‘Whoop!’ cried Jonas. ‘Whoop! again! another! A little more, a little more! Up, ye devils! Hillo!’
As he heard the driver, who had risen and was hurrying up, crying to him to desist, his violence increased.
‘Hiilo! Hillo!’ cried Jonas.
‘For God’s sake!’ cried the driver. ‘The gentleman—in the road—he’ll be killed!’
The same shouts and the same struggles were his only answer. But the man darting in at the peril of his own life, saved Montague’s, by dragging him through the mire and water out of the reach of present harm. That done, he ran to Jonas; and with the aid of his knife they very shortly disengaged the horses from the broken chariot, and got them, cut and bleeding, on their legs again. The postillion and Jonas had now leisure to look at each other, which they had not had yet.
‘Presence of mind, presence of mind!’ cried Jonas, throwing up his hands wildly. ‘What would you have done without me?’
‘The other gentleman would have done badly without me,’ returned the man, shaking his head. ‘You should have moved him first. I gave him up for dead.’
‘Presence of mind, you croaker, presence of mind’ cried Jonas with a harsh loud laugh. ‘Was he struck, do you think?’
They both turned to look at him. Jonas muttered something to himself, when he saw him sitting up beneath the hedge, looking vacantly around.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Montague. ‘Is anybody hurt?’