Presently he saw a boat drawing away with the flag of truce in the hands
of a sous-lieutenant. His mind was made up; he would escape to-night.
His place was there beside his fellow-countrymen. He motioned away the
men of the gun. He would load ma couzaine himself for the last time.

As he sponged the gun he made his plans. Swish-swash the sponge-staff
ran in and out--he would try to steal away at dog-watch. He struck the
sponge smartly on ma couzaine's muzzle, cleansing it--he would have to
slide into the water like a rat and swim very softly to the shore. He
reached for a fresh cartridge, and thrust it into the throat of the gun,
and as the seam was laid downwards he said to himself that he could swim
under water, if discovered as he left the Victoire. As he unstopped the
touch-hole and tried with the priming-wire whether the cartridge was
home, he was stunned by a fresh thought.

Richambeau would send a squad of men to search for him, and if he was not
found they would probably raze the Post, or take its people prisoners.
As he put the apron carefully on ma couzaine, he determined that he could
not take refuge with the Mattingleys. Neither would it do to make for
the woods of the interior, for still Richambeau might revenge himself on
the fishing-post. What was to be done? He turned his eyes helplessly on
Perce Rock.

As he looked, a new idea came to him. If only he could get to the top of
that massive wall, not a hundred fleets could dislodge him. One musket
could defeat the forlorn hope of any army. Besides, if he took refuge on
the rock, there could be no grudge against Perce village or the
Mattingleys, and Richambeau would not injure them.