He might have escaped, I thought; but there was still the danger that he had been shot further down the garden.
Just as I reached the wall a soldier’s head appeared outside. He saw me and levelled his rifle, at the same time shouting “Halt! halt!” He fired and missed me. I fired too. When I dropped over the wall, clear of Carolan’s garden, I stumbled over his body. I don’t know whether he was dead or wounded.
Another group of soldiers close at hand opened fire on me, and I blazed at them in return as I rushed for the nearest wall. I got over but did not recognise my surroundings. All I knew was that I was on the road. Suddenly I ran right into an armoured car. There was nothing for it but to get in the first shot. I hit one of their men before the occupants of the car had time to take aim, and I rushed by as their bullets knocked splinters out of the roadway and the walls around me, but never once struck me. By this time I had recognised my surroundings. I was out on the main road between Carolan’s house and Drumcondra Bridge. It would be madness to keep on along the road, for if the armoured car did not pursue me I was almost certain to run into some of their outposts near the bridge.
On my right as I ran towards the city was the limestone wall surrounding St. Patrick’s Training College. Could I once scale that and get into the college grounds my chances of escape were good. But it was about 18 feet high. I had neither boots nor socks; one toe on my right foot was broken and giving me terrible pain; I had at least five bullet holes in my side, from my hip to my foot, besides several less serious wounds. But when a man is fighting for his life he gets strength that he has not at ordinary times. I scrambled to the top of that wall. How I did it I often wondered afterwards as I passed it by. When I got to the top I felt almost happy. My hopes grew stronger, though my body grew weaker from the terrible excitement and the loss of blood. I slid down carefully on the inside and faced for the west, leading towards Glasnevin or Finglas direction. But I was still within a few hundred yards of “Fernside,” and at any moment I might again run into a group of soldiers. I crawled along as noiselessly as I could. At this stage I think it was instinct that was guiding me. I was dazed and as near to unconsciousness as a man can be while he still has the power to walk. I lost all sense of time and distance.
At last I found myself on the banks of a river. I knew it must be the Tolka. I had no place to seek shelter. My one aim was to put some distance between me and my pursuers. I could not go out on the road to seek a bridge. I had to cross the river, and there was only one way of doing it. Fortunately it was not deep and as I waded through the cold piercing water I could feel it trickling through my leg where some of the bullets had made a clear passage through my flesh. I cannot say that I felt the cold too keenly. I suppose there are times when nature is dead to minor feelings.
When I got to the other side of the river I saw that I was close to some houses. I knew they must be the houses in Botanic Avenue and that I was at the back. I could struggle no further. Blood was pouring from me all the time. My only hope, if I was not to drop down and die of exhaustion and exposure, was to seek the shelter of some one of these roofs.
I do not know what instinct impelled me, but I selected one particular back door. It was as if an angel whispered that that door and that only held out hope to me.
I knocked. I realised well enough what a spectacle I must present now, at 3 or 4 o’clock in the morning, half-clad, dishevelled and covered with blood.
A second time I knocked. A man opened the door. My appearance was sufficient explanation, but I mumbled a few words to say that I needed shelter.
He did not ask me who I was, or how I had received my wounds. He simply said, “Come in. Whatever we can do for you we’ll do it.”