There I was, on Joe's back, and there was Joe beneath me, charging at the ditches like a hunter, and stimulating Mr.Wopsle not to tumble on his Roman nose, and to keep up with us.

The soldiers were in front of us, extending into a pretty wide line with an interval between man and man.

We were taking the course I had begun with, and from which I had diverged in the mist.
Either the mist was not out again yet, or the wind had dispelled it.
Under the low red glare of sunset, the beacon, and the gibbet, and the mound of the Battery, and the opposite shore of the river, were plain, though all of a watery lead color.
With my heart thumping like a blacksmith at Joe's broad shoulder, I looked all about for any sign of the convicts.

I could see none, I could hear none.

Mr.Wopsle had greatly alarmed me more than once, by his blowing and hard breathing; but I knew the sounds by this time, and could dissociate them from the object of pursuit.