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"There it is!" cried Marie. "See those mountains!" "No, my child," replied her uncle. "Those are mountains of ice, the first we have met with. They would shatter us like glass if we got entangled between them. Penellan and Vasling, overlook the men." These floating masses, more than fifty of which now appeared at the horizon, came nearer and nearer to the brig.
The sad news soon spread throughout Dunkirk. The many friends of the old sailor came to bring him their cordial and sincere sympathy. Then the sailors of the "Jeune-Hardie" gave a more particular account of the event, and André Vasling told Marie, at great length, of the devotion of her betrothed to the last.
It was also less difficult to ventilate it, by means of canvas funnels which opened without. Each sailor exerted great energy in these preparations, and about the 25th of September they were completed. André Vasling had not shown himself the least active in this task.
He saw him suddenly gaze in one direction, then shudder and turn pale. "What is the matter, Vasling?" he asked. "Nothing," replied the other. "Let us go down and urge the captain to leave these parts, where we ought never to have come, at once!" Instead of obeying, Penellan ascended again, and looked in the direction which had drawn the mate's attention.
The two Norwegians, Aupic, and André Vasling, whose health was good, cast ferocious looks at their companions, whom they saw wasting away. Louis Cornbutte led Penellan on deck, and asked him how much firing was left. "The coal was exhausted long ago," replied Penellan, "and we are about to burn our last pieces of wood." "If we are not able to keep off this cold, we are lost," said Louis.
Then Jean Cornbutte decided energetically that they should at once set about devising means of safety. André Vasling now said, "If the storm is still raging, which is probable, we must be buried ten feet under the ice, for we can hear no noise outside." Penellan looked at Marie, who now understood the truth, and did not tremble.
The animal, beating the air with his heavy paws, was trying to clutch Vasling; he retiring little by little on the barricading, was apparently doomed, when a second shot was heard. The bear fell. André Vasling raised his head and saw Louis Cornbutte in the ratlines of the mizen-mast, his gun in his hand. Louis had shot the bear in the heart, and he was dead.
Jean Cornbutte suffered so much that he could not walk, and André Vasling so skilfully aggravated his gloomy feelings, that he forced from him a promise not to pursue his search farther in those frightful solitudes. Penellan did not know which saint to invoke. He thought it unworthy and craven to give up his companions for reasons which had little weight, and tried to upset them; but in vain.
The curé, who was to have blessed Marie's union with Louis, came to give a last benediction on the ship. Rough grasps of the hand were silently exchanged, and Jean went on board. The crew were all there. André Vasling gave the last orders.
André Vasling, seeing that this decision was irrevocable, did not insist further, but went away. Jean Cornbutte at once apprised his niece of his intention, and he saw a few rays of hope glisten across her tears. It had not seemed to the young girl that her lover's death might be doubtful; but scarcely had this new hope entered her heart, than she embraced it without reserve.
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