Chapter VII: The Installation Riot

The close of that same winter session is memorable for a riot of such a strange character, and of such startling dimensions, that I make no apology for giving a brief description thereof.

It was an election or installation riot, and many a student was rusticated for having taken a too active part in it; and yet, methinks, the students had right on their side.

In order to let the reader understand it, I must tell him that, as a rule, two men, probably lords, dukes, or eminent literary men, are put up for election as Lord Rector of the University, and one of these is chosen, not by numerical strength of votes, but by nations, as they are called.

The whole body of students at Marischal College were divided into nations. The men who were born twixt Dee and Don were called the Mar nation; those born between the Don and Deveron the Buchan nation; all west of the Deveron the Highland nation; while those south of the Dee, or belonging to countries over the sea, were called the Foreign nation. Four nations in all, you will observe. Well, if two nations went for one man and two for another, it was a tie, and the Principal of the University had the casting vote. When he was a wise man, he always gave his vote to the two nations that contained the largest number of students.

On this particular year it so happened that the Mar and Buchan nations were on one side, as against the Highland and Foreign. Now the former two nations included the main body of students of the University, the other two being in numbers quite insignificant compared to them.

The Principal was, therefore, very unwise to give his vote against them.

The wrath and indignation of Buchan and Mar were terrible. They held meetings, and took a solemn vow to prevent, by every means in their power, the installation of the chosen Lord Rector.

There were lively spirits among those Buchan and Mar lads, and not only did they parade the streets by day with flags and banners flying, stopping at every professor’s house to hoot and yell if that professor were against them, or loudly cheer and sing his praises if known to be on their side, but at night also they had marches and counter-marches, and these were of a more serious character, for many encounters with the police took place, and the windows of inimical professors were freely stoned and broken. All this was bad and spiteful enough, but worse was to follow.

I forget, by the way, whether it was during this time, or a few years before, that a strange piece of revenge was taken against a professor who had incurred the displeasure of his students. This gentleman was a fowl fancier. And one night a band of some twenty or thirty students appeared a little before midnight at the professor’s house. They first barred the doors up from the outside. Then they coolly attacked the fowl-house, killing every one and carrying away the lot. Next night, at some inn in the New Town, there was a big supper, and the standing dishes were roast and boiled fowls. Such a criminal riot as this would hardly be tolerated now-a-days.

At long and last the installation day came round. A riot was confidently expected, and all preparations made to, if possible, stem the tide thereof.

The installation of Lord Rector is one of the sights of a session. It takes place in the great upper hall of the University, which occupies the top storey of a wing stretching from the back of the University, with many tall mullioned windows at each side. It is beautifully furnished with cushioned forms, a platform, and pulpit, and the walls are covered with costly pictures.

There is one thing sure and certain, the ringleaders among the student-rioters knew the value and the science of organisation, and they had everything well planned beforehand.

For example, there was an order of the Senate that rendered it impossible for policemen to enter the quad to make an arrest or to clear the square during a riot. This was a very old law, but whether rescinded or not by this time, I cannot tell.

And the ringleaders knew this. They had also found out that it was proposed to send for the soldiers, to clear courts and quad, if the riot should assume gigantic proportions. They knew that the regimental colonel had been notified to this effect, and that the soldiers were confined to barracks. It is strange that soldiers might enter in where bobbies feared to follow, but such, it would seem, was really the case.

However, against such a contingency the chief ringleaders had provided; and I may as well state here as farther on, that during the progress of the riot, first one student messenger, and then another, were despatched to solicit the aid of the soldiers to clear the quad, but that both were captured by the enemy’s scouts, and made prisoners in Mother Robertson’s till the riot was all over.

As a rule, at an installation of Lord Rector, ladies are admitted, and very gay the hall looks with their presence; but on this occasion, fearing the consequences, the presence of ladies was forbidden. This was another mistake, for students are possessed of considerable gallantry, and the rioters would never have proceeded to such extremes as they did in the presence of their mothers, sisters, and sweethearts.

As the students filed in through the gates into the quad, they were ordered to give up their sticks. This the rioters willingly did; and well they might, for, concealed under his coat or gown, every one carried a short heavy-headed hammer.

And now the great hall was crowded. The dissenters keeping all together, that is, the nations of Mars and Buchan, the two poor skinny little Highland and Foreign nations looking a mere handful beside them.

On to the platform now meekly and modestly comes his lordship, and the professors group around him.

He is received by a few faint cheers from the Highlanders and Foreigners, but by a dinful distracting chorus of yelling, hooting, and hissing by the rioters.

But Scotsmen are naturally pious, so, while Dr. Dewar prays, they are silent and still.

No sooner, however, does the ceremony commence in earnest, than, with their arms crossed, two stalwart students form a chair, and on this between them mounts Jamie B----r, afterwards Dr. B----r, and only recently dead. He is carried forward till right beneath the platform. He there reads a long and well-worded protest against his lordship’s election.

Three groans are then called for, after which a voice is heard shouting--

“All that are against this unjust and cruel installation will now leave the hall.”

And so the rioters left in a body, and the great hall doors were shut behind them.

These great folding doors, I may mention, are as nearly as I can remember about twelve feet high, and open in the centre. They were now locked and bolted, and the installation, it was hoped, would proceed in peace. Those who thought so had, however, reckoned without their host.

On both sides of the wing, in which was the installation hall, the rioters stationed themselves. They had a fine supply of stones and pebbles, and inside that hall, from through the windows, those stones soon began to fall as thick as leaves in Vallombrosa.

Not one student or professor, but many, were hit with the hail-shower of falling pebbles.

All at once, however, there was a lull.

“The worst is over, I think,” a professor ventured to remark.

He was mistaken, the worst was to come. The rioters had found out that the big hall doors were closed against them.

“Why should they be shut out? Had not they as good a right to be inside as any?”

Certainly they had. “Hurrah! lads, hurrah!”

In another minute they were crowding, in two dense bodies, up the two stairs that converged in front of the folding doors. Here they loudly knocked, and demanded admittance. This was refused.

Then all the force the rioters could command was applied to that door. The locks and bolts, it is true, held good, but each half gave way simultaneously at its hinges. Down with a crash went the door, and in rushed the mob.

“Now, lads, out with your hammers.”

The students friendly to the Lord Rector rallied and fought well, but were speedily beaten, and had to seek refuge in flight.

The Lord Rector himself, during the scrimmage, is said to have received a wound in the nose from a piece of splintered wood.

And now the work of wreckage and destruction was commenced. By means of the hammers the forms were broken up, and, worse than all, many of the fine paintings that could not be restored were rent in ribbons.

Satiated with revenge, at long and last, and fearful, perhaps, that the soldiers might arrive, and turn them out at the point of the bayonet, the rioters retired. They formed four deep in the quad, and went marching off, dispersing to their several homes after arriving at the centre of the town.

The punishments that followed this strange riot were not very severe, and all academical, of course. But it was considered that the students really had had a great grievance, and so the _Senatus Academicus_ was lenient. But several of the ringleaders, including Jamie B----, were rusticated.

Sandie M‘Crae took no part in this riot, and he even succeeded in inducing his friend Willie to keep away from the University that day.

Instead of going near Marischal College, they hired a dogcart, and went off out the Skene Road, with rods and tackle, to enjoy a day’s fishing in a bonnie brown burn that led from the Loch o’ Skene.

The day was most delightful, the blue of the sky all the bluer in that grey or fleecy clouds floated here and there. But the wind’s light breath was balmy and warm, laverocks carolled against the sky, wild flowers, by the wayside, sprang wanton to be pressed; the dark pine woods of Hazlehead and Maidencraig were a sight to see, while in the more open country the larches were already fringed with tender spring greens, and tasselled with crimson.

The very horse Sandie drove seemed to feel the influence of this delightful day, and as he trotted merrily on--his feet made music on the pebbled road.

They never drew rein until they came to the inn of Straik in Echt, where they had formerly dined, and here they put up.

They would walk the rest of the distance, and the landlady promised she would have a charming little dinner ready for them by the time they returned.

Would her little boy be of use to them as a guide? Well, they would take him anyhow.

He was a very tiny lad indeed, with a head of tow apparently, and no cap; but they found him invaluable. For wee Johnnie knew all the best “pots” where the biggest trout lay, and he knew also precisely the kind of flies they liked.

“Oh,” he cried, when he saw Sandie’s and Willie’s book, “the troots wadna look at they.”

Then from what he called his “oxter pouch” he produced his own book. Something very different here. But the results justified the boy’s wisdom, and an excellent day’s sport was the result.

“Johnnie, you’re a little brick,” cried Willie, after he had put up his rod.

He placed a five-shilling piece in the boy’s hand as he spoke.

Johnnie looked at it, and his eyes appeared to turn quite as large and round as the coin. He had never fingered so much money in his life before.

“Is a’ this for me?” he said.

“All for you, Johnnie.”

“A’ for my nain sel’?”

“All for your own self.”

“My conscience! I’m the happiest lad in the countryside!”

And so he really appeared to be.

Our heroes had spent a very calm but pleasant day, and Willie felt thankful, and expressed himself so more than once, that they were down in the cool green country, far away from scenes of strife and riot.

They stopped for a moment by the side of the silvery lake to admire the beautiful sheet of water with the greenery of the woods rising up from its banks beyond, and afar off the blue summits of the Grampian Hills.

Johnnie here volunteered a statement.

“Gintlemen,” he said, “do ye ken what the mad laird o’ Skene ance did?”

“Is there a mad laird o’ Skene, Johnnie?”

“Oh, no noo, but lang syne. He wasna doonricht daft, ye ken, but jist reckless-kind and deil-may-care.”

“Well, what did he do, Johnnie?”

“Weel, he made a wager that he’d drive a carriage and pair ower the loch after only ae’ (one) nicht’s frost.”

“And did he do it?”

“Ay, that did he. But he made a compact with the servant that sat beside him, that he wasna to look roun’. The man did look roun’ tho’, just as the hosses had got footin’ on the bank. He saw an awfu’ beast like a big baboon sittin’ up behind, then the ice broke and the carriage sunk. But the laird won the wager.”

“Come on,” said Willie; “I’m hungry.”