Swimming, you
would have only a mile to cross to Pleinmont. In a boat you can only
land at Rocquaine, which is two miles. There are breakers, and there is
the fog. Our boat will not get to Rocquaine in less than two hours. It
will be a dark night. The sea is rising--the wind getting fresh. A
squall is at hand. We are now ready to return and bring you off; but if
bad weather comes on, that will be out of our power. You are lost if you
stay there. Come with us."

The Parisian chimed in:

"The long boat is full--too full, it is true, and one more will
certainly be one too many; but we are thirteen--a bad number for the
boat, and it is better to overload her with a man than to take an
ominous number. Come, Captain."

Tangrouille added:

"It was all my fault--not yours, Captain. It isn't fair for you to be
left behind."

"I have decided to remain here," said Clubin. "The vessel must
inevitably go to pieces in the tempest to-night. I won't leave her. When
the ship is lost, the captain is already dead. People shall not say I
didn't do my duty to the end. Tangrouille, I forgive you."

Then, folding his arms, he cried:

"Obey orders! Let go the rope, and push off."

The long-boat swayed to and fro. Imbrancam had seized the tiller. All
the hands which were not rowing were raised towards the captain--every
mouth cried, "Cheers for Captain Clubin."

"An admirable fellow!" said the American.

"Sir," replied the Guernsey man, "he is one of the worthiest seamen
afloat."

Tangrouille shed tears.

"If I had had the courage," he said, "I would have stayed with him."

The long-boat pushed away, and was lost in the fog.

Nothing more was visible.

The beat of the oars grew fainter, and died away.

Clubin remained alone.

VI

THE INTERIOR OF AN ABYSS SUDDENLY REVEALED

When Clubin found himself upon this rock, in the midst of the fog and
the wide waters, far from all sound of human life, left for dead, alone
with the tide rising around him, and night settling down rapidly, he
experienced a feeling of profound satisfaction.

He had succeeded.

His dream was realised. The acceptance which he had drawn upon destiny
at so long a date had fallen due at last.

With him, to be abandoned there was, in fact, to be saved.

He was on the Hanways, one mile from the shore; he had about him
seventy-five thousand francs. Never was shipwreck more scientifically
accomplished. Nothing had failed. It is true, everythin