Think um bleech-loader.
Now, come 'long, walkee walkee blackward.

I go first." It was good advice, and we began our retreat, having the street to ourselves for the first minute.

My messmates supported me on either side, and we walked backward with military precision.
"Well done, gun carriage," panted Barkins to me.

"I say, Blacksmith, who says the old glass isn't worth a hundred pounds now ?" "Worth a thousand," cried Smith excitedly.

"But look out, they're coming out of their holes again." I made the object-glass end describe a circle in the air as we slowly backed, and the swordsmen darted away to the shelters they had quitted to follow us as they saw us in retreat.