“Then God be thanked, she is saved,” cried Philip. “Merciful Heaven! accept my thanks.—To Tidore you said?”
“Yes; we are at war with the Portuguese, we cannot take you there.”
“No! but we shall meet again.”
The person who accosted them was evidently of consequence. His dress was to a certain degree Mahometan, but mixed up with Malay; he carried arms in his girdle and a spear in his hand; his turban was of printed chintz; and his deportment like most persons of rank in that country, was courteous and dignified.
“We are now returning to Ternate, and will take you with us. Our king will be pleased to receive any Hollanders, especially as you are enemies to the Portuguese dogs. I forgot to tell you that we have one of your companions with us in the boat; we picked him up at sea much exhausted, but he is now doing well.”
“Who can it be?” observed Krantz; “it must be some one belonging to some other vessel.”
“No,” replied Philip, shuddering, “it must be Schriften.”
“Then my eyes must behold him before I believe it,” replied Krantz.
“Then believe your eyes,” replied Philip, pointing to the form of Schriften, who was now walking towards them.
“Mynheer Vanderdecken, glad to see you. Mynheer Krantz, I hope you are well. How lucky that we should all be saved. He! he!”