Dr M., irascible at all times, now lost all self-possession, and, unable to reach his friend’s new assailant, turned furiously upon the cause of all his woe, and bestowed a shower of blows with his stick upon Paddy, before the latter had time to bring his cudgel to parry them. He soon recovered himself, however, and from defendant quickly became assailant.
Many of the bystanders indignantly called out, “Murder the ould villain—knock out his brains, Paddy. That’s right, Biddy; flitther him!” and several proceeded to give a helping hand to the good work; but others thought it was a shame for a whole lot of people to fall upon two, and in their love for justice they ranged themselves alongside the reverend doctors, shouting, “fair play’s a jewel!” The fight thickened, volunteers joining either rank every moment, in the laudable endeavour to keep up the balance of power. Biddy had quitted her grip of the doctor, and was now, to the surprise of those who had time to look about them (and they were few), engaged in the endeavour to wrench a stick out of the hands of a huge hulk of an Englishman, who, having merely gone to see the fun at Donnybrook, without the most remote idea of joining in a fight, could not be persuaded of the necessity of giving his stick, as he did not intend to use it himself, to one who did, and that one “a female!” At first he laughed; but he was quickly obliged to put forth all his strength to retain it, and, whilst twisting about, he caught a stray blow that floored him; he fell against a table, which of course overset; the confusion increased, when a shout suddenly arose, “Hurrah for Dr M—! Hurrah for Dr H—! College to the rescue!—Trinity!—Trinity!”
At the well-known war-cry of the students, several changed sides; those who had just been defending the doctors now turned upon them, whilst many of their late assailants ranged themselves on their side. The citizens, thinking that the number of students must be small, rushed to the spot, to pay off sundry old scores; but one would imagine that the cry of “Trinity! Trinity!” which resounded on all sides, was a sort of spell, or incantation, that raised spirits from the earth, so many voices responded to the call.
The unfortunate doctors, who had just expected nothing short of utter annihilation, felt their spirits rise at the prospect of aid and rescue, and bellowed with might and main, “Trinity! Trinity!” and in a few minutes they were the nucleus of a fight in which the whole fair had joined.
“The poliss!—the poliss!—here come the bloody poliss!” was now the cry; and the horse police dashed into the mob with their customary ardour, their spurs fastened in their horses’ flanks causing them to plunge, and bite, and kick most furiously, and laying about them with their swords, cutting at every thing and every one within their reach; luckily they did not know the sword exercise, and, therefore, when they struck with the edge, it was only by accident. In a jiffy, the reverend seniors, caught in the very act of shouting “Trinity!” were handcuffed, as were also the Englishman, who got a blow of a sabre from a policeman that nearly took off his ear, for attempting to expostulate; Paddy, who submitted quietly; and Biddy, after a severe tussle, in which she reefed one policeman’s face, and nearly bit the thumb off another. They were all put together into a jingle, and conducted by a mounted escort to town; the police hurrying them for fear of a rescue, by keeping continually whaling the driver with the flats of their swords, and prodding the horse with the points, which so enraged the jarvy, that when he got near the corner of Leeson-street, Stephen’s-green, where two or three hundred of his brethren were assembled, having whipped his Rosinante into a gallop, he drove against a brewer’s dray, by which his traces were smashed, his horse set free, the jingle locked fast, and he, springing off his perch, shouted out, “down with the bloody poliss!”
In an instant the mob rushed upon them. Paddy and Biddy, with an alacrity and agility truly astonishing, sprang from the lofty vehicle, plunged into the crowd (where there were plenty of willing hands to free them from the handcuffs), and escaped. Nor were the worthy doctors slow in following their example, the only prisoner that remained being the bewildered Englishman, who suffered “only” a three months’ incarceration in his majesty’s jail of Newgate for going to see Donnybrook, and the fun at it, his sentence having been mercifully mitigated, in consideration of its being his first offence!
“Well,” said Dr H—, when he went with his head bandaged up, a shade over his right eye, and about twenty bits of sticking plaster stuck over his face, to visit Dr M— (who was unable to leave his bed for a week), “well, what a fool I was to be persuaded by you to go to Donnybrook fair! what a pretty exhibition we would have made at the police office this morning! Was it not most fortunate that we made our escape?”
“I have been thinking,” said (or rather groaned) Dr M—, “who that scoundrelly country fellow could be. I never fell into a bog in my life—that was all a lie; and still the blackguard’s face was familiar to me.”
“I think he was very like that scapegrace Robert O’Gorman, only that he had light hair; and though I could take my oath I know nothing of that infamous little wretch that they called Biddy, yet I do think I have seen her face before—hum”—
“Could it have been that he disguised himself, eh! I’ll inquire into it, and if he did, by”—