her appearance.  It has only waited till we should be left without a consort to assist us in distress.”  But the Batavia sailed in a smooth sea and under a cloudless sky, and nothing was seen.  In a few weeks she arrived off Java, and, previous to entering the splendid roads of Batavia, hove-to for the night.  This was the last night they would be under sail, and Philip stirred not from the deck, but walked to and fro, anxiously waiting for the morning.  The morning broke—­the sun rose in splendour, and the Batavia steered into the roads.  Before noon she was at anchor, and Philip, with his mind relieved, hastened down to his cabin, and took that repose which he so much required.

He awoke refreshed, for a great weight had been taken off his mind.  “It does not follow, then,” thought he, “that because I am on board the vessel therefore the crew are doomed to perish; it does not follow that the Phantom Ship is to appear because I seek her.  If so, I have no further weight upon my conscience.  I seek her, it is true, and wish to meet with her; I stand, however, but the same chance as others; and it is no way certain that because I seek, I am sure to find.  That she brings disaster upon all she meets, may be true, but not that I bring with me the disaster of meeting her.  Heaven I thank thee!  Now I can prosecute my search without remorse.”

Philip, restored to composure by these reflections, went on deck.  The debarkation of the troops was already taking place, for they were as anxious to be relieved from their long confinement as the seamen were to regain a little space and comfort.  He surveyed the scene.  The town of Batavia lay about one mile from them, low on the beach; from behind it rose a lofty chain of mountains, brilliant with verdure, and, here and there, peopled with country seats, belonging to the residents, delightfully embosomed in forests of trees.  The panorama was beautiful; the vegetation was luxuriant, and, from its vivid green, refreshing to the eye.  Near to the town lay large and small vessels, a forest of masts; the water in the bay was of a bright blue, and rippled to a soft breeze; here and there small islets (like tufts of fresh verdure) broke the uniformity of the water-line; even the town itself was pleasing to the eye, the white colour of the houses being opposed to the dark foliage of the trees, which grew in the gardens, and lined the streets.

“Can it be possible,” observed Philip to the captain of the Batavia, who stood by him, “that this beautiful spot can be so unhealthy?  I should form a very different opinion from its appearance.”

“Even,” replied the captain, “as the venomous snakes of the country start up from among its flowers, so does death stalk about in this beautiful and luxuriant landscape.  Do you feel better, Mynheer Vanderdecken?”

“Much better,” replied Philip.

“Still, in your enfeebled state, I should recommend you to go on shore.”