The fleet cleared the sands and were then close-hauled, when the Vrow Katerina proved to sail even more slowly than before.

“When we are so very close-hauled,” observed Mynheer Barentz, “the Vrow does not do so well; but a point free, and then you will see how she will show her stern to the whole fleet.  She is a fine vessel, Mynheer Vanderdecken, is she not?”

“A very fine, roomy vessel,” replied Philip, which was all that, in conscience, he could say.

The fleet sailed on, sometimes on a wind, sometimes free, but let the point of sailing be what it might, the Vrow Katerina was invariably astern, and the fleet had to heave-to at sunset to enable her to keep company; still, the captain continued to declare that the point of sailing on which they happened to be, was the only point in which the Vrow Katerina was deficient.  Unfortunately, the vessel had other points quite as bad as her sailing; she was crank, leaky, and did not answer the helm well:  but Mynheer Barentz was not to be convinced.  He adored his ship, and, like all men desperately in love, he could see no fault in his mistress.  But others were not so blind, and the admiral, finding the voyage so much delayed by the bad sailing of one vessel, determined to leave her to find her way by herself so soon as they had passed the Cape.  He was, however, spared the cruelty of deserting her, for a heavy gale came on which dispersed the whole fleet, and on the second day the good ship Vrow Katerina found herself alone, labouring heavily in the trough of the sea, leaking so much as to require hands constantly at the pumps, and drifting before the gale as fast to leeward almost as she usually sailed.  For a week the gale continued, and each day did her situation become more alarming.  Crowded with troops, encumbered with heavy stores, she groaned and laboured, while whole seas washed over her, and the men could hardly stand at the pumps.  Philip was active, and exerted himself to the utmost, encouraging the worn-out men, securing where aught had given way, and little interfered with by the captain, who was himself no sailor.

“Well,” observed the captain to Philip, as they held on by the belaying-pins, “you’ll acknowledge that she is a fine weatherly vessel in a gale—­is she not?  Softly, my beauty, softly,” continued he, speaking to the vessel, as she plunged heavily into the waves, and every timber groaned.  “Softly, my dear, softly!  How those poor devils in the other ships must be knocking about now.  Heh!  Mynheer Vanderdecken, we have the start of them this time:  they must be a terrible long way down to leeward.  Don’t you think so?”

“I really cannot pretend to say,” replied Philip, smiling.

“Why, there’s not one of them in sight.  Yes, by Heavens, there is!  Look on our lee beam.  I see one now.  Well, she must be a capital sailor at all events:  look there, a point abaft the beam.  Mercy on me! how stiff she must be to carry such a press of canvas!”