The last thing he needed was to panic. Instead he checked on the men he had deployed to prevent the crowd from crossing the bridges. One was a narrow footbridge: Massey realized that there was no way that they could hold it. He had asked for infantry, but instead of men standing shoulder to shoulder, he had been given a mounted detachment. The horses, scared to death by the approaching mob, whinnied and snorted, their haunches slick with perspiration. They would not stand still. Massey cursed his luck. He searched out Lieutenant Dickie, the officer in charge of the mounted unit. His mount was rearing up and refusing to follow commands. Massey shouted to him, ‘Hold them still!’ Dickie reined his horse in but it was too frightened. ‘I’m trying, man!’ he shouted back. ‘Call for reinforcements. Now!’ Massey knew that there were no extra men. He went to his car and took out his spare pistol. He was going to need it. When he next turned towards the bridge, he saw one of the mounted men turn and gallop away from the skirmish.
