There was an echoing sound from their footsteps, dull to him, but still plain, and it seemed as if they were down in some narrow cutting or rift, when all at once! Just in front, after the men about him had been talking more loudly, as if clear of danger, there rang out a stern-- "Halt--stand!" There was a hasty exclamation.

Then came in the loud, gruff voice,-- "Back, lads, quick!" He was seized, and retreat had begun, when again rang out:-- "Halt--stand!" The smugglers were between two fires.
The midshipman was conscious of a familiar voice crying,-- "No shots, lads.

Cutlashes!" There was a rush; the sound of blows, men swayed and struggled about wildly, and the lad, bound, blindfolded, and helpless, was thrust here and there.

Then he received a sharp blow from a cudgel, which sent him staggering forward, and directly after a dull cut from a steel weapon, which, fortunately for him, fell upon and across the rope which bound his arms to his sides.

There were oaths, fierce cries, and the struggling grew hotter, till all at once there was a rush, Archy went down like a skittle, men seemed to perform a triumphal war-dance upon his body, and then they passed on with the fight, evidently consisting of a retreat and pursuit, till the sounds nearly died away.
A minute later, as Archy lay there perfectly helpless, the noises increased again.