On the little plateau below lay a sheet of that surf-loving mauve flower with which the Iles Sanguinaires abound; and also a quantity of a beautiful kind of ice plant, whose pointed, thick, light-green leaves glistened with an infinity of brilliant balls like dew-drops.
After a tedious mount up again to the top of the staircase, and past the barracks, we were conducted to the "Grand Moulin," where, from an artesian well beneath the surface of the sea, water is pumped up to the level of the cliff.
This mill is only used in summer, and waters the gardens of les militaires.
When there is not wind enough to move its sails, four men turn a large iron windlass on a little platform within.
From this platform, on dropping stones, we found that they took sixteen seconds before splashing into the water at the bottom.
Three hundred and sixty steps reach from the land level to the water level; and down these winding stone steps our guide was exceedingly anxious that we should go.
He shut the door, and, carrying a lantern, desired us to follow him into the foul-smelling, dank, gruesome darkness.
But thirty-five steps led to the first platform, and here we struck work, greatly to the man's disgust. But things creeping innumerable bedecked the yellow walls, and monstrous beetles, two inches long, scuttled by; and, with petticoats well tucked up, we retreated upstairs incontinently, notwithstanding our guide's remonstrances, and his assurances that this was far finer than the other staircase, and decidedly the greatest curiosity in Corsica, if not in the world.
Very glad was I to escape from insect clutches, and wander out beyond the town to seek some sketching spot in the open, sweet air.
This I found on a little path overhanging the main road up to the citadel, and cut in the grassy slope of the cliff.