Next we passed a couple of well-dressed ladies, but they fled into a gateway to avoid my pursuers, and the next minute I was hustled round a corner, the centre of the whooping, laughing crowd, and, to my horror, I found that we were in a narrow path with a row of stone cottages on one side, the wall of a dam like our own, and only a few inches above the water on the other.
I had felt dazed and confused before. Now I saw my danger clearly enough and the object of the lads.
I was streaming with perspiration, and so weak that I could hardly stand, but, to avoid being thrust in, and perhaps held under water and ducked and buffeted over and over again, I felt that I must make a plunge and try and swim to the other side.
But I dared not attempt it, even if I could have got clear; and blindly struggling on I had about reached the middle of the dam path when a foot was thrust out, and I fell.
Sobbing for my breath, beaten with fists, buffeted and blinded with the blows of the young savages’ caps, I struggled to my feet once more, but only to be tripped and to fall again on the rough stony path.
I could do no more. I had no strength to move, but I could think acutely, and feel, as I longed for the strength of Uncle Jack, and to hold in my hand a good stout but limber cane.
Yes, I could feel plainly enough the young ruffians dragging at me, and in their eagerness and number fighting one against the other.
“In wi’ him!”
“Dook him, lads!”
“Now, then, all together!”