M. DARD, WHOM CONTRARY WINDS HAD DETAINED TEN DAYS IN THE PORT OF ST. LOUIS, COMES ON Sh.o.r.e TO SEE M. PICARD--AGONY OF M.

PICARD--HIS LAST WORDS--HIS DEATH--DESPAIR OF HIS CHILDREN--M.

THOMAS KINDLY TAKES CHARGE OF PICARD'S FAMILY--THE ELDEST OF THE LADIES GOES AND MOURNS OVER THE GRAVE OF HER FATHER--HER RESIGNATION--M. DARD DISEMBARKS, AND ADOPTS THE WRECKS OF THE PICARD FAMILY--M. DARD MARRIES MISS PICARD, AND AT LAST RETURNS TO FRANCE.

The day after we had taken possession of our new abode, my father sent me to the Isle of Babaguey, to bring back the things which were left at the house of the Resident. As I found myself considerably better during the last few days, I hired a canoe and went, leaving the sick to the care of Caroline. I soon reached the place of my destination, and finished my business. I was upon the point of returning to Senegal, when a wish came into my head of seeing Safal. Having made two negroes take me to the other side of the river, I walked along the side of the plantation, then visited our cottage, which I found just as we had left it. At last I bent my steps towards the tomb of my step-mother, in which were deposited the remains of my little sister. I seated myself under the shrubs which shaded the place of their repose, and remained a long while wrapt in the most melancholy reflections. All the misfortunes we had experienced since our shipwreck, came across my mind, and I asked myself, how I had been able to endure them? I thought that, at this instant, a secret voice said to me, you will yet have greater to deplore. Terrified by this melancholy presentiment, I strove to rise, but my strength failing me, I fell on my knees upon the grave. After having addressed my prayers to the Eternal, I felt a little more tranquil; and, quitting this melancholy spot, old Etienne led me back to Babaguey, where my canoe waited for me. The heat was excessive; however, I endured it, rather than wait for the coolness of evening to return to my father. On my arrival at St Louis, I found him in a violent pa.s.sion at a certain personage of the colony, who, without any regard to his condition, had said the most humiliating things to him. This scene had contributed, in no small degree, to aggravate his illness; for, on the evening of the same day, the fever returned, and a horrible delirium darkened all his faculties. We spent a terrible night, expecting every moment to be his last. The following day found little change in his condition, except a small glimmering of reason at intervals. In one of these moments, when we hoped he would recover his health, M. Dard, whom we thought already far from Senegal, entered our house. My father instantly recognised him, and, making him sit near to his bed, took his hand, and said, "My last hour is come; Heaven, to whose decrees I humbly submit, will soon remove me from this world; but one consolation remains with me,--the thought you will not abandon my children. I recommend to you my oldest daughter; you are dear to her, doubt not; would she were your wife, and that you were to her, as you have always been to me, a sincere friend!" On saying these words, he took my hands and pressed them to his burning lips. Tears suffocated my voice, but I pressed him tenderly in my arms; and as he saw I was extremely affected with his situation, he quickly said to me, "My daughter, I have need of rest." I instantly quitted him, and was joined by M. Dard, when we retired to another room, where we found Caroline and the good Mad.

Thomas. This worthy friend seeing the deplorable condition to which we were reduced, endeavoured to console us, and to give us hope, saying, that having heard of my father's illness on board the brig Vigilant, in which he had embarked at the port of St Louis, he had obtained leave to come on sh.o.r.e, and to go and offer us some a.s.sistance; after which he left us, promising to return on the morrow.

Towards the middle of the night of the 15th August 1819, it struck me that my father wished to speak with me. I drew near to him, and seeing him pale and his eyes wild, I turned away my head to conceal the tears which I could not suppress; but having perceived my distress, he said to me in a mournful voice, "Why are you so much afflicted, my child? My last hour approaches, I cannot escape it; then summon all the strength of your soul to bear it with courage. My conscience is pure, I have nothing with which to reproach myself; I will die in peace if you promise to protect the children whom I will soon leave. Tell also to feeling hearts the long train of uninterrupted misfortunes which have a.s.sailed me; tell the abandoned condition in which we have lived; and tell at last, that in dying, I forgave my enemies all the evils they had made me as well as my family endure!" At these words I fell upon his bed, and cried yes, dear father, I promise to do all you require of me.

I was yet speaking when Caroline entered the chamber, and throwing herself upon his bed, tenderly embraced him, whilst he held me by the hand. We gazed on one another in profound silence, which was only interrupted by our sighs. During this heart-rending scene, my father again said to me, "My good Charlotte, I thank you for all the care you have bestowed on me; I die, but I leave you to the protection of friends who will not abandon you. Never forget the obligations you already owe M. Dard. Heaven a.s.sist you. Farewell, I go before you to a better world." These words, p.r.o.nounced with difficulty, were the last he uttered. He instantly became much convulsed. All the physicians of the colony were called, but the medicines they prescribed produced no effect. In this condition he remained more than six hours, during which time we stood suspended between hope and despair. O horrible night!

night of sorrow and desolation! who can describe all which the unfortunate family of Picard suffered during thy terrible reign! But the fatal period approached; the physician who prescribed it went out; I followed, and, still seeking for some illusion in the misfortune which menaced us, I tremblingly interrogated him. The worthy man would not dissemble; he took me by the hand and said, my dear lady, the moment is arrived when you have need to arm yourself with courage; it is all over with M. Picard; you must submit to the will of G.o.d. These words were a thunderbolt to me. I instantly returned, bathed in tears; but alas! my father was no more.

Such an irreparable misfortune plunged us into a condition worse than death. Without ceasing, I besought them to put a period to my deplorable life. The friends about me used every endeavour to calm me, but my soul was in the depth of affliction, and their consolations reached it not.

"O G.o.d!" cried I, "how is it possible thou canst yet let me live? Ought not the misery I feel to make me follow my father to the grave?" It was necessary to employ force to keep me from that plan of horror and dismay. Madame Thomas took us to her house, whilst our friends prepared the funeral of my unhappy father. I remained insensible for a long while; and, when somewhat recovered, my first care was to pray the people with whom we lived to carry the body of my father to the Isle of Safal to be deposited, agreeably to his request, near the remains of his wife. Our friends accompanied it. Some hours after the departure of the funeral procession, Governor S----, doubtless reproaching himself with the helpless condition in which we had been left for so long a time, gave orders to take care of the remainder of our unfortunate family. He himself came to the house of M. Thomas. His presence made such an impression on me, that I swooned away. We did not, however, refuse the a.s.sistance he offered us, convinced, as we were, that it was less to the governor of Senegal we were indebted than to the French government, whose intentions he was only fulfilling.

Several days pa.s.sed before I could moderate my sorrow; but at last our friends represented to me the duties I owed to the orphans who were left with us, and to whom I had promised to hold the place of mother. Then rousing myself from my lethargy, and recollecting the obligations I had to fulfil, I bestowed all my affections on the innocent beings whom my father had confided to me in his dying moments. Nevertheless I was not at rest; the desire of seeing the place where reposed the mortal remains of my worthy father tormented me. They wished to dissuade me; but when they saw I had been frequently weeping in private, they no longer withheld me. I went alone to Safal, leaving Caroline to take charge of the children, two of whom were still in a dangerous condition. What changes did I find at our cottage! The person from whom we had hired our negroes had secretly removed them; rank weeds sprung up everywhere; the cotton withered for want of cultivation; the fields of millet, maize, and beans had been devoured by the herds of cattle from the colony; our house was half plundered; the books and papers of my father taken away.

Old Etienne still remained; I found him cultivating cotton. As soon as he saw me he drew near; and having inquired if he wished to remain at the plantation, he replied, "I could stay here all my life; my good master is no more, but he is still here; I wish to work for the support of his children." I promised in my turn to take care of him during my stay in Africa. At last I bent my steps towards my father's grave. The shrubs which surrounded it were covered with the most beautiful verdure; their th.o.r.n.y branches hung over it as if to shield it from the rays of the sun. The silence which reigned around this solitary place was only interrupted by the songs of the birds, and the rustling of the foliage, agitated by a faint breeze. At the sight of this sacred retreat, I suddenly felt myself penetrated by a religious sentiment, and falling on my knees upon the gra.s.s, and resting my head upon the humid stone, remained a long while in deep meditation. Then starting up, I cried, "Dear manes of the best of fathers! I come not hither to disturb your repose; but I come to ask of Him who is omnipotent, resignation to his august decrees. I come to promise also to the worthy author of my existence, to give all my care to the orphans whom he has left on earth.

I also promise to make known to feeling hearts all the misfortunes he experienced before being driven to the tomb." After a short prayer, I arose and returned to the cottage. To consecrate a monument to the memory of my father, I took two cocoa-nuts, which he had planted some time previous to his death, and replanted them beside the grave; I then gave my orders to Etienne, and returned to the family at Senegal.

Next day M. Dard came to see us at the house of M. Thomas. This worthy friend of my father, told us he would not abandon in Senegal the orphans whom he had promised to a.s.sist. I come, added he, to return to the governor the leave he had given me to pa.s.s six months in France, and I charge myself with providing for all your wants till I can convey you again to Paris. Such generous devotion affected me to tears; I thanked our worthy benefactor, and he went into Mad. Thomas's room. When he had gone, Mad. Thomas took me aside, and said, that M. Dard's intention was not only to adopt the wrecks of our family, but he wished also to offer me his hand as soon as our grief had subsided. This confidence, I own, displeased me not; for it was delightful for me to think that so excellent a man, who had already given us such substantial a.s.sistance in our distress, did not think himself degraded by uniting his fate with that of a poor orphan. I recollected what my father had said to me during one of our greatest misfortunes. "M. Dard," said that worthy man, "is an estimable youth, whose attachment for us has never diminished in spite of our wretchedness; and I am certain he prefers virtue in a wife above all other riches."

Some days after, our benefactor came to tell us he had disembarked all his effects, and that he had resumed his functions as director of the French school at Senegal. We talked a long while together concerning my father's affairs, and he then left us. However, as one of my brothers was very ill, he returned in the evening to see how he was. He found us in tears; for the innocent creature had expired in my arms. M. Dard and M. Thomas instantly buried him, for his body had already become putrid.

We took great care to conceal his death from his brother, who, having a mind superior to his age, would doubtless have been greatly affected.

Nevertheless, on the following day, poor Charles inquired where his brother Gustavus was; M. Dard, who was sitting near his bed, told him he was at school; but he discovered the cheat, and cried, weeping, that he wished a hat to go to school, and see if Gustavus was really living. M.

Dard had the kindness to go and purchase him one to quiet him, which, when he saw, he was satisfied, and waited till the morrow to go and see if his brother was at school. This young victim to misery dragged out his melancholy existence during two months; and about the end of October we had the misfortune of losing him also.

This last blow plunged me into a gloomy melancholy. I was indifferent to every thing. I had seen, in three months, nearly all my relations die. A young orphan (Alphonso Fleury), our cousin, aged five years, to whom my father was tutor, and whom he had always considered as his own child, my sister Caroline, and myself, were all that remained of the unfortunate Picard family, who, on setting out for Africa, consisted of nine. We, too, had nearly followed our dear parents to the grave. Our friends, however, by their great care and attention, got us by degrees to recover our composure, and chased from our thoughts the cruel recollections which afflicted us. We recovered our tranquillity, and dared at last to cherish the hope of seeing more fortunate days. That hope was not delusive. Our benefactor, M. Dard, since then having become my husband, gathered together the wrecks of our wretched family, and has proved himself worthy of being a father to us. My sister Caroline afterwards married M. Richard, agricultural botanist, attached to the agricultural establishment of the colony.

Leaving Senegal with my husband and the young Alphonso Fleury, my cousin, on board his Majesty's ship Menagere, on the 18th November 1820, we safely arrived at L'Orient on the 31st December following. A few days after our landing, we went to Paris, where we remained two months. At last we reached my husband's native place, at Bligny-sous-Beaune, in the department of the Cote d'Or, where I have had the happiness of finding new relations whose tender friendship consoles me in part for the loss of those of whom cruel death deprived me in Africa.

APPENDIX.

The following is the substance, abridged from MM. Correard and Savigny, of what took place on the Raft during thirteen days before the Sufferers were taken up by the Argus Brig.

After the boats had disappeared, the consternation became extreme. All the horrors of thirst and famine pa.s.sed before our imaginations; besides, we had to contend with a treacherous element, which already covered the half of our bodies. The deep stupor of the soldiers and sailors instantly changed to despair. All saw their inevitable destruction, and expressed by their moans the dark thoughts which brooded in their minds. Our words were at first unavailing to quiet their fears, which we partic.i.p.ated with them, but which a greater strength of mind enabled us to dissemble. At last, an unmoved countenance, and our proffered consolations, quieted them by degrees, but could not entirely dissipate the terror with which they were seized.

When tranquillity was a little restored, we began to search about the raft for the charts, the compa.s.s, and the anchor, which we presumed had been placed upon it, after what we had been told at the time of quitting the frigate.[14] These things, of the first importance, had not been placed upon our machine. Above all, the want of a compa.s.s the most alarmed us, and we gave vent to our rage and vengeance. M. Correard then remembered he had seen one in the hands of one of the princ.i.p.al workmen under his command; he spoke to the man, who replied, "Yes, yes, I have it with me." This information transported us with joy, and we believed that our safety depended upon this futile resource: it was about the size of a crown-piece, and very incorrect. Those who have not been in situations in which their existence was exposed to extreme peril, can have but a faint knowledge of the price one attaches then to the simplest objects--with what avidity one seizes the slightest means capable of mitigating the rigour of that fate against which they contend. The compa.s.s was given to the commander of the raft, but an accident deprived us of it forever: it fell, and disappeared between the pieces of wood which formed our machine. We had kept it but a few hours, and, after its loss, had nothing now to guide us but the rising and setting of the sun.

[Footnote 14: M. Correard, fearing that on the event of their being separated from the boats by any unforeseen accident, called from the raft to an officer on board the frigate, "Are we in a condition to take the route?--have we instruments and charts?" got the following reply: "Yes, yes, I have provided for you every necessary." M. Correard again called to him, "Who was to be their commander?" when the same officer said, "'Tis I; I will be with you in an instant;" but he instantly went and seated himself in one of the boats!--Trans.]

We had all gone afloat without taking any food. Hunger beginning to be imperiously felt, we mixed our paste of sea-biscuit[15] with a little wine, and distributed it thus prepared. Such was our first meal, and the best we had, during our stay upon the raft.

[Footnote 15: The biscuit had fallen into the sea, and was with difficulty recovered.--Trans.]

An order, according to our numbers, was established for the distribution of our miserable provisions. The ration of wine was fixed at three quarters a-day.[16] We will speak no more of the biscuit, it having been entirely consumed at the first distribution. The day pa.s.sed away sufficiently tranquil. We talked of the means by which we would save ourselves; we spoke of it as a certain circ.u.mstance, which reanimated our courage; and we sustained that of the soldiers, by cherishing in them the hope of being able, in a short while, to revenge themselves on those who had so basely abandoned us. This hope of vengeance, it must be avowed, equally animated us all; and we poured out a thousand imprecations against those who had left us a prey to so much misery and danger.

[Footnote 16: The original French is _trois quarts_, which certainly cannot mean _three quarts_. In all probability it is three pints.--Trans.]

The officer who commanded the raft being unable to move, M. Savigny took upon himself the duty of erecting the mast. He caused them to cut in two one of the poles of the frigate's masts, and fixed it with the rope which had served to tow us, and of which we made stays and shrowds. It was placed on the anterior third of the raft. We put up for a sail the main-top-gallant, which trimmed very well, but was of very little use, except when the wind served from behind; and to keep the raft in this course, we were obliged to trim the sail as if the breeze blew athwart us.

In the evening, our hearts and our prayers, by a feeling natural to the unfortunate, were turned towards Heaven. Surrounded by inevitable dangers, we addressed that invisible Being who has established, and who maintains the order of the universe. Our vows were fervent, and we experienced from our prayers the cheering influence of hope. It is necessary to have been in similar situations, before one can rightly imagine what a charm it is to the heart of the sufferer the sublime idea of a G.o.d protecting the unfortunate!

One consoling thought still soothed our imaginations. We persuaded ourselves that the little division had gone to the isle of Arguin, and that after it had set a part of its people on sh.o.r.e, the rest would return to our a.s.sistance: we endeavoured to impress this idea on our soldiers and sailors, which quieted them. The night came without our hope being realized; the wind freshened, and the sea was considerably swelled. What a horrible night! The thought of seeing the boats on the morrow, a little consoled our men, the greater part of whom, being unaccustomed with the sea, fell on one another at each movement of the raft. M. Savigny, seconded by some people who still preserved their presence of mind amidst the disorder, stretched cords across the raft, by which the men held, and were better able to resist the swell of the sea: some were even obliged to fasten themselves. In the middle of the night the weather was very rough; huge waves burst upon us, sometimes overturning us with great violence. The cries of the men, mingled with the roaring of the flood, whilst the terrible sea raised us at every instant from the raft, and threatened to sweep us away. This scene was rendered still more terrible, by the horrors inspired by the darkness of the night. Suddenly we believed we saw fires in the distance at intervals. We had had the precaution to hang at the top of the mast, the gun-powder and pistols which we had brought from the frigate. We made signals by burning a large quant.i.ty of cartridges; we even fired some pistols, but it seems the fire we saw, was nothing but an error of vision, or, perhaps, nothing more than the sparkling of the waves.

We struggled with death during the whole of the night, holding firmly by the ropes which were made very secure. Tossed by the waves from the back to the front, and from the front to the back, and sometimes precipitated into the sea; floating between life and death, mourning our misfortunes, certain of perishing; we disputed, nevertheless, the remainder of our existence, with that cruel element which threatened to ingulf us. Such was our condition till day-break. At every instant were heard the lamentable cries of the soldiers and sailors; they prepared for death, bidding farewell to one another, imploring the protection of heaven, and addressing fervent prayers to G.o.d. Every one made vows to him, in spite of the certainty of never being able to accomplish them. Frightful situation! How is it possible to have any idea of it, which will not fall far short of the reality!

Towards seven in the morning the sea fell a little, the wind blew with less fury; but what a scene presented itself to our view! Ten or twelve unfortunates, having their inferior extremities fixed in the openings between the pieces of the raft, had perished by being unable to disengage themselves; several others were swept away by the violence of the sea. At the hour of repast, we took the numbers anew; we had lost twenty men. We will not affirm that this was the exact number; for we perceived some soldiers who, to have more than their share, took rations for two, and even three; we were so huddled together, that we found it absolutely impossible to prevent this abuse.

In the midst of these horrors a touching scene of filial piety drew our tears. Two young men raised and recognised their father, who had fallen, and was lying insensible among the feet of the people. They believed him at first dead, and their despair was expressed in the most afflicting manner. It was perceived, however, that he still breathed, and every a.s.sistance was rendered for his recovery in our power. He slowly revived, and was restored to life, and to the prayers of his sons, who supported him closely, folded in their arms. Whilst our hearts were softened by this affecting episode in our melancholy adventures, we had soon to witness the sad spectacle of a dark contrast. Two ship-boys and a baker feared not to seek death, and threw themselves into the sea, after having bid farewell to their companions in misfortune. Already the minds of our people were singularly altered; some believed they saw land, others ships which were coming to save us; all talked aloud of their fallacious visions.

We lamented the loss of our unfortunate companions. At this moment we were far from antic.i.p.ating the still more terrible scene which took place on the following night; far from that, we enjoyed a positive satisfaction, so well were we persuaded that the boats would return to our a.s.sistance. The day was fine, and the most perfect tranquillity reigned all the while on our raft. The evening came, and no boats appeared. Despondency began again to seize our men, and then a spirit of insubordination manifested itself in cries of rage. The voice of the officers was entirely disregarded. Night fell rapidly in, the sky was obscured by dark clouds; the wind which, during the whole of the day, had blown rather violently, became furious and swelled the sea, which in an instant became very rough.

The preceding night had been frightful, but this was still more so.

Mountains of water covered us at every instant, and burst with fury into the midst of us. Very fortunately we had the wind from behind, and the strength of the sea was a little broken by the rapidity with which we were driven before it. We were impelled towards the land. The men, from the violence of the sea, were hurried from the back to the front; we were obliged to keep to the centre, the firmest part of the raft, and those who could not get there almost all perished. Before and behind the waves dashed impetuously, and swept away the men in spite of all their resistance. At the centre the pressure was such, that some unfortunates were suffocate by the weight of their comrades, who fell upon them at every instant. The officers kept by the foot of the little mast, and were obliged every moment to call to those around them to go to the one or the other side to avoid the wave; for the sea coming nearly athwart us, gave our raft nearly a perpendicular position, to counteract which they were forced to throw themselves upon the side raised by the sea.

The soldiers and sailors, frightened by the presence of almost inevitable danger, doubted not that they had reached their last hour.

Firmly believing they were lost, they resolved to soothe their last moments by drinking till they lost their reason. We had no power to oppose this disorder. They seized a cask which was in the centre of the raft, made a hole in the end of it, and, with small tin cups, took each a pretty large quant.i.ty; but they were obliged to cease, for the sea-water rushed into the hole they had made. The fumes of the wine failed not to disorder their brains, already weakened by the presence of danger and want of food. Thus excited, these men became deaf to the voice of reason. They wished to involve, in one common ruin, all their companions in misfortune. They avowedly expressed their intention of freeing themselves from their officers, who, they said, wished to oppose their design; and then to destroy the raft, by cutting the ropes which united its different parts. Immediately after, they resolved to put their plans in execution. One of them advanced upon the side of the raft with a boarding-axe, and began to cut the cords. This was the signal of revolt. We stepped forward to prevent these insane mortals, and he who was armed with the hatchet, with which he even threatened an officer, fell the first victim; a stroke of a sabre terminated his existence.

This man was an Asiatic, and a soldier in a colonial regiment. Of a colossal stature, short hair, a nose extremely large, an enormous mouth, dark complexion, he made a most hideous appearance. At first he had placed himself in the middle of the raft, and, at each blow of his fist, knocked down every one who opposed him; he inspired the greatest terror, and none durst approach him. Had there been six such, our destruction would have been certain.

Some men, anxious to prolong their existence, armed and united themselves with those who wished to preserve the raft; among this number were some subaltern officers and many pa.s.sengers. The rebels drew their sabres, and those who had none armed themselves with knives. They advanced in a determined manner upon us; we stood on our defence; the attack commenced. Animated by despair, one of them aimed a stroke at an officer; the rebel instantly fell, pierced with wounds. This firmness awed them for an instant, but diminished nothing of their rage. They ceased to advance, and withdrew, presenting to us a front bristling with sabres and bayonets, to the back part of the raft to execute their plan.

One of them feigned to rest himself on the small railings on the sides of the raft, and with a knife began cutting the cords. Being told by a servant, one of us sprung upon him. A soldier, wishing to defend him, struck at the officer with his knife, which only pierced his coat; the officer wheeled round, seized his adversary, and threw both him and his comrade into the sea.

There had been as yet but partial affairs: the combat became general.

Some one cried to lower the sail; a crowd of infuriated mortals threw themselves in an instant upon the haulyards, the shrouds, and cut them.

The fall of the mast almost broke the thigh of a captain of infantry, who fell insensible. He was seized by the soldiers, who threw him into the sea. We saved him, and placed him on a barrel, whence he was taken by the rebels, who wished to put out his eyes with a penknife.

Exasperated by so much brutality, we no longer restrained ourselves, but rushed in upon them, and charged them with fury. Sword in hand we traversed the line which the soldiers formed, and many paid with their lives the errors of their revolt. Various pa.s.sengers, during these cruel moments, evinced the greatest courage and coolness.

M. Correard fell into a sort of swoon; but hearing at every instant the cries, _To arms! with us, comrades; we are lost!_ joined with the groans and imprecations of the wounded and dying, was soon roused from his lethargy. All this horrible tumult speedily made him comprehend how necessary it was to be upon his guard. Armed with his sabre, he gathered together some of his workmen on the front of the raft, and there charged them to hurt no one, unless they were attacked. He almost always remained with them; and several times they had to defend themselves against the rebels, who, swimming round to the point of the raft, placed M. Correard and his little troop between two dangers, and made their position very difficult to defend. At every instant he was opposed to men armed with knives, sabres, and bayonets. Many had carabines which they wielded as clubs. Every effort was made to stop them, by holding them off at the point of their swords; but, in spite of the repugnance they experienced in fighting with their wretched countrymen, they were compelled to use their arms without mercy. Many of the mutineers attacked with fury, and they were obliged to repel them in the same manner. Some of the labourers received severe wounds in this action.

Their commander could show a great number received in the different engagements. At last their united efforts prevailed in dispersing this ma.s.s who had attacked them with such fury.

During this combat, M. Correard was told by one of his workmen who remained faithful, that one of their comrades, named Dominique, had gone over to the rebels, and that they had seized and thrown him into the sea. Immediately forgetting the fault and treason of this man, he threw himself in at the place whence the voice of the wretch was heard calling for a.s.sistance, seized him by the hair, and had the good fortune to restore him on board. Dominique had got several sabre wounds in a charge, one of which had laid open his head. In spite of the darkness we found out the wound, which seemed very large. One of the workmen gave his handkerchief to bind and stop the blood. Our care recovered the wretch; but, when he had collected strength, the ungrateful Dominique, forgetting at once his duty and the signal service which we had rendered him, went and rejoined the rebels. So much baseness and insanity did not go unrevenged; and soon after he found, in a fresh a.s.sault, that death from which he was not worthy to be saved, but which he might in all probability have avoided, if, true to honour and grat.i.tude, he had remained among us.

Just at the moment we finished dressing the wounds of Dominique, another voice was heard. It was that of the unfortunate female who was with us on the raft, and whom the infuriated beings had thrown into the sea, as well as her husband, who had defended her with courage. M. Correard, in despair at seeing two unfortunates perish; whose pitiful cries, especially the woman's, pierced his heart, seized a large rope which he found on the front of the raft, which he fastened round his middle, and throwing himself a second time into the sea, was again so fortunate as to save the woman, who invoked, with all her might, the a.s.sistance of our Lady of Land. Her husband was rescued at the same time by the head workman, Lavilette. We laid these unfortunates upon the dead bodies, supporting their backs with a barrel. In a short while they recovered their senses. The first thing the woman did was to acquaint herself with the name of the person who saved her, and to express to him her liveliest grat.i.tude. Finding, doubtless, that her words but ill expressed her feelings, she recollected she had in her pocket a little snuff, and instantly offered it to him,--it was all she possessed.

Touched with the gift, but unable to use it, M. Correard gave it to a poor sailor, which served him for three or four days. But it is impossible for us to describe a still more affecting scene,--the joy this unfortunate couple testified, when they had sufficiently recovered their senses, at finding they were both saved.

The rebels being repulsed, as it has been stated above, left us a little repose. The moon lighted with her melancholy rays this disastrous raft, this narrow s.p.a.ce, on which were found united so many torturing anxieties, so many cruel misfortunes, a madness so insensate, a courage so heroic, and the most generous--the most amiable sentiments of nature and humanity.

The man and wife, who had been but a little before stabbed with swords and bayonets, and thrown both together into a stormy sea, could scarcely credit their senses when they found themselves in one another's arms.

The woman was a native of the Upper Alps, which place she had left twenty-four years before, and during which time she had followed the French armies in the campaigns in Italy, and other places, as a sutler.

"Therefore preserve my life," said she to M. Correard, "you see I am an useful woman. Ah! if you knew how often I have ventured upon the field of battle, and braved death to carry a.s.sistance to our gallant men.

Whether they had money or not, I always let them have my goods.

Sometimes a battle would deprive me of my poor debtors, but after the victory, others would pay me double or triple for what they had consumed before the engagement. Thus I came in for a share of their victories."

Unfortunate woman! she little knew what a horrible fate awaited her among us! They felt, they expressed so vividly that happiness which they alas so shortly enjoyed, that it would have drawn tears from the most obdurate heart. But in that horrible moment, when we scarcely breathed from the most furious attack,--when we were obliged to be continually on our guard, not only against the violence of the men, but a most boisterous sea, few among us had time to attend to scenes of conjugal affection.