Mynheer Von Stroom did not, however, appear very anxious to remain on deck.  He requested to be shown into his cabin, and followed the captain aft, picking his way among the coils of ropes with which his path was encumbered.  The door was opened, and the supercargo disappeared.  The ship was then got under weigh, the men had left the windlass, the sails had been trimmed, and they were securing the anchor on board, when the bell of the poop-cabin (appropriated to the supercargo) was pulled with great violence.

“What can that be?” said Mynheer Kloots (who was forward), taking the pipe out of his mouth.  “Mynheer Vanderdecken, will you see what is the matter?”

Philip went aft, as the pealing of the bell continued, and opening the cabin door, discovered the supercargo perched upon the table and pulling the bell-rope, which hung over its centre, with every mark of fear in his countenance.  His wig was off, and his bare skull gave him an appearance peculiarly ridiculous.

“What is the matter, sir?” inquired Philip.

“Matter!” spluttered Mynheer Von Stroom; “call the troops in with their firelocks.  Quick, sir.  Am I to be murdered, torn to pieces, and devoured?  For mercy’s sake, sir, don’t stare, but do something—­look, it’s coming to the table!  O dear!  O dear!” continued the supercargo, evidently terrified out of his wits.

Philip, whose eyes had been fixed on Mynheer Von Stroom, turned them in the direction pointed out, and, much to his astonishment perceived a small bear upon the deck who was amusing himself with the supercargo’s flowing wig, which he held in his paws, tossing it about, and now and then burying his muzzle in it.  The unexpected sight of the animal was at first a shock to Philip, but a moment’s consideration assured him that the animal must be harmless, or it never would have been permitted to remain loose in the vessel.

Nevertheless, Philip had no wish to approach the animal, whose disposition he was unacquainted with, when the appearance of Mynheer Kloots put an end to his difficulty.

“What is the matter, Mynheer?” said the captain.  “O!  I see:  it is Johannes,” continued the captain, going up to the bear, and saluting him with a kick, as he recovered the supercargo’s wig.  “Out of the cabin, Johannes!  Out, sir!” cried Mynheer Kloots, kicking the breech of the bear till the animal had escaped through the door.  “Mynheer Von Stroom, I am very sorry—­here is your wig.  Shut the door, Mynheer Vanderdecken, or the beast may come back, for he is very fond of me.”

As the door was shut between Mynheer Von Stroom and the object of his terror, the little man slid off the table to the high-backed chair near it, shook out the damaged curls of his wig, and replaced it on his head; pulled out his ruffles, and, assuming an air of magisterial importance, struck his cane on the deck, and then spoke.

“Mynheer Kloots, what is the meaning of this disrespect to the supercargo of the puissant Company?”