"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.