d for the passports which he had
received from the allied powers, in order, he said, not to be molested
by the local authorities.

These documents were too important for Murat to consent to part with
them; perhaps the king was beginning to suspect: he refused. Barbara
insisted; Murat ordered him to land without the papers; Barbara flatly
refused.

The king, accustomed to being obeyed, raised his riding-whip to strike
the Maltese, but, changing his resolution, he ordered the soldiers to
prepare their arms, the officers to put on full uniform; he himself
set the example. The disembarkation was decided upon, and Pizzo was to
become the Golfe Juan of the new Napoleon.

Consequently the vessels were steered for land. The king got down into
a boat with twenty-eight soldiers and three servants, amongst whom
was Luidgi. As they drew near the shore General Franceschetti made a
movement as if to land, but Murat stopped him.

"It is for me to land first," he said, and he sprang on shore.

He was dressed in a general's coat, white breeches and riding-boots,
a belt carrying two pistols, a gold-embroidered hat with a cockade
fastened in with a clasp made of fourteen brilliants, and lastly he
carried under his arm the banner round which he hoped to rally his
partisans. The town clock of Pizzo struck ten. Murat went straight up to
the town, from which he was hardly a hundred yards distant. He followed
the wide stone staircase which led up to it.

It was Sunday. Mass was about to be celebrated, and the whole population
had assembled in the Great Square when he arrived. No one recognised
him, and everyone gazed with astonishment at the fine officer. Presently
he saw amongst the peasants a former sergeant of his who had served in
his guard at Naples. He walked straight up to him and put his hand on
the man's shoulder.

"Tavella," he said, "don't you recognise me?"

But as the man made no answer:

"I am Joachim Murat, I am your king," he said. "Yours be the honour to
shout 'Long live Joachim!' first."

Murat's suite instantly made the air ring with acclamations, but the
Calabrians remained silent, and not one of his comrades took up the cry
for which the king himself had given the signal; on the contrary, a low
murmur ran through the crowd. Murat well understood this forerunner of
the storm.

"Well," he said to Tavella, "if you won't cry 'Long live Joachim!' you
can at least fetch me a horse, and from sergeant I will promote