"You may pull and pull,
Philip Vanderdecken," observed Schriften; "but you will not gain that
ship--no, no, that cannot be--we may have a long cruise together, but
you will be as far from your object at the end of it, as you are now
at the commencement.--Why don't you throw me overboard again? You
would be all the lighter--He! he!" "I threw you overboard in a state of frenzy," replied Philip, "when
you attempted to force from me my relic." "And have I not endeavoured to make others take it from you this very
day?--Have I not--He! he!" "You have," rejoined Philip; "but I am now convinced, that you are
as unhappy as myself, and that in what you are doing, you are only
following your destiny, as I am mine. Why, and wherefore I cannot
tell, but we are both engaged in the same mystery;--if the success of
my endeavours depends upon guarding the relic, the success of yours
depends upon your obtaining it, and defeating my purpose by so doing. In this matter we are both agents, and you have been, as far as my
mission is concerned, my most active enemy. But, Schriften, I have
not forgotten, and never will, that you kindlily _did advise_ my poor
Amine; that you prophesied to her what would be her fate, if she did
not listen to your counsel; that you were no enemy of hers, although
you have been, and are still mine. Although my enemy, for her sake _I
forgive you_, and will not attempt to harm you." "You do then _forgive your enemy_, Philip Vanderdecken?" replied
Schriften, mournfully, "for such, I acknowledge myself to be." "I do, with _all my heart, with all my soul_," replied Philip. "Then have you conquered me, Philip Vanderdecken; you have now made me
your friend, and your wishes are about to be accomplished. You would
know who I am. Listen:--when your Father, defying the Almighty's will,
in his rage took my life, he was vouchsafed a chance of his doom being
cancelled, through the merits of his son. I had also my appeal, which
was for _vengeance_; it was granted that I should remain on earth,
and thwart your will. That as long as we were enemies, you should not
succeed; but that when you had conformed to the highest attribute
of Christianity, proved on the holy cross, that of _forgiving your
enemy_, your task should be fulfilled. Philip Vanderdecken, you have
forgiven your enemy, and both our destinies are now accomplished." As Schriften spoke, Philip's eyes were fixed upon him. He extended his
hand to Philip--it was taken; and as it was pressed, the form of the
pilot wasted as it were into the air, and Philip found himself alone. "Father of Mercy, I thank Thee," said Philip, "that my task is done,
and that I again may meet my Amine." Philip then pulled towards the Phantom Ship, and found that she no
longer appeared to leave him; on the contrary, every minute he was
nearer and nearer, and at last he threw in his oars, climbed up her
sides, and gained her deck. The crew of the vessel crowded round him. "Your captain," said Philip; "I must speak with your captain." "Who shall I say, sir?" demanded one, who appeared to be the first
mate. "Who?" replied Philip; "tell him his son would speak to him, his son
Philip Vanderdecken." Shouts of laughter from the crew, followed this answer of Philip's;
and the mate, as soon as they ceased, observed with a smile,

"You forget, sir, perhaps you would say his father." "Tell him his son, if you please," replied Philip, "take no note of
grey hairs." "Well, sir, here he is coming forward," replied the mate, stepping
aside, and pointing to the captain. "What is all this?" inquired the captain. "Are you Philip Vanderdecken, the captain of this vessel?" "I am, sir," replied the other. "You appear not to know me! But how can you? you saw me but when I was
only three years old; yet may you remember a letter which you gave to
your wife." "Ha!" replied the captain; "and who then are you?" "Time has stopped with you, but with those who live in the world he
stops not! and for those who pass a life of misery, he hurries on
still faster. In me, behold your son, Philip Vanderdecken, who has
obeyed your wishes; and after a life of such peril and misery as few
have passed, has at last fulfilled his vow, and now offers to his
father the precious relic that he required to kiss." Philip drew out the relic, and held it towards his father. As if a
flash of lightning had passed through his mind, the captain of the
vessel started back, clasped his hands, fell on his knees, and wept. "My son, my son!" exclaimed he, rising, and throwing himself into
Philip's arms, "my eyes are opened--the Almighty knows how long they
have been obscured." Embracing each other, they walked aft, away from
the men, who were still crowded at the gangway. "My son, my noble son, before the charm is broken--before we resolve,
as we must, into the elements, oh! let me kneel in thanksgiving
and contrition: my son, my noble son, receive a father's thanks,"
exclaimed Vanderdecken. Then with tears of joy and penitence he humbly
addressed himself to that Being, whom he once so awfully defied. The elder Vanderdecken knelt down: Philip did the same; still
embracing each other with one arm, while they raised on high the
other, and prayed. For the last time the relic was taken from the bosom of Philip and
handed to his father--and his father raised his eyes to heaven and
kissed it. And as he kissed it, the long tapering upper spars of the
Phantom vessel, the yards and sails that were set, fell into dust,
fluttered in the air and sank upon the wave. Then mainmast, foremast,
bowsprit, everything above the deck, crumbled into atoms and
disappeared. Again he raised the relic to his lips, and the work of destruction
continued, the heavy iron guns sank through the decks and disappeared;
the crew of the vessel (who were looking on) crumbled down into
skeletons, and dust, and fragments of ragged garments; and there were
none left on board the vessel in the semblance of life but the father
and the son. Once more did he put the sacred emblem to his lips, and the beams
and timbers separated, the decks of the vessel slowly sank, and the
remnants of the hull floated upon, the water; and as the father and
son--the one young and vigorous, the other old and decrepit--still
kneeling, still embracing, with their hands raised to heaven, sank
slowly under the deep blue wave, the lurid sky was for a moment
illumined by a lightning cross. Then did the clouds which obscured the heavens roll away swift as
thought--the sun again burst out in all his splendour--the rippling
waves appeared to dance with joy. The screaming sea-gull again whirled
in the air, and the scared albatross once more slumbered on the wing. The porpoise tumbled and tossed in his sportive play, the albicore and
dolphin leaped from the sparkling sea.--All nature smiled as if it
rejoiced that the charm was dissolved for ever, and that "THE PHANTOM