The Desperate Journey by Kathleen Fidler

the Trongate where there’s always a long tail o’ folk waiting their turn to draw.”
    “I’ll go fetch some,” Kirsty offered. Davie was out already trying to beg some firewood from a joiner’s shop. Kirsty ran downstairs carrying the bucket.
    “Give me a shout when ye’re at the foot of the stair and I’ll carry it up,” her father called after her. He did not like to leave Kate, whose eyes were bright with fever. They settled down to wait for Kirsty’s return.
    “Kirsty’s a long time gone,” Kate said at last in a weak whisper.
    “Here comes someone now,” James said.
    It was Davie, carrying a bundle of wood. “Where’s Kirsty?” he asked when he saw she was not in the room.
    “Gone to the Trongate well to draw water. She’s been gone a long time and I could not leave your mother.”
    “I’ll go find her,” Davie said at once. He hurried down the stair again and along the Trongate. There was a crowd of children at the well all waiting to draw water. Several of the small girls were weeping. Davie found Kirsty near the end of the queue, tears streaming from her eyes.
    “Jings! Is that as far as you’ve got, Kirsty? What’s the matter?”
    “It’s Tam Sweeney and those lads with him,” Kirsty sobbed. “As soon as the girls get their turn at the well-head, they push and jostle us and make us go to the end of the line again. Twice I’ve had my bucket filled and they’ve turned it upside down and – and the water’s getting awful low in the well.”
    Davie knew that when there was a run on the well it sometimes went dry and took a long time to fill again. His mother
must
have water. Davie was desperate. He strode up to the Irish bully, Tam Sweeney.
    “Tam Sweeney, you let my sister go up to the well at once!” he demanded. “Did you upset her bucket before?”
    Tam Sweeney eyed him up and down. “Faith, look at the youngturkey cock we’ve got here! Sure now, and if I did, what are
you
going to do about it?”
    “Think shame of yourself for tormenting bit lassies!” Davie’s mouth curled in contempt. “Ye’ll let my sister go to the well or –”
    “Or what? You canna make me do anything!” Sweeney aimed a kick at Davie, but Davie saw it coming and jumped back. Then he sprang at Sweeney and landed a blow fairly and squarely on Tam Sweeney’s nose that brought water to his eyes. His nose began to bleed.
    “A fecht! A fecht!” the crowd of youths with Sweeney cried in delight. “Go for him, Sweeney!”
    Tam Sweeney roared in pain and anger, “I’ll break every bone in your body, you young spalpeen!”
    He rushed at Davie, but Davie sidestepped quickly, dodged round Sweeney and thumped him in the ribs.
    “Wait now!” A youth stepped forward. “Let’s have a proper fecht. Make a ring round them both. Now, off wi’ your jackets! Give them to someone to hold.”
    Davie saw Kirsty, white-faced, on the edge of the circle. Beside her was Maggie Hunter, her workmate in the mill. “Here, take my jacket, Kirsty!” he said.
    “Oh, Davie, Tam Sweeney’s much bigger than you! Dinna be fighting him,” Kirsty begged.
    “If I don’t fight him, all that mob will be at me and give me a beating,” Davie said. “Don’t be feart, Kirsty. I’ll worstle through! You make a dash for the well and fill your bucket and get home with it while they’re busy watching me,” he added in a low voice. “Mother needs that water badly.”
    “Aye, Kirsty, do that! Give me Davie’s jacket to hold,” Maggie advised.
    “On ye go, and no holds barred!” the tall youth cried to Tam and Davie.
    Sweeney was more cautious now and advanced on Daviewith upraised fists, stepping from one side to another. Davie sidestepped with him, playing for time, trying to avoid serious injury, so that Kirsty could draw her bucket of water and get away with it. Round and round the ring they went! Davie landed a light blow that grazed Sweeney’s cheek, and Sweeney scored a hit on Davie’s shoulder that sent him