

E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Josephine Paolucci, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team



THE PHANTOM SHIP

by

CAPTAIN FREDERICK MARRYAT

LONDON

MDCCCXCVI







Contents


CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER XXXIII
CHAPTER XXXIV
CHAPTER XXXV
CHAPTER XXXVI
CHAPTER XXXVII
CHAPTER XXXVIII
CHAPTER XXXIX
CHAPTER XL
CHAPTER XLI
CHAPTER XLII




Prefatory Note


_THE PHANTOM SHIP_ is the most notable of the three novels constructed
by Marryat on an historic basis, and like its predecessor in the
same category, _Snarleyyow_, depends largely for its interest on the
element of _diablerie_, which is very skilfully manipulated. Here,
however, the supernatural appearances are never explained away, and
the ghostly agencies are introduced in the spirit of serious, if
somewhat melodramatic, romance. Marryat's personal experience enabled
him, with little research, to produce a life-like picture of old Dutch
seamanship, and his powers in racy narrative have transformed the
Vanderdecken legend into a stirring tale of terror. The plot cannot
be called original, but it is more carefully worked out and, from the
nature of the material at hand, more effective than most of Marryat's
own. He has put life into it, moreover, by the creation of some
genuine characters, designed for nobler ends than to move the
machinery. Amine, indeed, as Mr Hannay points out, "is by far his nearest
approach to an acceptable heroine." Her romantic and curiously
superstitious disposition is admirably restrained by strength of will
and true courage. The scenes of the Inquisition by which she meets
her death are forcibly described. Philip Vanderdecken is a very
respectable hero; daring, impetuous, and moody, without being too
improbably capable. The hand of destiny lends him a dignity of which
he is by no means unworthy. Krantz, the faithful friend, belongs to a
familiar type, but the one-eyed pilot is quite sufficiently weird
for the part he has to play. For the rest we have the usual exciting
adventures by sea and land; the usual "humours," in this case
certainly not overdone. The miser Dr Poots; the bulky Kloots, his
bear, and his supercargo; Barentz and his crazy lady-love the _Vrow
Katerina_; and the little Portuguese Commandant provide the reader
with a variety of good-natured entertainment. It was an act of
doubtful wisdom, perhaps, to introduce a second group of spirits from
the Hartz mountains, but the story of the weir-wolves is told simply,
without any straining after effect. The general success, however, is marred by certain obvious failures
in detail. The attempt to produce an historic flavour by making the
characters, during their calmer moments, talk in would-be old English
is more amusing than culpable; but the author's philosophy of the
unseen, as expounded by Amine or Krantz, is both weak and tiresome,
and his religious discourses, coloured by prejudice against the
Romanists, are conventional and unconvincing. The closing scene
savours of the Sunday-school. But these faults are not obtrusive, and the novel as a whole must take
a high place among its author's second-best. _The Phantom Ship_ appeared in _The New Monthly Magazine_, 1838, 1839. It is here reprinted from the first edition, in three volumes. Henry
Colburn, 1839. R.B.J. Chapter I


About the middle of the seventeenth century, in the outskirts of the
small but fortified town of Terneuse, situated on the right bank of
the Scheldt, and nearly opposite to the island of Walcheren, there was
to be seen, in advance of a few other even more humble tenements, a
small but neat cottage, built according to the prevailing taste of the
time. The outside front had, some years back, been painted of a deep
orange, the windows and shutters of a vivid green. To about three feet
above the surface of the earth, it was faced alternately with blue and
white tiles. A small garden, of about two rods of our measure of land,
surrounded the edifice; and this little plot was flanked by a low
hedge of privet, and encircled by a moat full of water, too wide to be
leaped with ease. Over that part of the moat which was in front of
the cottage door, was a small and narrow bridge, with ornamented
iron hand-rails, for the security of the passenger. But the colours,
originally so bright, with which the cottage had been decorated, had
now faded; symptoms of rapid decay were evident in the window-sills,
the door-jambs, and other wooden parts of the tenement, and many of
the white and blue tiles had fallen down, and had not been replaced. That much care had once been bestowed upon this little tenement, was
as evident as that latterly it had been equally neglected. The inside of the cottage, both on the basement and the floor above,
was divided into two larger rooms in front, and two smaller behind;
the rooms in front could only be called large in comparison with the
other two, as they were little more than twelve feet square, with but
one window to each. The upper floor was, as usual, appropriated to the
bedrooms; on the lower, the two smaller rooms were now used only as a
wash-house and a lumber-room; while one of the larger was fitted up as
a kitchen, and furnished with dressers, on which the metal utensils
for cookery shone clean and polished as silver. The room itself was
scrupulously neat; but the furniture, as well as the utensils, were
scanty. The boards of the floor were of a pure white, and so clean
that you might have laid anything down without fear of soiling it. A
strong deal table, two wooden-seated chairs, and a small easy couch,
which had been removed from one of the bedrooms upstairs, were all
the movables which this room contained. The other front room had been
fitted up as a parlour; but what might be the style of its furniture
was now unknown, for no eye had beheld the contents of that room for
nearly seventeen years, during which it had been hermetically sealed,
even to the inmates of the cottage. The kitchen, which we have described, was occupied by two persons. One
was a woman, apparently about forty years of age, but worn down by
pain and suffering. She had evidently once possessed much beauty:
there were still the regular outlines, the noble forehead, and the
large dark eye; but there was a tenuity in her features, a wasted
appearance, such as to render the flesh transparent; her brow, when
she mused, would sink into deep wrinkles, premature though they were;
and the occasional flashing of her eyes strongly impressed you
with the idea of insanity.