A coherent account of the adventure might be difficult to give; but there are certain details of it concerning which all the witnesses are agreed. Marshal Haynau was beaten with rods, as his victims had been beaten, and some of the rods were broken across his back. He fled for refuge into a dustbin, and was pulled out of it by the beard. Somehow or other, he escaped from the brewery and ran like a hare down the street; but he was caught, knocked over, and dragged along the ground by his fierce moustaches. A woman threw a pair of scissors out of the window of an upper chamber, appealing to the men to cut those moustaches off. Ultimately he ran into a public house, and there managed to evade his pursuers until the police delivered him. The story was a nine days’ wonder. _The Times_ arose in its majesty and rebuked the draymen for their presumption in imagining that the misdeeds of people of importance were any concern of theirs; and _The Times_ might as well have rebuked a volcano for forgetting its dignity and giving way to eruptions. The general sentiment found expression in a public meeting—also reported by _The Times_—whereat a vote of thanks to the draymen was carried unanimously, and Messrs. Barclay and Perkins themselves were warned that, if any one of their employees was punished for his part in the transaction, no British workman, from Land’s End to John o’ Groat’s House, would ever again drink a glass of Barclay and Perkins’s beer. Then the writers of popular songs took the matter up, and this sort of thing was circulated on broad-sheets:— There was an Austrian General strong, Who flogged the ladies with a thong; He had a beard twelve inches long, His name was Marshal Haynau. He from his country had to run: He loved the knife, the cat, the gun, And cruel deeds of late was done By this old Marshal Haynau. From Barclay’s brew-house he did scout; The women bawled, the men did shout; His hat fell off, and his shirt hung out, Oh, poor old Marshal Haynau! At length he found a place to hide, All at the George by Bankside, But not till they’d well tann’d his hide,— Barclay and Perkins’s draymen. Then for Barclay’s men we’ll give a cheer. May they live long to brew our beer! And from their masters nothing fear,— Barclay and Perkins’s draymen.