“Then get you closer to the wall, men,” cried Cheetham, in great anxiety. “He'll come like a stone, when he does come.” This injunction was given none too soon; the men had hardly shifted their positions, when Little's hand opened, and he came down like lead, with his hands all abroad, and his body straight; but his knees were slightly bent, and he caught the bands just below the knee, and bounded off them into the air, like a cricket-ball. But many hands grabbed at him, and the grinder Reynolds caught him by the shoulder, and they rolled on the ground together, very little the worse for that tumble. “Well done! well done!” cried Cheetham. “Let him lie, lads, he is best there for a while; and run for a doctor, one of you.”
“Ay, run for Jack Doubleface,” cried several voices at once.
“Now, make a circle, and give him air, men.” Then they all stood in a circle, and eyed the blackened and quivering figure with pity and sympathy, while the canopy of white smoke bellied overhead. Nor were those humane sentiments silent; and the rough seemed to be even more overcome than the others: no brains were required to pity this poor fellow now; and so strong an appeal to their hearts, through their senses, roused their good impulses and rare sensibilities. Oh, it was strange to hear good and kindly sentiments come out in the Dash dialect.
“It's a —— shame!”
“There lies a good workman done for by some —— thief, that wasn't fit to blow his bellows, —— him!”
“Say he WAS a cockney, he was always —— civil.”
“And life's as sweet to him as to any man in Hillsborough.”
“Hold your —— tongue, he's coming to.”
Henry did recover his wits enough to speak; and what do you think was his first word?
He clasped his hands together, and said,—“MY MOTHER! OH, DON'T LET HER KNOW!”