Five hundred feet from the ship stood a man raising his hands in despair; he stood there, powerless, facing the fire which was destroying the Forward.
The man was alone; it was Johnson.
Hatteras ran towards him.
"My ship! my ship!" he cried.
"You! Captain!" answered Johnson; "you! stop! not a step farther!"
"Well?" asked Hatteras with a terrible air.
"The wretches!" answered Johnson, "they've been gone forty-eight hours, after firing the ship!"
"Curse them!" groaned Hatteras.
Then a terrible explosion was heard; the earth trembled; the icebergs fell; a column of smoke rose to the clouds, and the Forward disappeared in an abyss of fire.