By ten a.m. the raft was done, a crazy affair and not very large due to the lack of sufficient lashings. With Collins, Alexey and Lee as passengers, and Nindemann and Kaack as ferrymen, it started over, amid voluble cursing promptly submerging all hands to their knees. But nevertheless it got successfully over to shoal water on the other side, where Nindemann started to look for a good landing spot.
“Don’t waste time!” shouted De Long. “Let those men wade ashore and hurry back with that raft!”
After considerable growling, audible even to De Long on the other shore, the passengers waded off, and the two ferrymen paddled back. On his return, Nindemann promptly started grumbling again about the raft.
“What’s the matter, Nindemann?” asked De Long.
“The lashings are loose and there ain’t enough logs to float it,” said Nindemann sullenly.
“Well, you made the raft. Haul the lashing tighter then if it doesn’t suit you,” suggested the captain.
“But I hauled it already as tight as I could,” protested the irritated quartermaster.
“That’ll do!” Curtly De Long cut him short. “Get more logs if you want them; tighten the lashing if you wish, but quit standing there! I’ve had enough of your grumbling! Shake it up, now! We’ve got to get on!”
Glowering at the reproof, Nindemann, his nerves finally at the breaking point, glared a moment at the skipper, then turned and moved down the bank. A few steps off, facing the next gang of men waiting to cross on the raft, the stocky quartermaster clenched his fists, swung them wildly in the captain’s direction and shouted,
“I would sooner be along with the devil than be along with you! I wish I was in hell, or somewhere else than here, by Jesus Christ!”