Philip made no remarks at the time, but he was much pleased at what he had heard.  “If,” thought he, “the Phantom Ship of my poor father appears to others as well as to me, and they are sufferers, my being on board can make no difference.  I do but take my chance of falling in with her, and do not risk the lives of those who sail in the same vessel with me.  Now my mind is relieved, and I can prosecute my search with a quiet conscience.”

The next day Philip took an opportunity of making the acquaintance of the Catholic priest, who spoke Dutch and other languages as well as he did Portuguese.  He was a venerable old man, apparently about sixty years of age, with a white flowing beard, mild in his demeanour, and very pleasing in his conversation.

When Philip kept his watch that night, the old man walked with him, and it was then, after a long conversation, that Philip confided to him that he was of the Catholic persuasion.

“Indeed, my son, that is unusual in a Hollander.”

“It is so,” replied Philip; “nor is it known on board—­not that I am ashamed of my religion, but I wish to avoid discussion.”

“You are prudent, my son.  Alas! if the reformed religion produces no better fruit than what I have witnessed in the East, it is little better than idolatry.”

“Tell me, father,” said Philip—­“they talk of a miraculous vision—­of a ship not manned by mortal men.  Did you see it?”

“I saw what others saw,” replied the priest; “and certainly, as far as my senses would enable me to judge, the appearance was most unusual—­I may say supernatural; but I had heard of this Phantom Ship before, and moreover that its appearance was the precursor of disaster.  So did it prove in our case, although, indeed, we had one on board, now no more, whose weight of guilt was more than sufficient to sink any vessel; one, the swallowing up of whom, with all that wealth from which he anticipated such enjoyment in his own country, has manifested that the Almighty will, even in this world, sometimes wreak just and awful retribution on those who have merited His vengeance.”

“You refer to the Dutch President who went down with the ship when it sank.”

“I do; but the tale of that man’s crime is long; to-morrow night I will walk with you, and narrate the whole.  Peace be with you, my son, and good-night.”

The weather continued fine, and the Batavia hove-to in the evening with the intention of anchoring the next morning in the roadstead of St Helena.  Philip, when he went on deck to keep the middle watch, found the old priest at the gangway waiting for him.  In the ship all was quiet; the men slumbered between the guns, and Philip, with his new acquaintance, went aft, and seating themselves on a hencoop, the priest commenced as follows:—­