So in this fashion, Wat leading and striking all down in his way with a kind of desperate fury, Scarlett and Davie Dunbar, with the other two Scots, pressing as closely after him as they could, the small compact band made its way steadily and slowly towards the outgate of the Hostel of the Coronation. "Lord help us all!" cried the more terrified of their opponents; "let us get out of the way of these praying blue bonnets when they are angered." For the floor began to be sprinkled with groaning men who had dropped from the blades of the outlanders, and with stunned and maimed men stricken down by the fierce vigor of Wat's barbaric onslaught. Yet, in spite of all, it was a long time before the steadfast five could force their way to the street. By this time Wat held his chair by its only surviving leg, and the blades of the small Scots phalanx dripped blood into their own basket hilts. The street without was packed with townspeople, and even the watch could not make way to apprehend them. When the Scots finally came forth into the night it might, indeed, have gone very ill with them had it not been that a patrol of Frisian horse chanced to pass at that moment in front of the Hostel of the Coronation. To them Scarlett cried out in their own country speech (with which he was somewhat acquainted), "Help, there, for certain true soldiers of the prince cruelly beset by townsfolk!" Now this was the very wisest word he could have spoken. For whatever private discontents they might cherish, all the soldiers of the camp were of the faction of their general when it came to choosing between the Prince of Orange and the turbulent and rebellious municipality of Amersfort. The patrol swiftly opened out, and presently enclosed the five Scots between their files. Thus they were able to pass safely through the howling mob, which, however, made ugly rushes at them as they went. Presently they came to the headquarters of the portion of the force domiciled in the city. Wat, who for a time had been entirely sobered by the fierce excitement of battle, now again felt his head reel with the sudden, sharp chill of the night air. Yet when the prisoners were confronted with the officer of the night, he at once stepped forward and, without hesitation, assumed the sole responsibility for the affair. "I fear I have slain a man--or, mayhap, more than one," he said; "but these, my friends, have had no part in the quarrel. They but assisted me to fight my way out." "Your name and regiment, sir?" said the officer in charge, civilly enough. "I am Walter Gordon, captain in Douglas's regiment of Dragoons," replied Walter, readily enough. "Let Captain Gordon be taken to the military prison and there kept in the safest cell," interrupted the clear, high voice of Barra. He had entered unobserved, having followed the patrol along the street. The officer of the night saluted the high councillor of the prince and present provost-marshal of the camp and city of Amersfort.