He and his wife took me in. The latter quickly summoned Nurse Long, who lived nearby. They dressed my wounds and gave me some stimulant, which the nurse procured from my friends, the Flemings, at imminent danger to her own life, having to pass twice through the excited cordon of soldiers in the small hours of that morning.
Then I learned who my good Samaritan was. He was Mr. Fred Holmes, whose sympathies, I believe, were on the other side.
But he and his wife tended me that morning with care and attention that they might have bestowed upon a son or brother. There was no need to tell them how I had come to be in that plight. Yet they took me in and saved my life.
Gratitude is but a poor word to express my feelings towards that family. In the morning I told them who I was. They assured me that everything in their power would be done to enable me to recover and to get to a place of safety, for I knew I could not stay long in a house which was not half a mile from the scene of the battle.
CHAPTER XXII.
MISSED BY INCHES.
Early in the morning—still October 12th, 1920—Mrs. Holmes at my request took a note to Phil Shanahan’s, with a message for Dick McKee. I wanted to be removed as soon as possible. I also wanted to report to Headquarters that Sean Treacy had been killed in the same engagement.
While I was waiting the reply I learned from the people of the house that in each of the houses on either side a Black and Tan was lodging, both houses being the property of members of the Dublin Police. You can imagine how lucky I was to select the particular back gate I did.
In a short time a motor car arrived at the door. In it were Joe Lawless, Maurice Brennan and Tom Kelly. They had been sent by Dick McKee to take me away to the Mater Hospital where he had already made arrangements that I was to be received and treated.