on to say that these things were done to him, and it is
true that he bore ill-will to no man, and that he accepted blows, and
indignities and ridicule with the pathetic candour of a child who is
disguised as a man, and whose disguise cannot come off. His tongue, his
pen, his body, all that he had and hoped for were at the immediate
service of whoever was bewildered or oppressed. He has been shot. Other
men have been shot, but they faced the guns knowing that they faced
justice, however stern and oppressive; and that what they had engaged to
confront was before them. He had no such thought to soothe from his mind
anger or unforgiveness. He who was a pacifist was compelled to revolt to
his last breath, and on the instruments of his end he must have looked
as on murderers. I am sure that to the end he railed against oppression,
and that he fell marvelling that the world can truly be as it is. With
his death there passed away a brave man and a clean soul.

Later on this day I met Mrs. Sheehy Skeffington in the street. She
confirmed the rumour that her husband had been arrested on the previous
day, but further than that she had no news. So far as I know the sole
crime of which her husband had been guilty was that he called for a
meeting of the citizens to enrol special constables and prevent looting.

Among the rumours it was stated with every accent of certitude that
Madame Markievicz had been captured in George's Street, and taken to the
Castle. It was also current that Sir Roger Casement had been captured at
sea and had already been shot in the Tower of London. The names of
several Volunteer Leaders are mentioned as being dead. But the surmise
that steals timidly from one mouth flies boldly as a certitude from
every mouth that repeats it, and truth itself would now be listened to
with only a gossip's ear, but no person would believe a word of it.

This night also was calm and beautiful, but this night was the most
sinister and woeful of those that have passed. The sound of artillery,
of rifles, machine guns, grenades, did not cease even for a moment. From
my window I saw a red flare that crept to the sky, and stole over it and
remained there glaring; the smoke reached from the ground to the clouds,
and I could see great red sparks go soaring to enormous heights; while
always, in the calm air, hour after hour there was the buzzing and
rattling and thudding of guns, and, but for the guns, silence.

It is in a dead silence