clouds apart. Men covered their eyes at the unearthly scene. The green lights of Saint Elmo's fire caught every spar,
mast, and timber of the vessel, illuminating the Flying Dutchman in an eerie green glow. Vanderdecken fell back
against the wheel, eyes staring, mouth gaping as the green-flamed swordblade fell from his nerveless grasp. Neb had
buried his face in the dog's coat, but as Denmark crouched flat, he unwittingly allowed his master this view.
A being, not of this earth, was hovering just above the deck. It was neither man nor woman, tall and shining
white, bearing a great sword. It turned and pointed the sword at Vanderdecken. Its voice, when it spoke, was like a
thousand harps strummed by winds, ranging out over the sea, beautiful yet terrifying. "Mortal man, you are but a grain
of sand in the mighty ocean. Your greed and your cruelty and your arrogance turned your tongue against your Maker.
Henceforth, and for all the days of time, this ship, with you and all upon it, are lost to the sight of heaven. You will
sail the waters of the world for eternity!"
Neb saw Scraggs then, and Sindh, Petros, Vogel, and the two hands who had been swept from the rigging and
drowned. All of them, pale, silent, and dripping seawater, stood by the crew, staring with dead eyes at their captain. It
was a sight to haunt the boy's dreams for centuries to come. A sea-scarred ship, crewed by the dead and those who
would never know the release of death, standing in the fiery green light, silently accusing the captain who had brought
the curse of the Lord upon them and the Flying Dutchman.
Without warning the elements returned. At the sound of a second thunderbolt the waves sprang up. Icy sleet
carried sideways on the wailing wind drove a huge roller, smashing into the vessel's port side. Neb and Denmark were
washed from the deck straight into the Atlantic Ocean. Clinging to the dog's collar with both hands, the boy did not
see the wooden spar that struck him, nor did he know that his good and faithful dog pulled him up onto that same spar,
saving them both. The last thing he remembered was a cold abyss of darkness. The Flying Dutchman receded into
storm-torn darkness, leaving astern a dog clinging to a spar, with an unconscious boy draped across it, cast away upon
the deeps.
Vanderdeckcn and his crew
sailed cursed into eternity,
leaving in the Dutchman's wake
two castaways upon the sea.
A struggling dog, a helpless boy
pounded by storm and wave,
victims of the dread Cape Horn,
that deep and watery grave.
But lo! The angel returned to them,
commanding, serene, and calm,
bringing a message unto their minds,
preserving the friends from harm.
"You are saved by innocence of heart
and granted your lives anew,
the gift of heaven's mercy
bestowed in faith, on you!
I am sent to bless you both
with that which you shall need:
boundless youth, understanding,
and speech to succeed.
Throughout the ages, roam this world,
and wherever need is great,
bring confidence and sympathy,
help others to change their fate.
Fear not the tyrant's bitter frown,
but aid the poor in their woe,
make truth and hope bring evil down,
spread peace and joy where you go!"
THE SHEPHERD
8.
THE NIGHT WIND KEENED OUT ITS LONELY dirge across the barren coast of Tierra del Fuego. Ragged
drifts of cloud shadowed the moon, casting weird patterns of silver and black over the land below. Mountainous dark
green waves, topped by stark white crests and flying spume, thundered madly, smashing against the rocks, failing in
their quest to conquer the shore, hissing vengefully through the small, pebbled strand, retreating to the seas for a
renewed assault on Cape Horn, where two mighty oceans meet. '< ' Neb regained his senses gradually. He was being
dragged around the rocks and shallows of a little cove; the dog had its teeth sunk into his collar, trying to pull him
clear of the water. An incoming roller knocked them both flat, but the Labrador clung stubbornly to him. Painfully the
boy staggered to his hands and knees. Shuffling, crawling, he assisted the faithful creature attempting to tug him
beyond the tideline. He lay there a moment, dazed, then he retched, shivering and vomiting seawater among a debris
of seaweed, driftwood, and pale sand scattered with pebbles, his whole body shuddering with the effort. "Gurround!
Gurr Neb grrr!" The sound came from nearby. Neb got to his knees, wiping his mouth with a sand-crusted forearm,
and looked around. There was no sign of any living being, except for the dog. A thought flashed through his mind that
somebody was trying to talk to him. Yet it was not an actual sound, just a feeling.
The rough voice came again. He realized it was like a thought, something invading his mind.
"Gurround Neb, wurrrr safe, grrr!"
The dog's paw was worrying at his leg, as Neb stared up at the cliffs above, searching in case someone was
hiding there. All this time his mind was in a jumble of speculation: What could it be? A voice, not aloud, but like a
spirit inside his head. Was it the angel, haunting his imagination? No, angels didn't growl! Neb flinched as the dog's
blunt claw scraped his leg. Turning, he took the dog's face in both hands, staring deep into its warm brown eyes. He
thought as they gazed at one another, What is it, Denmark, can you feel something, too?
The reply hit him like a bolt as he heard the dog's thought.
"Denmurrk, gurr ... I Denmurrk, grr, Neb 'live!"
Then Neb heard his own voice, but not from within his head as a thought. It was from his mouth! A shout,
echoing from the cliffs, above the sea and wind.
"You Den! You Dennnnnnnn!" Immediately Neb's hand shot to his throat, and he spoke, halting, but quite clear.
"I... talk!"
Denmark bowled him over, covering his face with a warm, slobbery tongue, both paws on his shoulders.
"Gurrrrrr! We t... talk, Neb, Denmurrrk ... gurr . . . talk!"
Overcome by the sudden miracle, Neb and Den suddenly found themselves expressing their joy in the way any
boy and his dog would, rolling over, wrestling in the sand, tears streaming from their eyes as Neb roared with laughter
and Den barked aloud.
Old Luis the Shepherd heard the noise. He had climbed down a wide rift in the cliffs, descending to the shore.
There were always bits of interesting flotsam to be found, besides driftwood and sea coal for his fire. But this was a
sound he had never heard on the hostile coast of the Tierra, the strains of happiness. Shouldering his bundle of wood,
Luis picked up the small sack of sea coal he had garnered and waded into the shallows, where a rocky point divided
the shore. Gathering his woolen blanket cloak about him, and holding on to a rock to steady his balance against the
sucking tidewater, he narrowed his eyes against the flying spray. Then, still peering up the beach, he sloshed through
the shallows, crow's-feet crinkling around his eyes. Luis could not help smiling at the odd sight.
A gaunt boy, ragged and rake-thin, his hair matted with sand and seawater, was screeching and laughing wildly
as he danced around and capered like a mad thing. With the lad was a big, emaciated black dog, its ribs showing
through the sheen of its saturated coat. It stood on hind legs, both forepaws on the boy's shoulders, as it leaped about