"It seems, however, they have not died away yet," said Fritz, "in so far as regards France and England, since the two countries are at war again. But, as I observed before, had it not been for the ambition of William and the anti-connubial propensities of John, the English would never have been masters of Paris, and a great part of France under Charles VI."
"Still, in that case," persisted Jack, "Charles VII. would not have had the opportunity of liberating his country."
"Then," continued Fritz, "history would not have had to record the shameless deeds of Isabella of Bavaria."
"Nor chronicle the brilliant achievements of Joan of Arc," added Jack.
"Any how," observed Willis, "the mounseers are a curious people. I have heard it remarked that they are occupied all day long in getting themselves into scrapes, and that Providence busies herself all night in getting them out again."
By chatting in this way, Fritz, his brother, and the Pilot contrived to relieve the monotony of the voyage, and to pass away the time pleasantly enough. Each contributed his quota to the common fund; Fritz his judgment, Jack his humor, and Willis his practical experience, strong good sense, and vigorous, though untutored understanding. A portion of Jack's time was passed with the surgeon, between whom a great intimacy had sprung up. Time did not, therefore, hang heavily on the hands of the young men; for even during the night their thoughts were busy forming projects, or in embroidering the canvas of the future with those fairy designs which youth alone can create.
One morning Willis arrived on deck, pale, and with an air of fatigue and lassitude altogether unusual. He gazed anxiously into every nook and cranny of the ship.
"Whatever is the matter, Willis?" inquired Jack. "Have you seen the Flying Dutchman?"
"No, Master Jack," said he in a forlorn tone; "but I have either seen the captain or his ghost."
"What! the captain of the Hoboken?"