part, jumped into the water, knocking up the pikes of two negroes, who looked as if they were going to spit me, with my gun, and hurriedly caught a man—­with a civilian’s hat on his head, a sash over his shoulder, and a big sword in his hand, who seemed to me to be the leader of the band—­round the waist.  I gave him to understand, in a few words, in bad Portuguese, that I commmanded the French warships anchored at Bahia, and that if harm came to any of us, he and his fellows would live to repent it.  But before I could finish my speech the angry crowd fell on me, carried me off, and dragged me to a mound, against which, as I seemed to understand, they meant to back me and shoot me.  Indeed five or six negroes stationed in front of me hastily loaded their guns.  The situation was far from pleasant, for those who know the negro race know what they are capable of when swayed by the paroxysms of excitement into which they work themselves, whether from drunkenness, or rage, or fear.  Fouchard, whom two or three men were holding a few steps off from me, seeing what was happening, threw off his captors by a superhuman effort and sprang to my side.  We clung fast to each other, and this caused a fresh struggle and a respite of a minute’s duration, during which the man in the sash, who had quickly understood this was becoming a bad business for himself, charged at the head of the most reasonable of his mulattoes.  We were captured and recaptured several times, but victory at last rested with the man in the scarf, and an explanation became possible.  It appears there had been an election, with considerable disturbances—­blessed be elections in all places and countries!—­in the village, on the preceding day.  The inhabitants, in their over-excitement, had been struck first with surprise, and afterwards with terror on hearing us firing at the parrokeets.  Their terror reached its height when seven or eight white-skinned men, oddly armed and accoutred, were seen to enter the village.  The whole population fled into the woods.  Then noting from afar how small our number was, and more especially observing our retreat, valour took the place of fright, and arming itself, it rushed to the enemy’s pursuit!  We were set at liberty of course, and apologies were duly made; but that did not mend the blows received, especially by one of the lieutenants of the Belle-Poule, Penhoat, who had been half murdered.  We boarded our steamer, and found the English engineer in charge of her completely drunk.  When we told him our story he rushed below to his engine-room, and fetched out a huge pistol that must have dated from Cromwell’s time; and we had all the trouble in the world to prevent him from going on shore alone to take signal vengeance on “those damned niggers.”