The Desperate Journey by Kathleen Fidler Page A

staggering, though he did not fall.
    “Go it, Sweeney!” shouted the mob of boys, mostly Irish. “Give the Highlander a thrashing!”
    A few more light blows were struck by both, then, with a swinging blow, Sweeney cut Davie’s cheek just below his eye. Blood streamed from the cut. Davie backed away and the bully followed him. Suddenly Davie stopped dead in his tracks and Sweeney could not stop his own onward rush. Davie landed a blow square to Sweeney’s chin which jarred the Irish boy’s teeth and sent him staggering backwards.
    “See that! The Highlander’s a bonnie fechter!” a boy yelled.
    “Go it, Highlander!” the mob yelled, always ready to change over to the winning side.
    Sweeney shook his head like a bewildered animal for a moment, then he rushed at Davie with a roar of rage. Davie did his best to defend himself, but Sweeney rained blow after blow upon him.
    “Sweeney’s too good for him!” yelled Sweeney’s friend. “Go it, Tam!”
    Round and round the ring the two boys went, milling backwards and forwards. One of Davie’s eyes was almost closed and his nose was bleeding too. Only sheer courage kept him on his feet. They were close to the ring of spectators when Sweeney made an ugly rush at Davie.
    Maggie Hunter had pushed her way to the front of the crowd and was watching her opportunity. As Sweeney rushed at Davie, her foot shot out. The big Irish lout tripped over it, staggered and went sprawling to the ground.
    “Sweeney’s down! Sweeney’s down!” the mob shouted.
    Sweeney pulled himself up, panting and winded with his fall.
    “Someone tripped me up!” He glared at the circle of faces. “It was that lass there!” He lifted his fist menacingly at Maggie Hunter.
    “Awa’ wi’ ye!” Maggie yelled back at him, but taking care to get behind two boys. “Dinna mak’
me
your excuse if ye canna stay on your feet!”
    “I’ll pull the hair from your head!” Sweeney cried, making a snatch at her. Davie realised Maggie’s danger.
    “Hi, you! The fight’s still on!” he cried, and rushed at Sweeney who was off his guard. Davie launched a blow with the last of his strength behind it, a blow which landed just above the big bully’s heart. Sweeney, already winded by his fall, doubled up completely and sat down on the ground.
    “Sweeney’s out! Sweeney’s out! The Highlander’s knocked Sweeney out!” the shout went up, and someone in the crowd began to count, “One, two, three –”
    Suddenly there was a yell from the outskirts of the crowd. “Look out, lads! Here comes the Watch!”
    The crowd scattered as if by magic as two stalwart figures, armed with truncheons, came at a smart pace along the street. Even Sweeney managed to pick himself up and hang on to a friend’s arm and melt away round a corner. Only Davie and Maggie were left to face “the Watch,” the early police force of the Glasgow of 1813.
    “What’s going on here?” the bigger of the two men asked in a Highland voice. He took Davie by the shoulder.
    “It was that Tam Sweeney who set on him,” Maggie spoke up at once. “Sweeney wouldna let the lassies draw water at the well and Davie tried to stop him.”
    “Och! So Sweeney has been up to his tricks again!” the watchman said angrily. “Was it the wild Irish that set on ye, lad?”
    “Weel, I – I fought him back,” Davie answered truthfully.
    “If Davie hadna defended himself the Irish lads would have torn him limb from limb,” Maggie declared.
    “Ye’ve no business to be fechting in the street,” the watchman told Davie sternly. “You could be put in gaol for that.” He eyed Davie’s battered face. “Ye’ve taken a pasting yourself, by the looks of it, laddie.”
    “Tam Sweeney didna get off free, either,” Maggie remarked proudly.
    A glint came into the Highland policeman’s eye. “Did he no’? Maybe I’ll no’ be saying anything more about it, then. I ken those Irish!”
    Just then James Murray came running round the