was burst open, and he was found dying from the thrust
of his own sword. La Jonquiere, afterwards governor-general
of Canada, thereupon succeeded d'Estournel. This commander,
the third within three days, was an excellent naval
officer and a man of strong character. He at once set to
work to reorganize the fleet. But reorganization was now
impossible. Storms wrecked the vessels. The plague killed
off the men: nearly three thousand had died already. Only
a single thousand, one-tenth of the survivors, were really
fit for duty. Yet La Jonquiere still persisted in sailing
for Annapolis. One vessel was burned, while four others
were turned into hospital ships, which trailed astern,
dropping their dead overside, hour after hour, as they
went.

But Annapolis was never attacked. The dying fleet turned
back and at last reached Port Louis, on the coast of
Brittany. There it found La Palme, a frigate long since
given up for lost, lying at anchor, after a series of
adventures that seem wellnigh impossible. First her crew's
rations had been cut down to three ounces a day. Then
the starving men had eaten all the rats in her filthy
hold; and when rats failed they had proposed to eat their
five British prisoners. The captain did his best to
prevent this crowning horror. But the men, who were now
ungovernable, had already gone below to cut up one prisoner
into three-ounce rations, when they were brought on deck
again, just in time, by the welcome cry of sail-ho! The
Portuguese stranger fortunately proved to have some sheep,
which were instantly killed and eaten raw.