“Gang hame noo, like good bairns,” was about all they said.
But the action of one townsman—I am glad to say he was no student—precipitated a crisis at last. He was foolish enough to seize a watchman and attempt to throw him. Both men came heavily to the ground, then others took the townsman’s part, and in less time than it takes me to write it, truncheons on the one side, and heavy bludgeons on the other were drawn, and blood flowed like water. Ninety men opposed to about two thousand have little chance, despite the fact that they have law on their side, so the upshot of the collision was that in twenty minutes’ time the Bobbies and Charlies were beaten back, and had to take refuge behind the Town Hall.
“Hadn’t we better get home now?” said Sandie. “If I am found or captured in this crowd I shall lose my bursary, and that means ruin.”
“Father,” said Willie exultantly, “will be out before long to read the Riot Act. After that you know the soldiers will come. We shall make a move just before that.”
But now the riot entered upon a new phase. Some one raised the cry “A boat! a boat!” and in a moment it spread like wildfire through all that vast determined mob.
Sandie and Willie had only time to back into an entry, when the crowd went surging past them, one vast human river, flowing down Marischal Street towards the harbour.
They seemed to have been gone no time when they were back again, singing and yelling and shouting triumphantly, as they dragged a boat along.
Where, I wonder, did the hammers come from? I cannot answer, but here they were.
Bang, bang, smash, smash, and in a very few minutes the broken timbers of the boat were piled in a heap in the middle of the square.
Where did that bucket of tar come from? I cannot even answer that. But it was poured upon the woodwork, and the bucket itself was left on top.