“All wounded or prisoners. The French have had the best of it this time. We shall be prisoners of war, lad.”
“I wouldn’t care, only we’ve lost the place, Roylance. Oh, how could an English fellow be so treacherous!”
“Don’t know,” said Roylance, dismally. “There always was something wrong with Mike Terry.”
“Ahoy!” came from above their heads; and they looked up to see that Rogers had reached the flagstaff, and had hauled up the British colours, which blew out in the morning air as a faint cheer came from the hospital, and an angry chattering from about the guns.
“Sail ho! Sirius in sight,” shouted Rogers through his hands; “boat’s gone back to the Frenchman. Hurray!”
He was answered by a cheer from the little group about Syd, as three of the French sailors ran up at a trot, and began to mount the flagstaff path.
“Look out, Rogers. Don’t be taken.”
“Not I, sir. I’m coming back,” shouted the sailor; and he disappeared, leaving the colours flying, and climbing back into the sturdy little work in time to join his companions in a loud groaning. For the French reached the top and hauled the British colours down, one of the enemy waving them derisively at the Englishmen, and throwing the flag over his shoulder as he laughed at them, and then carried it down to the battery, where his comrades had been strengthening their works toward the English position, one man standing ready with a port-fire to sweep the gap should there be an attack.
Two hours’ waiting ensued—two weary hours, with injuries growing stiff, wounds smarting, and a terrible feeling of thirst coming on. That was forgotten directly the heavy boom of a gun was heard, answered by another; and for a time, as report after report echoed among the rocks, the imprisoned party saw in imagination the Sirius coming slowly up and attacking the French frigate, which answered with shot for shot. But it was most tantalising; and again and again Syd was for climbing up to the flagstaff to see what was going on, duty to the men alone keeping him to his post.
Their patience was rewarded at last, for Roylance suddenly gave a cheer, which was taken up by the others, as they saw the French frigate, her sails dotted with shot-holes, forge into sight, firing hard the while.