nt, and with a thrust, the force of which nothing could withstand,
sent his sword, apparently, through the body of the Frenchman to the
hilt!

The poor fellow was hurled to the ground by the violence of the shock,
and supposed to be mortally wounded. That he was not KILLED outright was
certain, for, owing to surprise and grief at this unlooked-for result,
the fear of death, or extreme physical pain, he discharged a volley of
screams that could be heard a mile off, writhed and twisted his body
into all sorts of shapes, and manufactured, gratuitously, a continuous
and ever-changing series of grimaces, for which the younger Grimaldi
would have pawned his cap and bawble.

The wails and contortions of the wounded man were such, that it was some
time before his friends and a surgeon who was present could examine
his condition, which appeared deplorable enough. Indeed, an examination
seemed hardly necessary, unless for the purpose of gratifying curiosity,
as the wretched man, amid his groans and screams, kept repeating, with
much emphasis and pathos, the terrible words, "JE SUIS ASSASSINE!
JE SUIS ASSASSINE!" (I am killed! I am killed!) But as his voice grew
stronger, instead of weaker, at every repetition of the phrase, doubts
were entertained of his veracity; and a surgical inspection showed
beyond cavil, that he was laboring under a hallucination, and
asseverating with needless energy what was not strictly true.

That he was not killed on the spot, however, impaled on a rapier as
an unscrupulous entomologist would impale a beetle, could hardly be
regarded as the fault of his opponent. The thrust was directed to the
place where the centre of the body of the Frenchman should have been,
BUT IT WAS NOT THERE. The sword passed only through the muscles of the
abdomen, from the right side to the left, perforating his body, it is
true, and grazing, but not injuring, the larger intestines. The wound
in itself was not a dangerous one, although the disturbance among the
bundle of integuments threw the discomfited duellist into almost mortal
agony, and led him to believe he was a dead man, while experiencing in
his own person a liberal share of the pain he was so ready to inflict on
others.

Chapter XXXIII. A VOYAGE TO HAVRE

The Betsey remained some weeks at the levee at New Orleans before Mr.
Ware could fix upon a voyage. In the mean time Ricker remained on board
as master of the brig; and for several days after our arriva