Before he left the prison, Mr. Baillie-Cochrane examined the registers and ascertained that there were 614 political prisoners in custody. What could he do for these poor sufferers for their conscience’s sake? He made up his mind to approach the king himself and put before him the whole painful story. Ferdinand graciously received him and listened with great patience and concern. The Englishman spoke out fearlessly and urged the king to freely use the prerogative of pardon, and release all who had been imprisoned, often without the semblance of a trial and on the most unfounded accusations. The king was much impressed. “I am delighted to hear the truth,” he said, “and very grateful to you for telling it. No one is more anxious than I am to do what is right. I have been shamefully traduced and calumniated, most unjustly so.” The reader will not perhaps be inclined to absolve the despotic ruler who allows such things to be done. The wished-for result was hardly achieved. In a few days the political prisoners were separated from the general population of the Vicaria, and some few were set at liberty. “So far so good,” was Mr. Cochrane’s commentary, “but, to my very deep regret, I have heard that the political prisoners were sent to a much worse place, where communication with their families was much more restricted, and that the few who were released were very unimportant people and who would under ordinary circumstances have gone out.” Let us follow some of those who went elsewhere. One of them, Baron Porcari, was committed to the island prison of Ischia and confined in a dungeon called the Maschio, a dungeon without light and four feet below the level of the sea. He was never allowed to quit it day or night and no one was permitted to visit him there except his wife, who could see him once a fortnight.