I was no longer able to walk, and I realised now that my last shot had been fired from my revolver, and that it might at any moment be found highly desirable to have it reloaded, but my right arm was dead and I could not reload. I looked around me. Outside the station I saw a motor car evidently waiting for somebody who was to come from the train. With my empty revolver raised in my left hand I held up the car. I think my appearance was enough to inspire any Christian with terror, not to speak of levelling my gun. A fit of dizziness, probably the effects of my wounds and loss of blood, had come over me on the platform, as I made for the gate, and I had fallen heavily against the wall, and blood was gushing from my head. I could scarcely walk. I groped my way along. The people around me ran at the very sight of me, many of them shrieking. At last somebody came to my assistance. He was dressed in khaki—an Irishman in England’s army! The very irony of it makes me smile to-day. I think he was the same man who had shouted “Up the Republic” on the train, though I am not sure, for some people told me afterwards that there was an American soldier also in khaki at the station that evening—I believe, too, that the soldier who cheered for the Republic was afterwards courtmartialled by his officers—but whoever he was that helped me, if his eyes catch these words, let him accept my thanks; I forgot to show him my gratitude at the time. Leaning on his arm I struggled from the station premises on to the road. He half linked and half carried me for I was now growing weaker every moment. Probably I was loosing my senses too, for I forgot all about using the motor car I had held up, and I left it behind. The rest of the party were outside on the road. With a butcher’s knife, procured from a man named Walsh, they broke the handcuffs that bound Sean Hogan, and he was once more a free man. The unwounded men took charge of him and brought him to a place of safety. The other four of us—Ned O’Brien, Treacy, Scanlon and I—faced for Shanahan’s. I scarcely remember that journey; it was growing dark, and we did not know the road well. I was losing blood all the time. It must have taken us hours to get to the house. We were all weak. In a field on the way we met some lads from the neighbourhood. They came to our assistance and helped us to reach our destination. I was at once put to bed, and the priest and doctor were sent for. Both soon arrived. Dr. Hennessy, of Galbally, was very kind to me, but both priest and doctor regarded my case as hopeless. I was told that I had only about twenty-four hours to live, as the bullet had gone right through my body piercing the lung, and I had lost an enormous quantity of blood. That news was cheerless enough, but I was not even to get the twenty-four hours to die in peace.