Kloots was at the binnacle, Hillebrant and Philip at
the helm, when a wave curled high over the quarter, and poured itself
in resistless force upon the deck. The captain and his two mates were
swept away, and dashed almost senseless against the bulwarks--the
binnacle and compass were broken into fragments--no one ran to the
helm--the vessel broached to--the seas broke clear over her, and the
mainmast went by the board. All was confusion. Captain Kloots was stunned, and it was with
difficulty that Philip could persuade two of the men to assist him
down below. Hillebrant had been more unfortunate--his right arm was
broken, and he was otherwise severely bruised; Philip assisted him to
his berth, and then went on deck again to try and restore order. Philip Vanderdecken was not yet much of a seaman, but, at all events,
he exercised that moral influence over the men which is ever possessed
by resolution and courage. Obey willingly they did not, but they did
obey, and in half an hour the vessel was clear of the wreck. Eased by
the loss of her heavy mast, and steered by two of her best seamen, she
again flew before the gale. Where was Mynheer Von Stroom during all this work of destruction? In
his bed-place, covered up with the clothes, trembling in every limb,
and vowing that if ever again he put his foot on shore, not all the
companies in the world should induce him to trust to salt-water again. It certainly was the best plan for the poor man. But although for a time the men obeyed the orders of Philip, they
were soon seen talking earnestly with the one-eyed pilot, and after a
consultation of a quarter of an hour, they all left the deck, with the
exception of the two at the helm. Their reasons for so doing were soon
apparent--several returned with cans full of liquor, which they had
obtained by forcing the hatches of the spirit-room. For about an
hour Philip remained on deck, persuading the men not to intoxicate
themselves, but in vain; the cans of grog offered to the men at the
wheel were not refused, and, in a short time, the yawing of the vessel
proved that the liquor had taken its effect. Philip then hastened down
below to ascertain if Mynheer Kloots was sufficiently recovered to
come on deck. He found him sunk into a deep sleep, and with difficulty
it was that he roused him, and made him acquainted with the
distressing intelligence. Mynheer Kloots followed Philip on deck, but
he still suffered from his fall: his head was confused, and he reeled
as he walked, as if he also had been making free with the liquor. When
he had been on deck a few minutes, he sank down on one of the guns in
a state of perfect helplessness; he had, in fact, received a severe
concussion of the brain. Hillebrant was too severely injured to
be able to move from his bed, and Philip was now aware of the
helplessness of their situation. Daylight gradually disappeared, and,
as darkness came upon them, so did the scene become more appalling. The vessel still ran before the gale, but the men at the helm had
evidently changed her course, as the wind that was on the starboard
was now on the larboard quarter. But compass there was none on deck,
and, even if there had been, the men in their drunken state would have
refused to listen to Philip's orders or expostulations. "He," they
said, "was no sailor, and was not to teach them how to steer the ship"
The gale was now at its height. The rain had ceased, but the wind had
increased, and it roared as it urged on the vessel, which, steered so
wide by the drunken sailors, shipped seas over each gunnel; but the
men laughed and joined the chorus of their songs to the howling of the
gale. Schriften, the pilot, appeared to be the leader of the ship's company. With the can of liquor in his hand, he danced and sang, snapped his
fingers, and, like a demon, peered with his one eye upon Philip; and
then would he fall and roll with screams of laughter in the scuppers. More liquor was handed up as fast as it was called for. Oaths,
shrieks, laughter, were mingled together; the men at the helm lashed
it amidships, and hastened to join their companions, and the _Ter
Schilling_ flew before the gale; the fore-staysail being the only
sail set, checking her as she yawed to starboard or to port. Philip
remained on deck by the poop-ladder. "Strange," thought he, "that I
should stand here, the only one left now capable of acting,--that
I should be fated to look by myself upon this scene of horror and
disgust--should here wait the severing of this vessel's timbers,--the
loss of life which must accompany it,--the only one calm and
collected, or aware of what must soon take place. God forgive me, but
I appear, useless and impotent as I am, to stand here like the master
of the storm,--separated as it were from my brother mortals by my
own peculiar destiny. It must be so. This wreck then must not be for
me,--I feel that it is not,--that I have a charmed life, or rather a
protracted one, to fulfil the oath I registered in heaven. But the
wind is not so loud, surely the water is not so rough: my forebodings
may be wrong, and all may yet be saved. Heaven grant it! For how
melancholy, how lamentable is it, to behold men created in God's own
image, leaving the world, disgraced below the brute creation!" Philip was right in supposing that the wind was not so strong, nor
the sea so high. The vessel, after running to the southward till past
Table Bay, had, by the alteration made in her course, entered into
False Bay, where, to a certain degree, she was sheltered from the
violence of the winds and waves. But, although the water was smoother,
the waves were still more than sufficient to beat to pieces any vessel
that might be driven on shore at the bottom of the bay, to which point
the _Ter Schilling_ was now running. The bay so far offered a fair
chance of escape, as, instead of the rocky coast outside (against
which, had the vessel run, a few seconds would have insured her
destruction), there was a shelving beach of loose sand. But of this
Philip could, of course, have no knowledge, for the land at the
entrance of the Bay had been passed unperceived in the darkness of the
night. About twenty minutes more had elapsed, when Philip observed
that the whole sea around them was one continued foam. He had hardly
time for conjecture before the ship struck heavily on the sands, and
the remaining masts fell by the board. The crash of the falling masts, the heavy beating of the ship on the
sands, which caused many of her timbers to part, with a whole sea
which swept clean over the fated vessel, checked the songs and drunken
revelry of the crew. Another minute, and the vessel was swung round on
her broadside to the sea, and lay on her beam ends. Philip, who was
to windward, clung to the bulwark, while the intoxicated seamen
floundered in the water to leeward, and attempted to gain the other
side of the ship.