The Sea: Its Stirring Story of Adventure, Peril, & Heroism (Vol. 1-4). Frederick Whymper
the means of making him change his mind, and over forty were taken off in the long-boat. Seventeen men, many of whom were helplessly intoxicated, were, however, left to their fate.
On the morning of the 5th of July the signal was given to put to sea, and at first some of the boats towed the raft, which had no one to command it but a midshipman named Coudin, who, having a painful wound on his leg, was utterly useless. The other officers consulted their own personal safety only, and, with a few exceptions, this was the case with every one else. When the lieutenant of the long-boat, fearing that he could not keep the sea with eighty-eight men on board, and no oars, entreated three of the other boats, one after the other, to relieve him of a part of his living cargo, they refused utterly; and the officer of the third, in his hurry to run away, loosed from the raft. This was the signal for a general desertion. The word was passed from one boat to another to leave them to their fate, and the captain had not the manliness to protest. The purser of the Medusa, with a few others, opposed such a dastardly proceeding, but in vain; and the raft, without means of propulsion, was abandoned. As it proved afterwards, the boats, which all reached the land safely, sighted the coast the same evening; and the raft could have been towed to it in a day or two, or at all events sufficiently near for the purpose. The people on it could not at first believe in this treacherous desertion, and once and again buoyed themselves up with the hope that the boats would return or send relief. The lieutenant on the long-boat seems to have been one of the few officers possessing any spark of humanity and manliness. He kept his own boat near the raft for a time, in the hope that the others might be induced to return, but at length had to yield to the clamour of some eighty men on board with him, who insisted on his proceeding in search of land.
The consternation and despair of those on the raft beggars description. The water was, even while the sea was calm, up to the knees of the larger part on board, while the horrors of a slow death from starvation and thirst, and the prospect of being washed off by the waves, should a storm arise, stared them in the face. Several barrels of flour had been placed on the raft at first, along with six barrels of wine and two small casks of water. When only fifty persons had got on it, their weight sunk it so low in the water that the flour was thrown into the sea, and lost. When the raft quitted the ship, with a hundred and fifty souls on her, she was a foot to a foot and a half under water, and the only food on board was a twenty-five-pound bag of biscuit, in a semi-pulpy condition, which just afforded them one meagre ration.
Some on board, to keep up the courage of the remainder, promulgated the idea that the boats had merely made sail for the island of Arguin, and that, having landed their crews, they would return. This for the moment appeased the indignation of the soldiers and others who had, with frantic gesticulations, been wringing their hands and tearing their hair. Night came on, and the wind freshened, the waves rolling over them, and throwing many down with violence. The cries of the people were mingled with the roar of the waves, whilst heavy seas constantly lifted them off their legs and threatened to wash them away. Thus, clinging desperately to the ropes, they struggled with death the whole night through.
About seven the next morning, the sea was again calm, when they found that twelve or more unfortunate men had, during the night, slipped between the interstices of the raft and perished. The effects of starvation were beginning to tell upon them:61 all their faculties were strangely impaired. Some fancied that they saw lighted signals in the distance, and answered them by firing off their pistols, or by setting fire to small heaps of gunpowder; others thought they saw ships or land, when there was nothing in sight. The next day strong symptoms of mutiny broke out, the officers being utterly disregarded by the soldiers. The evening again brought bad weather. “The people were now dashed about by the fury of the waves; there was no safety but in the centre of the raft,” where they packed themselves so close that many were nearly suffocated. “The soldiers and sailors, now considering their destruction inevitable, resolved to drown the sense of their situation by drinking till they should lose their reason;” nor could they be persuaded to forego their mad scheme. They rushed upon a cask of wine which was near the centre, and making a hole in it, drank so much, that the fumes soon mounted to their heads, in the empty condition in which they were; and “they then resolved to rid themselves of their officers, and afterwards to destroy the raft by cutting the lashings which kept it together.” One of them commenced hacking away at the ropes with a boarding-hatchet. The civil and military officers rushed on this ringleader, and though he made a desperate resistance, soon dispatched him. The people on the raft were now divided into two antagonistic parties—about twenty civil officers and the better class of passengers on one side, and a hundred or more soldiers and workmen on the other. “The mutineers,” says the narrative, “drew their swords, and were going to make a general attack, when the fall of another of their number struck such a seasonable terror into them that they retreated; but it was only to make another attempt at cutting the ropes. One of them, pretending to rest on the side-rail of the raft, began to work;” when he was discovered, and a few moments afterwards, with a soldier who attempted to defend him, was sent to his last account. This was followed by a general fight. An infantry captain was thrown into the sea by the soldiers, but rescued by his friends. He was then seized a second time, and the revolters attempted to put out his eyes. A charge was made upon them, and many put to death. The wretches threw overboard the only woman on the raft, together with her husband. They were, however, saved, only to die miserably soon afterwards.
A second repulse brought many of the mutineers to their senses, and temporarily awed the rest, some asking pardon on their knees. But at midnight the revolt again broke out, the soldiers attacking the party in the centre of the raft with the fury of madmen, even biting their adversaries. They seized upon one of the lieutenants, mistaking him for one of the ship’s officers who had deserted the raft, and he was rescued and protected afterwards with the greatest difficulty. They threw overboard M. Coudin, an elderly man, who was covered with wounds received in opposing them, and a young boy of the party, in whom he took an interest. M. Coudin had the presence of mind both to support the child and to take hold of the raft; and his friends kept off the brutal soldiery with drawn swords, until they were lifted on board again. The combat was so fierce, and the weather at night so bad, that on the return of day it was found that over sixty had perished off the raft. It is stated that the mutineers had thrown over the remaining water and two casks of wine. The indications in the narrative would not point to the latter conclusion, as the soldiers and workmen were constantly intoxicated, and many, no doubt, were washed off by the waves in that condition. A powerful temperance tract might be written on the loss of the Medusa. On the morning of the fourth day after their departure from the frigate, the dead bodies of twelve of the company, who had expired during the night, were lying on the raft. This day a shoal of flying-fish played round the raft, and a number of them got on board,62 and were entangled in the spaces between the timbers. A small fire, lighted with flint and steel and gunpowder, was made inside a barrel, and the fish, half-cooked, was greedily devoured. They did not stop here; the account briefly indicates that they ate parts of the flesh of their dead companions. Horror followed horror: a massacre succeeded their savage feast. Some Spaniards, Italians, and negroes among them, who had hitherto taken no part with the mutineers, now formed a plot to throw their superiors into the sea. A bag of money, which had been collected as a common fund, and was hanging from a rude mast hastily extemporised, probably tempted them. The officers’ party threw their ringleader overboard, while another of the conspirators, finding his villainy discovered, weighted himself with a heavy boarding-axe, and rushing to the fore part of the raft, plunged headlong into the sea and was drowned. A desperate combat ensued, and the fatal raft was quickly piled with dead bodies.
On the fifth morning, there were only thirty alive. The remnant suffered severely, and one-third of the number were unable to stand up or move about. The salt water and intense heat of the sun blistered their feet and legs, and gave intense pain. In the course of the seventh day, two soldiers were discovered stealing the wine, and they were immediately pushed overboard. This day also, Leon, the poor little boy mentioned before, died from sheer starvation.
The story has been so far nothing but a record of insubordination, murderous brutality, and utter selfishness. But the worst has yet to come. Let the survivors tell their own shameful and horrible story. There were now but twenty-seven left, and “of these twelve, amongst them the woman, were so ill that there was no hope of their surviving, even a few days; they were covered with wounds,