He was sitting, at about eight o’clock, with only Mr. Parry and Mr. Hesketh, in the apartment of Colonel Stanhope,—­talking jestingly upon one of his favourite topics, the differences between himself and this latter gentleman, and saying that “he believed, after all, the author’s brigade would be ready before the soldier’s printing-press.”  There was an unusual flush in his face, and from the rapid changes of his countenance it was manifest that he was suffering under some nervous agitation.  He then complained of being thirsty, and, calling for some cider, drank of it; upon which, a still greater change being observable over his features, he rose from his seat, but was unable to walk, and, after staggering forward a step or two, fell into Mr. Parry’s arms.  In another minute, his teeth were closed, his speech and senses gone, and he was in strong convulsions.  So violent, indeed, were his struggles, that it required all the strength both of Mr. Parry and his servant Tita to hold him during the fit.  His face, too, was much distorted; and, as he told Count Gamba afterwards, “so intense were his sufferings during the convulsion, that, had it lasted but a minute longer, he believed he must have died.”  The fit was, however, as short as it was violent; in a few minutes his speech and senses returned; his features, though still pale and haggard, resumed their natural shape, and no effect remained from the attack but excessive weakness.  “As soon as he could speak,” says Count Gamba, “he showed himself perfectly free from all alarm; but he very coolly asked whether his attack was likely to prove fatal.  ’Let me know,’ he said; ‘do not think I am afraid to die—­I am not.’”

This painful event had not occurred more than half an hour, when a report was brought that the Suliotes were up in arms, and about to attack the seraglio, for the purpose of seizing the magazines.  Instantly Lord Byron’s friends ran to the arsenal; the artillery-men were ordered under arms; the sentinels doubled, and the cannon loaded and pointed on the approaches to the gates.  Though the alarm proved to be false, the very likelihood of such an attack shows sufficiently how precarious was the state of Missolonghi at this moment, and in what a scene of peril, confusion, and uncomfort, the now nearly numbered days of England’s poet were to close.

On the following morning he was found to be better, but still pale and weak, and complained much of a sensation of weight in his head.  The doctors, therefore, thought it right to apply leeches to his temples; but found it difficult, on their removal, to stop the blood, which continued to flow so copiously, that from exhaustion he fainted.  It must have been on this day that the scene thus described by Colonel Stanhope occurred:—­

“Soon after his dreadful paroxysm, when, faint with over-bleeding, he was lying on his sick bed, with his whole nervous system completely shaken, the mutinous Suliotes, covered with dirt and splendid attires, broke into his apartment, brandishing their costly arms, and loudly demanding their wild rights.  Lord Byron, electrified by this unexpected act, seemed to recover from his sickness; and the more the Suliotes raged, the more his calm courage triumphed.  The scene was truly sublime.”