It was not until the day had dawned that Philip opened his eyes, and
discovered Krantz kneeling at his side; at first his thoughts were
scattered and confused; he felt that some dreadful calamity had
happened to him, but he could not recall to mind what it was. At last
it rushed upon him, and he buried his face in his hands.
"Take comfort," said Krantz; "we shall probably gain the shore to-day,
and we will go in search of her as soon as we can."
"This, then, is the separation and the cruel death to her which that
wretch Schriften prophesied to us," thought Philip; "cruel indeed to
waste away to a skeleton, under a burning sun, without one drop of
water left to cool her parched tongue; at the mercy of the winds and
waves; drifting about--alone--all alone--separated from her husband,
in whose arms she would have died without regret; maddened with
suspense and with the thoughts of what I may be suffering, or what may
have been my fate. Pilot, you are right; there can be no more cruel
death to a fond and doting wife. Oh! my head reels. What has Philip
Vanderdecken to live for now?"
Krantz offered such consolation as his friendship could suggest, but
in vain. He then talked of revenge, and Philip raised his head.
After a few minutes' thought, he rose up. "Yes," replied he,
"revenge!--revenge upon those dastards and traitors! Tell me, Krantz,
how many can we trust?"
"Half of the men, I should think, at least. It was a surprise." A spar
had been fitted as a rudder, and the raft had now gained nearer the
shore than it ever had done before. The men were in high spirits at
the prospect, and every man was sitting on his own store of dollars,
which, in their eyes, increased in value, in proportion as did their
prospect of escape.
Philip discovered from Krantz, that it was the soldiers and the most
indifferent seamen who had mutinied on the night before, and cut away
the other raft; and that all the best men had remained neuter.
"And so they will be now, I imagine," continued Krantz; "the prospect
of gaining the shore has, in a manner, reconciled them to the
treachery of their companions."
"Probably," replied Philip, with a bitter laugh; "but I know what will
rouse them. Send them here to me."
Philip talked to the seamen, whom Krantz had sent over to him. He
pointed out to them that the other men were traitors, not to be relied
upon; that they would sacrifice everything and everybody for their
own gain; that they had already done so for money, and that they
themselves would have no security, either on the raft or on shore,
with such people; that they dare not sleep for fear of having their
throats cut, and that it were better at once to get rid of those
who could not be true to each other; that it would facilitate their
escape, and that they could divide between themselves the money which
the others had secured, and by which they would double their own
shares. That it had been his intention, although he had said nothing,
to enforce the restoration of the money for the benefit of the
Company, as soon as they had gained a civilised port, where the
authorities could interfere; but that, if they consented to join and
aid him, he would now give them the whole of it for their own use.
What will not the desire of gain effect? Is it, therefore, to be
wondered at, that these men, who were indeed but little better than
those who were thus, in his desire of retaliation, denounced by
Philip, consented to his proposal? It was agreed, that if they did not
gain the shore, the others should be attacked that very night, and
tossed into the sea.
But the consultation with Philip had put the other party on the alert;
they, too, held council, and kept their arms by their sides. As the
breeze died away, they were not two miles from the land, and once more
they drifted back into the ocean. Philip's mind was borne down with
grief at the loss of Amine; but it recovered to a certain degree when
he thought of revenge: that feeling stayed him up, and he often felt
the edge of his cutlass, impatient for the moment of retribution.
It was a lovely night; the sea was now smooth as glass, and not a
breath of air moved in the heavens; the sail of the raft hung listless
down the mast, and was reflected upon the calm surface by
the brilliancy of the starry night alone. It was a night for
contemplation--for examination of oneself, and adoration of the Deity;
and here, on a frail raft, were huddled together more than forty
beings ready for combat, for murder, and for spoil. Each party
pretended to repose; yet each were quietly watching the motions of the
other, with their hands upon their weapons. The signal was to be given
by Philip: it was, to let go the halyards of the yard, so that the
sail should fall down upon a portion of the other party, and entangle
them. By Philip's directions, Schriften had taken the helm, and Krantz
remained by his side.
The yard and sail fell clattering down, and then the work of death
commenced; there was no parley, no suspense; each man started upon his
feet and raised his sword. The voices of Philip and of Krantz alone
were heard, and Philip's sword did its work. He was nerved to his
revenge, and never could be satiated as long as one remained who had
sacrificed his Amine. As Philip had expected, many had been covered up
and entangled by the falling of the sail, and their work was thereby
made easier.
Some fell where they stood; others reeled back, and sunk down under
the smooth water; others were pierced as they floundered under the
canvas. In a few minutes, the work of carnage was complete. Schriften
meanwhile looked on, and ever and anon gave vent to his chuckling
laugh--his demoniacal "He! he!"
The strife was over, and Philip stood against the mast to recover his
breath. "So far art thou revenged, my Amine," thought he; "but, oh!
what are these paltry lives compared to thine?" And now that his
revenge was satiated, and he could do no more, he covered his face up
in his hands, and wept bitterly, while those who had assisted him were
already collecting the money of the slain for distribution. These men,
when they found that three only of their side had fallen, lamented
that there had not been more, as their own shares of the dollars would
have been increased.
There were now but thirteen men besides Philip, Krantz, and Schriften
left upon the raft. As the day dawned, the breeze again sprung up,
and they shared out the portions of water, which would have been the
allowance of their companions who had fallen. Hunger they felt not;
but the water revived their spirits.
Although Philip had had little to say to Schriften since the
separation from Amine, it was very evident to him and to Krantz, that
all the pilot's former bitter feelings had returned. His chuckle,
his sarcasms, his "He! he!" were incessant; and his eye was now as
maliciously directed to Philip as it was when they first met. It was
evident that Amine alone had for the time conquered his disposition;
and that, with her disappearance, had vanished all the good-will of
Schriften towards her husband. For this Philip cared little; he had a
much more serious weight on his heart--the loss of his dear Amine; and
he felt reckless and indifferent concerning anything else.
The breeze now freshened, and they expected that, in two hours, they
would run on the beach, but they were disappointed: the step of the
mast gave way from the force of the wind, and the sail fell upon the
raft. This occasioned great delay; and before they could repair the
mischief, the wind again subsided, and they were left about a mile
from the beach. Tired and worn out with his feelings, Philip at last
fell asleep by the side of Krantz, leaving Schriften at the helm. He
slept soundly--he dreamt of Amine--he thought she was under a grove
of cocoa-nuts in a sweet sleep; that he stood by and watched her, and
that she smiled in her sleep, and murmured "Philip," when suddenly he
was awakened by some unusual movement. Half-dreaming still, he thought
that Schriften, the pilot, had in his sleep been attempting to gain
his relic, had passed the chain over his head, and was removing
quietly from underneath his neck the portion of the chain which, in
his reclining posture, he lay upon. Startled at the idea, he threw up
his hand to seize the arm of the wretch, and found that he had really
seized hold of Schriften, who was kneeling by him, and in possession
of the chain and relic. The struggle was short, the relic was
recovered, and the pilot lay at the mercy of Philip, who held him down
with his knee on his chest. Philip replaced the relic on his bosom,
and, excited to madness, rose from the body of the now breathless
Schriften, caught it in his arms, and hurled it into the sea.
"Man or devil! I care not which," exclaimed Philip, breathless;
"escape now, if you can!"
The struggle had already roused up Krantz and others, but not in time
to prevent Philip from wreaking his vengeance upon Schriften. In few
words, he told Krantz what had passed; as for the men, they cared not;
they laid their heads down again, and, satisfied that their money was
safe, inquired no further.
Philip watched to see if Schriften would rise up again, and try to
regain the raft; but he did not make his appearance above water, and
Philip felt satisfied.