‘Sapristi,’ he shouted angrily. . He could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight. ‘Do not tell me he has escaped. During this movement, Jack grasped the barrel of his pistol, held in his breath, and motioned to Blueskin, who bared a long knife, to keep still. But, uttering a loud cry, he was swept away by the headlong torrent. Besides, I acted for others, and not for myself. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart.
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