Penellan resumed work with desperation.
At this moment the young girl observed, by the light which the
chafing-dish cast upon Penellan's face, that despair and
determination were struggling in his rough features for the
mastery. She went to him, took his hands, and tenderly pressed
them.
[Illustration: despair and determination were struggling in his
rough features for the mastery.]
"She cannot, must not die thus!" he cried.
He took his chafing-dish, and once more attacked the narrow
opening. He plunged in his staff, and felt no resistance. Had he
reached the soft layers of the snow? He drew out his staff, and a
bright ray penetrated to the house of ice!
"Here, my friends!" he shouted.
He pushed back the snow with his hands and feet, but the exterior
surface was not thawed, as he had thought. With the ray of light,
a violent cold entered the cabin and seized upon everything
moist, to freeze it in an instant. Penellan enlarged the opening
with his cutlass, and at last was able to breathe the free air.
He fell on his knees to thank God, and was soon joined by Marie
and his comrades.
A magnificent moon lit up the sky, but the cold was so extreme
that they could not bear it. They re-entered their retreat; but
Penellan first looked about him. The promontory was no longer
there, and the hut was now in the midst of a vast plain of ice.
Penellan thought he would go to the sledge, where the provisions
were. The sledge had disappeared!
The cold forced him to return. He said nothing to his companions.
It was necessary, before all, to dry their clothing, which was
done with the chafing-dish. The thermometer, held for an instant
in the air, descended to thirty degrees below zero.
An hour after, Vasling and Penellan resolved to venture outside.
They wrapped themselves up in their still wet garments, and went
out by the opening, the sides of which had become as hard as a
rock.
"We have been driven towards the north-east," said Vasling,
reckoning by the stars, which shone with wonderful brilliancy.
"That would not be bad," said Penellan, "if our sledge had come
with us."
"Is not the sledge there?" cried Vasling. "Then we are lost!"
"Let us look for it," replied Penellan.
They went around the hut, which formed a block more than fifteen
feet high. An immense quantity of snow had fallen during the
whole of the storm, and the wind had massed it against the only
elevation which the plain presented. The entire block had been
driven by the wind, in the midst of the broken icebergs, more
than twenty-five miles to the north-east, and the prisoners had
suffered the same fate as their floating prison. The sledge,
supported by another iceberg, had been turned another way, for no
trace of it was to be seen, and the dogs must have perished amid
the frightful tempest.
André Vasling and Penellan felt despair taking possession of
them. They did not dare to return to their companions. They did
not dare to announce this fatal news to their comrades in
misfortune. They climbed upon the block of ice in which the hut
was hollowed, and could perceive nothing but the white immensity
which encompassed them on all sides. Already the cold was
beginning to stiffen their limbs, and the damp of their garments
was being transformed into icicles which hung about them.
Just as Penellan was about to descend, he looked towards André.
He saw him suddenly gaze in one direction, then shudder and turn
pale.
"What is the matter, Vasling?" he asked.
"Nothing," replied the other. "Let us go down and urge the
captain to leave these parts, where we ought never to have come,
at once!"
Instead of obeying, Penellan ascended again, and looked in the
direction which had drawn the mate's attention. A very different
effect was produced on him, for he uttered a shout of joy, and
cried,--
"Blessed be God!"
A light smoke was rising in the north-east. There was no
possibility of deception. It indicated the presence of human
beings. Penellan's cries of joy reached the rest below, and all
were able to convince themselves with their eyes that he was not
mistaken.
Without thinking of their want of provisions or the severity of
the temperature, wrapped in their hoods, they were all soon
advancing towards the spot whence the smoke arose in the north-east.
This was evidently five or six miles off, and it was very
difficult to take exactly the right direction. The smoke now
disappeared, and no elevation served as a guiding mark, for the
ice-plain was one united level. It was important, nevertheless,
not to diverge from a straight line.
"Since we cannot guide ourselves by distant objects," said Jean
Cornbutte, "we must use this method. Penellan will go ahead,
Vasling twenty steps behind him, and I twenty steps behind
Vasling. I can then judge whether or not Penellan diverges from
the straight line."
They had gone on thus for half an hour, when Penellan suddenly
stopped and listened. The party hurried up to him.
"Did you hear nothing?" he asked.
"Nothing!" replied Misonne.
"It is strange," said Penellan. "It seemed to me I heard cries
from this direction."
"Cries?" replied Marie. "Perhaps we are near our destination,
then."
"That is no reason," said André Vasling. "In these high latitudes
and cold regions sounds may be heard to a great distance."
"However that may be," replied Jean Cornbutte, "let us go
forward, or we shall be frozen."
"No!" cried Penellan. "Listen!"
Some feeble sounds--quite perceptible, however--were heard. They
seemed to be cries of distress. They were twice repeated. They
seemed like cries for help. Then all became silent again.
"I was not mistaken," said Penellan. "Forward!"
He began to run in the direction whence the cries had proceeded.
He went thus two miles, when, to his utter stupefaction, he saw a
man lying on the ice. He went up to him, raised him, and lifted
his arms to heaven in despair.
André Vasling, who was following close behind with the rest of
the sailors, ran up and cried,--
"It is one of the castaways! It is our sailor Courtois!"
"He is dead!" replied Penellan. "Frozen to death!"
Jean Cornbutte and Marie came up beside the corpse, which was
already stiffened by the ice. Despair was written on every face.
The dead man was one of the comrades of Louis Cornbutte!
"Forward!" cried Penellan.
They went on for half an hour in perfect silence, and perceived
an elevation which seemed without doubt to be land.
"It is Shannon Island," said Jean Cornbutte.
A mile farther on they distinctly perceived smoke escaping from a
snow-hut, closed by a wooden door. They shouted. Two men rushed
out of the hut, and Penellan recognized one of them as Pierre
Nouquet.
"Pierre!" he cried.
Pierre stood still as if stunned, and unconscious of what was
going on around him. André Vasling looked at Pierre Nouquet's
companion with anxiety mingled with a cruel joy, for he did not
recognize Louis Cornbutte in him.
"Pierre! it is I!" cried Penellan. "These are all your friends!"
Pierre Nouquet recovered his senses, and fell into his old
comrade's arms.
"And my son--and Louis!" cried Jean Cornbutte, in an accent of the
most profound despair.
CHAPTER XII.
THE RETURN TO THE SHIP.
At this moment a man, almost dead, dragged himself out of the hut
and along the ice.
It was Louis Cornbutte.
[Illustration: It was Louis Cornbutte.]
"My son!"
"My beloved!"
These two cries were uttered at the same time, and Louis
Cornbutte fell fainting into the arms of his father and Marie,
who drew him towards the hut, where their tender care soon
revived him.
"My father! Marie!" cried Louis; "I shall not die without having
seen you!"
"You will not die!" replied Penellan, "for all your friends are
near you."
André Vasling must have hated Louis Cornbutte bitterly not to
extend his hand to him, but he did not.
Pierre Nouquet was wild with joy. He embraced every body; then he
threw some wood into the stove, and soon a comfortable temperature
was felt in the cabin.
There were two men there whom neither Jean Cornbutte nor Penellan
recognized.
They were Jocki and Herming, the only two sailors of the crew of
the Norwegian schooner who were left.
"My friends, we are saved!" said Louis. "My father! Marie! You
have exposed yourselves to so many perils!"
"We do not regret it, my Louis," replied the father. "Your brig,
the 'Jeune-Hardie,' is securely anchored in the ice sixty leagues
from here. We will rejoin her all together."
"When Courtois comes back he'll be mightily pleased," said Pierre
Nouquet.
A mournful silence followed this, and Penellan apprised Pierre
and Louis of their comrade's death by cold.
"My friends," said Penellan, "we will wait here until the cold
decreases. Have you provisions and wood?"
"Yes; and we will burn what is left of the 'Froöern.'"
The "Froöern" had indeed been driven to a place forty miles from
where Louis Cornbutte had taken up his winter quarters. There she
was broken up by the icebergs floated by the thaw, and the
castaways were carried, with a part of the -débris- of their
cabin, on the southern shores of Shannon Island.
They were then five in number--Louis Cornbutte, Courtois, Pierre
Nouquet, Jocki, and Herming. As for the rest of the Norwegian
crew, they had been submerged with the long-boat at the moment of
the wreck.
When Louis Cornbutte, shut in among the ice, realized what must
happen, he took every precaution for passing the winter. He was
an energetic man, very active and courageous; but, despite his
firmness, he had been subdued by this horrible climate, and when
his father found him he had given up all hope of life. He had not
only had to contend with the elements, but with the ugly temper
of the two Norwegian sailors, who owed him their existence. They
were like savages, almost inaccessible to the most natural
emotions. When Louis had the opportunity to talk to Penellan, he
advised him to watch them carefully. In return, Penellan told him
of André Vasling's conduct. Louis could not believe it, but
Penellan convinced him that after his disappearance Vasling had
always acted so as to secure Marie's hand.
The whole day was employed in rest and the pleasures of reunion.
Misonne and Pierre Nouquet killed some sea-birds near the hut,
whence it was not prudent to stray far. These fresh provisions
and the replenished fire raised the spirits of the weakest. Louis
Cornbutte got visibly better. It was the first moment of
happiness these brave people had experienced. They celebrated it
with enthusiasm in this wretched hut, six hundred leagues from
the North Sea, in a temperature of thirty degrees below zero!
This temperature lasted till the end of the moon, and it was not
until about the 17th of November, a week after their meeting,
that Jean Cornbutte and his party could think of setting out.
They only had the light of the stars to guide them; but the cold
was less extreme, and even some snow fell.
Before quitting this place a grave was dug for poor Courtois. It
was a sad ceremony, which deeply affected his comrades. He was
the first of them who would not again see his native land.
Misonne had constructed, with the planks of the cabin, a sort of
sledge for carrying the provisions, and the sailors drew it by
turns. Jean Cornbutte led the expedition by the ways already
traversed. Camps were established with great promptness when the
times for repose came. Jean Cornbutte hoped to find his deposits
of provisions again, as they had become well-nigh indispensable
by the addition of four persons to the party. He was therefore
very careful not to diverge from the route by which he had come.
By good fortune he recovered his sledge, which had stranded near
the promontory where they had all run so many dangers. The dogs,
after eating their straps to satisfy their hunger, had attacked
the provisions in the sledge. These had sustained them, and they
served to guide the party to the sledge, where there was a
considerable quantity of provisions left. The little band resumed
its march towards the bay. The dogs were harnessed to the sleigh,
and no event of interest attended the return.
It was observed that Aupic, André Vasling, and the Norwegians
kept aloof, and did not mingle with the others; but, unbeknown to
themselves, they were narrowly watched. This germ of dissension
more than once aroused the fears of Louis Cornbutte and Penellan.
About the 7th of December, twenty days after the discovery of the
castaways, they perceived the bay where the "Jeune-Hardie" was
lying. What was their astonishment to see the brig perched four
yards in the air on blocks of ice! They hurried forward, much
alarmed for their companions, and were received with joyous cries
by Gervique, Turquiette, and Gradlin. All of them were in good
health, though they too had been subjected to formidable dangers.
The tempest had made itself felt throughout the polar sea. The
ice had been broken and displaced, crushed one piece against
another, and had seized the bed on which the ship rested. Though
its specific weight tended to carry it under water, the ice had
acquired an incalculable force, and the brig had been suddenly
raised up out of the sea.
The first moments were given up to the happiness inspired by the
safe return. The exploring party were rejoiced to find everything
in good condition, which assured them a supportable though it
might be a rough winter. The ship had not been shaken by her
sudden elevation, and was perfectly tight. When the season of
thawing came, they would only have to slide her down an inclined
plane, to launch her, in a word, in the once more open sea.
But a bad piece of news spread gloom on the faces of Jean
Cornbutte and his comrades. During the terrible gale the snow
storehouse on the coast had been quite demolished; the provisions
which it contained were scattered, and it had not been possible
to save a morsel of them. When Jean and Louis Cornbutte learnt
this, they visited the hold and steward's room, to ascertain the
quantity of provisions which still remained.
The thaw would not come until May, and the brig could not leave
the bay before that period. They had therefore five winter months
before them to pass amid the ice, during which fourteen persons
were to be fed. Having made his calculations, Jean Cornbutte
found that he would at most be able to keep them alive till the
time for departure, by putting each and all on half rations.
Hunting for game became compulsory to procure food in larger
quantity.
For fear that they might again run short of provisions, it was
decided to deposit them no longer in the ground. All of them were
kept on board, and beds were disposed for the new comers in the
common lodging. Turquiette, Gervique, and Gradlin, during the
absence of the others, had hollowed out a flight of steps in the
ice, which enabled them easily to reach the ship's deck.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE TWO RIVALS.
André Vasling had been cultivating the good-will of the two
Norwegian sailors. Aupic also made one of their band, and held
himself apart, with loud disapproval of all the new measures
taken; but Louis Cornbutte, to whom his father had transferred
the command of the ship, and who had become once more master on
board, would listen to no objections from that quarter, and in
spite of Marie's advice to act gently, made it known that he
intended to be obeyed on all points.
Nevertheless, the two Norwegians succeeded, two days after, in
getting possession of a box of salt meat. Louis ordered them to
return it to him on the spot, but Aupic took their part, and
André Vasling declared that the precautions about the food could
not be any longer enforced.
It was useless to attempt to show these men that these measures
were for the common interest, for they knew it well, and only
sought a pretext to revolt.
Penellan advanced towards the Norwegians, who drew their
cutlasses; but, aided by Misonne and Turquiette, he succeeded in
snatching the weapons from their hands, and gained possession of
the salt meat. André Vasling and Aupic, seeing that matters were
going against them, did not interfere. Louis Cornbutte, however,
took the mate aside, and said to him,--
[Illustration: Penellan advanced towards the Norwegians.]
"André Vasling, you are a wretch! I know your whole conduct, and
I know what you are aiming at, but as the safety of the whole
crew is confided to me, if any man of you thinks of conspiring to
destroy them, I will stab him with my own hand!"
"Louis Cornbutte," replied the mate, "it is allowable for you to
act the master; but remember that absolute obedience does not
exist here, and that here the strongest alone makes the law."
Marie had never trembled before the dangers of the polar seas;
but she was terrified by this hatred, of which she was the cause,
and the captain's vigour hardly reassured her.
Despite this declaration of war, the meals were partaken of in
common and at the same hours. Hunting furnished some ptarmigans
and white hares; but this resource would soon fail them, with the
approach of the terrible cold weather. This began at the
solstice, on the 22nd of December, on which day the thermometer
fell to thirty-five degrees below zero. The men experienced pain
in their ears, noses, and the extremities of their bodies. They
were seized with a mortal torpor combined with headache, and
their breathing became more and more difficult.
In this state they had no longer any courage to go hunting or to
take any exercise. They remained crouched around the stove, which
gave them but a meagre heat; and when they went away from it,
they perceived that their blood suddenly cooled.
Jean Cornbutte's health was seriously impaired, and he could no
longer quit his lodging. Symptoms of scurvy manifested themselves
in him, and his legs were soon covered with white spots. Marie
was well, however, and occupied herself tending the sick ones
with the zeal of a sister of charity. The honest fellows blessed
her from the bottom of their hearts.
The 1st of January was one of the gloomiest of these winter days.
The wind was violent, and the cold insupportable. They could not
go out, except at the risk of being frozen. The most courageous
were fain to limit themselves to walking on deck, sheltered by
the tent. Jean Cornbutte, Gervique, and Gradlin did not leave
their beds. The two Norwegians, Aupic, and André Vasling, whose
health was good, cast ferocious looks at their companions, whom
they saw wasting away.
Louis Cornbutte led Penellan on deck, and asked him how much
firing was left.
"The coal was exhausted long ago," replied Penellan, "and we are
about to burn our last pieces of wood."
"If we are not able to keep off this cold, we are lost," said
Louis.
"There still remains a way--" said Penellan, "to burn what we can
of the brig, from the barricading to the water-line; and we can
even, if need be, demolish her entirely, and rebuild a smaller
craft."
"That is an extreme means," replied Louis, "which it will be full
time to employ when our men are well. For," he added in a low
voice, "our force is diminishing, and that of our enemies seems
to be increasing. That is extraordinary."
"It is true," said Penellan; "and unless we took the precaution
to watch night and day, I know not what would happen to us."
"Let us take our hatchets," returned Louis, "and make our harvest
of wood."
Despite the cold, they mounted on the forward barricading, and
cut off all the wood which was not indispensably necessary to the
ship; then they returned with this new provision. The fire was
started afresh, and a man remained on guard to prevent it from
going out.
Meanwhile Louis Cornbutte and his friends were soon tired out.
They could not confide any detail of the life in common to their
enemies. Charged with all the domestic cares, their powers were
soon exhausted. The scurvy betrayed itself in Jean Cornbutte, who
suffered intolerable pain. Gervique and Gradlin showed symptoms
of the same disease. Had it not been for the lemon-juice with
which they were abundantly furnished, they would have speedily
succumbed to their sufferings. This remedy was not spared in
relieving them.
But one day, the 15th of January, when Louis Cornbutte was going
down into the steward's room to get some lemons, he was stupefied
to find that the barrels in which they were kept had disappeared.
He hurried up and told Penellan of this misfortune. A theft had
been committed, and it was easy to recognize its authors. Louis
Cornbutte then understood why the health of his enemies continued
so good! His friends were no longer strong enough to take the
lemons away from them, though his life and that of his comrades
depended on the fruit; and he now sank, for the first time, into
a gloomy state of despair.
CHAPTER XIV.
DISTRESS.
On the 20th of January most of the crew had not the strength to
leave their beds. Each, independently of his woollen coverings,
had a buffalo-skin to protect him against the cold; but as soon
as he put his arms outside the clothes, he felt a pain which
obliged him quickly to cover them again.
Meanwhile, Louis having lit the stove fire, Penellan, Misonne,
and André Vasling left their beds and crouched around it.
Penellan prepared some boiling coffee, which gave them some
strength, as well as Marie, who joined them in partaking of it.
Louis Cornbutte approached his father's bedside; the old man was
almost motionless, and his limbs were helpless from disease. He
muttered some disconnected words, which carried grief to his
son's heart.
"Louis," said he, "I am dying. O, how I suffer! Save me!"
Louis took a decisive resolution. He went up to the mate, and,
controlling himself with difficulty, said,--
"Do you know where the lemons are, Vasling?"
"In the steward's room, I suppose," returned the mate, without
stirring.
"You know they are not there, as you have stolen them!"
"You are master, Louis Cornbutte, and may say and do anything."
"For pity's sake, André Vasling, my father is dying! You can save
him,--answer!"
"I have nothing to answer," replied André Vasling.
"Wretch!" cried Penellan, throwing himself, cutlass in hand, on
the mate.
"Help, friends!" shouted Vasling, retreating.
Aupic and the two Norwegian sailors jumped from their beds and
placed themselves behind him. Turquiette, Penellan, and Louis
prepared to defend themselves. Pierre Nouquet and Gradlin, though
suffering much, rose to second them.
"You are still too strong for us," said Vasling. "We do not wish
to fight on an uncertainty."
The sailors were so weak that they dared not attack the four
rebels, for, had they failed, they would have been lost.
"André Vasling!" said Louis Cornbutte, in a gloomy tone, "if my
father dies, you will have murdered him; and I will kill you like
a dog!"
Vasling and his confederates retired to the other end of the
cabin, and did not reply.
It was then necessary to renew the supply of wood, and, in spite
of the cold, Louis went on deck and began to cut away a part of
the barricading, but was obliged to retreat in a quarter of an
hour, for he was in danger of falling, overcome by the freezing
air. As he passed, he cast a glance at the thermometer left
outside, and saw that the mercury was frozen. The cold, then,
exceeded forty-two degrees below zero. The weather was dry, and
the wind blew from the north.
On the 26th the wind changed to the north-east, and the
thermometer outside stood at thirty-five degrees. Jean Cornbutte
was in agony, and his son had searched in vain for some remedy
with which to relieve his pain. On this day, however, throwing
himself suddenly on Vasling, he managed to snatch a lemon from
him which he was about to suck.
Vasling made no attempt to recover it. He seemed to be awaiting
an opportunity to accomplish his wicked designs.
The lemon-juice somewhat relieved old Cornbutte, but it was
necessary to continue the remedy. Marie begged Vasling on her
knees to produce the lemons, but he did not reply, and soon
Penellan heard the wretch say to his accomplices,--
[Illustration: Marie begged Vasling on her knees to produce the
lemons, but he did not reply.]
"The old fellow is dying. Gervique, Gradlin, and Nouquet are not
much better. The others are daily losing their strength. The time
is near when their lives will belong to us!"
It was then resolved by Louis Cornbutte and his adherents not to
wait, and to profit by the little strength which still remained
to them. They determined to act the next night, and to kill these
wretches, so as not to be killed by them.
The temperature rose a little. Louis Cornbutte ventured to go out
with his gun in search of some game.
He proceeded some three miles from the ship, and often, deceived
by the effects of the mirage and refraction, he went farther away
than he intended. It was imprudent, for recent tracts of
ferocious animals were to be seen. He did not wish, however, to
return without some fresh meat, and continued on his route; but
he then experienced a strange feeling, which turned his head. It
was what is called "white vertigo."
The reflection of the ice hillocks and fields affected him from
head to foot, and it seemed to him that the dazzling colour
penetrated him and caused an irresistible nausea. His eye was
attacked. His sight became uncertain. He thought he should go mad
with the glare. Without fully understanding this terrible effect,
he advanced on his way, and soon put up a ptarmigan, which he
eagerly pursued. The bird soon fell, and in order to reach it
Louis leaped from an ice-block and fell heavily; for the leap was
at least ten feet, and the refraction made him think it was only
two. The vertigo then seized him, and, without knowing why, he
began to call for help, though he had not been injured by the
fall. The cold began to take him, and he rose with pain, urged by
the sense of self-preservation.
Suddenly, without being able to account for it, he smelt an odour
of boiling fat. As the ship was between him and the wind, he
supposed that this odour proceeded from her, and could not
imagine why they should be cooking fat, this being a dangerous
thing to do, as it was likely to attract the white bears.
Louis returned towards the ship, absorbed in reflections which
soon inspired his excited mind with terror. It seemed to him as
if colossal masses were moving on the horizon, and he asked
himself if there was not another ice-quake. Several of these
masses interposed themselves between him and the ship, and
appeared to rise about its sides. He stopped to gaze at them more
attentively, when to his horror he recognized a herd of gigantic
bears.
These animals had been attracted by the odour of grease which had
surprised Lonis. He sheltered himself behind a hillock, and
counted three, which were scaling the blocks on which the
"Jeune-Hardie" was resting.
Nothing led him to suppose that this danger was known in the
interior of the ship, and a terrible anguish oppressed his heart.
How resist these redoubtable enemies? Would André Vasling and his
confederates unite with the rest on board in the common peril?
Could Penellan and the others, half starved, benumbed with cold,
resist these formidable animals, made wild by unassuaged hunger?
Would they not be surprised by an unlooked-for attack?
Louis made these reflections rapidly. The bears had crossed the
blocks, and were mounting to the assault of the ship. He might
then quit the block which protected him; he went nearer, clinging
to the ice, and could soon see the enormous animals tearing the
tent with their paws, and leaping on the deck. He thought of
firing his gun to give his comrades notice; but if these came up
without arms, they would inevitably be torn in pieces, and
nothing showed as yet that they were even aware of their new
danger.
CHAPTER XV.
THE WHITE BEARS.
After Louis Cornbutte's departure, Penellan had carefully shut
the cabin door, which opened at the foot of the deck steps. He
returned to the stove, which he took it upon himself to watch,
whilst his companions regained their berths in search of a little
warmth.
It was then six in the evening, and Penellan set about preparing
supper. He went down into the steward's room for some salt meat,
which he wished to soak in the boiling water. When he returned,
he found André Vasling in his place, cooking some pieces of
grease in a basin.
"I was there before you," said Penellan roughly; "why have you
taken my place?"
"For the same reason that you claim it," returned Vasling:
"because I want to cook my supper."
"You will take that off at once, or we shall see!"
"We shall see nothing," said Vasling; "my supper shall be cooked
in spite of you."
"You shall not eat it, then," cried Penellan, rushing upon
Vasling, who seized his cutlass, crying,--
"Help, Norwegians! Help, Aupic!"
These, in the twinkling of an eye, sprang to their feet, armed
with pistols and daggers. The crisis had come.
Penellan precipitated himself upon Vasling, to whom, no doubt,
was confided the task to fight him alone; for his accomplices
rushed to the beds where lay Misonne, Turquiette, and Nouquet.
The latter, ill and defenceless, was delivered over to Herming's
ferocity. The carpenter seized a hatchet, and, leaving his berth,
hurried up to encounter Aupic. Turquiette and Jocki, the
Norwegian, struggled fiercely. Gervique and Gradlin, suffering
horribly, were not even conscious of what was passing around
them.
Nouquet soon received a stab in the side, and Herming turned to
Penellan, who was fighting desperately. André Vasling had seized
him round the body.
At the beginning of the affray the basin had been upset on the
stove, and the grease running over the burning coals, impregnated
the atmosphere with its odour. Marie rose with cries of despair,
and hurried to the bed of old Jean Cornbutte.
[Illustration: Marie rose with cries of despair, and hurried to
the bed of old Jean Cornbutte.]
Vasling, less strong than Penellan, soon perceived that the
latter was getting the better of him. They were too close
together to make use of their weapons. The mate, seeing Herming,
cried out,--
"Help, Herming!"
"Help, Misonne!" shouted Penellan, in his turn.
But Misonne was rolling on the ground with Aupic, who was trying
to stab him with his cutlass. The carpenter's hatchet was of
little use to him, for he could not wield it, and it was with the
greatest difficulty that he parried the lunges which Aupic made
with his knife.
Meanwhile blood flowed amid the groans and cries. Turquiette,
thrown down by Jocki, a man of immense strength, had received a
wound in the shoulder, and he tried in vain to clutch a pistol
which hung in the Norwegian's belt. The latter held him as in a
vice, and it was impossible for him to move.
At Vasling's cry for help, who was being held by Penellan close
against the door, Herming rushed up. As he was about to stab the
Breton's back with his cutlass, the latter felled him to the
earth with a vigorous kick. His effort to do this enabled Vasling
to disengage his right arm; but the door, against which they
pressed with all their weight, suddenly yielded, and Vasling fell
over.
Of a sudden a terrible growl was heard, and a gigantic bear
appeared on the steps. Vasling saw him first. He was not four
feet away from him. At the same moment a shot was heard, and the
bear, wounded or frightened, retreated. Vasling, who had
succeeded in regaining his feet, set-out in pursuit of him,
abandoning Penellan.
Penellan then replaced the door, and looked around him. Misonne
and Turquiette, tightly garrotted by their antagonists, had been
thrown into a corner, and made vain efforts to break loose.
Penellan rushed to their assistance, but was overturned by the
two Norwegians and Aupic. His exhausted strength did not permit
him to resist these three men, who so clung to him as to hold him
motionless Then, at the cries of the mate, they hurried on deck,
thinking that Louis Cornbutte was to be encountered.
André Vasling was struggling with a bear, which he had already
twice stabbed with his knife. The animal, beating the air with
his heavy paws, was trying to clutch Vasling; he retiring little
by little on the barricading, was apparently doomed, when a
second shot was heard. The bear fell. André Vasling raised his
head and saw Louis Cornbutte in the ratlines of the mizen-mast,
his gun in his hand. Louis had shot the bear in the heart, and he
was dead.
Hate overcame gratitude in Vasling's breast; but before
satisfying it, he looked around him. Aupic's head was broken by a
paw-stroke, and he lay lifeless on deck. Jocki, hatchet in hand,
was with difficulty parrying the blows of the second bear which
had just killed Aupic. The animal had received two wounds, and
still struggled desperately. A third bear was directing his way
towards the ship's prow. Vasling paid no attention to him, but,
followed by Herming, went to the aid of Jocki; but Jocki, seized
by the beast's paws, was crushed, and when the bear fell under
the shots of the other two men, he held only a corpse in his
shaggy arms.
"We are only two, now" said Vasling, with gloomy ferocity, "but
if we yield, it will not be without vengeance!"
Herming reloaded his pistol without replying. Before all, the
third bear must be got rid of. Vasling looked forward, but did
not see him. On raising his eyes, he perceived him erect on the
barricading, clinging to the ratlines and trying to reach Louis.
Vasling let his gun fall, which he had aimed at the animal, while
a fierce joy glittered in his eyes.
"Ah," he cried, "you owe me that vengeance!"
Louis took refuge in the top of the mast. The bear kept mounting,
and was not more than six feet from Louis, when he raised his gun
and pointed it at the animal's heart.
Vasling raised his weapon to shoot Louis if the bear fell.
Louis fired, but the bear did not appear to be hit, for he leaped
with a bound towards the top. The whole mast shook.
Vasling uttered a shout of exultation.
"Herming," he cried, "go and find Marie! Go and find my
betrothed!"
Herming descended the cabin stairs.
Meanwhile the furious beast had thrown himself upon Louis, who
was trying to shelter himself on the other side of the mast; but
at the moment that his enormous paw was raised to break his head,
Louis, seizing one of the backstays, let himself slip down to the
deck, not without danger, for a ball hissed by his ear when he
was half-way down. Vasling had shot at him, and missed him. The
two adversaries now confronted each other, cutlass in hand.
The combat was about to become decisive. To entirely glut his
vengeance, and to have the young girl witness her lover's death,
Vasling had deprived himself of Herming's aid. He could now
reckon only on himself.
Louis and Vasling seized each other by the collar, and held each
other with iron grip. One of them must fall. They struck each
other violently. The blows were only half parried, for blood soon
flowed from both. Vasling tried to clasp his adversary about the
neck with his arm, to bring him to the ground. Louis, knowing
that he who fell was lost, prevented him, and succeeded in
grasping his two arms; but in doing this he let fall his cutlass.
Piteous cries now assailed his ears; it was Marie's voice.
Herming was trying to drag her up. Louis was seized with a
desperate rage. He stiffened himself to bend Vasling's loins; but
at this moment the combatants felt themselves seized in a
powerful embrace. The bear, having descended from the mast, had
fallen upon the two men. Vasling was pressed against the animal's
body. Louis felt his claws entering his flesh. The bear, was
strangling both of them.
[Illustration: The bear, having descended from the mast, had
fallen upon the two men.]
"Help! help! Herming!" cried the mate.
"Help! Penellan!" cried Louis.
Steps were heard on the stairs. Penellan appeared, loaded his
pistol, and discharged it in the bear's ear; he roared; the pain
made him relax his paws for a moment, and Louis, exhausted, fell
motionless on the deck; but the bear, closing his paws tightly
in a supreme agony, fell, dragging down the wretched Vasling,
whose body was crushed under him.
Penellan hurried to Louis Cornbutte's assistance. No serious
wound endangered his life: he had only lost his breath for a
moment.
"Marie!" he said, opening his eyes.
"Saved!" replied Perfellan. "Herming is lying there with a knife-wound
in his stomach."
"And the bears--"
"Dead, Louis; dead, like our enemies! But for those beasts we
should have been lost. Truly, they came to our succour. Let us
thank Heaven!"
Louis and Penellan descended to the cabin, and Marie fell into
their arms.
CHAPTER XVI.
CONCLUSION.
Herming, mortally wounded, had been carried to a berth by Misonne
and Turquiette, who had succeeded in getting free. He was already
at the last gasp of death; and the two sailors occupied themselves
with Nouquet, whose wound was not, happily, a serious one.
But a greater misfortune had overtaken Louis Cornbutte. His
father no longer gave any signs of life. Had he died of anxiety
for his son, delivered over to his enemies? Had he succumbed in
presence of these terrible events? They could not tell. But the
poor old sailor, broken by disease, had ceased to live!
At this unexpected blow, Louis and Marie fell into a sad despair;
then they knelt at the bedside and wept, as they prayed for Jean
Cornbutte's soul, Penellan, Misonne, and Turquiette left them
alone in the cabin, and went on deck. The bodies of the three
bears were carried forward. Penellan decided to keep their skins,
which would be of no little use; but he did not think for a
moment of eating their flesh. Besides, the number of men to feed
was now much decreased. The bodies of Vasling, Aupic, and Jocki,
thrown into a hole dug on the coast, were soon rejoined by that
of Herming. The Norwegian died during the night, without
repentance or remorse, foaming at the mouth with rage.
The three sailors repaired the tent, which, torn in several
places, permitted the snow to fall on the deck. The temperature
was exceedingly cold, and kept so till the return of the sun,
which did not reappear above the horizon till the 8th of January.
Jean Cornbutte was buried on the coast. He had left his native
land to find his son, and had died in these terrible regions! His
grave was dug on an eminence, and the sailors placed over it a
simple wooden cross.
From that day, Louis Cornbutte and his comrades passed through
many other trials; but the lemons, which they found, restored
them to health.
Gervique, Gradlin, and Nouquet were able to rise from their
berths a fortnight after these terrible events, and to take a
little exercise.
Soon hunting for game became more easy and its results more
abundant. The water-birds returned in large numbers. They often
brought down a kind of wild duck which made excellent food. The
hunters had no other deprivation to deplore than that of two
dogs, which they lost in an expedition to reconnoitre the state
of the icefields, twenty-five miles to the southward.
The month of February was signalized by violent tempests and
abundant snows. The mean temperature was still twenty-five
degrees below zero, but they did not suffer in comparison with
past hardships. Besides, the sight of the sun, which rose higher
and higher above the horizon, rejoiced them, as it forecast the
end of their torments. Heaven had pity on them, for warmth came
sooner than usual that year. The ravens appeared in March,
careering about the ship. Louis Cornbutte captured some cranes
which had wandered thus far northward. Flocks of wild birds were
also seen in the south.
The return of the birds indicated a diminution of the cold; but
it was not safe to rely upon this, for with a change of wind, or
in the new or full moons, the temperature suddenly fell; and the
sailors were forced to resort to their most careful precautions
to protect themselves against it. They had already burned all the
barricading, the bulkheads, and a large portion of the bridge. It
was time, then, that their wintering was over. Happily, the mean
temperature of March was not over sixteen degrees below zero.
Marie occupied herself with preparing new clothing for the
advanced season of the year.
After the equinox, the sun had remained constantly above the
horizon. The eight months of perpetual daylight had begun. This
continual sunlight, with the increasing though still quite feeble
heat, soon began to act upon the ice.
Great precautions were necessary in launching the ship from the
lofty layer of ice which surrounded her. She was therefore
securely propped up, and it seemed best to await the breaking up
of the ice; but the lower mass, resting on a bed of already warm
water, detached itself little by little, and the ship gradually
descended with it. Early in April she had reached her natural
level.
Torrents of rain came with April, which, extending in waves over
the ice-plain, hastened still more its breaking up. The
thermometer rose to ten degrees below zero. Some of the men took
off their seal-skin clothes, and it was no longer necessary to
keep a fire in the cabin stove day and night. The provision of
spirit, which was not exhausted, was used only for cooking the
food.
Soon the ice began to break up rapidly, and it became imprudent
to venture upon the plain without a staff to sound the passages;
for fissures wound in spirals here and there. Some of the sailors
fell into the water, with no worse result, however, than a pretty
cold bath.
The seals returned, and they were often hunted, and their grease
utilized.
The health of the crew was fully restored, and the time was
employed in hunting and preparations for departure. Louis Cornbutte
often examined the channels, and decided, in consequence of the shape
of the southern coast, to attempt a passage in that direction. The
breaking up had already begun here and there, and the floating ice
began to pass off towards the high seas. On the 25th of April the
ship was put in readiness. The sails, taken from their sheaths, were
found to be perfectly preserved, and it was with real delight that
the sailors saw them once more swaying in the wind. The ship gave a
lurch, for she had found her floating line, and though she would not
yet move forward, she lay quietly and easily in her natural element.
In May the thaw became very rapid. The snow which covered the
coast melted on every hand, and formed a thick mud, which made it
well-nigh impossible to land. Small heathers, rosy and white,
peeped out timidly above the lingering snow, and seemed to smile
at the little heat they received. The thermometer at last rose
above zero.
Twenty miles off, the ice masses, entirely separated, floated
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630
.
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