I was the possessor of a safe-conduct from the English Admiralty; I
therefore wrote a confidential letter to the captain of an English
vessel, The Eagle, I think, which had cast anchor some days before in
the roads at Rosas. I explained to him my position. "You can," I said to
him, "claim me, because I have an English passport. If this proceeding
should cost you too much, have the goodness at least to take my
manuscripts and to send them to the Royal Society in London."

One of the soldiers who guarded us, and in whom I had fortunately
inspired some interest, undertook to deliver my letter. The English
captain came to see me; his name was, if my memory is right, George
Eyre. We had a private conversation on the shore. George Eyre thought,
perhaps, that the manuscripts of my observations were contained in a
register bound in morocco, and with gilt edges to the leaves. When he
saw that these manuscripts were composed of single leaves, covered with
figures, which I had hidden under my shirt, disdain succeeded to
interest, and he quitted me hastily. Having returned on board, he wrote
me a letter which I could find if needful, in which he said to me,--"I
cannot mix myself up in your affairs; address yourself to the Spanish
Government; I am persuaded that it will do justice to your
remonstrance, and will not molest you." As I had not the same persuasion
as Captain George Eyre, I chose to take no notice of his advice.

I ought to mention that some time after having related these particulars
in England, at Sir Joseph Banks's, the conduct of George Eyre was
severely blamed; but when a man breakfasts and dines to the sound of
harmonious music, can he accord his interest to a poor devil sleeping on
straw and nibbled by vermin, even though he have manuscripts under his
shirt? I may add that I (unfortunately for me) had to do with a captain