Scarcely had the soldiers performed their task, and thrown down their
shovels, when they commenced an altercation. It appeared that this
money was to be again the cause of slaughter and bloodshed. Philip and
Krantz determined to sail immediately in one of the peroquas, and leave
them to settle their disputes as they pleased. He asked permission of
the soldiers to take from the provisions and water, of which there was
ample supply, a larger proportion than was their share; stating, that he
and Krantz had a long voyage and would require it, and pointing out to
them that there were plenty of cocoa-nuts for their support. The
soldiers, who thought of nothing but their newly-acquired wealth allowed
him to do as he pleased; and, having hastily collected as many
cocoa-nuts as they could, to add to their stock of provisions, before
noon, Philip and Krantz had embarked and made sail in the peroqua,
leaving the soldiers with their knives again drawn, and so busy in their
angry altercation as to be heedless of their departure.
"There will be the same scene over again, I expect," observed Krantz, as
the vessel parted swiftly from the shore.
"I have little doubt of it; observe, even now they are at blows and
stabs."
"If I were to name that spot, it should be the `_Accursed Isle_.'"
"Would not any other be the same, with so much to inflame the passions
of men?"
"Assuredly: what a curse is gold!"
"And what a blessing!" replied Krantz. "I am sorry Pedro is left with
them."
"It is their destiny," replied Philip; "so let's think no more of them.
Now what do you propose? With this vessel, small as she is, we may sail
over these seas in safety, and we have, I imagine, provisions sufficient
for more than a month."
"My idea is, to run into the track of the vessels going to the westward,
and obtain a passage to Goa."
"And if we do not meet with any, we can, at all events, proceed up the
Straits, as far as Pulo Penang without risk. There we may safely remain
until a vessel passes."
"I agree with you; it is our best, nay our only, place; unless, indeed,
we were to proceed to Cochin, where junks are always leaving for Goa."
"But that would be out of our way, and the junks cannot well pass us in
the Straits, without their being seen by us."
They had no difficulty in steering their course; the islands by day, and
the clear stars by night, were their compass. It is true that they did
not follow the more direct track, but they followed the more secure,
working up the smooth waters, and gaining to the northward more than to
the west. Many times they were chased by the Malay proas which infested
the islands, but the swiftness of their little peroqua was their
security; indeed, the chase was, generally speaking, abandoned as soon
as the smallness of the vessel was made out by the pirates, who expected
that little or no booty was to be gained.
That Amine and Philip's mission was the constant theme of their
discourse, may easily be imagined. One morning, as they were sailing
between the isles, with less wind than usual, Philip observed:
"Krantz, you said that there were events in your own life, or connected
with it, which would corroborate the mysterious tale I confided to you.
Will you now tell me to what you referred?"
"Certainly," replied Krantz; "I've often thought of doing so, but one
circumstance or another has hitherto prevented me; this is, however, a
fitting opportunity. Prepare, therefore, to listen to a strange story,
quite as strange, perhaps, as your own:--
"I take it for granted, that you have heard people speak of the Hartz
Mountains," observed Krantz.
"I have never heard people speak of them, that I can recollect," replied
Philip; "but I have read of them in some book, and of the strange things
which have occurred there."
"It is indeed a wild region," rejoined Krantz, "and many strange tales
are told of it; but strange as they are, I have good reason for
believing them to be true. I have told you, Philip, that I fully
believe in your communion with the other world--that I credit the
history of your father, and the lawfulness of your mission; for that we
are surrounded, impelled, and worked upon by beings different in their
nature from ourselves, I have had full evidence, as you will
acknowledge, when I state what has occurred in my own family. Why such
malevolent beings as I am about to speak of should be permitted to
interfere with us, and punish, I may say, comparatively unoffending
mortals, is beyond my comprehension; but that they are so permitted is
most certain."
"The great principle of all evil fulfils his work of evil; why, then,
not the other minor spirits of the same class?" inquired Philip. "What
matters it to us, whether we are tried by, and have to suffer from, the
enmity of our fellow-mortals, or whether we are persecuted by beings
more powerful and more malevolent than ourselves? We know that we have
to work out our salvation, and that we shall be judged according to our
strength; if then there be evil spirits who delight to oppress man,
there surely must be, as Amine asserts, good spirits, whose delight is
to do him service. Whether, then, we have to struggle against our
passions only, or whether we have to struggle not only against our
passions, but also the dire influence of unseen enemies we ever struggle
with the same odds in our favour, as the good are stronger than the evil
which we combat. In either case we are on the 'vantage ground, whether,
as in the first, we fight the good cause single-handed, or as in the
second, although opposed, we have the host of Heaven ranged on our side.
Thus are the scales of Divine justice evenly balanced, and man is still
a free agent, as his own virtuous or vicious propensities must ever
decide whether he shall gain or lose the victory."
"Most true," replied Krantz, "and now to my history:--
"My father was not born, or originally a resident, in the Hartz
Mountains; he was the serf of an Hungarian nobleman, of great
possessions, in Transylvania; but, although a serf, he was not by any
means a poor or illiterate man. In fact, he was rich and his
intelligence and respectability were such, that he had been raised by
his lord to the stewardship; but, whoever may happen to be born a serf,
a serf must he remain, even though he become a wealthy man: and such was
the condition of my father. My father had been married for about five
years; and by his marriage had three children--my eldest brother Caesar,
myself (Hermann), and a sister named Marcella. You know, Philip, that
Latin is still the language spoken in that country; and that will
account for our high-sounding names. My mother was a very beautiful
woman, unfortunately more beautiful than virtuous: she was seen and
admired by the lord of the soil; my father was sent away upon some
mission; and, during his absence, my mother, flattered by the
attentions, and won by the assiduities, of this nobleman yielded to his
wishes. It so happened that my father returned very unexpectedly, and
discovered the intrigue. The evidence of my mother's shame was
positive; he surprised her in the company of her seducer! Carried away
by the impetuosity of his feelings, he watched the opportunity of a
meeting taking place between them, and murdered both his wife and her
seducer. Conscious that, as a serf, not even the provocation which he
had received would be allowed as a justification of his conduct he
hastily collected together what money he could lay his hands upon, and,
as we were then in the depth of winter, he put his horses to the sleigh,
and taking his children with him, he set off in the middle of the night,
and was far away before the tragical circumstance had transpired. Aware
that he would be pursued, and that he had no chance of escape if he
remained in any portion of his native country (in which the authorities
could lay hold of him), he continued his flight without intermission
until he had buried himself in the intricacies and seclusion of the
Hartz Mountains. Of course, all that I have now told you I learned
afterwards. My oldest recollections are knit to a rude, yet comfortable
cottage, in which I lived with my father, brother, and sister. It was
on the confines of one of those vast forests which cover the northern
part of Germany; around it were a few acres of ground, which, during the
summer months, my father cultivated, and which, though they yielded a
doubtful harvest, were sufficient for our support. In the winter we
remained much in doors, for, as my father followed the chase, we were
left alone, and the wolves, during that season, incessantly prowled
about. My father had purchased the cottage, and land about it of one of
the rude foresters, who gain their livelihood partly by hunting, and
partly by burning charcoal, for the purpose of smelting the ore from the
neighbouring mines; it was distant about two miles from any other
habitation. I can call to mind the whole landscape now: the tall pines
which rose up on the mountain above us, and the wide expanse of forest
beneath, on the topmost boughs and heads of whose trees we looked down
from our cottage, as the mountain below us rapidly descended into the
distant valley. In summer-time the prospect was beautiful: but during
the severe winter, a more desolate scene could not well be imagined.
"I said that, in the winter, my father occupied himself with the chase;
every day he left us, and often would he lock the door, that we might
not leave the cottage. He had no one to assist him, or to take care of
us--indeed, it was not easy to find a female servant who would live in
such a solitude; but could he have found one, my father would nut have
received her, for he had imbibed a horror of the sex, as the difference
of his conduct towards us, his two boys, and my poor little sister,
Marcella evidently proved. You may suppose we were sadly neglected;
indeed, we suffered much, for my father, fearful that we might come to
some harm, would not allow us fuel, when he left the cottage; and we
were obliged, therefore, to creep under the heaps of bears' skins, and
there to keep ourselves as warm as we could until he returned in the
evening, when a blazing fire was our delight. That my father chose this
restless sort of life may appear strange, but the fact was, that he
could not remain quiet; whether from the remorse for having committed
murder, or from the misery consequent on his change of situation, or
from both combined, he was never happy unless he was in a state of
activity. Children, however, when left much to themselves, acquire a
thoughtfulness not common to their age. So it was with us; and during
the short cold days of winter, we would sit silent, longing for the
happy hours when the snow would melt and the leaves would burst out, and
the birds begin their songs, and when we should again be set at liberty.
"Such was our peculiar and savage sort of life until my brother Caesar
was nine, myself seven, and my sister five years old, when the
circumstances occurred on which is based the extraordinary narrative
which I am about to relate.
"One evening my father returned home rather later than usual; he had
been unsuccessful, and, as the weather was very severe, and many feet of
snow were upon the ground, he was not only very cold, but in a very bad
humour. He had brought in wood, and we were all three gladly assisting
each other in blowing on the embers to create the blaze, when he caught
poor little Marcella by the arm and threw her aside; the child fell,
struck her mouth, and bled very much. My brother ran to raise her up.
Accustomed to ill-usage and afraid of my father, she did not dare to
cry, but looked up in his face very piteously. My father drew his stool
nearer to the hearth, muttered something in abuse of women, and busied
himself with the fire, which both my brother and I had deserted when my
sister was so unkindly treated. A cheerful blaze was soon the result of
his exertions; but we did not, as usual, crowd round it. Marcella,
still bleeding, retired to a corner, and my brother and I took our seats
beside her, while my father hung over the fire gloomily and alone. Such
had been our position for about half an hour, when the howl of a wolf,
close under the window of the cottage, fell on our ears. My father
started up, and seized his gun: the howl was repeated, he examined the
priming, and then hastily left the cottage, shutting the door after him.
We all waited (anxiously listening), for we thought that if he
succeeded in shooting the wolf, he would return in a better humour; and,
although he was harsh to all of us, and particularly so to our little
sister, still we loved our father, and loved to see him cheerful and
happy, for what else had we to look up to? And I may here observe, that
perhaps there never were three children who were fonder of each other;
we did not, like other children, fight and dispute together; and if, by
chance, any disagreement did arise between my elder brother and me,
little Marcella would run to us, and kissing us both, seal, through her
entreaties, the peace between us. Marcella was a lovely, amiable child;
I can recall her beautiful features even now--Alas! poor little
Marcella."
"She is dead, then?" observed Philip.
"Dead! yes, dead!--but how did she die?--But I must not anticipate,
Philip; let me tell my story.
"We waited or some time, but the report of the gun did not reach us, and
my elder brother then said, `Our father has followed the wolf, and will
not be back for some time. Marcella, let us wash the blood from your
mouth, and then we will leave this corner, and go to the fire and warm
ourselves.'
"We did so, and remained there until near midnight, every minute
wondering, as it grew later, why our father did not return. We had no
idea that he was in any danger, but we thought that he must have chased
the wolf for a very long time. `I will look out and see if father is
coming,' said my brother Caesar, going to the door. `Take care,' said
Marcella, `the wolves must be about now, and we cannot kill them,
brother.' My brother opened the door very cautiously, and but a few
inches: he peeped out.--`I see nothing,' said he, after a time, and once
more he joined us at the fire. `We have had no supper,' said I, for my
father usually cooked the meat as soon as he came home; and during his
absence we had nothing but the fragments of the preceding day.
"`And if our father comes home after his hunt, Caesar,' said Marcella,
`he will be pleased to have some supper; let us cook it for him and for
ourselves.' Caesar climbed upon the stool, and reached down some meat--
I forget now whether it was venison or bear's meat; but we cut off the
usual quantity, and proceeded to dress it, as we used to do under our
father's superintendence. We were all busy putting it into the platters
before the fire, to await his coming, when we heard the sound of a horn.
We listened--there was a noise outside, and a minute afterwards my
father entered, ushering in a young female, and a large dark man in a
hunter's dress.
"Perhaps I had better now relate what was only known to me many years
afterwards. When my father had left the cottage, he perceived a large
white wolf about thirty yards from him; as soon as the animal saw my
father, it retreated slowly growling and snarling. My father followed;
the animal did not run, but always kept at some distance; and my father
did not like to fire until he was pretty certain that his ball would
take effect; thus they went on for some time, the wolf now leaving my
father far behind, and then stopping and snarling defiance at him, and
then, again, on his approach, setting off at speed.
"Anxious to shoot the animal (for the white wolf is very rare) my father
continued the pursuit for several hours, during which he continually
ascended the mountain.
"You must know, Philip, that there are peculiar spots on those mountains
which are supposed, and, as my story will prove, truly supposed, to be
inhabited by the evil influences: they are well known to the huntsmen,
who invariably avoid them. Now, one of these spots, an open space in
the pine forests above us, had been pointed out to my father as
dangerous on that account. But, whether he disbelieved these wild
stories or whether, in his eager pursuit of the chase, he disregarded
them, I know not; certain, however, it is, that he was decoyed by the
white wolf to this open space, when the animal appeared to slacken her
speed. My father approached, came close up to her, raised his gun to
his shoulder, and was about to fire, when the wolf suddenly disappeared.
He thought that the snow on the ground must have dazzled his sight, and
he let down his gun to look for the beast--but she was gone; how she
could have escaped over the clearance, without his seeing her, was
beyond his comprehension. Mortified at the ill success of his chase, he
was about to retrace his steps, when he heard the distant sound of a
horn. Astonishment at such a sound--at such an hour--in such a
wilderness, made him forget for the moment his disappointment, and he
remained riveted to the spot. In a minute the horn was blown a second
time, and at no great distance; my father stood still, and listened: a
third time it was blown. I forget the term used to express it, but it
was the signal which, my father well knew, implied that the party was
lost in the woods. In a few minutes more my father beheld a man on
horseback, with a female seated on the crupper, enter the cleared space,
and ride up to him. At first, my father called to mind the strange
stories which he had heard of the supernatural beings who were said to
frequent these mountains; but the nearer approach of the parties
satisfied him that they were mortals like himself. As soon as they came
up to him, the man who guided the horse accosted him. `Friend Hunter,
you are out late, the better fortune for us; we have ridden far, and are
in fear of our lives which are eagerly sought after. These mountains
have enabled us to elude our pursuers; but if we find not shelter and
refreshment, that will avail us little, as we must perish from hunger
and the inclemency of the night. My daughter, who rides behind me, is
now more dead than alive--say, can you assist us in our difficulty?'
"`My cottage is some few miles distant,' replied my father, `but I have
little to offer you besides a shelter from the weather; to the little I
have you are welcome. May I ask whence you come?'
"`Yes, friend, it is no secret now; we have escaped from Transylvania,
where my daughter's honour and my life were equally in jeopardy!'
"This information was quite enough to raise an interest in my father's
heart, he remembered his own escape; he remembered the loss of his
wife's honour, and the tragedy by which it was wound up. He
immediately, and warmly, offered all the assistance which he could
afford them.
"`There is no time to be lost then, good sir,' observed the horseman;
`my daughter is chilled with the frost, and cannot hold out much longer
against the severity of the weather.'
"`Follow me,' replied my father, leading the way towards his home.
"`I was lured away in pursuit of a large white wolf,' observed my
father; `it came to the very window of my hut, or I should not have been
out at this time of night.'
"`The creature passed by us just as we came out of the wood,' said the
female, in a silvery tone.
"`I was nearly discharging my piece at it,' observed the hunter; `but
since it did us such good service, I am glad I allowed it to escape.'
"In about an hour and a half, during which my father walked at a rapid
pace, the party arrived at the cottage, and, as I said before, came in.
"`We are in good time, apparently,' observed the dark hunter, catching
the smell of the roasted meat, as he walked to the fire and surveyed my
brother and sister, and myself. `You have young cooks here, Meinheer.'
`I am glad that we shall not have to wait,' replied my father. `Come,
mistress, seat yourself by the fire; you require warmth after your cold
ride.' `And where can I put up my horse, Meinheer?' observed the
huntsman. `I will take care of him,' replied my father, going out of
the cottage door.
"The female must, however, be particularly described. She was young,
and apparently twenty years of age. She was dressed in a
travelling-dress, deeply bordered with white fur, and wore a cap of
white ermine on her head. Her features were very beautiful, at least I
thought so, and so my father has since declared. Her hair was flaxen,
glossy, and shining, and bright as a mirror; and her mouth, although
somewhat large when it was open, showed the most brilliant teeth I have
ever beheld. But there was something about her eyes, bright as they
were, which made us children afraid; they were so restless, so furtive;
I could not at that time tell why, but I felt as if there was cruelty in
her eye; and when she beckoned us to come to her, we approached her with
fear and trembling. Still she was beautiful, very beautiful. She spoke
kindly to my brother and myself, patted our heads and caressed us; but
Marcella would not come near her; on the contrary, she slunk away, and
hid herself in the bed, and would not wait for the supper, which half an
hour before she had been so anxious for.
"My father, having put the horse into a close shed, soon returned, and
supper was placed upon the table. When it was over, my father requested
that the young lady would take possession of his bed, and he would
remain at the fire, and sit up with her father. After some hesitation
on her part, this arrangement was agreed to, and I and my brother crept
into the other bed with Marcella, for we had as yet always slept
together.
"But we could not sleep; there was something so unusual, not only in
seeing strange people, but in having those people sleep at the cottage,
that we were bewildered. As for poor little Marcella, she was quiet,
but I perceived that she trembled during the whole night, and sometimes
I thought that she was checking a sob. My father had brought out some
spirits, which he rarely used, and he and the strange hunter remained
drinking and talking before the fire. Our ears were ready to catch the
slightest whisper--so much was our curiosity excited.
"`You said you came from Transylvania?' observed my father.
"`Even so, Meinheer,' replied the hunter. `I was a serf to the noble
house of ---; my master would insist upon my surrendering up my fair
girl to his wishes: it ended in my giving him a few inches of my
hunting-knife.'
"`We are countrymen, and brothers in misfortune,' replied my father,
taking the huntsman's hand, and pressing it warmly.
"`Indeed! Are you then from that country?'
"`Yes; and I too have fled for my life. But mine is a melancholy tale.'
"`Your name?' inquired the hunter.
"`Krantz.'
"`What! Krantz of ---? I have heard your tale; you need not renew your
grief by repeating it now. Welcome, most welcome, Meinheer, and, I may
say, my worthy kinsman. I am your second cousin, Wilfred of Barnsdorf,'
cried the hunter, rising up and embracing my father.
"They filled their horn-mugs to the brim, and drank to one another after
the German fashion. The conversation was then carried on in a low tone;
all that we could collect from it was that our new relative and his
daughter were to take up their abode in our cottage, at least for the
present. In about an hour they both fell back in their chairs and
appeared to sleep.
"`Marcella, dear, did you hear?' said my brother, in a low tone.
"`Yes,' replied Marcella in a whisper, `I heard all. Oh! brother, I
cannot bear to look upon that woman--I feel so frightened.'
"My brother made no reply, and shortly afterwards we were all three fast
asleep.
"When we awoke the next morning, we found that the hunter's daughter had
risen before us. I thought she looked more beautiful than ever. She
came up to little Marcella and caressed her: the child burst into tears,
and sobbed as if her heart would break.
"But, not to detain you with too long a story, the huntsman and his
daughter were accommodated in the cottage. My father and he went out
hunting daily, leaving Christina with us. She performed all the
household duties; was very kind to us children; and, gradually, the
dislike even of little Marcella wore away. But a great change took
place in my father; he appeared to have conquered his aversion to the
sex, and was most attentive to Christina. Often, after her father and
we were in bed would he sit up with her, conversing in a low tone by the
fire. I ought to have mentioned that my father and the huntsman
Wilfred, slept in another portion of the cottage, and that the bed which
he formerly occupied, and which was in the same room as ours, had been
given up to the use of Christina. These visitors had been about three
weeks at the cottage, when, one night, after we children had been sent
to bed, a consultation was held. My father had asked Christina in
marriage, and had obtained both her own consent and that of Wilfred;
after this, a conversation took place, which was, as nearly as I can
recollect, as follows.
"`You may take my child, Meinheer Krantz, and my blessing with her, and
I shall then leave you and seek some other habitation--it matters little
where.'
"`Why not remain here, Wilfred?'
"`No, no, I am called elsewhere; let that suffice, and ask no more
questions. You have my child.'
"`I thank you for her, and will duly value her; but there is one
difficulty.'
"`I know what you would say; there is no priest here in this wild
country: true; neither is there any law to bind; still must some
ceremony pass between you, to satisfy a father. Will you consent to
marry her after my fashion? if so, I will marry you directly.'
"`I will,' replied my father.
"`Then take her by the hand. Now, Meinheer, swear.'
"`I swear,' repeated my father.
"`By all the spirits of the Hartz mountains--'
"`Nay, why not by Heaven?' interrupted my father.
"`Because it is not my humour,' rejoined Wilfred; `if I prefer that
oath, less binding perhaps, than another, surely you will not thwart
me.'
"`Well be it so then; have your humour. Will you make me swear by that
in which I do not believe?'
"`Yet many do so, who in outward appearance are Christians,' rejoined
Wilfred; `say, will you be married, or shall I take my daughter away
with me?'
"`Proceed,' replied my father, impatiently.
"`I swear by all the spirits of the Hartz mountains, by all their power
for good or for evil, that I take Christina for my wedded wife; that I
will ever protect her, cherish her, and love her; that my hand shall
never be raised against her to harm her.'
"My father repeated the words after Wilfred.
"`And if I fail in this my vow, may all the vengeance of the spirits
fall upon me and upon my children; may they perish by the vulture, by
the wolf, or other beasts of the forest; may their flesh be torn from
their limbs, and their bones blanch in the wilderness: all this I
swear.'
"My father hesitated, as he repeated the last words; little Marcella
could not restrain herself, and as my father repeated the last sentence,
she burst into tears. This sudden interruption appeared to discompose
the party, particularly my father; he spoke harshly to the child, who
controlled her sobs, burying her face under the bed-clothes.
"Such was the second marriage of my father. The next morning, the
hunter Wilfred mounted his horse, and rode away.
"My father resumed his bed, which was in the same room as ours; and
things went on much as before the marriage, except that our new
mother-in-law did not show any kindness towards us; indeed during my
father's absence, she would often beat us, particularly little Marcella,
and her eyes would flash fire, as she looked eagerly upon the fair and
lovely child.
"One night, my sister awoke me and my brother.
"`What is the matter?' said Caesar.
"`She has gone out,' whispered Marcella.
"`Gone out!'
"`Yes, gone out at the door, in her night-clothes,' replied the child;
`I saw her get out of bed, look at my father to see if he slept, and
then she went out at the door.'
"What could induce her to leave her bed, and all undressed to go out, in
such bitter wintry weather, with the snow deep on the ground was to us
incomprehensible; we lay awake, and in about an hour we heard the growl
of a wolf, close under the window.
"`There is a wolf,' said Caesar. `She will be torn to pieces.'
"`Oh no!' cried Marcella.
"In a few minutes afterwards our mother-in-law appeared; she was in her
night-dress, as Marcella had stated. She let down the latch of the
door, so as to make no noise, went to a pail of water, and washed her
face and hands, and then slipped into the bed where my father lay.
"We all three trembled--we hardly knew why; but we resolved to watch the
next night: we did so; and not only on the ensuing night, but on many
others, and always at about the same hour, would our mother-in-law rise
from her bed and leave the cottage; and after she was gone we invariably
heard the growl of a wolf under our window, and always saw her, on her
return, wash herself before she retired to bed. We observed also that
she seldom sat down to meals, and that when she did she appeared to eat
with dislike; but when the meat was taken down to be prepared for
dinner, she would often furtively put a raw piece into her mouth.
"My brother Caesar was a courageous boy; he did not like to speak to my
father until he knew more. He resolved that he would follow her out,
and ascertain what she did. Marcella and I endeavoured to dissuade him
from this project; but he would not be controlled; and the very next
night he lay down in his clothes, and as soon as our mother-in-law had
left the cottage he jumped up, took down my father's gun, and followed
her.
"You may imagine in what a state of suspense Marcella and I remained
during his absence. After a few minutes we heard the report of a gun.
It did not awaken my father; and we lay trembling with anxiety. In a
minute afterwards we saw our mother-in-law enter the cottage--her dress
was bloody. I put my hand to Marcella's mouth to prevent her crying
out, although I was myself in great alarm. Our mother-in-law approached
my father's bed, looked to see if he was asleep, and then went to the
chimney and blew up the embers into a blaze.
"`Who is there?' said my father, waking up.
"`Lie still, dearest,' replied my mother-in-law; `it is only me; I have
lighted the fire to warm some water; I am not quite well.'
"My father turned round, and was soon asleep; but we hatched our
mother-in-law. She changed her linen, and threw the garments she had
worn into the fire; and we then perceived that her right leg was
bleeding profusely, as if from a gun-shot wound. She bandaged it up,
and then dressing herself, remained before the fire until the break of
day.
"Poor little Marcella, her heart beat quick as she pressed me to her
side--so indeed did mine. Where was our brother Caesar? How did my
mother-in-law receive the wound unless from his gun? At last my father
rose, and then for the first time I spoke, saying, `Father, where is my
brother Caesar?'
"`Your brother!' exclaimed he; `why, where can he be?'
"`Merciful Heaven! I thought, as lay very restless last night,'
observed our mother-in-law, `that I heard somebody open the latch of the
door; and, dear me, husband, what has become of your gun?'
"My father cast his eyes up above the chimney, and perceived that his
gun was missing. For a moment he looked perplexed; then, seizing a
broad axe, he went out of the cottage without saying another word.
"He did not remain away from us long; in a few minutes he returned,
bearing in his arms the mangled body of my poor brother; he laid it
down, and covered up his face.
"My mother-in-law rose up, and looked at the body, while Marcella and I
threw ourselves by its side, wailing and sobbing bitterly.
"`Go to bed again, children,' said she, sharply. `Husband,' continued
she, `your boy must have taken the gun down, to shoot a wolf, and the
animal has been too powerful for him. Poor boy! he has paid dearly for
his rashness.'
"My father made no reply. I wished to speak--to tell all--but Marcella
who perceived my intention, held me by the arm, and looked at me so
imploringly, that I desisted.
"My father, therefore, was left in his error; but Marcella and I,
although we could not comprehend it, were conscious that our
mother-in-law was in some way connected with my brother's death.
"That day my father went out and dug a grave; and when he hid the body
in the earth, he piled up stones over it so that the wolves should not
be able to dig it up. The shock of this catastrophe was to my poor
father very severe; for several days he never went to the chase,
although at times he would utter bitter anathemas and vengeance against
the wolves.
"But during this time of mourning on his part, my mother-in-law's
nocturnal wanderings continued with the same regularity as before.
"At last my father took down his gun to repair to the forest; but he
soon returned, and appeared much annoyed.
"`Would you believe it, Christina, that the wolves--perdition to the
whole race--have actually contrived to dig up the body of my poor boy,
and now there is nothing left of him but his bones?'
"`Indeed!' replied my mother-in-law. Marcella looked at me; and I saw
in her intelligent eye all she would have uttered.
"`A wolf growls under our window every night, father,' said I.
"`Ay, indeed! Why did you not tell me, boy? Wake me the next time you
hear it.'
"I saw my mother-in-law turn away; her eyes flashed fire, and she
gnashed her teeth.
"My father went out again, and covered up with a larger pile of stones
the little remnants of my poor brother which the wolves had spared.
Such was the first act of the tragedy.
"The spring now came on; the snow disappeared, and we were permitted to
leave the cottage; but never would I quit for one moment my dear little
sister, to whom since the death of my brother, I was more ardently
attached than ever; indeed, I was afraid to leave her alone with my
mother-in-law, who appeared to have a particular pleasure in
ill-treating the child. My father was now employed upon his little
farm, and I was able to render him some assistance.
"Marcella used to sit by us while we were at work, leaving my
mother-in-law alone in the cottage. I ought to observe that, as the
spring advanced, so did my mother-in-law decrease her nocturnal rambles,
and that we never heard the growl of the wolf under the window after I
had spoken of it to my father.
"One day, when my father and I were in the field, Marcella being with
us, my mother-in-law came out, saying that she was going into the forest
to collect some herbs my father wanted, and that Marcella must go to the
cottage and watch the dinner. Marcella went; and my mother-in-law soon
disappeared in the forest, taking a direction quite contrary to that in
which the cottage stood, and leaving my father and I, as it were,
between her and Marcella.
"About an hour afterwards we were startled by shrieks from the cottage--
evidently the shrieks of little Marcella. `Marcella has burnt herself,
father,' said I, throwing down my spade. My father threw down his, and
we both hastened to the cottage. Before we could gain the door, out
darted a large white wolf, which fled with the utmost celerity. My
father had no weapon; he rushed into the cottage, and there saw poor
little Marcella expiring. Her body was dreadfully mangled, and the
blood pouring from it had formed a large pool on the cottage floor. My
father's first intention had been to seize his gun and pursue; but he
was checked by this horrid spectacle; he knelt down by his dying child,
and burst into tears. Marcella could just look kindly on us for a few
seconds, and then her eyes were closed in death.
"My father and I were still hanging over my poor sister's body, when my
mother-in-law came in. At the dreadful sight she expressed much
concern; but she did not appear to recoil from the sight of blood, as
most women do.
"`Poor child!' said she, `it must have been that great white wolf which
passed me just now, and frightened me so. She's quite dead, Krantz.'
"`I know it--I know it!' cried my father, in agony.
"I thought my father would never recover from the effects of this second
tragedy; he mourned bitterly over the body of his sweet child, and for
several days would not consign it to its grave, although frequently
requested by my mother-in-law to do so. At last he yielded, and dug a
grave for her close by that of my poor brother, and took every
precaution that the wolves should not violate her remains.
"I was now really miserable, as I lay alone in the bed which I had
formerly shared with my brother and sister. I could not help thinking
that my mother-in-law was implicated in both their deaths, although I
could not account for the manner; but I no longer felt afraid of her; my
little heart was full of hatred and revenge.
"The night after my sister had been buried, as I lay awake, I perceived
my mother-in-law get up and go out of the cottage. I waited some time,
then dressed myself, and looked out through the door, which I half
opened. The moon shone bright and I could see the spot where my brother
and my sister had been buried; and what was my horror when I perceived
my mother-in-law busily removing the stones from Marcella's grave!
"She was in her white night-dress and the moon shone full upon her. She
was digging with her hands, and throwing away the stones behind her with
all the ferocity of a wild beast. It was some time before I could
collect my senses, and decide what I should do. At last I perceived
that she had arrived at the body, and raised it up to the side of the
grave. I could bear it no longer, I ran to my father and awoke him.
"`Father, father!' cried I, `dress yourself, and get your gun.'
"`What!' cried my father, `the wolves are there, are they?'
"He jumped out of bed, threw on his clothes, and, in his anxiety, did
not appear to perceive the absence of his wife. As soon as he was ready
I opened the door; he went out, and I followed him.
"Imagine his horror, when (unprepared as he was for such a sight) he
beheld, as he advanced towards the grave not a wolf, but his wife, in
her night-dress, on her hands and knees, crouching by the body of my
sister, and tearing off large pieces of the flesh, and devouring them
with all the avidity of a wolf. She was too busy to be aware of our
approach. My father dropped his gun; his hair stood on end, so did
mine; he breathed heavily, and then his breath for a time stopped. I
picked up the gun and put it into his hand. Suddenly he appeared as if
concentrated rage had restored him to double vigour; he levelled his
piece, fired, and with a loud shriek down fell the wretch whom he had
fostered in his bosom.
"`God of Heaven!' cried my father, sinking down upon the earth in a
swoon, as soon as he had discharged his gun.
"I remained some time by his side before he recovered. `Where am I?'
said he, `what has happened? Oh!--yes, yes! I recollect now. Heaven
forgive me!'
"He rose and we walked up to the grave; what again was our astonishment
and horror to find that, instead of the dead body of my mother-in-law,
as we expected, there was lying over the remains of my poor sister, a
large white she-wolf.
"`The white wolf!' exclaimed my father, `the white wolf which decoyed me
into the forest--I see it all now--I have dealt with the spirits of the
Hartz Mountains.'
"For some time my father remained in silence and deep thought. He then
carefully lifted up the body of my sister, replaced it in the grave, an
covered it over as before, having struck the head of the dead animal
with the heel of his boot, and raving like a madman. He walked back to
the cottage, shut the door, and threw himself on the bed; I did the
same, for I was in a stupor of amazement.
"Early in the morning we were both roused by a loud knocking at the
door, and in rushed the hunter Wilfred.
"`My daughter--man--my daughter!--where is my daughter?' cried he in a
rage.
"`Where the wretch, the fiend, should be, I trust,' replied my father,
starting up, and displaying equal choler; `where she should be--in hell!
Leave this cottage, or you may fare worse.'
"`Ha--ha!' replied the hunter, `would you harm a potent spirit of the
Hartz Mountains. Poor mortal, who must needs wed a were wolf.'
"`Out, demon! I defy thee and thy power.'
"`Yet shall you feel it; remember your oath--your solemn oath--never to
raise your hand against her to harm her.'
"`I made no compact with evil spirits.'
"`You did, and if you failed in your vow, you were to meet the vengeance
of the spirits. Your children were to perish by the vulture, the
wolf--'
"`Out, out, demon!'
"`And their bones blanch in the wilderness. Ha!--ha!'
"My father, frantic with rage, seized his axe, and raised it over
Wilfred's head to strike.
"`All this I swear,' continued the huntsman, mockingly.
"The axe descended; but it passed through the form of the hunter, and my
father lost his balance, and tell heavily on the floor.
"`Mortal!' said the hunter, striding over my father's body, `we have
power over those only who have committed murder. You have been guilty
of a double murder: you shall pay the penalty attached to your marriage
vow. Two of your children are gone, the third is yet to follow--and
follow them he will, for your oath is registered. Go--it were kindness
to kill thee--your punishment is, that you live!'
"With these words the spirit disappeared. My father rose from the
floor, embraced me tenderly, and knelt down in prayer.
"The next morning he quitted the cottage for ever. He took me with him,
and bent his steps to Holland, where we safely arrived. He had some
little money with him; but he had not been many days in Amsterdam before
he was seized with a brain fever, and died raving mad. I was put into
the asylum, and afterwards was sent to sea before the mast. You now
know all my history. The question is, whether I am to pay the penalty
of my father's oath? I am myself perfectly convinced that, in some way
or another, I shall."
On the twenty-second day the high land of the south of Sumatra was in
view: as there were no vessels in sight, they resolved to keep their
course through the Straits, and run for Pulo Penang, which they
expected, as their vessel lay so close to the wind, to reach in seven or
eight days. By constant exposure Philip and Krantz were now so bronzed
that with their long beards and Mussulman dresses, they might easily
have passed off for natives. They had steered the whole of the days
exposed to a burning sun; they had lain down and slept in the dew of the
night; but their health had not suffered. But for several days, since
he had confided the history of his family to Philip, Krantz had become
silent and melancholy: his usual flow of spirits had vanished and Philip
had often questioned him as to the cause. As they entered the Straits,
Philip talked of what they should do upon their arrival at Goa; when
Krantz gravely replied, "For some days, Philip, I have had a
presentiment that I shall never see that city."
"You are out of health, Krantz," replied Philip.
"No, I am in sound health, body and mind. I have endeavoured to shake
off the presentiment, but in vain; there is a warning voice that
continually tells me that I shall not be long with you. Philip, will
you oblige me by making me content on one point? I have gold about my
person which may be useful to you; oblige me by taking it, and securing
it on your own."
"What nonsense, Krantz."
"It is no nonsense, Philip. Have on not had your warnings? Why should
I not have mine? You know that I have little fear in my composition,
and that I care not about death; but I feel the presentiment which I
speak of more strongly every hour. It is some kind spirit who would
warn me to prepare for another world. Be it so. I have lived long
enough in this world to leave it without regret; although to part with
you and Amine, the only two now dear to me, is painful, I acknowledge."
"May not this arise from over-exertion and fatigue, Krantz? Consider
how much excitement you have laboured under within these last four
months. Is not that enough to create a corresponding depression?
Depend upon it, my dear friend, such is the fact."
"I wish it were; but I feel otherwise, and there is a feeling of
gladness connected with the idea that I am to leave this world arising
from another presentiment, which equally occupies my mind."
"I hardly can tell you--but Amine and you are connected with it. In my
dreams I have seen you meet again; but it has appeared to me as if a
portion of your trial was purposely shut from my sight in dark clouds;
and I have asked, `May not I see what is there concealed?'--and an
invisible has answered, `No! 'twould make you wretched. Before these
trials take place, you will be summoned away:' and then I have thanked
Heaven, and felt resigned."
"These are the imaginings of a disturbed brain, Krantz; that I am
destined to suffering may be true; but why Amine should suffer, or why
you, young, in full health and vigour should not pass your days in
peace, and live to a good old age, there is no cause for believing. You
will be better tomorrow."
"Perhaps so," replied Krantz; "but still you must yield to my whim, and
take the gold; If I am wrong, and we do arrive safe, you know, Philip,
you can let me have it back," observed Krantz, with a faint smile--"but
you forget, our water is nearly out, and we must look out for a rill on
the coast to obtain a fresh supply."
"I was thinking of that when you commenced this unwelcome topic. We had
better look out for the water before dark, and as soon as we have
replenished our jars, we will make sail again."
At the time that this conversation took place, they were on the eastern
side of the strait, about forty miles to the northward. The interior of
the coast was rocky and mountainous; but it slowly descended to low land
of alternate forest and jungles, which continued to the beach: the
country appeared to be uninhabited. Keeping close in to the shore, they
discovered, after two hours' run, a fresh stream which burst in a
cascade from the mountains, and swept its devious course through the
jungle, until it poured its tribute into the waters of the strait.
They ran close in to the mouth of the stream, lowered the sails, and
pulled the peroqua against the current, until they had advanced far
enough to assure them that the water was quite fresh. The jars were
soon filled, and they were again thinking of pushing off; when, enticed
by the beauty of the spot, the coolness of the fresh water, and wearied
with their long confinement on board of the peroqua, they proposed to
bathe--a luxury hardly to be appreciated by those who have not been in a
similar situation. They threw off their Mussulman dresses, and plunged
into the stream, where they remained for some time. Krantz was the
first to get out: he complained of feeling chilled, and he walked on to
the banks where their clothes had been laid. Philip also approached
nearer to the beach intending to follow him.
"And now, Philip," said Krantz, "this will be a good opportunity for me
to give you the money. I will open my sash and pour it out, and you can
put it into your own before you put it on."
Philip was standing in the water, which was about level with his waist.
"Well, Krantz," said he, "I suppose if it must be so, it must--but it
appears to me an idea so ridiculous--however, you shall have your own
way."
Philip quitted the run, and sat down by Krantz, who was already busy in
shaking the doubloons out of the folds of his sash. At last he said--
"I believe, Philip, you have got them all now?--I feel satisfied."
"What danger there can be to you, which I am not equally exposed to, I
cannot conceive," replied Philip; "however--"
Hardly had he said these words, when there was a tremendous roar--a rush
like a mighty wind through the air--a blow which threw him on his back--
a loud cry--and a contention. Philip recovered himself, and perceived
the naked form of Krantz carried off with the speed of an arrow by an
enormous tiger through the jungle. He watched with distended eyeballs;
in a few seconds the animal and Krantz had disappeared!
"God of Heaven! would that thou hadst spared me this," cried Philip,
throwing himself down in agony on his face. "Oh! Krantz, my friend--my
brother--too sure was your presentiment. Merciful God! have pity--but
thy will be done;" and Philip burst into a flood of tears.
For more than an hour did he remain fixed upon the spot, careless and
indifferent to the danger by which he was surrounded. At last, somewhat
recovered, he rose, dressed himself, and then again sat down--his eyes
fixed upon the clothes of Krantz, and the gold which a on the sand.
"He would give me that gold. He foretold his doom. Yes! yes! it was
his destiny, and it has been fulfilled. _His bones will bleach in the
wilderness_, and the spirit-hunter and his wolfish daughter are
avenged."
The shades of evening now set in, and the low growling of the beasts of
the forest recalled Philip to a sense of his own danger. He thought of
Amine; and hastily making the clothes of Krantz and the doubloons into a
package, he stepped into the peroqua, with difficulty shoved it off, and
with a melancholy heart, and in silence, hoisted the sail, and pursued
his course.
"Yes, Amine," thought Philip, as he watched the stars twinkling and
coruscating; "yes, you are right, when you assert that the destinies of
men are foreknown, and may by some be read. My destiny is, alas! that I
should be severed from all I value upon earth? and die friendless and
alone. Then welcome death, if such is to be the case; welcome--a
thousand welcomes! what a relief wilt thou be to me! what joy to find
myself summoned to where the weary are at rest! I have my task to
fulfil. God grant that it may soon be accomplished, and let not my life
be embittered by any more trials such as this."
Again did Philip weep, for Krantz had been his long-tried, valued
friend? his partner in all his dangers and privations, from the period
that they had met when the Dutch fleet attempted the passage round Cape
Horn.
After seven days of painful watching and brooding over bitter thoughts,
Philip arrived at Pulo Penang, where he found a vessel about to sail for
the city to which he was destined. He ran his peroqua alongside of her,
and found that she was a brig under the Portuguese flag, having,
however, but two Portuguese on board, the rest of the crew being
natives. Representing himself as am Englishman in the Portuguese
service, who had been wrecked, and offering to pay for his passage, he
was willingly received, and in a few days the vessel sailed.
Their voyage was prosperous; in six weeks they anchored in the roads of
Goa; the next day they went up the river. The Portuguese captain
informed Philip where he might obtain lodging; and passing him off as
one of his crew, there was no difficulty raised as to his landing.
Having located himself at his new lodging, Philip commenced some
inquiries of his host relative to Amine, designating her merely as a
young woman who had arrived there in a vessel some weeks before but he
could obtain no information concerning her. "Signor," said the host,
"to-morrow is the grand _auto-da-fe_; we can do nothing until that is
over; afterwards, I will put you in the way to find out what you wish.
In the mean time, you can walk about the town; to-morrow I will take you
to where you can behold the grand procession, and then we will try what
we can do to assist you in your search."
Philip went out, procured a suit of clothes, removed his beard, and then
walked about the town, looking up at every window to see if he could
perceive Amine. At a corner of one of the streets, he thought he
recognised Father Mathias, and ran up to him; but the monk had drawn his
cowl over his head, and when addressed by that name, made no reply.
"I was deceived," thought Philip; "but I really thought it was him."
And Philip was right; it was Father Mathias, who thus screened himself
from Philip's recognition.
Tired, at last he returned to his hotel, just before it was dark. The
company there were numerous; everybody for miles distant had come to Goa
to witness the _auto-da-fe_,--and everybody was discussing the ceremony.
"I will see this grand procession," said Philip to himself, as he threw
himself on his bed. "It will drive thought from me for a time; and God
knows how painful my thoughts have now become. Amine, dear Amine, may
angels guard thee!"