flowed in on all its sides. When one hundred and fifty passengers who
were destined to be its burden, were on board, they stood like a solid
parallelogram, without a possibility of moving; and they were up to
their waists in water. The original plan was, that as much provision as
possible should be put upon this raft; that it should be taken in tow by
the six boats; and that, at stated intervals, the crews should come on
board to receive their rations. As they left the ship, M. Correard asked
whether the charts, instruments, and sea-stores were on board; and was
told by an officer, that nothing was wanting. "And who is to command
us?" "I am to command you," answered he, "and will be with you in a
moment." The officer with these words, the last in his mouth, went on
board one of the boats, and returned no more.

The desperate squadron had only proceeded three leagues, when a faulty,
if not treacherous manoeuvre, broke the tow-line which fastened the
captain's boat to the raft; and this became the signal to all to let
loose their cables. The weather was calm. The coast was known to be but
twelve or fifteen leagues distant; and the land was in fact discovered
by the boats on the very evening on which they abandoned the raft. They
were not therefore driven to this measure by any new perils; and the cry
of "_Nous les abandonons!_" which resounded throughout the line, was the
yell of a spontaneous and instinctive impulse of cowardice, perfidy, and
cruelty; and the impulse was as unanimous as it was diabolical. The raft
was left to the mercy of the waves; one after another, the boats
disappeared, and despair became general. Not one of the promised
articles, no provisions, except a very few casks of wine, and some
spoiled biscuit, sufficient for one single meal was found. A small
pocket compass, which chance had discovered, their last guide in a
trackless ocean, fell between the beams into the sea. As the crew had
taken no nourishment since morning, some wine and biscuit were