On the 17th of June, 1816, the Medusa, French frigate, commanded by Captain Chaumareys, and accompanied by three smaller vessels, sailed from the island of Aix, for the coast of Africa, in order to take possession of some colonies.  The first accident she encountered was off Cape Finisterre, when one of the crew fell into the sea; and from the apathy of his companions, their want of promptitude in manoeuvring, with the want of every precaution, he was left to perish.  On the tenth day of sailing, there appeared an error of thirty leagues in the reckoning.  On the 1st of July, they entered the tropics; and there, with a childish disregard to danger, and knowing that she was surrounded by all the unseen perils of the ocean, her crew performed the ceremony usual to the occasion, while the vessel was running headlong on destruction.  The captain, presided over the disgraceful scene of merriment, leaving the ship to the command of a Mons. Richefort, who had passed the ten preceding years of his life in an English prison—­a few persons on board remonstrated in vain; though it was ascertained that they were on the banks of Arguise, she continued her course, and heaved the lead, without slackening the sail.  Every thing denoted shallow water, but M. Richefort persisted in saying that they were in one hundred fathoms.  At that very moment only six fathoms were found; and the vessel struck three times, being in about sixteen feet water, and the tide full flood.  At ebb-tide, there remained but twelve feet water; and after some bungling manoeuvres, all hope of getting the ship off was abandoned.

When the frigate struck, she had on board six boats, of various capacities, all of which could not contain the crew and passengers; and a raft was constructed.  A dreadful scene ensued.  All scrambled out of the wreck without order or precaution.  The first who reached the boats refused to admit any of their fellow-sufferers into them, though there was ample room for more.  Some, apprehending that a plot had been formed to abandon them in the vessel, flew to arms.  No one assisted his companions; and Captain Chaumareys stole out of a port-hole into his own boat, leaving a great part of the crew to shift for themselves.  At length they put off to sea, intending to steer for the sandy coast of the desert, there to land, and thence to proceed with a caravan to the island of St. Louis.

The raft had been constructed without foresight or intelligence.  It was about sixty-five feet long and twenty-five broad, but the only part which could be depended upon was the middle; and that was so small, that fifteen persons could not lie down upon it.  Those who stood on the floor were in constant danger of slipping through between the planks; the sea flowed in on all its sides.  When one hundred and fifty passengers who were destined to be its burden, were on board, they stood like a solid parallelogram, without a possibility of moving; and they were up to their