spoke of pitched battles on the bridge, and said
that as yet the advantage lay with the Volunteers.

At 11.30 there came the sound of heavy guns firing in the direction of
Sackville Street. I went on the roof, and remained there for some time.
From this height the sounds could be heard plainly. There was sustained
firing along the whole central line of the City, from the Green down to
Trinity College, and from thence to Sackville Street, and the report of
the various types of arm could be easily distinguished. There were
rifles, machine guns and very heavy cannon. There was another sound
which I could not put a name to, something that coughed out over all the
other sounds, a short, sharp bark, or rather a short noise something
like the popping of a tremendous cork.

I met D.H. His chief emotion is one of astonishment at the organizing
powers displayed by the Volunteers. We have exchanged rumours, and found
that our equipment in this direction is almost identical. He says Sheehy
Skeffington has been killed. That he was arrested in a house wherein
arms were found, and was shot out of hand.

I hope this is another rumour, for, so far as my knowledge of him goes,
he was not with the Volunteers, and it is said that he was antagonistic
to the forcible methods for which the Volunteers stood. But the tale of
his death is so persistent that one is inclined to believe it.

He was the most absurdly courageous man I have ever met with or heard
of. He has been in every trouble that has touched Ireland these ten
years back, and he has always been in on the generous side, therefore,
and naturally, on the side that was unpopular and weak. It would seem
indeed that a cause had only to be weak to gain his sympathy, and his
sympathy never stayed at home. There are so many good people who
"sympathise" with this or that cause, and, having given that measure of
their emotion, they give no more of it or of anything else. But he
rushed instantly to the street. A large stone, the lift of a footpath,
the base of a statue, any place and every place was for him a pulpit;
and, in the teeth of whatever oppression or disaster or power, he said
his say.

There are multitudes of men in Dublin of all classes and creeds who can
boast that they kicked Sheehy Skeffington, or that they struck him on
the head with walking sticks and umbrellas, or that they smashed their
fists into his face, and jumped on him when he fell. It is by no means
an exaggerati