“It is so, Philip, my life upon it. Do not for a moment harbour a thought so injurious to one who lives but in your love. Suspect that fond and devoted creature! I blush for you, Philip Vanderdecken.”
“You are right, and I beg her pardon for allowing such feelings or thoughts to have for one moment overpowered me,” responded Philip; “but it is a hard case for a husband who loves as I do, to hear his wife’s name bandied about, and her character assailed by a contemptible wretch like this commandant.”
“It is, I grant; but still I prefer even that to a dungeon,” replied Krantz, “and so, good night.”
For three weeks they remained in the fort, every day becoming more intimate with the commandant, who often communicated with Krantz, when Philip was not present, turning the conversation upon his love for Amine and entering into a minute detail of all that had passed. Krantz perceived that he was right in his opinion, and that Amine had only been cajoling the commandant, that she might escape. But the time passed heavily away with Philip and Krantz, for no vessel made its appearance.
“When shall I see her again?” soliloquised Philip one morning, as he lolled over the parapet, in company with Krantz.
“See who?” said the commandant, who happened to be at his elbow.
Philip turned round and stammered something unintelligible.
“We were talking of his sister, commandant,” said Krantz, taking his arm, and leading him away.—“Do not mention the subject to my friend, for it is a very painful one, and forms one reason why he is so inimical to the sex. She was married to his intimate friend and ran away from her husband: it was his only sister; and the disgrace broke his mother’s heart, and has made him miserable. Take no notice of it, I beg.”
“No, no, certainly not; I don’t wonder at it: the honour of one’s family is a serious affair,” replied the commandant.—“Poor young man, what with his sister’s conduct, and the falsehood of his own intended, I don’t wonder at his being so grave and silent. Is he of good family, signor?”
“One of the noblest in all Holland,” replied Krantz;—“he is heir to a large property, and independent by the fortune of his mother; but these two unfortunate events induced him to quit the States secretly, and he embarked for these countries that he might forget his grief.”
“One of the noblest families?” replied the commandant;—“then he is under an assumed name—Jacob Vancheat is not his true name, of course.”
“Oh, no,” replied Krantz;—“that it is not, I assure you; but my lips are sealed on that point.”
“Of course, except to a friend who can keep a secret. I will not ask it now. So he is really noble?”
“One of the highest families in the country, possessing great wealth and influence—allied to the Spanish nobility by marriage.”
“Indeed!” rejoined the commandant, musing—“I dare say he knows many of the Portuguese as well.”
“No doubt of it, they are all more or less connected.”
“He must prove to you a most valuable friend, Signor Richter.”
“I consider myself provided for for life as soon as we return home. He is of a very grateful, generous disposition, as he would prove to you, should you ever fall in with him.”
“I have no doubt of it; and I can assure you that I am heartily tired of staying in this country. Here I shall remain probably for two years more before I am relieved, and then shall have to join my regiment at Goa, and not be able to obtain leave to return home without resigning my commission. But he is coming this way.”
After this conversation with Krantz, the alteration in the manner of the Portuguese commandant, who had the highest respect for nobility, was most marked. He treated Philip with a respect which was observable to all in the fort; and which was, until Krantz had explained the cause, a source of astonishment to Philip himself. The commandant often introduced the subject to Krantz, and sounded him as to whether his conduct towards Philip had been such as to have made a favourable impression; for the little man now hoped, that through such an influential channel, he might reap some benefit.
Some days after this conversation, as they were all three seated at table, a corporal entered, and saluting the commandant, informed him that a Dutch sailor had arrived at fort, and wished to know whether he should be admitted. Both Philip and Krantz turned pale at this communication—they had a presentiment of evil but they said nothing. The sailor was ordered in, and in a few minutes, who should make his appearance but their tormentor, the one-eyed Schriften. On perceiving Philip and Krantz seated at the table, he immediately exclaimed, “Oh! Captain Philip Vanderdecken, and my good friend Mynheer Krantz, first mate of the good ship Utrecht, I am glad to meet you again.”
“Captain Philip Vanderdecken!” roared the commandant, as he sprung from his chair.
“Yes, that is my captain, Mynheer Philip Vanderdecken and that is my first mate, Mynheer Krantz; both of the good ship Utrecht: we were wrecked together, were we not. Mynheer? He! he!”
“Sangue de—Vanderdecken! the husband! Corpo del diavolo—is it possible!” cried the commandant, panting for breath, as he seized his long sword with both hands and clenched it with fury.—“What, then, I have been deceived, cajoled, laughed at!” Then, after a pause—the veins of his forehead distending so as almost to burst—he continued, with a suppressed voice, “Most noble sir, I thank you; but now it is my turn.—What, ho! there! Corporal—men, here, instantly—quick!”
Philip and Krantz felt convinced that all denial was useless. Philip folded his arms and made no reply. Krantz merely observed, “A little reflection will prove to you, sir, that this indignation is not warranted.”
“Not warranted!” rejoined the commandant with a sneer, “you have deceived me; but you are caught in your own trap. I have the paper signed, which I shall not fail to make use of. You are dead, you know, Captain; I have your own hand to it, and your wife will be glad to believe it.”
“She has deceived you, commandant, to get out of your power, nothing more,” said Vanderdecken. “She would spurn a contemptible withered wretch like yourself, were she as free as the wind.”
“Go on, go on; it will be my turn soon. Corporal, throw these two men into the dungeon: a sentry at the door till further orders. Away with them! Most noble sir, perhaps your influential friends in Holland and Spain will enable you to get out again.”
Philip and Krantz were led away by the soldiers, who were very much surprised at this change of treatment. Schriften followed them; and as they walked across the rampart to the stairs which led to their prison, Krantz, in his fury, burst from the soldiers, and bestowed a kick upon Schriften, which sent him several feet forward on his face.
“That was a good one—he! he!” cried Schriften, smiling and looking at Krantz as he regained his legs.
There was an eye, however, which met theirs with an intelligent glance, as they descended the stairs to the dungeon. It was that of the soldier Pedro. It told them that there was one friend upon whom they could rely, and who would spare no endeavour to assist them in their new difficulty. It was a consolation to them both; a ray of hope which cheered them as they once more descended the narrow steps, and heard the heavy key turned which again secured them in their dungeon.
* * *
Chapter Thirty Three.
“Thus are all our hopes wrecked,” said Philip, mournfully; “what chance have we now of escaping from this little tyrant?”
“Chances turn up,” replied Krantz; “at present, the prospect is not very cheering. Let us hope for the best. I have an idea in my head which may probably be turned to some account,” continued Krantz, “as soon as the little man’s fury is over.”
“Which is?”
“That, much as he likes your wife, there is something which he likes quite as well—money. Now, as we know where all the treasure is concealed, I think he may be tempted to offer us our liberty, if we were to promise to put it into his possession.”
“That is not impossible. Confound that little malignant wretch Schriften; he certainly is not, as you say, of this world. He has been my persecutor through life, and appears to act from an impulse not his own.”
“Then must he be part and portion of your destiny. I’m thinking whether our noble commandant intends to leave us without anything to eat or drink.”
“I should not be surprised; that he will attempt my life I am convinced, but not that he can take it; he may, however, add to its sufferings.”
As soon as the commandant had recovered from his fury, he ordered Schriften in, to be examined more particularly; but, after every search made for him, Schriften was nowhere to be found. The sentry at the gate declared that he had not passed: and a new search was ordered, but in vain. Even the dungeons and galleries below were examined, but without success.
“Can he be locked up with the other prisoners?” thought the commandant: “impossible—but I will go and see.”
He descended and opened the door of the dungeon, looked in, and was about to return without speaking, when Krantz said, “Well, signor, this is kind treatment, after having lived so long and so amicably together; to throw us into prison merely because a fellow declares that we are not what we represented ourselves to be; perhaps you will allow us a little water to drink?”
The commandant, confused by the extraordinary disappearance of Schriften hardly knew how to reply. He at last said in a milder tone than was to be anticipated, “I will order them to bring some, signor.”
He then closed the door of the dungeon and disappeared.
“Strange,” observed Philip, “he appears more pacified already.” In a few minutes the door was again opened, and Pedro came in with a chatty of water.
“He has disappeared like magic, signors, and is nowhere to be found. We have searched everywhere, but in vain.”
“Who?—the little old seaman?”
“Yes, he whom you kicked as you were led to prison. The people all say, that it must have been a ghost. The sentry declares that he never left the fort, nor came near him; so how he has got away is a riddle, which I perceive has frightened our commandant not a little.”
Krantz gave a long whistle as he looked at Philip.
“Are you to have charge of us, Pedro?”
“I hope so.”
“Well, tell the commandant that when he is ready to listen to me, I have something of importance to communicate.”
Pedro went out.
“Now, Philip, I can frighten this little man into allowing us to go free, if you will consent to say that you are not the husband of Amine.”
“That I cannot do, Krantz. I will not utter such a falsehood.”
“I was afraid so, and yet it appears to me that we may avail ourselves of duplicity to meet cruelty and injustice. Unless you do as I propose, I hardly know how I can manage it; however, I will try what I can do.”
“I will assist you in every way, except disclaiming my wife: that I never will do.”
“Well, then, I will see if I can make up a story that will suit all parties: let me think.”
Krantz continued musing as he walked up and down, and was still occupied with his own thoughts, when the door opened, and the commandant made his appearance.
“You have something to impart to me, I understand—what is it?”
“First, sir, bring that little wretch down here and confront him with us.”
“I see no occasion for that,” replied the commandant; “what, sir, may you have to say?”
“Do you know who you have in your company when you speak to that one-eyed deformity?”
“A Dutch sailor, I presume.”
“No—a spirit—a demon—who occasioned the loss of the vessel; and who brings misfortune wherever he appears.”
“Holy Virgin! what do you tell me, signor?”
“The fact, Signor Commandant. We are obliged to you for confining us here, while he is in the fort; but beware for yourself.”
“You are laughing at me.”
“I am not; bring him down here. This noble gentleman has power over him. I wonder, indeed, at his daring to stay while he is so near; he has on his heart that which will send him trembling away. Bring him down here, and you shall at once see him vanish with curses and screams.”
“Heaven defend us!” cried the commandant, terrified.
“Send for him now, signor.”
“He is gone—vanished—not to be found!”
“I thought as much,” replied Philip, significantly.
“He is gone—vanished—you say. Then, commandant, you will probably apologise to this noble gentleman for your treatment of him, and permit us to return to our former apartments. I will there explain to you this most strange and interesting history.”
The commandant, more confused than ever, hardly knew how to act. At last he bowed to Philip, and begged that he would consider himself at liberty; “and,” continued he to Krantz, “I shall be most happy at an immediate explanation of this affair, for everything appears so contradictory.”
“And must, until it is explained. I will follow you into your own room; a courtesy you must not expect from my noble friend, who is not a little indignant at your treatment of him.”
The commandant went out, leaving the door open. Philip and Krantz followed: the former retiring to his own apartment; the latter, bending his steps after the commandant to his sitting-room. The confusion which whirled in the brain of the commandant made him appear most ridiculous. He hardly knew whether to be imperative or civil; whether he was really speaking to the first mate of the vessel, or to another party; or whether he had insulted a noble, or been cajoled by a captain of a vessel: he threw himself down on his sofa, and Krantz, taking his seat in a chair, stated as follows:—
“You have been partly deceived and partly not, commandant. When we first came here, not knowing what treatment we might receive, we concealed our rank; afterwards I made known to you the rank of my friend on shore; but did not think it worth while to say anything about his situation on board of the vessel. The fact is, as you may well suppose of a person of his dignity, he was owner of the fine ship which was lost through the intervention of that one-eyed wretch; but of that by-and-by. Now for the story. About ten years ago there was a great miser in Amsterdam; he lived in the most miserable way that a man could live in; wore nothing but rags; and having been formerly a seaman, his attire was generally of the description common to his class. He had one son, to whom he denied the necessaries of life, and whom he treated most cruelly. After vain attempts to possess a portion of his father’s wealth, the devil instigated the son to murder the old man, who was one day found dead in his bed; but as there were no marks of violence which could be sworn to, although suspicion fell upon the son, the affair was hushed up, and the young man took possession of his father’s wealth. It was fully expected that there would now be rioting and squandering on the part of the heir, as is usually the case; but, on the contrary, he never spent anything, but appeared to be as poor—even poorer—than he ever was. Instead of being gay and merry, he was, in appearance, the most miserable, downcast person in the world; and he wandered about, seeking a crust of bread wherever he could find it. Some said that he had been inoculated by his father, and was as great a miser as his father had been; others shook their heads, and said that all was not right. At last, after pining away for six or seven years, the young man died at an early age, without confession or absolution; in fact, he was found dead in his bed. Beside the bed there was a paper addressed to the authorities, in which he acknowledged that he had murdered his father for the sake of his wealth; and that when he went to take some of it for his expenses on the day afterwards, he found his father’s spirit sitting on the bags of money, and menacing him with instant death, if he touched one piece. He returned again and again, and found his father a sentinel as before. At last, he gave up attempting to obtain it: his crime made him miserable, and he continued in possession, without daring to expend one sixpence of all the money. He requested that, as his end was approaching, the money should be given to the church of his patron saint, wherever that church might be found; if there was not one, then that a church might be built and endowed. Upon investigation, it appeared that there was no such church in either Holland or the Low Countries (for you know that there are not many Catholics there); and they applied to the Catholic countries, Lisbon and Spain, but there again they were at fault; and it was discovered, that the only church dedicated to that saint was one which had been erected by a Portuguese nobleman in the city of Goa, in the East Indies. The Catholic bishop determined that the money should be sent to Goa and, in consequence it was embarked on board of my patron’s vessel, to be delivered up to the first Portuguese authorities he might fall in with.
