him.”
“Play with him! I! supercargo to the Company, play with a bear! Mynheer Kloots, the animal must be thrown overboard immediately.”
“Nay, nay; I cannot throw overboard an animal that I hold in much affection, Mynheer Von Stroom; but he shall not trouble you.”
“Then, Captain Kloots, you will have to deal with the Company, to whom I shall represent this affair. Your charter will be cancelled, and your freight-money will be forfeited.”
Kloots was, like most Dutchmen, not a little obstinate, and this imperative behaviour on the part of the supercargo raised his bile. “There is nothing in the charter that prevents my having an animal on board,” replied Kloots.
“By the regulations of the Company,” replied Von Stroom, falling back in his chair with an important air, and crossing his thin legs, “you are required to receive on board strange and curious animals, sent home by the governors and factors to be presented to crowned heads, — such as lions, tigers, elephants, and other productions of the East; — but in no instance is it permitted to the commanders of chartered ships to receive on board, on their own account, animals of any description, which must be considered under the head and offence of private trading.”
“My bear is not for sale, Mynheer Von Stroom.”
“It must immediately be sent out of the ship, Mynheer Kloots. I order you to send it away, — on your peril to refuse.”
“Then we will drop the anchor again, Mynheer Von Stroom, and send on shore to head-quarters to decide the point. If the Company insists that the brute be put on shore, be it so; but recollect, Mynheer Von Stroom, we shall lose the protection of the fleet, and have to sail alone. Shall I drop the anchor, Mynheer?”
This observation softened down the pertinacity of the supercargo: he had no wish to sail alone, and the fear of this contingency was more powerful than the fear of the bear.
“Mynheer Kloots, I will not be too severe; if the animal is chained, so that it does not approach me, I will consent to its remaining on board.”
“I will keep it out of your way as much as I can; but as for chaining up the poor animal, it will howl all day and night and you will have no sleep, Mynheer Von Stroom,” replied Kloots.
The supercargo, who perceived that the captain was positive and that his threats were disregarded, did all that a man could do who could not help himself. He vowed vengeance in his own mind, and then, with an air of condescension, observed — “Upon those conditions, Mynheer Kloots, your animal may remain on board.”
Mynheer Kloots and Philip then left the cabin; the former, who was in no very good humour, muttering as he walked away — “If the Company send their monkeys on board, I think I may well have my bear.” And pleased with his joke, Mynheer Kloots recovered his good humour.
Chapter Nine
We must allow the Indian fleet to pursue its way to the Cape with every variety of wind and weather. Some had parted company; but the rendezvous was Table Bay, from which they were again to start together.
Philip Vanderdecken was soon able to render some service on board. He studied his duty diligently, for employment prevented him from dwelling too much upon the cause of his embarkation, and he worked hard at the duties of the ship, for the exercise procured for him that sleep which otherwise would have been denied.
He was soon a favourite of the captain, and intimate with Hillebrant, the first mate; the second mate, Struys, was a morose young man, with whom he had little intercourse. As for the supercargo, Mynheer Jacob Janz Von Stroom, he seldom ventured out of his cabin. The bear, Johannes, was not confined, and therefore Mynheer Von Stroom confined himself; hardly a day passed that he did not look over a letter which he had framed upon the subject, all ready to forward to the Company; and each time that he perused it he made some alteration, which he considered would give additional force to his complaint, and would prove still more injurious to the interests of Captain Kloots.
In the mean time, in happy ignorance of all that was passing in the poop-cabin, Mynheer Kloots smoked his pipe, drank his schnapps, and played with Johannes. The animal had also contracted a great affection for Philip, and used to walk the watch with him.
There was another party in the ship whom we must not lose sight of — the one-eyed pilot, Schriften, who appeared to have imbibed a great animosity towards our hero, as well as to his dumb favourite the bear. As Philip held the rank of an officer, Schriften dared not openly affront, though he took every opportunity of annoying him, and was constantly inveighing against him before the ship’s company. To the bear he was more openly inveterate, and seldom passed it without bestowing upon it a severe kick, accompanied with a horrid curse. Although no one on board appeared to be fond of this man, everybody appeared to be afraid of him, and he had obtained a control over the seamen which appeared unaccountable.
Such was the state of affairs on board the good ship Ter Schilling, when, in company with two others, she lay becalmed about two days’ sail to the Cape. The weather was intensely hot, for it was the summer in those southern latitudes, and Philip, who had been lying down under the awning spread over the poop, was so overcome with the heat, that he had fallen asleep. He awoke with a shivering sensation 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 this 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 quarterdeck, 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.”
“Flying Dutchman,” thought Philip, “can that refer to — ?” and Philip walked a step or two forward,
