Stupefied with rage and astonishment, Captain Bludder looked
on; at one moment thinking of drawing his sword, and joining the fray;
but the next, perceiving that his men were evidently worsted, he decided
upon making off; and with this view he was about to jump into the
wherry, when his purpose was prevented by Dick Taverner, and a few
others of the most active of his companions, who dashed down the steps
to where he stood. The captain had already got one foot in the wherry,
and the watermen, equally alarmed with himself, were trying to push off,
when the invaders came up, and, springing into the boat, took possession
of the oars, sending Bludder floundering into the Thames, where he sunk
up to the shoulders, and stuck fast in the mud, roaring piteously for
help.
Scarcely were the 'prentices seated, than Sir Francis Mitchell was
brought down to them, and the poor knight, beginning to comprehend the
jeopardy in which he was placed, roared for help as lustily as the
half-drowned Alsatian captain, and quite as ineffectually. The latter
was left to shift for himself, but the former was rowed out some twenty
or thirty yards from the shore, where, a stout cord being fastened to
his girdle, he was plunged head-foremost into the river; and after
being thrice drawn up, and as often submerged again, he was dragged on
board, and left to shiver and shake in his dripping habiliments in the
stern of the boat. The bath had completely sobered him, and he bitterly
bemoaned himself, declaring that if he did not catch his death of cold
he should be plagued with cramps and rheumatism during the rest of his
days.
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