On the other side the white waves would be roaring and gnashing up the black cliffs, but here in Dixcart they fell sadly on the shingle and drew back into the depths with long-drawn growls and hisses.
"V'la!" said Uncle George, as we lay on the cliff; and we heard the oars below in the bay, and all stood up ready.
They came in as close under the cliff as they dared, so close that we heard their voices clearly between the falling of the waves.

And then, dimly, we saw the black bulks of their boats in the streaming surf as it ran back to the sea, and I started, for I could only see three, but could not be certain.
"Now!" said Uncle George, and our volley caught them full.
They roared curses, and began snapping back at us as each man found his musket.

But a step back took us under cover, for a black cliff two hundred and fifty feet high, and hidden in the night, offered no mark for them, and from the face of the opposite hill our other volley crashed into the marks their own fire offered.
"Again!" said Uncle George, as soon as our men were ready, and our ten guns spoke once more.
They were sadly discomfited, and furiously angry down below there.

But those who were not wounded had tumbled ashore, and they replied to our second volley with a more concerted fire.

And in the flash Of their guns I, craning over the scarp of the hill, saw clearly but three boats.
"Only three boats," I whispered in George Hamon's ear.