--A shipwreck! How hilarious, a shipwreck. We are about to leave for an icy bath, and then be taken to Captain Lionetti's place in Bonifacio, where blackbirds are on the menu. The soldiers laughed.... Suddenly, there was a great creaking sound.... --What the hell's that? What's going on? --We've just lost the rudder, said a thoroughly sea-drenched sailor who was running through the 'tween-decks. --Have a good trip! cried the never-say-die Brigadier, but this time the remark caused no laughter. There was chaos on deck, but everything was hidden by the fog. The sailors were all over the place, scared, and groping about.... No rudder! Changing course was impossible.... The _Sémillante_ could only run before the wind.... It was at that moment that the customs' officer saw her; it was half past eleven. In front of the frigate, a sound like a cannon shot was heard.... The breakers! the breakers! It was all up, there was no hope, ship and men together were going straight onto a lee shore.... The Captain went down into his cabin.... After a short time he reappeared on the quarter-deck--in full dress uniform... He wanted to look right when he died. In the 'tween-decks, the soldiers were anxiously exchanged glances without saying a word.... The sick were doing their best to get on their feet.... Even the Brigadier wasn't laughing any more.... It was then that the door opened and the Chaplain appeared on the threshold wearing his stole: --Kneel down, my children! Those who could obeyed, and in a resounding voice, the priest began the prayer for the dying. Suddenly, there was a formidable impact, a cry, one cry consisting of many, an immense cry, their arms fully tensed, their hands all clasped together, their shocked faces looking at a vision of death as it passed before them like a stroke of lightning.... Mercy!... That is how I spent the whole night, ten years after the event, reliving, and evoking the spirit of the ill-fated ship whose wreckage was all around me. Far away, in the straits, the storm was still raging on. The camp-fire's flame was blown flat by a gust of wind, and I could hear our boat bobbing listlessly about at the foot of the rocks, its mooring squealing. THE CUSTOMS' MEN