"I am not; bring him down here. This noble gentleman has power over
him. I wonder, indeed, at his daring to stay while he is so near; he
has on his heart that which will send him trembling away.--Bring
him down here, and you shall at once see him vanish with curses and
screams." "Heaven defend us!" cried the Commandant, terrified. "Send for him now, signor?" "He is gone--vanished--not to be found!" "I thought as much," replied Philip, significantly. "He is gone--vanished--you say. Then, Commandant, you will probably
apologise to this noble gentleman for your treatment of him, and
permit us to return to our former apartments. I will there explain to
you this most strange and interesting history." The Commandant, more confused than ever, hardly knew how to act. At
last he bowed to Philip, and begged that he would consider himself at
liberty; and, continued he to Krantz, "I shall be most happy at an
immediate explanation of this affair, for everything appears so
contradictory." "And must, until it is explained. I will follow you into your own
room; a courtesy you must not expect from my noble friend, who is not
a little indignant at your treatment of him." The Commandant went out, leaving the door open. Philip and Krantz
followed: the former retiring to his own apartment; the latter,
bending his steps after the Commandant to his sitting-room. The
confusion which whirled in the brain of the Commandant, made him
appear most ridiculous. He hardly knew whether to be imperative or
civil; whether he was really speaking to the first mate of the vessel,
or to another party; or whether he had insulted a noble, or been
cajoled by a captain of a vessel: he threw himself down on his sofa,
and Krantz, taking his seat in a chair, stated as follows:

"You have been partly deceived and partly not, Commandant. When we
first came here, not knowing what treatment we might receive, we
concealed our rank; afterwards I made known to you the rank of my
friend on shore; but did not think it worth while to say anything
about his situation on board of the vessel. The fact is, as you may
well suppose of a person of his dignity, he was owner of the fine ship
which was lost through the intervention of that one-eyed wretch; but
of that by-and-bye. Now for the story. "About ten years ago there was a great miser in Amsterdam; he lived
in the most miserable way that a man could live in; wore nothing but
rags; and having been formerly a seaman, his attire was generally of
the description common to his class. He had one son, to whom he denied
the necessaries of life, and whom he treated most cruelly. After
vain attempts to possess a portion of his father's wealth, the devil
instigated the son to murder the old man, who was one day found dead
in his bed; but as there were no marks of violence which could be
sworn to, although suspicion fell upon the son, the affair was hushed
up, and the young man took possession of his father's wealth. It was
fully expected that there would now be rioting and squandering on the
part of the heir, as is usually the case; but, on the contrary, he
never spent anything, but appeared to be as poor--even poorer--than he
ever was. Instead of being gay and merry, he was, in appearance, the
most miserable, downcast person in the world; and he wandered about,
seeking a crust of bread wherever he could find it. Some said that he
had been inoculated by his father, and was as great a miser as his
father had been; others shook their heads, and said that all was not
right. At last, after pining away for six or seven years, the young
man died at an early age, without confession or absolution; in fact,
he was found dead in his bed. Beside the bed there was a paper,
addressed to the authorities, in which he acknowledged that he had
murdered his father for the sake of his wealth; and that when he went
to take some of it for his expenses on the day afterwards, he found
his father's spirit sitting on the bags of money, and menacing him
with instant death, if he touched one piece. He returned again and
again, and found his father a sentinel as before. At last, he gave
up attempting to obtain it; his crime made him miserable, and he
continued in possession, without daring to expend one sixpence of all
the money. He requested that, as his end was approaching, the money
should be given to the church of his patron saint, wherever that
church might be found; if there was not one, then that a church might
be built and endowed. Upon investigation, it appeared that there was
no such church in either Holland or the Low Countries (for you know
that there are not many Catholics there); and they applied to the
Catholic countries, Lisbon and Spain, but there again they were at
fault; and it was discovered, that the only church dedicated to that
saint was one which had been erected by a Portuguese nobleman in the
city of Goa, in the East Indies. The Catholic bishop determined that
the money should be sent to Goa; and, in consequence, it was embarked
on board of my patron's vessel, to be delivered up to the first
Portuguese authorities he might fall in with. "Well, signor, the money, for better security, was put down into the
captain's cabin, which, of course, was occupied by my noble friend,
and when he went to bed the first night he was surprised to perceive a
little one eyed old man sitting on the boxes." "Merciful Saviour!" exclaimed the Commandant, "what, the very same
little man who appeared here this day?" "The very same," replied Krantz. The Commandant crossed himself, and Krantz proceeded:--"My noble
patron was, as you may imagine, rather alarmed; but he is very
courageous in disposition, and he inquired of the old man who he was,
and how he had come on board? "'I came on board with my own money,' replied the spectre. It is all
my own, and I shall keep it. The church shall never have one stiva of
it if I can help it.' "Whereupon, my patron pulled out a famous relic, which he wears on
his bosom, and held it towards him; at which the old man howled and
screamed, and then most unwillingly disappeared. For two more
nights the spectre was obstinate, but at the sight of the relic, he
invariably went off howling as if in great pain; every time that
he went away, invariably crying out 'Lost--lost!' and during the
remainder of the voyage he did not trouble us any more. "We thought, when our patron told us this, that he referred to the
money being lost to him, but it appears he referred to the ship;
indeed it was very inconsiderate to have taken the wealth of a
parricide on board; we could not expect any good fortune with such a
freight, and so it proved.