Of my Incarceration in the Jug
kicking in the air like a beetle fallen upon his back. The act fell with such suddenness that it took them all by surprise, but at the cry that was raised the escort reined in with some confusion. Once upon his legs, however, Galloping Dick was a match for any escort, and sending the nearest off his nag with a knock in the belly, I merely sent the steel in a flying stab at my old friend, the Sheriff, and was through the ring ere ever they might lift a weapon. A great roar broke from the assembly, but the ranks gave way upon the Soho side, as I ran through full tilt. “Bravo, Dick!” cries someone, and with that a shout goes up, and ’twas “Bravo, Dick!” all round. Shackleton’s lads carved out a lane for me smartly enough, and ere the escort could pierce the crowd I was through the “Pack Horse” and out upon a private back-alley, as I knew, in the twinkling of an eye.
And that, as it chanced, was the method of my escape, which was for long notorious in the country, and concerning which many erroneous tales have been in circulation.
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