Adventures have not unfrequently occurred
to me when so circumstanced, and I have been indebted to my right hand
and my good sword for deliverance from many a desperate risk. Late one
night, I chanced to be in the neighbourhood of Whitefriars, in a place
called the Wilderness, when, hearing cries for help, accompanied by the
clash of steel, I rushed towards a narrow court, whence the clatter and
vociferations resounded, and perceived by the light of the moon, which
fortunately happened to be shining brightly at the time, one man engaged
with four others, who were evidently bent upon cutting his throat in
order to take his purse. He defended himself gallantly, but the odds
were too great, and he must have been speedily slain--for the villains
swore with great oaths they would murder him if he continued to resist
them--if I had not come to the rescue. I arrived just in time. They were
pressing him hard. I struck down the point of a rapier which was within
an inch of his breast--gave the swashbuckler who carried it a riposta he
did not expect, and sent him off bowling--and then addressed myself to
the others with such good effect, that in a brief space the stranger and
I were alone together. I had been slightly wounded in the fray; but I
thought nothing of it--a mere scratch. It seemed something more to the
gentleman I had preserved. He expressed great concern for me, and bound
his handkerchief round my arm.
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