Glancing back as he struggled, he saw, high above his shoulder, lit up by the flares from seaward, a line of flashing swords, helmets, cuirasses.
"To the boats!" yelled the crowd.
"To the water! Drive 'em to the water!" answered the stentorian voice, now recognisable as Mr.Smellie's.
The Dragoons, using the flat of their sabres, drove the fugitives down to the tide's edge, nor drew rein until their chargers stood fetlock-deep in water, still pressing the huddled throng around the boats.
"Bring a lantern, there!" shouted the Riding Officer.

"And call Hymen! Where is Hymen!" "I am here!" The Major had picked himself up out of two feet of water, into which he had been flung on all fours.

He was dripping wet, but he still clutched his naked blade, and advancing into the light of the lantern's rays, brought it up to salute with a fine cold dignity.
"I am here," he repeated quietly.
"Well, then, I'm sorry for you, Hymen; but the game's up," said Mr.
Smellie.
The Major glanced at him, for a moment only.
"Will someone inform me who commands this troop ?" he asked, looking first to right, then to left, along the line of the Dragoons.
"At your service, sir," answered a young officer, pressing his horse forward alongside Mr.Smellie's.
The Major reached out a hand for the lantern.

Someone passed it to him obediently; and holding it he scanned the officer up and down amid the dead silence of the crowd.
"Your name, sir ?" "Arbuthnot, sir--Captain Arbuthnot, of the 5th Dragoons." "Then allow me to ask, Captain Arbuthnot, by what right have you and your troopers assaulted my men ?" "Excuse me," the Captain answered.

"I am acting on trustworthy information.