"Here's a pistol!" cried Thames, darting towards the undischarged weapon dropped by Blueskin in the scuffle, and pointing it at Jonathan. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. “Cheveney!” she repeated. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. “What did it matter?” she cried. Some doting parent had taught him well. This was no light conquest; nor was it a government easily maintained.
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