eye which beheld us. We found some excellent broth on board the brig, which they had prepared, and when they had perceived us they added to it some wine, and thus restored our nearly exhausted strength. They bestowed on us the most generous care and attention; our wounds were dressed, and on the morrow many of our sick began to revive. Some, however, still suffered much, for they were placed between decks, very near the kitchen, which augmented the almost insupportable heat of these latitudes. This want of space arose from the small size of the vessel. The number of the shipwrecked was indeed very considerable. Those who did not belong to the navy were laid upon cables, wrapped in flags, and placed under the fire of the kitchen. Here they had almost perished during the course of the night, fire having broken out between decks about ten in the evening; but timely assistance being rendered, we were saved for the second time. We had scarcely escaped when some of us became again delirious. An officer of infantry wished to throw himself into the sea, to look for his pocket book, and would have done it had he not been prevented. Others were seized in a manner not less frenzied. The commander and officers of the brig watched over us, and kindly anticipated our wants. They snatched us from death, by saving us from our raft; their unremitting care revived within us the spark of life. The surgeon of the ship, M. Renaud, distinguished himself for his indefatigable zeal. He was obliged to spend the whole of the day in dressing our wounds; and during the two days we were in the brig, he bestowed on us all the aid of his art, with an attention and gentleness which merit our eternal gratitude. In truth, it was time we should find an end of our sufferings; they had lasted thirteen days, in the most cruel manner. The strongest among us might have lived forty-eight hours or so, longer. M. Correard felt that he must die in the course of the day; he had, however a presentiment we would be saved. He said, that a series of events so unheard of would not be buried in oblivion; that Providence would at least preserve some of us to tell to the world the melancholy story of our misfortunes. Such is the faithful history of those who were left upon the memorable raft. Of one hundred and fifty, fifteen only were saved. Five of that number never recovered from their fatigue, and died at St. Louis. Those who yet live are covered with scars; and the cruel sufferings to which they have been exposed, have materially shaken their constitutions. THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.