It was about three months after this conversation that Amine and
Philip were again seated upon the mossy bank which we have mentioned,
and which had become their favourite resort. Father Mathias had
contracted a great intimacy with Father Seysen, and the two priests
were almost as inseparable as were Philip and Amine. Having determined
to wait a summons previous to Philip's again entering upon his strange
and fearful task; and, happy in the possession of each other, the
subject was seldom revived. Philip, who had, on his return, expressed
his wish to the Directors of the Company for immediate employment,
and, if possible, to have the command of a vessel, had, since that
period, taken no further steps, nor had any communication with
Amsterdam.
"I am fond of this bank, Philip," said Amine; "I appear to have formed
an intimacy with it. It was here, if you recollect, that we debated
the subject of the lawfulness of inducing dreams; and it was here,
dear Philip, that you told me your dream, and that I expounded it."
"You did so, Amine; but if you ask the opinion of Father Seysen, you
will find that he would give rather a strong decision against you--he
would call it heretical and damnable."
"Let him, if he pleases. I have no objection to tell him."
"I pray not, Amine; let the secret remain with ourselves only."
"Think you Father Mathias would blame me?"
"I certainly do."
"Well, I do not; there is a kindness and liberality about the old man
that I admire. I should like to argue the question with him."
As Amine spoke, Philip felt something touch his shoulder, and a sudden
chill ran through his frame. In a moment his ideas reverted to the
probable cause: he turned round his head, and, to his amazement,
beheld the (supposed to be drowned) mate of the _Ter Schilling_, the
one-eyed Schriften, who stood behind him, with a letter in his hand.
The sudden appearance of this malignant wretch induced Philip to
exclaim, "Merciful heaven! is it possible?"
Amine, who had turned her head round at the exclamation of Philip,
covered up her face, and burst into tears. It was not fear that caused
this unusual emotion on her part, but the conviction that her husband
was never to be at rest but in the grave.
"Philip Vanderdecken," said Schriften, "he! he! I've a letter for
you--it is from the Company."
Philip took the letter, but, previous to opening it, he fixed his eyes
upon Schriften. "I thought," said he, "that you were drowned when the
ship was wrecked in False Bay. How did you escape?"
"How did I escape?" replied Schriften. "Allow me to ask how did you
escape?"
"I was thrown up by the waves," replied Philip; "but--"
"But," interrupted Schriften, "he! he! the waves ought _not_ to have
thrown me up."
"And why not, pray? I did not say that."
"No! but I presume you wish it had been so; but, on the contrary,
I escaped in the same way that you did--I was thrown up by the
waves--he! he! but I can't wait here. I have done my bidding."
"Stop," replied Philip; answer me one question. "Do you sail in the
same vessel with me this time?"
"I'd rather be excused," replied Schriften; "I am not looking for the
Phantom Ship, Mynheer Vanderdecken;" and, with this reply, the little
man turned round and went away at a rapid pace.
"Is not this a summons, Amine?" said Philip, after a pause, still
holding the letter in his hand, with the seal unbroken.
"I will not deny it, dearest Philip. It is most surely so; the hateful
messenger appears to have risen from the grave that he might deliver
it. Forgive me, Philip; but I was taken by surprise. I will not again
annoy you with a woman's weakness."
"My poor Amine," replied Philip, mournfully. "Alas! why did I not
perform my pilgrimage alone? It was selfish of me to link you with
so much wretchedness, and join you with me in bearing the fardel of
never-ending anxiety and suspense."
"And who should bear it with you, my dearest Philip, if it is not the
wife of your bosom? You little know my heart if you think I shrink
from the duty. No, Philip, it is a pleasure, even in its most acute
pangs; for I consider that I am, by partaking with, relieving you of a
portion of your sorrow, and I feel proud that I am the wife of one who
has been selected to be so peculiarly tried. But, dearest, no more of
this. You must read the letter."
Philip did not answer. He broke the seal, and found that the letter
intimated to him that he was appointed as first mate to the _Vrow
Katerina_, a vessel which sailed with the next fleet; and requesting
he would join as quickly as possible, as she would soon be ready to
receive her cargo. The letter which was from the secretary, further
informed him that, after this voyage, he might be certain of having
the command of a vessel as captain, upon conditions which would be
explained when he called upon the Board.
"I thought, Philip, that you had requested the command of a vessel for
this voyage," observed Amine, mournfully.
"I did," replied Philip; "but not having followed up my application,
it appears not to have been attended to. It has been my own fault."
"And now it is too late?"
"Yes, dearest, most assuredly so: but it matters not; I would as
willingly, perhaps rather, sail this voyage as first mate."
"Philip, I may as well speak now. That I am disappointed, I must
confess; I fully expected that you would have had the command of a
vessel, and you may remember that I exacted a promise from you, on
this very bank upon which we now sit, at the time that you told me
your dream. That promise I shall still exact, and I now tell you what
I had intended to ask. It was, my dear Philip, permission to sail
with you. With you, I care for nothing. I can be happy under every
privation or danger; but to be left alone for so long, brooding over
my painful thoughts, devoured by suspense, impatient, restless, and
incapable of applying to any one thing--that, dear Philip, is the
height of misery, and that is what I feel when you are absent.
Recollect, I have your promise, Philip. As captain, you have the means
of receiving your wife on board. I am bitterly disappointed in being
left this time; do, therefore, to a certain degree, console me by
promising that I shall sail with you next voyage, if Heaven permit
your return."
"I promise it, Amine, since you are so earnest. I can refuse you
nothing; but I have a foreboding that yours and my happiness will be
wrecked for ever. I am not a visionary, but it does appear to me that,
strangely mixed up as I am, at once with this world and the next, some
little portion of futurity is opened to me. I have given my promise,
Amine, but from it I would fain be released."
"And if ill _do_ come, Philip, it is our destiny. Who can avert fate?"
"Amine, we are free agents, and to a certain extent are permitted to
direct our own destinies."
"Ay, so would Father Seysen fain have made me believe; but what he
said in support of his assertion was to me incomprehensible. And yet
he said that it was a part of the Catholic faith. It may be so--I am
unable to understand many other points. I wish your faith were made
more simple. As yet the good man--for good he really is--has only led
me into doubt."
"Passing through doubt, you will arrive at conviction, Amine."
"Perhaps so," replied Amine; "but it appears to me that I am as yet
but on the outset of my journey. But come, Philip, let us return. You
must to Amsterdam, and I will go with you. After your labours of the
day, at least until you sail, your Amine's smiles must still enliven
you. Is it not so?"
"Yes, dearest, I would have proposed it. I wonder much how Schriften
could come here. I did not see his body it is certain, but his escape
is to me miraculous. Why did he not appear when saved? where could he
have been? What think you, Amine?"
"What I have long thought, Philip. He is a ghoul with an evil eye,
permitted for some cause to walk the earth in human form; and, is,
certainly, in some way, connected with your strange destiny. If it
requires anything to convince me of the truth of all that has passed,
it is his appearance--the wretched Afrit! Oh, that I had my mother's
powers!--but I forget; it displeases you, Philip, that I ever talk of
such things, and I am silent."
Philip replied not; and absorbed in their own meditations they walked
back in silence to the cottage. Although Philip had made up his own
mind, he immediately sent the Portuguese priest to summon Father
Seysen, that he might communicate with them and take their opinion as
to the summons he had received. Having entered into a fresh detail of
the supposed death of Schriften, and his reappearance as a messenger,
he then left the two priests to consult together, and went upstairs to
Amine. It was more than two hours before Philip was called down, and
Father Seysen appeared to be in a state of great perplexity.
"My son," said he, "we are much perplexed. We had hoped that our ideas
upon this strange communication were correct, and that, allowing all
that you have obtained from your mother and have seen yourself to have
been no deception, still that it was the work of the evil one; and, if
so, our prayers and masses would have destroyed this power. We advised
you to wait another summons, and you have received it. The letter
itself is of course nothing, but the reappearance of the bearer of the
letter is the question to be considered. Tell me, Philip, what is your
opinion on this point? It is possible he might have been saved--why
not as well as yourself?"
"I acknowledge the possibility, Father," replied Philip; "he may have
been cast on shore and have wandered in another direction. It is
possible, although anything but probable; but since you ask me
my opinion, I must say candidly that I consider he is no earthly
messenger--nay, I am sure of it. That he is mysteriously connected
with my destiny is certain. But who he is, and what he is, of course I
cannot tell."
"Then, my son, we have come to the determination, in this instance,
not to advise. You must act now upon your own responsibility and your
own judgment. In what way soever you may decide we shall not blame
you. Our prayers shall be that Heaven may still have you in its holy
keeping."
"My decision, holy Father, is to obey the summons."
"Be it so, my son; something may occur which may assist to work
out the mystery,--a mystery which I acknowledge to be beyond my
comprehension, and of too painful a nature for me to dwell upon."
Philip said no more, for he perceived that the priest was not at all
inclined to converse. Father Mathias took this opportunity of thanking
Philip for his hospitality and kindness, and stated his intention of
returning to Lisbon by the first opportunity that might offer.
In a few days Amine and Philip took leave of the priests, and quitted
for Amsterdam--Father Seysen taking charge of the cottage until
Amine's return. On his arrival, Philip called upon the Directors of
the Company, who promised him a ship on his return from the voyage he
was about to enter upon, making a condition that he should become part
owner of the vessel. To this Philip consented, and then went down to
visit the _Vrow Katerina_, the ship to which he had been appointed as
first mate. She was still unrigged, and the fleet was not expected
to sail for two months. Only part of the crew were on board, and the
captain, who lived at Dort, had not yet arrived.
So far as Philip could judge, the _Vrow Katerina_ was a very inferior
vessel; she was larger than many of the others, but old, and badly
constructed; nevertheless, as she had been several voyages to the
Indies, and had returned in safety, it was to be presumed that she
would not have been taken up by the Company if they had not been
satisfied as to her seaworthiness. Having given a few directions to
the men who were on board, Philip returned to the hostelry where he
had secured apartments for himself and Amine.
The next day, as Philip was superintending the fitting of the rigging,
the captain of the _Vrow Katerina_ arrived, and, stepping on board of
her by the plank which communicated with the quay, the first thing
that he did was to run to the mainmast and embrace it with both arms,
although there was no small portion of tallow on it to smear the cloth
of his coat. "Oh; my dear Vrow, my Katerina!" cried he, as if he were
speaking to a female. "How do you do? I'm glad to see you again; you
have been quite well, I hope? You do not like being laid up in this
way. Never mind, my dear creature! you shall soon be handsome again."
The name of this personage who thus made love to his vessel, was
Wilhelm Barentz. He was a young man, apparently not thirty years of
age, of diminutive stature and delicate proportions. His face was
handsome, but womanish. His movements were rapid and restless, and
there was that appearance in his eye which would have warranted the
supposition that he was a little flighty, even if his conduct had not
fully proved the fact.
No sooner were the ecstacies of the captain over than Philip
introduced himself to him, and informed him of his appointment. "Oh!
you are the first mate of the _Vrow Katerina_. Sir, you are a very
fortunate man. Next to being captain of her, first mate is the most
enviable situation in the world."
"Certainly not on account of her beauty," observed Philip; "she may
have many other good qualities."
"Not on account of her beauty! Why, sir, I say (as my father has said
before me, and it was his Vrow before it was mine) that she is the
handsomest vessel in the world. At present you cannot judge; and
besides being the handsomest vessel, she has every good quality under
the sun."
"I am glad to hear it, sir," replied Philip; "it proves that one
should never judge by appearances. But is she not very old?"
"Old! not more than twenty-eight years--just in her prime. Stop, my
dear sir, till you see her dancing on the waters, and then you will do
nothing all day but discourse with me upon her excellence, and I have
no doubt that we shall have a very happy time together."
"Provided the subject be not exhausted," replied Philip.
"That it never will be, on my part: and, allow me to observe, Mr
Vanderdecken, that any officer who finds fault with the _Vrow
Katerina_ quarrels with me. I am her knight, and I have already fought
three men in her defence,--I trust, I shall not have to fight a
fourth."
Philip smiled: he thought that she was not worth fighting for; but
he acted upon the suggestion, and, from that time forward, he never
ventured to express an opinion against the beautiful _Vrow Katerina_.
The crew were soon complete, the vessel rigged, her sails bent,
and she was anchored in the stream, surrounded by the other ships
composing the fleet about to be despatched. The cargo was then
received on board, and, as soon as her hold was full, there came, to
Philip's great vexation, an order to receive on board 150 soldiers and
other passengers, many of whom were accompanied by their wives and
families. Philip worked hard, for the captain did nothing but praise
the vessel, and, at last, they had embarked everything, and the fleet
was ready to sail.
It was now time to part with Amine, who had remained at the hostelry,
and to whom Philip had dedicated every spare moment that he could
obtain. The fleet was expected to sail in two days, and it was
decided, that on the morrow they should part. Amine was cool and
collected. She felt convinced that she should see her husband again,
and with that feeling, she embraced him as they separated on the
beach, and he stepped into the boat in which he was to be pulled on
board.
"Yes," thought Amine, as she watched the form of her husband, as the
distance between them increased--"yes, I know that we shall meet
again. It is not this voyage which is to be fatal to you or me; but I
have a dark foreboding that the next, in which I shall join you, will
separate us for ever--in which way, I know not--but it is destined.
The priests talk of free-will. Is it free-will which takes him away
from me? Would he not rather remain on shore with me? Yes. But he is
not permitted, for he must fulfil his destiny. Free-will! Why, if it
were not destiny it were tyranny. I feel, and have felt, as if these
priests are my enemies; but why I know not: they are both good men,
and the creed they teach is good. Good-will and charity, love to all,
forgiveness of injuries, not judging others. All this is good; and yet
my heart whispers to me that--but the boat is alongside, and Philip
is climbing up the vessel. Farewell, farewell, my dearest husband. I
would I were a man! No, no! 'tis better as it is."
Amine watched till she could no longer perceive Philip, and then
walked slowly to the hostelry. The next day, when she arose, she found
that the fleet had sailed at daylight, and the channel, which had been
so crowded with vessels, was now untenanted.
"He is gone," muttered Amine; "now for many months of patient, calm
enduring,--I cannot say of living, for I exist but in his presence."