The instant after that four men had crawled out from under a chaos of metal, and a tall lean lamp-post that had stood up straight on the edge of the marine parade stood out, bent and twisted, like the branch of a broken tree.
"Well, we smashed something," said the Professor, with a faint smile.
"That's some comfort." "You're becoming an anarchist," said Syme, dusting his clothes with his instinct of daintiness.
"Everyone is," said Ratcliffe.
As they spoke, the white-haired horseman and his followers came thundering from above, and almost at the same moment a dark string of men ran shouting along the sea-front.

Syme snatched a sword, and took it in his teeth; he stuck two others under his arm-pits, took a fourth in his left hand and the lantern in his right, and leapt off the high parade on to the beach below.
The others leapt after him, with a common acceptance of such decisive action, leaving the debris and the gathering mob above them.
"We have one more chance," said Syme, taking the steel out of his mouth.
"Whatever all this pandemonium means, I suppose the police station will help us.

We can't get there, for they hold the way.

But there's a pier or breakwater runs out into the sea just here, which we could defend longer than anything else, like Horatius and his bridge.

We must defend it till the Gendarmerie turn out.