big as myself slipped round to my back and gripped me hard by the
neck, all my struggles did not avail to prevent my being shoved and
pulled and hustled out into the middle of the street.

Vetch had picked himself up, and now came running towards me in a
frenzy. In his rage he had plucked off his mask, revealing his
distorted features to all the good folk who, I doubt not, by this
time had their heads out at their windows, viewing the scene from a
secure altitude.

"Out of the way, Mytton!" he screamed, his voice shrill with
passion. "Out of the way, I say; I will crop his ears, the cur!"

Burt Mytton, the fellow who had me by the neck, and some others of
the band, were not for pushing things to such extremities. They
closed about to protect me, and even Dick Cludde caught Vetch's arm
and expostulated with him. Another meanwhile had snatched old
Ivimey's rattle from him, and ever and anon amid the din I caught
the sound of his quavering voice calling, "Help for the watch! O my
sakes! O my bones!"

Then a cry arose:

"To the river! Give 'em a ducking!" and in another moment there we
were, myself and Ivimey, being lugged at a quick scuffle down the
street towards the Severn. There was no hope of escape, and I had
resigned myself to the imminent bath, when at a turn in the narrow
roadway we found the path blocked by two pedestrians.

With Mytton's hand forcing my head downwards I did not at first see