“A prison, then,” he cried, “is to be my asylum! A prison is a tomb, and nothing remains for a king who has lost his throne but the death of a soldier. You have come too late, Maceroni. I have already determined on my fate.... If I fail, imprisonment must be the natural consequence, but I will never consent to drag out the miserable remnant of my days in slavery. Bonaparte resigned the throne of France, yet he returned to it in the same way which I now attempt.... I have not resigned my throne or forfeited my right, therefore a fate worse than imprisonment would be contrary to human justice; but be assured that Naples shall be my St. Helena!” On the night of September 28 the forlorn hope embarked at Ajaccio. The weather was mild and clear, the sea calm, and both the troops and their leader happy and confident. They did not know that Ferdinand had had intelligence of every move that Joachim had made since his landing in Corsica, through one of Joachim’s own servants, a man of the name of Cabarelli. This man, who owed everything that he possessed to Murat’s kindness, accosted him at Ajaccio, and, while offering himself to his old master’s service, begged him not to attempt the crazy enterprise. In this he was acting according to his orders, for the Neapolitan Government was frightened; but having discovered, doubtless from Joachim’s own rash words, that he was bent upon the affair and would allow nothing to stop him, Cabarelli forwarded to his employers Joachim’s entire plans, preparations, and movements. The only thing that he did not learn was the destination of the little force, and the lack of that knowledge prevented Ferdinand from taking any steps towards dealing with Joachim when he should arrive. Ferdinand was afraid, too, of any rumour spreading, for Murat had still many friends in the kingdom, and he, Ferdinand, had none. For a week all went well with the expedition, but on the seventh day a storm arose which lasted for three days and which scattered the little fleet hopelessly. Joachim’s boat chanced to find its way into the Gulf of Santa Eufemia, and Joachim, after some hesitation, resolved to stake all upon the throw, and land at Pizzo with the twenty-eight men remaining to him. This was on October 8. It was a festa, and, in consequence, the militia were paraded in the market-place, when the party came ashore. No sooner were these on land than they raised Murat’s standard and advanced upon the town, shouting “Long live King Murat!” But there was no response, and the onlookers remained silent. It was as though a cold mist had settled upon the sunny morning, and Murat hastened on to Monteleone, where he trusted to the gratitude of the citizens for many favours which he had done them in the past. But two Bourbon adherents, a certain Captain Trentacapilli, and an agent of the Duke dell’ Infantado, hastily collected a following of men and weapons and met Joachim on the road, where they opened fire upon him.