Christ in Flanders | Page 6

carried it high on its crest, only to plunge it, as it were, into the
trough of the sea that seemed to yawn for them. At this mighty
upheaval, this sudden outbreak of the wrath of the sea, the company in
the stern turned pale, and sent up a terrible cry.
"We are lost!"
"Oh, not yet!" said the skipper calmly.
As he spoke, the clouds immediately above their heads were torn
asunder by the vehemence of the wind. The gray mass was rent and
scattered east and west with ominous speed, a dim uncertain light from
the rift in the sky fell full upon the boat, and the travelers beheld each
other's faces. All of them, the noble and the wealthy, the sailors and the
poor passengers alike, were amazed for a moment by the appearance of
the last comer. His golden hair, parted upon his calm, serene forehead,
fell in thick curls about his shoulders; and his face, sublime in its
sweetness and radiant with divine love, stood out against the
surrounding gloom. He had no contempt for death; he knew that he
should not die. But if at the first the company in the stern forgot for a
moment the implacable fury of the storm that threatened their lives,
selfishness and their habits of life soon prevailed again.
"How lucky that stupid burgomaster is, not to see the risks we are all
running! He is just like a dog, he will die without a struggle," said the
doctor.
He had scarcely pronounced this highly judicious dictum when the
storm unloosed all its legions. The wind blew from every quarter of the
heavens, the boat span round like a top, and the sea broke in.
"Oh! my poor child! my poor child! . . . Who will save my baby?" the
mother cried in a heart-rending voice.
"You yourself will save it," the stranger said.
The thrilling tones of that voice went to the young mother's heart and
brought hope with them; she heard the gracious words through all the
whistling of the wind and the shrieks of the passengers.
"Holy Virgin of Good Help, who art at Antwerp, I promise thee a
thousand pounds of wax and a statue, if thou wilt rescue me from this!"

cried the burgher, kneeling upon his bags of gold.
"The Virgin is no more at Antwerp than she is here," was the doctor's
comment on this appeal.
"She is in heaven," said a voice that seemed to come from the sea.
"Who said that?"
"'Tis the devil!" exclaimed the servant. "He is scoffing at the Virgin of
Antwerp."
"Let us have no more of your Holy Virgin at present," the skipper cried
to the passengers. "Put your hands to the scoops and bail the water out
of the boat.--And the rest of you," he went on, addressing the sailors,
"pull with all your might! Now is the time; in the name of the devil
who is leaving you in this world, be your own Providence! Every one
knows that the channel is fearfully dangerous; I have been to and fro
across it these thirty years. Am I facing a storm for the first time
to-night?"
He stood at the helm, and looked, as before, at his boat and at the sea
and sky in turn.
"The skipper always laughs at everything," muttered Thomas.
"Will God leave us to perish along with those wretched creatures?"
asked the haughty damsel of the handsome cavalier.
"No, no, noble maiden. . . . Listen!" and he caught her by the waist and
said in her ear, "I can swim, say nothing about it! I will hold you by
your fair hair and bring you safely to the shore; but I can only save
you."
The girl looked at her aged mother. The lady was on her knees
entreating absolution of the Bishop, who did not heed her. In the
beautiful eyes the knight read a vague feeling of filial piety, and spoke
in a smothered voice.
"Submit yourself to the will of God. If it is His pleasure to take your
mother to Himself, it will doubtless be for her happiness--in another
world," he added, and his voice dropped still lower. "And for ours in
this," he thought within himself.
The Dame of Rupelmonde was lady of seven fiefs beside the barony of
Gavres.
The girl felt the longing for life in her heart, and for love that spoke
through the handsome adventurer, a young miscreant who haunted
churches in search of a prize, an heiress to marry, or ready money. The

Bishop bestowed his benison on the waves, and bade them be calm; it
was all that he could do. He thought of his concubine, and of the
delicate feast with which she would welcome him;