Penellan, armed with a gun, lightly crossed the ledge which sheltered them. The darkness was very dense; he could discover nothing; but a new incident soon showed him that the cause of the noise did not proceed from around them. Jean Cornbutte rejoined him, and they observed with terror that this rumbling, which awakened their companions, came from beneath them. A new kind of peril menaced them. To the noise, which resembled peals of thunder, was added a distinct undulating motion of the ice-field. Several of the party lost their balance and fell. “Attention!” cried Penellan. “Yes!” some one responded. “Turquiette! Gradlin! where are you?” “Here I am!” responded Turquiette, shaking off the snow with which he was covered. “This way, Vasling,” cried Cornbutte to the mate. “And Gradlin?” “Present, captain. But we are lost!” shouted Gradlin, in fright. “No!” said Penellan. “Perhaps we are saved!” Hardly had he uttered these words when a frightful cracking noise was heard. The ice-field broke clear through, and the sailors were forced to cling to the block which was quivering just by them. Despite the helmsman’s words, they found themselves in a most perilous position, for an ice-quake had occurred. The ice masses had just “weighed anchor,” as the sailors say. The movement lasted nearly two minutes, and it was to be feared that the crevice would yawn at the very feet of the unhappy sailors. They anxiously awaited daylight in the midst of continuous shocks, for they could not, without risk of death, move a step, and had to remain stretched out at full length to avoid being engulfed. [Illustration: they found themselves in a most perilous position, for an ice-quake had occurred.] As soon as it was daylight a very different aspect presented itself to their eyes. The vast plain, a compact mass the evening before, was now separated in a thousand places, and the waves, raised by some submarine commotion, had broken the thick layer which sheltered them. The thought of his ship occurred to Jean Cornbutte’s mind. “My poor brig!” he cried. “It must have perished!” The deepest despair began to overcast the faces of his companions. The loss of the ship inevitably preceded their own deaths. “Courage, friends,” said Penellan. “Reflect that this night’s disaster has opened us a path across the ice, which will enable us to bring our ship to the bay for wintering! And, stop! I am not mistaken. There is the ‘Jeune-Hardie,’ a mile nearer to us!” All hurried forward, and so imprudently, that Turquiette slipped into a fissure, and would have certainly perished, had not Jean Cornbutte seized him by his hood. He got off with a rather cold bath. The brig was indeed floating two miles away. After infinite trouble, the little band reached her. She was in good condition; but her rudder, which they had neglected to lift, had been broken by the ice. CHAPTER VII. SETTLING FOR THE WINTER.