It might pass as a prayer to his Creator as well as a letter to his fellow countrymen.
“Your Highness (He had written); a hopeless man severed from worldly ties, goes far from you with the regret of having done so little for his future Queen. He goes amid the storms of ocean while you remain amid the whirls and tempests of government.
“Young and fair, adored, surrounded by respectful friends and idolising servants, you will no doubt forget one whom your royal hand deigned to lift from the herd. But I shall never forget it. I go into the New World to study how I may most efficaciously assist you on your throne.
“I bequeathe to you my sister, poor blighted flower, who will have no sunshine but your looks. Deign sometimes to stoop as low as her, and in the bosom of your joy, and power, and in the concert of unanimous good wishes, rely, I entreat you, on the blessing of an exile whom you will hear and perhaps see no more.”
On the voyage Philip read a great deal; he took his meals in his room, save the dinner with the captain, and spent much of the time on deck, wrapped in his cloak.
The other passengers did not like the sea and he saw little of them.
In the night, sometimes, Philip heard on the planks above him the step of the captain, a pale, nervous young man, with a quick, restless eye, with another’s, probably the officer of the watch. If it were a passenger, it was a good reason not to go up as he did not wish to be intrusive.
Once, however, as he heard neither voices nor tread, he ventured up.
The sky was cloudy, the weather warm, and the myriad of phosphorescent atoms sparkled in the wake.
It seemed too threatening for most passengers, for none of them were about.