Some people say that whether a city is prosperous depends on how long its nightlife lasts, regardless of its appearance, because from ancient times to the present, the night has been for leisure, and leisure has always required money.
Especially in the era when electricity was not yet widely available, nightlife itself was synonymous with luxury. As long as the lights in the hotel were brightly lit, how much did candles and gas lamps cost for one night? How many drinks does the boss have to sell to make a profit?
Not to mention the singers and well-dressed bands who sing in bars and restaurants. The luxurious atmosphere they create requires money.
Rich people can have all-night carnivals at their own homes or high-end restaurants, but such activities are always concentrated in a small area. The middle class obviously does not have such luxury. An affordable dinner and a few drinks can make people feel good. Relaxing wine, usually by nine o'clock in the evening, they will go home.
The nightlife in the slums is even more monotonous. Workers who get off work in the evening only have enough money in their pockets to buy a bag of potatoes and a few slices of bread for their families. When they get home, their wives make a pot of potato soup to make ends meet and then drink it. Just sleep is the right thing to do.
Only bachelors and drunkards who don't know how to calculate will stay in dirty taverns. The cheap beer is so sour that it tastes like horse urine. Under the dim lights, old prostitutes can only do business with drunkards. .
You mean appetizers? Oh, God, such luxurious things are not something that poor people can have. Salt water beans or baked potato chips are already considered luxurious meals.
With such simple food and wine, the poor Irish could not enjoy much. With their empty pockets, they often spent the last coin in their pockets before nine o'clock in the evening. Except for a few drunkards who could get credit, the rest All were kicked out.
The poverty of the Irish people has penetrated to their very core, and British exploitation is so pervasive that it has basically blocked any opportunity for the Irish people to make a fortune.
It is tragic to think about it. Millions of Irish people do not even have the right to sell grain. All agricultural products produced in Irish farmland must be sold by merchants designated by the British. They are stuck in this way and still want to live a good life.
"Bah... you scumbag British guy, sooner or later I will drown you all in the sea... ugh..." In the middle of the night, a drunkard held a gas lamp pole and vomited into the sea, choking on the spicy smell. He burst into tears.
Tears made his eyes blurred, and the light and shadow in the darkness suddenly became weird and swaying, as if countless ghosts were rushing towards him.
"What kind of rubbish did this black-hearted Jack's bar give me to drink... Didn't I just get some credit? As for the adulterated wine..."
The drunkard rubbed his eyes and looked carefully. Suddenly a chill came out of his heart. Cold sweat was forced out along with the chill, and he woke up immediately.
"God... God! Who is this person..."
In the dark night port cargo area, the dark door was opened, and a group of murderous gods rushed out silently like demons from hell. What were they holding in their hands? Bright bayonets and even rifles and pistols.
"Weapons! Who can actually have weapons..." The British arms embargo on the island of Ireland is so strict that it cannot buy any raw materials, let alone weapons.
Just as the drunkard was about to scream, he saw a familiar face rushing towards him, and a big hand covering his mouth tightly. "Stop talking, I am White... Today is the big day of the Young Ireland Party's uprising!"
All the alcohol in the drunkard's veins was ignited by these words. "What did you say...the martyred young people are back again? They are going to revolt..."
White took out the pistol in his arms, shook it and growled excitedly, "Did you see... This time we have weapons, and we even hired mercenaries with rich combat experience!"
"Long live Ireland! Long live independence!"
The sound of leather boots trampling the earth in the night spread far and wide. The poor people in the port who were not asleep pushed open their windows one after another. When they saw this group of murderous gods of death, they were so frightened that they could not speak.
Soon, these poor people who were looking around saw some familiar faces. "They are people from the union. What does the union want to do?"
"Uprising... we want to rise! The Port Union is under the command of the Young Ireland Party. We have decided to rise tonight. We will attack the Customs House now. We will also burn all the grain that is about to be exported to England!"
"Irish food will never feed British beasts!"
Food is an unavoidable scar in the hearts of the Irish. That event is destined to go down in history. As long as someone mentions that event in life, all Irish people will go crazy.
Today, when they heard that all the grain exported to England was going to be burned, these resentful Irish people all went crazy.
"Action! Is there going to be a war now? Let's take action... take to the streets and fight!"
The hour hand has passed midnight. At this time, the heaven, earth and sea are completely silent. Most people are already asleep, including the British army barracks.
There was nothing left to keep secret. The more than 60 vanguards led by Paul were only ten minutes away from the customs building. No matter what the rules of silent warfare were at this time, it was true that they had to build up their morale first.
"Soldiers! The Customs House is in front of you, rush in! Kill all the British defenders, burn the building, and tear down the British flag!"
"Long live Young Ireland! Long live the Irish independence movement!"
"Long live!" The blood of countless people was burning in the dark night. There was a loud sound of the wooden door being kicked open. The dock workers holding various knives and even huge wrenches went completely crazy.
A huge sound wave rushed towards the customs building and the wealthy area behind it like a tsunami. The British soldiers who were dozing in the wooden watchtower were suddenly awakened by the noise.
"What happened? Is it daylight yet..." Before he could wipe the goo from the corners of his eyes, he saw a swaying light source coming towards him.
"What?" As he spoke, a bottle hit the watchtower with a bang. The raging flames immediately devoured the wooden watchtower. The screaming soldier turned into a burning man. He broke open the wooden door and stood on the street. The miserable screams rolled on the ground.
"Riot...the Irish are rioting...preparing to fight..."
Amidst the screams, a dog-headed knife opened his throat directly, and the burning man could no longer make any sound.
The Moorish warrior licked the blood on the blade with his tongue. The smell of blood made all the warlike elements in his body burn. Looking at the customs building in front of him, he roared, "Long live Ireland! Long live independence! Kill all the people in this building." British, set fire!”
Half of the more than sixty mercenaries surrounded both sides of the building in an attempt to block the British support troops, while the remaining half, with dozens of trade union members, held torches high and broke open the main door, rushing in with a loud killing sound.
The Great Dublin Uprising of 1869 officially kicked off the war!
