to starboard appeared a large mass which riveted my attention. It was like a ruin buried beneath white shells, as under a mantle of snow. Examining it attentively, I fancied I could distinguish a vessel, mastless, which must have foundered. The wreck must be an old one; many years must have passed for it to have become so encrusted with the lime of the ocean.
What was this ship? Why should the Nautilus visit its tomb? Was it a shipwreck in the ordinary sense?
I did not know what to think, when suddenly close by me I heard the captain’s voice.
“That vessel,” he said slowly, “was formerly called the Marseillais. She carried seventy-four guns, and was launched in 1762. In 1778, commanded by La Poype-Vertrieux, she fought the Preston. On 4th July, 1779, she was at the taking of Grenada, with the fleet of Admiral Estaing. On 5th September, 1781, she took part in the action in Chesapeake Bay. In 1794 her name was changed by the French Republic. On the 16th April of the same year she joined the fleet of Villaret-Joyeuse, at Brest, charged to escort a convoy of corn to come from America, under the command of Admiral Van Stabel. On the 11th and 12th Prairial of year II., the squadron encountered the English fleet. To-day, Monsieur, is the 13th Prairial, the 1st June, 1868. Seventy-four years ago this day, in this place, in 47° 24’ lat. and 17° 28’ long., this ship, after a gallant fight, dismasted, with a leak sprung, a third of her crew disabled, preferred to sink with her 356 sailors than to surrender; and, nailing their colours to the poop, they disappeared beneath the waves, crying ‘Vive la Republique.’”
“The Vengeur!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, Monsieur, the Vengeur. A good name,” muttered the captain as he folded his arms.
