On that day they could not set foot outside; fortunately their quarters were comfortable, or at least seemed so to the exhausted travellers. The little stove worked well, except occasionally when violent gusts drove the smoke into the room; with its heat they could make coffee and tea, which are both so serviceable beverages when the temperature is low.
The castaways, for they deserve the name, found themselves more comfortable than they had been for a long time; hence they only thought of the present, of the agreeable warmth, of the brief rest, forgetting, or even indifferent to the future, which threatened with speedy death.
The American suffered less, and gradually returned to life; he opened his eyes, but he did not say anything; his lips bore traces of the scurvy, and could not utter a sound; he could hear, and was told where he was and how he got there. He moved his head as a sign of gratitude; he saw that he had been saved from burial beneath the snow; the doctor forbore telling him how very short a time his death had been delayed, for, in a fortnight or three weeks at the most, their supply of food would be exhausted.
Towards midday Hatteras arose and went up to the doctor, Johnson, and Bell.
"My friends," he said to them, "we are going to take a final resolution as to the course we must follow. In the first place, I must ask Johnson to tell me under what circumstances this act of treachery came to pass."
"Why should we know?" said the doctor; "the fact is certain, we need give it no more thought."
"I am thinking of it, all the same," answered Hatteras. "But after I've heard what Johnson has to say, I shall not think of it again."
| Johnson's Story. |
"This is the way it happened," went on the boatswain; "I did all I could to prevent the crime—"