Note 1 — Chapter I

As Captain Drouant had doubtless gone off in the cutter, it was impossible for me to return on board the Cultivateur. I directed my steps towards my lodgings, creeping along the walls, and taking advantage of the obscurity, when, on turning the corner of a street, I fell into the midst of a band of dockyard workmen, armed with axes, and about to proceed to the attack of the French vessels then in harbour. Here again I owed my preservation to an acquaintance, to whom I had rendered some service in the practice of my profession. A Métis, or half-breed, who had quickly pushed me into the entry of a house, and covered me with his body, said: “Stir not, Doctor Pablo!”1 When the crowd had dispersed, my protector advised me to conceal myself, and, above all, not to go on board; he then started off to rejoin his comrades. But all was not yet over. I had scarcely entered my lodgings when I heard a knocking at the door.