Straight forth from the sea--or so it looked to me--some twenty or thirty naked horses, without rider, bit, or bridle, broke from the crowd and came plunging up the beach at a gallop.

They were met by a roar from the cove-head, and with that a line of glittering helmets and cuirasses sprang out of the night and charged past me.
"Dragoons! Dragoons!" As the yell reached me from the waterside and the men there scattered and ran, I saw the shock of the double charge--the flame overhead lighting up every detail of it.

The riderless horses, though they opened and swerved, neither turned tail nor checked their pace, but heading suddenly towards the left wing of the troop went through it as water through a gate, the dragoons either vainly hacking at them with their sabres, or leaning from their saddles and as vainly attempting to grip the brutes.

Grip there was none to be had.
These were smugglers' horses, clipped to the skin, with houghed manes, and tails and bodies sleek with soft soap.

Nor did the dragoons waste more trouble upon them, but charged forward and down upon the crowd at the water's edge.
And as they charged I saw--but could not believe--that on a sudden the crowd had vanished.