The Flying Dutchman
(Der Fliegende Hollander)
Have you ever seen a full-rigged ship? What a creature of mystery and delight it is, as it rides at anchor! It seems to tell of distant shores and places far more wonderful than any we have ever seen. Then, as it spreads its broad white wings, it seems a thing of life, awaking out of sleep and eager to start again upon its travels. What majesty and beauty are then displayed as it turns and breasts the open sea—rising and dipping as though in challenge to its ancient enemy!
Our admiration for the ship is only heightened when we remember that for centuries such craft as this have ploughed the waves. They have discovered the uttermost ends of the earth. They have made all men neighbours, one with another,—sharing the fruits of the tropics with the grain of the colder zones. Ages before steam was put to use, sailing vessels much like this of the present time were busy in the service of man. And they will continue to serve him so long as men “go down to the sea in ships.”
Seamen, since the beginning of time, have been a race unto themselves, having their own mode of life, customs and beliefs. They believe in lucky and unlucky days, signs, clouds, birds, and breezes; and so completely are they at the mercy of wind and wave, that we cannot marvel greatly at these superstitions. Above all they believe in an Evil Spirit of the sea, who delights to bring harm to mariners, send adverse winds and waves, and drag them down into the depths of the ocean. This Spirit, they say, can change a gentle breeze to a terrific gale in an instant. He can cause vessels to sink that have no leak. He can set strange lights ahead and thus lure a crew to dangerous reefs. Terrible is his wrath, also, if any sailor presumes to defy him. How this wrath was visited upon one reckless seaman is the subject of our present tale.
Many years ago a bold Dutch captain named Vanderdecken sailed the Southern ocean with a picked crew of hardy fellows. For months he traded in various ports until he grew exceedingly prosperous. The hold of his ship became so heavy with gold that the vessel set deep in the waves. Then Vanderdecken grew tired of his voyaging. He pictured to himself the joys of a cosy little home—such as his gold would buy—presided over by a loving wife. So he set all sail around the Cape of Good Hope, eager to reach his beloved Holland and bid the sea farewell.
But the Cape of Good Hope is ill-named, so mariners say, and it proved ill hope for Vanderdecken. A furious storm arose beating him directly in the face and keeping his ship from rounding the point of land. Again and again he turned his prow in the teeth of the gale, and tried to tack against it, but without success. Finally he became enraged and swore a fearful oath that he would sail around the Cape if it took him till doomsday.
The Evil Spirit heard this oath and laughed maliciously. He resolved to hold the captain to his word, and keep him sailing the ocean until the end of the world. So he cast a spell upon the whole crew, by which they could not die and their ship could not sink. Year in and year out they were compelled to sail wearily without ever reaching their journey’s end. The ship grew crazy and worm-eaten, but still never sprang a leak. The sails were kept unharmed through magic, and in the course of time they became red as blood, as though all the life had been drawn from the hearts of the ghostly mariners who grew old and grizzled and shrivelled. They came to long for death, but all in vain would they face the gales with all sails set, or steer straight upon the angry reefs. On and on must they voyage, and but one ray of hope was left them. Their captain—who alone kept his youthful look—was told that if he could find a woman who would love him and be faithful until death, the curse would be removed. Once in every seven years he was permitted to land; but if he found no one to become his wife, he was obliged to set sail again upon his weary voyage.
Time after time Vanderdecken sought for the one who would save him, but without success. His strange appearance and the tales told of his “Phantom Ship,” as it was called, daunted even the bravest. All the maidens shuddered when he approached, for did not their fathers and sweethearts say that of all ill omens this black ship with its blood-red sails was the worst? It was always met in a storm or before some great disaster. Sailors would cross themselves as they told how it would be met driving furiously before a gale, and how the spectral crew would hail them and ask where they were—pretending to have lost both chart and compass. Then they would ask leave to send a package of messages and letters home by them; and without waiting for reply, the ancient-looking sailors would row over in a battered boat, caring naught how high the seas ran. After they left their letters and rowed back, the Phantom Ship would plunge onward, while the wind whistled through its rigging. The sailors with whom the letters were left would perforce try to deliver them, for though it was deemed unlucky to take them it was still more unlucky to keep or destroy them. But no one to whom they were addressed was ever found, though often the old parish records would show there had been people of that name two hundred or, maybe, three hundred years before.
So the quest of the Phantom Ship passed into a proverb, and many were the tales told of its captain. He was known far and wide as the Flying Dutchman, and in the gloom of some gathering storm seamen spoke of seeing his pale face peering anxiously over the low prow of his black ship, seeking a way around the Cape of Good Hope. While at sunset, when the last rays tinged the dancing waves with ruddy glory, the children on the strand would be shown the Flying Dutchman’s blood-red sail.
At the time when our story begins, a fierce storm had been raging in the North Sea. To escape its fury a stout Norwegian ship sailed hastily before the wind into the nearest port and cast anchor. Its captain, a stout weather-beaten man, was provoked at having to do this, as he was nearly home and anxious to get there and greet his only daughter, after a long voyage. Daland was the captain’s name, and Senta that of his daughter. She had been left motherless when very young, and now lived quietly with her old nurse while her father was away upon his voyages. Senta was a quiet, dark-eyed girl given much to day dreams on account of her somewhat lonely life. She was devoted to her father, and believed in him implicitly.
Daland was not a bad man, but he had one great passion, and that was for gold. His life-long desire was to be rich, and this desire led to his taking long voyages and braving many dangers. Nevertheless, his money did not accumulate so fast as he wished—does it ever do that?—and Daland was often discontented.
His last voyage had been anything but a success. His ship had met one adverse wind after another, and in two heavy storms it had come so near sinking that they were forced to throw overboard some of the cargo. And now when they were within forty miles of home, another gale sent them scudding into the wrong harbour. It was hard luck, but sailor-like they prepared to make the best of it. Daland allowed all the weary crew to go below and get a good rest. He himself followed their example, leaving only one man at the wheel.
The air was heavy, as it often is during a thunderstorm, and the dark clouds rolled fiercely across the sky. But within the bay the water was comparatively quiet, and the ship rode easily at her anchor. The gentle motion and still air were too much for the man on lookout, and he, also, went to sleep with his head leaning upon the wheel.
While he slept, the storm burst again with increased fury just beyond, in the open sea; and out of the teeth of the gale sped another ship coming straight for the same harbour. The rising waves leaped high on all sides of her low black hull, threatening to engulf her. But if you could have seen the crew at work, you would have noticed that they paid no heed to the tempest except to shake their fists, perhaps, in defiance of it. On they came, the wind howling shrilly through the rigging and tugging vainly at the bulging sails. And, marvellous to relate, every one of these sails was set, as though it had been a clear day instead of a time to scud with bare poles; and the sails were red as blood!
Not until they had entered harbour and were close alongside Daland’s ship did the crew furl sail or cast anchor. So quickly and noiselessly was the canvas dropped that the ship rode at anchor before any of the other crew were even aware of their approach. Then a boat was lowered from the newcomer’s side, and the captain entered it and was rowed ashore. He was a strange-looking man, with long black hair, heavy eyebrows, and a hunted expression about the eyes. His skin was fair, despite his many other evidences of long sailing, and he had a certain air of gentleness and sadness which lent him an attractive—almost handsome—appearance. His crew were even stranger in looks, for they all seemed to be old men, grey and withered, despite the vigorous strokes with which they sent the longboat flying through the waves.
As the boat grated upon the sand the captain breathed a great sigh of relief, and leaped ashore without heeding the shallow water between him and dry land. He walked with the stiffness of a man who has long felt under his feet only the rolling decks of a ship. The first rock he met, jutting out of the beach, he fell upon his knees and embraced, out of very gladness to be on firm ground! Then he mounted the crag and looked landward.
“Seven long years!” he mused. “Thank God, that I am permitted to set foot upon dry land once more! When will my weary voyaging cease, and I become free of this fickle ocean?”
If was, as you have doubtless guessed, the Flying Dutchman, home on another search for the woman who would release him from his spell.
Just then his musings were cut short by a voice hailing him. “Skipper, ahoy!” it said.
Daland had awakened out of his slumber and come on deck to find his helmsman asleep and the strange ship anchored close by. He was both startled and provoked, but seeing the captain on shore he now addressed him through a speaking trumpet.
“Whence come you?” he asked, seeing the stranger turn and look at him.
For answer, the Dutchman made a wide sweep with his arms and then beckoned to Daland. Something in his manner so aroused the latter’s curiosity that he ordered a boat lowered and rowed over to the beach.
“My name is Daland, a skipper of Norway,” he said. “Whence and who are you?”
“I am a Dutchman and I have been around the world since I last set foot here,” answered the stranger in a low voice.
“I should think you would be glad to come ashore again,” said Daland. “I am, for I’ve had a precious rough voyage of it. Did you meet any storms?”
The Dutchman smiled. “Nothing but storms,” he said, “but my ship will weather the best of them.”
“What cargo do you carry?” asked Daland, mindful of his own unlucky experience.
“Oh, weighty enough; I’ve been trading in gold and precious stones,” said the stranger indifferently.
An eager look came into Daland’s eyes. “I should think you would hate to throw over any of that!” he said.
“There are a good many things I value more highly,” replied the other. “I have known the time when I would gladly give it all for a little corner of dry land where I might live in peace.”
“And I,” laughed Daland, “leave my little corner and cruise around the world in search of that same gold.”
It was now the stranger’s turn to become interested.
“Do you live near here?” he asked.
“Aye, just around the next headland. There’s a cosy hearthstone and cheering cup awaiting me there, and I should have been there now, if it had not been for this wretched storm.”
“Perhaps it has blown you a little good luck,” replied the Dutchman; “that is, if you really care for money.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just this. I was in earnest, awhile ago, when I said I would give all my gold for a plot of dry land. My heart is hungry for a bit of home life; and if you will let me be your guest while we are ashore, I shall make you a rich man.”
“Do you mean that?” asked Daland staring at him.
“I will pay you in advance,” said the stranger. And he blew a shrill whistle to his crew and shouted out some orders in a strange tongue. In answer some of the curious-looking sailors ran down into the hold and came up again bearing a heavy chest which they brought to the strand and opened.
There before Daland’s greedy eyes lay revealed a glittering mass of precious stones and fine gold, richer than anything of which he had ever dreamed. His fingers twitched and he fairly gasped with amazement.
“Gorgeous!” he exclaimed. “You must be the happiest man in the world to have all that!”
“Happy?” said the other, in a sad voice. “Of what use is this treasure if I have no treasure of the heart—no home, no wife, no family ties? For years I have wandered alone, till my soul is weary; and what I have longed for, it has been beyond the power of this paltry stuff to supply!”
And the Dutchman snapped his fingers in contempt at the chest.
Daland who was really good of heart was touched by the stranger’s words.
“Come home with me,” he said. “With or without reward you shall have the best my modest table affords, and my daughter Senta shall cook and serve it with her own hands.”
“Then you have a daughter?” asked the stranger turning quickly. “How old is she?”
“She is grown now, though I can scarcely think of her save as a little girl. Winsome is she, as all my neighbours say, and a better girl never lived. My will has been her law ever since her mother died.”
“Hark you, man!” said the stranger, gripping his hand and speaking swiftly and earnestly. “You must judge me by what you see of me. But if you will promise me your daughter’s hand, provided I win her, all that this chest contains shall be yours!”
Daland looked at the stranger keenly. His clear-cut face and noble bearing told strongly in his favour.
“She is my only child,” the Norwegian answered presently, “but I promise to further your suit. As you are generous, you show me a good and noble heart. Yes, I should be glad to see you my son-in-law. And were your wealth not half as great, I’d not choose another.”
A glad smile broke over the wandering seaman’s face as he heard these words. And as if in sympathy the sun broke forth from the bank of clouds in the western sky, the wind died down and the water grew calm.
“See! it is to be clear weather, after all!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, we can make the home harbour by nightfall. Come, let us weigh anchor and hoist sail!” said Daland.
“Lead on, and I will follow you presently. I have some sails to mend,” replied the Dutchman. He well knew that his ship’s strange appearance and red sails would arouse comment if he entered the harbour before night.
“So be it!” agreed Daland; and he went on board ship and ordered all sails set. Before a brisk little breeze his vessel scudded out of harbour, while the sailors, delighted with the prospect of soon being at home after their long, rough voyage, sang a rollicking song ending with the shout, “Hoho! Halloho!”
While her father’s ship was nearing harbour that afternoon, Senta was in the midst of a merry group at her home. Several of her girl friends had come to pay her a visit, and, according to the quaint Norwegian custom, they had brought their spinning-wheels with them so that they might not be idle during the daylight hours. Now the wheels whirred and the maidens chattered at a lively rate. But strange to say, Senta was the idlest of the lot. Her hands would fall into her lap, and her gaze would wander into space. She was indeed a lovely picture as she sat thus, her great dark eyes glowing and the rich colour coming and going in her cheeks, called up by the romantic visions she saw.
“What, dreaming again, Senta?” exclaimed her old nurse and housekeeper, Maria, entering at one of these idle moments. “You are setting your visitors a fine example! And what if your father should come home and see you dawdling thus?”
Senta flushed, smiled, and took up her flax. The other girls laughed mischievously.
“You oughtn’t to have told her that old ballad, Maria!” they said. “Now she can’t get her mind off the Flying Dutchman. She sits here and gazes at his picture by the hour.”
There was indeed an old print supposed to be a likeness of the wandering seaman, on the wall. It had been picked up with many other curious things by Daland upon his travels; and Maria who knew a ballad telling of the Dutchman’s weary search for a wife had recited it to them. The story was just of the sort to attract Senta.
“’Tis strange,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself, “strange that the poor Flying Dutchman is doomed to sail on forever, because he can find no one who will love him till death! Are we maidens, then, all so fickle and heartless?”
“No, we are not heartless, at anyrate!” laughed one of the girls. “But who wants to wed the captain of a Phantom Ship that comes to port only once in seven years?”
“And who will outlive you, and marry someone else, a hundred years from now?” chimed in another.
“No, no!” said Senta; “that would be because you did not love him!”
“But who could love him—a ghost like that? Ugh!” said a third.
“I could!” exclaimed Senta, her fine eyes flashing. “If I knew that I could save him, I would devote myself to him gladly!”
“Oh, Senta! What are you saying!” cried the girls in a chorus.
“You forget Erik!” said one.
Erik was a young hunter who lived in the mountains, and who was devoted in his attentions to Senta. She had always liked him, having grown up with him, but she had not given him all her love.
“No, I do not forget Erik,” she said stoutly, “but he is not the Flying Dutchman.”
“Nor do I want to be!” exclaimed a hearty voice, as Erik himself burst into the room. “What is this I hear, Senta? Be careful, or I shall grow jealous even of the Flying Dutchman!”
He greeted the visitors, and then continued: “But I just ran in to tell you that I sighted your father’s ship rounding the headland, and back of it some distance is another vessel. Doubtless your father is bringing guests with him, so you had better tell the good Maria to bestir herself.”
Senta jumped up and clapped her hands at the news of her father’s return. Instantly the whole room was in confusion. The spinning-wheels were quickly set aside, and the maidens helped to bring the long table to the centre of the room and set it for the expected company. Then they hastily gathered up their belongings and bade their hostess good-day, leaving her alone with Erik.
“What was this I heard about the Flying Dutchman, Senta?” he asked in a tender voice.
“I was just expressing pity for his lonely lot,” she answered.
“Doesn’t my loneliness awaken any pity, then?”
“You do not deserve so much sympathy,” she said lightly. “You are young and strong and—well, almost any of the girls here to-day would show you some interest. But the poor wandering seaman is compelled to sail on till doomsday because nobody cares.”
“Come, come, Senta, you must be jesting!” said the hunter growing pale. “You surely cannot place this spectre ahead of all of us flesh-and-blood people in your regard!”
“Why does the thought alarm you so?” she said evasively.
“Because of a dream I had. It was so real that I have been able to think of nothing else all day.”
“Was it about—him?”
“Yes, it was about the Flying Dutchman. I dreamed that your father came home from sea, bringing with him a mysterious stranger whom no one knew anything about, except that he was very wealthy. He was tall and gaunt, with pale face, flowing black hair and eager-looking eyes. As soon as he saw you he could not keep these eyes off of you, and he asked for your hand in marriage.”
“And I consented?” asked Senta breathlessly.
“Oh, Senta! Yes, you left me at once and went with him. I followed you down to the beach imploring you to stay. But the stranger took you on board his ship, and hoisted a blood-red sail. You were gone with the Flying Dutchman—lost—lost forever!”
“No, not lost!” she cried. “It was a vision! It was my destiny!”
“Senta, Senta!” cried Erik almost beside himself with grief; and unable to control his emotion longer he rushed from the house.
And then—as if in answer to the dream, Senta thought—presently the door opened and her father came in, and with him—the stranger! He was like Erik’s description, even like the old print that hung upon the wall; and as he directed his gentle blue eyes to her face, Senta knew instinctively that this was none other than the Flying Dutchman himself.
Springing to meet her father, she hid her face upon his shoulder and burst into tears. Daland kissed her and patted her upon the cheek.
“There, little daughter!” he said. “Have you really missed your old daddy while he was away? Well, he has missed you, too. But you are forgetting your manners. You have not yet greeted our guest.”
Senta had by this time regained some of her composure, and she now turned to the visitor and greeted him, but in a cold, constrained voice. She was in reality holding herself in check, for her whole heart went out to him.
But her father thought, “She is cold, the little minx! I must tell her my wishes in this matter, and hint about the chest of gold.” The foolish old captain measured everything by gold—even his daughter’s affection, but this only showed how little he understood her.
So, while the evening meal was being prepared and the stranger had been shown to his room to make himself ready, Daland took his daughter aside and told her what little he knew of the stranger; that he had been a wanderer without kith or kin; and that he had immense wealth and was now desirous of settling down and having a home of his own.
“He has asked me to receive him as a guest,” Daland concluded; “and he has also obtained my permission to sue for your hand. Will you be obedient to my wish in this as heretofore, and consent to become his wife?”
“I will give my answer to him, father,” she replied quietly, “after I learn from his own lips how much or little he needs me.”
Daland was fain to be content with this reply, but something in his daughter’s tone reassured him, and he wisely decided not to press the matter further until the stranger had been given the chance to urge his own case.
There was an air of constraint about the evening meal, despite the host’s attempts to be jovial after his long absence. ’Tis true Senta gave a willing ear to the story of his voyage, and asked questions from time to time which showed how anxious she had been for his welfare while he was away. But the guest courteously evaded all inquiries about his own wanderings, and though he strove to be agreeable, it was plain to see that he was long unaccustomed to quiet home life such as this.
Finally the supper was over, and Daland, saying that he had business that evening in the village, left Senta and the stranger alone.
Then the girl, with an almost bursting heart, heard her visitor cross the room slowly and come to her side.
“Senta!” he said—and there was both authority and entreaty in his low tone—“look at me!”
She raised her eyes and met his gaze unflinchingly; and in that glance each saw the soul of the other laid bare and knew that each was beloved.
“Senta,” he continued, taking her hand, “I am a plain, rough man of the sea, and know not how to mend my speech for gentle ears like yours. But from the first moment I saw you, I loved you. And your father has already given his consent to my suit. What is your answer? Do I read your eyes aright?”
“Yes,” she answered simply; “it was Fate that brought you to me.”
The seaman felt a great wave of joy rush over him. He was loved! Freedom from the Evil Spirit was within his grasp! Then for the first time he realised how much he was asking of this innocent young girl. A curse was hanging over him; how could he ask one he loved to share it?
“Stay!” he said, gently releasing her hand, “I have no right to obtain your promise thus. You do not know who I am.”
A bright smile broke over Senta’s face.
“Ah, but I do!” she exclaimed.
“What! Is it possible that you know I am a wretched wanderer over the earth——”
“You have been,” she said.
“That men look upon me with superstition and dread——”
“We will change all that.”
“In short, that a curse is upon me? Hear me out!” (He raised his hand, as she was about to speak again.) “Hear me out, and then send me forth into the night, where I belong! I sought you selfishly to-day, to obtain your aid in the lifting of this curse, of which I speak. The Evil One has decreed that I shall wander forever, unless some true woman gives me her love and remains faithful until death. If her faith in me should waver, the curse would descend upon her also. Before I had even seen you, I asked your father for you, and was willing to sacrifice you to my own selfish ends. I thought not at all of what I asked of you! I see now how selfish I was, and I release you. Will you not dismiss me, as I deserve? I shall remember you only with gratitude for the glimpse I have had of your brave heart.”
“But do you not love me?” asked Senta.
“It is just because I do love you that I cannot ask this sacrifice,” he replied, his pale face showing the struggle through which he passed.
“Then this is my answer. Here is my hand; my heart goes with it, and even to death will I be faithful!”
“She gives her hand, and promises to be faithful till death!” exclaimed the Dutchman, shaking his fist as if at some unseen foe. “Dost thou hear this—dread Spirit? I am free, and I defy thee!”
And falling upon his knees he pressed her hands again and again to his lips.
Just at this moment Daland reentered the room, and was overjoyed at the turn of affairs. He gave the two his blessing, saying,
“To-morrow I give a feast to my sailors, according to custom; and with your permission I shall announce your betrothal at once.”
The next day dawned bright and clear. On board the Norwegian ship all was bustle and activity. The sailors were dressing it in its finest pennants and colours, making it ready for the visit of the townspeople and for the feast. All was noise and laughter and song, for they were as delighted as schoolboys when the long-looked-for vacation has come.
But on board the Dutch vessel everything was as quiet as the grave. No one was seen stirring above decks, and not a flag fluttered except a single tiny one which told that the captain was gone upon shore.
Then a group of laughing girls came down to the beach. Most of them we have already seen at Senta’s house. They brought great baskets of fruit and dainties to the sailors and when Daland’s crew saw this treat they lost no time in coming on shore. But still the Dutchman’s black ship gave no sign of life.
“What is the matter with your fellow-voyagers?” asked the maidens.
“No fellows of ours,” answered the Norwegians, “we never saw them until yesterday, and they haven’t budged since they cast anchor last night.”
“Hey, sleepy-heads!” called out the girls tauntingly. “Come out and be sociable!”
“You sleep like land-lubbers!” called a sailor.
But no answer came back.
“Let them alone,” said another sailor; “if they don’t care for good things to eat and drink, there will be just that much more for us.”
“Greedy fellows!” laughed the girls.
“Well, if I was as old and grizzled as that greybeard crew yonder,” said the one who had just spoken, “I wouldn’t care for feasts either—nor yet for pretty girls.” Here he gave a sly glance around.
“They look like the crew of the Phantom Ship,” said another laughing. And lifting his voice he called; “Ho there, old black ship! What has become of the Flying Dutchman?”
At this call a cold wind swept along the shore, so that all the merrymakers shuddered, and a nameless dread seized them. Then a strange thing happened. The waves in the harbour remained calm, while just around the black ship they rose and tossed angrily as though in a violent storm. It grew dark, the wind howled through the rigging, and weird blue lights played about the mastheads. In the midst of the miniature tempest, the ship’s crew appeared and began to hoist sail as though preparing to depart; and as they worked they sang a dirge-like song that told of the Flying Dutchman and his seven year quest. He was even now in search of the wife that would save them all, they sang.
This scene was too much for the merrymakers. The panic-stricken maidens fled in every direction, while the sailors seized with superstitious fear hastened to their ship and ran below, making the sign of the cross.
At sight of the panic, the strange crew burst into wild laughter, and the storm subsided as quickly as it had arisen, leaving the blue sky and clear water as before.
Just then the door of Daland’s house opened, and Senta appeared and came down to the beach. She was followed by the hunter Erik, who had come to plead his cause once again. He could not bring himself to believe that his dream was coming true, and that Senta had plighted herself to the mysterious stranger, as he had just heard. He reminded her of their lifelong comradeship, and how he had, even as a little boy, claimed her as his future wife.
“Indeed you do belong to me!” he exclaimed, carried away by his emotion. “You gave me your heart—you know you did! Now you cannot take it away and give it to a stranger!”
“Oh, Erik! you misjudge me!” Senta replied, wounded deeply by his words. And sorry for his evident distress she tried to comfort him with sympathy and tenderness. She could not bear to see her old playmate suffer, or have him think badly of her.
Her attitude, however, was misunderstood by a third person who had approached unnoticed. It was the Flying Dutchman. He now believed that Senta was already regretting her promise to him, and with a wild, despairing cry of “Lost! All lost!” he sprang down the beach and prepared to take boat for his ship.
“What do you mean?” asked Senta, hastening towards him.
“Farewell, Senta!” he cried. “To sea, to sea, till time is ended! I release you from your promise! It is the only way I can save you from my fate!”
“Ah, do not go!” implored Senta. “I will not take back my word. I love you, love you! I knew you from the first moment I saw you, and wheresoever you go, there will I go!”
“Think what you are saying, Senta!” exclaimed Erik trying to restrain her. “They say that he and his ship are bewitched!”
“I care not for that! My place is by his side!” she said, struggling to free herself.
“Be advised by your friend,” said the seaman, who had mastered his own emotion in some measure. “I am indeed under a spell. Ask any mariner who sails the seas, and he will tell you, with a shudder, to beware of the Flying Dutchman!”
But Senta did not shrink back as he expected. Instead she stretched out her arms triumphantly, crying, “Ah, I told you I knew you! Now you cannot go and leave me! I will save you in spite of yourself!”
Nevertheless the Dutchman turned away as though pushed forward by some unseen power.
“No! ’tis I who must save you!” he exclaimed. And going aboard his ship hastily he blew his whistle and ordered the ship to be got under way.
It had grown dark again, but through the gloom the blood-red sails glowed like a flame, while a strange signal-light burned in the prow, and the waves lapped eagerly about the bow as it began to move forward.
With a shriek Senta endeavoured to follow, but Erik and her father, who had just run up with other villagers, held her back. The Phantom Ship was now fast leaving the harbour and directing its course to the headland, when Senta by a quick movement wrenched herself free and fled swiftly along the shore to the jutting point of rock.
“Senta, you are beside yourself!” the others cried, trying to follow her. But she outdistanced them all, leaping over boulders and across chasms in her flight, till she had reached the headland. The Phantom Ship was close beneath her in the seething spray.
“Senta!” cried Erik, hastening to the point of rock where she stood.
But she did not heed him. Instead, she stretched out her arms once more to the pale-faced man, standing in the prow of the oncoming vessel.
“Here stand I, faithful even unto death!” she exclaimed, a heroic light shining in her dark eyes. “Give thanks to heaven that one way was left for your salvation!”
With this she flung herself from the cliff into the raging sea. And instantly—wonder on wonder!—the waves grew calm. One last leap they gave as she touched them, and the Phantom Ship and all in it sank as she disappeared from view. But to the watchers on the shore a beautiful picture was given, which sent them their separate ways with peace in their hearts.
Above the spot where the Phantom Ship had gone down, never to be seen again, a rosy light hovered, making as it were a path leading straight through the bursting clouds to the bright sky beyond. And in this glory two figures were seen hovering, locked in each other’s arms and rising upward. They were the radiant spirits of Senta and the lover she had saved. The Flying Dutchman’s voyages were ended; the curse was lifted from him for evermore.