I glimpsed a wicked-looking little whippet tank
with two very conscious British officers just head and shoulders out. Still
further down were three covered motor lorries that had been used to convey
the soldiers.

Sean, for the especial benefit of constable just ahead: "Wars for democracy
and small nations! And that's the only way they can keep us in the British
empire. Brute force. Nice exhibition for the American journalists in town."

Constable stalked Sean back to edge of crowd. Sean looked at him steadily
with slight twinkle in his eye. Miss Barton, Miss Pankhurst, and I climbed
up a low stone wall that commanded the guarded street, and clung to the
iron paling on top. Sean came and stood beneath.

Miss Pankhurst, regarding crowd in puzzled manner: "Why do you all smile?
When the suffragists were arrested we used to become furious."

Sean looking up at her in kindly manner in which old rebel might glance at
impatient young rebel: "You forget. We're very used to this."

Miss Pankhurst made an unexpected jump from her place. She wedged her way
to the line of soldiers. As she talked to two young Tommies they blushed
and fiddled with their bayonets like girls with their first bouquets of
flowers. Twice a British major admonished them.

Miss Pankhurst, returning: "Welsh boys. Just babies. I asked them why they
came out armed to kill fellow workers. They said they had enlisted for the
war. If they had known they were to be sent to Ireland they would have
refused to go. I told them it was not too late to act. They could take off
their uniforms. But they? They're weak--weak."

As dusk fell, party capes and tulle mists of head dresses began to appear
between the drab or tattered suits of the bystanders. Among the coming
reception guests was Susan Mitchell, co-editor with George Russell on
_The Irish Homestead_.

Susan Mitchell, of constable: "Can't I go through? No? But there's to be a
party, and the tea will get all cold."

In the courage of the crowd, the people began to sing The Soldiers' Song.
It took courage. It was shortly after John O'Sheehan had been sentenced for
two years for caroling another seditious lyric. A surge of sound brought
out the words: "The west's awake!" Dying yokes. And a sudden
right-about-face movement of the throng.

Crowd shouting: "Up the Americans!"

With Sinn Fein and American flags flying, the delegates' car rolled up to
the outskirts of the crowd. A sharp order. The crowd-fearin