Free The Young Rebels by Morgan Llywelyn Page B

face fills with a light like the rising sun. He murmurs, ‘Whatever else I may do with my life …’ He does not finish the thought. ‘Thank you, boys, that will be all.’
    Roger asks anxiously, ‘What is our punishment, sir?’
    ‘No punishment,’ says Mr Pearse.

CHAPTER TEN
SPRING 1915
    T he Great War goes on and on and gets worse and worse. Germany has placed a submarine blockade around the British Isles. Zeppelin airships have dropped bombs on English towns.
    Death falling silently out of the skies to kill innocent civilians.
    In ancient Ireland battles were fought hand to hand. If you killed someone – or he killed you – you looked in each other’s eyes first.
    The Irish Volunteers have seven commanding officers in Dublin: Thomas MacDonagh, Joseph Plunkett (he edits The Irish Review and his father’s the director of the Museum of Science and Art), Éamonn Ceannt,Bulmer Hobson, Edward Daly (Tom Clarke’s brother-in -law), Éamon de Valera, and our own Mr Pearse.
    Willie teases his brother by calling him ‘ Commandant ’ and saluting him at inappropriate times. I don’t think Mr Pearse would take it from anyone else, but when Willie does it he laughs.
    With so many new Volunteers, the officers are kept busy trying to train them. Mr Pearse has organised a mock battle for the newest recruits to the Dublin Brigade. It will be held in the Dublin mountains on Easter Sunday.
    ‘Why Easter Sunday, sir?’ I want to know.
    ‘Joe Plunkett suggested it. He likes the symbolism of the Resurrection.’
    A small party of the St Enda’s Fianna will accompany the Easter Sunday drill. I’m one of those chosen. Roger is not.
    He is lying face down on his bed, making snuffling noises. He wouldn’t want me to know he’s crying, but I can’t leave him like that. ‘Everything all right?’ I ask as cheerfully as I can.
    He rolls over and looks up at me. His face is red and blotchy and his eyes are swimming. ‘Nothing’s all right. You’re good at everything and I’m not good at anything. My parents talk about James and Donald all the time and they never talk about me.’
    ‘You’re good at lots of things,’ I say loyally.
    ‘Name three.’
    ‘Well, Latin. You’re good at Latin, much better than I am.’
    ‘How wonderful for me.’ He rolls over again and buries his face in his pillow.
    Mr Pearse and Willie are in the Ardmháistir’s office. When they see me standing in the open doorway the Ardmháistir snaps, ‘What is it, John Joe?’
    He’s never short with the boys. He must have a lot on his mind.
    ‘I was wondering, sir. About Roger?’
    ‘What about Roger?’
    ‘He’s heartbroken at not being chosen for the Easter Sunday manoeuvres. Could you possibly add his name to the list? It would mean a lot to him, sir.’
    In a kindlier voice, Mr Pearse says, ‘The ground we’ll be covering is very rough and we’ll need our most athletic boys. Con Colbert tells me that Roger is not up to it. I’m sorry.’
    ‘But he can do it, sir, I know he can! And if he has difficulties I’ll help him.’
    ‘This won’t be a game, John Joe.’ He drops his voice slightly. ‘It’s a rehearsal.’
    ‘A rehearsal?’ I don’t understand. ‘For a play, sir?’
    ‘Not for a play.’
    Once again the penny drops. It takes me a long time but eventually I get there. ‘The Volunteers are not just to protect us, are they, sir? We’ll be rehearsing for an uprising!’
    Padraic Pearse does not answer but there is no need. I can see it in his face.
    I can feel it in the leap of my heart.
    An uprising, a rebellion against the British like the Rising of 1798! In my own lifetime. For a moment I can hardly breathe.
    Then the thought comes to me: it won’t be nearly as much fun if Roger’s not there.
    ‘Please sir, if you want me, take Roger as well. He can do it, I promise.’
    Mr Pearse turns to his brother. ‘What do you think, Willie?’
    ‘I think I’d be very unhappy if you went without me.’
    ‘Roger? Roger!