“What think you, Vanderdecken, of the strange vessel we saw?”

“I have seen her before, Krantz; and—­”

“And what?”

“Whatever vessel I have been in when I have seen her, that vessel has never returned into port—­others tell the same tale.”

“Is she, then, the ghost of a vessel?”

“I am told so; and there are various stories afloat concerning her:  but of this, I assure you—­that I am fully persuaded than some accident will happen before we reach port, although everything, at this moment, appears so calm, and our port is so near at hand.”

“You are superstitious,” replied Krantz; “and yet I must say that, to me, the appearance was not like a reality.  No vessel could carry such sail in the gale; but yet, there are madmen afloat who will sometimes attempt the most absurd things.  If it was a vessel, she must have gone down, for when it cleared up she was not to be seen.  I am not very credulous, and nothing but the occurrence of the consequences which you anticipate will make me believe that there was anything supernatural in the affair.”

“Well!  I shall not be sorry if the event proves me wrong,” replied Philip; “but I have my forebodings—­we are not in port yet.”

“No! but we are but a trifling distance from it, and there is every prospect of a continuance of fine weather.”

“There is no saying from what quarter the danger may come,” replied Philip; “we have other things to fear than the violence of the gale.”

“True,” replied Krantz; “but, nevertheless, don’t let us croak.  Notwithstanding all you say, I prophesy that in two days, at the farthest, we are safely anchored in Table Bay.”

The conversation here dropped, and Philip was glad to be left alone.  A melancholy had seized him—­a depression of spirits even greater than he had ever felt before.  He leant over the gangway and watched the heaving of the sea.

“Merciful Heaven!” ejaculated he, “be pleased to spare this vessel; let not the wail of women, the shrieks of the poor children, now embarked, be heard; the numerous body of men, trusting to her planks,—­let them not be sacrificed for my father’s crimes.”  And Philip mused.  “The ways of Heaven are indeed mysterious,” thought he.—­“Why should others suffer because my father has sinned?  And yet, is it not so everywhere?  How many thousands fall on the field of battle in a war occasioned by the ambition of a king, or the influence of a woman!  How many millions have been destroyed for holding a different creed of faith! He works in His own way, leaving us to wonder and to doubt.”

The sun had set before Philip had quitted the gangway and gone down below.  Commending himself and those embarked with him to the care of Providence, he at last fell asleep; but, before the bell was struck eight times to announce midnight, he was awakened by a rude shove of the shoulder, and perceived Krantz, who had the first watch, standing by him.