“Will not the spirit fail us?” asked the captain.
“I hope not. But let us, if necessary, dispense with coffee and hot drinks. Besides, that is not what most alarms me.”
“What is it, then, Penellan?”
“Our lamp is going out, for want of oil, and we are fast exhausting our provisions.—At last, thank God!”
Penellan went to replace André Vasling, who was vigorously working for the common deliverance.
“Monsieur Vasling,” said he, “I am going to take your place; but look out well, I beg of you, for every tendency of the house to fall, so that we may have time to prevent it.”
The time for rest had come, and when Penellan had added one more foot to the opening, he lay down beside his comrades.
CHAPTER XI.
A CLOUD OF SMOKE.
The next day, when the sailors awoke, they were surrounded by complete darkness. The lamp had gone out. Jean Cornbutte roused Penellan to ask him for the tinder-box, which was passed to him. Penellan rose to light the fire, but in getting up, his head struck against the ice ceiling. He was horrified, for on the evening before he could still stand upright. The chafing-dish being lighted up by the dim rays of the spirit, he perceived that the ceiling was a foot lower than before.
Penellan resumed work with desperation.