Listen, there's Pengelly shoutin' for another volley! Right you be, sergeant! Make ready--prepare--Eh?
Hallo!" Why was it that suddenly, at the height of the hubbub, a panic fell upon the bandsmen of Troy?
Why did the "Rout for the Looes" cease midway in a bar?
What was it that hushed on an instant the shouts, the rallying cries upon the beach, the bugle-calls and challenges, the furious uproar of musketry?
Why, within twenty yards of the Cove-head, in the act of charging upon the serried ranks of Looe's main guard, did Major Hymen face about and with sword still uplifted stare behind him, and continue to stare as one petrified?
What meant that strange light, out yonder by the Cove's mouth, in the rear of his boats?
The light grew and spread until it illuminated every pebble on the beach.

The men of Troy, dazzled by the glare of it, blinked in the faces of the men of Looe.
THE FRENCH! "A trap! A trap!" yelled someone far to the right, and the cry was echoed on the instant by a sound in the rear of the Diehards--a sound yet more terrible--the pounding of hoofs upon hard turf.
Again Captain Pond rushed forward and caught the Major by the elbow.
"The Dragoons!" he whispered.

"Run for your life, man!" But already the ranks of the Diehards had begun to waver; and now, as the oncoming hoofs thundered louder, close upon their rear, they broke.

Trojans and men of Looe turned tail and were swept in one commingled crowd down the beach.
"To the water, there! Down to the water, every man of you!" A voice loud as a bull's roared out the command from the darkness.
The Major, still waving his sword, was lifted by the crowd's pressure and swept along like a chip in a tideway.

His feet fought for solid earth.