of ice which the wind hurled around, and which fell in a perfect hail-storm.
"Well, Vasling," said Penellan, "will you go out, then? You see that we are more safe here."
"Yes," said Jean Cornbutte; "and we must use every effort to strengthen the house in the interior."
"But a still more terrible danger menaces us," said Vasling.
"What? "asked Jean.
"The wind is breaking the ice against which we are propped, just as it has that of the promontory, and we shall be either driven out or buried!"
"That seems doubtful," said Penellan, "for it is freezing hard enough to ice over all liquid surfaces. Let us see what the temperature is."
He raised the canvas so as to pass out his arm, and with difficulty found the thermometer again, in the midst of the snow; but he at last succeeded in seizing it, and, holding the lamp to it, said, "Thirty-two degrees below zero! It is the coldest we have seen here yet!"
"Ten degrees more," said Vasling, "and the mercury will freeze!"
A mournful silence followed this remark.
About eight in the morning Penellan essayed a second time to go out to judge of their situation. It was necessary to give an escape to the smoke, which the wind had several timse repelled into the hut. The sailor wrapped his cloak tightly about him, made sure of his hood by fastening it to his head with a handkerchief, and then raised the canvas.
The opening was entirely obstructed by a resisting snow. Penellan took his staff, and succeeded in plunging it into the compact mass; but terror froze his blood when he perceived that the end of the staff was not free, and was checked by a hard body!
"Cornbutte," said he to the captain, who had come up to him, "we are buried under this snow!"
"What say you?" cried Jean Cornbutte.
"I say that the snow is massed and frozen around us and over us, and that we are buried alive!"
"Let us make an effort to clear the snow away," replied the captain.
