He turned for a swift glance seaward, and at the same instant one or two voices on the ridge above called alarm. Under the western cliff his eye detected a line of dark shadows stealing towards the shore. "_Until gaining the entrance of the Cove_"--so ran the Major's order--"_the boats will preserve single file. At Downend Point the leading boat will halt and lie on her oars, dose inshore, while each successor pivots and spreads in echelon to starboard, keeping, as nearly as may be, two fathoms' distance from her consort to port; all gradually, as the shore is approached, rounding up for a simultaneous attack in line. The crews, on leaping ashore, will spread and find touch with one another in two lines, to sweep the beach. A bugle-call will announce the arrival of each boat_." The Major, erect in the bows of the leading boat, glanced over his right shoulder and beheld his line of followers, all in perfect order, extend themselves and close the mouth of the Cove. Ahead of him--ahead but a few yards only--he heard the slack tide run faintly on the shingle. From the dark beach came no sound. Overhead quivered the expectant stars. He lifted his sword-arm, and from point to hilt ran a swift steely glitter. "Give way, lads! And Saint Fimbar for Troy!" A stroke of the oars, defiant now, muffled no longer! Two--three strokes, and with a jolt the boat's nose took the beach. The shock flung the Major forward over the bows; and on all fours, with a splash--like Julius Caesar--he saluted the soil he came to conquer. But in an instant he stood erect again, waving his blade. "Forward! Forward, Troy!" "I beg your pardon, Hymen," interrupted Captain Pond, quietly but seriously, stepping forth from the darkness. "Yes, yes; that's understood--but see here now--" "Back, or you are my prisoner!" The Major had scrambled to his feet, and stood waving his sword. "Hymen!" Captain Pond ran past the Major's guard and caught him by the elbow. "Hands off, I say! Forward, Troy!" The Major struggled to disengage his sword-arm. "Hymen, don't be a fool! As a friend now--though you _might_ have taken me into your confidence--" "Unhand me, Pond! Though you are doing your best to spoil the whole business--" "Listen to me, I say. The Dragoons--" But Captain Pond shouted in vain. Bugle after bugle drowned his voice, rending the darkness. From the rocks to the eastward voices answered them, challenging wildly. "Death to the invader!" With a _whoo-sh_ a rocket leapt into the air and burst, flooding the beach with light, showing up every furze bush, every stone wall, every sheep-track, on the surrounding cliffs. As if they had caught fire from it, a score of torches broke into flame on the eastward rocks, and in the sudden blaze, under the detonating fire of musketry, the men of Troy could be seen tumbling out of their boats and splashing ankle-deep to the shore.