AFTER THE FRIGHTFUL TEMPEST, THE BOAT, IN WHICH ARE THE PICARD
FAMILY, IS STILL DESIROUS OF TAKING THE ROUTE TO SENEGAL--CRUEL
ALTERNATIVE TO WHICH THE PASSENGERS ARE DRIVEN--IT IS AT LAST
DECIDED TO GAIN THE COAST--DESCRIPTION OF THE LANDING--THE
TRANSPORTS OF THE SHIPWRECKED.
On the morning of the 7th of July, we again saw the shores of the
Desert, notwithstanding we were yet a great distance from it. The
sailors renewed their murmurings, wishing to get on shore, with the hope
of being able to get some wholesome plants, and some more palatable
water than that of the sea; but as we were afraid of the Moors, their
request was opposed. However, M. Laperere proposed to take them as near
as he could to the first breakers on the coast; and when there, those
who wished to go on shore should throw themselves into the sea, and swim
to land. Eleven accepted the proposal; but when we had reached the first
waves, none had the courage to brave the mountains of water which rolled
between them and the beach. Our sailors then betook themselves to their
benches and oars, and promised to be more quiet for the future. A short
while after, a third distribution was made since our departure from the
Medusa; and nothing more remained than four pints of water, and one half
dozen biscuits. What steps were we to take in this cruel situation? We
were desirous of going on shore, but we had such dangers to encounter.
However, we soon came to a decision, when we saw a caravan of Moors on
the coast. We then stood a little out to sea. According to the
calculation of our commanding officer, we would arrive at Senegal on the
morrow. Deceived by that false account, we preferred suffering one day
more, rather than to be taken by the Moors of the Desert, or perish
among the breakers. We had now no more than a small half glass of water,
and the seventh of a biscuit. Exposed as we were to the heat of the sun,
which darted its rays perpendicularly on our heads, that ration, though
small, would have been a great relief to us; but the distribution was
delayed to the morrow. We were then obliged to drink the bitter
sea-water, ill as it was calculated to quench our thirst. Must I tell
it! thirst had so withered the lungs of our sailors, that they drank
water salter than that of the sea! Our numbers diminished daily, and
nothing but the hope of arriving at the colony on the following day
sustained our frail existence. My young brothers and sisters wept
incessantly for water. The little Laura, aged six years, lay dying at
the feet of her mother. Her mournful cries so moved the soul of my
unfortunate father, that he was on the eve of opening a vein to quench
the thirst which consumed his child; but a wise person opposed his
design, observing that all the blood in his body would not prolong the
life of his infant one moment.
The freshness of the night-wind procured us some respite. We anchored
pretty near to the shore, and, though dying of famine, each got a
tranquil sleep. On the morning of the 8th of July at break of day, we
took the route for Senegal. A short while after the wind fell, and we
had a dead calm. We endeavoured to row, but our strength was exhausted.
A fourth and last distribution was made, and, in the twinkling of an
eye, our last resources were consumed. We were forty-two people who had
to feed upon _six biscuits_ and about _four pints_ of water, with no
hope of a farther supply. Then came the moment for deciding whether we
were to perish among the breakers, which defended the approach to the
shores of the Desert, or to die of famine in continuing our route. The
majority preferred the last species of misery. We continued our progress
along the shore, painfully pulling our oars. Upon the beach were
distinguished several downs of white sand, and some small trees. We were
thus creeping along the coast, observing a mournful silence, when a
sailor suddenly exclaimed, Behold the Moors! We did, in fact, see
various individuals upon the rising ground, walking at a quick pace, and
whom we took to be the Arabs of the Desert. As we were very near the
shore, we stood farther out to sea, fearing that these pretended Moors,
or Arabs, would throw themselves into the sea, swim out, and take us.
Some hours after, we observed several people upon an eminence, who
seemed to make signals to us. We examined them attentively, and soon
recognised them to be our companions in misfortune. We replied to them
by attaching a white handkerchief to the top of our mast. Then we
resolved to land, at the risk of perishing among the breakers, which
were very strong towards the shore, although the sea was calm. On
approaching the beach, we went towards the right, where the waves seemed
less agitated, and endeavoured to reach it, with the hope of being able
more easily to land. Scarcely had we directed our course to that point,
when we perceived a great number of people standing near to a little
wood surrounding the sand-hills. We recognised them to be the passengers
of that boat, which, like ourselves, were deprived of provisions.
Meanwhile we approached the shore, and already the foaming surge filled
us with terror. Each wave that came from the open sea, each billow that
swept beneath our boat, made us bound into the air; so we were sometimes
thrown from the poop to the prow, and from the prow to the poop. Then,
if our pilot had missed the sea, we would have been sunk; the waves
would have thrown us aground, and we would have been buried among the
breakers. The helm of the boat was again given to the old pilot, who had
already so happily steered us through the dangers of the storm. He
instantly threw into the sea the mast, the sails, and every thing that
could impede our proceedings. When we came to the first landing point,
several of our shipwrecked companions, who had reached the shore, ran
and hid themselves behind the hills, not to see us perish; others made
signs not to approach at that place; some covered their eyes with their
hands; others, at last despising the danger, precipitated themselves
into the waves to receive us in their arms. We then saw a spectacle that
made us shudder. We had already doubled two ranges of breakers; but
those which we had still to cross raised their foaming waves to a
prodigious height, then sunk with a hollow and monstrous sound, sweeping
along a long line of the coast. Our boat sometimes greatly elevated, and
sometimes ingulfed between the waves, seemed, at the moment, of utter
ruin. Bruised, battered, tossed about on all hands, it turned of itself,
and refused to obey the kind hand which directed it. At that instant a
huge wave rushed from the open sea, and dashed against the poop; the
boat plunged, disappeared, and we were all among the waves. Our sailors,
whose strength had returned at the presence of danger, redoubled their
efforts, uttering mournful sounds. Our bark groaned, the oars were
broken; it was thought aground, but it was stranded; it was upon its
side. The last sea rushed upon us with the impetuosity of a torrent. We
were up to the neck in water; the bitter sea-froth choaked us. The
grapnel was thrown out. The sailors threw themselves into the sea; they
took the children in their arms; returned, and took us upon their
shoulders; and I found myself seated upon the sand on the shore, by the
side of my step-mother, my brothers and sisters, almost dead. Every one
was upon the beach except my father and some sailors; but that good man
arrived at last, to mingle his tears with those of his family and
friends.
Instantly our hearts joined in addressing our prayers and praises to
God. I raised my hands to heaven, and remained some time immoveable
upon the beach. Every one also hastened to testify his gratitude to our
old pilot, who, next to God, justly merited the title of our preserver.
M. Dumege, a naval surgeon, gave him an elegant gold watch, the only
thing he had saved from the Medusa.
Let the reader now recollect all the perils to which we had been exposed
in escaping from the wreck of the frigate to the shores of the
Desert--all that we had suffered during our four days' voyage--and he
will perhaps have a just notion of the various sensations we felt on
getting on shore on that strange and savage land. Doubtless the joy we
experienced at having escaped, as by a miracle, the fury of the floods,
was very great; but how much was it lessened by the feelings of our
horrible situation! Without water, without provisions, and the majority
of us nearly naked, was it to be wondered at that we should be seized
with terror on thinking of the obstacles which we had to surmount, the
fatigues, the privations, the pains and the sufferings we had to endure,
with the dangers we had to encounter in the immense and frightful Desert
we had to traverse before we could arrive at our destination? Almighty
Providence! it was in Thee alone I put my trust.