A gentleman-coachman gives the following incident: ‘In or about November 1834, I got upon the “Albion” coach, which ran from Birkenhead to London. There was no one on the box, a most unusual thing, so I got by the side of the coachman. “I suppose you know what kind of a load we’ve got, sir?” said he. “No,” I answered; “they look a queer lot! What are they?”—“Why,” said he, “they’re all jail-birds.” “Where are they going?” said I.—“Why, to Botany Bay; and I wish they were there now, for they are inclined to give some trouble, and would do if they had not got ‘ruffles’ on; but they’re pretty safe, I think.” They had two turnkeys with them; and there was no one else on the coach but these worthies, their keepers, myself, coachman, and guard. I left the coach at Wolverhampton, and a lucky thing for me it was; for, before reaching Walsall, the horses shied at some sparks flying across the road from a blacksmith’s shop, bolted, ran against a post, and upset the coach. No one was killed; but the coachman ultimately died of the injuries then received. During the confusion caused by the accident, and whilst another coach and coachman were being got ready to take them on, some of the convicts contrived to get files and other implements, and by these means put their handcuffs into such condition that they could slip them whenever they chose to do so. At a given signal they freed themselves, sprang upon and overpowered their keepers, guard, and coachman, handcuffed them, cut the traces, let loose the horses, and decamped. The greater number of them were, however, recaptured.’