For some time the two oarsmen rowed on as swiftly as they could, fancying they should be pursued, but finding this was not the case, they began to relax their efforts, and liberated themselves from their disguises.

When divested of the handkerchief tied round his head, and of some other coverings concealing the lower part of his visage, Tom Syddall was fully revealed.

'Twas a physiognomy not easily to be mistaken, owing to the size of the nose, which, besides being enormous, was singularly formed. Moreover, Tom's face was hatchet-shaped.

He had a great soul in a small body. Though a little fellow, he was extremely active, and full of spirit—capable, in his own opinion, of great things. A slight boaster, perhaps, but good-tempered, rarely taking offence if laughed at. Tom despised his vocation, and declared he was cut out for a soldier, but he also declared he would never serve King George—so a barber he remained.

Though there was something ludicrous in his assumption, no one who knew him doubted that he would fight—and fight manfully, too—for the Stuarts, should the opportunity ever be offered him.

Ordinarily, Tom Syddall's manner was comic, but he put on a sombre and tragic expression, when alluding to his father, who was executed for taking part in the rebellion of 1715—his head being fixed upon a spike in the market-place. Tom had vowed to avenge his father, and frequently referred to the oath. Such was Tom Syddall, whose personal appearance and peculiarities rendered him a noticeable character in Manchester at the time.

His companion, it is scarcely necessary to say, was Atherton Legh.

As they rested for a moment upon their oars they both laughed heartily.

"We may be proud of the exploit we have performed," cried Tom. "We have served the prince, and saved the bridge. Three minutes later and the arch would have been blown up. The scheme was well-designed, and well-executed."

"You deserve entire credit both for plan and execution, Tom," rejoined Atherton.

"Nay, sir," said Syddall with affected modesty. "'Twas a bold and well-conceived scheme I admit, but I could not have carried it out without your aid. I trust we may always be successful in our joint undertakings. With you for a leader I would not shrink from any enterprise, however hazardous it might appear. I was struck with your coolness. 'Tis a good sign in a young man."

"Well, I think we are both taking it easily enough, Tom," said Atherton. "We are loitering here as calmly as if nothing had happened. However, I don't think any pursuit need be apprehended. The boroughreeve will have enough to do to look after the mob."

"Ay, that he will," said Syddall. "He has but a very short tenure of office left. The prince will soon be here, and then all will be changed. Did you notice those ladies on the rock near the bridge? They seemed greatly excited, and cheered us."

"Yes, I saw them, and I am glad they saw us, Tom. One of them was Sir Richard Rawcliffe's daughter. I felt my arm strengthened when I found she was watching us. I think I could have done twice as much as I did."

"You did quite enough, sir," observed Syddall, smiling. "But shall we land, or drop quietly down the river for a mile or two, and then return by some roundabout road?"

"Let us go on," said Atherton. "I don't think it will be safe to return just yet."

By this time, though they had not left the bridge much more than half-a-mile behind, they were completely in the country. On the right the banks were still high and rocky, narrowing the stream, and shutting out the view.

But though the modern part of the town extended in this direction, two or three fields intervened between the houses and the river. On the left, the banks being low, the eye could range over pleasant meadows around which the Irwell meandered, forming a charming prospect from the heights overlooking the wide valley through which it pursued its winding course.

So nearly complete was the circle described by the river, that the upper part of the stream was here not very far distant from the lower.

But our object in depicting this locality is to show how wonderfully it is changed. The meadows just alluded to, intersected by hedgerows, and with only two or three farm-houses to be seen amidst them, are now covered with buildings of all kinds—warehouses, mills, and other vast structures. Bridges now span the river; innumerable houses are reared upon its banks; and scarce a foot of ground remains unoccupied.

In a word, an immense and populous town has sprung up, covering the whole area encircled by the Irwell, and the pleasing country scene we have endeavoured to describe has for ever vanished. Few persons would imagine that the polluted river was once bright and clear, and its banks picturesque, and fringed with trees. Yet such was the case little more than a century ago.

Salford at that time was comprised within very narrow limits, and only possessed a single street, which communicated with the old bridge. In Manchester, between the upper part of Deansgate and the river, there were fields entirely unbuilt upon, and a lane bordered by hedges ran down through these fields to the quay.

The quay itself was very small, and consisted of a wharf with a house and warehouse attached to it.

It seems astonishing that a town so important as was Manchester in 1745, should not have had a larger storehouse for goods, but apparently the merchants were content with it. Barges were then towed up the river as far as the quay, but not beyond.

As Atherton and his companion rowed slowly down the river, they did not encounter a single boat till they came in sight of the wharf, where a barge and a few small craft were moored. They now debated with themselves whether to land here or go lower down: and at length decided upon halting, thinking there could be no danger. But they were mistaken. As they drew near the wharf, three men armed with muskets suddenly appeared on the deck of the barge, and commanded them to stop.

"You are prisoners," cried one of these persons. "We have just received information by a mounted messenger of the occurrence at Salford Bridge, and we know you to be the men who ran down the engineers. You are prisoners, I repeat. Attempt to move off and we will fire upon you."

As the muskets were levelled at their heads from so short a distance, Atherton and his companion felt that resistance would be useless, so they surrendered at discretion, and prepared to disembark. Some other men, who were standing by, took charge of them as they stepped ashore.