his
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.

"Why, she's beaten--retreating," cried Sydney.

"No, only manoeuvring," replied Roylance; "and, hurrah! my lads, here
comes the _Sirius_."

Syd's heart gave a leap as his father's noble frigate came slowly into
sight round the south end of