From the upper terrace at the foot of the tower the Princess and I
watched my uncle as, with two stalwart Trappists to row him, he
pushed out and steered for the _Gauntlet_. We saw him run his boat
alongside and climb aboard. Five slow minutes passed, and it became
apparent that Captain Pomery had views of his own about abandoning
the ship, for the _Gauntlet_ neither dropped anchor nor took in
canvas, but held on her tack, letting the boat drop astern on a
tow-rope.
Just then Dom Basilio sent up half a dozen stout monks to me from the
base of the rock; and for the next few minutes I was kept busy with
them on the eastern bastion, refixing a gun which had been thrown off
its carriage in the assault, until, casting another glance seaward, I
saw to my amazement that the ketch had run up her British colours to
her mizzen.
But happily Captain Pomery's defiance was thrown away. A minute
later the leading gunboat ran up a small bundle on her main signal
halliards, and shook out the green flag of Corsica.
"You can let the gun lie," said I to my monks. "These are friends.
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