"Not us, missus, not us! We be officers--Bow Street officers--wi' a werry dangerous criminal took red 'anded an' a fifty-pound reward good as in our pockets--so 'ere we be, an' 'ere we bide till mornin'. Lay down, you!" Saying which he fetched the wretched captive a buffet that tumbled him into a corner where he lay, his muddy back supported in the angle. And lying thus, it chanced that his eye met mine, a bright eye, very piercing and keen. Now beholding him thus in his helplessness and misery, I will confess that my very natural and proper repugnance for him and his past desperate crimes was greatly modified by pity for his present deplorable situation, the which it seemed he was quick to notice, for with his keen gaze yet holding mine, he spoke, albeit mumbling and somewhat indistinct by reason of his swollen lips: "Oh, brother, I'm parched wi' thirst--a drink o' water--" "Stow ye gab!" growled the man Tom. "Gi'e him one for 'is nob, Jimmy." But as his nearer captor raised his cudgel, I sprang to my feet. "That'll do!" I cried so imperatively that the fellow stayed his blow and turned to stare, as did the others. "You've maltreated him enough," said I, quite beside myself; "if he desires a little water where's the harm; he will find few enough comforts where he is going?" And taking up a jug of water that chanced to be near I approached the poor wretch, but ere I could reach him, the man Tom interposed, yet as he eyed me over, from rumpled cravat to dusty Hessians, his manner underwent a subtle change. "No, no, young sir--can't be--I knows a genelman when I sees one, but it's no go--Jerry's a rare desperate cove an' oncommon sly--" "Then give him the water yourself--" "Not me, sir!" "I tell you the man is faint with thirst and ill-usage--" "Then let 'im faint. A young gent like you don't want nothin' to do wi' th' likes o' 'im--let 'im faint--" At this I set down the jug and taking out my purse, extracted a guinea. "Landlord," said I, tossing the coin upon the table, "a bottle of your best rum for the officers--a bowl of punch would do none of us any harm, I think." "Lor'!" exclaimed the landlady, sitting down heavily. "By goles!" quoth the landlord, reaching for the guinea. "Allus know a genelman when I sees one!" said the man Tom, making a leg to me and knuckling shaggy eyebrow. So they suffered me to take the water to their prisoner, who drank avidly, his eyes upraised to mine in speechless gratitude. "Don't believe 'em, brother," he whispered under cover of the talk where the others clustered around the hearth watching the preparations for the punch; "don't believe 'em, friend--I'm no murderer an' my pore old stricken mother on 'er knees for me this night, an' my sweet wife an' babbies weepin' their pretty eyes out, an' all for me. I'm a pore lame dog, brother, an' here's a stile as be 'ard to come over; howsomever, whether 'tis sweet wind an' open road for me by an' by, or Tyburn Tree--why God love ye for this, brother!"