He replied, "We have lost our count, for our almanac was blown
overboard. Our ship, you see, is there still; so why should you
ask how long we have been at sea? For Vanderdecken only wishes to
write home and comfort his friends."
To which the chaplain replied, "Your letters, I fear, would be of
no use in Amsterdam, even if they were delivered; for the persons
to whom they are addressed are probably no longer to be found there,
except under very ancient green turf in the churchyard."
The unwelcome stranger then wrung his hands and appeared to weep,
and replied, "It is impossible; we cannot believe you. We have
been long driving about here, but country nor relations cannot be
so easily forgotten. There is not a raindrop in the air but feels
itself kindred to all the rest, and they fall back into the sea to
meet with each other again. How then can kindred blood be made to
forget where it came from? Even our bodies are part of the ground
of Holland; and Vanderdecken says, if he once were to come to
Amsterdam, he would rather be changed into a stone post, well fixed
into the ground, than leave it again if that were to die elsewhere.
But in the meantime we only ask you to take these letters."
The chaplain, looking at him with astonishment, said, "This is the
insanity of natural affection, which rebels against all measures
of time and distance."
The stranger continued, "Here is a letter from our second mate to
his dear and only remaining friend, his uncle, the merchant who
lives in the second house on Stuncken Yacht Quay."
He held forth the letter, but no one would approach to take it.
Tom Willis raised his voice and said, "One of our men, here, says
that he was in Amsterdam last summer, and he knows for certain that
the street called Stuncken Yacht Quay was pulled down sixty years
ago, and now there is only a large church at that place."
The man from the Flying Dutchman said, "It is impossible; we cannot
believe you. Here is another letter from myself, in which I have
sent a bank-note to my dear sister, to buy some gallant lace to
make her a high head-dress."
Tom Willis, hearing this, said, "It is most likely that her head
now lies under a tombstone, which will outlast all the changes of
the fashion. But on what house is your bank-note?"