people; nothing but sighs and groans resounded through the vessel, and
the very animals on board, as if sensible of the impending danger,
uttered the most dreadful cries. The certainty of perishing in either
element was anticipated by every human being here, and each raised his
heart and hands towards Heaven.

The chaplain, who was now on the quarter-deck, gave the people general
absolution for their sins, and then repaired to the quarter-gallery to
extend it yet further, to those miserable wretches, who, in hopes of
safety, had already committed themselves to the waves. What a horrible
spectacle! Self-preservation was the only object; each was occupied in
throwing overboard whatever promised the most slender chance of
escape, yards, spars, hen-coops and everything occurring, was seized
in despair, and thus employed.

Dreadful confusion prevailed. Some leaped into the sea, anticipating
that death which was about to reach them; others, more successful,
swam to fragments of the wreck; while the shrouds, yards and ropes,
along the side of the vessel, were covered with the crew crowding upon
them, and hanging there, as if hesitating which alternative of
destruction to choose, equally imminent and equally terrible.

A father was seen to snatch his son from the flames, fold him to his
breast, and, then throwing him into the sea, himself followed, where
they perished in each other's embrace.

Meantime Lieutenant Fond ordered the helm to be shifted. The ship
heeled to larboard, which afforded a temporary preservation, while the
fire raged along the starboard from stem to stern.

Lieutenant Fond had, until this moment, been engrossed by nothing but
adopting every means to preserve the ship; now, however, the horrors
of impending destruction were too conspicuously in view. His
fortitude, notwithstanding, through the goodness of Heaven, never
forsook him; looking around, he found himself alone on the deck, and
he retired to the round-house. There he met M. de la Touche, who
regarded the approach of death with the same heroism which, in India,
had gained him celebrity. "My brother and friend," he cried,
"farewell."--"Whither are you going?" asked Lieutenant Fond. "To
comfort my friend, the captain," he replied.

M. Morin, who commanded this unfortunate vessel, stood overwhelmed
with grief for the melancholy state of his female relatives,
passengers along with him. He had persuaded them to commit themselves
to the waves on