Phineas stepped in front of Eliza, one arm protectively hovering in front of her, the other extending to ward off the leader. Eliza was sobbing now; if she was faking her terror, she was doing a damn good job of it. Phineas addressed the leader, voice shaky. 

"Now listen here, you... er, gentleman. This 'woman' is no animal to be beaten and scolded. She is my wife, and it would do well for you to treat her with an ounce of respect. Now, we are British citizens, and we wish to..."

His voice trailed off as it became apparent that the leader wasn't listening to him in the slightest. The burly man's eyes were cast to the ground, focused on the pile of belongings he had dumped from their bags. Slowly, he stooped down and brushed aside a shirt, dislodging a small box from the sand. The leader lifted it into the air, and turned it slowly. One by one, several dozen rounds of pistol ammunition tinkled out of the box and on to the dune. The leader threw the empty box in disgust and turned to Phineas, an expression of cold fury on his countenance.

"You tourists?" he repeated, somehow adding an edge of sarcasm to his rough voice.