ines. But by itself the sail power was not
enough to keep way on her. When the propeller went the ship broached-to
at once, and the masts got whipped overboard.

The disadvantage of being dismasted consisted in this, that they had
nothing to hoist flags on to make themselves visible at a distance. In
the course of the first few days several ships failed to sight them; and
the gale was drifting them out of the usual track. The voyage had been,
from the first, neither very successful nor very harmonious. There had
been quarrels on board. The captain was a clever, melancholic man, who
had no unusual grip on his crew. The ship had been amply provisioned for
the passage, but, somehow or other, several barrels of meat were found
spoiled on opening, and had been thrown overboard soon after leaving
home, as a sanitary measure. Afterwards the crew of the Borgmester Dahl
thought of that rotten carrion with tears of regret, covetousness and
despair.

She drove south. To begin with, there had been an appearance of
organisation, but soon the bonds of discipline became relaxed. A sombre
idleness succeeded. They looked with sullen eyes at the horizon. The
gales increased: she lay in the trough, the seas made a clean breach
over her. On one frightful night, when they expected their hulk to turn
over with them every moment, a heavy sea broke on board, deluged the
store-rooms and spoiled the best part of the remaining provisions. It
seems the hatch had not been properly secured. This instance of neglect
is characteristic of utter discouragement. Falk tried to inspire some
energy into his captain, but failed. From that time he retired more into
himself, always trying to do his utmost in the situation. It grew worse.
Gale succeeded gale, with black mountains of water hurling themselves on
the Borgmester Dahl. Some of the men never left their bunks; many became
quarrelsome. The chief engineer, an old man, refused to speak at all to
anybody. Others shut themselves up in their berths to cry. On calm days
the inert steamer rolled on a leaden sea under a murky sky, or showed,
in sunshine, the squalor of sea waifs, the dried white salt, the rust,
the jagged broken places. Then the gales came again. They kept body and
soul together on short rations. Once, an English ship, scudding in a
storm, tried to stand by them, heaving-to pluckily under their lee. The
seas swept her decks; the men in oilskins clinging to her rigging looked
at them, and they