after another, in sight of M. de Belle-Isle, who did all he could to dig them graves in the earth, or rather in the sand, with his own hands, to preserve their sad remains from the voraciousness of wild beasts: he paid this tribute to human nature in sighing over its miseries, nothing but the strength of his constitution could make him survive them. He was resolute enough, in order to subsist, to eat the worms which he found in rotten wood. Some days after the death of his comrades, he saw at a distance his dog holding something in his mouth; he called him, the creature came to him fawning, and with great demonstrations of joy, threw at his feet an opossum. The opossums are good eating, and of the size of a sucking pig. M. de Belle-Isle, having no other company than his dog, looked about for food every where. At night he always made a little entrenchment at the foot of a tree, in order to shelter himself against the wild beasts. One day a tiger came near the place, where he slept; his dog watched by his side, he saw the tiger, and ran at it with a prodigious howl. M. de Belle-Isle awoke, and hastened to his assistance; the tiger let the dog loose, but had wounded him; his master was obliged to kill him, lest he should turn mad, and afterwards he eat him. Then being left alone in this desert place, he fell on his knees, lifted up his hands to heaven, and thanked the Almighty for preserving him till now; and resigning himself to Providence he went into the country in order to seek for men. He soon found foot-steps, and followed them to the bank of a river, where finding a piragua, he crossed the river in it. On the opposite shore were some Indians, drying human flesh and fish; they were of the nation of the Attakapas; they went towards M. de Belle-Isle, whom they took for a ghost, because he was lean; he pointed to his mouth, and made signs of being hungry. The Indians would not kill him because he was excessively lean; they offered him some human flesh, but he preferred fish, of which he eat greedily. The Indians looked at this clothed man, stripped him naked, and divided his clothes among themselves; they then carried him to their village in order to fatten him. There he had the good fortune to become the dog of an old widow. He recovered his strength gradually; but was extremely sad, constantly apprehending, that his hosts would sacrifice him to their false deities, and afterwards make a feast of his flesh; his imagination was always struck with the terrible sight of the feasts which those barbarians made of the flesh of their fattest prisoners of war. He always expected to receive a blow with the club, as soon as he should be fat. The Indians held a council, in which they resolved that it would be shameful and cowardly to kill a man, that did not come to do them any harm, but to demand their hospitality; in consequence of this resolution, he remained a slave of the widow's. The first days of his slavery, though it was not a heavy one, were very disagreeable to him, because he was obliged to take care of the little children of these men-eaters, and to carry them on his shoulders, which was very troublesome to him; for he was naked like them, having no more clothes than were sufficient to make his nakedness less indecent; but the widow above-mentioned, having taken him under her protection, he was better treated in the sequel.

As M. de Belle-Isle was young and strong, he acquitted himself very well of his functions as a slave, and even gained the good graces of his mistress so much, that she adopted him, and he was then set at liberty, and looked upon as one of their nation. He soon learnt the manner of conversing in pantomimes, and the art of using the bow and arrows as well they could do it. They took him into the wars, where he shewed them his dexterity, by killing one of their enemies, with an arrow in their presence; he was then

acknowledged a true warrior. Another Indian having killed a roe-buck, they dried the flesh of the man and the roe, to make use of it as provisions on their expeditions. One day as they were walking, M. de Belle-Isle being hungry, asked for something to eat. An Indian gave him some human flesh, saying it was of the roe-buck. M. de Belle-Isle eat of it without knowing the cheat and the Indian afterwards said to him: 66 Formerly thou didst make a great difficulty, but now thou canst eat man's flesh as well as ourselves." At these words M. de Belle-Isle threw up all he had eaten.

About two years after his captivity, some deputies arrived at the Attakapas, from a nation who sent them the calumet of peace. This nation lived in New Mexico, and were the neighbours of the Natchitoches, where M. de Hucheros de Saint Denis commanded, who was beloved and respected by the deputies of this nation, though they lived on Spanish ground. After attentively considering M. de Belle-Isle, they told the Attakapas, that in the country from whence they came, there were white men like him: the Attakapas said he was a dog, whom they had found towards the great lake, where his comrades were starved to death; that they had brought him to their habitations, where a woman had made him her slave; that they had taken him to war against a nation which they conquered in a battle, and that he had distinguished himself on that occasion, and shewed them his skill in sending an arrow, which killed one of their adversaries; that they had for that reason adopted him, and received him as a warrior.

This officer, who heard their conversation, did as if he took no notice of it; and immediately conceived the idea of returning to his country: he took one of the Indian deputies apart; and questioned him much about the white men he had seen. M. de Belle-Isle had luckily preserved his commission in a box; he made some ink with soot, and wrote with a crow-quill the following words: "To the first chief of the white men. I am such and such a person, abandoned at the bay of St. Bernard; my comrades died of hunger and wretchedness before my face, and I am captive at the Attakapas." This unhappy officer gave his commission to the Indian, telling him it was speaking paper; that, by presenting it to the chief of the French in his country, he would be well received. The Indian believed, that this letter had something divine in it, because it was to speak for him to the French. His countrymen wanted to take it from him; but he escaped by swimming across a river; and lest he should wet the letter, he held it up in the air. This Indian, after a journey of one hundred and fifty leagues, arrived at the Natchitoches, an Indian nation. The Indian gave M. de St. Denis, the French commander, M. de Belle-Isle's letter. He received him very well, and made him many presents; after which, this officer began to cry after the manner of the Indians, who asked him what ailed him? He answered, he wept for his brother, who was a captive among the Attakapas. As M. de St. Denis was in great esteem with the nations about him, the Indian who brought the letter promised to fetch M. de Belle-Isle, and some other Indians joined him.

M. de St. Denis gave him some shirts and a hat, for M. de Belle-Isle, and they set out immediately, ten in number, on horseback and armed with guns; promising to M. de St. Denis to return in two moons time with his brother upon a horse, which they led with them.

On arriving at the Attakapas, they discharged their fire-arms several times, the explosion of which the other Indians took to be thunder: they gave M. de Belle-Isle the letter of M. de St. Denis, which mentioned that he had nothing to fear with those Indians, and that he rejoiced beforehand that he should see

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him. The joy which this letter gave to the officer is inexpressible: however he feared that the Attakapas would oppose his departure. But the chief of the deputation made him get quickly on horseback, and went off with his whole troop. The Attakapas, being frightened with the report of the muskets, did not venture to say any thing, and the woman who had adopted M. de BelleIsle shed tears. Thus this officer escaped from a captivity, which might otherwise have lasted as long as his life.

The Indian who carried off M. de Belle-Isle was as proud as Hernando Cortez when he conquered Montezuma, the last emperor of Mexico. They arrived at the Natchitoches, but did not find M. de St. Denis there; for he was gone to Biloxis, which was then the chief place of Louisiana, New Orleans being not yet built.

M. d'Orvilliers. who commanded at the Natchitoches in M. St. Denis's absence, sent M. de Belle-Isle and his escort to M. de Bienville, then governor of Louisiana. That general embraced him, being happy to see him, and liberally rewarded his deliverers. Every one complimented him on this escape from captivity.

This officer became afterwards very useful to the governor, by his knowledge of the customs of the Attakapas, whom the Spaniards of New Mexico could never subdue, as they had done with the other nations of their empire.

M. de Bienville sent a present to the Attakapas, and another to the widow who adopted and protected M. de Belle-Isle.

These people, who did not expect this generosity from the governor, sent ambassadors to thank him, and to make an alliance with the French. M. de Belle-Isle's mistress attended in person; after this period the French were always humanely treated by the Attakapas, who have at their desire left off the barbarous custom of eating human flesh.

THE PRICE OF BLOOD.

Whatsoever does honor to human kind belongs to every nation. What Briton can refuse his applause to the following example?

Two grenadiers of the regiment of Flanders, in garrison at Ajaccio, deserted, and penetrating into the country, inland, sought shelter from pursuit. Chance had brought their Colonel, who happened to be out a hunting, into the track of the two grenadiers, who, seeing him, ran into a swamp among some bushes. A shepherd had observed them, and with his finger pointed out their hiding-place. The Colonel who did not comprehend the sign he was making, asked him what he meant. The shepherd obstinately kept silence, but continued to direct him, with eyes and finger, to the bushes. At length, the people with him went to the place so pointed out, and discovered the heads of the deserters, who were up to the neck in mud. These unfortunate men were instantly seized, carried to Ajaccio, tried by a court-martial, and condemned to be shot the next day. The sentence was executed. The shepherd, to whom the Colonel had given a gratuity of four louis-d'ores, could not for joy keep it secret, and divulged his adventure. The shepherd's own family heard of it, and shuddered with horror. All his relations assembled, and decided that such a monster was not fit to live, as had dishonored his country and family by receiving the price of the blood of two men, innocent, at least, as to him. They sought him out, seized him, and led him to justice under the walls of Ajaccio. There, having provided him a priest to confess

him, they shot him, without farther ceremony, much in the same manner, and about the same, as the French had shot their two deserters. After the execution they put the four louis-d'ores into the hands of the priest, whom they commissioned to return them to the Colonel. "Tell him," said they, should think we polluted our hands and souls were we to keep these wages of iniquity. None of our nation will touch this money."

EXECUTION OF THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH.

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The day after Monmouth arrived at the Tower, he was carried by water to the presence-chamber at Whitehall. He threw himself at the king's feet, owned the greatness of his offence, and with many tears begged his life; reminding King James, "That in shedding his nephew's blood, he shed his own" a commemoration of connection, which, in the hour of friendship would have given pleasure, now increased the aversion of the king; and he heard and saw his agonies with a stern insensibility. The duke offered to become Catholic; a flattery which provoked James, by supposing he could be the dupe of it. He communicated no secret; and James believed that he had none to communicate: all was silence for awhile on the king's part. Yet from that silence the duke derived hopes. These hopes increased, when he was desired to sign a declaration, importing, that the late king had assured him he was never married to his mother. He obeyed: James then desired him to name all his accomplices; and, when he hesitated, loaded him with reproaches. The duke, in a transport of passion, started from the ground, and quitted the royal presence with the air of an equal.

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When he came back to the Tower, the love of life returned: he asked for pens, ink, and paper, to write again to his uncle. Scott, of Dunbarton's regiment, one of the officer's who guarded him, told him, that he had orders not to permit him to write: but, upon the duke's repeating his request, Scott, who was of the dutchess of Monmouth's family, consented. mouth, in this letter, again warned the king against Sunderland. Blood, who had an office in the Tower, either the same man who had stolen the crown in the late reign, or his son, suspecting Scott from his continuing so long alone with the duke, forced him, by menaces, to deliver up the letter, and carried it to Sunderland who destroyed it. Orders were given for the duke's execution next day. Monmouth, rendered impatient by the flatteries of a fortune-teller, who assured him, that if he outlived that day, he was designed by Providence for great things, wrote a third letter to James, to beg a short respite of his execution. This letter was delivered by Sunderland, but the prayer of it was refused.

The duke discovered compunction for the neglect with which he had treated his lady, who, though not beautiful, had wit and tenderness, and had brought him one of the greatest fortunes in Europe; and he desired to see her alone. Affecting distance from his treasons, and regard for her children, but, in reality, stung with slighted love, even in death, she refused to see him, unless witnesses were present. Yet, by the tenderness of her affection, and her repeated applications for mercy, she performed every duty of a wife and a friend. It is a family report, that, on the morning of her husband's execution, James sent her a message, that he would breakfast with her. She admitted the visit, believing a pardon was to attend it; James behaved with fondness to her children, and delivered her a grant, which he had brought

with him, of her great family estate, which had fallen to the crown by her husband's attainder: strange mixture of indelicacy and generosity!

Monmouth was not condemned by the judges, lest the sight of him in a court might excite commisseration. At his execution, the spectators were innumerable. On his first appearance upon the scaffold, he bowed to the people, by whom, he knew, he was tenderly beloved; but, from regard to the decorum of his rank, addressed them not. Deep silence succeeded alternately to murmurs of sighs and groans in the spectators, who felt their grief restrained by respect, when they looked upon Monmouth; but burst into tears as often as they beheld the sorrowful looks of each other. He expressed anxiety lest the executioner should not end his life at a blow, examining the axe to satisfy himself; and said, "He was afraid to die." Yet asked, "Could any one perceive it by his countenance?" The executioner, awed by the rank of his victim, after several ineffectual strokes, threw away the axe, and was with difficulty prevailed on to compleat his duty. The people, in their tears and prayers, and the contortions of their bodies, seemed to feel those strokes which the duke no longer felt. Those who considered the various turns of human things, reflected, that the multitudes who attended his execution would, in a different situation of his fortune, have been shouting after the wheels of his chariot. The decent courage with which he died shewed how much force the sentiments of personal dignity have over those of nature, in men of illustrious birth. In his pockets, after his death, were found spells against danger, songs, and prayers, in his own hand-writing; papers characteristic of a mind addicted to ambition, pleasure, and superstition. The fondness of the common people followed Monmouth to the grave: they believed, that one of his friends, resembling him, had consented to lose his life in public, to save that of Monmouth. They started at every rumour of his name and long expected with impatience when their favorite should again call them to assert his cause and their own. Lord Dartmouth, by order of the king, attended the execution. When he gave an account of it to the king, he said, "You have got rid of one enemy, but a more dangerous one remains behind." James pretended not to understand that his son-in-law was alluded to; yet the words sunk deep in his mind.

SAVAGE CRUELTY.

One of the greatest examples of savage cruelty the annals of man can produce, may be seen in the conduct of two men who were executed at Brussels, in the year 1786. After gagging the husband and wife of the house they were resolved to plunder, in order to revenge themselves of the husband, who in his struggle to break his chords, and prevent the robbery, happened to strike the legs of one of these hardened wretches, he immediately snatched an infant then in the cradle, and threw it into the oven where the poor family where baking bread: the villains then threw fresh faggots into the grated part of it, and as the father has since deposed upon oath, they drew it out at last with the baking hook, and in the wantonness of unexampled barbarity, tore it to pieces before the faces of the agonized parents, whom they pelted with the lacerated limbs. At what point of cruelty will the human heart stop, when every principle of nature, religion, and law, are broken down and trod upon?