"Vessel! why, what was there in that vessel to frighten you? She carried too much sail, and she has gone down." "She never goes down," replied one of the seamen. "No! no!" exclaimed many voices; "but we shall, if we do not run back." "Pooh! nonsense! Mynheer Vanderdecken, what say you?" "I have already stated my opinion," replied Philip, who was anxious, if possible, to see the ship once more in port, "that the best thing we can do, is to bear up for Table Bay." "And, captain," continued the old seaman who had just spoken, "we are all determined that it shall be so, whether you like it or not; so up with the helm, my hearty, and Mynheer Vanderdecken will trim the sails." "Why! what is this?" cried Captain Barentz. "A mutiny on board of the _Vrow Katerina_? Impossible! The _Vrow Katerina_ the best ship, the fastest in the whole fleet!" "The dullest old rotten tub," cried one of the seamen. "What!" cried the captain, "what do I hear? Mynheer Vanderdecken, confine that lying rascal for mutiny." "Pooh! nonsense! he's mad," replied the old seaman. "Never mind him; come, Mynheer Vanderdecken, we will obey you; but the helm must be up immediately." The captain stormed, but Philip, by acknowledging the superiority of his vessel, at the same time that he blamed the seamen for their panic, pointed out to him the necessity of compliance, and Mynheer Barentz at last consented. The helm was put up, the sails trimmed, and the _Vrow Katerina_ rolled heavily before the gale. Towards the evening the weather moderated, and the sky cleared up; both sea and wind subsided fast; the leaking decreased, and Philip was in hopes that in a day or two they would arrive safely in the Bay. As they steered their course, so did the wind gradually decrease, until, at last, it fell calm; nothing remained of the tempest but a long heavy swell which set to the westward, and before which the _Vrow Katerina_ was gradually drifting. This was a respite to the worn-out seamen, and also to the troops and passengers, who had been cooped below or drenched on the main-deck. The upper deck was crowded; mothers basked in the warm sun with their children in their arms; the rigging was filled with the wet clothes, which were hung up to dry on every part of the shrouds; and the seamen were busily employed in repairing the injuries of the gale. By their reckoning, they were not more than fifty miles from Table Bay, and each moment they expected to see the land to the southward of it. All was again mirth, and everyone on board, except Philip, considered that danger was no more to be apprehended. The second mate, whose name was Krantz, was an active, good seaman, and a great favourite with Philip, who knew that he could trust to him, and it was on the afternoon of this day that he and Philip were walking together on the deck. "What think you, Vanderdecken, of the strange vessel we saw?" "I have seen her before, Krantz; and--" "And what?"