ery, whom they drove back with a shower of paving-stones.

The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal
for an attempt at rescue. With a loud shout, and headed by a
powerfully-built man, with a face as black as that of a mulatto, and
armed with a cutlass, the rabble leapt over the barricades, and rushed
towards the vehicle. An immediate halt took place. The soldiers
surrounded the cart, drew their swords, and by striking the rioters
first with the blunt edge of their blades, and afterwards with the sharp
points, succeeded in driving them back.

Amid this skirmish Jonathan greatly distinguished himself. Drawing his
hanger he rode amongst the crowd, trampled upon those most in advance,
and made an attempt to seize their leader, in whom he recognised
Blueskin.

Baffled in their attempt, the mob uttered a roar, such as only a
thousand angry voices can utter, and discharged a volley of missiles at
the soldiery. Stones and brickbats were showered on all sides, and Mr.
Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog,
which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face.

At length, however, by dealing blows right and left with their swords,
and even inflicting severe cuts on the foremost of the rabble, the
soldiers managed to gain a clear course, and to drive back the
assailants; who, as they retreated behind the barricades, shouted in
tones of defiance, "To Tyburn! to Tyburn!"

The object of all this tumult, meanwhile, never altered his position,
but sat back in the cart, as if resolved not to make even a struggle to
regain his liberty.

The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along
Holborn. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from
the various avenues that poured their streams into it. Fetter Lane, on
the left, Gray's Inn, on the right, added their supplies. On all hands
Jack was cheered, and Jonathan hooted.

At length, the train approached St. Giles's. Here, according to another
old custom, already alluded to, a criminal taken to execution was
allowed to halt at a tavern, called the Crown, and take a draught from
St. Giles's bowl, "as his last refreshment on earth." At the door of
this tavern, which was situated on the left of the street, not more than
a hundred yards distant from the church, the bell of which began to toll
as soon as the procession came in sight, the cart drew up, and the whole
cavalcade halted. A wooden