Page:Banking Under Difficulties- Or Life On The Goldfields Of Victoria, New South Wales And New Zealand (1888).pdf/67

58 The fearful yells uttered by these ruffians attracted others from outside, who, rushing in, attacked anyone who was “convenient.” Heads were broken; men were knocked down and brutally kicked, then someone seized a bottle and hurled it at the attacking party. This was the signal for a general fusilade. Anything in the shape of a projectile—plates, cups, &c.—were flying in all directions, and one of the missiles severed the cord by which a rude candelabrum was suspended. The rope encircled a ferocious combatant, who, diverted for the moment by the unusual girdle around him from the business on hand, endeavoured to free himself. Fatal mistake on his part. Directly he became incapacitated from fighting, friends and foes alike fell upon him and down he went to be booted. One of the bank managers, a tall, stout, military-looking individual, at the outset made some attempts to rescue the unfortunate waiter, but he was nearly brained with a candlestick that I think had been seized through the port hole. The possessor of this weapon for some time did good service, but at last received his quietus from a well-aimed teacup. The other bankers, with some more of the “white collar mob,” seeing how useless any interference on their part would be, gained a temporary refuge by scaling the bedroom partition; the rooms on the other side of which were filled with bunks, and standing on the top of these they observed from that “coign of vantage” the free fight in comparative safety, and now and then they drew over some wounded combatant, and also their bleeding companions. Their proceedings were noticed, and some of the ruffians, thinking it would be a good thing and safe to get into the hospital and worry the wounded, tried to break in the doors; but just then a strong detachment of police, who had been sent for by the landlord, forced an entrance, and after a sharp struggle managed to capture and handcuff several of the ringleaders.

There must be something attractive to the Irish mind in a free fight; they got up this one certainly for the pure love of the thing. Fellows at the far end of the room who had nothing to do with the original row, directly it was well started would jump up, give a yell, and then go for the next man. Another, scenting the fray from afar, would run to the battle ground, force an entrance, and “wire in,” without taking pains to ascertain the respective sides; enough for them that kicking was to be done; so long as that luxury was to be had they were not to be restrained. Their modus operandi was, at least, peculiar; yelling and foaming at the mouth, they struck out right and left; someone went down, then the fortunate ones at hand seemed to at once arrive at an understanding, they caught one another by the arms to steady themselves, and kicked and jumped on the poor wretch with the most savage satisfaction, each kick being