"From the 13th to the 15th we were driven blindly before a hurricane, not knowing where we were. As many of us as could do so were obliged to fill the places of the crew, who were so exhausted with their incessant labors that they had taken refuge in their hammocks, from which neither bribes, threats, nor blows could drive them. Our foremast was gone, our tattered sails could no longer be either hoisted or furled, and, as a last resort, the mate proposed that we should run the ship ashore. It was a desperate expedient. The fatal moment arrived. The captain and mate looked at me despairingly, clasping their hands. I understood but too well the silent speech of these men inured to peril. We made for land to starboard, where we saw the mouth of a little river which might perhaps prove navigable. I explained our situation to all the passengers, concealing nothing. Then what entreaties and what vows to the Almighty! But, alas! in vain the vows, and of no avail the prayers!
"Who can paint the madness of the waves? Our masts seemed to touch the sky and then vanish in the deep. A frightful shock announced that the ship had grounded. We cut away the masts and cordage to lighten her, but the waves rolled her on her side. We were stranded about five hundred feet from shore, in a little sandy bay at the mouth of the river in which we had hoped to find refuge. As the ship was now leaking at every joint, the passengers rushed upon deck; and some even, thinking themselves within reach of safety, threw themselves into the sea and perished miserably.
"At this moment Madame de Tillac appeared on deck, holding her little one in her arms, her long hair and her garments streaming about her in confusion. She was the picture of hopeless anguish. She fell on her knees. Then, perceiving me, she cried in a piercing voice: 'My dear friend, must we die like this?'
"I was running to her aid, when a giant wave thundered down upon the deck and swept her into the sea."
"My poor friend," sobbed Madame D'Haberville; "companion of my childhood, my foster-sister, nourished at the same breast with me? They tried to persuade me that it was merely my overwrought imagination that made me see you in my sleep, that 17th of November! I saw you weeping on the deck of the Auguste, your baby in your arms; and I saw you swept into the waves. I was not deceived, my sister! You came to bid me farewell before vanishing to heaven with the angel that nestled in your bosom!"
After a pause, M. de Lacorne went on:
"Crew and passengers were lashed to the shrouds, to escape the waves which dashed ceaselessly over the doomed ship, every moment carrying away new victims. The ship carried but two small boats, one of which was already crushed into splinters. The remaining one, a mere cockle-shell, was launched, and a servant named Étienne threw himself into it, followed by the captain and two or three others. I did not perceive this till one of my children, whom I held in my arms, while the other was tied to my belt, cried eagerly: 'Save us now, father; the boat is going away!' I seized the rope fiercely. At this moment a terrific wave struck us, and hurled me headlong into the boat. The same wave which saved my life swept away my children."
At this point the narrator's voice failed him, and his listeners sobbed aloud. Regaining his self-control, he continued:
"Although under the lee of the ship, the boat was almost swamped by another wave; and the next hurled us landward. In what seemed but a few seconds, in that awful and stupefying tumult, we found ourselves dashed upon the sand. Above the uproar we heard the heart-rending shrieks of those who remained upon the ship.
"Of the seven men thus miraculously thrown upon the unknown shore, I was the only one capable of action. I had just seen my brother and my little ones snatched away, and I strove to keep down my agony of soul by striving for the safety of my fellow-sufferers. I succeeded, after a time, in bringing the captain back to consciousness. The others were numbed with cold, for an icy rain was falling in torrents. Not wishing to lose sight of the ship, I handed them my flint and steel and powder-horn, telling them to light a fire at the edge of the wood. In this they failed signally; scarcely had they strength enough to come and tell me of their failure, so weak were they and numbed with cold. After many attempts, I succeeded in making a fire just in time to save their lives. Then I returned to the beach, hoping to save some poor creatures who might be washed ashore. I remained there from three in the afternoon till six o'clock in the evening, when the ship went to pieces. Never, never shall I forget the sight of the dead bodies stretched upon the sand, more than a hundred in number, many of them with legs or arms broken, their faces battered out of all recognition.