Inside the post-office our men were busy putting things to right after the lancers' attack. They were getting ready for prolonged resistance. Window-panes were smashed, and barricades set up to protect men who soon would be shooting from behind them. Provisions were brought over from Liberty Hall, where they had long been stored against this day. But what impressed me most was the way the men went at it, as though this was the usual sort of thing to be doing and all in the day's work. There was no sign of excitement, but there was a tenseness, a sense of expectancy, a kind of exaltation, that was almost more than I could bear.
I delivered my despatch, and was given another to carry back to Commandant Mallin. Crowds were still in O'Connell Street when I left on my errand. They were always there when bullets were not flying, and always seemed in sympathy with the men in the post-office. I found this same sympathy all over the city wherever I went. Even when men would not take guns and join us, they were friendly.
The soldiers from Portobello barracks were sent out twice on Monday to attack our position in St. Stephen's Green. The first time was at noon, before we were completely intrenched. They had gone only as far as Portobello Bridge, but a few rods from the barracks, when they were fired on from the roof of Davies's public-house just the other side of the bridge. Our rifle-fire was uninterrupted, and a number of the soldiers fell. They probably thought they were dealing with a considerable force, for they did not advance until the firing ceased or until word was brought to the _three men_ on the roof that we were securely intrenched. Even then they did not come on to attack us, but went somewhere else in the city.
At six o'clock that evening, just when it was beginning to grow dusk, on my way back from the post-office I noticed that the crowd of curious civilians who had been hanging about the Green all day had quite disappeared. The next thing I saw was two persons hurrying away from the Green. These were Town Councilor Partridge and the countess. They came to a halt in the street just ahead of me. Then I saw the British soldiers coming up Harcourt Street!
The countess stood motionless, waiting for them to come near. She was a lieutenant in the Irish Volunteers and, in her officer's uniform and black hat with great plumes, looked most impressive. At length she raised her gun to her shoulder--it was an "automatic" over a foot long, which she had converted into a short rifle by taking out the wooden holster and using it as a stock--and took aim. Neither she nor Partridge noticed me as I came up behind them. I was quite close when they fired. The shots rang out at the same moment, and I saw the two officers leading the column drop to the street. As the countess was taking aim again, the soldiers, without firing a shot, turned and ran in great confusion for their barracks. The whole company fled as fast as they could from _two_ people, one of them a woman! When you consider, however, that for years these soldiers had been going about Dublin as if they owned it; that now they did not know from what house or street corner they might be fired upon by men in green uniforms, it is not to be wondered at that they were temporarily demoralized.