CHAPTER XIV.
DISTRESS.
On the 20th of January most of the crew had not the strength to leave their beds. Each, independently of his woollen coverings, had a buffalo-skin to protect him against the cold; but as soon as he put his arms outside the clothes, he felt a pain which obliged him quickly to cover them again.
Meanwhile, Louis having lit the stove fire, Penellan, Misonne, and André Vasling left their beds and crouched around it. Penellan prepared some boiling coffee, which gave them some strength, as well as Marie, who joined them in partaking of it.
Louis Cornbutte approached his father’s bedside; the old man was almost motionless, and his limbs were helpless from disease. He muttered some disconnected words, which carried grief to his son’s heart.
“Louis,” said he, “I am dying. O, how I suffer! Save me!”
Louis took a decisive resolution. He went up to the mate, and, controlling himself with difficulty, said,—
“Do you know where the lemons are, Vasling?”
“In the steward’s room, I suppose,” returned the mate, without stirring.
“You know they are not there, as you have stolen them!”
“You are master, Louis Cornbutte, and may say and do anything.”