The Frozen Crew Of The Ice-Bound Ship; Or, Terrors Of The Arctic Region — page 19: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE FROZEN CREW AND ICE BOUND SHIP. word, renounce your present condition, and become once more an honest gentleman.” “ What, turn renegade?” exclaimed Paul Jones, “Never!” There was a long pause, terminated by the stranger remarking— ‘‘T have already told you that my time is short.” “Might it not be more consistent with your profes- sion of friendship,” answered Paul Jones, if you lay aside the dark mask which conceals your intentions, and converse with me bare-faced ?”’ ‘“‘T am forbid to speak to you in plainer terms here, but have the power to show that I mean well to you elsewhere. Plunge with me into the deep, and——” «« Are there no terms to our compact ?” asked Paul Jones. ‘‘ None save those which you are at liberty to re- ect-2 we With this concession I may accept your offer.” “Quick, then. Follow me, and fear nothing.” As he spoke these words, the unknown took the pirate’s hand and led him to the edge of the cabin window, beneath which lay a small boat. How Paul Jones reached it, was a mystery as great as the scene which he had just witnessed. He seemed in his descent to tread upon air, and nothing less, being provided with neither steps nor ladder. He had no sooner entered the little vessel, than the rope which had hitherto held it to the ship was cast off. The next moment Paul Jones and his trusty pilot were darting with the breeze through the rough blue ocean. . At midnight, when the fugitives had quitted the El Malachor, the men who had just come upon the middle watch were aroused by a sound on the waters. It was a tempestuous night, and the moon, ob- scured by thick clouds, rendered it a somewhat diffi- cult matter to discern the object which had attracted attention. A heavy thunderstorm coming on, and the light- ning playing among the rigging, at length revealed to the half blinded gazers their dread enemy, the Fly- ing Dutchman. Rotaldo, the commander, who at the moment came upon deck, ordered the pirates to fire into her. The latter were so overcome with horror, that every shot struck far off the mark, and glanced from billow to billow. : The storm continued with unabated fury for some minutes, at the expiration of which time it partially cleared off. Though it was extremely dark, Rotaldo insisted upon keeping up the chase of the mystic vessel. Ever and anon the moon broke through the rifted clouds, and shed a. wild glimmer on the pirate schooner as she swiftly cleft the seas. As the buccaneer was following the phantom ship, she tacked and swept past so closely, that the crew of the pursuing vessel conld distinguish the faces of those on board her opponent. To the horror of one and all, they perceived the ghostly skipper in a halo of light, and by his side the dusky form of their leader, Paul Jones. As the eagle wings her flight, so did the phantom ship seem to skim the turgid waters of the Pacific ocean, Leaving her enemy far behind, she Continues her cruise at a terrific pace. Solemn mountains of waves, lifting their hoary heads to the skies, billows and rocks are seen, passed, left behind, and vanish as in a Vision. 13 Motion is imperceptible ; it is impetus—volition. But yesterday, Paul Jones and his companion were treading the deck of the El Malachor; to-day, they are hugging a coast thousands of miles distant. _ During the whole voyage they had laboured on in silence; for though the former marvelled greatly, there was something strange and incomprehensible about the unknown, that inspired awe and checked familiarity. t was not until the waning moon on the ensuing night was nearing a level with the ebbing waters, that this mysterious being essayed to speak. “You can advance,” he exclaimed, addressing Paul Jones, with a gloomy demeanour. “There is a sepulchral tone in your language which chills me, even as the blast,of winter,” replied the pirate. ‘“ The ember-like light of your eye fills my soul with horror, as does that of the snake which fascinates to destroy. “Tempter,” he continued, “let me fly! Are you not ——”’ ; ‘ Vanderdecken, the Flying Dutchman, who impi- ously swore in defiance of heaven to gain my point, though I beat about till the crack of doom. My oath was registered in thunder, and recorded for ever in flames of sulphurous fire! But this concerns not you in the present instance, who are somewhat un- grateful.” “ How so?” ‘Because I pity your forlorn condition, you liken me to the serpent.” ‘‘Forgive, and shew me,” replied Paul Jones, “this wealth-strewn wreck.” “Of which for a time, you must become the senti- nel, instead of Vanderdecken.” «* Where is it ?”’ ‘Here, on the spot upon which you stand. The moon is now kissing the wave: it is at this period only that the wreck of the charmed ship can become visible to human eyes. Behold!’’ Suddenly a thick mist enveloped the scene, and rocks and waters rose, discovering the half buried hull of a vessel. The ropes of this ship appeared green with sea- weed. Her timbers much decayed. The windows and lanterns of the same, consisting of painted and variegated glass, were shattered and broken. Her crew, torpid as the insensible cliffs around them, lay about as if in the last convulsions of the drowned. Everywhere, bales of merchandise, chests of gold and jewels met the eye, which, being lit by the moon half sunk into the waves, produced a picture of awe, amazement and wonder. As if by enchantment, the dead seamen of the wreck became instinct with life. Each had his bony finger on his lip asif to impress silence; an oath of which was extorted by Vander- decken from Paul Jones, previous to the narration of his history. The crew were a company of odd-looking person- ages, and dressed in a quaint outlandish fashion. Some wore short doublets. Others jerkins, with long knives in their belts. All of them carried appendant to the body enor- mous breeches of similar style to Vanderdecken him- self. They all had beards of various shapes and colours, and the whole group reminded one of an old Flemish painting. ‘You shudder,” said Vanderdecken to Paul Jones, after he had pledged himself to secrecy. “ Are you cold? here are beams will warm you.” As he spoke, the phantom skipper opened a large <S COnnicboo