vement of the ship and the darkness of
the night had cowed their spirits. They made a rush upon the pier; my
lord, with his sword drawn on his own retainers, must throw himself in
front; and this impulse of rabblement was not restrained without a
certain clamour of voices, highly to be regretted in the case.

When some degree of order had been restored, Dick, with a few chosen
men, set forth in advance. The darkness on shore, by contrast with the
flashing of the surf, appeared before him like a solid body; and the
howling and whistling of the gale drowned any lesser noise.

He had scarce reached the end of the pier, however, when there fell a
lull of the wind; and in this he seemed to hear on shore the hollow
footing of horses and the clash of arms. Checking his immediate
followers, he passed forward a step or two alone, even setting foot upon
the down; and here he made sure he could detect the shape of men and
horses moving. A strong discouragement assailed him. If their enemies
were really on the watch, if they had beleaguered the shoreward end of
the pier, he and Lord Foxham were taken in a posture of very poor
defence, the sea behind, the men jostled in the dark upon a narrow
causeway. He gave a cautious whistle, the signal previously agreed upon.

It proved to be a signal far more than he desired. Instantly there fell,
through the black night, a shower of arrows sent at a venture; and so
close were the men huddled on the pier that more than one was hit, and
the arrows were answered with cries of both fear and pain. In this first
discharge, Lord Foxham was struck down; Hawksley had him carried on
board again at once; and his men, during the brief remainder of the
skirmish, fought (when they fought at all) without guidance. That was
perhaps the chief cause of the disaster which made haste to follow.

At the shore end of the pier, for perhaps a minute, Dick held his own
with a handful; one or two were wounded upon either side; steel crossed
steel; nor had there been the least signal of advantage, when in the
twinkling of an eye the tide turned against the party from the ship.
Some one cried out that all was lost; the men were in the very humour
to lend an ear to a discomfortable counsel; the cry was taken up. "On
board, lads, for your lives!" cried another. A third, with the true
instinct of the coward, raised that inevitable report on all retreats:
"We are betrayed!" And in a moment the whole mass of men went surgi