Meanwhile Louis Cornbutte and his friends were soon tired out. They could not confide any detail of the life in common to their enemies. Charged with all the domestic cares, their powers were soon exhausted. The scurvy betrayed itself in Jean Cornbutte, who suffered intolerable pain. Gervique and Gradlin showed symptoms of the same disease. Had it not been for the lemon-juice with which they were abundantly furnished, they would have speedily succumbed to their sufferings. This remedy was not spared in relieving them. But one day, the 15th of January, when Louis Cornbutte was going down into the steward’s room to get some lemons, he was stupefied to find that the barrels in which they were kept had disappeared. He hurried up and told Penellan of this misfortune. A theft had been committed, and it was easy to recognize its authors. Louis Cornbutte then understood why the health of his enemies continued so good! His friends were no longer strong enough to take the lemons away from them, though his life and that of his comrades depended on the fruit; and he now sank, for the first time, into a gloomy state of despair. CHAPTER XIV. DISTRESS. On the 20th of January most of the crew had not the strength to leave their beds. Each, independently of his woollen coverings, had a buffalo-skin to protect him against the cold; but as soon as he put his arms outside the clothes, he felt a pain which obliged him quickly to cover them again. Meanwhile, Louis having lit the stove fire, Penellan, Misonne, and André Vasling left their beds and crouched around it. Penellan prepared some boiling coffee, which gave them some strength, as well as Marie, who joined them in partaking of it. Louis Cornbutte approached his father’s bedside; the old man was almost motionless, and his limbs were helpless from disease. He muttered some disconnected words, which carried grief to his son’s heart. “Louis,” said he, “I am dying. O, how I suffer! Save me!” Louis took a decisive resolution. He went up to the mate, and, controlling himself with difficulty, said,— “Do you know where the lemons are, Vasling?” “In the steward’s room, I suppose,” returned the mate, without stirring. “You know they are not there, as you have stolen them!” “You are master, Louis Cornbutte, and may say and do anything.” “For pity’s sake, André Vasling, my father is dying! You can save him,—answer!” “I have nothing to answer,” replied André Vasling. “Wretch!” cried Penellan, throwing himself, cutlass in hand, on the mate. “Help, friends!” shouted Vasling, retreating. Aupic and the two Norwegian sailors jumped from their beds and placed themselves behind him. Turquiette, Penellan, and Louis prepared to defend themselves. Pierre Nouquet and Gradlin, though suffering much, rose to second them. “You are still too strong for us,” said Vasling. “We do not wish to fight on an uncertainty.”