The day after my brother's burial, the _Gauntlet_, in company with
General Paoli's gunboat, _Il Sampiero_, weighed and left the island
of Giraglia for Isola Rossa, where by agreement we were to wait one
calendar month before sailing for England.
The foregoing pages will sufficiently explain why the month passed
without my nephew's putting in an appearance. For my part, albeit my
arguments had been powerless to dissuade him from going to Genoa, I
never expected him to return, but consoled myself with the knowledge
that he had gone to his fate in a good cause, and in a spirit not
unworthy of his father.
We were highly indebted during our stay at Isola Rossa to the
General, who, being detained there by the business of his new
fortifications, exerted himself that we should not lack a single
comfort, and seemed to inspire a like solicitude in his subjects.
I call the Corsicans his subjects since (if the reflection may be
permitted) I never met a man who carried a more authentic air of
kingliness--and I am not forgetting my own dear brother-in-law.
Alive, these two men met face to face but once; and Priske, who
witnessed the meeting, yet understood but a bare word or two of what
was said, will have it that for dignity of bearing the General would
not compare with his master.
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