"In the steward's room, I suppose," returned the mate, without stirring.
"You know very well they are not, 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, 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 northeast, 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
