of cold over his whole body, particularly at his chest, and half-opening his eyes, he perceived the pilot, Schriften, leaning over him, and holding between his finger and his thumb a portion of the chain which had not been concealed, and to which was attached the sacred relic.  Philip closed them again, to ascertain what were the man’s intentions:  he found that he gradually dragged out the chain, and, when the relic was clear, attempted to pass the whole over his head, evidently to gain possession of it.  Upon his attempt Philip started up and seized him by the waist.

“Indeed!” cried Philip, with an indignant look, as he released the chain from the pilot’s hand.

But Schriften appeared not in the least confused at being detected in his attempt:  looking with his malicious one eye at Philip, he mockingly observed: 

“Does that chain hold her picture?—­he! he!”

Vanderdecken rose, pushed him away, and folded his arms.

“I advise you not to be quite so curious, Master Pilot, or you may repent it.”

“Or perhaps,” continued the pilot, quite regardless of Philip’s wrath, “it may be a child’s caul, a sovereign remedy against drowning.”

“Go forward to your duty, sir,” cried Philip.

“Or, as you are a Catholic, the finger-nail of a saint; or, yes, I have it—­a piece of the holy cross.”

Philip started.

“That’s it! that’s it!” cried Schriften, who now went forward to where the seamen were standing at the gangway.  “News for you, my lads!” said he; “we’ve a bit of the holy cross aboard, and so we may defy the devil!”

Philip, hardly knowing why, had followed Schriften as he descended the poop-ladder, and was forward on the quarter-deck, when the pilot made this remark to the seamen.

“Ay! ay!” replied an old seaman to the pilot; “not only the devil, but the Flying Dutchman to boot.”

“The Flying Dutchman” thought Philip, “can that refer to—?” and Philip walked a step or two forward, so as to conceal himself behind the mainmast, hoping to obtain some information, should they continue the conversation.  In this he was not disappointed.

“They say that to meet with him is worse than meeting with the devil,” observed another of the crew.

“Who ever saw him?” said another.

“He has been seen, that’s sartain, and just as sartain that ill-luck follows the vessel that falls in with him.”

“And where is he to be fallen in with?”

“O! they say that’s not so sartain—­but he cruises off the Cape.”

“I should like to know the whole long and short of the story,” said a third.

“I can only tell what I’ve heard.  It’s a doomed vessel; they were pirates, and cut the captain’s throat, I believe.”

“No! no!” cried Schriften, “the captain is in her now—­and a villain he was.  They say that, like somebody else on board of us now, he left a very pretty wife, and that he was very fond of her.”