"I have `surely put in strong enough' for it; my political connections--besides, the government owes me a favour--" "Cl'ar out, ye niggers! What de yer want ?" This was a voice that reached me as I passed through the dark corner of the Faubourg Treme.

Then followed some exclamations in French; a scuffle ensued, a pistol went off, and I heard the same voice again calling out: "Four till one! Injuns! Murder! Help, hyur!" I ran up.

It was very dark; but the glimmer of a distant lamp enabled me to perceive a man out in the middle of the street, defending himself against four others.

He was a man of giant size, and flourished a bright weapon, which I took to be a bowie-knife, while his assailants struck at him on all sides with sticks and stilettoes.

A small boy ran back and forth upon the banquette, calling for help.
Supposing it to be some street quarrel, I endeavoured to separate the parties by remonstrance.