“And your captain, where is he?”

“I—­I cannot say, whether he is alive or dead.”

“Had you no woman on board?”

“Yes! the captain had his wife.”

“What has become of her?”

“She is supposed to have perished on a portion of the raft which broke adrift.”

“Ha!” replied the Commandant, who remained silent for some time.

Philip looked at Krantz, as much as to say, “Why all this subterfuge;” but Krantz gave him a sign to leave him to speak.

“You say you don’t know whether your captain is alive or dead?”

“I do.”

“Now, suppose I was to give you your liberty, would you have any objection to sign a paper, stating his death, and swearing to the truth of it?”

Philip stared at the Commandant, and then at Krantz.

“I see no objection, exactly; except that if it were sent home to Holland we might get into trouble.  May I ask, signor Commandant, why you wish for such a paper?”

“No!” roared the little man, in a voice like thunder.  “I will give no reason, but that I wish it; that is enough; take your choice—­the dungeon, or liberty and a passage by the first vessel which calls.”

“I don’t doubt—­in fact—­I’m sure, he must be dead by this time,” replied Krantz, drawing out the words in a musing manner.  “Commandant, will you give us till to-morrow morning to make our calculations?”

“Yes! you may go.”

“But not to the dungeon, Commandant,” replied Krantz; “we are not prisoners, certainly; and, if you wish us to do you a favour, surely you will not ill-treat us?”

“By your own acknowledgment you have taken up arms against the most Christian King; however, you may remain at liberty for the night—­to-morrow morning will decide whether or no you are prisoners.”

Philip and Krantz thanked the little Commandant for his kindness, and then hastened away to the ramparts.  It was now dark, and the moon had not yet made her appearance.  They sat there on the parapet, enjoying the breeze, and feeling the delight of liberty, even after their short incarceration; but, near to them, soldiers were either standing or lying, and they spoke but in whispers.

“What could he mean by requiring us to give a certificate of the captain’s death; and why did you answer as you did?”

“Philip Vanderdecken, that I have often thought of the fate of your beautiful wife, you may imagine; and, when I heard that she was brought here, I then trembled for her.  What must she appear, lovely as she is, when placed in comparison with the women of this country?  And that little Commandant—­is he not the very person who would be taken with her charms?  I denied our condition, because I thought he would be more likely to allow us our liberty as humble individuals, than as captain and first mate; particularly as he suspects that we led on the Ternate people to the attack; and when he asked for a certificate of your death, I immediately imagined that he wanted it in order to induce Amine to marry him.  But where is she? is the question.  If we could only find out that soldier, we might gain some information.”