Men so selected went off to a criminal’s fate. Yet the authorities in effect recognised that the selection turned on a hazard by treating us all as criminals. Forms were delivered on some men with charges that astonished none so much as the recipients; and as there was no evidence other than police reports offered in support of such allegations, the only thing in doubt was the length of the sentence. On the other hand, men were passed over who were not less astonished at the passing. But all our finger-prints were taken. We were afterwards considerably amused at the assurance given in the English House of Commons that finger-prints were only taken “at first” “owing to the difficulty of identification,” and that they were taken “under military supervision.” Finger-prints were taken all the time I was at Richmond Barracks by a peeler whose descent on newcomers was greeted with ironic mirth, for he was a familiar [55]figure as he hung about the barracks like a hawk, carrying his implements with him. What mirth we had we made as we went, for all that it had a grim background; but we were certainly assisted by comparing the declarations in Parliament as to our estate with the conditions we actually endured. And the idea of any “difficulty of identification” was a joke more than ordinarily grim. It conveyed a wonderful conception of Ireland as a land untracked and uncharted; whereas, in the most elaborately policed country in the world the only thing lacking to make our leabhrain artistically complete was the presence of a finger-print. And the artists in dark green were swift to complete their pictures.

Such things, I found, were only treated with mirth. It was curious to note the way in which the doings of the police—either of the R.I.C. or the D.M.P., “two minds with but a single aim, two hearts that beat as one”—were received. There was a bitterness in the ribaldry with which they were greeted, a bitterness and a certain frosty sting in the mirth; but there was also the laughter for relief.

[56]

Not having been in Richmond Barracks during the first days of terror, I raised a complaint the following morning with the medical officer. I asked his co-operation, as an Irishman who should resent a national insult. He did resent it; and as a result, the young officer was compelled to apologise as a matter of discipline. Thereafter, that officer appeared no more among us; but neither did the medical officer.

Yet, in spite of all these things, we had one another; and that was compensation. I had heard of most of my companions before, but had never had the opportunity of meeting many of them; and I was now glad of the chance of acquaintance and discussion. In Richmond the first beginnings appeared of that cementing of brotherhood among the “prisoners of war” that was afterwards to take so fine a form. About a fortnight after my arrival some of us in our room were offered special rooms, with two beds in each room; but we all refused these without any............