“Helm up! she does not see us, and she will be aboard of us!” cried Philip.  “Helm up, I say, hard up, quick!”

The helm was put up, as the men, perceiving their imminent danger, climbed upon the guns to look if the vessel altered her course; but no—­down she came, and the head-sails of the Utrecht having been carried away, to their horror they perceived that she would not answer her helm and pay off as they required.

“Ship, ahoy!” roared Philip through his trumpet—­but the gale drove the sound back.

“Ship, ahoy!” cried Krantz on the gunwale, waving his hat.  It was useless—­down she came, with the waters foaming under her bows, and was now within pistol-shot of the Utrecht.

“Ship, ahoy!” roared all the sailors, with a shout that must have been heard:  it was not attended to; down came the vessel upon them, and now her cutwater was within ten yards of the Utrecht.  The men of the Utrecht, who expected that their vessel would be severed in half by the concussion, climbed upon the weather gunwale, all ready to catch at the ropes of the other vessel and climb on board of her.  Amine who had been surprised at the noise on deck, had come out and had taken Philip by the arm.

“Trust to me—­the shock”—­said Philip.  He said no more; the cutwater of the stranger touched their sides; one general cry was raised by the sailors of the Utrecht, they sprang to catch at the rigging of the other vessel’s bowsprit which was now pointed between their masts—­they caught at nothing—­nothing—­there was no shock—­no concussion of the two vessels—­the stranger appeared to cleave through them—­her hull passed along in silence—­no cracking of timbers—­no falling of masts—­the foreyard passed through their mainsail, yet the canvas was unrent—­the whole vessel appeared to cut through the Utrecht, yet left no trace of injury—­not fast, but slowly, as if she were really sawing through her by the heaving and tossing of the sea with her sharp prow.  The stranger’s forechains had passed their gunwale before Philip could recover himself.  “Amine,” cried he, at last, “the Phantom Ship! my father!”

The seamen of the Utrecht, more astounded by the marvellous result than by their former danger, threw themselves down upon deck; some hastened below, some prayed, others were dumb with astonishment and fear.  Amine appeared more calm than any, not excepting Philip; she surveyed the vessel as it slowly forced its way through; she beheld the seamen on board of her coolly leaning over her gunwale, as if deriding the destruction they had occasioned; she looked for Vanderdecken himself, and on the poop of the vessel, with his trumpet under his arm, she beheld the image of her Philip—­the same hardy, strong build—­the same features—­about the same age apparently—­there could be no doubt it was the doomed Vanderdecken!

“See, Philip,” said she, “see!—­your father!”