"Very true; but he was dying; no doubt is dead by now. There was nothing to be done for him."
"I should say not, Mr. Carlyle. I wouldn't lift a finger ter save him frum hell."
There was a sudden cry forward, and a voice shouted.
"There she goes, buckies! That damn Dutchman's done with. That's the last o' the Namur!"
I turned swiftly, my hand grasping her fingers as they clung to the rail. With a rasping sound, clearly distinguished across the intervening water, as though every timber cried out in agony to the strain, the battered hulk slid downward, the deck breaking amidships as the stern splashed into the depths; then that also toppled over, leaving nothing above water except the blunt end of a broken bow-sprit, and a tangle of wreckage, tossed about on the crest of the waves. I watched breathlessly, unable to utter a sound; I could only think of that stricken man in the cabin, those wild eyes which had threatened me. He was gone now—gone! Watkins spoke.
"It's all over, sir."
"Yes, there is nothing to keep us here any longer," I answered still dazed, but realizing I must arouse myself. "Shake out the reef in your mainsail, and we'll get out to sea. Who is at the wheel?"
"Schmitt, sir—what is the course, Captain Carlyle?"
"Nor'west, by nor', and hold on as long as you can."
"Ay, ay, sir; nor'west by nor' she is."