Philip was not very sorry that his money had been put out to such good interest, as to be the captain of a ship was what he earnestly desired.  He replied, that, “he certainly did hope to command a ship after the next voyage, when he trusted that he should feel himself quite competent to the charge.”

“No doubt, no doubt, Mr Vanderdecken.  I can see that clearly.  You must be very fond of the sea.”

“I am,” replied Philip; “I doubt whether I shall ever give it up.”

“Never give it up!  You think so now.  You are young, active, and full of hope:  but you will tire of it by-and-bye, and be glad to lay by for the rest of your days.”

“How many troops do we embark?” inquired Philip.

“Two hundred and forty-five rank and file, and six officers.  Poor fellows! there are but few of them will ever return:  nay, more than one-half will not see another birthday.  It is a dreadful climate.  I have landed three hundred men at that horrid hole, and in six months, even before I had sailed, there were not one hundred left alive.”

“It is almost murder to send them there,” observed Philip.

“Psha! they must die somewhere, and if they die a little sooner, what matter?  Life is a commodity to be bought and sold like any other.  We send so much manufactured goods and so much money to barter for Indian commodities.  We also send out so much life, and it gives a good return to the Company.”

“But not to the poor soldiers, I am afraid.”

“No; the Company buy it cheap and sell it dear,” replied the captain, who walked forward.

True, thought Philip, they do purchase human life cheap, and make a rare profit of it, for without these poor fellows how could they hold their possessions in spite of native and foreign enemies?  For what a paltry and cheap annuity do these men sell their lives?  For what a miserable pittance do they dare all the horrors of a most deadly climate, without a chance, a hope of return to their native land, where they might haply repair their exhausted energies, and take a new lease of life!  Good God! if these men may be thus heartlessly sacrificed to Mammon, why should I feel remorse if, in the fulfilment of a sacred duty imposed on me by Him who deals with us as He thinks meet, a few mortals perish?  Not a sparrow falls to the ground without His knowledge, and it is for Him to sacrifice or save.  I am but the creature of His will, and I but follow my duty,—­but obey the commands of One whose ways are inscrutable.  Still, if for my sake this ship be also doomed, I cannot but wish that I had been appointed to some other, in which the waste of human life might have been less.

It was not until a week after Philip arrived on board that the Batavia and the remainder of the fleet were ready for sea.