“Oh, my new cloak lined with scarlet!  Oh, my poor stockings of birchen-bark lace!  Oh, my silver ear-rings to wear at mass on May Day!”

The deck cleared, there remained the cabin to be seen to.  It was greatly encumbered; in it were, as may be remembered, the luggage belonging to the passengers, and the bales belonging to the sailors.  They took the luggage, and threw it over the gunwale.  They carried up the bales and cast them into the sea.

Thus they emptied the cabin.  The lantern, the cap, the barrels, the sacks, the bales, and the water-butts, the pot of soup, all went over into the waves.

They unscrewed the nuts of the iron stove, long since extinguished:  they pulled it out, hoisted it on deck, dragged it to the side, and threw it out of the vessel.

They cast overboard everything they could pull out of the deck—­chains, shrouds, and torn rigging.

From time to time the chief took a torch, and throwing its light on the figures painted on the prow to show the draught of water, looked to see how deep the wreck had settled down.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE HIGHEST RESOURCE.

The wreck being lightened, was sinking more slowly, but none the less surely.

The hopelessness of their situation was without resource—­without mitigation; they had exhausted their last expedient.

“Is there anything else we can throw overboard?”

The doctor, whom every one had forgotten, rose from the companion, and said,

“Yes.”

“What?” asked the chief.

The doctor answered, “Our Crime.”

They shuddered, and all cried out,—­

“Amen.”

The doctor standing up, pale, raised his hand to heaven, saying,—­

“Kneel down.”

They wavered—­to waver is the preface to kneeling down.

The doctor went on,—­

“Let us throw our crimes into the sea, they weigh us down; it is they that are sinking the ship.  Let us think no more of safety—­let us think of salvation.  Our last crime, above all, the crime which we committed, or rather completed, just now—­O wretched beings who are listening to me—­it is that which is overwhelming us.  For those who leave intended murder behind them, it is an impious insolence to tempt the abyss.  He who sins against a child, sins against God.  True, we were obliged to put to sea, but it was certain perdition.  The storm, warned by the shadow of our crime, came on.  It is well.  Regret nothing, however.  There, not far off in the darkness, are the sands of Vauville and Cape la Hogue.  It is France.  There was but one possible shelter for us, which was Spain.  France is no less dangerous to us than England.  Our deliverance from the sea would have led but to the gibbet.  Hanged or drowned—­we had no alternative.  God has chosen for us; let us give Him thanks.  He has vouchsafed us the