One of our black escort, seeing the catastrophe, hurried up to help the fallen officer. Robson seeing him coming, and not comprehending his intentions, tackled him at once as if he had been an enemy, and the moment he came within reach began pommelling him away most vehemently. This naturally excited Sambo's anger, and forgetting his habitual dread of white men, he paid him back much in the same coin. The spectators meantime shouted with laughter, urging on the combatants. Drunk as he was, Robson soon, I saw, got much the best of it, and was punishing the nigger most severely. The latter did not like this treatment, and was, I suspected, growing vicious. Now one rolled in the dust, now the other, but Sambo was generally the sufferer. Fearing that he might make use of a long knife I saw stuck in his belt, I made signs to Tom Rockets, who not having had the means of procuring Burgundy, was happily sober, to go in and put an end to the combat. Poor Tom had better not have interfered, for Sambo, mistaking him for his first antagonist, began pommelling away most furiously at his head, while Robson, not comprehending the cause of his interference, attacked him on the other side. "Who are you, you son of a sea-cook, who ventures to interfere in the quarrels of two gentlemen, I should like to know?" he hiccoughed out; "let me tell you, I don't allow such proceedings!" "My eyes, two gentlemen!" exclaimed Tom, fairly nonplussed; "you is an officer, sir, but a rum sort of gentleman is t'other, I should think." Tom bore his hammering for some time, when, getting a fair lick at Sambo, he sent him spinning away ten yards off with a blow of his ox-like fist. Sambo looked very much astonished, scarcely comprehending at first whence the blow had come, but it had the effect of teaching him, I suspect, for the future, to respect the arm of a British tar, and of putting an end to the combat, which, I fain must own, did not redound much to the credit of my brother-officer. "Come, sir," quoth honest Tom, seizing him by the leg, "just let me hoist you aboard this here animal, you'll be more comfortable-like than kicking away here on the ground." Robson made no objection, but looked up with a smiling aspect in Tom's face. "Yeo-ho! heave-ho!" sang out my follower, and the lieutenant was quickly seated on the back of the quadruped, though, I suspect, he sat there with no great amount of comfort, for he held on tightly by the pommel with both hands, as if he expected soon to be tossed off again. Perhaps he had in his recollection the occurrence of some such accident in former times. After this there was a general cry of "Heave ahead, my hearties, heave ahead!" And we all mounted as best we could. Our two black guards got on their steeds in no very good-humour with affairs in general, and us in particular, though their mules were the greatest sufferers.