The cargo of the _Dort_ was soon ready, and Philip sailed and arrived
at Amsterdam without any further adventure. That he reached his
cottage, and was received with delight by Amine, need hardly be said.
She had been expecting him; for the two ships of the squadron, which
had sailed on his arrival at Batavia, and which had charge of his
despatches, had, of course, carried letters to her from Philip, the
first letters she had ever received from him during his voyages. Six
weeks after the letters Philip himself made his appearance, and Amine
was happy. The directors were, of course, highly satisfied with
Philip's conduct, and he was appointed to the command of a large armed
ship, which was to proceed to India in the spring, and one-third of
which, according to agreement, was purchased by Philip out of the
funds which he had in the hands of the Company. He had now five months
of quiet and repose to pass away, previous to his once more trusting
to the elements; and this time, as it was agreed, he had to make
arrangements on board for the reception of Amine.
Amine narrated to Philip what had occurred between her and the priest
Mathias, and by what means she had rid herself of his unwished-for
surveillance.
"And were you practising your mother's arts, Amine?"
"Nay, not practising them, for I could not recall them, but I was
trying to recover them."
"Why so, Amine? this must not be. It is, as the good father said,
'unholy.' Promise me you will abandon them, now and for ever."
"If that act be unholy, Philip, so is your mission. You would deal
and co-operate with the spirits of another world--I would do no more.
Abandon your terrific mission--abandon your seeking after disembodied
spirits--stay at home with your Amine, and she will cheerfully comply
with your request."
"Mine is an awful summons from the Most High."
"Then the Most High permits your communion with those who are not of
this world?"
"He does; you know even the priests do not gainsay it, although they
shudder at the very thought."
"If then He permits to one, He will to another; nay, aught that I can
do is but with His permission."
"Yes, Amine, so does He permit evil to stalk on the earth, but He
countenances it not."
"He countenances your seeking after your doomed father, your attempts
to meet him; nay, more, He commands it. If you are thus permitted, why
may not I be? I am your wife, a portion of yourself; and when I am
left over a desolate hearth, while you pursue your course of danger,
may not I appeal also to the immaterial world to give me that
intelligence which will soothe my sorrow, lighten my burden, and
which, at the same time, can hurt no living creature? Did I attempt to
practise these arts for evil purposes, it were just to deny them me,
and wrong to continue them; but I would but follow in the steps of my
husband, and seek as he seeks, with a good intent."
"But it is contrary to our faith."
"Have the priests declared your mission contrary to their faith? or,
if they have, have they not been convinced to the contrary, and been
awed to silence? But why argue, my dear Philip? Shall I not now be
with you? and while with you I will attempt no more. You have my
promise; but if separated, I will not say, but I shall then require of
the invisible a knowledge of my husband's motions, when in search of
the invisible also."
The winter passed rapidly away, for it was passed by Philip in quiet
and happiness; the spring came on, the vessel was to be fitted out,
and Philip and Amine repaired to Amsterdam.
The _Utrecht_ was the name of the vessel to which he had been
appointed, a ship of 400 tons, newly launched, and pierced for
twenty-four guns. Two more months passed away, during which Philip
superintended the fitting and loading of the vessel, assisted by his
favourite Krantz, who served in her as first mate. Every convenience
and comfort that Philip could think of was prepared for Amine; and
in the month of May he started, with orders to stop at Gambroon and
Ceylon, run down the Straits of Sumatra, and from thence to force his
way into the China seas, the Company having every reason to expect
from the Portuguese the most determined opposition to the attempt. His
ship's company was numerous, and he had a small detachment of soldiers
on board to assist the supercargo, who carried out many thousand
dollars to make purchases at ports in China, where their goods might
not be appreciated. Every care had been taken in the equipment of the
vessel, which was perhaps the finest, the best manned, and freighted
with the most valuable cargo, which had been sent out by the India
Company.
The _Utrecht_ sailed with a flowing sheet, and was soon clear of the
English Channel; the voyage promised to be auspicious, favouring gales
bore them without accident to within a few hundred miles of the Cape
of Good Hope, when, for the first time, they were becalmed. Amine was
delighted: in the evenings she would pace the deck with Philip; then
all was silent, except the splash of the wave as it washed against
the side of the vessel--all was in repose and beauty, as the bright
southern constellations sparkled over their heads.
"Whose destinies can be in these stars, which appear not to those who
inhabit the northern regions?" said Amine, as she cast her eyes above,
and watched them in their brightness; "and what does that falling
meteor portend? what causes its rapid descent from heaven?"
"Do you, then, put faith in stars, Amine?"
"In Araby we do; and why not? They were not spread over the sky to
give light--for what then?"
"To beautify the world. They have their uses, too."
"Then you agree with me--they have their uses, and the destinies of
men are there concealed. My mother was one of those who could read
them well. Alas! for me they are a sealed book."
"Is it not better so, Amine?"
"Better!--say better to grovel on this earth with our selfish,
humbled race, wandering in mystery, and awe, and doubt, when we can
communicate with the intelligences above! Does not the soul leap at
her admission to confer with superior powers? Does not the proud heart
bound at the feeling that its owner is one of those more gifted than
the usual race of mortals? Is it not a noble ambition?"
"A dangerous one--most dangerous."
"And therefore most noble. They seem as if they would speak to me:
look at yon bright star--it beckons to me."
For some time Amine's eyes were raised aloft; she spoke not, and
Philip remained at her side. She walked to the gangway of the vessel,
and looked down upon the placid wave, pierced by the moonbeams far
below the surface.
"And does your imagination, Amine, conjure up a race of beings gifted
to live beneath that deep blue wave, who sport amid the coral rocks,
and braid their hair with pearls?" said Philip, smiling.
"I know not, but it appears to me that it would be sweet to live
there. You may call to mind your dream, Philip; I was then, according
to your description, one of those same beings."
"You were," replied Philip, thoughtfully.
"And yet I feel as if water would reject me, even if the vessel were
to sink. In what manner this mortal frame of mine may be resolved
into its elements, I know not; but this I do feel, that it never will
become the sport of, or be tossed by, the mocking waves. But come in,
Philip, dearest; it is late, and the decks are wet with dew."
When the day dawned, the look-out man at the mast-head reported that
he perceived something floating on the still surface of the water, on
the beam of the vessel. Krantz went up with his glass to examine, and
made it out to be a small boat, probably cut adrift from some vessel.
As there was no appearance of wind, Philip permitted a boat to be sent
to examine it, and after a long pull, the seamen returned on board,
towing the small boat astern.
"There is a body of a man in it, sir," said the second mate to Krantz,
as he gained the gangway; "but whether he is quite dead, or not, I
cannot tell."
Krantz reported this to Philip, who was, at that time, sitting at
breakfast with Amine in the cabin, and then proceeded to the gangway,
to where the body of the man had been already handed up by the seamen.
The surgeon, who had been summoned, declared that life was not yet
extinct, and was ordering him to be taken below for recovery, when, to
their astonishment, the man turned as he lay, sat up, and ultimately
rose upon his feet and staggered to a gun, when, after a time, he
appeared to be fully recovered. In reply to questions put to him, he
said that he was in a vessel which had been upset in a squall, that he
had time to cut away the small boat astern, and that all the rest of
the crew had perished. He had hardly made this answer, when Philip
with Amine came out of the cabin, and walked up to where the seamen
were crowded round the man; the seamen retreated so as to make an
opening, when Philip and Amine, to their astonishment and horror,
recognised their old acquaintance, the one-eyed pilot Schriften.
"He! he! Captain Vanderdecken, I believe--glad to see you in command,
and you too, fair lady."
Philip turned away with a chill at his heart; Amine's eye flashed as
she surveyed the wasted form of the wretched creature. After a few
seconds, she turned round and followed Philip into the cabin, where
she found him with his face buried in his hands.
"Courage, Philip, courage!" said Amine; "it was indeed a heavy shock,
and I fear me forbodes evil--but what then; it is our destiny."
"It is--it ought perhaps to be mine," replied Philip, raising his
head; "but you, Amine, why should you be a partner--"
"I am your partner, Philip, in life and in death. I would not die
first, Philip, because it would grieve you; but your death will be the
signal for mine, and I will join you quickly."
"Surely, Amine, you would not hasten your own?"
"Yes! and require but one moment for this little steel to do its
duty."
"Nay! Amine, that is not lawful--our religion forbids it."
"It may do so, but I cannot tell why. I came into this world without
my own consent--surely I may leave it without asking the leave of
priests! But let that pass for the present: what will you do with that
Schriften?"
"Put him on shore at the Cape; I cannot bear the odious wretch's
presence. Did you not feel the chill, as before, when you approached
him?"
"I did--I knew that he was there before I saw him; but still, I know
not why, I feel as if I would not send him away."
"Why not?"
"I believe it is because I am inclined to brave destiny, not to quail
at it. The wretch can do no harm."
"Yes, he can--much: he can render the ship's company mutinous and
disaffected;--besides, he attempted to deprive me of my relic."
"I almost wish he had done so; then must you have discontinued this
wild search."
"Nay, Amine, say not so; it is my duty, and I have taken my solemn
oath--"
"But this Schriften--you cannot well put him ashore at the Cape; being
a Company's officer, you might send him home if you found a ship there
homeward-bound; still, were I you, I would let destiny work. He is
woven in with ours, that is certain. Courage, Philip, and let him
remain."
"Perhaps you are right, Amine; I may retard, but cannot escape,
whatever may be my intended fate."
"Let him remain, then, and let him do his worst. Treat him with
kindness--who knows what we may gain from him?"
"True, true, Amine; he has been my enemy without cause. Who can
tell?--perhaps he may become my friend."
"And if not, you will have done your duty. Send for him now."
"No, not now--to-morrow; in the meantime, I will order him every
comfort."
"We are talking as if he were one of us, which I feel that he is not,"
replied Amine; "but still, mundane or not, we cannot but offer mundane
kindness, and what this world, or rather what this ship affords. I
long now to talk with him, to see if I can produce any effect upon his
ice-like frame. Shall I make love to the ghoul?" and Amine burst into
a bitter laugh.
Here the conversation dropped, but its substance was not disregarded.
The next morning, the surgeon having reported that Schriften was
apparently quite recovered, he was summoned into the cabin. His frame
was wasted away to a skeleton, but his motions and his language were
as sharp and petulant as ever.
"I have sent for you, Schriften, to know if there is anything that I
can do to make you more comfortable. Is there anything that you want?"
"Want?" replied Schriften, eyeing first Philip and then Amine.--"He!
he! I think I want filling out a little."
"That you will, I trust, in good time; my steward has my orders to
take care of you."
"Poor man," said Amine, with a look of pity, "how much he must have
suffered! Is not this the man who brought you the letter from the
Company, Philip?"
"He! he! yes! Not very welcome, was it, lady?"
"No, my good fellow, it's never a welcome message to a wife, that
sends her husband away from her. But that was not your fault."
"If a husband will go to sea and leave a handsome wife, when he has,
as they say, plenty of money to live upon on shore, he! he!"
"Yes, indeed, you may well say that," replied Amine.
"Better give it up. All folly, all madness--eh, captain?"
"I must finish this voyage, at all events," replied Philip to Amine,
"whatever I may do afterwards. I have suffered much, and so have you,
Schriften. You have been twice wrecked; now tell me what do you wish
to do? Go home in the first ship, or go ashore at the Cape--or--"
"Or do anything, so I get out of this ship--he! he!"
"Not so. If you prefer sailing with me, as I know you are a good
seaman, you shall have your rating and pay of pilot--that is, if you
choose to follow my fortunes."
"Follow?--Must follow. Yes! I'll sail with you, Mynheer Vanderdecken,
I wish to be always near you--he! he!"
"Be it so, then: as soon as you are strong again, you will go to your
duty; till then, I will see that you want for nothing."
"Nor I, my good fellow. Come to me if you do, and I will be your
help," said Amine. "You have suffered much, but we will do what we can
to make you forget it."
"Very good! very kind!" replied Schriften, surveying the lovely face
and figure of Amine. After a time, shrugging up his shoulders, he
added--"A pity! Yes it is!--Must be, though."
"Farewell," continued Amine, holding out her hand to Schriften.
The man took it, and a cold shudder went to her heart; but she,
expecting such a result, would not appear to feel it. Schriften held
her hand for a second or two in his own, looking at it earnestly, and
then at Amine's face.--"So fair, so good! Mynheer Vanderdecken, I
thank you. Lady, may Heaven preserve you!"--Then, squeezing the hand
of Amine which he had not released, Schriften hastened out of the
cabin.
So great was the sudden icy shock which passed through Amine's frame
when Schriften pressed her hand, that when with difficulty she gained
the sofa she fell upon it. After remaining with her hand pressed
against her heart for some time, during which Philip bent over her,
she said in a breathless voice, "That creature must be supernatural,
I am sure of it, I am now convinced.--Well," continued she, after a
pause of some little while, "all the better, if we can make him a
friend; and if I can I will."
"But think you, Amine, that those who are not of this world have
feelings of kindness, gratitude, and ill-will, as we have? Can they be
made subservient?"
"Most surely so. If they have ill-will, as we know they have, they
must also be endowed with the better feelings. Why are there good and
evil intelligences? They may have disencumbered themselves of their
mortal clay, but the soul must be the same. A soul without feeling
were no soul at all. The soul is active in this world and must be so
in the next. If angels can pity, they must feel like us. If demons can
vex, they must feel like us. Our feelings change, then why not theirs?
Without feelings, there were no heaven, no hell. Here our souls are
confined, cribbed, and overladen, borne down by the heavy flesh by
which they are, for the time, polluted; but the soul that has winged
its flight from clay is, I think, not one jot more pure, more bright,
or more perfect than those within ourselves. Can they be made
subservient, say you! Yes! they can; they can be forced, when mortals
possess the means and power. The evil-inclined may be forced to good,
as well as to evil. It is not the good and perfect spirits that we
subject by art, but those that are inclined to wrong. It is over them
that mortals have the power. Our arts have no power over the perfect
spirits, but over those which are ever working evil, and which are
bound to obey and do good, if those who master them require it."
"You still resort to forbidden arts, Amine. Is that right?"
"Right! If we have power given to us, it is right to use it."
"Yes, most certainly, for good--but not for evil."
"Mortals in power, possessing nothing but what is mundane, are
answerable for the use of that power; so those gifted by superior
means, are answerable as they employ those means. Does the God above
make a flower to grow, intending that it should not be gathered? No!
neither does He allow supernatural aid to be given, if He did not
intend that mortals should avail themselves of it."
As Amine's eyes beamed upon Philip's, he could not for the moment
subdue the idea rising in his mind, that she was not like other
mortals, and he calmly observed, "Am I sure, Amine, that I am wedded
to one mortal as myself?"
"Yes! yes! Philip, compose yourself, I am but mortal; would to Heaven
I were not. Would to Heaven I were one of those who could hover over
you, watch you in all your perils, save and protect you in this your
mad career; but I am but a poor weak woman, whose heart beats fondly,
devotedly for you--who, for you, would dare all and everything--who,
changed in her nature, has become courageous and daring from her love;
and who rejects all creeds which would prevent her from calling upon
heaven, or earth, or hell, to assist her in retaining with her her
soul's existence?"
"Nay! nay! Amine, say not you reject the creed. Does not this,"--and
Philip pulled from his bosom the holy relic, "does not this, and the
message sent by it, prove our creed is true?"
"I have thought much of it, Philip. At first it startled me almost
into a belief, but even your own priests helped to undeceive me. They
would not answer you; they would have left you to guide yourself; the
message and the holy word, and the wonderful signs given were not in
unison with their creed, and they halted. May I not halt, if they
did? The relic may be as mystic, as powerful as you describe; but
the agencies may be false and wicked, the power given to it may have
fallen into wrong hands--the power remains the same, but it is applied
to uses not intended."
"The power, Amine, can only be exercised by those who are friends to
Him who died upon it."
"Then is it no power at all; or if a power, not half so great as that
of the arch-fiend; for his can work for good and evil both. But on
this point, dear Philip, we do not well agree, nor can we convince
each other. You have been taught in one way, I another. That which
our childhood has imbibed, which has grown up with our growth, and
strengthened with our years, is not to be eradicated. I have seen my
mother work great charms, and succeed. You have knelt to priests: I
blame not you!--blame not then your Amine. We both mean well--I trust,
do well."
"If a life of innocence and purity were all that were required, my
Amine would be sure of future bliss."
"I think it is; and thinking so, it is my creed. There are many
creeds: who shall say which is the true one? And what matters it? they
all have the same end in view--a future Heaven."
"True, Amine, true," replied Philip, pacing the cabin thoughtfully;
"and yet our priests say otherwise."
"What is the basis of their creed, Philip?"
"Charity, and good-will."
"Does charity condemn to eternal misery those who have never heard
this creed, who have lived and died worshipping the Great Being after
their best endeavours, and little knowledge?"
"No, surely."
Amine made no further observations; and Philip, after pacing for a few
minutes in deep thought, walked out of the cabin.
The _Utrecht_ arrived at the Cape, watered, and proceeded on her
voyage and, after two months of difficult navigation, cast anchor off
Gambroon. During this time, Amine had been unceasing in her attempts
to gain the good-will of Schriften. She had often conversed with him
on deck, and had done him every kindness, and had overcome that fear
which his near approach had generally occasioned. Schriften gradually
appeared mindful of this kindness, and at last to be pleased with
Amine's company. To Philip he was at times civil and courteous, but
not always; but to Amine he was always deferent. His language was
mystical, she could not prevent his chuckling laugh, his occasional
"He! he!" from breaking forth. But when they anchored at Gambroon, he
was on such terms with her, that he would occasionally come into the
cabin; and, although he would not sit down, would talk to Amine for
a few minutes, and then depart. While the vessel lay at anchor at
Gambroon, Schriften one evening walked up to Amine, who was sitting on
the poop. "Lady," said he, after a pause, "yon ship sails for your own
country in a few days."
"So I am told," replied Amine.
"Will you take the advice of one who wishes you well? Return in that
vessel, go back to your own cottage, and stay there till your husband
comes to you once more."
"Why is this advice given?"
"Because I forbode danger, nay, perhaps death, a cruel death, to one I
would not harm."
"To me!" replied Amine, fixing her eyes upon Schriften, and meeting
his piercing gaze.
"Yes, to you. Some people can see into futurity farther than others."
"Not if they are mortal," replied Amine.
"Yes, if they are mortal. But mortal or not, I do see that which I
would avert. Tempt not destiny farther."
"Who can avert it? If I take your counsel, still was it my destiny to
take your counsel. If I take it not, still it was my destiny."
"Well, then, avoid what threatens you."
"I fear not, yet do I thank you. Tell me, Schriften, hast thou not
thy fate someway interwoven with that of my husband? I feel that thou
hast."
"Why think you so, lady?"
"For many reasons: twice you have summoned him, twice have you been
wrecked, and miraculously reappeared and recovered. You know, too, of
his mission, that is evident."
"But proves nothing."
"Yes! it proves much; for it proves that you knew what was supposed to
be known but to him alone."
"It was known to you, and holy men debated on it," replied Schriften
with a sneer.
"How knew you that, again?"
"He! he!" replied Schriften; "forgive me, lady, I meant not to affront
you."
"You cannot deny that you are connected mysteriously and
incomprehensibly with this mission of my husband's. Tell me, is it as
he believes, true and holy?"
"If he thinks that it is true and holy, it becomes so."
"Why then do you appear his enemy?"
"I am not _his_ enemy, fair lady."
"You are not his enemy--why then did you once attempt to deprive him
of the mystic relic by which the mission is to be accomplished?"
"I would prevent his further search, for reasons which must not be
told. Does that prove that I am his enemy? Would it not be better that
he should remain on shore with competence and you, than be crossing
the wild seas on this mad search? Without the relic it is not to be
accomplished. It were a kindness, then, to take it from him."
Amine answered not, for she was lost in thought.
"Lady," continued Schriften, after a time; "I wish you well. For your
husband I care not, yet do I wish him no harm. Now hear me; if you
wish for your future life to be one of ease and peace--if you wish to
remain long in this world with the husband of your choice--of your
first and warmest love--if you wish that he should die in his bed at a
good old age, and that you should close his eyes with children's tears
lamenting, and their smiles reserved to cheer their mother--all this I
see and can promise is in futurity, if you will take that relic from
his bosom and give it up to me. But if you would that he should
suffer more than man has ever suffered, pass his whole life in doubt,
anxiety, and pain, until the deep wave receive his corpse, then let
him keep it--If you would that your own days be shortened, and yet
those remaining be long in human sufferings, if you would be separated
from him and die a cruel death, then let him keep it. I can read
futurity, and such must be the destiny of both. Lady, consider well, I
must leave you now. To-morrow I will have your answer."
Schriften walked away and left Amine to her own reflections. For a
long while she repeated to herself the conversation and denunciations
of the man, whom she was now convinced was not of this world, and was
in some way or another deeply connected with her husband's fate.
"To me he wishes well, no harm to my husband, and would prevent his
search. Why would he?--that he will not tell. He has tempted me,
tempted me most strangely. How easy 'twere to take the relic whilst
Philip sleeps upon my bosom--but how treacherous! And yet a life of
competence and ease, a smiling family, a good old age; what offers to
a fond and doting wife! And if not, toil, anxiety, and a watery grave;
and for me! Pshaw! that's nothing. And yet to die separated from
Philip, is that nothing? Oh, no, the thought is dreadful.--I do
believe him. Yes, he has foretold the future, and told it truly. Could
I persuade Philip? No! I know him well; he has vowed, and is not to be
changed. And yet, if the relic were taken without his knowledge, he
would not have to blame himself. Who then would he blame? Could I
deceive him? I, the wife of his bosom tell a lie. No! no! it must not
be. Come what will, it is our destiny, and I am resigned. I would that
Schriften had not spoken. Alas! we search into futurity, and then
would fain retrace our steps, and wish we had remained in ignorance."
"What makes you so pensive, Amine?" said Philip, who some time
afterwards walked up to where she was seated.
Amine replied not at first. "Shall I tell him all?" thought she. "It
is my only chance--I will." Amine repeated the conversation between
her and Schriften. Philip made no reply; he sat down by Amine and took
her hand. Amine dropped her head upon her husband's shoulder. "What
think you, Amine?" said Philip, after a time.
"I could not steal your relic, Philip; perhaps you'll give it to me."
"And my father, Amine, my poor father--his dreadful doom to be
eternal! He who appealed, was permitted to appeal to his son, that
that dreadful doom might be averted. Does not the conversation of this
man prove to you that my mission is not false? Does not his knowledge
of it strengthen all? Yet, why would he prevent it?" continued Philip,
musing.
"Why, I cannot tell, Philip, but I would fain prevent it. I feel that
he has power to read the future, and has read aright."
"Be it so; he has spoken, but not plainly. He has promised me what I
have long been prepared for--what I vowed to Heaven to suffer. Already
have I suffered much, and am prepared to suffer more. I have long
looked upon this world as a pilgrimage, and (selected as I have been)
trust that my reward will be in the other. But, Amine, you are not
bound by oath to Heaven, you have made no compact. He advised you to
go home. He talked of a cruel death. Follow his advice and avoid it."
"I am not bound by oath, Philip; but hear me; as I hope for future
bliss, I now bind myself--"
"Hold, Amine!"
"Nay, Philip, you cannot prevent me; for if you do now, I will repeat
it when you are absent. A cruel death were a charity to me, for I
shall not see you suffer. Then may I never expect future bliss, may
eternal misery be my portion, if I leave you as long as fate permits
us to be together. I am yours--your wife; my fortunes, my present, my
future, my all are embarked with you, and destiny may do its worst,
for Amine will not quail. I have no recreant heart to turn aside from
danger or from suffering. In that one point, Philip, at least, you
chose, you wedded well."
Philip raised her hand to his lips in silence, and the conversation
was not resumed. The next evening, Schriften came up again to Amine.
"Well, lady?" said he.
"Schriften, it cannot be," replied Amine; "yet do I thank you much."
"Lady, if he must follow up his mission, why should you?"
"Schriften, I am his wife--his for ever, in this world, and the next.
You cannot blame me."
"No," replied Schriften, "I do not blame, I admire you. I feel sorry.
But, after all, what is death? Nothing. He! he!" and Schriften
hastened away, and left Amine to herself.