "Early in the nineteenth century, England wanted a cheap meat supply center.
When the messenger arrived at eleven to say that no decision had been reached, I made an appointment for an interview on the following day with DeValera. Electricity was in the air by morning. There were all sorts of sparks. Young men in civilian clothes ran for trams with their hands over their hip pockets. A delightful girl whom I had met, boarded my car with a heavy parcel in her hands.
Today, Ireland, capable of supporting 16,000,000, cannot maintain 4,000,000." What is the Sinn Fein remedy for unemployment? Industry. Plans were then under way for DeValera to make his escape to America to obtain American capital to back Irish industry. But money was not to be his sole business. He was to work for the recognition of Irish consuls and Irish mercantile marine.
"You won't," he asked, "say where you came?" "I'm sure," I returned, "I haven't an idea where I am." DeValera was giving rapid, almost breathless, orders in Irish to some one as I entered his room. His thin frame towered above a dark plush-covered table. A fire behind him surrounded him with a soft yellow aura. His white, ascetic, young he is thirty-seven face was lined with determination.
But there was a strained feeling at headquarters as if the decision had been made after a hard fight. Alderman Thomas Kelly, one of the oldest of the Sinn Feiners, told me that he had backed DeValera in his refusal to countenance a needless loss of life, and that it was only after a good struggle that their point had won.
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