Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - XXXI. The Regatta
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camp. Looking down upon the cliffs at Orico
I showed the ambassador where the French had
landed and climbed the precipitous rock, we
agreed it was indeed a marvellous performance.
Yes, the English had fought with their usual
gallantry but had to retire under cover of the
night to what is San Michele to-day where their
commander, Major Hamill, an Irishman like
himself, had died of his wounds. He lies buried
in a corner of the cemetery of Anacapri. The
two-pounder they had to abandon in their
enforced retreat down the Phœnician steps to
Capri the next day is still in my garden. At
daybreak the French opened fire on Capri from
the heights of Monte Solaro, how they got a gun
up there seems almost incomprehensible. There
was nothing for the English commander in the
Casa Inglese in Capri to do but to sign the
document of surrender. Hardly was the ink
dry before the English fleet, becalmed by the
Ponza islands, appeared in the offing. The
document of surrender bore the name of an
exceptionally unlucky man, the future gaoler of
the captive eagle on another island, Sir Hudson
Lowe.
As we were walking back through the village
to San Michele I pointed to a small house in a
little garden and told the ambassador that the
owner of the house was an aunt of La Bella
Margherita, the beauty of Anacapri. The aunt
had married a “milord inglese” who, unless I
was mistaken, was a relation of his. Yes, he
well remembered that a cousin of his had married
an Italian peasant girl to the dismay of his
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