he could; then perceiving a yard at
hand, he seized it by one end. However, beholding a young man scarce
able to support himself at the other extremity, he quickly abandoned
so slight an aid, and one which seemed incapable of contributing to
his preservation. Next the spritsail-yard appeared in view, but
covered with people, among whom he durst not take a place without
requesting permission, which they cheerfully granted. Some were quite
naked, others in nothing except their shirts; the pity they expressed
at the situation of M. de la Fond, and his sense of their misfortunes,
exposed his feelings to a severe trial.

Neither Captain Morin, nor M. de la Touche ever quitted the ship, and
were most probably overwhelmed in the catastrophe by which she was
destroyed. But the most dismal spectacle was exhibited on all sides;
the main-mast, consumed below, had been precipitated overboard,
killing some in the fall, and affording a temporary reception to
others. M. de la Fond now observed it covered with people, driven
about by the waves; and at the same time, seeing two seamen buoyed up
by a hen-coop and some planks, desired them to swim to him with the
latter; they did so, accompanied by more of their comrades, and each
taking a plank, which were used for oars, they and he paddled along
upon the yard, until gaining those who had secured themselves on the
main-mast. So many alternations only presented new spectacles of
horror.

The chaplain was at this time on the mast, and from him M. de la Fond
received absolution; two young ladies were also there, whose piety and
resignation were truly consolatory; they were the only survivors of
six, their companions had perished in the flames or in the sea. Eighty
persons had found refuge on the main-mast, who, from the repeated
discharge of cannon from the ship, according to the progress of the
flames, were constantly exposed to destruction. The chaplain, in this
awful condition, by his discourse and example, taught the duty of
resignation. M. de la Fond observing him lose his hold on the mast,
and drop into the sea, lifted him up. "Let me go," said he. "I am
already half drowned, and it is only protracting my sufferings."--"No,
my friend," the lieutenant replied, "when my strength is exhausted,
not till then, we will perish together;" and in his pious presence he
calmly awaited death. After remaining here three hours, he beheld one
of the ladies fall from the mast and perish.--She was t