WE LOSE NEARLY ALL OUR PROVISIONS
DECEMBER 22.--Daylight came at length, and the sun broke through and
dispersed the clouds that the storm had left behind. The struggle of
the elements, while it lasted, had been terrific, but the swoon into
which I was thrown by my fall prevented me from observing the final
incidents of the visitation. All that I know is, that shortly after we
had shipped the heavy sea, that I have mentioned, a shower of rain had
the effect of calming the severity of the hurricane, and tended to
diminish the electric tension of the atmosphere.
Thanks to the kind care of M. Letourneur and Miss Herbey, I recovered
consciousness, but I believe that it is to Robert Curtis that I owe my
real deliverance, for he it was that prevented me from being carried
away by a second heavy wave.
The tempest, fierce as it was, did not last more than a few hours; but
even in that short space of time what an irreparable loss we have
sustained, and what a load of misery seems stored up for us in the
future!
Of the two sailors who perished in the storm, one was Austin, a fine
active young man of about eight-and-twenty; the other was old O'Ready,
the survivor of so many shipwrecks. Our party is thus reduced to
sixteen souls, leaving a total barely exceeding half the number of
those who embarked on board the Chancellor at Charleston.
Curtis's first care had been to take a strict account of the remnant of
our provisions. Of all the torrents of rain that fell in the night we
were unhappily unable to catch a single drop; but water will not fail
us yet, for about fourteen gallons still remain in the bottom of the
broken barrel, while the second barrel has not been touched. But of
food we have next to nothing. The cases containing the dried meat, and
the fish that we had preserved, have both been washed away, and all
that now remains to us is about sixty pounds of biscuit. Sixty pounds
of biscuit between sixteen persons! Eight days, with half a pound a day
apiece, will consume it all.
The day has passed away in silence. A general depression has fallen
upon all; the specter of famine has appeared among us, and each has
remained wrapped in his own gloomy meditations, though each has
doubtless but one idea dominant in his mind.
Once, as I passed near the group of sailors lying on the fore part of
the raft, I heard Flaypole say with a sneer:
"Those who are going to die had better make haste about it."
"Yes," said Owen, "and leave their share of food to others."
At the regular hour each person received his half-pound of biscuit.
Some, I noticed, swallowed it ravenously; others reserved it for
another time. Falsten divided his ration into several portions,
corresponding, I believe, to the number of meals to which he was
ordinarily accustomed. What prudence he shows! If any one survives this
misery, I think it will be he.