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 Andre 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. Andre 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 h