At the moment of their crossing the harbour the populace perceived me, commenced a pursuit, and it was not without much difficulty that I reached Belver safe and sound.  I had only, indeed, received on my way one slight wound from a dagger in the thigh.  Prisoners have often been seen to run with all speed from their dungeon; I am the first, perhaps, to whom it has happened to do the reverse.  This took place on the 1st or 2d of June, 1808.

The governor of Belver was a very extraordinary personage.  If he is still alive he may demand of me a certificate as to his priority to the modern hydropathists; the grenadier-captain maintained that pure water, suitably administered, was a means of treatment for all illnesses, even for amputations.  By listening very patiently to his theories, and never interrupting him, I won his good opinion.  It was at his request, and from interest in our safety, that a Swiss garrison replaced the Spanish troop which until then had been employed as the guard of Belver.  It was also through him that I one day learnt that a monk had proposed to the soldiers who went to bring my food from the town, to put some poison into one of the dishes.

All my old Majorcan friends had abandoned me at the moment of my detention.  I had had a very sharp correspondence with Don Manuel de Vacaro in order to obtain the restitution of the passport of safety which the English Admiralty had granted to us.  M. Rodriguez alone ventured to visit me in full daylight, and bring me every consolation in his power.

The excellent M. Rodriguez, to while away the monotony of my incarceration, remitted to me from time to time the journals which were then published at different parts of the Peninsula.  He often sent them to me without reading them.  Once I saw in these journals the recital of the horrible massacres of which the town of Valencia—­I make a mistake, the square of the Bull-fights—­had been the theatre, and in which nearly the whole of the French established in this town (more than 350) had disappeared under the pike of the bull-fighter.  Another journal contained an article bearing this title:  “Relacion de la ahorcadura del senor Arago e del senor Berthemie,”—­literally, “Account of the execution of M. Arago and M. Berthemie.”  This account spoke of the two executed men in very different terms.  M. Berthemie was a Huguenot; he had been deaf to all exhortations; he had spit in the face of the ecclesiastic who was present, and even on the image of Christ.  As for me, I had conducted myself with much decency, and had allowed myself to be hung without giving rise to any scandal.  The writer also expressed his regret that a young astronomer had been so weak as to associate himself with treason, coming under the disguise of science to assist the entrance of the French army into a friendly kingdom.

After reading this article I immediately made my decision:  “Since they talk of my death,” said I to my friend Rodriguez, “the event will not be long in coming.  I should prefer being drowned to being hung.  I will make my escape from this fortress; it is for you to furnish me with the means.”