"Are any men missing?" cried he, through the howling of the wind and the roaring of the water streaming fore and aft, unable to escape quickly enough through the scuppers.
The storm raged with undiminished fury. The crew—and amongst them Prussian, who had been promoted to be ship's-dog—by-and-by dived forward through the seething salt water and the fragments of wreck that covered the deck.
Now it was that the second mate was missing.
The captain looked at Tönnes, and then out on the wild sea. He scarcely glanced at the crushed long-boat; even if a boat could have been launched, it would have been too late. Tönnes and his skipper were fearless men, who took things as they were. If any help could have been given, they would have given it. But their eyes sought vainly for any dark speck amidst the foaming waves—and it was necessary to care for themselves, the vessel and the crew.
"God save his soul!" murmured Captain Spang.
Tönnes passed his hand across his brow, and went to his duty. Evening set in; the wind increased rather than decreased.
"She is taking in water," said the captain, who had sounded the pumps.
"We must change her course," said the captain. "She pitches too heavily in this sea."
The bark was held up to the wind as closely as possible. The pumps were worked steadily, but often got out of order on account of the china-clay, which mixed with the water down in the hold.