yards lowered, while the men heaved at an anchor
a cable's length off, but both this and the bower-anchor
proved too weak, and could retain no hold
of the sand and grey shell-sprinkled mud. The
water-butts in the hold were then staved in vain,
and the topmasts, yards, and booms thrown
overboard to lighten the vessel.

The loss of the Medusa seeming imminent,
and the six boats being incapable of holding
four hundred persons, the governor, leaning on
the capstan-head, sketched a very feasible plan
of saving all hands. He ordered a raft to be
instantly constructed, large enough to hold all
the provisions and two hundred men. At the
hours of meals the boats' crews were to meet at
the raft to receive their rations. Boats and raft
were to proceed together to the shore, and an
armed caravan was then to be organised to push
through the desert towards the island of St.
Louis. The plan was well laid, but it was
defeated by the indecision and cowardice of
the officers, and the mutinous restlessness of
the soldiers, sailors, and civilians.

The next day, the 4th, adverse currents, rising
sea, and violent wind, rendered all attempts to
fix anchors or carry out warps useless. The
despairing men continued, however, to work
at the raft, and threw many of the flour-barrels
and powder-barrels overboard. In the evening,
just before high water, the sailors set to with a
will at the capstan. To the delight of all, the
frigate at last slowly moved to the larboard,
then swung perceptibly, and at last turned her
head to the open sea. They were all but saved.
Every one was sanguine. The Medusa was out
of her grave-like bed, she was all but afloat;
only her stern touched the sand. Nothing
remained now but to haul at her with more ropes,
to throw over all the remaining flour-barrels
and the fourteen twenty-four-pounders.
Yet all was imbecility and irresolution. The
governor, knowing the scarcity of food at
Senegal, was reluctant to sacrifice the flour;
the captain hoped for a calm night, to send
out more cables on which to haul. The opportunity
was lost for ever. The tide ebbed. The
frigate wallowed again, and deeper, into the
sucking sand.

At night, the wind blew furiously on the
shore. The sea beat high and threatening. The
frigate rolled more and more hopelessly under
every blow. No one slept, for the Medusa
threatened every moment to founder or break
in sunder. At last, the death-blow came; there
was a quivering, a crash, and the keel was
shattered in two. The ship bulged; the helm was
unshipped; the broken keel, dashing against the
poop, beat in the captain's cabin, and let in the
sea through a dangerous breach. The men had
no confidence in their officers—how could they?
About eleven o'clock the soldiers seized their
arms, and took possession of various parts of
the vessel, a report having been spread among
them that the sailors were going to escape in
the boats, and leave them to perish on board the
frigate. The presence of the governor and his
staff at last allayed their fears. In the midst of
this confusion and danger the raft broke loose,
and, drifting to sea, was with difficulty
recovered. At three o'clock in the morning, the
master caulker informed the captain, with a
desponding face, that the vessel was filling fast.
The pumps would not work, the hull was split,
the frigate threatened, to heel over; it was
necessary to desert her at once.

Biscuit from the store-room was instantly
placed in strong barrels, and casks were filled
with wine and fresh water; but most of these
were thrown overboard or left behind in the
confusion and disorderly excitement. A list had
been previously drawn up, assigning to each
man his special boat and peculiar duty; but, in
the tumult, no one obeyed orders. The
moment to embark arrived. The soldiers
descended first on the raft, leaving their muskets
in the ship, and retaining only their sabres and
a few carbines; the officers, however, kept
their fowling-pieces and pistols. There were
one hundred and twenty soldiers and officers;
besides these, twenty-nine sailors and passengers
and one sutler woman. The large fourteen-
oared barge took off the governor, his
family, and thirty-two other persons; a second
large boat received forty-two, and the captain's
barge twenty-eight men. The long boat, by no
means sound and almost without oars, held
eighty-eight persons; an eight-oared boat took
twenty-five sailors; and the smallest boat had
on board fifteen persons, including four ladies
and four children. Several men, either already
drunk or afraid of the overcrowded boats,
refused to leave the vessel.

The long hours of suspense upon the reef
had demoralised the crew of the Medusa. Most
men in sudden and unusual danger are little
better than sheep; but these men ran about
with the insane terror of frightened chickens.
There was no one to lead them or to drive them;
no one to animate their faint hearts, or rally
their scattered senses. Some rushed to the
gangway and the ladders; others dropped from
the main-chains, or flung themselves headlong
into the sea.

About seven o'clock, four of the boats put
eagerly to sea, the raft being still moored alongside
of the frigate. When the order came to let
the raft go, M. Corréard, a brave young
engineer, who was still cool and firm, unable to move
through the crowd of soldiers that surrounded
him, called to one of the officers on board the
barge, into which the governor was just then
being lowered in his arm-chair, that he would
not start until they were supplied on the raft
with instruments and charts, in case of getting
separated from the boats. The officer replied
they were provided with every necessary, and he
was coming on board in a moment to command
them. M. Corréard saw that man no more; for
he sought his own safety on board one of the
boats which were joined by tow-ropes. The
base captain also pushed off in his own barge
and deserted the vessel, leaving eighty men
in the wreck; who, uttering cries of rage and
despair, were with difficulty prevented from