Guard, sirs, if you please!" And whipping out their swords, these indomitable old gentlemen fell with fury on their seven adversaries and engaged them.
The struggle, however, lasted but a minute.

Six bayonets are not to be charged with a couple of small-swords; and just as Captain Barker was on the point of spitting himself like an over-hasty game chicken, the sergeant raised his side-arm and dealt him a cut over the head.
Hat and wig broke the blow somewhat; but the little man dropped with a moan and lay quite still in the road.
Hearing the sound, Captain Jemmy turned, dropped his sword, and ran to lift his friend.

The stroke had stunned him, and a trickle of blood ran from a slight scalp-wound and mingled with the dust.
"Jack, Jack!" sobbed his friend, kneeling and peering eagerly into his face.

The hunchback opened his eyes a little and stared up vacantly.
As he did so the dull roar of heavy guns broke out in the direction of Harwich, shaking the earth under Captain Jemmy's feet.

It was the town's parting salute to his Majesty King William the Third.