“On the whole,” I said, “I’m very glad I’m not a policeman.”
“Surely,” said Clithering, “the responsible leaders of the Unionist party will understand the criminal folly of—You don’t anticipate—”
“I’m nothing of a prophet,” I said; “but if you ask my opinion I’d say that the police will be wiped out in about ten minutes. They’re a very fine body of men; but there aren’t nearly enough of them. If you really want to stop the meeting you’ll have to get out the soldiers, and even with them—”
“But we want to avoid bloodshed,” said Clithering. “We cannot have the citizens of Belfast shot down by the military. Think of the consequences, the political consequences. A Tory Government might—but we! Besides, the horrible moral guilt.”
“It’s no affair of mine,” I said; “but I should have thought—I dare say I am wrong. There may be no moral guilt about killing policemen.”
“But they won’t be killed,” said Clithering. “Our one aim is to avoid bloodshed.”
“You’re trying the police rather high,” I said. “They’ll do what you tell them, of course. But I don’t think it’s quite fair to ask them to face ten times their own number of men all armed with magazine rifles when they have nothing but those ridiculous little carbines.”
“Oh, but the police are not to have firearms,” said Clithering. “Strict orders have been given—batons ought to be quite sufficient. We must avoid all risk of bloodshed.”
“Good gracious!” I said. “Do you expect a handful of police with small, round sticks in their hands—Oh! go away, Clithering. You mean well, I dare say, but you’re absurd.”