"Hurrah!" cried those on the shore. They thought they had reached the goal; they were already afraid that the raft would drive over into the park and upset against the trees. But it did not go any farther--not a foot; it danced upon the stream so that the six on the raft had to throw themselves flat and hold fast, and so go down the stream again, like an arrow, toward the shore on this side to the place where they were before. Only with the greatest exertion were the fifty able to hold it; only with the greatest difficulty and evident peril had the six come down again from the raft to the steep shore. "That won't do, children," said the Burgess. "If only the Lieutenant would come back--they are his near kinsmen! First he chases us down here, and now he won't come himself." The faint brightness which had appeared when the foaming spray had withdrawn a little had again vanished. While hitherto only the leaden gray sky and the dense storm had turned the evening into night, the real night now came on. Only the sharpest eyes could still see the black form on the terrace, though the terrace itself could still be descried by every one, and at the same time the wind was evidently growing worse and had shifted again from northeast to southeast. The water was rising fast in consequence of the counter-current setting in the direction of Wissow Hook. That would have aided them as the swiftness of the current diminished; but no one any longer had the courage to renew the hopeless attempt. If there were no way of getting a rope over and fastening it there, so that some of them could slip over the swaying bridge from here to the terrace, no rescue was possible. So the Burgess thought, so thought the others, and so they shouted it into one another's ears; but in the dreadful tumult no one could understand a word that was said. Suddenly Ottomar stood in their midst. He had taken in the whole situation at a glance.--"Give me the line," he cried, "and make a light!--The willows there!" [Illustration: CHRIST BEFORE PILATE _From the Painting by Michael von Munkacsy_ PERMISSION CH. SEDELMEYER, PARIS] They understood him instantly.--The four old, hollow willows, right there on the edge--they were to set fire to them! The village would be in danger, to be sure, if it could be done; but none thought of that. They hurried to the nearest houses, they brought back pieces of oakum and resinous wood by the armful and stuffed it all into the hollow trunks, which fortunately were turned toward the west. A few fruitless attempts--and then it flamed up--sparkling, flashing--now flaring and again subsiding--casting strange, shifting lights upon the hundreds of pale faces which were all directed toward the man with the line around his breast, struggling against the stream.--Would he hold out?