And now ensued an episode in comparison with which a Wild West show would grow pale. The passengers realised our object. In a moment panic reigned. My most vivid recollection of that scene is the figure of a soldier-passenger, dressed in England’s khaki uniform; but under that uniform there beat an Irish heart. I shall never forget the triumphant smile on his face as he waved his hat and shouted, “Up the Republic!” I had little time for studying the passengers. That first shot prevented the escort from murdering their prisoner, and it was the first shot in a grim battle that was to end in the death of two and the wounding of four. With the first shot one of the policemen literally dashed himself through the window of the train, roaring like a wild bull. We never saw him again, but I heard that he ran through the country like a maniac and reported the fight in a very incoherent manner at Emly police barrack next morning. Constable Enright was dead, so that there remained Sergeant Wallace and Constable Reilly. A fierce and rapid exchange of shots followed. Constable Reilly lay stiff on the floor. We thought he was dead, but we soon found he was only shamming. Sergeant Wallace fought to the end. A braver man I have never seen in the ranks of the enemy. Several times we called on him to surrender, but he never answered, even when deserted by his men. The confusion and panic were indescribable. Cramped as we were for space, we were in danger not only from the bullets of the police, but also from those of our own men. And all the time we were struggling to push out our handcuffed comrade. We handed out our comrade in safety. Meanwhile Sergeant Wallace had also struggled on to the platform. I looked around me. I knew I was wounded, but, in the excitement, I could not know where or how seriously, though I knew it was in the region of the lung.