The Raft of the Medusa

The Raft of the Medusa

In 1819, the French painter, Theodore Gerricault, created a sensation in Parisian art circles and high-society when he unveiled a huge and impressive canvas entitled "Scene of Shipwreck." Not only is the painting gigantic (16 ft high and almost 24 ft wide), but is also quietly horrifying. A group men on crowded fat are making an attempt to get a faraway ship to notice them. Survival looks almost impossible, and but the desperate situation does not even begin to suggest the abject horror which overtook the people of the raft. The real story which inspired the painting had taken place in 1816 . . .

In Paris of that year, where the French monarchy was back in powerÐ'--with the "permission" of the English, who had recently, through the efforts of Wellington, ended Napoleon's reign at Waterloo. In a tangle of diplomatic details, Britain attempted to make friends with the re-installed French king, and offered him a port city in colonial AfricaÐ'--a settlement called St. Louis in Senegal on the African west coast. St. Louis had established itself a viable trading post and was strategically located for ships to take pause during long voyages around the Cape of Good Hope

The plan was in place for the French to send four ships filled with soldiers and other friends of the throne to St. Louis along with its new Governor. The man in charge of the expedition was a man named Hugues Duroy de Chaumereys. As it turned out, he was not a very good choice for the jobÐ'--for a lot reasons. He hadn't been to sea in more than twenty years, had never commanded an entire ship, and some reports even claimed he was not a seaman at all, but a land-based customs agent. The only credential that qualified him for the assignment was a good, however: he was a friend of the newly re-instated king.

Whether wise or brave or just uninformed, de Chaumereys, back in 1795, had sided against the French revolutionaries. He was living in exile in England, but maneuvered himself into a position for reward in 1814 when Louis XVIII reclaimed the throne. Hughes Duroy de Chaumereys had been a good friend of the king's brother, and persuaded him to get him a sinecurial command in the department of the French Navy.

This was not an unreasonable request because he had long ago demonstrated his loyalty to the crown. But there was one big problemÐ'--de Chaumereys had no idea how to assume control of an ocean-going frigate. There was only one way to overcome such an obstacle, and that was to ignore it, and the king granted the request.

When Duroy de Chaumereys assumed his command, he experienced resistance and friction from his First Officer and much of the crew. In the first place, he was perceived to be a foppish and sissified, not at all a military man. Worse, many of the crew had served under Napoleon, and were not happy to hear that their new captain had been in exile in England.

Despite these issues, de Chaumereys' squadron of his flagship, the Medusa, plus three others: the Loire, the Argus, and the Echo, set sail on June 17, 1816. The Medusa was a fairly large vessel, carrying around 400 men, women, and children. It boasted a sizable crew of 160 men, and the newly-appointed Governor of Senegal, a man, who like de Chaumereys, had been given a post in the new government for being loyal to the monarchyÐ'--Colonel Julien-De'sire' Schmaltz.

It is said Schmaltz, (like most empty-headed aristocrats) was a man filled with (unearned) self-importance and a lot of arrogance. This bad combination of traits apparently impressed Fleet Commander de Chaumereys, who seemed to like and respect the new Governor, and wanted to do anything to impress him. Schmaltz wanted to reach St. Louis as fast as possible, by the most direct route.

Unfortunately, this would take the fleet dangerously close to the shoreline. There were sandbars, reefs, and a whole gamut of tricky navigational problems the entire length of the African coast including the notorious Arguin bank, which were extremely treacherous to the most experienced navigators and captains. The usual (safe) practice was to swing out wide into the Atlantic and let the prevailing winds blow the ship back to shore. The ignorant, browbeating Schmaltz exploded when he heard of this suggested tactic from the experienced deck officers, and he demanded that Commander de Chaumereys take the most direct route, straight down the coastline This upset the crew mightily; they didn't like the blow-hard Schmaltz and his know-nothing captain, but now it appeared the two of them were planning to steer them directly into danger.

The Medusa, being the fastest of the convoy, quickly lost the Loire and the Argus. The Echo kept pace for some miles, before waiting until nightfall to move farther out to sea to avoid the dangerous shoals and rocks of the coastline. It was June 28th, and the Medusa was on her own. And meanwhile, on board the vessel, de Chaumereys had made a new friend, one M. Richefort. The man presented himself as quite the African explorer. He was destined to be the harbormaster of the newly retrieved port and had even less naval experience than de Chaumereys. He had, as fate would have it, just emerged from an English prison, where he had languished for the past ten years. He was member of the Philanthropic Society of Cape Verde, an international organization dedicated to exploring the African interior. Commander de Chaumereys was apparently charmed by this faker and believed him to be a wellspring of "local knowledge." He had slightly less than none, but this did not keep the Commander from making Richefort the official navigator of the journey. The officers and crew went crazy with outrage. It is said even the female passengers were commenting on the foolishness of this latest development.

The Captain and his friend laid out a course which would end in disaster. By July 2, the crew noticed that the water swirling around the bow of the ship was getting very muddy, and even the passengers were starting to notice the warning signs that the sea growing more and more shallow beneath the keel. A worried passenger of considerable experience travelling by sea, a spice trader by the name of Michel, mentioned the muddy water and the low seabed to Monsieur Richefort. The phony navigator gave him a condescending smile, and said: "My dear sir, we know our business. Attend to yours and be quiet. I have already twice passed the Arguin Bank, I have sailed upon the Red Sea, and you see I am not drowned."

By now, Governor Schmaltz, who knew even less than his Captain and navigator about sailing was dictating the course