The captain's head appeared again, "We must close-reef!" said he. The last reef was taken in; the storm came down and lashed the sea; the sky grew more and more threatening; the waves dashed over the deck at each plunge of the old bark in the sea. The old vessel, which had carried her captain for a generation, lay heavily on the water--Tönnes thought too heavily. The second mate--the same who had played the accordion at the inn--came over to Tönnes. "It was wrong to stow the china-clay at the bottom and the casks on top; she lies horribly dead, and I'm afraid we shall have to use the pumps." "Yes, I said so to the old man, but he would have it that way," answered Tönnes. "We shall have a wet night." "We shall, surely," said the second mate. Tönnes crawled up to the helm and looked at the compass. Two men were at the helm--lashed fast. Tönnes looked up into the rigging and out to windward; then suddenly he cried, with the full force of his lungs:-- "Look out for breakers!" Tönnes himself helped at the wheel; but the vessel only half answered the helm. The greater portion of the sea struck the bow, the quarter, and the bulwarks and stanchions amidship, so that they creaked and groaned. One of the men at the helm had grasped Tönnes, who would otherwise have been swept into the lee scupper. When the ship had righted from the terrible blow, the captain stood on the deck in his oilcloth suit. "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. Tönnes assented. "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. It was plain that the vessel grew heavier and heavier; her movements in climbing a wave were more and more dead.