"Yaw, yaw," said the crew, "it's all true, Captain Vanderdecken; they leaped with us as high as the moon."
"Much higher," cried Dirk Spattrel.
"You're a parcel of lying drunken dogs," roared Vanderdecken; "I stop all your leaves—you sha'nt go on shore again."
"We don't want," replied Jansen, "we will never go on shore at such a place—full of devils—it is really Van Demon's Land;—we will have the fiddle on the forecastle."
"Nein," replied Dirk Spattrel, mournfully showing the fragments.
"De tyfel," exclaimed Jansen, "dat is the worst of all;—now, men, we will work hard and get away from this horrid place."
"Yaw, yaw," exclaimed the crew.
They did work hard; the sails were repaired, the ship was caulked, their clothes were mended, their stockings were darned, and all was ready.
The wind blew fiercely from off shore, roaring through the woods, and breaking down heavy branches.
Vanderdecken held his hand up—"I think there is a light air coming off the land, Jansen—Man the capstan."