CHAPTER FORTY ONE.
Years have passed away since we related Amine's sufferings and crueldeath; and now once more we bring Philip Vanderdecken on the scene. Andduring this time, where has he been? A lunatic--at one time frantic,chained, coerced with blows; at others, mild and peaceable. Reasonoccasionally appeared to burst out again, as the sun on a cloudy day,and then it was again obscured. For many years there was one whowatched him carefully, and lived in hope to witness his return to a sanemind; he watched in sorrow and remorse--he died without his desiresbeing gratified. This was Father Mathias!
The cottage at Terneuse had long fallen into ruin; for many years itwaited the return of its owners, and at last the heirs-at-law claimedand recovered the substance of Philip Vanderdecken. Even the fate ofAmine had passed from the recollection of most people; although herportrait over burning coals, with her crime announced beneath it, stillhangs--as is the custom in the church of the Inquisition--attractingfrom its expressive beauty, the attention of the most carelesspassers-by.
But many, many years have rolled away--Philip's hair is white--his oncepowerful frame is broken down--and he appears much older than he reallyis. He is now sane; but his vigour is gone. Weary of life, all hewishes for is to execute his mission--and then to welcome death.
The relic has never been taken from him: he has been discharged from thelunatic-asylum, and has been provided with the means of returning to hiscountry. Alas! he has now no country--no home--nothing in the world toinduce him to remain in it. All he asks is--to do his duty and to die.
The ship was ready to sail for Europe; and Philip Vanderdecken went onboard--hardly caring whither he went. To return to Terneuse was not hisobject; he could not bear the idea of revisiting the scene of so muchhappiness and so much misery. Amine's form was engraven on his heart,and he looked forward with impatience to the time when he should besummoned to join her in the land of spirits.
He had awakened as from a dream, after so many years of aberration ofintellect. He was no longer the sincere Catholic that he had been; forhe never thought of religion without his Amine's cruel fate beingbrought to his recollection. Still he clung on to the relic--hebelieved in that--and that only. It was his god--his creed--hiseverything--the passport for himself and for his father into the nextworld--the means whereby he should join his Amine--and for hours wouldhe remain holding in his hand that object so valued--gazing upon it--recalling every important event in his life, from the death of his poormother, and his first sight of Amine, to the last dreadful scene. Itwas to him a journal of his existence, and on it were fixed all hishopes for the future.
"When! oh when is it to be accomplished?" was the constant subject ofhis reveries. "Blessed indeed will be the day when I leave this worldof hate, and seek that other in which the weary are at rest."
The vessel on board of which Philip was embarked as a passenger was theNostra Senora da Monte, a brig of three hundred tons, bound for Lisbon.The captain was an old Portuguese, full of superstition, and fond ofarrack--a fondness rather unusual with the people of his nation. Theysailed from Goa, and Philip was standing abaft, and sadly contemplatingthe spire of the cathedral, in which he had last parted with his wife,when his elbow was touched, and he turned round.
"Fellow-passenger, again!" said a well-known voice--it was that of thepilot Schriften.
There was no alteration in the man's appearance; he showed no marks ofdeclining years; his one eye glared as keenly as ever.
Philip started, not only at the sight of the man, but at thereminiscences which his unexpected appearance brought to his mind. Itwas but for a second, and he was again calm and pensive.
"You here again, Schriften?" observed Philip. "I trust your appearanceforebodes the accomplishment of my task."
"Perhaps it does," replied the pilot; "we both are weary."
Philip made no reply; he did not even ask Schriften in what manner hehad escaped from the fort; he was indifferent about it; for he felt thatthe man had a charmed life.
"Many are the vessels that have been wrecked, Philip Vanderdecken, andmany the souls summoned to their account by meeting with your father'sship, while you have been so long shut up," observed the pilot.
"May our next meeting with him be more fortunate--may it be the last!"replied Philip.
"No, no! rather may he fulfil his doom, and sail till the day ofjudgment!" replied the pilot, with emphasis.
"Vile caitiff! I have a foreboding that you will not have yourdetestable wish. Away!--leave me! or you shall find, that although thishead is blanched by misery, this arm has still some power."
Schriften scowled as he walked away; he appeared to have some fear ofPhilip, although it was not equal to his hate. He now resumed hisformer attempts of stirring up the ship's company against Philip,declaring that he was a Jonah, who would occasion the loss of the ship,and that he was connected with the Flying Dutchman. Philip very soonobserved that he was avoided; and he resorted to counter-statements,equally injurious to Schriften, whom he declared to be a demon. Theappearance of Schriften was so much against him, while that of Philip,on the contrary, was so prepossessing, that the people on board hardlyknew what to think. They were divided: some were on the side ofPhilip--some on that of Schriften; the captain and many others lookingwith equal horror upon both, and longing for the time when they could besent out of the vessel.
The captain, as we have before observed, was very superstitious, andvery fond of his bottle. In the morning he would be sober and pray; inthe afternoon he would be drunk and swear at the very saints whoseprotection he had invoked but a few hours before.
"May holy Saint Antonio preserve us, and keep us from temptation," saidhe, on the morning after a conversation with the passengers about thePhantom Ship. "All the saints protect us from harm," continued he,taking off his hat reverentially and crossing himself. "Let me but ridmyself of these two dangerous men without accident, and I will offer upa hundred wax candles, of three ounces each, to the shrine of theVirgin, upon my safe anchoring off the tower of Belem." In the eveninghe changed his language.
"Now, if that Maldetto Saint Antonio don't help us, may he feel thecoals of hell yet! damn him, and his pigs too; if he has the courage todo his duty, all will be well; but he is a cowardly wretch, he cares fornobody, and will not help those who call upon him in trouble. Carambo,that for you!" exclaimed the captain, looking at the small shrine of thesaint at the bittacle, and snapping his fingers at the image; "that foryou, you useless wretch, who never help us in our trouble. The popemust canonise some better saints for us, for all we have now are wornout. They could do something formerly, but now I would not give twoounces of gold for the whole calendar; as for you, you lazy oldscoundrel--" continued the captain, shaking his fist at poor SaintAntonio.
The ship had now gained off the southern coast of Africa, and was aboutone hundred miles from the Lagullas coast; the morning was beautiful, aslight ripple only turned over the waves, the breeze was light andsteady, and the vessel was standing on a wind at the rate of about fourmiles an hour.
"Blessed be the holy saints," said the captain, who had just gained thedeck; "another little slant in our favour, and we shall lay our course.Again, I say, blessed be the holy saints, and particularly our worthypatron, Saint Antonio, who has taken under his peculiar protection theNostra Senora da Monte. We have a prospect of fine weather; come,signors, let us down to breakfast, and after breakfast, we enjoy ourcigarros upon the deck."
But the scene was soon changed; a bank of clouds rose up from theeastward with a rapidity that to the seamen's eyes was unnatural, and itsoon covered the whole firmament; the sun was obscured, and all was onedeep and unnatural gloom; the wind subsided, and the ocean was hushed.It was not exactly dark, but the heavens were covered with one red haze,which gave an appearance as if the world was in a state ofconflagration.
In the cabin the increased darkness was first observed by Philip, whowent on deck; he was followed by the captain and passeng
ers, who were ina state of amazement. It was unnatural and incomprehensible. "Now,holy Virgin, protect us!--what can this be?" exclaimed the captain in afright "Holy Saint Antonio, protect us!--but this is awful."
"There--there!" shouted the sailors, pointing to the beam of the vessel.Every eye looked over the gunnel to witness what had occasioned suchexclamations. Philip, Schriften, and the captain, were side by side.On the beam of the ship, not more than two cables' length distant, theybeheld slowly rising out of the water the tapering masthead and spars ofanother vessel. She rose, and rose, gradually; her topmasts and topsailyards, with the sails set, next made their appearance; higher and highershe rose up from the element. Her lower masts and rigging, and, lastly,her hull showed itself above the surface. Still she rose up, till herports, with her guns, and at last the whole of her floatage was abovewater and there she remained close to them, with her main yard squared,and hove-to.
"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the captain, breathless; "I have known ships to_go down_, but never to _come up_ before. Now will I give one thousandcandles, of ten ounces each, to the shrine of the Virgin, to save us inthis trouble. One thousand wax candles! Hear me, blessed lady, tenounces each! Gentlemen," cried the captain to the passengers, who stoodaghast; "why don't you promise?--promise, I say; _promise_, at allevents."
"The Phantom Ship--the Flying Dutchman," shrieked Schriften; "I told youso, Philip Vanderdecken; there is your father--he, he!"
Philip's eyes had remained fixed on the vessel; he perceived that theywere lowering down a boat from her quarter. "It is possible," thoughthe, "I shall now be permitted!" and Philip put his hand into his bosomand grasped the relic.
The gloom now increased, so that the strange vessel's hull could butjust be discovered through the murky atmosphere. The seamen andpassengers threw themselves down on their knees, and invoked theirsaints. The captain ran down for a candle, to light before the image ofSt. Antonio, which he took out of its shrine and kissed with muchapparent affection and devotion, and then replaced.
Shortly afterwards the splash of oars was heard alongside, and a voicecalling out, "I say, my good people, give us a rope from forward."
No one answered, or complied with the request. Schriften only went upto the captain, and told him that if they offered to send letters theymust not be received, or the vessel would be doomed, and all wouldperish.
A man now made his appearance from over the gunnel, at the gangway."You might as well have let me had a side-rope, my hearties," said he,as he stepped on deck; "where is the captain?"
"Here," replied the captain, trembling from head to foot. The man whoaccosted him appeared a weather-beaten seaman, dressed in a fur cap andcanvas petticoats; he held some letters in his hand.
"What do you want?" at last screamed the captain.
"Yes--what do you want?" continued Schriften, "He! he!"
"What, you here, pilot?" observed the man--"well--I thought you had goneto Davy's locker, long enough ago."
"He! he!" replied Schriften, turning away.
"Why, the fact is, captain, we have had very foul weather and we wish tosend letters home; I do believe that we shall never get round thiscape."
"I can't take them," cried the captain.
"Can't take them! well, it's very odd; but every ship refuses to takeour letters. It's very unkind; seamen should have a feeling for brotherseamen, especially in distress. God knows, we wish to see our wives andfamilies again; and it would be a matter of comfort to them if they onlycould hear from us."
"I cannot take your letters--the saints preserve us!" replied thecaptain.
"We have been a long while out," said the seaman, shaking his head.
"How long?" inquired the captain, not knowing what to say.
"We can't tell; our almanack was blown overboard, and we have lost ourreckoning. We never have our latitude exact now, for we cannot tell thesun's declination for the right day."
"Let _me_ see your letters," said Philip, advancing and taking them outof the seaman's hands.
"They must not be touched!" screamed Schriften.
"Out, monster!" replied Philip; "who dares interfere with me?"
"Doomed--doomed--doomed!" shrieked Schriften, running up and down thedeck, and then breaking into a wild fit of laughter.
"Touch not the letters," said the captain, trembling as if in an aguefit.
Philip made no reply, but held his hand out for the letters.
"Here is one from our second mate to his wife at Amsterdam who lives onWaser Quay."
"Waser Quay has long been gone, my good friend; there is now a largedock for ships where it once was," replied Philip.
"Impossible!" replied the man; "here is another from the boatswain tohis father, who lives in the old market-place."
"The old market-place has long been pulled down, and there now stands achurch upon the spot."
"Impossible!" replied the seaman; "here is another from myself to mysweetheart, Vrow Ketser--with money to buy her a new brooch."
Philip shook his head. "I remember seeing an old lady of that nameburied some thirty years ago."
"Impossible! I left her young and blooming. Here's one for the houseof Slutz and Company, to whom the ship belongs."
"There's no such house now," replied Philip; "but I have heard that,many years ago, there was a firm of that name."
"Impossible! you must be laughing at me. Here is a letter from ourcaptain to his son--"
"Give it me," cried Philip, seizing the letter. He was about to breakthe seal, when Schriften snatched it out of his hand and threw it overthe lee gunnel.
"That's a scurvy trick for an old shipmate," observed the seaman.Schriften made no reply, but catching up the other letters which Philiphad laid down on the capstan, he hurled them after the first.
The strange seaman shed tears, and walked again to the side. "It isvery hard--very unkind," observed he, as he descended; "the time maycome when you may wish that your family should know your situation." Sosaying, he disappeared. In a few seconds was heard the sound of theoars retreating from the ship.
"Holy St. Antonio!" exclaimed the captain. "I am lost in wonder andfright. Steward, bring me up the arrack."
The steward ran down for the bottle; being as much alarmed as hiscaptain, he helped himself before he brought it up to his commander."Now," said the captain, after keeping his mouth for two minutes to thebottle, and draining it to the bottom, "what is to be done next?"
"I'll tell you," said Schriften, going up to him: "that man there has acharm hung round his neck; take it from him and throw it overboard, andyour ship will be saved; if not, it will be lost, with every soul onboard."
"Yes yes, it's all right, depend upon it," cried the sailors.
"Fools," replied Philip, "do you believe that wretch? Did you not hearthe man who came on board recognise him, and call him shipmate? He isthe party whose presence on board will prove so unfortunate."
"Yes, yes," cried the sailors, "it's all right; the man did call himshipmate."
"I tell you it's all wrong," cried Schriften; "that is the man: let himgive up the charm."
"Yes, yes; let him give up the charm," cried the sailors; and theyrushed upon Philip.
Philip started back to where the captain stood. "Madmen, know ye whatye are about? It is the holy cross that I wear round my neck. Throw itoverboard if you dare, and your souls are lost for ever;" and Philiptook the relic from his bosom and showed it to the captain.
"No, no, men;" exclaimed the captain, who was now more settled in hisnerves; "that won't do--the saints protect us."
The seamen, however, became clamorous; one portion were for throwingSchriften overboard, the other for throwing Philip; at last, the pointwas decided by the captain, who directed the small skiff hanging asternto be lowered down, and ordered both Philip and Schriften to get intoit. The seamen approved of this arrangement, as it satisfied bothparties. Philip made no objection; Schriften screamed and fought, buthe was tossed int
o the boat. There he remained trembling in thestern-sheets, while Philip, who had seized the sculls, pulled away fromthe vessel in the direction of the Phantom Ship.
CHAPTER FORTY TWO.
In a few minutes the vessel which Philip and Schriften had left was nolonger to be discerned through the thick haze; the Phantom Ship wasstill in sight, but at a much greater distance from them than she wasbefore. Philip pulled hard towards her, but although hove to, sheappeared to increase her distance from the boat. For a short time hepaused on his oars, to regain his breath, when Schriften rose up andtook his seat in the stern-sheets of the boat. "You may pull and pull,Philip Vanderdecken," observed Schriften; "but you will not gain thatship--no, no, that cannot be--we may have a long cruise together, butyou will be as far from your object at the end of it, as you are now atthe commencement.--Why don't you throw me overboard again? You would beall the lighter--He! he!"
"I threw you overboard in a state of phrenzy," replied Philip, "when youattempted to force from me my relic."
"And have I not endeavoured to make others take it from you this veryday?--Have I not--He! he!"
"You have," rejoined Philip; "but I am now convinced that you are asunhappy as myself, and that in what you are doing, you are onlyfollowing your destiny, as I am mine. Why and wherefore I cannot tell,but we are both engaged in the same mystery;--if the success of myendeavours depends upon guarding the relic, the success of yours dependsupon your obtaining it, and defeating my purpose by so doing. In thismatter we are both agents, and you have been, as far as my mission isconcerned, my most active enemy. But, Schriften, I have not forgotten,and never will, that you kindly _did advise_ my poor Amine; that youprophesied to her what would be her fate, if she did not listen to yourcounsel; that you were no enemy of hers, although you have been and arestill mine. Although my enemy, for her sake I _forgive you_, and willnot attempt to harm you."
"You do then _forgive your enemy_, Philip Vanderdecken?" repliedSchriften, mournfully, "for such I acknowledge myself to be."
"I do, with _all my heart, with all my soul_," replied Philip.
"Then have you conquered me, Philip Vanderdecken; you have now made meyour friend, and your wishes are about to be accomplished. You wouldknow who I am. Listen:--When your father, defying the Almighty's will,in his rage took my life, he was vouchsafed a chance of his doom beingcancelled, through the merits of his Son. I had also my appeal, whichwas for _vengeance_; it was granted that I should remain on earth, andthwart your will. That as long as we were enemies, you should notsucceed; but that when you had conformed to the highest attribute ofChristianity, proved on the holy cross, that of _forgiving your enemy_,your task should be fulfilled. Philip Vanderdecken, you have forgivenyour enemy, and both our destinies are now accomplished."
As Schriften spoke, Philip's eyes were fixed upon him. He extended hishand to Philip--it was taken; and as it was pressed, the form of thepilot wasted as it were into the air, and Philip found himself alone.
"Father of Mercy, I thank thee," said Philip, "that my task is done, andthat I again may meet my Amine."
Philip then pulled towards the Phantom Ship, and found that she nolonger appeared to leave; on the contrary, every minute he was nearerand nearer and at last, he threw in his oars, climbed up her sides andgained her deck.
The crew of the vessel crowded round him.
"Your captain," said Philip; "I must speak with your captain."
"Who shall I say, sir?" demanded one, who appeared to be the first mate.
"Who?" replied Philip: "tell him his son would speak to him, his son,Philip Vanderdecken."
Shouts of laughter from the crew followed this answer of Philip's; andthe mate, as soon as they ceased, observed with a smile.
"You forget, sir, perhaps you would say his father."
"Tell him his son, if you please," replied Philip; "take no note of greyhairs."
"Well, sir, here he is coming forward," replied the mate, stepping asideand pointing to the captain.
"What is all this?" inquired the captain.
"Are you Philip Vanderdecken, the captain of this vessel?"
"I am, sir," replied the other.
"You appear not to know me! But how can you? you saw me but when I wasonly three years old; yet may you remember a letter which you gave toyour wife."
"Ha!" replied the captain; "and who, then, are you?"
"Time has stopped with you, but with those who live in the world hestops not; and for those who pass a life of misery, he hurries on stillfaster. In me behold your son, Philip Vanderdecken, who has obeyed yourwishes; and, after a life of such peril and misery as few have passed,has at last fulfilled his vow, and now offers to his father the preciousrelic that he required to kiss."
Philip drew out the relic, and held it towards his father. As if aflash of lightning had passed through his mind, the captain of thevessel started back, clasped his hands, fell on his knees, and wept.
"My son, my son!" exclaimed he, rising and throwing himself intoPhilip's arms; "my eyes are opened--the Almighty knows how long theyhave been obscured." Embracing each other, they walked aft, away fromthe men, who were still crowded at the gangway.
"My son, my noble son, before the charm is broken--before we resolve, aswe must, into the elements, oh! let me kneel in thanksgiving andcontrition: my son, my noble son, receive a father's thanks," exclaimedVanderdecken. Then with tears of joy and penitence he humbly addressedhimself to that Being, whom he once so awfully defied.
The elder Vanderdecken knelt down: Philip did the same; still embracingeach other with one arm, while they raised on high the other, andprayed.
For the last time the relic was taken from the bosom of Philip andhanded to his father--and his father raised his eyes to heaven andkissed it. And, as he kissed it, the long tapering upper spars of thePhantom vessel, the yards and sails that were set, fell into dust,fluttered in the air, and sank upon the wave. The mainmast, foremast,bowsprit, everything above the deck, crumbled into atoms anddisappeared.
Again he raised the relic to his lips and the work of destructioncontinued--the heavy iron guns sunk through the decks and disappeared;the crew of the vessel (who were looking on) crumbled down intoskeletons, and dust, and fragments of ragged garments; and there werenone left on board the vessel in the semblance of life but the fatherand son.
Once more did he put the sacred emblem to his lips, and the beams andtimbers separated, the decks of the vessel slowly sank, and the remnantsof the hull floated upon the water; and as the father and son--the oneyoung and vigorous, the other old and decrepit--still kneeling, stillembracing, with their hands raised to heaven, sank slowly under the deepblue wave, the lurid sky was for a moment illumined by a lightningcross. Then did the clouds which obscured the heavens roll away swiftas thought--the sun again burst out in all his splendour--the ripplingwaves appeared to dance with joy. The screaming sea-gull again whirledin the air, and the scared albatross once more slumbered on the wing.The porpoise tumbled and tossed in his sportive play, the albicore anddolphin leaped from the sparkling sea.--All nature smiled as if itrejoiced that the charm was dissolved for ever, and that "THE PHANTOMSHIP" WAS NO MORE.
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