He was pretty successful in Manchester,—a town which may be said to have been the head-quarters of the disaffected. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. He felt he had raised a storm which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to allay. "Then, by Heaven! you are a dead man!" replied Jack, cocking a pistol, and pointing it deliberately at his head. All the village was assembled in the churchyard. Marry, come up! I'm not so easily deluded.
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