The last position we carried was a little fortalice or outwork on the brow of the hill; and we had not fired above a few shots when they signalled to parley, and in due time a Neapolitan officer appeared, for it was in the hands of the Jacobins, and not of the French, who were all within the Citadel. His message put Captain Troubridge in rather a dilemma. He would have nothing but unconditional surrender from rebels.
“That’s mighty fine,” said the Neapolitan, through Will; “but as we neither desire to take away our cannon nor our ammunition, and should be well content to leave our small arms with them, if it were not for the ‘Christian army’ who are scouring the country, hunting us down like wild beasts, and not above torturing us when they find us, you are hardly in a position to prevent us slipping away. The only question is whether we are to have time to pack the poor possessions which are all we have left between us and starvation in these stormy times?”
Our commander assured him once more that it was not in his power to accept anything but unconditional surrender.
“May I make a suggestion, Signor Capitano?” asked the officer, who was a gentleman and of good family.
“I cannot prevent that,” said Captain Troubridge, rather roughly, for he had an inborn mistrust of Neapolitans, whom he hated nearly as badly as the French, I verily believe for the change that had come over the Admiral at Naples. Also he suspected the messenger of being, like most of them, a wily coward who wished to come round him with an oily tongue. He was one of the bravest men that ever lived; and when it came to dealing with French and Jacobins, who had been guilty of so many excesses in cold blood, he wanted no parleying or treaties, but to lead storming parties that asked and received no quarter. The chicanery of the South Italians maddened and disgusted him.
“I have your permission, sir?” said the officer, with studied courtesy; and when our commander growled assent, he simply said, “On my honour as a gentleman, I would advise you to fire past the fort from the moment the white flag goes down until it is hoisted again, and then to send a party of occupation as fast as their legs can carry them; and also to observe the little window to the left of the passage leading up from the gate, which shall have a handkerchief showing at it.”
Captain Troubridge had an eye for a true man, and recognised that he was talking to one; so he replied: “I do not think that we shall be firing at your fort for the next hour or so.”
“And I for my part,” rejoined the Neapolitan, “can assure you that if we perceive that, deeming us unworthy of your newly mounted heavy ordnance, which could reduce us to ashes in a few minutes, you are finding the range for St. Elmo, no guns will be fired by us to provoke you.”
With that he took his leave; and though the grim captain could not bring himself to pay the same marks of respect to a rebel as he would to a proper enemy come on such an errand, I could see his face soften when the other’s back was turned.
It was not an hour—though it seemed several—before the white flag, which had been hauled down as soon as the messenger regained the fort, ran up again; and instantly the boarding party—for such in fact it was—dashed across a kind of garden, which had at its end zigzag paths and steps carved in the rock; the officer having as he went out volunteered to show Will, who had acted as interpreter, this short cut, telling him that it would be mighty important for the occupying party not to lose a minute of time in taking possession.