The Phantom Ship Page 5

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  Philip Vanderdecken sat down at the porch of the door; he swept his hairfrom his forehead, which he exposed to the fanning of the breeze; forthe continued excitement of the last three days had left a fever on hisbrain which made him restless and confused. He longed for repose, buthe knew that for him there was no rest. He had his forebodings--heperceived in the vista of futurity a long-continued chain of danger anddisaster, even to death; yet he beheld it without emotion and withoutdread. He felt as if it were only three days that he had begun toexist; he was melancholy, but not unhappy. His thoughts were constantlyrecurring to the fatal letter--its strange supernatural disappearanceseemed pointedly to establish its supernatural origin, and that themission had been intended for him alone; and the relic in his possessionmore fully substantiated the fact.

  "It is my fate, my duty," thought Philip. Having satisfactorily made uphis mind to these conclusions, his thoughts reverted to the beauty, thecourage, and presence of mind shown by Amine. "And," thought he, as hewatched the moon soaring high in the heavens, "is this fair creature'sdestiny to be interwoven with mine? The events of the last three dayswould almost warrant the supposition. Heaven only knows, and Heaven'swill be done. I have vowed, and my vow is registered, that I willdevote my life to the release of my unfortunate father--but does thatprevent my loving Amine?--No, no; the sailor on the Indian seas mustpass months and months on shore before he can return to his duty. Mysearch must be on the broad ocean, but how often may I return? and whyam I to be debarred the solace of a smiling hearth?--and yet--do I rightin winning the affections of one who, if she loves, would, I amconvinced, love so dearly, fondly truly--ought I to persuade her to mateherself with one whose life will be so precarious?--but is not everysailor's life precarious, daring the angry waves, with but an inch ofplank 'tween him and death? Besides, I am chosen to fulfil a task--andif so, what can hurt me, till in Heaven's own time it is accomplished?but then how soon, and how is it to end?--in death! I wish my bloodwere cooler, that I might reason better."

  Such were the meditations of Philip Vanderdecken, and long did herevolve such chances in his mind. At last the day dawned, and as heperceived the blush upon the horizon, less careful of his watch heslumbered where he sat. A slight pressure on the shoulder made himstart up and draw the pistol from his bosom. He turned round and beheldAmine.

  "And that pistol was intended for me," said Amine, smiling, repeatingPhilip's words of the night before.

  "For you, Amine?--yes, to defend you, if 'twere necessary, once more."

  "I know it would--how kind of you to watch this tedious night after somuch exertion and fatigue! but it is now broad day."

  "Until I saw the dawn, Amine, I kept a faithful watch."

  "But now retire and take some rest. My father is risen--you can liedown on his bed."

  "I thank you, but I feel no wish for sleep. There is much to do. Wemust to the burgomaster and state the facts, and these bodies mustremain where they are until the whole is known. Will your father go,Amine, or shall I?"

  "My father surely is the more proper person, as the proprietor of thehouse. You must remain; and if you will not sleep, you must take somerefreshment. I will go in and tell my father; he has already taken hismorning's meal."

  Amine went in, and soon returned with her father, who had consented togo to the burgomaster. He saluted Philip kindly as he came out;shuddered as he passed on one side to avoid stepping over the deadbodies, and went off at a quick pace to the adjacent town, where theburgomaster resided.

  Amine desired Philip to follow her, and they went into her father'sroom, where, to his surprise, he found some coffee ready for him--atthat time a rarity, and one which Philip did not expect to find in thehouse of the penurious Mynheer Poots; but it was a luxury which, fromhis former life, the old man could not dispense with.

  Philip, who had not tasted food for nearly twenty-four hours, was notsorry to avail himself of what was placed before him. Amine sat downopposite to him, and was silent during his repast.

  "Amine," said Philip at last, "I have had plenty of time for reflectionduring this night, as I watched at the door. May I speak freely?"

  "Why not?" replied Amine. "I feel assured that you will say nothingthat you should not say, or should not meet a maiden's ear."

  "You do me justice, Amine. My thoughts have been upon you and yourfather. You cannot stay in this lone habitation."

  "I feel it is too lonely; that is for his safety--perhaps for mine--butyou know my father--the very loneliness suits him--the price paid forrent is little, and he is careful of his money."

  "The man who would be careful of his money should place it in security--here it is not secure. Now, hear me, Amine. I have a cottagesurrounded, as you may have heard, by many others, which mutuallyprotect each other. That cottage I am about to leave--perhaps for ever;for I intend to sail by the first ship to the Indian seas."

  "The Indian seas! why so?--did you not last night talk of thousands ofguilders?"

  "I did, and they are there; but, Amine, I must go--it is my duty. Askme no more, but listen to what I now propose. Your father must live inmy cottage; he must take care of it for me in my absence; he will do mea favour by consenting, and you must persuade him. You will there besafe. He must also take care of my money for me. I want it not atpresent--I cannot take it with me."

  "My father is not to be trusted with the money of other people."

  "Why does your father hoard? He cannot take his money with him when heis called away. It must be all for you--and is not then my money safe?"

  "Leave it then in my charge, and it will be safe; but why need you goand risk your life upon the water, when you have such ample means?"

  "Amine, ask not that question. It is my duty as a son, and more Icannot tell, at least at present."

  "If it is your duty I ask no more. It was not womanish curiosity--no,no--it was a better feeling, I assure you, which prompted me to put thequestion."

  "And what was that better feeling, Amine?"

  "I hardly know--many good feelings perhaps mixed up together--gratitude,esteem, respect, confidence, good-will. Are not these sufficient?"

  "Yes, indeed, Amine, and much to gain upon so short an acquaintance; butstill I feel them all, and more, for you. If, then, you feel so muchfor me, do oblige me by persuading your father to leave this lonelyhouse this day, and take up his abode in mine."

  "And where do you intend to go yourself?"

  "If your father will not admit me as a boarder for the short time Iremain here, I will seek some shelter elsewhere; but if he will, I willindemnify him well--that is, if you raise no objection to my being for afew days in the house?"

  "Why should I? Our habitation is no longer safe, and you offer us ashelter. It were, indeed, unjust and most ungrateful to turn you outfrom beneath your own roof."

  "Then persuade him, Amine. I will accept of nothing, but take it as afavour; for I should depart in sorrow if I saw you not in safety.--Willyou promise me?"

  "I do promise to use my best endeavours--nay, I may as well say at onceit shall be so; for I know my influence. Here is my hand upon it. Willthat content you?"

  Philip took the small hand extended towards him. His feelings overcamehis discretion; he raised it to his lips. He looked up to see if Aminewas displeased, and found her dark eye fixed upon him, as once beforewhen she admitted him, as if she would see his thoughts--but the handwas not withdrawn.

  "Indeed, Amine," said Philip, kissing her hand once more, "you mayconfide in me."

  "I hope--I think--nay, I am sure I may," at last replied she.

  Philip released her hand. Amine returned to her seat and for some timeremained silent, and in a pensive attitude. Philip also had his ownthoughts, and did not open his lips. At last Amine spoke.

  "I think I have heard my father say that your mother was very poor--alittle deranged; and that there was a chamber in the house which hadbeen shut up for years
."

  "It was shut up till yesterday."

  "And there you found your money? Did your mother not know of themoney?"

  "She did, for she spoke of it on her death-bed."

  "There must have been some potent reasons for not opening the chamber."

  "There were."

  "What were they, Philip?" said Amine, in a soft and low tone of voice.

  "I must not tell, at least I ought not. This must satisfy you--'twasthe fear of an apparition."

  "What apparition?"

  "She said that my father had appeared to her."

  "And did he, think you, Philip?"

  "I have no doubt that he did. But I can answer no more questions,Amine. The chamber is open now, and there is no fear of hisre-appearance."

  "I fear not that," replied Amine, musing. "But," continued she, "is notthis connected with your resolution of going to sea?"

  "So far will I answer you, that it has decided me to go to sea; but Ipray you ask no more. It is painful to refuse you, and my duty forbidsme to speak further."

  For some minutes they were both silent, when Amine resumed--

  "You were so anxious to possess that relic, that I cannot help thinkingit has connection with the mystery. Is it not so?"

  "For the last time, Amine, I will answer your question--it has to dowith it; but now no more."

  Philip's blunt and almost rude manner of finishing his speech was notlost upon Amine, who replied:--

  "You are so engrossed with other thoughts, that you have not felt thecompliment shown you by my taking such interest about you, sir?"

  "Yes, I do--I feel and thank you too, Amine. Forgive me, if I have beenrude; but recollect, the secret is not mine--at least, I feel as if itwere not. God knows, I wish I never had known it, for it has blastedall my hopes in life."

  Philip was silent; and when he raised his eyes, he found that Amine'swere fixed upon him.

  "Would you read my thoughts, Amine, or my secret?"

  "Your thoughts, perhaps--your secret I would not; yet do I grieve thatit should oppress you so heavily as evidently it does. It must, indeed,be one of awe to bear down a mind like yours, Philip."

  "Where did you learn to be so brave, Amine?" said Philip, changing theconversation.

  "Circumstances make people brave or otherwise; those who are accustomedto difficulty and danger fear them not."

  "And where have you met with them, Amine?"

  "In the country where I was born, not in this dank and muddy land."

  "Will you trust me with the story of your former life, Amine? I can besecret, if you wish."

  "That you can be secret, perhaps, against my wish, you have alreadyproved to me," replied Amine, smiling; "and you have a claim to knowsomething of the life you have preserved. I cannot tell you much, butwhat I can will be sufficient. My father, when a lad, on board of atrading vessel, was taken by the Moors, and sold as a slave to a Hakim,or physician, of their country. Finding him very intelligent, the Moorbrought him up as an assistant, and it was under this man that heobtained a knowledge of the art. In a few years he was equal to hismaster; but, as a slave, he worked not for himself. You know, indeed itcannot be concealed, my father's avarice. He sighed to become aswealthy as his master, and to obtain his freedom; he became a followerof Mahomet, after which he was free, and practised for himself. He tooka wife from an Arab family, the daughter of a chief whom he had restoredto health, and he settled in the country. I was born; he amassedwealth, and became much celebrated; but the son of a Bey dying under hishands was the excuse for persecuting him. His head was forfeited, buthe escaped; not, however, without the loss of all his beloved wealth.My Mother and I went with him; he fled to the Bedouins, with whom weremained some years. There I was accustomed to rapid marches, wild andfierce attacks, defeat and flight, and oftentimes to indiscriminateslaughter. But the Bedouins paid not well for my father's services, andgold was his idol. Hearing that the Bey was dead, he returned to Cairo,where he again practised. He was allowed once more to amass until theheap was sufficient to excite the cupidity of the new Bey; but this timehe was fortunately made acquainted with the intentions of the ruler. Heagain escaped, with a portion of his wealth, in a small vessel, andgained the Spanish coast; but he never has been able to retain his moneylong. Before he arrived in this country he had been robbed of almostall, and has now been for these three years laying up again. We werebut one year at Middleburg, and from thence removed to this place. Suchis the history of my life, Philip."

  "And does your father still hold the Mahomedan faith, Amine?"

  "I know not. I think he holds no faith whatever: at least he hathtaught me none. His god is gold."

  "And yours?"

  "Is the God who made this beautiful world, and all which it contains--the God of nature--name him as you will. This I feel, Philip, but moreI fain would know; there are so many faiths, but surely they must be butdifferent paths leading alike to heaven. Yours is the Christian faith,Philip. Is it the true one? But every one calls his own the true one,whatever his creed may be."

  "It is the true and only one, Amine. Could I but reveal--I have suchdreadful proofs--"

  "That your own faith is true: then is it not your duty to reveal theseproofs? Tell me, are you bound by any solemn obligations never toreveal?"

  "No, I am not; yet do I feel as if I were. But I hear voices--it mustbe your father and the authorities--I must go down and meet them."

  Philip rose and went down stairs. Amine's eyes followed him as he wentand she remained looking towards the door.

  "Is it possible," said she, sweeping the hair from off her brow, "sosoon,--yes, yes, 'tis even so. I feel that I would sooner share hishidden woe--his dangers--even death itself were preferable with him,than ease and happiness with any other. And it shall be strange indeedif I do not. This night my father shall move into his cottage; I willprepare at once."

  The report of Philip and Mynheer Poots was taken down by theauthorities, the bodies examined, and one or two of them recognised aswell-known marauders. They were then removed by the order of theburgomaster. The authorities broke up their council, and Philip andMynheer Poots were permitted to return to Amine. It will not benecessary to repeat the conversation which ensued: it will be sufficientto state that Poots yielded to the arguments employed by Amine andPhilip, particularly the one of paying no rent. A conveyance for thefurniture and medicines was procured, and in the afternoon most of theeffects were taken away. It was not, however, till dusk that the strongbox of the doctor was put into the cart, and Philip went with it as aprotector. Amine also walked by the side of the vehicle, with herfather. As it may be supposed, it was late that night before they hadmade their arrangements, and had retired to rest.