The crew had not yet lost all hope. The officers
spoke of safety as certain, and the sailors
nourished the thought of revenge against those
who had so cruelly deserted them, and whom
they loaded with imprecations.

M. Coudin being unable to move, M.
Savigny, the young surgeon, directed the men
to erect a mast on the front of the raft, and to
make shrouds and stays from a tow-rope. The
sail trimmed well, but was of use only when the
wind came from behind. The raft kept always
in a cross position, probably from the excessive
length of its cross-pieces. In the evening,
every one on board prayed hopefully to Heaven
for help out of that imminent danger. The
universal belief was that the governor, once safe
on the Island of Arguin, would the next day
return to their assistance. Night came, the
wind freshened, and the sea rose cruel and
threatening. The raft rode a mere chip upon
the inky waves. M. Savigny, retaining his
presence of mind, fastened ropes to the bulwarks
for the soldiers and the more helpless of the
landsmen to hold on by when the great washing
waves came breaking in on them. About midnight
the sea grew more mountainous, and the
shrinking soldiers were lifted from the raft at
every wave. To add to the horror, the night
was peculiarly dark, and the sky seemed to press
down on them like a low roof of black marble.
At one time, the foam of the breakers gleamed
so white and phosphorescent, that the sailors,
in their heated imagination, mistook it for a
distant fire; and having some powder and pistols
hanging to the mast, they flashed them
repeatedly, till they discovered their error. Those
who clung to the ropes were dashed to and fro
upon the raft, and fifteen or sixteen perished
unobserved. Till daybreak, nothing was heard,
through the roaring of the sea and wind, but
cries and groans, prayers, farewells, adjurations
and vows to God.

At daybreak, the sea somewhat subsided, and
the wind, as if exhausted by its own rage, lulled
itself to more calmness. The sickly light showed
ten or twelve poor creatures, who, entangled in
the lattice-work of the raft, had broken their
limbs and perished miserably. When the roll-call
was made, there were nearly twenty men missing.
The sea, the storm, had claimed their earliest
victims, and the survivors envied them the rest of
death. Amidst these horrors that sometimes
harden men, the survivors shed tears at witnessing
the joy of two young men who, discovering
their aged father trampled and senseless under
the feet of the soldiers, had by the most
assiduous care restored him to life, and were now
clasping him in their arms. At this very time
two lads and a baker took solemn farewell of
their companions, and, throwing themselves into
the sea, instantly perished. Already the minds
of many of the men began to fail, and, with
loud cries, some shouted that they saw
land, and vessels coming to their help. As
the day grew fine and sunny, they were
tranquilly expecting every hour to see the boats
flying to their succour. As night drew on, a
deeper despair again weighed upon them. The
soldiers grew mutinous, and yelled with fury at
their helpless officers. When night came, the
sky grew murky, the wind rose in fresh fury,
and the sea, swelling mountains high, drove the
raft forward at an incredible speed. Almost all
who could not fight their way to the centre of
the raft, the more solid part, were swept away by
the waves, which broke fore and aft. In the
centre many were trodden to death in the
crowd. The officers clustered round the mast,
crying out to the men to move to this side or
that, when the raft, hanging almost perpendicularly
on the waves, required a counterbalance
to prevent it falling over, like a rearing and
maddened horse.

The soldiers and sailors now abandoned all
hope. They wished only to die drunk, and
so escape the last pangs. They broke a large
hole in a cask in the centre of the raft, and
filling their tin cups, drank till the salt water
washed in and spoiled the remainder of the
wine. Crazed with hunger, fear, and drink, the
men broke out into open mutiny, and swore
they would butcher their officers because they
would not agree to destroy the raft. The cry now
was to cut the rope and let all drown at once
and together. A Malay soldier, a giant of a
man, with short crisp hair, sallow complexion,
and a hideous distorted face, threatened to kill
an officer, struck down every man who opposed
him with his fist, and, fiercely waving a boarding
hatchet, began to hew at the ropes that bound
the edge of the raft. He was instantly killed
with one blow of a sabre. The subaltern officers
and passengers flew to arms. The mutineers,
gathering in the dim moonlight, drew
their sabres and got ready their knives. These
madmen were chiefly branded galley-slaves from
Toulon, Brest, and Rochefort, the scum of all
countries—the sweepings of French prisons,
sent to perish in Africa. They had neither
courage nor endurance; they only wished to
murder their commanders, pay off old scores,
and roll drunk into the sea. The officers were
only twenty, and they had to face more than a
hundred of those mad wolves. The first mutineer
who lifted a sword was instantly run through
the body. This awed the soldiers for a moment,
and they retreated to the back of the raft.
Seeing one of the villains cutting the ropes
with his knife, the officers rushed on him and
threw both him and a soldier, who tried to defend
him, overboard. The mêlée then became general.
A mutineer cried, "Lower the sail!" and,
cutting the shrouds and stays, threw down the
mast, which felled one of their assailants, whom
iliey then threw into the sea. Rescued by his
friends, the mutineers again seized him, and were
going to cut out his eyes with a penknife.
Exasperated at this cruelty, the officers and passeners
charged the wretches furiously, and cut
down savagely all who resisted.

M. Corréard, the engineer, roused from a
sort of trance by the curses of the wounded,
the groans of the dying, and the cries of "Aux
armes!" "À nous, camarades!" " Nous sommes