irst object was to
procure a small, but strong, steel chain to replace the ribbon by
which the relic had hitherto been secured round his neck. Having done
this, he hastened to embark with his effects on board of the _Ter
Schilling_. Philip had not forgotten to bring with him the money which
he had agreed to pay the captain, in consideration of being received
on board as an apprentice rather than a sailor. He had also furnished
himself with a further sum for his own exigencies. It was late in the
evening when he arrived on board of the _Ter Schilling_, which lay at
single anchor, surrounded by the other vessels composing the Indian
fleet. The captain, whose name was Kloots, received him with kindness,
showed him his berth, and then went below in the hold to decide a
question relative to the cargo, leaving Philip on deck to his own
reflections.

And this, then, thought Philip, as he leaned against the taffrail and
looked forward--this, then, is the vessel in which my first attempt is
to be made. First and--perhaps, last. How little do those with whom I
am about to sail imagine the purport of my embarkation? How different
are my views from those of others? Do _I_ seek a fortune? No! Is it to
satisfy curiosity and a truant spirit? No! I seek communion with the
dead. Can I meet the dead without danger to myself and those who sail
with me? I should think not, for I cannot join it but in death. Did
they surmise my wishes and intentions, would they permit me to remain
one hour on board? Superstitious as seamen are said to be, they might
find a good excuse, if they knew my mission, not only for their
superstition, but for ridding themselves of one on such an awful
errand. Awful indeed! and how to be accomplished? Heaven alone, with
perseverance on my part, can solve the mystery. And Philip's
thoughts reverted to his Amine. He folded his arms and, entranced in
meditation, with his eyes raised to the firmament, he appeared to
watch the flying scud.

"Had you not better go below?" said a mild voice, which made Philip
start from his reverie.

It was that of the first mate, whose name was Hillebrant, a short,
well-set man of about thirty years of age. His hair was flaxen, and
fell in long flakes upon his shoulders, his complexion fair, and his
eyes of a soft blue; although there was little of the sailor in his
appearance, few knew or did their duty better.

"I thank you," replied Philip; "I had, indeed, forgotten myself, and
wh