workmen of the bakery left the terraces, they were invaded by horde
of pigeons who had their nests in the various church towers of the
town, and were in the habit of coming to pick up the small amounts of
grain which had spilled onto the flagstones. Bastide, who was a very
clever lad, crossed the narrow space which separated the terraces,
and on that of the public ovens he set up snares and other devices
with which he captured pigeons which we used to make soup for my
father, who found it excellent, compared to that made from horse.

To the horrors of famine and typhus were added those of a
merciless and unceasing war, for the French troops fought all day on
land against the Austrians, and when nightfall put an end to the
Austrian assaults, the English, Turkish, and Neapolitan fleets, which
were protected by darkness from the port's cannons and the batteries
on the coast, drew close to the town, into which they hurled a great
number of bombs which did fearful damage.

The noise of the guns and the cries of the wounded and dying
reached my father and greatly disturbed him. He lamented his
inability to place himself at the head of the men of his division.
This state of mind worsened his condition. He became more gravely
ill from day to day, and progressively weaker. Colindo and I did not
leave him for a moment. Eventually, one night when I was on my knees
by his bedside, sponging his wound, he spoke to me, perfectly
lucidly, and placed his hand caressingly on my head, saying, "Poor
child, what will happen to him, alone and without support in the
horrors of this terrible siege?" Then he mumbled some words, among
which I could distinguish the name of my mother, dropped his arms and
closed his eyes...