e as soon as the Company sent me word."

"Yes, and as they know that you are a married man, and do not forget
that you are a great shareholder, they would not trouble you too soon.
I presume you will have the command of a vessel next voyage. In fact,
you are certain of it, with the capital you have invested in their
funds. I had a conversation with one of the senior accountants on the
subject this very morning."

Philip was not very sorry that his money had been put out to such
good interest, as to be the captain of a ship was what he earnestly
desired. He replied, that, "he certainly did hope to command a ship
after the next voyage, when he trusted that he should feel himself
quite competent to the charge."

"No doubt, no doubt, Mr Vanderdecken. I can see that clearly. You must
be very fond of the sea."

"I am," replied Philip; "I doubt whether I shall ever give it up."

"_Never_ give it up! You think so now. You are young, active, and full
of hope: but you will tire of it by-and-bye, and be glad to lay by for
the rest of your days."

"How many troops do we embark?" inquired Philip.

"Two hundred and forty-five rank and file, and six officers. Poor
fellows! there are but few of them will ever return: nay, more than
one-half will not see another birthday. It is a dreadful climate. I
have landed three hundred men at that horrid hole, and in six months,
even before I had sailed, there were not one hundred left alive."

"It is almost murder to send them there," observed Philip.

"Psha! they must die somewhere, and if they die a little sooner, what
matter? Life is a commodity to be bought and sold like any other. We
send so much manufactured goods and so much money to barter for Indian
commodities. We also send out so much life, and it gives a good return
to the Company."

"But not to the poor soldiers, I am afraid."

"No; the Company buy it cheap and sell it dear," replied the captain,
who walked forward.

True, thought Philip, they do purchase human life cheap, and make a
rare profit of it, for without these poor fellows how could they hold
their possessions in spite of native and foreign enemies? For what a
paltry and cheap annuity do these men sell their lives? For what a
miserable pittance do they dare all the horrors of a most deadly
climate, without a chance, a hope of return to their native land,
where they might haply repair their exhausted energies, and take a
new lease of life! Good God! if these m