"It is no man, then!" said Richambeau, when Mattingley had done. "He
must be a damned fly to do it. And the girl--sacre moi! he drew her up
after him. I'll have him down out of that though, or throw up my flag,"
he added, and turning fiercely, gave his orders.

For hours the Victoire bombarded the lonely rock from the north. The
white tent was carried away, but the cannon-balls flew over or merely
battered the solid rock, the shells were thrown beyond, and no harm was
done. But now and again the figure of Ranulph appeared, and a half-dozen
times he took aim with his musket at the French soldiers on the shore.
Twice his shots took effect; one man was wounded, and one killed. Then
whole companies of marines returned a musketry fire at him, to no
purpose. At his ease he hid himself in the long grass at the edge of the
cliff, and picked off two more men.

Here was a ridiculous thing: one man and a slip of a girl fighting and
defying a battle-ship. The smoke of battle covered miles of the great
gulf. Even the seabirds shrieked in ridicule.

This went on for three days at intervals. With a fine chagrin Richambeau
and his men saw a bright camp-fire lighted on the rock, and knew that
Ranulph and the girl were cooking their meals in peace. A flag-staff too
was set up, and a red cloth waved defiantly in the breeze. At last
Richambeau, who had watched the whole business from the deck of the
Victoire, burst out laughing, and sent for Elie Mattingley. "Come, I've
had enough," said Richambeau.

"There never was a wilder jest, and I'll not spoil the joke. He has us
on his toasting-fork. He shall have the honour of a flag of truce."