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.
"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 everybody; 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.
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