stood 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 Andre 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, Andre Vasling, my father is dying! You can save
him,--answer!"

"I have nothing to answer," replied Andre 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.

"Andre 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, an