The Phantom Ship Read online

  CHAPTER SEVEN.

  It was not until late in the autumn that Philip was roused from hisdream of love (for what, alas! is every enjoyment of this life but adream?) by a summons from the captain of the vessel with whom he hadengaged to sail. Strange as it may appear, from the first day which puthim in possession of his Amine, Philip had no longer brooded over hisfuture destiny; occasionally it was recalled to his memory, butimmediately rejected, and, for the time, forgotten. Sufficient hethought it, to fulfil his engagement when the time should come; andthough the hours flew away, and day succeeded day, week week, and monthmonth, with the rapidity accompanying a life of quiet and unvaryingbliss, Philip forgot his vow in the arms of Amine, who was careful notto revert to a topic which would cloud the brow of her adored husband.Once, indeed, or twice, had old Poots raised the question of Philip'sdeparture, but the indignant frown and the imperious command of Amine(who knew too well the sordid motives which actuated her father, andwho, at such times, looked upon him with abhorrence) made him silent,and the old man would spend his leisure hours in walking up and down theparlour with his eyes riveted upon the buffets, where the silvertankards now beamed in all their pristine brightness.

  One morning, in the month of October, there was a tapping with theknuckles at the cottage door. As this precaution implied a stranger,Amine obeyed the summons.

  "I would speak with Master Philip Vanderdecken," said the stranger, in ahalf-whispering sort of voice.

  The party who thus addressed Amine was a little meagre personage,dressed in the garb of the Dutch seaman of the time, with a cap made ofbadger-skin hanging over his brow. His features were sharp anddiminutive, his face of a deadly white, his lips pale, and his hair of amixture between red and white. He had very little show of beard--indeed, it was most difficult to say what his age might be. He mighthave been a sickly youth early sinking into decrepitude, or an old man,hale in constitution, yet carrying no flesh. But the most importantfeature, and that which immediately riveted the attention of Amine, wasthe eye of this peculiar personage--for he had but one; the righteye-lid was closed, and the ball within had evidently wasted away; buthis left eye was, for the size of his face and head, of unusualdimensions, very protuberant, clear and watery, and most unpleasant tolook upon, being relieved by no fringe of eyelash either above or belowit. So remarkable was the feature, that when you looked at the man, yousaw his eye and looked at nothing else. It was not a man with one eye,but one eye with a man attached to it; the body was but the tower of thelighthouse, of no further value, and commanding no further attention,than does the structure which holds up the beacon to the venturousmariner; and yet, upon examination, you would have perceived that theman, although small, was neatly made; that his hands were very differentin texture and colour from those of common seamen; that his features ingeneral, although sharp, were regular; and that there was an air ofsuperiority even in the obsequious manner of the little personage, andan indescribable something about his whole appearance which almostimpressed you with awe. Amine's dark eyes were for a moment fixed uponthe visitor, and she felt a chill at her heart for which she could notaccount, as she requested that he would walk in.

  Philip was greatly surprised at the appearance of the stranger, who, assoon as he entered the room, without saying a word sat down on the sofaby Philip in the place which Amine had just left. To Philip there wassomething ominous in this person taking Amine's seat; all that hadpassed rushed into his recollection and he felt that there was a summonsfrom his short existence of enjoyment and repose to a life of futureactivity, danger, and suffering. What peculiarly struck Philip was,that when the little man sat beside him, a sensation of sudden cold ranthrough his whole frame. The colour fled from Philip's cheek, but hespoke not. For a minute or two there was a silence. The one-eyedvisitor looked round him, and turning from the buffets, he fixed hiseyes on the form of Amine, who stood before him; at last the silence wasbroken by a sort of giggle on the part of the stranger, which ended in--

  "Philip Vanderdecken--he! he!--Philip Vanderdecken, you don't know me?"

  "I do not," replied Philip, in a half angry tone.

  The voice of the little man was most peculiar--it was a sort of subduedscream, the notes of which sounded in your ear long after he had ceasedto speak.

  "I am Schriften, one of the pilots of the Ter Schilling," continued theman; "and I'm come--he! he!"--and he looked hard at Amine--"to take youaway from love,"--and looking at the buffets--"he! he! from comfort, andfrom this also," cried he, stamping his foot on the floor as he rosefrom the sofa--"from terra firma--he! he!--to a watery grave perhaps.Pleasant!" continued Schriften, with a giggle; and with a countenancefull of meaning he fixed his one eye on Philip's face.

  Philip's first impulse was to put his new visitor out of the door; butAmine, who read his thoughts, folded her arms as she stood before thelittle man, and eyed him with contempt, as she observed:--

  "We all must meet our fate, good fellow; and, whether by land or sea,death will have his due. If death stare him in the face, the cheek ofPhilip Vanderdecken will never turn as white as yours is now."

  "Indeed!" replied Schriften, evidently annoyed at this cooldetermination on the part of one so young and beautiful; and then fixinghis eye upon the silver shrine of the Virgin on the mantelpiece--"Youare a Catholic, I perceive--he!"

  "I am a Catholic," replied Philip; "but does that concern you? Whendoes the vessel sail?"

  "In a week--he! he!--only a week for preparation--only seven days toleave all--short notice!"

  "More than sufficient," replied Philip, rising up from the sofa. "Youmay tell your captain that I shall not fail. Come, Amine, we must loseno time."

  "No, indeed," replied Amine, "and our first duty is hospitality:Mynheer, may we offer you refreshment after your walk?"

  "This day week," said Schriften, addressing Philip, and without making areply to Amine. Philip nodded his head, the little man turned on hisheel and left the room, and in a short time was out of sight.

  Amine sank down on the sofa. The breaking-up of her short hour ofhappiness had been too sudden, too abrupt, and too cruelly brought aboutfor a fondly doting, although heroic woman. There was an evidentmalignity in the words and manner of the one-eyed messenger, anappearance as if he knew more than others, which awed and confused bothPhilip and herself. Amine wept not, but she covered her face with herhands as Philip, with no steady pace, walked up and down the small room.Again, with all the vividness of colouring, did the scenes halfforgotten recur to his memory. Again did he penetrate the fatalchamber--again was it obscure. The embroidery lay at his feet, and oncemore he started as when the letter appeared upon the floor.

  They had both awakened from a dream of present bliss, and shuddered atthe awful future which presented itself. A few minutes was sufficientfor Philip to resume his natural self-possession. He sat down by theside of his Amine, and clasped her in his arms. They remained silent.They knew too well each other's thoughts; and, excruciating as was theeffort, they were both summoning up their courage to bear, and steelingtheir hearts against, the conviction that, in this world, they must nowexpect to be for a time, perhaps for ever, separated.

  Amine was the first to speak: removing her arm; which had been woundround her husband, she first put his hand to her heart, as if tocompress its painful throbbings, and then observed--

  "Surely that was no earthly messenger, Philip! Did you not feel chilledto death when he sat by you? I did as he came in."

  Philip, who had the same thought as Amine, but did not wish to alarmher, answered confusedly--

  "Nay, Amine, you fancy--that is, the suddenness of his appearance andhis strange conduct have made you imagine this; but I saw in him but aman who, from his peculiar deformity, has become an envious outcast ofsociety--debarred from domestic happiness, from the smiles of the othersex; for what woman could smile upon such a creature? His bile raisedat so much beauty in the arms of another, he enjoyed a malignantpleasure in giving a mes
sage which he felt would break upon thosepleasures from which he is cut off. Be assured, my love, that it wasnothing more."

  "And even if my conjecture were correct, what does it matter?" repliedAmine. "There can be nothing more, nothing which can render yourposition more awful, and more desperate. As your wife, Philip, I feelless courage than I did when I gave my willing hand. I knew not thenwhat would be the extent of my loss; but fear not, much as I feel here,"continued Amine, putting her hand to her heart--"I am prepared, andproud that he who is selected for such a task is my husband." Aminepaused. "You cannot, surely, have been mistaken, Philip?"

  "No! Amine, I have not been mistaken, either in the summons, or in myown courage, or in my selection of a wife," replied Philip, mournfully,as he embraced her. "It is the will of Heaven."

  "Then may its will be done," replied Amine, rising from her seat. "Thefirst pang is over. I feel better now, Philip. Your Amine knows herduty."

  Philip made no reply; when, after a few moments, Amine continued--

  "But one short week, Philip--"

  "I would it had been but one day," replied he; "it would have been longenough. He has come too soon--the one-eyed monster."

  "Nay, not so, Philip. I thank him for the week--'tis but a short timeto wean myself from happiness. I grant you, that were I to teaze, tovex, to unman you with my tears, my prayers, or my upbraidings (as somewives would do, Philip), one day would be more than sufficient for sucha scene of weakness on my part, and misery on yours. But, no, Philip,your Amine knows her duty better. You must go like some knight of oldto perilous encounter, perhaps to death; but Amine will arm you, andshow her love by closing carefully each rivet to protect you in yourperil, and will see you depart full of hope and confidence, anticipatingyour return. A week is not too long, Philip, when employed as I trust Ishall employ it--a week to interchange our sentiments, to hear yourvoice, to listen to your words (each of which will be engraven on myheart's memory), to ponder on them, and feed my love with them is yourabsence and in my solitude. No! no! Philip; I thank God that there isyet a week."

  "And so do I, then, Amine! and, after all, we knew that this must come."

  "Yes! but my love was so potent, that it banished memory."

  "And yet, during our separation, your love must feed on memory, Amine."

  Amine sighed. Here their conversation was interrupted by the entranceof Mynheer Poots, who, struck with the alteration in Amine's radiantfeatures, exclaimed, "Holy prophet! what is the matter now?"

  "Nothing more than what we all knew before," replied Philip; "I am aboutto leave you--the ship will sail in a week."

  "Oh! you will sail in a week?"

  There was a curious expression in the face of the old man as heendeavoured to suppress, before Amine and her husband, the joy which hefelt at Philip's departure. Gradually he subdued his features intogravity, and said--

  "That is very bad news, indeed."

  No answer was made by Amine or Philip, who quitted the room together.

  We must pass over this week, which was occupied in preparations forPhilip's departure. We must pass over the heroism of Amine, whocontrolled her feelings, racked as she was with intense agony at theidea of separating from her adored husband. We cannot dwell upon theconflicting emotions in the breast of Philip, who left competence,happiness, and love, to encounter danger privation, and death. Now, atone time, he would almost resolve to remain, and then at others, as hetook the relic from his bosom, and remembered his vow registered uponit, he was nearly as anxious to depart. Amine, too, as she fell asleepin her husband's arms, would count the few hours left them; or she wouldshudder, as she lay awake and the wind howled, at the prospect of whatPhilip would have to encounter. It was a long week to both of them,and, although they thought that time flew fast, it was almost a reliefwhen the morning came that was to separate them; for, to their feelings,which, from regard to each other, had been pent up and controlled theycould then give vent; their surcharged bosoms could be relieved;certainty had driven away suspense, and hope was still left to cheerthem and brighten up the dark horizon of the future.

  "Philip," said Amine, as they sat together with their hands entwined, "Ishall not feel so much when you are gone. I do not forget that all thiswas told me before we were wed, and that for my love I took the hazard.My fond heart often tells me that you will return; but it may deceiveme--return you _may_, but not in life. In this room I shall await you;on this removed to its former station, I shall sit; and if you cannotappear to me alive, O refuse me not, if it be possible, to appear to mewhen dead. I shall fear no storm, no bursting open of the window. Ono! I shall hail the presence even of your spirit. Once more: let mebut see you--let me be assured that you are dead--and then I shall knowthat I have no more to live for in this world, and shall hasten to joinyou in a world of bliss. Promise me, Philip."

  "I promise all you ask, provided Heaven will so permit; but, Amine," andPhilip's lips trembled, "I cannot--merciful God! I am indeed tried.Amine, I can stay no longer."

  Amine's dark eyes were fixed upon her husband--she could not speak--herfeatures were convulsed--nature could no longer hold up against herexcess of feeling--she fell into his arms, and lay motionless. Philip,about to impress a last kiss upon her pale lips, perceived that she hadfainted.

  "She feels not now," said he, as he laid her upon the sofa; "it isbetter that it should be so--too soon will she awake to misery."

  Summoning to the assistance of his daughter Mynheer Poots, who was inthe adjoining room, Philip caught up his hat, imprinted one more ferventkiss upon her forehead, burst from the house, and was out of sight longbefore Amine had recovered from her swoon.