Mutely, contritely, with bowed heads, they obeyed and followed him down the street, leaving the Vicar at gaze.
What had happened?
Why, this .-- After the fiasco in Talland Cove Captain Arbuthnot had formed up his Dragoons and given the word to ride back to Bodmin Barracks, their temporary quarters, whence Mr.Smellie had summoned them.
He was in the devil of a rage.

From the Barracks to Talland Cove is a good fourteen miles as the crow flies, and you may allow another two miles for the windings of the road (which, by the way, was a pestilently bad one).

To ride sixteen miles by night, chafing all the while under the orders of a civilian, and to return another sixteen, smarting, from a fool's errand, is (one must admit) excusably trying to the military temper.

Smellie, to be sure, and Smellie alone, had been discomfited.

Smellie's discomfiture had been so signally personal as to divert all ridicule from the Dragoons.
Smellie, moreover, had made himself confoundedly obnoxious.
Smellie had given himself airs during the ride from Bodmin; and Captain Arbuthnot had with an ill grace submitted to them, because the fellow knew the country.