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“Ship ahoy!”

There was an answer from our bark–for such it seemed to me by this time–but I could not make out the words.

“Where do you hail from?” was the next question.

I strained my ears to catch the response, being naturally anxious to know whence I had come.

“From the City of Destruction!” was what I thought I heard; and I confess that it surprised me not a little.

“Where are you bound?” was asked in turn.

Again I listened with intensest interest, and again did the reply astonish me greatly.

“Ultima Thule!” was the answer from our boat, and the voice of the man who answered was deep and melancholy.

Then I knew that I had set out strange countries for to see, and that I was all unequipped for so distant a voyage. Thule I knew, or at least I had heard of the king who reigned there once and who cast his goblet into the sea. But Ultima Thule! was not that beyond the uttermost borders of the earth?

“Any passengers?” was the next query, and I noted that the voice came now from the left and was almost abreast of us.

“One only,” responded the captain of our boat.

“Where bound?” was the final inquiry.

“To the Fortunate Islands!” was the answer; and as I heard this my spirits rose again, and I was glad, as what man would not be who was on his way to the paradise where the crimson-flowered meadows are full of the shade of frankincense-trees and of fruits of gold?

Then the boat bounded forward again, and I heard the wash of the waves.

All this time it seemed as though I were in darkness; but now I began dimly to discern the objects about me. I found that I was lying on a settee in a state-room at the stern of the vessel. Through the small round window over my head the first rays of the rising sun darted and soon lighted the little cabin.

As I looked about me with curiosity, wondering how I came to be a passenger on so unexpected a voyage, I saw the figure of a man framed in the doorway at the foot of the stairs leading to the deck above.

How it was I do not know, but I made sure at once that he was the captain of the ship, the man whose voice I had heard answering the hail.

He was tall and dark, with a scant beard and a fiery and piercing gaze, which penetrated me as I faced him. Yet the expression of his countenance was not unfriendly; nor could any man lay eyes upon him without a movement of pity for the sadness written on his visage.

I rose to my feet as he came forward.

“Well,” he said, holding out his hand, “and how are you after your nap?”

He spoke our language with ease and yet with a foreign accent. Perhaps it was this which betrayed him to me.

“Are you not Captain Vanderdecken?” I asked as I took his hand heartily.

“So you know me?” he returned, with a mournful little laugh, as he motioned to me to sit down again.

Thus the ice was broken, and he took his seat by my side, and we were soon deep in talk.

When he learned that I was a loyal New-Yorker, his cordiality increased.

“I have relatives in New Amsterdam,” he cried; “at least I had once. Diedrich Knickerbocker was my first cousin. And do you know Rip Van Winkle?”

Although I could not claim any close friendship with this gentleman, I boasted myself fully acquainted with his history.

“Yes, yes,” said Captain Vanderdecken, “I suppose he was before your time. Most people are so short-lived nowadays; it’s only with that Wandering Jew now that I ever have a chat over old times. Well, well, but you have heard of Rip? Were you ever told that I was on a visit to Hendrik Hudson the night Rip went up the mountain and took a drop too much?”