A bugle-call will announce the arrival of each boat_." The Major, erect in the bows of the leading boat, glanced over his right shoulder and beheld his line of followers, all in perfect order, extend themselves and close the mouth of the Cove.

Ahead of him--ahead but a few yards only--he heard the slack tide run faintly on the shingle.

From the dark beach came no sound.

Overhead quivered the expectant stars.

He lifted his sword-arm, and from point to hilt ran a swift steely glitter.
"Give way, lads! And Saint Fimbar for Troy!" A stroke of the oars, defiant now, muffled no longer! Two--three strokes, and with a jolt the boat's nose took the beach.