This was not a very satisfactory answer, but as the Count and the Baron were tolerably comfortable they made no complaint. The skipper sat in his chair, and after he had finished dinner quaffed schiedam and water; one of the crew was engaged below in cleaning up the dishes and plates, the other was at the helm. Presently there came a loud cry, and the cutter heeled over. The Count, who was the most active of the party, jumped up to see what was the matter, while the man forward did the same.
“We’re run into by a big, lubberly ship,” cried the man at the helm.
The fact was very clear. The bowsprit of the big ship had caught the rigging of the sloop, and was bearing her over.
“What is going to happen?” asked the Count, in a state of no small trepidation.
“We shall be sent to the bottom if our mast and rigging are not carried away,” answered the man at the helm. The crew of the big ship were rushing out to the bowsprit end to try and clear the sloop, but that seemed no easy matter.
“Can’t you cut the rigging, my friends?” shouted the Count, who at a glance saw that by so doing the sloop would be set free.
“But we shall lose our mast if they do that,” said the man at the helm.
“Better lose our mast than be sent to the bottom,” answered the Count.
Again he shouted, “Cut, my friends, cut.”