hoped to discover a passage through the breakers; the lancion was thrown over on her larboard, and I was launched at least thirty paces from her.

Although I was in a dangerous position, the confidence I had in my strength as a swimmer did not allow me to think for an instant of death; but having with me some companions who were not sailors, and whom I had seen a minute before lying upon the decks overcome by sea-sickness, instead of swimming towards the coast I set to work to get together a part of the objects which, from their lightness, promised to remain upon the surface of the water, and pushed them towards the vessel, crying out to my men to throw themselves into the sea, to lay hold of anything they could, and try to gain the shore, which was about a mile from us. The vessel had been overset, but the masts kept her starboard side above water.

The first I saw was clinging to the shrouds; this was Edouard Mutru, one of my best friends. I pushed towards him a portion of the hatches, advising him not to leave hold of it. He being put in a way of safety, I cast my eyes upon the vessel. The first thing I saw, or rather the only thing I saw, was my dear and courageous Louis Carniglia; he was at the helm at the moment of the catastrophe, and he had clung to the vessel at the part of the poop; unfortunately, he was dressed in an enormous cloth jacket, which he had not had time to take off, and which confined his arms so that it was impossible for him to swim. He cried out to me, seeing me coming towards him. "Try to hold on," replied I; "I will come and help you."

In fact, climbing up the side of the bark like a cat, I did reach him; and clinging with one hand to a projection, and taking with my other a small knife, which unfortunately cut very badly, from my pocket, I set to work to slit the collar and back of the jacket; one more effort and I should have delivered poor Carniglia from his embarrassment, when a terrible wave enveloped us

both, dashed the vessel to pieces, and threw into the sea all the men who had been able to remain on board; Carniglia was hurled out with the rest and appeared no more.

As for myself, launched to the bottom of the sea like a projectile, I mounted again to the surface quite stupified; but in the midst of that stupefaction having but one idea to succour my dear Luigi, I swam round the carcase of the ship, calling loudly upon him amidst the howling of the tempest and the roaring of the sea; but he did not reply to me; he was swallowed up for ever!—that good, that kind companion, who had saved my life at la Plata, and to whom, in spite of all my efforts, I was unable to repay the debt.

As soon as I was forced to abandon the hope of succouring Carniglia, I again cast my eyes round me. It was a grace from God, no doubt, but at that moment of agony for others, I never had an instant doubt for my own safety, so as to disturb my exertions for theirs.

My companions appeared scattered in all directions, separated, and swimming towards the shore with the skill and strength of which each was master. I gained them in an instant, and giving them a cry of encouragement, passed them, and was one of the first, if not the first, among the breakers, cutting enormous waves of the height of mountains.

But I gained the shore; my grief for the loss of my poor Carniglia, whilst making me indifferent to my own fate, gave me invincible strength. I had scarcely got footing before I turned round, moved by a last hope. Perhaps I might see Luigi again. I made eager inquiries of every desolate looking figure as it emerged from the waves; but none had seen Carniglia; he must be drowned; the abysses of the ocean had not restored him to me.

Then I again saw Edouard Mutru, he who, after Carniglia, was the most dear, he to whom I had pushed the fragment of the hatches, recommending him to cling to it with all his strength. No doubt the violence of the sea had torn the fragment from his hands. He

was still swimming, but exhausted, and indicating by the convulsion of his motions the extremity to which he was reduced. I have said how much I loved him; he was the second brother of my heart whom I was about to lose in one day. I could not submit to be made in one instant a widower of all I held dear in the world. I pushed into the sea the piece of the ship which had aided me in gaining the shore, and sprang again into the waves, returning with profound indifference to seek again the peril I had just escaped. At the end of a minute I was within a few strokes of

Edouard, and I cried out "Hold fast! courage.! here I am! I bring you life!" Vain hopes! useless efforts! At the moment I was pushing the protecting piece of timber towards him, he sunk, and disappeared. I uttered a piercing cry, let go my hold, and dived. Then, not finding him, I thought he had perhaps returned to the surface. I rose, but there was nothing! I dived again, again I rose. I uttered the same cries as for Carniglia, but all was useless-he also was engulfed in the depths of that ocean which he had not feared to cross in order to regain me, and to serve the cause of peoples. Another martyr to Italian liberty who will have no tomb, no cross!

The bodies of my sixteen companions, drowned in this disaster, faithful companions of my adventures, engulfed in the sea, were dashed by waves, carried away by currents to more than thirty miles distance towards the north. I then looked round among the fourteen who had survived, and who had all gained the shore, for one Italian face, for one Italian figure. Not one! The six Italians who had accompanied me were dead:-Carniglia, Mutru, Straderini, Navone, Giovanni-I cannot recollect the name of the sixth.

I ask pardon of my country for having forgotten it. I know that I write this at a distance of twelve years; I know that during that time many events otherwise terrible than that I have just related have passed in my life; I know that I have seen a nation fall, and

that I have vainly endeavoured to defend a city ; I know that pursued, exiled, tracked like a wild beast, I have deposited in the tomb the wife who had become the heart of my heart; I know that scarcely was the grave closed, when I was obliged to fly like the damned of Dante, who walk straight forward, but whose twisted heads look behind them; I know that I have no longer an asylum; that from the extreme point of Africa I look at that Europe which casts me out like a bandit, me, who have never had but one thought, one love, one despair-my country!-I know perfectly well all this, but it is not less true that I ought to remember that name. Alas! I do not remember it! Tangier, March-April, 1859.

CHAPTER XXII.

JOHN GRIGGS.

Ir was a strange thing that with the exception of myself, it was the good and strong swimmers who had disappeared. Trusting, doubtless, to their skill, they had neglected to avail themselves of parts of the floating wreck, and had hoped to sustain themselves upon the water without that help, whilst, on the contrary, among those whom I found safe and sound around me, there were several young Americans whom I had seen embarrassed in crossing the arm of a river ten feet broad. This seemed unaccountable, nevertheless it was the truth. The world appeared a desert to me. I seated myself on the beach, allowed my head to sink into my hands—and I believe I wept.

In the midst of my grief, I was roused by the sound of a moaning complaint. I then recollected that although these men were comparatively unknown to me as I was their leader, whether in fight or shipwreck-I ought to be their father in distress. I raised my head.

"What is the matter?" asked I; "who is moaning so?" "I am so cold!"

Then I, who till then had been sensible to no physical sensation, I also felt I was cold. I arose, and shook myself; some of my companions were already stiffened, and seated or lying down never to rise again. I pulled them by the arms. Three or four were in

that period of stupor which makes men prefer the languor of death to the suffering of motion. I called the most vigorous to my assistance, I forced those who were stiffened to rise up; I took one by the hand, and told those who had not yet lost their strength to do the same by the others, and I cried, "run!" at the same time setting them the example.

It was at first a difficulty, I will say more, it was a great pain to be obliged to make our stiffened joints play; but by degrees our members recovered their elasticity. We kept up this exercise for nearly an hour ; at the end of that hour our warmed blood had resumed its circulation in our veins. We had gone through these gymnastics near to the river Asterigua, which runs parallel to the sea, to fall into it at a distance of half a mile from the spot where we were. We kept along the right bank of the river, and, at about four miles from our point of danger, we found an estancia, and in that estancia the hospitality which for ever sits at the door of an American house.

Our second vessel, commanded by Griggs, and named the Seival, though scarcely so large as the Rio-Pardo, but of a different build, was able to face the tempest, brave it, and pursue its course victoriously. It must be admitted, likewise, that Griggs was an excellent sailor.

I write from day to day, obliged, perhaps, to quit tomorrow the asylum in which I repose at present. I do not know that I may have, hereafter, the time to tell of this excellent and valiant young man all the good I think; I will, then, since his name is under my pen, pay the tribute I owe to his memory.

Poor Griggs! I have scarcely said a word about