In a few minutes the vessel which Philip and Schriften had left was no
longer to be discerned through the thick haze; the Phantom Ship was
still in sight, but at a much greater distance from them than she was
before. Philip pulled hard towards her, but although hove to, she
appeared to increase her distance from the boat. For a short time he
paused on his oars, to regain his breath, when Schriften rose up and
took his seat in the stern-sheets of the boat. "You may pull and pull,
Philip Vanderdecken," observed Schriften; "but you will not gain that
ship--no, no, that cannot be--we may have a long cruise together, but
you will be as far from your object at the end of it, as you are now at
the commencement.--Why don't you throw me overboard again? You would be
all the lighter--He! he!"
"I threw you overboard in a state of phrenzy," replied Philip, "when you
attempted to force from me my relic."
"And have I not endeavoured to make others take it from you this very
day?--Have I not--He! he!"
"You have," rejoined Philip; "but I am now convinced that you are as
unhappy as myself, and that in what you are doing, you are only
following 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 my
endeavours depends upon guarding the relic, the success of yours depends
upon your obtaining it, and defeating my purpose by so doing. In this
matter we are both agents, and you have been, as far as my mission is
concerned, my most active enemy. But, Schriften, I have not forgotten,
and never will, that you kindly _did advise_ my poor Amine; that you
prophesied to her what would be her fate, if she did not listen to your
counsel; that you were no enemy of hers, although you have been and are
still mine. Although my enemy, for her sake I _forgive you_, and will
not attempt to harm you."
"You do then _forgive your enemy_, Philip Vanderdecken?" replied
Schriften, 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 me
your friend, and your wishes are about to be accomplished. You would
know 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 being
cancelled, through the merits of his Son. I had also my appeal, which
was for _vengeance_; it was granted that I should remain on earth, and
thwart your will. That as long as we were enemies, you should not
succeed; but that when you had conformed to the highest attribute of
Christianity, proved on the holy cross, that of _forgiving your enemy_,
your task should be fulfilled. Philip Vanderdecken, you have forgiven
your enemy, and both our destinies are now accomplished."
As Schriften spoke, Philip's eyes were fixed upon him. He extended his
hand to Philip--it was taken; and as it was pressed, the form of the
pilot 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, and
that I again may meet my Amine."
Philip then pulled towards the Phantom Ship, and found that she no
longer appeared to leave; on the contrary, every minute he was nearer
and nearer and at last, he threw in his oars, climbed up her sides and
gained 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; and
the 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 grey
hairs."
"Well, sir, here he is coming forward," replied the mate, stepping aside
and 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 was
only three years old; yet may you remember a letter which you gave to
your wife."
"Ha!" replied the captain; "and who, then, are you?"
"Time has stopped with you, but with those who live in the world he
stops not; and for those who pass a life of misery, he hurries on still
faster. In me behold your son, Philip Vanderdecken, who has obeyed your
wishes; 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 precious
relic that he required to kiss."
Philip drew out the relic, and held it towards his father. As if a
flash of lightning had passed through his mind, the captain of the
vessel started back, clasped his hands, fell on his knees, and wept.
"My son, my son!" exclaimed he, rising and throwing himself into
Philip's arms; "my eyes are opened--the Almighty knows how long they
have been obscured." Embracing each other, they walked aft, away from
the men, who were still crowded at the gangway.
"My son, my noble son, before the charm is broken--before we resolve, as
we must, into the elements, oh! let me kneel in thanksgiving and
contrition: my son, my noble son, receive a father's thanks," exclaimed
Vanderdecken. Then with tears of joy and penitence he humbly addressed
himself to that Being, whom he once so awfully defied.
The elder Vanderdecken knelt down: Philip did the same; still embracing
each other with one arm, while they raised on high the other, and
prayed.
For the last time the relic was taken from the bosom of Philip and
handed to his father--and his father raised his eyes to heaven and
kissed it. And, as he kissed it, the long tapering upper spars of the
Phantom 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 and
disappeared.
Again he raised the relic to his lips and the work of destruction
continued--the heavy iron guns sunk through the decks and disappeared;
the crew of the vessel (who were looking on) crumbled down into
skeletons, and dust, and fragments of ragged garments; and there were
none left on board the vessel in the semblance of life but the father
and son.
Once more did he put the sacred emblem to his lips, and the beams and
timbers separated, the decks of the vessel slowly sank, and the remnants
of the hull floated upon the water; and as the father and son--the one
young and vigorous, the other old and decrepit--still kneeling, still
embracing, with their hands raised to heaven, sank slowly under the deep
blue wave, the lurid sky was for a moment illumined by a lightning
cross. Then did the clouds which obscured the heavens roll away swift
as thought--the sun again burst out in all his splendour--the rippling
waves appeared to dance with joy. The screaming sea-gull again whirled
in the air, and the scared albatross once more slumbered on the wing.
The porpoise tumbled and tossed in his sportive play, the albicore and
dolphin leaped from the sparkling sea.--All nature smiled as if it
rejoiced that the charm was dissolved for ever, and that "THE PHANTOM
SHIP" WAS NO MORE.