Where was Mynheer Von Stroom during all this work of destruction?  In his bed-place, covered up with the clothes, trembling in every limb, and vowing that if ever again he put his foot on shore, not all the companies in the world should induce him to trust to salt-water again.  It certainly was the best plan for the poor man.

But although for a time the men obeyed the orders of Philip, they were soon seen talking earnestly with the one-eyed pilot, and after a consultation of a quarter of an hour, they all left the deck, with the exception of the two at the helm.  Their reasons for so doing were soon apparent—­several returned with cans full of liquor, which they had obtained by forcing the hatches of the spirit-room.  For about an hour Philip remained on deck, persuading the men not to intoxicate themselves, but in vain; the cans of grog offered to the men at the wheel were not refused, and, in a short time, the yawing of the vessel proved that the liquor had taken its effect.  Philip then hastened down below to ascertain if Mynheer Kloots was sufficiently recovered to come on deck.  He found him sunk into a deep sleep, and with difficulty it was that he roused him, and made him acquainted with the distressing intelligence.  Mynheer Kloots followed Philip on deck, but he still suffered from his fall:  his head was confused, and he reeled as he walked, as if he also had been making free with the liquor.  When he had been on deck a few minutes, he sank down on one of the guns in a state of perfect helplessness; he had, in fact, received a severe concussion of the brain.  Hillebrant was too severely injured to be able to move from his bed, and Philip was now aware of the helplessness of their situation.  Daylight gradually disappeared, and, as darkness came upon them, so did the scene become more appalling.  The vessel still ran before the gale, but the men at the helm had evidently changed her course, as the wind that was on the starboard was now on the larboard quarter.  But compass there was none on deck, and, even if there had been, the men in their drunken state would have refused to listen to Philip’s orders or expostulations.  “He,” they said, “was no sailor, and was not to teach them how to steer the ship” The gale was now at its height.  The rain had ceased, but the wind had increased, and it roared as it urged on the vessel, which, steered so wide by the drunken sailors, shipped seas over each gunnel; but the men laughed and joined the chorus of their songs to the howling of the gale.

Schriften, the pilot, appeared to be the leader of the ship’s company.  With the can of liquor in his hand, he danced and sang, snapped his fingers, and, like a demon, peered with his one eye upon Philip; and then would he fall and roll with screams of laughter in the scuppers.  More liquor was handed up as fast as it was called for.  Oaths, shrieks, laughter, were mingled together; the men at the helm lashed it amidships, and hastened to join their companions,