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 regained¹ their berths² 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 André 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 daggers⁴. The crisis had come.

Penellan precipitated⁵ himself upon Vasling, to whom, no doubt, was confided⁶ the task to fight him alone; for his accomplices⁷ 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 hatchet⁸, and, leaving his berth³, 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.

分享到：