gers, and made
their position very difficult to defend. At every instant he was opposed
to men armed with knives, sabres, and bayonets. Many had carabines which
they wielded as clubs. Every effort was made to stop them, by holding
them off at the point of their swords; but, in spite of the repugnance
they experienced in fighting with their wretched countrymen, they were
compelled to use their arms without mercy. Many of the mutineers
attacked with fury, and they were obliged to repel them in the same
manner. Some of the labourers received severe wounds in this action.
Their commander could show a great number received in the different
engagements. At last their united efforts prevailed in dispersing this
mass who had attacked them with such fury.

During this combat, M. Correard was told by one of his workmen who
remained faithful, that one of their comrades, named Dominique, had gone
over to the rebels, and that they had seized and thrown him into the
sea. Immediately forgetting the fault and treason of this man, he threw
himself in at the place whence the voice of the wretch was heard calling
for assistance, seized him by the hair, and had the good fortune to
restore him on board. Dominique had got several sabre wounds in a
charge, one of which had laid open his head. In spite of the darkness we
found out the wound, which seemed very large. One of the workmen gave
his handkerchief to bind and stop the blood. Our care recovered the
wretch; but, when he had collected strength, the ungrateful Dominique,
forgetting at once his duty and the signal service which we had rendered
him, went and rejoined the rebels. So much baseness and insanity did not
go unrevenged; and soon after he found, in a fresh assault, that death
from which he was not worthy to be saved, but which he might in all
probability have avoided, if, true to honour and gratitude, he had
remained among us.

Just at the moment we finished dressing the wounds of Dominique, another
voice was heard. It was that of the unfortunate female who was with us
on the raft, and whom the infuriated beings had thrown into the sea, as
well as her husband, who had defended her with courage. M. Correard, in
despair at seeing two unfortunates perish; whose pitiful cries,
especially the woman's, pierced his heart, seized a large rope which he
found on the front of the raft, which he fastened round his middle, and
throwing himself a second time into the sea, was again so fortunat