Vanderdecken's Message Home by
THE TENACITY OF NATURAL AFFECTION
Our ship, after touching at the Cape, went out again, and, soon losing
sight of the Table Mountain, began to be assailed by the impetuous
attacks of the sea, which is well known to be more formidable there
than in most parts of the known ocean. The day had grown dull and
hazy, and the breeze, which had formerly blown fresh, now sometimes
subsided almost entirely, and then, recovering its strength for
a short time, and changing its direction, blew with temporary
violence, and died away again, as if exercising a melancholy caprice.
A heavy swell began to come from the southeast. Our sails flapped
against the masts, and the ship rolled from side to side as heavily
as if she had been water-logged. There was so little wind that she
would not steer.
At 2 P.M. we had a squall, accompanied by thunder and rain. The
seamen, growing restless, looked anxiously ahead. They said we would
have a dirty night of it, and that it would not be worth while to
turn into their hammocks. As the second mate was describing a gale
he had encountered off Cape Race, Newfoundland, we were suddenly
taken all aback, and the blast came upon us furiously. We continued
to scud under a double-reefed mainsail and foretopsail till dusk;
but, as the sea ran high, the captain thought it safest to bring
her to. The watch on deck consisted of four men, one of whom was
appointed to keep a lookout ahead, for the weather was so hazy
that we could not see two cables' length from the bows. This man,
whose name was Tom Willis, went frequently to the bows as if to
observe something; and when the others called to him, inquiring
what he was looking at, he would give no definite answer. They
therefore went also to the bows, and appeared startled, and at
first said nothing. But presently one of them cried, "William, go
call the watch."
The seamen, having been asleep in their hammocks, murmured at this
unseasonable summons, and called to know how it looked upon deck.
To which Tom Willis replied, "Come up and see. What we are minding
is not on deck, but ahead."
On hearing this they ran up without putting on their jackets, and
when they came to the bows there was a whispering.
One of them asked, "Where is she? I do not see her." To which another
replied, "The last flash of lightning showed there was not a reef
in one of her sails; but we, who know her history, know that all
her canvas will never carry her into port."
By this time the talking of the seamen had brought some of the
passengers on deck. They could see nothing, however, for the ship
was surrounded by thick darkness and by the noise of the dashing
waters, and the seamen evaded the questions that were put to them.
At this juncture the chaplain came on deck. He was a man of grave
and modest demeanor, and was much liked among the seamen, who called
him Gentle George. He overheard one of the men asking another if
he had ever seen the Flying Dutchman before, and if he knew the
story about her. To which the other replied, "I have heard of her
beating about in these seas. What is the reason she never reaches
The first speaker replied, "They give different reasons for it,
but my story is this: She was an Amsterdam vessel, and sailed from
that port seventy years ago. Her master's name was Vanderdecken.
He was a staunch seaman, and would have his own way in spite of
the devil. For all that, never a sailor under him had reason to
complain, though how it is on board with them now nobody knows.
The story is this, that, in doubling the Cape, they were a long
day trying to weather the Table Bay, which we saw this morning.
However, the wind headed them, and went against then more and more,
and Vanderdecken walked the deck, swearing at the wind. Just after
sunset a vessel spoke him, asking if he did not mean to go into the
bay that night. Vanderdecken replied, 'May I be eternally d—d if
I do, though I should beat about here till the day of judgment!'
And, to be sure, Vanderdecken never did go into that bay; for it
is believed that he continues to beat about in these seas still,
and will do so long enough. This vessel is never seen but with
foul weather along with her."
To which another replied, "We must keep clear of her. They say that
her captain mans his jolly-boat when a vessel comes in sight, and
tries hard to get alongside, to put letters on board, but no good
comes to them who have communication with him."
Tom Willis said, "There is such a sea between us at present as
should keep us safe from such visits."
To which the other answered, "We cannot trust to that, if Vanderdecken
sends out his men."
Some of this conversation having been overheard by the passengers,
there was a commotion among them. In the meantime the noise of the
waves against the vessel could scarcely be distinguished from the
sounds of the distant thunder. The wind had extinguished the light
in the binnacle, where the compass was, and no one could tell
which way the ship's head lay. The passengers were afraid to ask
questions, lest they should augment the secret sensation of fear
which chilled every heart, or learn any more than they already knew.
For while they attributed their agitation of mind to the state of
the weather, it was sufficiently perceptible that their alarms also
arose from a cause which they did not acknowledge.
The lamp at the binnacle being relighted, they perceived that the
ship lay closer to the wind than she had hitherto done, and the
spirits of the passengers were somewhat revived.
Nevertheless, neither the tempestuous state of the atmosphere nor
the thunder had ceased, and soon a vivid flash of lightning showed
the waves tumbling around us, and, in the distance, the Flying
Dutchman scudding furiously before the wind under a press of canvas.
The sight was but momentary, but it was sufficient to remove all
doubt from the minds of the passengers. One of the men cried aloud,
"There she goes, topgallants and all."
The chaplain had brought up his prayer-book, in order that he might
draw from thence something to fortify and tranquillise the minds
of the rest. Therefore, taking his seat near the binnacle, so that
the light shone upon the white leaves of the book, he, in a solemn
tone, read out the service for those distressed at sea. The sailors
stood round with folded arms, and looked as if they thought it
would be of little use. But this served to occupy the attention of
those on deck for a while.
In the meantime the flashes of lightning, becoming less vivid,
showed nothing else, far or near, but the billows weltering round
the vessel. The sailors seemed to think that they had not yet seen
the worst, but confined their remarks and prognostications to
their own circle.
At this time the captain, who had hitherto remained in his berth,
came on deck, and, with a gay and unconcerned air, inquired what
was the cause of the general dread. He said he thought they had
already seen the worst of the weather, and wondered that his men
had raised such a hubbub about a capful of wind. Mention being
made of the Flying Dutchman, the captain laughed. He said he "would
like very much to see any vessel carrying topgallantsails in such
a night, for it would be a sight worth looking at." The chaplain,
taking him by one of the buttons of his coat, drew him aside, and
appeared to enter into serious conversation with him.
While they were talking together, the captain was heard to say,
"Let us look to our own ship, and not mind such things;" and,
accordingly, he sent a man aloft to see if all was right about the
foretopsail-yard, which was chafing the mast with a loud noise.
It was Tom Willis who went up; and when he came down he said that
all was tight, and that he hoped it would soon get clearer; and
that they would see no more of what they were most afraid of.
The captain and first mate were heard laughing loudly together,
while the chaplain observed that it would be better to repress such
unseasonable gaiety. The second mate, a native of Scotland, each
other without offering to do anything. The boat had come very near
the chains, when Tom Willis called out, "What do you want? or what
devil has blown you here in such weather?" A piercing voice from
the boat replied, in English, "We want to speak with your captain."
The captain took no notice of this, and, Vanderdecken's boat having
come close alongside, one of the men came upon deck, and appeared
like a fatigued and weather-beaten seaman holding some letters in
Our sailors all drew back. The chaplain, however, looking steadfastly
upon him, went forward a few steps, and asked, "What is the purpose
of this visit?"
The stranger replied, "We have long been kept here by foul weather,
and Vanderdecken wishes to send these letters to his friends in
Our captain now came forward, and said, as firmly as he could, "I
wish Vanderdecken would put his letters on board of any other vessel
rather than mine."
The stranger replied, "We have tried many a ship, but most of them
refuse our letters."
Upon which Tom Willis muttered, "It will be best for us if we do
the same, for they say there is sometimes a sinking weight in your
The stranger took no notice of this, but asked where we were from.
On being told that we were from Portsmouth, he said, as if with
strong feeling, "Would that you had rather been from Amsterdam!
Oh, that we saw it again! We must see our friends again." When he
uttered these words, the men who were in the boat below wrung their
hands, and cried, in a piercing tone, in Dutch, "Oh, that we saw
it again! We have been long here beating about; but we must see
our friends again."
The chaplain asked the stranger, "How long have you been at sea?"
He replied, "We have lost our count, for our almanac was blown
overboard. Our ship, you see, is there still; so why should you
ask how long we have been at sea? For Vanderdecken only wishes to
write home and comfort his friends."
To which the chaplain replied, "Your letters, I fear, would be of
no use in Amsterdam, even if they were delivered; for the persons
to whom they are addressed are probably no longer to be found there,
except under very ancient green turf in the churchyard."
The unwelcome stranger then wrung his hands and appeared to weep,
and replied, "It is impossible; we cannot believe you. We have
been long driving about here, but country nor relations cannot be
so easily forgotten. There is not a raindrop in the air but feels
itself kindred to all the rest, and they fall back into the sea to
meet with each other again. How then can kindred blood be made to
forget where it came from? Even our bodies are part of the ground
of Holland; and Vanderdecken says, if he once were to come to
Amsterdam, he would rather be changed into a stone post, well fixed
into the ground, than leave it again if that were to die elsewhere.
But in the meantime we only ask you to take these letters."
The chaplain, looking at him with astonishment, said, "This is the
insanity of natural affection, which rebels against all measures
of time and distance."
The stranger continued, "Here is a letter from our second mate to
his dear and only remaining friend, his uncle, the merchant who
lives in the second house on Stuncken Yacht Quay."
He held forth the letter, but no one would approach to take it.
Tom Willis raised his voice and said, "One of our men, here, says
that he was in Amsterdam last summer, and he knows for certain that
the street called Stuncken Yacht Quay was pulled down sixty years
ago, and now there is only a large church at that place."
The man from the Flying Dutchman said, "It is impossible; we cannot
believe you. Here is another letter from myself, in which I have
sent a bank-note to my dear sister, to buy some gallant lace to
make her a high head-dress."
Tom Willis, hearing this, said, "It is most likely that her head
now lies under a tombstone, which will outlast all the changes of
the fashion. But on what house is your bank-note?"
The stranger replied, "On the house of Vanderbrucker & Company."
The man of whom Tom Willis had spoken said, "I guess there will
now be some discount upon it, for that banking house was gone
to destruction forty years ago; and Vanderbrucker was afterward
a-missing. But to remember these things is like raking up the
bottom of an old canal."
The stranger called out, passionately, "It is impossible;
we cannot believe it! It is cruel to say such things to people in
our condition. There is a letter from our captain himself, to his
much-beloved and faithful wife, whom he left at a pleasant summer
dwelling on the border of the Haarlemer Mer. She promised to have
the house beautifully painted and gilded before he came back,
and to get a new set of looking-glasses for the principal chamber,
that she might see as many images of Vanderdecken as if she had
six husbands at once."
The man replied, "There has been time enough for her to have had
six husbands since then; but were she alive still, there is no fear
that Vanderdecken would ever get home to disturb her."
On hearing this the stranger again shed tears, and said if they would
not take the letters he would leave them; and, looking around, he
offered the parcel to the captain, chaplain, and to the rest of
the crew successively, but each drew back as it was offered, and
put his hands behind his back. He then laid the letters upon the
deck, and placed upon them a piece of iron which was lying near,
to prevent them from being blown away. Having done this, he swung
himself over the gangway, and went into the boat.
We heard the others speak to him, but the rise of a sudden squall
prevented us from distinguishing his reply. The boat was seen to
quit the ship's side, and in a few moments there were no more traces
of her than if she had never been there. The sailors rubbed their
eyes as if doubting what they had witnessed; but the parcel still
lay upon deck, and proved the reality of all that had passed.
Duncan Saunderson, the Scotch mate, asked the captain if he should
take them up and put them in the letter-bag. Receiving no reply,
he would have lifted them if it had not been for Tom Willis, who
pulled him back, saying that nobody should touch them.
In the meantime the captain went down to the cabin, and the chaplain,
having followed him, found him at his bottle-case pouring out a
large dram of brandy. The captain, although somewhat disconcerted,
immediately offered the glass to him, saying, "Here, Charters,
is what is good in a cold night." The chaplain declined drinking
anything, and, the captain having swallowed the bumper, they
both returned to the deck, where they found the seamen giving their
opinions concerning what should be done with the letters. Tom Willis
proposed to pick them up on a harpoon, and throw it overboard.
Another speaker said, "I have always heard it asserted that it is
neither safe to accept them voluntarily, nor, when they are left,
to throw them out of the ship."
"Let no one touch them," said the carpenter. "The way to do with
the letters from the Flying Dutchman is to case them up on deck,
so that, if he sends back for them, they are still there to give
The carpenter went to fetch his tools. During his absence the ship
gave so violent a pitch that the piece of iron slid off the letters,
and they were whirled overboard by the wind, like birds of evil
omen whirring through the air. There was a cry of joy among the
sailors, and they ascribed the favourable change which soon took
place in the weather to our having got quit of Vanderdecken. We
soon got under way again. The night watch being set, the
rest of the crew retired to their berths.