Philip started, not only at the sight of the man, but at the reminiscences which his unexpected appearance brought to his mind. It was but for a second, and he was again calm and pensive.
“You here again, Schriften?” observed Philip. “I trust your appearance forebodes the accomplishment of my task.”
“Perhaps it does,” replied the pilot; “we both are weary.”
Philip made no reply; he did not even ask Schriften in what manner he had escaped from the fort; he was indifferent about it; for he felt that the man had a charmed life.
“Many are the vessels that have been wrecked, Philip Vanderdecken, and many the souls summoned to their account by meeting with your father’s ship, while you have been so long shut up,” observed the pilot.
“May our next meeting with him be more fortunate—may it be the last!” replied Philip.
“No, no! rather may he fulfil his doom, and sail till the day of judgment!” replied the pilot, with emphasis.
“Vile caitiff! I have a foreboding that you will not have your detestable wish. Away!—leave me! or you shall find, that although this head is blanched by misery, this arm has still some power.”
Schriften scowled as he walked away; he appeared to have some fear of Philip, although it was not equal to his hate. He now resumed his former attempts of stirring up the ship’s company against Philip, declaring that he was a Jonah, who would occasion the loss of the ship, and that he was connected with the Flying Dutchman. Philip very soon observed that he was avoided; and he resorted to counter-statements, equally injurious to Schriften, whom he declared to be a demon. The appearance of Schriften was so much against him, while that of Philip, on the contrary, was so prepossessing, that the people on board hardly knew what to think. They were divided: some were on the side of Philip—some on that of Schriften; the captain and many others looking with equal horror upon both, and longing for the time when they could be sent out of the vessel.
The captain, as we have before observed, was very superstitious, and very fond of his bottle. In the morning he would be sober and pray; in the afternoon he would be drunk and swear at the very saints whose protection he had invoked but a few hours before.