"Except one, Bell, but the captain would never consent to it; and yet it may come to that," added Johnson, shaking his head, for he knew he had only fat enough to last a week.
The old sailor was right. Several bears were seen to leeward, and the few men that remained well gave them chase. But these animals are endowed with such remarkable swiftness and such cunning, that they completely baffle their pursuers. It was found impossible to get near them, and not a single ball took effect, even fired by the best shots.
The crew of the brig were certainly in a serious plight. Forty-eight hours without fire in such a temperature would seal their doom.
At last, on the 20th of December, about 3 P. M., things came to a crisis. The fire burnt out, and the sailors stood around the stove gazing at each other with wild, haggard faces. Hatteras remained motionless in his corner. The Doctor paced up and down in an agitated manner, at his wits' end to devise some expedient, not knowing what to say or do.
But others acted for him now. Shandon, cool and determined, and Pen with flashing angry eyes, and two or three of their comrades who were still able to drag themselves along, went towards Hatteras.
"Captain," said Shandon.
But Hatteras, buried in thought, did not hear him.
"Captain!" he said again, touching his hand.
"Sir!" said Hatteras, starting up.
"Captain, we have no fire."
"Well," replied Hatteras.
"If it is your intention to let us perish with cold," said Shandon with terrible irony, "perhaps you will be kind enough to inform us."
"My intention," replied Hatteras in a grave tone, "is that each man shall do his duty to the end."
"There is something higher than duty, captain—the right of self-preservation. I tell you again we have no fire, and if we don't get one, not a man among us will be alive in two days' time."
"I have no wood," said Hatteras in a hollow voice.
"Very well," exclaimed Pen, passionately; "when people have no wood, they must go and cut it down where it grows."
