The Phantom Ship

by Frederick Marryat

  CHAPTER TWO.

  Philip Vanderdecken, strong as he was in mental courage, was almostparalysed by the shock when he discovered that his mother's spirit hadfled; and for some time he remained by the side of the bed, with hiseyes fixed upon the corpse, and his mind in a state of vacuity.Gradually he recovered himself; he rose, smoothed down the pillow,closed her eyelids, and then clasping his hands, the tears trickled downhis manly cheeks. He impressed a solemn kiss upon the pale whiteforehead of the departed, and drew the curtains round the bed.

  "Poor mother!" said he, sorrowfully, as he completed his task, "atlength thou hast found rest,--but thou hast left thy son a bitterlegacy."

  And as Philip's thoughts reverted to what had passed, the dreadfulnarrative whirled in his imagination and scathed his brain. He raisedhis hands to his temples, compressed them with force, and tried tocollect his thoughts, that he might decide upon what measures he shouldtake. He felt that he had no time to indulge his grief. His mother wasin peace: but his father--where was he?

  He recalled his mother's words--"One hope alone remained." Then therewas hope. His father had laid a paper on the table--could it be therenow? Yes, it must be--his mother had not had the courage to take it up.There was hope in that paper, and it had lain unopened for more thanseventeen years.

  Philip Vanderdecken resolved that he would examine the fatal chamber--atonce he would know the worst. Should he do it now, or wait tilldaylight?--but the key, where was it? His eyes rested upon an oldjapanned cabinet in the room: he had never seen his mother open it inhis presence: it was the only likely place of concealment that he wasaware of. Prompt in all his decisions, he took up the candle, andproceeded to examine it. It was not locked; the doors swung open, anddrawer after drawer was examined, but Philip discovered not the objectof his search; again and again did he open the drawers, but they wereall empty. It occurred to Philip that there might be secret drawers,and he examined for some time in vain. At last he took out all thedrawers, and laid them on the floor, and lifting the cabinet off itsstand he shook it. A rattling sound in one corner told him that in allprobability the key was there concealed. He renewed his attempts todiscover how to gain it, but in vain. Daylight now streamed through thecasements, and Philip had not desisted from his attempts: at last,wearied out, he resolved to force the back panel of the cabinet; hedescended to the kitchen, and returned with a small chopping-knife andhammer, and was on his knees busily employed forcing out the panel, whena hand was placed upon his shoulder.

  Philip started: he had been so occupied with his search and his wildchasing thoughts, that he had not heard the sound of an approachingfootstep. He looked up and beheld the Father Seysen, the priest of thelittle parish, with his eyes sternly fixed upon him. The good man hadbeen informed of the dangerous state of the widow Vanderdecken, and hadrisen at daylight to visit and afford her spiritual comfort.

  "How now, my son," said the priest: "fearest thou not to disturb thymother's rest? and wouldst thou pilfer and purloin even before she is inher grave?"

  "I fear not to disturb my mother's rest, good father," replied Philip,rising on his feet, "for she now rests with the blessed. Neither do Ipilfer or purloin. It is not gold, I seek although if gold there were,that gold would now be mine. I seek but a key, long hidden, I believe,within this secret drawer, the opening of which is a mystery beyond myart."

  "Thy mother is no more, sayest thou, my son? and dead without receivingthe rites of our most holy church! Why didst thou not send for me?"

  "She died, good father, suddenly, most suddenly, in these arms, abouttwo hours ago. I fear not for her soul, although I can but grieve youwere not at her side."

  The priest gently opened the curtains, and looked upon the corpse. Hesprinkled holy water on the bed, and for a short time his lips were seento move in silent prayer. He then turned round to Philip.

  "Why do I see thee thus employed? and why so anxious to obtain that key?A mother's death should call forth filial tears and prayers for herrepose. Yet are thine eyes dry, and thou art employed upon anindifferent search while yet the tenement is warm which but now held herspirit. This is not seemly, Philip. What is the key thou seekest?"

  "Father, I have no time for tears--no time to spare for grief orlamentation. I have much to do, and more to think of than thought canwell embrace. That I loved my mother, you know well."

  "But the key thou seekest, Philip?"

  "Father, it is the key of a chamber which has not been unlocked foryears, which I must--will open; even if--"

  "If what, my son?"

  "I was about to say what I should not have said. Forgive me, Father; Imeant that I must search that chamber."

  "I have long heard of that same chamber being closed: and that thymother would not explain wherefore, I know well for I have asked her,and have been denied. Nay, when, as in duty bound, I pressed thequestion, I found her reason was disordered by my importunity, and,therefore, I abandoned the attempt. Some heavy weight was on thymother's mind, my son, yet would she never confess or trust it with me.Tell me, before she died, hadst thou this secret from her?"

  "I had, most holy father."

  "Wouldst thou not feel comfort if thou didst confide to me, my son? Imight advise, assist--"

  "Father, I would indeed--I could confide it to thee, and ask for thyassistance--I know 'tis not from curious feeling thou wouldst have it,but from a better motive. But of that which has been told it is not yetmanifest whether it is as my poor mother says, or but the phantom of aheated brain. Should it indeed be true, fain would I share the burthenwith you--yet little you might thank me for the heavy load. But no--atleast not now--it must not, cannot be revealed. I must do my work--enter that hated room alone."

  "Fearest thou not?"

  "Father, I fear nothing. I have a duty to perform--a dreadful one, Igrant; but, I pray thee, ask no more; for like my poor mother, I feel asif the probing of the wound would half unseat my reason."

  "I will not press thee further, Philip. The time may come when I mayprove of service. Farewell, my child; but I pray thee to discontinuethy unseemly labour, for I must send in the neighbours to perform theduties to thy departed mother, whose soul I trust is with its God."

  The priest looked at Philip; he perceived that his thoughts wereelsewhere; there was a vacancy and appearance of mental stupefaction,and as he turned away, the good man shook his head.

  "He is right," thought Philip, when once more alone; and he took up thecabinet, and placed it upon the stand. "A few hours more can make nodifference: I will lay me down, for my head is giddy."

  Philip went into the adjoining room, threw himself upon his bed, and ina few minutes was in a sleep as sound as that permitted to the wretch afew hours previous to his execution.

  During his slumbers the neighbours had come in, and had preparedeverything for the widow's interment. They had been careful not to wakethe son, for they held as sacred the sleep of those who must wake up tosorrow. Among others, soon after the hour of noon, arrived MynheerPoots; he had been informed of the death of the widow, but having aspare hour, he thought he might as well call, as it would raise hischarges by another guilder. He first went into the room where the bodylay, and from thence he proceeded to the chamber of Philip, and shookhim by the shoulder.

  Philip awoke, and, sitting up, perceived the doctor standing by him.

  "Well, Mynheer Vanderdecken," commenced the unfeeling little man, "soit's all over. I knew it would be so; and recollect you owe me nowanother guilder, and you promised faithfully to pay me; altogether, withthe potion, it will be three guilders and a half--that is, provided youreturn my phial."

  Philip, who at first waking was confused, gradually recovered his sensesduring this address.

  "You shall have your three guilders and a half, and your phial to boot,Mr Poots," replied he, as he rose from off the bed.

  "Yes, yes; I know you mean to pay me--if you can. But look you, MynheerPhilip, it may be some time before
you sell the cottage. You may notfind a customer. Now, I never wish to be hard upon people who have nomoney, and I'll tell you what I'll do. There is a something on yourmother's neck. It is of no value--none at all, but to a good Catholic.To help you in your strait I will take that thing, and then we shall bequits. You will have paid me, and there will be an end of it."

  Philip listened calmly: he knew to what the little miser had referred,--the relic on his mother's neck; that very relic upon which his fatherswore the fatal oath. He felt that millions of guilders would not haveinduced him to part with it.

  "Leave the house," answered he, abruptly. "Leave it immediately. Yourmoney shall be paid."

  Now Mynheer Poots, in the first place, knew that the setting of therelic, which was in a square frame of pure gold, was worth much morethan the sum due to him: he also knew that a large price had been paidfor the relic itself, and, as at that time such a relic was consideredvery valuable, he had no doubt but that it would again fetch aconsiderable sum. Tempted by the sight of it when he entered thechamber of death, he had taken it from the neck of the corpse, and itwas then actually concealed in his bosom, so he replied,--"My offer is agood one, Mynheer Philip, and you had better take it. Of what use issuch trash?"

  "I tell you no," cried Philip, in a rage.

  "Well, then, you will let me have it in my possession till I am paid,Mynheer Vanderdecken--that is but fair. I must not lose my money. Whenyou bring me my three guilders and a half and the phial, I will returnit to you."

  Philip's indignation was now without bounds. He seized Mynheer Poots bythe collar, and threw him out of the door. "Away immediately," criedhe, "or by--"

  There was no occasion for Philip to finish the imprecation. The doctorhad hastened away with such alarm, that he fell down half the steps ofthe staircase, and was limping away across the bridge. He almost wishedthat the relic had not been in his possession; but his sudden retreathad prevented him, even if so inclined, from replacing it on the corpse.

  The result of this conversation naturally turned Philip's thoughts tothe relic, and he went into his mother's room to take possession of it.He opened the curtains--the corpse was laid out--he put forth his handto untie the black ribbon. It was not there. "Gone!" exclaimed Philip."They hardly would have removed it--never would. It must be thatvillain Poots--wretch! but I will have it, even if he has swallowed it,though I tear him limb from limb!"

  Philip darted down the stairs, rushed out of the house, cleared the moatat one bound and, without coat or hat, flew away in the direction of thedoctor's lonely residence. The neighbours saw him as he passed themlike the wind; they wondered, and they shook their heads. Mynheer Pootswas not more than half way to his home for he had hurt his ankle.Apprehensive of what might possibly take place, should his theft bediscovered, he occasionally looked behind him; at length, to his horror,he beheld Philip Vanderdecken at a distance, bounding on in pursuit ofhim. Frightened almost out of his senses, the wretched pilferer hardlyknew how to act; to stop and surrender up the stolen property was hisfirst thought, but fear of Vanderdecken's violence prevented him; so hedecided on taking to his heels, thus hoping to gain his house, andbarricade himself in, by which means he would be in a condition to keeppossession of what he had stolen, or at least to make some terms ere herestored it.

  Mynheer Poots had need to run fast, and so he did, his thin legs bearinghis shrivelled form rapidly over the ground; but Philip, who, when hewitnessed the doctor's attempt to escape, was fully convinced that hewas the culprit, redoubled his exertions, and rapidly came up with thechase. When within a hundred yards of his own door, Mynheer Poots heardthe bounding steps of Philip gain upon him, and he sprang and leaped inhis agony. Nearer and nearer still the step, until at last he heard thevery breathing of his pursuer; and Poots shrieked in his fear, like thehare in the jaws of the greyhound. Philip was not a yard from him; hisarm was outstretched when the miscreant dropped down paralysed withterror; and the impetus of Vanderdecken was so great, that he passedover his body, tripped and after trying in vain to recover hisequilibrium, he fell and rolled over and over. This saved the littledoctor; it was like the double of a hare. In a second he was again onhis legs, and before Philip could rise and again exert his speed, Pootshad entered his door and bolted it within. Philip was, however,determined to repossess the important treasure; and as he panted, hecast his eyes around to see if any means offered for his forcing hisentrance into the house. But as the habitation of the doctor waslonely, every precaution had been taken by him to render it secureagainst robbery; the windows below were well barricaded and secured, andthose on the upper story were too high for any one to obtain admittanceby them.

  We must here observe, that although Mynheer Poots was,--from his knownabilities, in good practice, his reputation as a hard-hearted, unfeelingmiser was well established. No one was ever permitted to enter histhreshold, nor, indeed, did any one feel inclined. He was as isolatedfrom his fellow-creatures as was his tenement, and was only to be seenin the chamber of disease and death. What his establishment consistedof no one knew. When he first settled in the neighbourhood, an olddecrepit woman occasionally answered the knocks given at the door bythose who required the doctor's services; but she had been buried sometime, and ever since all calls at the door had been answered by MynheerPoots in person, if he were at home, and if not, there was no reply tothe most importunate summons. It was then surmised that the old manlived entirely by himself, being too niggardly to pay for anyassistance. This Philip also imagined; and as soon as he had recoveredhis breath, he began to devise some scheme by which he would be enablednot only to recover the stolen property, but also to wreak a direrevenge.

  The door was strong and not to be forced by any means which presentedthemselves to the eye of Vanderdecken. For a few minutes he paused toconsider, and as he reflected, so did his anger cool down, and hedecided that it would be sufficient to recover his relic without havingrecourse to violence. So he called out in a loud voice--

  "Mynheer Poots, I know that you can hear me. Give me back what you havetaken, and I will do you no hurt; but if you will not, you must take theconsequence, for your life shall pay the forfeit before I leave thisspot."

  This speech was indeed very plainly heard by Mynheer Poots; but thelittle miser had recovered from his fright, and, thinking himselfsecure, could not make up his mind to surrender the relic without astruggle; so the doctor answered not, hoping that the patience of Philipwould be exhausted, and that by some arrangement, such as the sacrificeof a few guilders, no small matter to one so needy as Philip, he wouldbe able to secure what he was satisfied would sell at a high price.

  Vanderdecken, finding that no answer was returned, indulged in stronginvective, and then decided upon measures certainly in themselves by nomeans undecided.

  There was part of a small stack of dry fodder standing not far from thehouse, and under the wall a pile of wood for firing. With theseVanderdecken resolved upon setting fire to the house, and thus, if hedid not gain his relic, he would at least obtain ample revenge, hebrought several armfuls of fodder and laid them at the door of thehouse, and upon that he piled the faggots and logs of wood, until thedoor was quite concealed by them. He then procured a light from thesteel, flint, and tinder which every Dutchman carries in his pocket, andvery soon he had fanned the pile into a flame. The smoke ascended incolumns up to the rafters of the roof, while the fire raged below. Thedoor was ignited, and was adding to the fury of the flames, and Philipshouted with joy at the success of his attempt.

  "Now, miserable despoiler of the dead--now, wretched thief, now youshall feel my vengeance," cried Philip, with a loud voice. "If youremain within, you perish in the flames; if you attempt to come out, youshall die by my hands. Do you hear, Mynheer Poots--do you hear?"

  Hardly had Philip concluded this address, when the window of the upperfloor furthest from the burning door was thrown open.

  "Ay,--you come now to beg and to entreat;--but no--no," cr
ied Philip--who stopped as he beheld at the window what seemed to be an apparition,for instead of the wretched little miser, he beheld one of the loveliestforms Nature ever deigned to mould--an angelic creature, of aboutsixteen or seventeen, who appeared calm and resolute in the midst of thedanger by which she was threatened. Her long black hair was braided andtwined round her beautifully-formed head; her eyes were large, intenselydark, yet soft; her forehead high and white, her chin dimpled, her rubylips arched and delicately fine, her nose small and straight. Alovelier face could not be well imagined; it reminded you of what thebest of painters have sometimes, in their more fortunate moments,succeeded in embodying, when they would represent a beauteous saint.And as the flames wreathed and the smoke burst out in columns and sweptpast the window, so might she have reminded you in her calmness ofdemeanour of some martyr at the stake.

  "What wouldst thou, violent young man? Why are the inmates of thishouse to suffer death by your means?" said the maiden, with composure.

  For a few seconds Philip gazed, and could make no reply; then thethought seized him that in his vengeance, he was about to sacrifice somuch loveliness. He forgot everything but her danger, and seizing oneof the large poles which he had brought to feed the flame, he threw offand scattered in every direction the burning masses, until nothing wasleft which could hurt the building but the ignited door itself; andthis, which as yet--for it was of thick oak plank--had not suffered verymaterial injury, he soon reduced, by beating it, with clods of earth, toa smoking and harmless state. During these active measures on the partof Philip, the young maiden watched him in silence.

  "All is safe now, young lady," said Philip. "God forgive me that Ishould have risked a life so precious. I thought but to wreak myvengeance upon Mynheer Poots."

  "And what cause can Mynheer Poots have given for such dreadfulvengeance?" replied the maiden, calmly.

  "What cause, young lady? He came to my house--despoiled the dead--tookfrom my mother's corpse a relic beyond price."

  "Despoiled the dead!--he surely cannot--you must wrong him, young sir."

  "No, no. It is the fact, lady,--and that relic--forgive me--but thatrelic I must have. You know not what depends upon it."

  "Wait, young sir," replied the maiden; "I will soon return."

  Philip waited several minutes, lost in thought and admiration: so fair acreature in the house of Mynheer Poots! Who could she be? While thusruminating, he was accosted by the silver voice of the object of hisreveries, who, leaning out of the window held in her hand the blackribbon to which was attached the article so dearly coveted.

  "Here is your relic, sir," said the young female; "I regret much that myfather should have done a deed which well might justify your anger: buthere it is," continued she, dropping it down on the ground by Philip;"and now you may depart."

  "Your father, maiden! can he be _your_ father?" said Philip, forgettingto take up the relic which lay at his feet.

  She would have retired from the window without reply, but Philip spoke aagain--

  "Stop, lady, stop one moment, until I beg your forgiveness for a wild,foolish act. I swear by this sacred relic," continued he, taking itfrom the ground and raising it to his lips, "that had I known that anyunoffending person had been in this house, I would not have done thedeed, and much do I rejoice that no harm hath happened. But there isstill danger, lady; the door must be unbarred, and the jambs, whichstill are glowing, be extinguished, or the house may yet be burnt. Fearnot for your father, maiden; for had he done me a thousand times morewrong, you will protect each hair upon his head. He knows me wellenough to know I keep my word. Allow me to repair the injury I haveoccasioned, and then I will depart."

  "No, no; don't trust him," said Mynheer Poots, from within the chamber.

  "Yes, he may be trusted," replied the daughter; "and his services aremuch needed for what could a poor weak girl like me, and a still weakerfather, do in this strait? Open the door, and let the house be madesecure." The maiden then addressed Philip--"He shall open the door,sir, and I will thank you for your kind service. I trust entirely toyour promise."

  "I never yet was known to break my word, maiden," replied Philip; "butlet him be quick, for the flames are bursting out again."

  The door was opened by the trembling hands of Mynheer Poots, who thenmade a hasty retreat upstairs. The truth of what Philip had said wasthen apparent. Many were the buckets of water which he was obliged tofetch before the fire was quite subdued; but during his exertionsneither the daughter nor the father made their appearance.

  When all was safe, Philip closed the door, and again looked up at thewindow. The fair girl made her appearance, and Philip, with a lowobeisance, assured her that there was then no danger.

  "I thank you, sir," replied she--"I thank you much. Your conduct,although hasty at the first, has yet been most considerate."

  "Assure your father, maiden, that all animosity on my part hath ceased,and that in a few days I will call and satisfy the demand he hathagainst me."

  The window closed, and Philip, more excited but with feelings altogetherdifferent from those with which he had set out, looked at it for aminute, and then bent his steps to his own cottage.