alone. A boat was therefore prepared, three days' provisions were
placed on board of her, and Van Luck was sent upon what promised to be
his last voyage.

For as long as the boat remained in sight we could see that the
castaway made no effort, either with the sail or the oars, to shape a
course in any direction. He appeared to have abandoned hope, and to
have made up his mind to let the wind and the waves carry him
whithersoever they would. At length the boat appeared but a speck upon
the ocean, and finally it vanished beyond the horizon.

For some time after the quelling of the mutiny Hartog maintained strict
discipline among officers and crew, issuing his orders in the
peremptory manner of one accustomed to command, and seldom speaking to
any except upon matters connected with the ship. But when order was
restored his mood changed, and we resumed our friendly chats together
in the cabin. He never referred to Van Luck, whom he seemed to have
wiped from the slate of his recollection, nor did he again allude to
the mutiny. Once, when I touched upon it, he had cut me short, and I
could see from his manner that all reference to it must henceforth be
taboo. But I could not help sometimes recalling the picture of the boat
with the solitary man on board of her, drifting upon the grey waste of
sea, and I often wondered if Dirk Hartog had been able to obliterate
that picture from his mind.

We now once more sailed in familiar waters, and passed many vessels as
we neared home, where we arrived, without mishap, towards the end of
the year 1620, after an absence of nearly five years, which was not
regarded at that time as a voyage of unusual duration.