The seamen and
passengers threw themselves down on their knees, and invoked their
saints. The captain ran down for a candle, to light before the image
of St Antonio, which he took out of its shrine, and kissed with much
apparent affection and devotion, and then replaced. Shortly afterwards the splash of oars was heard alongside, and a voice
calling out, "I say, my good people, give us a rope from forward." No one answered, or complied with the request. Schriften only went up
to the captain, and told him that if they offered to send letters they
must not be received or the vessel would be doomed, and all would
perish. A man now made his appearance from over the gunnel, at the gangway. "You might as well have let me had a side rope, my hearties," said he,
as he stepped on deck; "where is the captain?" "Here," replied the captain, trembling from head to foot. The man who
accosted him appeared a weather-beaten seaman, dressed in a fur cap
and canvas petticoats; he held some letters in his hand. "What do you want?" at last screamed the captain. "Yes--what do you want?" continued Schriften. "He! he!" "What, you here, pilot?" observed the man; "well--I thought you had
gone to Davy's locker, long enough ago." "He! he!" replied Schriften, turning away. "Why the fact is, captain, we have had very foul weather, and we wish
to send letters home; I do believe that we shall never get round this
Cape." "I can't take them," cried the captain. "Can't take them! well, it's very odd--but every ship refuses to
take our letters; it's very unkind--seamen should have a feeling for
brother seamen, especially in distress. God knows, we wish to see our
wives and families again; and it would be a matter of comfort to them,
if they only could hear from us." "I cannot take your letters--the saints preserve us;" replied the
captain. "We have been a long while out," said the seaman, shaking his head. "How long?" inquired the captain, not knowing what to say. "We can't tell; our almanack was blown overboard, and we have lost our
reckoning. We never have our latitude exact now, for we cannot tell
the sun's declination for the right day." "Let _me_ see your letters," said Philip, advancing, and taking them
out of the seaman's hands. "They must not be touched," screamed Schriften. "Out, monster!" replied Philip, "who dares interfere with me?" "Doomed--doomed--doomed!" shrieked Schriften, running up and down the
deck, and then breaking into a wild fit of laughter. "Touch not the letters," said the captain, trembling as if in an ague
fit. Philip made no reply, but held his hand out for the letters. "Here is one from our second mate, to his wife at Amsterdam, who lives
on Waser Quay." "Waser Quay has long been gone, my good friend; there is now a large
dock for ships where it once was," replied Philip. "Impossible!" replied the man; "here is another from the boatswain to
his father, who lives in the old market-place." "The old market-place has long been pulled down, and there now stands
a church upon the spot." "Impossible!" replied the seaman; "here is another from myself to my
sweetheart, Vrow Ketser--with money to buy her a new brooch." Philip shook his head--"I remember seeing an old lady of that name
buried some thirty years ago." "Impossible! I left her young and blooming. Here's one for the house
of Slutz & Co., to whom the ship belongs." "There's no such house now," replied Philip; "but I have heard, that
many years ago there was a firm of that name." "Impossible! you must be laughing at me. Here is a letter from our
captain to his son"

"Give it me," cried Philip, seizing the letter, he was about to break
the seal, when Schriften snatched it out of his hand, and threw it
over the lee gunnel. "That's a scurvy trick for an old shipmate," observed the seaman. Schriften made no reply, but catching up the other letters which
Philip had laid down on the capstan, he hurled them after the first. The strange seaman shed tears, and walked again to the side:--"It is
very hard--very unkind," observed he, as he descended; "the time may
come when you may wish that your family should know your situation;"
so saying, he disappeared: in a few seconds was heard the sound of the
oars, retreating from the ship. "Holy St Antonio!" exclaimed the captain, "I am lost in wonder and
fright. Steward, bring me up the arrack." The steward ran down for the bottle; being as much alarmed as his
captain, he helped himself before he brought it up to his commander. "Now," said the captain, after keeping his mouth for two minutes to
the bottle, and draining it to the bottom, "what is to be done next?" "I'll tell you," said Schriften, going up to him. "That man there has
a charm hung round his neck; take it from him and throw it overboard,
and your ship will be saved; if not, it will be lost, with every soul
on board." "Yes, yes, it's all right depend upon it;" cried the sailors. "Fools," replied Philip, "do you believe that wretch? Did you not hear
the man who came on board recognise him, and call him shipmate? He is
the party whose presence on board will prove so unfortunate." "Yes, yes," cried the sailors, "it's all right, the man did call him
shipmate." "I tell you it's all wrong," cried Schriften; "that is the man, let
him give up the charm." "Yes, yes; let him give up the charm," cried the sailors, and they
rushed upon Philip. Philip started back to where the captain stood. "Mad-men, know ye what
ye are about? It is the holy cross that I wear round my neck. Throw it
overboard if you dare, and your souls are lost for ever;" and Philip
took the relic from his bosom and showed it to the captain. "No, no, men;" exclaimed the captain, who was now more settled in his
nerves; "that won't do--the saints protect us." The seamen, however, became clamorous; one portion were for throwing
Schriften overboard, the other for throwing Philip; at last, the point
was decided by the captain, who directed the small skiff, hanging
astern, to be lowered down, and ordered both Philip and Schriften to
get into it. The seamen approved of this arrangement, as it satisfied
both parties. Philip made no objection; Schriften screamed and fought,
but he was tossed into the boat. There he remained trembling in the
stern sheets, while Philip, who had seized the sculls, pulled away
from the vessel in the direction of the Phantom Ship. Chapter XLII


In a few minutes the vessel which Philip and Schriften had left was no
longer to be discerned through the thick haze; the Phantom Ship was
still in sight, but at a much greater distance from them than she was
before. Philip pulled hard towards her, but although hove-to, she
appeared to increase her distance from the boat. For a short time he
paused on his oars, to regain his breath, when Schriften rose up and
took his seat in the stern sheets of the boat.