The mate conducted the Heer Van Estell to the capstan, where the starving seamen stood in a silent group, and then he informed him in a hoarse whisper--
"That unless they contrived a means of furnishing themselves with food, they must all die of starvation; it was impossible for them to subsist for another day. That there were eleven persons on board, and they had come to the resolution of determining by lot who should die that the rest might live."
"_Eleven_ on board!" reiterated the Heer, faintly, for his poor wife Grudule was one of these.
"Eleven," added a seaman named Adrian Crudelius, with a wild glare in his eye; "if one dies, ten may live. Bring your wife on deck, sir; she must take her chance with the rest. There must be no distinction here."
"Nay," said George Carpinger, "we may excuse her presence, and so spare her some of this horror; but her husband shall draw for her."
"Sirs," replied the poor Heer, "I thank you. Even here she finds the privileges of her sex accorded her."
Then with tremulous hands the mate tore a sheet of paper into eleven pieces, and numbered them from _one_ to _eleven_. He folded and placed them in his hat. It was then agreed that he who drew number _one_ was to die, and that he who drew number _two_ was to be the executioner. After shaking the fatal pieces of paper, amid a silence that was awful--the silence of horror--for food or want, death or life, were on the issue, every glassy eye was fixed, each nether jaw relaxed, while with hot and feverish hands that trembled, they drew forth their lots--the Heer taking two in succession. He opened them hastily, smote his forehead, uttered a wailing cry, and reeled against the capstan.
He had drawn numbers "one" and "two," so it was the lot of him to die, and by the hand of Grudule, or _vice versâ_!
The unhappy seamen had scarcely foreseen a chance so terrible as this. Carpinger urged that the wife should be spared, or that lots should be cast once more; but those who by risking their fate had escaped death, were loth to tempt it again, and with sullen murmurs declined. Propping himself against the capstan, the unfortunate Van Estell summoned all his energies, and thus addressed them:--
"My good companions in misery, you have seen our sorrow and despair for the loss of our dear little children; and though I know that death would be a relief and refuge to my poor Grudule, neither she nor I can perish by the other's hand. Thus I offer myself freely and willingly as the victim and sacrifice. When I am dead, I charge you--I pray you be kind unto her. Conduct her to her friends, her home, her country, and be assured that if ever you are happy enough to see the waters of the Maese, and the old spires of Rotterdam, she will have wealth enough to reward you all. May Heaven bless you! Gudule, farewell--my poor Gudule!"