“Gently, good friends; don't part us,” said Alfred.
“He is the keeper,” said one of the crowd.
“Yes, I'm his keeper: and I want to get him quietly away. This excitement will do him harm else; good friends, help me out by that door.”
“All right,” was the cry, and they rushed with him to the back door. Rooke, who was about twenty yards off saw and suspected this movement. He fought his way and struggled after Alfred in silence. Presently, to his surprise, Alfred unlocked the door and whipped out with David, leaving the door open. Rooke shouted and halloaed: “Stop him! he is escaping,” and struggled madly to the door. Now another crowd had been waiting in the meadows; seeing the door open they rushed in and the doorway was jammed directly. In the confusion Alfred drew David along the side of the wall; told him to stay quiet, bolted behind an outhouse, and then ran across country for the bare life.
To his horror David followed him, and with a madman's agility soon caught him.
He snorted like a spirited horse, and shouted cheerily, “Go ahead, messmate; I smell blue water.”
“Come on, then,” cried Alfred, half mad himself with excitement, and the pair ran furiously, and dashed through hedges and ditches, torn, bleeding, splashed, triumphant; behind them the burning madhouse, above them the spangled sky, the fresh free air of liberty blowing in their nostrils, and rushing past their ears.
Alfred's chest expanded, he laughed for joy, he sang for joy, he leaped as he went; nor did he care where he went. David took the command, and kept snuffing the air, and shaping his course for blue water. And so they rushed along the livelong night.
Free.