“I knew that something would happen,” observed the captain of the sunken vessel, after he had been sitting a short time in the cabin with Philip and the captain of the Batavia; “we saw the Fiend or Devil’s Ship, as they call her, but three days before.”

“What! the Flying Dutchman, as they name her?” asked Philip.

“Yes; that, I believe, is the name they give her,” replied the captain.  “I have often heard of her; but it never was my fate to fall in with her before, and I hope it never will be again; for I am a ruined man, and must begin the world afresh.”

“I have heard of that vessel,” observed the captain of the Batavia.  “Pray, how did she appear to you?”

“Why, the fact is, I did not see anything but the loom of her hull,” replied the other.  “It was very strange; the night was fine, and the heavens clear; we were under top-gallant sails, for I do not carry on during the night, or else we might have put the royals on her; she would have carried them with the breeze.  I had turned in, when about two o’clock in the morning the mate called me to come on deck.  I demanded what was the matter, and he replied he could hardly tell, but that the men were much frightened, and that there was a Ghost Ship, as the sailors termed it, in sight.  I went on deck; all the horizon was clear, but on our quarter was a sort of fog, round as a ball, and not more than two cables’ length from us.  We were going about four knots and a half free, and yet we could not escape from this mist.  ’Look there,’ said the mate.  ‘Why, what the devil can it be?’ said I, rubbing my eyes.  ’No banks up to windward, and yet a fog in the middle of a clear sky, with a fresh breeze, and with water all around it;’ for you see the fog did not cover more than a dozen cables’ length, as we could perceive by the horizon on each side of it.  ‘Hark, sir!’ said the mate—­’they are speaking again.’  ‘Speaking!’ said I, and I listened; and from out this ball of fog I heard voices.  At last, one cried out, ‘Keep a sharp look-out forward, d’ye hear?’ ‘Ay, ay, sir!’ replied another voice.  ‘Ship on the starboard bow, sir.’  ’Very well; strike the bell there forward.’  And then we heard the bell toll.  ’It must be a vessel,’ said I to the mate.  ‘Not of this world, sir,’ replied he.  ‘Hark!’ ‘A gun ready forward.’  ‘Ay, ay, sir!’ was now heard out of the fog, which appeared to near us; ‘all ready, sir.’  ‘Fire!’ The report of the gun sounded on our ears like thunder, and then—­”

“Well, and then?” said the captain of the Batavia, breathless.

“And then,” replied the other captain, solemnly, “the fog and all disappeared as if by magic, the whole horizon was clear, and there was nothing to be seen.”

“Is it possible?”

“There are twenty men on deck to tell the story,” replied the captain.  “And the old Catholic priest to boot, for he stood by me the whole time I was on deck.  The men said that some accident would happen; and in the morning watch, on sounding the well, we found four feet water.  We took to the pumps, but it gained upon us, and we went down, as I have told you.  The mate says that the vessel is well known—­it is called the Flying Dutchman.”