lip who would have got into her; and, as the sea made
clean breakers over them, they cast loose the lashings which confined
her. With the assistance of another heavy sea which lifted her from the
chocks she was borne clear of the booms and dashed over the gunnel into
the water, to leeward, which was comparatively smooth--not, however,
without being filled nearly up to the thwarts. But this was little
cared for by the intoxicated seamen, who, as soon as they were afloat,
again raised their shouts and songs of revelry as they were borne away
by the wind and sea towards the beach. Philip, who held on by the stump
of the mainmast, watched them with an anxious eye, now perceiving them
borne aloft on the foaming surf, now disappearing in the trough. More
and more distant were the sounds of their mad voices, till, at last, he
could hear them no more,--he beheld the boat balanced on an enormous
rolling sea, and then he saw it not again.

Philip knew that now his only chance was to remain with the vessel, and
attempt to save himself upon some fragment of the wreck. That the ship
would long hold together he felt was impossible; already she had parted
her upper decks, and each shock of the waves divided her more and more.
At last, as he clung to the mast, he heard a noise abaft, and he then
recollected that Mynheer Von Stroom was still in his cabin. Philip
crawled aft, and found that the poop-ladder had been thrown against the
cabin door, so as to prevent its being opened. He removed it and
entered the cabin, where he found Mynheer Von Stroom clinging to
windward with the grasp of death,--but it was not death, but the
paralysis of fear. He spoke to him, but could obtain no reply, he
attempted to move him, but it was impossible to make him let go the part
of the bulk-head that he grasped. A loud noise and the rush of a mass
of water told Philip that the vessel had parted amid-ships, and he
unwillingly abandoned the poor supercargo to his fate, and went out of
the cabin door. At the after-hatchway he observed something
struggling,--it was Johannes the bear, who was swimming, but still
fastened by a cord which prevented his escape. Philip took out his
knife and released the poor animal, and hardly had he done this act of
kindness, when a heavy sea turned over the after part of the vessel,
which separated in many pieces, and Philip found himself struggling in
the waves. He seized upon a part of the deck which supported him,