"Didn't you recognize them?" said the doctor in a strange voice.
"What do you mean?"
"Look!"
This ravine had been the scene of the last struggle between the men and the climate, despair, and hunger, for from some horrible signs it was easy to see that they had been obliged to eat human flesh. Among them the doctor had recognized Shandon, Pen,[*] and the wretched crew of the Forward; their strength and food had failed them; their launch had probably been crushed by an avalanche, or carried into some ravine, and they could not take to the open sea; probably they were lost among these unknown continents. Besides, men who had left in mutiny could not long be united with the closeness which is necessary for the accomplishment of great things. A ringleader of a revolt has never more than a doubtful authority in his hands. And, without doubt, Shandon was promptly deposed.
However that may have been, the crew had evidently undergone a thousand tortures, a thousand despairs, to end with this terrible catastrophe; but the secret of their sufferings is forever buried beneath the arctic snows.
"Let us flee!" cried the doctor.
And he dragged his companions far from the scene of the disaster. Horror lent them momentary strength. They set out again.