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 hen-coops, while some of the seamen, swimming with one hand, endeavored to support them with the other.
The floating masts and yards were covered with men struggling with the watery element, many of whom now perished by balls discharged from the guns as heated by the fire, and thus presenting a third means of destruction, augmenting the horrors environing them. While anguish pierced the heart of M. de la Fond, he withdrew his eyes from the sea; and a moment after, reaching the starboard gallery, he saw the flames bursting with frightful noise through the windows of the round-house and of the great cabin. The fire approached, and was ready to consume him. Considering it vain to attempt the further preservation of the ship, or the lives of his fellow sufferers, he thought it his duty, in this dreadful condition, to save himself yet a few hours, that these might be devoted to Heaven.
Stripping off his clothes, he designed slipping down a yard, one end of which dipped in the water; but it was so covered with miserable beings, shrinking from death, that he tumbled over them and fell into the sea. There a drowning soldier caught hold of him. Lieutenant Fond made every exertion to disengage himself, but in vain; he even allowed himself to sink below the surface, yet he did not quit his grasp. Lieutenant Fond plunged down a second time; still he was firmly held by the man, who then was incapable of considering that his death, instead of being of service, would rather hasten his own. At last, after struggling a considerable time, and swallowing a great quantity of water, the soldier’s strength failed; and sensible that M. de la Fond was sinking a third time, he dreaded to be carried down along with him, and loosened his grasp, no sooner was this done, than M. de la Fond to guard against a repetition, dived below the surface, and rose at a distance from the place.
This incident rendered him more cautious for the future; he even avoided the dead bodies, now so numerous, that to make a free passage, he was compelled to shove them aside with one hand, while he kept himself floating with the other; for he was impressed with the apprehension, that each was a person who would seize him, and involve him in his own destruction. But strength beginning to fail, he was satisfied of the necessity of some respite, when he fell in with part of the ensign-staff. He put his arm through a noose of the rope to secure it, and swam as well as 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 too remote to receive any assistance from him.
But when least in expectation of it, he saw the yawl close at hand, at five in the afternoon. He cried to the men that he was their lieutenant, and requested to be allowed to participate in their fate. His presence was too necessary for them to refuse his solicitations, they needed a conductor who might guide them to the land; thus they permitted him to come on board, on condition that he should swim to the yawl. This was a reasonable stipulation; it was to avoid approaching the mast, else, the rest actuated by the same desire of self-preservation, would soon have overloaded the little vessel, and all would have been buried in a watery grave. M. de la Fond, therefore, summoning up all his strength and courage, was so happy as to reach the seamen. In a little time afterwards, the pilot and master, whom he had left on the mast, followed his example, and swimming towards the yawl were seen and taken in.
The flames still continued raging in the vessel, and as the yawl was still endangered by being within half a league of her, she stood a little to windward. Not long subsequent to this, the fire reached the magazine; and then to describe the thundering explosion which ensued is impossible. A thick cloud intercepted the light of the sun, and amidst the terrific darkness nothing but pieces of flaming timber, projected aloft into the air, could be seen, threatening to crush to atoms in their fall, numbers of miserable wretches still struggling with the agonies of death. Nor were the party in the yawl beyond the reach of hazard; it was not improbable that some of the fiery fragments might come down upon them, and precipitate their frail support to the bottom. Though the Almighty preserved them from that shocking calamity, they were shocked with the spectacle environing them. The vessel had now disappeared; the sea, to a great distance, was covered with pieces of the wreck, intermingled with the bodies of those unhappy creatures who had perished by their fall. Some were seen who had been choked, others mangled, half consumed and still retaining life enough to be sensible of the accumulated horrors overwhelming them.
The fortitude of M. de la Fond was still preserved, through the favour of Heaven, and he proposed approaching the wreck, to see whether any provisions or necessary articles might be picked up. He and his companions being totally devoid of every thing, were exposed to the hazard of a death even more painful than that which the others had suffered, in perishing of famine. But finding several barrels, which they hoped might contain something to relieve their necessities, they experienced great mortification, on ascertaining that they were part of the powder that had been thrown overboard during the conflagration of their unfortunate vessel.