During the night a cry arose: again one of the crew was washed overboard. It was a long night and a wet one, as Tönnes had predicted. Several times the skipper dived clown into the cabin--Tonnes knew perfectly well what for, but he said nothing. Few words were spoken on board the Anna Dorothea that night. In the morning the captain, returning from one of his excursions down below, declared that the cabin was half full of water. "We must watch for a sail," he said, abruptly and somewhat huskily. Tönnes passed the word round amongst the crew. One might read on their faces that they were prepared for this, and that they had ceased to hope, although they had not stopped work at the pumps. The whole of the weather bulwark, the cook's cabin and the long-boat, were crushed or washed away; the water could be heard below the hatches. While keeping a sharp lookout for sails, many an eye glanced at the yawl as the last resort. But on board Captain Spang's vessel the words were not yet spoken which carried with them the doom of the ship: "We are sinking!" In the gray-white of the dawn a signal was to be hoisted; the bunting was tied together at the middle and raised half-mast high. Both the captain and Tönnes had lashed themselves aft; for now the bark was but little better than a wreck, over which the billows broke incessantly, as the vessel, reeling like a drunken man, exposed herself to the violent attacks of the sea instead of parrying them. "A sail to windward, captain!" cried Tönnes. Captain Spang only nodded. "She holds her course!" cried one of the crew excitedly. "No," said Tönnes, quietly. "She has seen us, and is bearing down upon us!" The captain again nodded. "Tis a brig!" cried one of the crew. "A schooner-brig!" Tönnes corrected. "She carries her sails finely. I am sure she is a fruit-trader." At last the strange vessel was so near that they could see her deck each time she was thrown upon her side in the violent seething sea. "Yes, 'tis the schooner-brig!" exclaimed Tönnes. "Do you remember, captain, the time when--" Again Captain Spang nodded. He acted strangely. Tönnes looked sharply at him, and shook his head. Now Tönnes hailed the vessel:-- "Help us!--We are sinking!" At this moment two or three of the bark's crew rushed toward the yawl, although Tönnes warned them back. Captain Spang seemed changed. Evidently some opposing feelings contended within him. Seeing the insubordination of the men, he only shrugged his shoulders, and let Tönnes take full charge. The men were in the yawl, still hanging under the iron davits. Now they cut the ropes; the yawl touched the water. The crew of the other vessel gestured warningly; but it was too late. A sea seized the yawl with its small crew, and the next moment crushed it against the main chains of the bark. Their shipmates raised a cry, and rushed to help them; but help was impossible. Boat and crew had disappeared. "Didn't I say so?" cried Tönnes, with flaming eyes.