Week after week rolled anxiously, mournfully away!
Still the winds were adverse, and still the De Ruyter tacked and tacked again, like the fabled ship of Vanderdecken, but without meeting a craft that might assist them, till at last there fell a death-like calm upon the sea; and then, for many, many days under a hot sun, and in the breathless nights that followed, the helpless vessel lay like a log, with her blocks and cordage rattling, and her loose canvas flapping until it was frittered and frayed on the blistering yards and masts, while the sea chafed her rusting chain-plates and the pitch boiled from her planking—yet "she lay so that, for several weeks, they could scarcely tell whether they were forwarded a league's space."
And now a deadly pest broke out on board—a malignant fever, which covered its victims with livid blotches, like the spotted lions, gules and sable, on the ship's stern; and among those who perished were Koningsmarke, the captain, and eight of his crew. They were thrown overboard, and for days their bodies remained in sight, with fishes sporting about them, and obscene birds of the sea lighting on them, as they floated on its still and waveless surface.
Provisions were now dealt out more sparingly than ever. Strong men grew wan, and gaunt, and feeble; for as their strength failed and hope faded, so did their spirit die within them; and then even the most superstitious ceased to whistle for wind.
At last they were reduced to a half biscuit and single morsel of meat per day; the latter failed, and then the half biscuit; and now they looked grimly and terribly in each other's hollow visages and bloodshot eyes, while wondering what was to become of them, for although lines had long hung overboard, the sea had refused to yield them fish.
"To wait with hope is nothing, but to wait with DESPAIR is worse than death!"
So did the Heer Van Estell wait, and his wife Gudule—now no longer the beautiful Gudule, for she was wan, wasted, and sinking, having given her pittance of food for several days to sustain her little ones. All his wealth, all the riches acquired by years of prudence in the Indies, would the unhappy Van Estell have given gladly to purchase a single biscuit, to sustain for one day more the lives of those he loved so well.
At last little Erasmus and Cornelius died, passing away without pain or a murmur, having become of late too weak even to weep for food.
They passed away, and the Heer and his wife remained by the pretty corpses as if transformed to stone!
Four days passed after this—still no food—no hope—no wind in the air, no ship upon the sea!