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.