"Help us!--We are sinking!"
At this moment two or three of the bark's crew rushed toward the yawl,
although Toennes warned them back.
Captain Spang seemed changed. Evidently some opposing feelings
contended within him. Seeing the insubordination of the men, he only
shrugged his shoulders, and let Toennes take full charge.
The men were in the yawl, still hanging under the iron davits. Now
they cut the ropes; the yawl touched the water. The crew of the other
vessel gestured warningly; but it was too late. A sea seized the yawl
with its small crew, and the next moment crushed it against the main
chains of the bark. Their shipmates raised a cry, and rushed to help
them; but help was impossible. Boat and crew had disappeared.
"Didn't I say so?" cried Toennes, with flaming eyes.
Over there in the schooner-brig all was activity. From the Anna
Dorothea they could plainly see how the captain gave his orders. He
manoeuvred his vessel like a true sailor. To board the wreck in such a
sea would be madness. Therefore they unreeved two long lines and
attached them to the long-boat, one on each side. Then they laid
breeching under the boat, and hauled it up amidships by means of
tackle. Taking advantage of a moment when their vessel was athwart the
seas, they unloosed the tackle, and the boat swung out over the side;
then they cut the breeching, the boat fell on the water aft, and now
both lines were eased off quickly; while the brig caught the wind, the
boat drifted toward the stern-sheets of the bark.
Toennes was ready with a boat-hook, and connections were quickly made
between the boat and the wreck.
"Quick now!" cried Toennes. "Every man in the boat. No one takes his
clothes with him! We may be thankful if we save our lives."
The men were quickly over the stern-sheets and down in the boat.
Prussian whined, and kept close to Captain Spang, who had not moved
one step on the deck.
"Come, captain!" cried Toennes, taking the skipper by the arm.
"What's the matter?" asked the old man angrily.
Toennes looked at him. Prussian barked.
"We must get into the boat, captain. The vessel may sink at any
moment. Come!"
The captain pressed his sou'wester down over his forehead, and glanced
around his deck.
The men in the boat cried out to them to come.
"Well!" said Captain Spang, but with an air so absent-minded and a
bearing so irresolute that Toennes at last took a firm hold on him.
Prussian showed his teeth at his former master.
"You go first!" exclaimed Toennes, snatching the dog and throwing him
down to the men, who were having hard work to keep the boat from
wrecking.
When the dog was no longer on the deck, it seemed as if Captain
Spang's resistance was broken. Toennes did not let go his hold on him;
but the young mate had to use almost superhuman strength to get the
heavy old man down over the vessel's side and placed on a seat in the
boat.
As soon as they had observed from the brig that this had been done,
they hauled in both lines. The boat moved back again; but it was a
dangerous voyage, and all were obliged to lash themselves fast to the
thwarts with ropes placed there for that purpose.
Captain Spang was like a child. Toennes had to lash him to the seat.
The old man sat with his face hidden in his hands, his back turned
toward his ship, inactive, and seemingly unconscious of what took
place around him.
At last, when after a hard struggle all were on the deck of the
schooner-brig, her captain came forward, placed his hand on his old
friend's shoulder, and said:--
"It is the second time, you see! Well, we all cling to life, and the
vessel over there is pretty old."
Captain Spang started. He scarcely returned his friend's hand-shaking.
"My vessel, I say! My papers! All that I have is in the vessel. I must
go aboard, do you hear? I must go aboard. How could I forget?"
The other skipper and Toennes looked at each other.
Captain Spang wrung his hands and stamped on the deck, his eyes fixed
on his sinking vessel. She was still afloat; what did he care for the
gale and the heavy sea? He belonged to the old school of skippers; he
was bound to his vessel by ties longer than any life-line, heavier
than any hawser: he had left his ship in a bewildered state, and had
taken nothing with him that might serve to prove what he possessed and
how long he had possessed it. His good old vessel was still floating
on the water. He must, he would go there; if nobody would go with him,
he would go alone.
All remonstrances were in vain.
Toennes pressed the other skipper's hand.
"There is nothing else to be done. I know him," said he.
"So do I," was the answer.
Captain Spang and his mate were again in the boat. As they were on the
point of starting, a loud whine and violent barking sounded from the
deck, and Prussian showed his one eye over the railing.
"Stay where you are!" cried Toennes. "We shall be back soon."
But the dog did not understand him. Perhaps he had his doubts; no one
can say. He sprang overboard; Toennes seized him by the ear, and hauled
him into the boat.
And then the two men and the dog ventured back to the abandoned
vessel.
This time the old man climbed on board without assistance.
Prussian whined in the boat.
"Throw that dog up to me!" cried the master.
Toennes did so.
"Shall I come up and help you?" he called out.
"No, I can find my own way."
"But hurry, captain! do you understand?" said Toennes, who anxiously
noticed that the motions of the vessel were becoming more and more
dangerous, while he needed all his strength to keep the boat clear of
the wreck.
An answer came from the bark, but he could not catch it. In this
moment Toennes recalled the day when he rowed the captain out on the
bay to the brig. His next thought was of Nanna. Oh, if she knew where
they were!
And at this thought the mate's breast was filled with conflicting
emotions. The dear blessed girl! Oh, if her father would only come!
"Captain!" cried Toennes; "Captain Spang! for God's sake, come! Leave
those papers alone. The vessel is sinking. We may at any moment--"
He paused.
The captain stood at the stern-sheets. At his side was Prussian,
squinting down into the boat. There was an entirely strange expression
in Andreas Spang's face; a double expression--one moment hard and
defiant, the next almost solemn.
The sou'wester had fallen from his old head. His scanty hairs
fluttered in the wind. He held in his hand a parcel of papers and a
coil of rope. He pointed toward the brig.
"There!" he cried, throwing the package and the rope down to Tonnes.
"Give the skipper this new line for his trouble. He has used plenty of
rope for us. You go back. I stay here. Give--my--love--to the girl at
home.--You and she--You two--God bless you!"
"Captain!" cried Toennes in affright; "you are sick; come, let me--"
He prepared to climb on board.
Captain Spang lifted his hand threateningly, and Prussian barked
furiously.
"Stay down there, boy, I say! The vessel and I, we belong together.
You shall take care of the girl. Good-by!"
The Anna Dorothea rolled heavily over on one side, righted again, and
then began to plunge her head downwards, like a whale that, tired of
the surface, seeks rest at the bottom. The crew of the brig hauled in
the lines of the boat. Tossed on the turbid sea, Toennes saw his old
skipper leaning against the helm, the dog at his side. His gray hairs
fluttered in the wind as if they wafted a last farewell; and down with
vessel and dog went the old skipper--down into the wild sea that so
long had borne him on its waves.