I was provided with an outfit and placed in the car. My keenest regret was not the suit I had been compelled to leave behind in Carolan’s, but the six pound notes and the watch that were in the pockets. Probably some enterprising officer had a good night out of the discovery, for I need hardly say that my losses did not form the subject of compensation awards when the Truce came.
I was driven up Botanic Road on through Phibsboro’ towards the Mater Hospital. At Phibsboro’ corner a D.M.P. man motioned us to stop as we approached. For a moment we feared there was something wrong. But relief came in a few moments. We were simply being asked to slow down while a convoy of Auxiliaries passed, probably to raid some houses in the locality for me.
We continued our journey, and as we approached the entrance to the hospital in Eccles Street I saw Dick McKee—himself a very much wanted man at the time, walking slowly along the path. With a slight wave of his hand he motioned to us to pass the hospital. A little further down he crossed to us to tell us we could not go into the hospital for some time as there were two D.M.P. Inspectors, with some military and police actually raiding the hospital at that moment searching for wounded men.
“Dan,” he said, as he gripped my hand for a moment, “ye got the very men we would have had to give the next two years looking for.”
Our car crossed Dorset Street into Mountjoy Square, and finally drove into an old stable in Great Charles Street. It was one of the best known dumping grounds used for concealing the arms of the Dublin Brigade, though it was shortly afterwards discovered by the enemy.
It is easy to imagine how sick and tired of life I was as I drove into this old stable, but picture my delight at seeing Sean Treacy waiting to welcome me.
He had escaped without as much as a scratch. Briefly—for he had not long to spare—he told me of his adventures. He got safely away through the back, convinced that I was killed. For hours he had wandered almost naked through the country, scarcely knowing where he was until as dawn broke he knocked at a door in a last effort to gain shelter. He did not even know in what district he was until the door was opened by his own cousin Phil Ryan, of Finglas! Truly, the fates were on our side that morning.
In our joy at meeting once more we almost forgot our perils; for the streets of Dublin were being searched that day by hundreds of troops as never before. But our scouts reported that the way to the Mater was now clear as the enemy had left the hospital. The boys were anxious that no time should be lost until I was in skilled hands, and we moved on at once towards the Mater. They took me on a stretcher into the hospital, and as I lay on that stretcher I shook hands with Sean Treacy—for the last time.
Little did I think that evening that never again on this earth would I lay eyes on my faithful comrade—one who was dearer to me than a brother. Had I known then that it was to be our last meeting in this world I would have little heart to battle with my wounds. Poor Sean! the comrade of my adventures, the sharer of my hopes. His face is always before me, and until my last hour his memory will make me struggle against blinding tears.
When I arrived in the hospital Surgeon Barnaville took me into his skilled hands, and I believe I owe my life and my rapid recovery to his unceasing care and devotion.