The only light in the cell was
that of a candle, the only furniture a crude wooden table, a
chair and a bed. The prisoner, Patrick Pearse, was still
dressed in hte dark-green uniform of the Irish Volunteers. He
was busy writing; his time was short. At dawn he would face
the firing squad in the courtyard of Kilmainham Gaol.
He laid down his pen and read
through the little poem he had written for his mother. He had
promised her this poem, as he said goodbye before setting out
to lead the Easter Rising. There were tears in his mother's
eyes that morning, for she knew well that he and his gallant
band of men had little hope of success against the English
army. He had hoped to see her on this last day; perhaps she
would yet be allowed one short visit before dawn.
He arose and called the officer in
charge. He wished to see Father Aloysius, he told him, to
make his last confession and receive Holy Communion. While
waiting for the priest to arrive he thought of his mother, of
the men who had fought by his side and of the little Irish
speaking children he knew in Connacht. All that he loved he
would soon leave behind. Yet he was content and happy, for
this was the death he had forseen.
The sound of voices and the rattle
of heavy keys broke in on his thoughts: Father Aloysius had
arrived. Pearse arose and greeted the priest as he entered
the cell. They talked for a while and then the prisoner knelt
on the floor and made his confession. The candle burnt
faintly, casting a dim light around the bare walls. The
priest then gave him Holy Communion, and with bowed head he
said the words of thanksgiving. There was a brightness in
this eyes and a look of peace upon his face.
Shortly before dawn, orders were
given that Father Aloysius should leave the prision, and
Pearse spent his last hours alone in his cell. He knew by now
that he would never see his mother again and took up his pen
to write her a leter of farewell.
"I have just received Holy
Communion ," he wrote. "I am happy, except for the
grief of parting from you. This is the death I should have
asked for if God had given me the choice of all deaths, to
die a soldier's death for Ireland and for freedom".
Then he knelt and spent his last
few minutes in prayer. He heard heavy footsteps coming
towards his cell and the loud rattle of prison keys. The door
was opened and an office entered ; it was dawn ; the firing
squad was waiting in the courtyard. Pearse arose and walked
calmly down the long dark passage. The little candle was
quenched, and the door clanged shut on the empty cell.
© 1999 All Rights held by Michael G Keohane BA.
ACSA.