Ben hailed the black with great glee, and Frank addressed him, expressing regret at his capture; but the wary negro pretended not to know them, though when they halted for the night, he found means to supply them with provisions, and clean straw to sleep upon.
At length they entered Paris, and were met by a revolutionary mob which had just been witnessing the feeding of the guillotine with victims from their own body. The appearance of the prisoners was hailed with loud shouts, and numbers of both sexes rushed forward to wreak their still unsatiated vengeance. Sambo had stood aloof; but when he saw the extreme danger which his old friends were in, he joined them, fully determined to afford all the protection in his power. The sight of a black seemed to awaken a still greater degree of excitement amongst the rabble, especially as the negro by his position manifested opposition to their designs. Yells and shouts arose. "A bas les noirs!" "à la lanterne!" "à la place de Grève!" "let us see what colour his blood is!" "an experiment! an experiment!" "away with him to the guillotine!" "we have had no negro yet! an experiment! an experiment!" A desperate rush was made upon them, and both Sambo and the young midshipman were separated from the rest and borne away by the mob.
It was perhaps well for Frank that he had been plundered of his uniform soon after his capture; for such was the demoniac hatred of the English, that, as an officer, he probably might have been torn to pieces. The negro addressed them in their own language, announcing himself a native of San Domingo, employed by Monsieur Polverel, but his voice was drowned in the universal outcry, and then he joined in their shouts of "Vive la Nation!" sung snatches of revolutionary songs, danced as they danced, and tried by every means to appease their fury. But the wretches wanted to see a black man die; it promised a new sensation.
The mob approached the Hôtel de Ville, when their progress was arrested by a tall man who was supported on a post that elevated him so as to be distinctly conspicuous to all. His dress was shabby in the extreme, and on his head he wore the revolutionary cap, but both Frank and the negro instantly recognised Monsieur Polverel. He spoke to the rabble, and in a vehement address that drew down loud applause he approved of their excesses, whilst the mob, to show that they had fresh victims to immolate, thrust forward the negro and the youth, so that he might see them. Polverel instantly descended, and, rushing amongst the throng, clasped the negro in his arms.