Chapter Four.“Come on deck, Mynheers! come on deck!” cried the skipper, calling down the skylight. “The sun will soon rise, you can enjoy a sight of the land.”The Count and the Baron were soon dressed, and made their appearance on deck.“There’s the land, Mynheers, and you will soon see the sun rising from behind it,” said the skipper, pointing with no little pride in his countenance to a long unbroken line of shore rising not many feet above the level of the ocean, with here and there a windmill towering above it; its arms just beginning to revolve as the morning breezes filled its sails. “There is Holland; look and admire.”While he was speaking, the sun, throwing a ruddy light on the dancing waves, rose behind the long line of coast and its countless windmills. The wind was fair, and the vessel was still steering northward.“How soon are we likely to get into the Zuyder Zee?” asked the Count.“That depends on the continuance of the breeze,” answered the skipper. “If it blows fair for a few hours more, we shall be up to the Helder before noon; but if it shifts ahead, or a calm comes on, I shall have the pleasure of your company for some time longer.”“With due respect to you, Captain Jan Dunck, I sincerely hope that the breeze will continue fair,” said the Count, making a polite bow, as he had no wish to offend the skipper, but felt constrained to speak the truth. “It is not of you or your galiot that I’m tired, but of this fidgetty sea which rolls and tumbles her about so thoughtlessly, to say the best of it.”“But are you aware, Count,” said the skipper, “that the Zuyder Zee can roll and tumble in no gentle fashion? For your sakes it is to be hoped that we shall not have a storm till you land safely in Amsterdam.”“Then I sincerely pray that the winds may be in a gentle mood,” said the Count.“And in the meantime, Captain Jan Dunck, I propose that we go down to breakfast,” said the Baron, who had showed signs of impatience for some time past.The Count and the Baron and the skipper sat down to breakfast. The two latter did ample justice to the good things placed before them; but the Count, after several heroic attempts to swallow a big sausage, had to confess that his appetite had vanished, and that he thought that the fresh air on deck would restore it. He there found the one-eyed mariner steering.“Oh tell me, brave sailor, when are we likely to get to the Helder?” he asked in a tone which showed that he was but ill at ease.“If you open your eyes wide enough, you will see it right ahead,” answered the one-eyed mariner. “That point of land out there, that’s the Helder; we shall sail close to it, if the wind holds fair, and the tide does not sweep us out again. There’s water enough there to float a seventy-four. On the other side is the island of Texel, and a very fine island it is for sheep; many thousands live on it; and if you wish to taste something excellent, I would advise you to obtain one of the green cheeses which are made from the milk of the sheep living on the island.”“I will tell the Baron, who thinks more of eating than I do,” answered the Count. “But is that actually the Helder I see before me?”“I told you it was,” answered the one-eyed mariner, in a gruff tone, as if he did not like to have his word doubted.This was indeed joyful news to the Count, who already began to feel his appetite returning; and he could not resist the temptation of shouting through the skylight to the Baron, inviting him to come up and see the place.“Sit quiet till you have finished your breakfast, there will be time enough then, and to spare,” observed the skipper, who knew very well that the tide was running out, and that the galiot could not stem it for some time to come.In half-an-hour after this the galiot began to move ahead, and arrived off a huge sea wall, two hundred feet from the foundation to the summit, and built of Norwegian granite, a work constructed to protect the land from the encroachments of the ocean. Beyond it could be seen the tops of the houses and the steeples of a large town. Sailing on, the galiot came off the town of Nieuwe Diep, and the tall masts and yards of a number of large ships could be distinguished in the Royal Dockyard inside the bank.“We Dutchmen are proud of this place,” observed the skipper. “Two hundred years ago a fierce naval battle was fought off here between the English and French, and our brave Admirals De Ruyter and Van Tromp, who gained the victory.”After the galiot had passed Nieuwe Diep the wind shifted to the northward, and she ran on rapidly in smooth water till she came off Enkhuisen. Bounding that point she reached Hoorn, off which she brought up.“The place is worth seeing,” observed the skipper; “and you may spend an hour or two on shore while I transact some business. You will remember that it was once the capital of North Holland, but it is now what some people call a dead city, and you will acknowledge that it is very far from being a lively one; however, it has something to boast of. It was here that Captain Schouten was born—he who sailed with Le Maire and discovered the southern end of America, to which he, in consequence, gave the name of his birthplace. You have heard of Cape Horn, I suppose.”“Oh, yes; as to that, the Baron knows all about it,” said the Count. “We will follow your advice, Captain, and will be down on the quay again within the time you mention.”“Well, this is a dead city,” said the Baron, ashe and the Count walked through its ancient streets. “Everything about it seems to indicate that if it ever were alive it must have been a long time ago. What curious old houses, how quaint in form; many of them also are decorated with sculpture of all sorts, and, on my word, excessively well executed too.”“I should be very unwilling to pass many days here,” remarked the Count, as passing along street after street they scarcely met a creature, quadruped or biped. The houses seemed untenanted—not a voice, not a sound was heard; yet they were all clean, in good preservation, and well painted, mostly of a yellow colour with red roofs, many of them with gable ends, one story being smaller than the other, so that towards the summit they presented an outline of steps. There were also numerous gateways, some handsomely carved, but they led nowhere, and indeed no one was seen to go in or out at them.“I cannot stand this,” said the Count. “Let us go back to the port.” Here a certain amount of trade was going on. Hoorn is engaged largely in the curing of herrings; some vessels also were building, and it was evident from the number of cheeses stacked up ready for exportation that it must carry on a considerable commerce in that article. Floors above floors were piled with round red cannon-balls, emitting an odour powerful if not pleasant.“After all, Hoorn is not so dead as I supposed,” observed the Baron.Finding the skipper they embarked.“You intend, I hope, to land us at Amsterdam to-night,” said the Count to the skipper.“Don’t think there’s the slightest chance of it,” was the answer. “The wind has fallen, it will be stark calm in a few minutes; for what I can see it will be a calm all the night through and to-morrow also.”“Then I propose that we go to dinner,” said the Baron. “I hope that it will be ready soon.”“Dinner is it you want?” exclaimed the skipper. “What, did you not dine at Hoorn?”“Certainly not,” said the Baron. “We were employed in seeing the town. We fully expected that you would have had dinner ready on our return on board. What has become of all the provisions you shipped, may I ask?”“I landed them at Hoorn, where I took my own dinner,” answered the skipper. “You must manage to rough it on bread and cheese. There’s not much bread, but you may eat as much cheese as you like.”“This is abominable treatment, Captain Jan Dunck,” exclaimed the Baron. “I insist that you obtain provisions at the first place you can reach, or else that you land us where we can obtain them. I am sure the Count agrees with me.”“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the skipper. “Who do you think is master of this ship? Did you ever hear the old song?“Mynheer Jan Dunck,Though he never got drunk,Sipped brandy and water gaily;He quenched his thirstWith a quart of the first,And a pint of the latter daily.“That’s just what I have been doing, although I’m as sober as a judge. I am ready for anything. You want to be landed, do you? Suppose I put you on shore on the island of Marken? It is not far off, and my boat will carry you there. What then will you say for yourselves? It is your own doing, remember.”“This treatment is abominable,” exclaimed the Baron. “I appeal to your crew for their assistance, and ask them if they will stand by and see your passengers insulted in this fashion.”“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the skipper. “Hoist the boat out. We will soon see if my crew dare to disobey me. Pieter, there, be smart about it.”The one-eyed mariner started up and eyed the Count and the Baron with his single blinker, making a grimace as much as to say he could not help it. He and the mate and the small ship’s boy soon got the boat into the water.“Step in,” cried the skipper. “You said you wanted to be put on shore, and I am going to put you on shore. Pieter, you’re to row. If you want your dinners you’ll embark, if not you’ll go without them.”“And are you going too, Captain Jan Dunck?” asked the Baron.“Certainly, it is my intention,” answered the skipper, and the Count and the Baron, with their valises, got into the boat.“Look after the vessel,” shouted the skipper to the mate and small ship’s boy, as he stepped into the boat and seated himself in the stern sheets, with the Count on one side and the Baron on the other and Pieter pulling. As there was not a breath of wind the water was perfectly smooth. The Baron’s hunger increased, the Count also had regained his appetite, and they were eager to reach the shore in the hopes of getting a dinner. The skipper said nothing, but looked very glum. At last the island appeared ahead, with a few huts on it and a tiny church in the midst, but it was green and pleasant to look at.“That does not look like a place where we can get dinner,” observed the Baron, eyeing it doubtfully.“And he does not intend to give you any dinner either,” whispered the one-eyed mariner, whose good-will the Count and Baron had evidently won. “Take my advice, tell him to go up and obtain provisions, and say that you will eat them on board.”“What’s that your talking about?” exclaimed the skipper. “Silence there, forward!”The one-eyed mariner rowed slower and slower, and managed to carry on the conversation alternately with the Count and the Baron. Suddenly the skipper, who had been partly dozing, though he had managed to steer the boat, aroused himself. “Pull faster, Pieter,” he shouted out: “I have heard what you have been talking about, and will pay you off.”“I was merely giving the gentlemen good advice, Captain,” answered Pieter. “And there’s one thing I have to say to you; if you can get provisions at Marken, you had better do so in a hurry, for there’s a storm brewing, and it will be upon us before long. The mate and the boy won’t be able to manage the galiot alone, and she to a certainty will be wrecked.”“A storm brewing, is there?” cried the Captain. “Well, then, the sooner we land at Marken the better. Pull away, Pieter, pull away.”Pieter did pull, and in a short time the beach was reached. An old fisherman, with a pipe in his mouth and a red cap on his head, came down to see what the strangers wanted, as the Count and Baron stepped on shore.“Friend,” exclaimed the Baron, “can you tell us where a good dinner is to be obtained in a hurry, for we are famishing.”“A good dinner can undoubtedly be obtained in Marken,” answered the ancient fisherman with the red nightcap on his head; “but we are not accustomed to do things in a hurry in our island. Poultry have to be caught and their necks wrung, and the sheep have to be slaughtered and skinned and cut up, potatoes have to be dug, and the other vegetables gathered, the bread has to be made; but we have cheese, and you can eat as much of that as you like.”“Plenty of cheese on board, we do not come on shore to obtain it!” exclaimed the Baron. “CaptainJan Dunck, you have grossly deceived us; you brought us onshore with the expectation of speedily obtaining a good dinner.”“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the skipper. “I said nothing of the sort; I undertook to land you, if you no longer wished to remain on board.”“But you led us to suppose that you intended to go yourself and obtain a fresh supply of provisions at Marken,” said the Baron with emphasis; “and that is what we expected you to do.”“Then, Baron Stilkin, you are very much mistaken,” answered the skipper. “You left my vessel of your own free will, and you have landed on this island of your own free will. I have fulfilled my engagement; if you want a dinner you must go and find it as best you can. I heard what Pieter was saying to you, and I intend to pay him off. Take up your portmanteaus, unless the old fisherman will carry them for you, and go your way; the storm, as Pieter observed, will be down upon us before long, and I must put off and return to the galiot.”“I again say that you are treating us shamefully!” exclaimed the Baron. “Pieter, my brave friend, will you stand by us?”“Ja, ja, that I will,” answered Pieter, who had stepped out of the boat. “If the Captain likes to go off, he may go by himself.”The discussion had been going on for some time when Pieter said this. Not only had the wind risen, but the rain had begun to fall, and the Count and Baron were preparing to put up their umbrellas.“It is very fortunate we brought them,” observed the Count. “Baron, your advice was sound when you suggested that we should do so.”Meantime the skipper had been getting his boat ready; he had stepped the mast, and hoisted the sail.“Pieter!” he exclaimed, “I want to say something to you.”“What is it, Captain?” asked the one-eyed mariner, cautiously drawing near.“Why, this!” cried the skipper. “That you are a treacherous old rascal, and that I intend to pay you off.”As he spoke he hove a noose at the end of a rope over Pieter’s body, and before the one-eyed mariner was aware of what was going to happen, he was dragged off his feet into the water, whilethe skipper, hauling aft the main-sheet, sailed away, dragging poor Pieter through the foaming waters astern. In his struggles Pieter had moved the rope up to his neck, and was now in danger of being throttled.“Stop, stop!” shouted the Count and the Baron in chorus. “Let that man go! What are you about to do with him? You’ll throttle him, or drag off his head, or drown him—you’ll be guilty of murder. We’ll report your conduct to the Burgomaster of Amsterdam, and all the other authorities of Holland. Release him, let him go!”Captain Jan Dunck, who never looked back towards his victim, disregarding their threats and their cries sailed on, till he and his boat and the hapless Pieter disappeared amid the thick sheets of rain and the driving spray which surrounded them.
“Come on deck, Mynheers! come on deck!” cried the skipper, calling down the skylight. “The sun will soon rise, you can enjoy a sight of the land.”
The Count and the Baron were soon dressed, and made their appearance on deck.
“There’s the land, Mynheers, and you will soon see the sun rising from behind it,” said the skipper, pointing with no little pride in his countenance to a long unbroken line of shore rising not many feet above the level of the ocean, with here and there a windmill towering above it; its arms just beginning to revolve as the morning breezes filled its sails. “There is Holland; look and admire.”
While he was speaking, the sun, throwing a ruddy light on the dancing waves, rose behind the long line of coast and its countless windmills. The wind was fair, and the vessel was still steering northward.
“How soon are we likely to get into the Zuyder Zee?” asked the Count.
“That depends on the continuance of the breeze,” answered the skipper. “If it blows fair for a few hours more, we shall be up to the Helder before noon; but if it shifts ahead, or a calm comes on, I shall have the pleasure of your company for some time longer.”
“With due respect to you, Captain Jan Dunck, I sincerely hope that the breeze will continue fair,” said the Count, making a polite bow, as he had no wish to offend the skipper, but felt constrained to speak the truth. “It is not of you or your galiot that I’m tired, but of this fidgetty sea which rolls and tumbles her about so thoughtlessly, to say the best of it.”
“But are you aware, Count,” said the skipper, “that the Zuyder Zee can roll and tumble in no gentle fashion? For your sakes it is to be hoped that we shall not have a storm till you land safely in Amsterdam.”
“Then I sincerely pray that the winds may be in a gentle mood,” said the Count.
“And in the meantime, Captain Jan Dunck, I propose that we go down to breakfast,” said the Baron, who had showed signs of impatience for some time past.
The Count and the Baron and the skipper sat down to breakfast. The two latter did ample justice to the good things placed before them; but the Count, after several heroic attempts to swallow a big sausage, had to confess that his appetite had vanished, and that he thought that the fresh air on deck would restore it. He there found the one-eyed mariner steering.
“Oh tell me, brave sailor, when are we likely to get to the Helder?” he asked in a tone which showed that he was but ill at ease.
“If you open your eyes wide enough, you will see it right ahead,” answered the one-eyed mariner. “That point of land out there, that’s the Helder; we shall sail close to it, if the wind holds fair, and the tide does not sweep us out again. There’s water enough there to float a seventy-four. On the other side is the island of Texel, and a very fine island it is for sheep; many thousands live on it; and if you wish to taste something excellent, I would advise you to obtain one of the green cheeses which are made from the milk of the sheep living on the island.”
“I will tell the Baron, who thinks more of eating than I do,” answered the Count. “But is that actually the Helder I see before me?”
“I told you it was,” answered the one-eyed mariner, in a gruff tone, as if he did not like to have his word doubted.
This was indeed joyful news to the Count, who already began to feel his appetite returning; and he could not resist the temptation of shouting through the skylight to the Baron, inviting him to come up and see the place.
“Sit quiet till you have finished your breakfast, there will be time enough then, and to spare,” observed the skipper, who knew very well that the tide was running out, and that the galiot could not stem it for some time to come.
In half-an-hour after this the galiot began to move ahead, and arrived off a huge sea wall, two hundred feet from the foundation to the summit, and built of Norwegian granite, a work constructed to protect the land from the encroachments of the ocean. Beyond it could be seen the tops of the houses and the steeples of a large town. Sailing on, the galiot came off the town of Nieuwe Diep, and the tall masts and yards of a number of large ships could be distinguished in the Royal Dockyard inside the bank.
“We Dutchmen are proud of this place,” observed the skipper. “Two hundred years ago a fierce naval battle was fought off here between the English and French, and our brave Admirals De Ruyter and Van Tromp, who gained the victory.”
After the galiot had passed Nieuwe Diep the wind shifted to the northward, and she ran on rapidly in smooth water till she came off Enkhuisen. Bounding that point she reached Hoorn, off which she brought up.
“The place is worth seeing,” observed the skipper; “and you may spend an hour or two on shore while I transact some business. You will remember that it was once the capital of North Holland, but it is now what some people call a dead city, and you will acknowledge that it is very far from being a lively one; however, it has something to boast of. It was here that Captain Schouten was born—he who sailed with Le Maire and discovered the southern end of America, to which he, in consequence, gave the name of his birthplace. You have heard of Cape Horn, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes; as to that, the Baron knows all about it,” said the Count. “We will follow your advice, Captain, and will be down on the quay again within the time you mention.”
“Well, this is a dead city,” said the Baron, ashe and the Count walked through its ancient streets. “Everything about it seems to indicate that if it ever were alive it must have been a long time ago. What curious old houses, how quaint in form; many of them also are decorated with sculpture of all sorts, and, on my word, excessively well executed too.”
“I should be very unwilling to pass many days here,” remarked the Count, as passing along street after street they scarcely met a creature, quadruped or biped. The houses seemed untenanted—not a voice, not a sound was heard; yet they were all clean, in good preservation, and well painted, mostly of a yellow colour with red roofs, many of them with gable ends, one story being smaller than the other, so that towards the summit they presented an outline of steps. There were also numerous gateways, some handsomely carved, but they led nowhere, and indeed no one was seen to go in or out at them.
“I cannot stand this,” said the Count. “Let us go back to the port.” Here a certain amount of trade was going on. Hoorn is engaged largely in the curing of herrings; some vessels also were building, and it was evident from the number of cheeses stacked up ready for exportation that it must carry on a considerable commerce in that article. Floors above floors were piled with round red cannon-balls, emitting an odour powerful if not pleasant.
“After all, Hoorn is not so dead as I supposed,” observed the Baron.
Finding the skipper they embarked.
“You intend, I hope, to land us at Amsterdam to-night,” said the Count to the skipper.
“Don’t think there’s the slightest chance of it,” was the answer. “The wind has fallen, it will be stark calm in a few minutes; for what I can see it will be a calm all the night through and to-morrow also.”
“Then I propose that we go to dinner,” said the Baron. “I hope that it will be ready soon.”
“Dinner is it you want?” exclaimed the skipper. “What, did you not dine at Hoorn?”
“Certainly not,” said the Baron. “We were employed in seeing the town. We fully expected that you would have had dinner ready on our return on board. What has become of all the provisions you shipped, may I ask?”
“I landed them at Hoorn, where I took my own dinner,” answered the skipper. “You must manage to rough it on bread and cheese. There’s not much bread, but you may eat as much cheese as you like.”
“This is abominable treatment, Captain Jan Dunck,” exclaimed the Baron. “I insist that you obtain provisions at the first place you can reach, or else that you land us where we can obtain them. I am sure the Count agrees with me.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the skipper. “Who do you think is master of this ship? Did you ever hear the old song?
“Mynheer Jan Dunck,Though he never got drunk,Sipped brandy and water gaily;He quenched his thirstWith a quart of the first,And a pint of the latter daily.
“Mynheer Jan Dunck,Though he never got drunk,Sipped brandy and water gaily;He quenched his thirstWith a quart of the first,And a pint of the latter daily.
“That’s just what I have been doing, although I’m as sober as a judge. I am ready for anything. You want to be landed, do you? Suppose I put you on shore on the island of Marken? It is not far off, and my boat will carry you there. What then will you say for yourselves? It is your own doing, remember.”
“This treatment is abominable,” exclaimed the Baron. “I appeal to your crew for their assistance, and ask them if they will stand by and see your passengers insulted in this fashion.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the skipper. “Hoist the boat out. We will soon see if my crew dare to disobey me. Pieter, there, be smart about it.”
The one-eyed mariner started up and eyed the Count and the Baron with his single blinker, making a grimace as much as to say he could not help it. He and the mate and the small ship’s boy soon got the boat into the water.
“Step in,” cried the skipper. “You said you wanted to be put on shore, and I am going to put you on shore. Pieter, you’re to row. If you want your dinners you’ll embark, if not you’ll go without them.”
“And are you going too, Captain Jan Dunck?” asked the Baron.
“Certainly, it is my intention,” answered the skipper, and the Count and the Baron, with their valises, got into the boat.
“Look after the vessel,” shouted the skipper to the mate and small ship’s boy, as he stepped into the boat and seated himself in the stern sheets, with the Count on one side and the Baron on the other and Pieter pulling. As there was not a breath of wind the water was perfectly smooth. The Baron’s hunger increased, the Count also had regained his appetite, and they were eager to reach the shore in the hopes of getting a dinner. The skipper said nothing, but looked very glum. At last the island appeared ahead, with a few huts on it and a tiny church in the midst, but it was green and pleasant to look at.
“That does not look like a place where we can get dinner,” observed the Baron, eyeing it doubtfully.
“And he does not intend to give you any dinner either,” whispered the one-eyed mariner, whose good-will the Count and Baron had evidently won. “Take my advice, tell him to go up and obtain provisions, and say that you will eat them on board.”
“What’s that your talking about?” exclaimed the skipper. “Silence there, forward!”
The one-eyed mariner rowed slower and slower, and managed to carry on the conversation alternately with the Count and the Baron. Suddenly the skipper, who had been partly dozing, though he had managed to steer the boat, aroused himself. “Pull faster, Pieter,” he shouted out: “I have heard what you have been talking about, and will pay you off.”
“I was merely giving the gentlemen good advice, Captain,” answered Pieter. “And there’s one thing I have to say to you; if you can get provisions at Marken, you had better do so in a hurry, for there’s a storm brewing, and it will be upon us before long. The mate and the boy won’t be able to manage the galiot alone, and she to a certainty will be wrecked.”
“A storm brewing, is there?” cried the Captain. “Well, then, the sooner we land at Marken the better. Pull away, Pieter, pull away.”
Pieter did pull, and in a short time the beach was reached. An old fisherman, with a pipe in his mouth and a red cap on his head, came down to see what the strangers wanted, as the Count and Baron stepped on shore.
“Friend,” exclaimed the Baron, “can you tell us where a good dinner is to be obtained in a hurry, for we are famishing.”
“A good dinner can undoubtedly be obtained in Marken,” answered the ancient fisherman with the red nightcap on his head; “but we are not accustomed to do things in a hurry in our island. Poultry have to be caught and their necks wrung, and the sheep have to be slaughtered and skinned and cut up, potatoes have to be dug, and the other vegetables gathered, the bread has to be made; but we have cheese, and you can eat as much of that as you like.”
“Plenty of cheese on board, we do not come on shore to obtain it!” exclaimed the Baron. “CaptainJan Dunck, you have grossly deceived us; you brought us onshore with the expectation of speedily obtaining a good dinner.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the skipper. “I said nothing of the sort; I undertook to land you, if you no longer wished to remain on board.”
“But you led us to suppose that you intended to go yourself and obtain a fresh supply of provisions at Marken,” said the Baron with emphasis; “and that is what we expected you to do.”
“Then, Baron Stilkin, you are very much mistaken,” answered the skipper. “You left my vessel of your own free will, and you have landed on this island of your own free will. I have fulfilled my engagement; if you want a dinner you must go and find it as best you can. I heard what Pieter was saying to you, and I intend to pay him off. Take up your portmanteaus, unless the old fisherman will carry them for you, and go your way; the storm, as Pieter observed, will be down upon us before long, and I must put off and return to the galiot.”
“I again say that you are treating us shamefully!” exclaimed the Baron. “Pieter, my brave friend, will you stand by us?”
“Ja, ja, that I will,” answered Pieter, who had stepped out of the boat. “If the Captain likes to go off, he may go by himself.”
The discussion had been going on for some time when Pieter said this. Not only had the wind risen, but the rain had begun to fall, and the Count and Baron were preparing to put up their umbrellas.
“It is very fortunate we brought them,” observed the Count. “Baron, your advice was sound when you suggested that we should do so.”
Meantime the skipper had been getting his boat ready; he had stepped the mast, and hoisted the sail.
“Pieter!” he exclaimed, “I want to say something to you.”
“What is it, Captain?” asked the one-eyed mariner, cautiously drawing near.
“Why, this!” cried the skipper. “That you are a treacherous old rascal, and that I intend to pay you off.”
As he spoke he hove a noose at the end of a rope over Pieter’s body, and before the one-eyed mariner was aware of what was going to happen, he was dragged off his feet into the water, whilethe skipper, hauling aft the main-sheet, sailed away, dragging poor Pieter through the foaming waters astern. In his struggles Pieter had moved the rope up to his neck, and was now in danger of being throttled.
“Stop, stop!” shouted the Count and the Baron in chorus. “Let that man go! What are you about to do with him? You’ll throttle him, or drag off his head, or drown him—you’ll be guilty of murder. We’ll report your conduct to the Burgomaster of Amsterdam, and all the other authorities of Holland. Release him, let him go!”
Captain Jan Dunck, who never looked back towards his victim, disregarding their threats and their cries sailed on, till he and his boat and the hapless Pieter disappeared amid the thick sheets of rain and the driving spray which surrounded them.
Chapter Five.“Is there no chance for poor Pieter?” asked the Count, looking in the direction Captain Jan Dunck, his boat, and his unfortunate victim had gone.“None, unless the skipper relents and drags him on board; and then I don’t think it likely that they will be on the best of terms,” answered the Baron.“Do Dutch skippers generally treat their crews in the way Captain Jan Dunck has treated poor Pieter?” asked the Count of the ancient fisherman.“It depends very much on the amount of schiedam they have taken aboard,” answered the ancient fisherman. “We of Marken do not behave in that fashion.”“I am very glad to hear it,” said the Count, “as there seems a probability, till the storm is over, of our having to spend some time with you; if you were to do anything of the sort, we should undoubtedly report your conduct to the Burgomaster of Amsterdam, as we intend to report the conduct of Captain Jan Dunck, when we get there. And now, Baron, since it seems to be all up with the one-eyed mariner, and as at present we can do nothing to punish the perpetrator of the cruel deed, what shall we do with ourselves?”“I propose that we request this ancient fisherman to conduct us to some hostelry, where we can obtain those creature comforts which we so much need, and wait in quiet and security till the storm is over. Worthy friend,” he continued, turning to the ancient fisherman, “I beg that you will have the goodness to conduct us to some inn, where we may obtain a dinner and rest after our adventures on the stormy ocean.”“An inn,” ejaculated the ancient fisherman. “We have no inns in Marken, as few travellers are in the habit of visiting us. If, however, you will accept such hospitality as I can offer, you shall be welcome to it.”“With all our hearts,” answered the Count and the Baron in chorus, and they followed the ancient fisherman, who led the way into the interior of the island. After passing through several narrow and dirty lanes they emerged into a more open space, where they found themselves surrounded by neat cottages, among which a number of people were moving about.The men were all dressed as sailors—a brown knitted waistcoat and wide knickerbockers tied at the knees, thick black or blue woollen stockings, and wooden sabots or shoes, These sabots, the Count and the Baron observed, were taken off when the men entered a hut, so that it could be known how many people were inside by the number of sabots at the door. The women wore brown or chintz waistcoats, and short dark petticoats; many of them had their hair hanging down on either side of the face in long thick curls; their head-dresses were high white caps rounded at the summit and lined with some coloured material.“Here is my house,” said the ancient fisherman, opening the door of one of the neatest cottages in the place, “and there is my vrouw.”As he spoke an old lady got up and welcomed the travellers. She wore the dress which has been described, especially clean and picturesque, and in addition several gold ornaments. The cottage contained many marks of thrift; two carved oaken wardrobes stood one on either side, there was a clock of elaborate workmanship, and china plates of a curious pattern. A cheerful fire burned on the hearth, and the ancient fisherman’s wife soon busied herself with her highly-polished pots and pans in preparing a meal, the very odour of which made the Baron’s mouth water. Freshly-caught fish and a stew with potatoes and vegetables were quickly ready, and the Baron did ample justice to each dish placed on the table. The ancient fisherman informed them that the population of the island was about nine hundred; the men are all fishers, and pass the greater portion of their days on the water. On Sunday night, or rather as soon as Monday is commenced, the whole population go down to the port; the men embark in their boats, put to sea, and pass the week in fishing. The women return to their daily avocations till another Saturday afternoon comes round, when the men return home for their day of rest.“Month after month, and year after year, we live the same style of life; the world wags on around us, but we hear little or nothing of its doings. We are contented and happy in our way, and wouldn’t change our island of Marken for any part of the Netherlands, or the whole of Europe to boot,” said the ancient fisherman.“I am much inclined to stop among you,” observed the Count. “Only I should not like to have to go out fishing every day, especially in cold and wintry weather; but to sit here, for instance, with one’s feet before the fire, is very pleasant.”The ancient fisherman laughed. “You must remember, Mynheer, that in order to obtain these comforts, my father and I have toiled on year after year, each adding a little; this cottage and what it contains, represents the labour, I may say, of centuries. Few things worth having are to be obtained without working. I can enjoy my ease and these comforts with a clear conscience, for I have laboured on for fifty years or more, adding to the store my father left me, and he laboured for more than fifty years, and my grandfather before him.”“What examples you and your family are of patience and perseverance,” observed the Count.“No, Mynheer, nothing wonderful,” answered the ancient fisherman, in a modest tone. “All the inhabitants of our part of the town have done much the same, and we bring up our children in the hope that they will follow our example. This, Mynheer, is the secret of our contentment and prosperity.”“Then, when I marry and have children, I must bring them up to follow my example, and the same result will, I hope, follow,” said the Count.“That depends upon the example you set them,” answered the ancient fisherman.“Ah, yes; I must see about it, then,” said the Count. “I don’t know that as yet I have ever done anything very industrious. Perhaps, like me, they will become great travellers.”“Perhaps, my dear Count, the less you say about it the better, at present,” observed the Baron. “We have not proceeded very far on our voyage round the world. In the meantime, I will thank our hostess for another cup of her excellent tea.”As there seemed no probability of the storm abating, the Count and the Baron accepted the invitation given them by the ancient fisherman and his dame, to spend the night in their cottage. They had no beds to offer, but they had comfortable arm-chairs, pipes, tobacco, and a blazing fire.“We might be worse off,” observed the Baron, as he extended his legs and folded his arms to sleep.It being impossible to reach the mainland without a boat, the Baron suggested, that after their experience, it would be safer to have one of their own than to entrust themselves again to strangers, and the Count agreeing, they settled to buy one. The next morning, therefore, after breakfast, having wished their ancient host and hostess farewell, and the Count having slipped a coin into the hand of the latter as a remembrance, they purchased a boat, which the ancient fisherman recommended, and helped them to launch: they then together set forth to prosecute their travels.Neither of them were very expert navigators, though the ancient fisherman gave them a shove off to assist them in their progress, which was remarkably slow. Sometimes they rowed one way, and sometimes another, and the boat consequently went round and round.“You pull too hard,” cried the Count.“You don’t pull hard enough,” answered the Baron. “That is the reason we don’t go as straight as we should.”“Then perhaps if you take the two oars we shall go straighter,” said the Count.To this the Baron objected, as he had no desire to undertake all the labour of the voyage. Somehow or other they managed, notwithstanding, to get to a distance from Marken: perhaps the tide was carrying them along in the direction of the Helder; that this was the case, however, did not occur to them. They saw the land clearly enough stretching out to the westward: there lay Monnickendam, there Edam, and, further to the south, Uitdam. “Experience makes perfect:” after some time they did manage to row in a fashion.“I think we must be approaching the shore,” observed the Count. “It looks nearer than it did.”“So it ought, since we have been rowing with might and main for the last two hours,” said the Baron, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “I wish that we had waited at Marken till we should have found a passage on board some vessel, or obtained the assistance of one of the islanders; this is heavy work, especially as we have come away without provisions.”“So we have,” cried the Count. “Oh dear! oh dear! If we ever reach the shore, I shall be very much inclined to register a vow never again to tempt the stormy ocean.”“Regrets are useless at present; let us get to the shore,” said the Baron.But they rowed and rowed away in vain. Evening was approaching, and, though they had enjoyed a good breakfast, they were desperately hungry, and there appeared every probability that they would have to spend the night on the water. Fortunately it was calm, or they would have been in a still worse condition. Looking up, they at length saw an island, or a point of land with a tower on it.“That must be one of the places on the coast,” observed the Count; “let us try to reach it.”“But if we sit with our backs to the bows, as we have been hitherto doing, we shall not see it,” observed the Baron. “Let us stand up and row forward; then, perhaps, we shall go straighter than we have been doing.”The Count agreed, and they rowed thus for some time.Suddenly they were startled by a voice which in mournful accents said: “Oh, take me on board; take me on board!”So great was the Baron’s alarm that he nearly sank down to the bottom of the boat, when onlooking over his shoulder, what should he see but the countenance of the one-eyed mariner, who was endeavouring to haul himself on board.“Are you yourself, or are you a ghost?” asked the Baron, in trembling accents.“Can it be? Can it be our former shipmate?” cried the Count.“I am indeed, most noble gentlemen, that unfortunate and ill-used individual,” answered the one-eyed mariner; for it was he himself, though his countenance was as pale as if he had really been a ghost, and his visage was elongated, the result of the sufferings he had gone through. Satisfied that he was a mortal being like themselves, the Count and the Baron at length assisted him to get into the boat.“How did you escape?” asked the Baron eagerly.“By a wonderful circumstance,” answered the one-eyed mariner. “I managed to get my hands free, and slipped my neck out of the noose, just as I was on the point of being strangled. I held on to the boat, however, and allowed myself to be dragged along at the stern. I knew that if I had attempted to get in Captain Jan Dunck would very soon have quieted me by a blow on my crown. At length I saw that we were passing yonder island, and, silently letting go the rope, I swam towards it; while he, unconscious of my escape, sailed on. I there landed, but it is a barren spot, where neither food nor fresh water is to be obtained. I thought that I should have perished; for after the strain on my throat I felt dreadfully thirsty, and capable of drinking up the Zuyder Zee itself, if it had been fresh water mixed with a due allowance of schiedam. At length I observed your boat, noble gentlemen, drifting by; I cannot compliment you by saying you were rowing, for you were going round and round in all directions. I guessed that you were land-lubbers—excuse my frankness—and that I might render you assistance in return for the service you would do me by enabling me to reach the shore. Not till you spoke, however, did I recognise you as my late shipmates, and now Mynheers, the best thing you can do is to let me take the oars and row steadily to the land; for, though hungry and thirsty, I have still some strength left in my battered frame.”“By all means, worthy mariner, take the oars,” said the Baron, handing his to the sailor, while the Count followed his example. “We are ourselves nearly starving, and will promise you the best supper to be obtained wherever we may land, should we be fortunate enough to reach some hospitable part of the globe.”The one-eyed mariner took the oars, and bending lustily to them, made the boat move along very much faster than she had done since the Count and the Baron had commenced their voyage.“I was inclined, when we were rowing, to suppose that she was among the slowest that ever floated, or that there was something the matter with the oars,” observed the Count.“People are very apt to find fault with the tools they employ, instead of laying the blame on themselves,” remarked the Baron, sententiously.The one-eyed mariner cocked his one eye, as much as to say, “You are right, gentlemen;” but without speaking he rowed and rowed, now bending forward, now leaning back with all his might, every now and then looking over his shoulder to see that they were going in the right direction. It was getting darker and darker, and no friendly lights beamed forth from cottages or houses to indicate that they were approaching the inhabited part of the country.“Shall we soon reach the shore,” asked the Baron, with a groan; “I am getting desperately hungry.”“We shall not get there the sooner by talking about it,” answered the one-eyed mariner, who was beginning to lose his temper as he became more and more fatigued. “If you, Mynheers, had learned to row, you might have relieved me for a short time, till I had recovered my strength; but as we should never get there if I gave you up the oars, I must keep at it; only do not be continually asking me when we shall get there. I tell you we shall get there, wherever that may be, some time or other, if I keep rowing long enough.”After this remark, the Count and the Baron thought it prudent to say nothing more to the one-eyed mariner. He rowed and he rowed. The land became more distinct, but no lights indicated the cheerful habitations of men. The Baron groaned, for he saw no prospect of obtaining a supper, yet it was better to be on dry land than in a small boat on the Zuyder Zee, with an individual of so uncertain a temper as the one-eyed mariner. At length they found themselves with banks on either side.“I thought so,” said the one-eyed mariner, “we have reached the neighbourhood of Yollendam; this must be the Yoll—a better landfall than I expected. I do not know that provisions are to be obtained at the village, which is a mile or so off; but we will see.” And he rowed up the river, which had a more attractive appearance than might have been expected, for there was a small island covered with trees, and a mound several feet high on the opposite side, on which the eye could rest with pleasure. Before they had gone far the moon burst forth from behind some clouds, and shed along the waters of the stream its silvery light, which showed them a small vessel drawn up on the shore, and two or three people near her.“Perhaps these persons have provisions on board,” exclaimed the Baron. “I could sup off a dry crust of bread and a piece of Dutch cheese with greatest willingness in the world. We will ask those strangers if they will kindly relieve our necessities. Brave sailor, good Pieter, old and worthy shipmate, have the goodness to pull in for the shore, and we will throw ourselves on the charity of those strangers.”The one-eyed mariner gave a grunt, as if he valued but little the compliments paid him; but he obeyed, notwithstanding, and the boat soon reached the shore. The Baron and the Count then scrambled out, and made their way to where the crew of the vessel were seated.“Worthy mariners,” began the Baron, in his usual style; “we are shipwrecked individuals, or rather, I should say, we have just come a long and perilous voyage in yonder small boat, without food or liquid with which to renew our strength, and we are well-nigh starving. We ask you forthwith to supply our necessities.”“What’s the stout gentleman talking about?” asked one of the sailors of his companion. “I cannot make out what he says.”“So far as I can understand, he and his friend are hungry, and want some grub,” observed the latter. “Food is it you want?” he continued, turning to the Count and the Baron. “Our vessel there, which we hope to get off at high tide, is laden with cheese, and you shall have one apiece if you like at cost price, with as much biscuit as you can eat and some schnapps into the bargain.”“By all means, let us go on board at once,” cried the Baron. “I am grateful to you.”“But we must not forget poor Pieter,” cried the Count. “Here Pieter, Pieter, we have got some food for you.”Pieter had hauled up the boat, and, moving as fast as he could stagger, he accompanied the Count and the Baron and the crew of the sloop on board. The sailors were as good as their word, and produced a couple of round ruddy cheeses and a basketful of biscuits.“Let us attack one first,” said the Baron, nearly breaking his knife in the attempt to make an incision in the rind; he succeeded in getting off some slices, and all three fell to. Pieter, who was the most hungry of the party, swallowed one huge lump after another, then held out his cup for a supply of schiedam.“Never mind the water,” he observed. “This dry biscuit and cheese requires something potent to get it down.”The Count, who had never tasted schiedam before, though he took his diluted with water, made wry faces at what he considered its nauseous taste, but he said nothing for fear of offending the captain and crew of the sloop. At length he declared that he could eat no more.“I think I can go on a little longer,” said the Baron, who had attacked the second cheese.“And I do not expect to leave off till midnight,” said the one-eyed mariner, helping himself to an additional slice. At last their meal came to a conclusion.“Where are you bound for?” asked the Count of the skipper of the sloop.“For Amsterdam,” answered the skipper.“Then, Baron, don’t you think that it would be as well if we were to proceed on board this vessel, supposing the captain is willing to give us a passage?” said the Count.“As to that, we might do worse,” answered the Baron. “We shall thus at all events accomplish our passage to Amsterdam by water as we intended, and the Zuyder Zee is not likely to prove as boisterous as the Northern Ocean.”The skipper of the sloop having no objection to take the Count and the Baron, the arrangement was at once concluded.“By-the-by, my friend,” said the Baron, “I hope you will manage to obtain some more nutritious and palatable provender than these red cheeses and hard biscuit for the voyage: they are all very well once in a way for supper, but I should not like to have nothing else to live on.”The skipper promised to send to Yollendam, or if not to Edam, to obtain provisions for his passengers.“And pray, Mynheers, what are you going to do with your boat,” asked the one-eyed mariner.“I forgot all about her,” exclaimed the Count. “We will present her to you, my worthy friend,” he said. “You shall become her skipper, and, if you please, you are welcome to sail round the world in her, provided we are not compelled to accompany you.”The one-eyed mariner gratefully accepted the gift. “I am a made man,” he said, “and need no longer be at the beck and call of Captain Jan Dunck, supposing he and theGolden Hogare still afloat. I will obtain fishing lines, and go out and fish and sell my fish, and build a cottage, and marry a wife, and live happy and independent to the end of my days.”A bright idea seemed to strike the Count. “Friend, if you happen not to have found a wife in these parts, pray come over to Belgium, and I will there introduce you to a charming person, Johanna Klack by name, and you can take her away with you and settle at Marken or Urk, or any other island in or about the Zuyder Zee.”“Excellent! the brightest idea, my dear Count, to which you ever gave birth,” exclaimed the Baron. “By all means, worthy Pieter, come. Don’t trouble yourself to look out for a wife here; they’re all very good in their way, but Johanna Klack is super-excellent, and she probably has saved up a whole stockingful of guilders. I feel very much inclined to go back with you at once to assist you in your wooing.”“Mynheer,” said the one-eyed mariner, putting his finger to his nose, “‘good wine needs no bush.’ I have an idea or two. If this dame is so very charming, somebody with more personal attractions than I possess will have won her before I have the happiness of making her acquaintance; and you forget that, though I have got the boat, I have to obtain the fishing lines to catch the fish, to sell the fish, to go on doing that for some years, and then to build the house, and when the house is built it will be time enough for me to come in search of Vrouw Johanna Klack.”“Well, well, we’ll talk about that to-morrow morning,” said the Baron, who did not feel verysanguine as to the speedy disposal of Johanna Klack’s fair hand.Pieter, wishing them good night, went to sleep on board his boat, while they turned into two bunks in the small cabin of the sloop and slept soundly.
“Is there no chance for poor Pieter?” asked the Count, looking in the direction Captain Jan Dunck, his boat, and his unfortunate victim had gone.
“None, unless the skipper relents and drags him on board; and then I don’t think it likely that they will be on the best of terms,” answered the Baron.
“Do Dutch skippers generally treat their crews in the way Captain Jan Dunck has treated poor Pieter?” asked the Count of the ancient fisherman.
“It depends very much on the amount of schiedam they have taken aboard,” answered the ancient fisherman. “We of Marken do not behave in that fashion.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” said the Count, “as there seems a probability, till the storm is over, of our having to spend some time with you; if you were to do anything of the sort, we should undoubtedly report your conduct to the Burgomaster of Amsterdam, as we intend to report the conduct of Captain Jan Dunck, when we get there. And now, Baron, since it seems to be all up with the one-eyed mariner, and as at present we can do nothing to punish the perpetrator of the cruel deed, what shall we do with ourselves?”
“I propose that we request this ancient fisherman to conduct us to some hostelry, where we can obtain those creature comforts which we so much need, and wait in quiet and security till the storm is over. Worthy friend,” he continued, turning to the ancient fisherman, “I beg that you will have the goodness to conduct us to some inn, where we may obtain a dinner and rest after our adventures on the stormy ocean.”
“An inn,” ejaculated the ancient fisherman. “We have no inns in Marken, as few travellers are in the habit of visiting us. If, however, you will accept such hospitality as I can offer, you shall be welcome to it.”
“With all our hearts,” answered the Count and the Baron in chorus, and they followed the ancient fisherman, who led the way into the interior of the island. After passing through several narrow and dirty lanes they emerged into a more open space, where they found themselves surrounded by neat cottages, among which a number of people were moving about.
The men were all dressed as sailors—a brown knitted waistcoat and wide knickerbockers tied at the knees, thick black or blue woollen stockings, and wooden sabots or shoes, These sabots, the Count and the Baron observed, were taken off when the men entered a hut, so that it could be known how many people were inside by the number of sabots at the door. The women wore brown or chintz waistcoats, and short dark petticoats; many of them had their hair hanging down on either side of the face in long thick curls; their head-dresses were high white caps rounded at the summit and lined with some coloured material.
“Here is my house,” said the ancient fisherman, opening the door of one of the neatest cottages in the place, “and there is my vrouw.”
As he spoke an old lady got up and welcomed the travellers. She wore the dress which has been described, especially clean and picturesque, and in addition several gold ornaments. The cottage contained many marks of thrift; two carved oaken wardrobes stood one on either side, there was a clock of elaborate workmanship, and china plates of a curious pattern. A cheerful fire burned on the hearth, and the ancient fisherman’s wife soon busied herself with her highly-polished pots and pans in preparing a meal, the very odour of which made the Baron’s mouth water. Freshly-caught fish and a stew with potatoes and vegetables were quickly ready, and the Baron did ample justice to each dish placed on the table. The ancient fisherman informed them that the population of the island was about nine hundred; the men are all fishers, and pass the greater portion of their days on the water. On Sunday night, or rather as soon as Monday is commenced, the whole population go down to the port; the men embark in their boats, put to sea, and pass the week in fishing. The women return to their daily avocations till another Saturday afternoon comes round, when the men return home for their day of rest.
“Month after month, and year after year, we live the same style of life; the world wags on around us, but we hear little or nothing of its doings. We are contented and happy in our way, and wouldn’t change our island of Marken for any part of the Netherlands, or the whole of Europe to boot,” said the ancient fisherman.
“I am much inclined to stop among you,” observed the Count. “Only I should not like to have to go out fishing every day, especially in cold and wintry weather; but to sit here, for instance, with one’s feet before the fire, is very pleasant.”
The ancient fisherman laughed. “You must remember, Mynheer, that in order to obtain these comforts, my father and I have toiled on year after year, each adding a little; this cottage and what it contains, represents the labour, I may say, of centuries. Few things worth having are to be obtained without working. I can enjoy my ease and these comforts with a clear conscience, for I have laboured on for fifty years or more, adding to the store my father left me, and he laboured for more than fifty years, and my grandfather before him.”
“What examples you and your family are of patience and perseverance,” observed the Count.
“No, Mynheer, nothing wonderful,” answered the ancient fisherman, in a modest tone. “All the inhabitants of our part of the town have done much the same, and we bring up our children in the hope that they will follow our example. This, Mynheer, is the secret of our contentment and prosperity.”
“Then, when I marry and have children, I must bring them up to follow my example, and the same result will, I hope, follow,” said the Count.
“That depends upon the example you set them,” answered the ancient fisherman.
“Ah, yes; I must see about it, then,” said the Count. “I don’t know that as yet I have ever done anything very industrious. Perhaps, like me, they will become great travellers.”
“Perhaps, my dear Count, the less you say about it the better, at present,” observed the Baron. “We have not proceeded very far on our voyage round the world. In the meantime, I will thank our hostess for another cup of her excellent tea.”
As there seemed no probability of the storm abating, the Count and the Baron accepted the invitation given them by the ancient fisherman and his dame, to spend the night in their cottage. They had no beds to offer, but they had comfortable arm-chairs, pipes, tobacco, and a blazing fire.
“We might be worse off,” observed the Baron, as he extended his legs and folded his arms to sleep.
It being impossible to reach the mainland without a boat, the Baron suggested, that after their experience, it would be safer to have one of their own than to entrust themselves again to strangers, and the Count agreeing, they settled to buy one. The next morning, therefore, after breakfast, having wished their ancient host and hostess farewell, and the Count having slipped a coin into the hand of the latter as a remembrance, they purchased a boat, which the ancient fisherman recommended, and helped them to launch: they then together set forth to prosecute their travels.
Neither of them were very expert navigators, though the ancient fisherman gave them a shove off to assist them in their progress, which was remarkably slow. Sometimes they rowed one way, and sometimes another, and the boat consequently went round and round.
“You pull too hard,” cried the Count.
“You don’t pull hard enough,” answered the Baron. “That is the reason we don’t go as straight as we should.”
“Then perhaps if you take the two oars we shall go straighter,” said the Count.
To this the Baron objected, as he had no desire to undertake all the labour of the voyage. Somehow or other they managed, notwithstanding, to get to a distance from Marken: perhaps the tide was carrying them along in the direction of the Helder; that this was the case, however, did not occur to them. They saw the land clearly enough stretching out to the westward: there lay Monnickendam, there Edam, and, further to the south, Uitdam. “Experience makes perfect:” after some time they did manage to row in a fashion.
“I think we must be approaching the shore,” observed the Count. “It looks nearer than it did.”
“So it ought, since we have been rowing with might and main for the last two hours,” said the Baron, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “I wish that we had waited at Marken till we should have found a passage on board some vessel, or obtained the assistance of one of the islanders; this is heavy work, especially as we have come away without provisions.”
“So we have,” cried the Count. “Oh dear! oh dear! If we ever reach the shore, I shall be very much inclined to register a vow never again to tempt the stormy ocean.”
“Regrets are useless at present; let us get to the shore,” said the Baron.
But they rowed and rowed away in vain. Evening was approaching, and, though they had enjoyed a good breakfast, they were desperately hungry, and there appeared every probability that they would have to spend the night on the water. Fortunately it was calm, or they would have been in a still worse condition. Looking up, they at length saw an island, or a point of land with a tower on it.
“That must be one of the places on the coast,” observed the Count; “let us try to reach it.”
“But if we sit with our backs to the bows, as we have been hitherto doing, we shall not see it,” observed the Baron. “Let us stand up and row forward; then, perhaps, we shall go straighter than we have been doing.”
The Count agreed, and they rowed thus for some time.
Suddenly they were startled by a voice which in mournful accents said: “Oh, take me on board; take me on board!”
So great was the Baron’s alarm that he nearly sank down to the bottom of the boat, when onlooking over his shoulder, what should he see but the countenance of the one-eyed mariner, who was endeavouring to haul himself on board.
“Are you yourself, or are you a ghost?” asked the Baron, in trembling accents.
“Can it be? Can it be our former shipmate?” cried the Count.
“I am indeed, most noble gentlemen, that unfortunate and ill-used individual,” answered the one-eyed mariner; for it was he himself, though his countenance was as pale as if he had really been a ghost, and his visage was elongated, the result of the sufferings he had gone through. Satisfied that he was a mortal being like themselves, the Count and the Baron at length assisted him to get into the boat.
“How did you escape?” asked the Baron eagerly.
“By a wonderful circumstance,” answered the one-eyed mariner. “I managed to get my hands free, and slipped my neck out of the noose, just as I was on the point of being strangled. I held on to the boat, however, and allowed myself to be dragged along at the stern. I knew that if I had attempted to get in Captain Jan Dunck would very soon have quieted me by a blow on my crown. At length I saw that we were passing yonder island, and, silently letting go the rope, I swam towards it; while he, unconscious of my escape, sailed on. I there landed, but it is a barren spot, where neither food nor fresh water is to be obtained. I thought that I should have perished; for after the strain on my throat I felt dreadfully thirsty, and capable of drinking up the Zuyder Zee itself, if it had been fresh water mixed with a due allowance of schiedam. At length I observed your boat, noble gentlemen, drifting by; I cannot compliment you by saying you were rowing, for you were going round and round in all directions. I guessed that you were land-lubbers—excuse my frankness—and that I might render you assistance in return for the service you would do me by enabling me to reach the shore. Not till you spoke, however, did I recognise you as my late shipmates, and now Mynheers, the best thing you can do is to let me take the oars and row steadily to the land; for, though hungry and thirsty, I have still some strength left in my battered frame.”
“By all means, worthy mariner, take the oars,” said the Baron, handing his to the sailor, while the Count followed his example. “We are ourselves nearly starving, and will promise you the best supper to be obtained wherever we may land, should we be fortunate enough to reach some hospitable part of the globe.”
The one-eyed mariner took the oars, and bending lustily to them, made the boat move along very much faster than she had done since the Count and the Baron had commenced their voyage.
“I was inclined, when we were rowing, to suppose that she was among the slowest that ever floated, or that there was something the matter with the oars,” observed the Count.
“People are very apt to find fault with the tools they employ, instead of laying the blame on themselves,” remarked the Baron, sententiously.
The one-eyed mariner cocked his one eye, as much as to say, “You are right, gentlemen;” but without speaking he rowed and rowed, now bending forward, now leaning back with all his might, every now and then looking over his shoulder to see that they were going in the right direction. It was getting darker and darker, and no friendly lights beamed forth from cottages or houses to indicate that they were approaching the inhabited part of the country.
“Shall we soon reach the shore,” asked the Baron, with a groan; “I am getting desperately hungry.”
“We shall not get there the sooner by talking about it,” answered the one-eyed mariner, who was beginning to lose his temper as he became more and more fatigued. “If you, Mynheers, had learned to row, you might have relieved me for a short time, till I had recovered my strength; but as we should never get there if I gave you up the oars, I must keep at it; only do not be continually asking me when we shall get there. I tell you we shall get there, wherever that may be, some time or other, if I keep rowing long enough.”
After this remark, the Count and the Baron thought it prudent to say nothing more to the one-eyed mariner. He rowed and he rowed. The land became more distinct, but no lights indicated the cheerful habitations of men. The Baron groaned, for he saw no prospect of obtaining a supper, yet it was better to be on dry land than in a small boat on the Zuyder Zee, with an individual of so uncertain a temper as the one-eyed mariner. At length they found themselves with banks on either side.
“I thought so,” said the one-eyed mariner, “we have reached the neighbourhood of Yollendam; this must be the Yoll—a better landfall than I expected. I do not know that provisions are to be obtained at the village, which is a mile or so off; but we will see.” And he rowed up the river, which had a more attractive appearance than might have been expected, for there was a small island covered with trees, and a mound several feet high on the opposite side, on which the eye could rest with pleasure. Before they had gone far the moon burst forth from behind some clouds, and shed along the waters of the stream its silvery light, which showed them a small vessel drawn up on the shore, and two or three people near her.
“Perhaps these persons have provisions on board,” exclaimed the Baron. “I could sup off a dry crust of bread and a piece of Dutch cheese with greatest willingness in the world. We will ask those strangers if they will kindly relieve our necessities. Brave sailor, good Pieter, old and worthy shipmate, have the goodness to pull in for the shore, and we will throw ourselves on the charity of those strangers.”
The one-eyed mariner gave a grunt, as if he valued but little the compliments paid him; but he obeyed, notwithstanding, and the boat soon reached the shore. The Baron and the Count then scrambled out, and made their way to where the crew of the vessel were seated.
“Worthy mariners,” began the Baron, in his usual style; “we are shipwrecked individuals, or rather, I should say, we have just come a long and perilous voyage in yonder small boat, without food or liquid with which to renew our strength, and we are well-nigh starving. We ask you forthwith to supply our necessities.”
“What’s the stout gentleman talking about?” asked one of the sailors of his companion. “I cannot make out what he says.”
“So far as I can understand, he and his friend are hungry, and want some grub,” observed the latter. “Food is it you want?” he continued, turning to the Count and the Baron. “Our vessel there, which we hope to get off at high tide, is laden with cheese, and you shall have one apiece if you like at cost price, with as much biscuit as you can eat and some schnapps into the bargain.”
“By all means, let us go on board at once,” cried the Baron. “I am grateful to you.”
“But we must not forget poor Pieter,” cried the Count. “Here Pieter, Pieter, we have got some food for you.”
Pieter had hauled up the boat, and, moving as fast as he could stagger, he accompanied the Count and the Baron and the crew of the sloop on board. The sailors were as good as their word, and produced a couple of round ruddy cheeses and a basketful of biscuits.
“Let us attack one first,” said the Baron, nearly breaking his knife in the attempt to make an incision in the rind; he succeeded in getting off some slices, and all three fell to. Pieter, who was the most hungry of the party, swallowed one huge lump after another, then held out his cup for a supply of schiedam.
“Never mind the water,” he observed. “This dry biscuit and cheese requires something potent to get it down.”
The Count, who had never tasted schiedam before, though he took his diluted with water, made wry faces at what he considered its nauseous taste, but he said nothing for fear of offending the captain and crew of the sloop. At length he declared that he could eat no more.
“I think I can go on a little longer,” said the Baron, who had attacked the second cheese.
“And I do not expect to leave off till midnight,” said the one-eyed mariner, helping himself to an additional slice. At last their meal came to a conclusion.
“Where are you bound for?” asked the Count of the skipper of the sloop.
“For Amsterdam,” answered the skipper.
“Then, Baron, don’t you think that it would be as well if we were to proceed on board this vessel, supposing the captain is willing to give us a passage?” said the Count.
“As to that, we might do worse,” answered the Baron. “We shall thus at all events accomplish our passage to Amsterdam by water as we intended, and the Zuyder Zee is not likely to prove as boisterous as the Northern Ocean.”
The skipper of the sloop having no objection to take the Count and the Baron, the arrangement was at once concluded.
“By-the-by, my friend,” said the Baron, “I hope you will manage to obtain some more nutritious and palatable provender than these red cheeses and hard biscuit for the voyage: they are all very well once in a way for supper, but I should not like to have nothing else to live on.”
The skipper promised to send to Yollendam, or if not to Edam, to obtain provisions for his passengers.
“And pray, Mynheers, what are you going to do with your boat,” asked the one-eyed mariner.
“I forgot all about her,” exclaimed the Count. “We will present her to you, my worthy friend,” he said. “You shall become her skipper, and, if you please, you are welcome to sail round the world in her, provided we are not compelled to accompany you.”
The one-eyed mariner gratefully accepted the gift. “I am a made man,” he said, “and need no longer be at the beck and call of Captain Jan Dunck, supposing he and theGolden Hogare still afloat. I will obtain fishing lines, and go out and fish and sell my fish, and build a cottage, and marry a wife, and live happy and independent to the end of my days.”
A bright idea seemed to strike the Count. “Friend, if you happen not to have found a wife in these parts, pray come over to Belgium, and I will there introduce you to a charming person, Johanna Klack by name, and you can take her away with you and settle at Marken or Urk, or any other island in or about the Zuyder Zee.”
“Excellent! the brightest idea, my dear Count, to which you ever gave birth,” exclaimed the Baron. “By all means, worthy Pieter, come. Don’t trouble yourself to look out for a wife here; they’re all very good in their way, but Johanna Klack is super-excellent, and she probably has saved up a whole stockingful of guilders. I feel very much inclined to go back with you at once to assist you in your wooing.”
“Mynheer,” said the one-eyed mariner, putting his finger to his nose, “‘good wine needs no bush.’ I have an idea or two. If this dame is so very charming, somebody with more personal attractions than I possess will have won her before I have the happiness of making her acquaintance; and you forget that, though I have got the boat, I have to obtain the fishing lines to catch the fish, to sell the fish, to go on doing that for some years, and then to build the house, and when the house is built it will be time enough for me to come in search of Vrouw Johanna Klack.”
“Well, well, we’ll talk about that to-morrow morning,” said the Baron, who did not feel verysanguine as to the speedy disposal of Johanna Klack’s fair hand.
Pieter, wishing them good night, went to sleep on board his boat, while they turned into two bunks in the small cabin of the sloop and slept soundly.
Chapter Six.When the Count and the Baron awoke, they found to their surprise that the sloop was not only afloat but under weigh, and sailing over the waters of the Zuyder Zee. The skipper, who was short and broad, had a crew of two men, who were, he assured his passengers, amply sufficient for navigating the sloop.“We shall not reach Amsterdam quite as soon as you might have expected, Mynheers,” he said; “for I purpose putting in at Monnickendam for a few hours. It is not a very lively place, though it was once a wealthy city, one of the twenty great towns of Holland, but its glory has passed away.”As the object of the Count and the Baron was to see the world, they willingly agreed to visit this dead city of the Zuyder Zee. They were accordingly rowed on shore in the sloop’s boat.“Well, this does seem to be a city of the dead, or else the inhabitants, if there are any, have gone to sleep,” observed the Baron, as he and the Count paced the streets, which were payed with yellow bricks. The houses were all red, and the Venetian shutters green—one house was almost exactly like another; not a door nor a window was open, not a face was to be seen at any of them; through the entire length of one long thoroughfare they met not a single person—not a cat, nor a dog, nor a sign of life. They went through street after street—every street was the same; only when they returned to the harbour a few people collected to inspect them, examining minutely their boots and hats, their coats and umbrellas.“Well, gentlemen,” said the Baron, making them a profound bow, “you will remember us should we ever have the pleasure of paying your defunct city another visit.”He and the Count stepped into the boat which was waiting to take them on board the sloop. Whatever other business the skipper transacted at Monnickendam, he had not omitted to imbibe a considerable amount of schiedam, and although when he stepped on deck he was as steady as a church steeple, there was a twinkle in his eye, and a mode of expressing himself which showed what he had been about. The Count and the Baron, however, did not at first discover this. When the sloop was got under weigh, he invited them into the cabin to partake of the dinner, which one of the crew had prepared. The wind was light, and the sloop glided steadily on.“After all, I really do think I like the sea,” said the Count. “This style of navigation suits me—no trouble, no fatigue. We can eat and drink and go to sleep, and return on deck to enjoy the fresh air. When, Captain, do you think we shall reach Rotterdam?”“Reach Rotterdam, Mynheers, why when the sloop gets there,” answered the skipper. “I cannot say how soon we shall reach it, the winds must know more about that than I do. We have Uitdam and Durgerdam to pass first, and the wind may fail us or become contrary. It was not in our agreement to tell you when we should get there; have patience, Mynheers, have patience; let the world go round as it likes, and have patience.”This was not a very satisfactory answer, but as the Count and the Baron were tolerably comfortable they made no complaint. The skipper sat in his chair, and after he had finished dinner quaffed schiedam and water; one of the crew was engaged below in cleaning up the dishes and plates, the other was at the helm. Presently there came a loud cry, and the cutter heeled over. The Count, who was the most active of the party, jumped up to see what was the matter, while the man forward did the same.“We’re run into by a big, lubberly ship,” cried the man at the helm.The fact was very clear. The bowsprit of the big ship had caught the rigging of the sloop, and was bearing her over.“What is going to happen?” asked the Count, in a state of no small trepidation.“We shall be sent to the bottom if our mast and rigging are not carried away,” answered the man at the helm. The crew of the big ship were rushing out to the bowsprit end to try and clear the sloop, but that seemed no easy matter.“Can’t you cut the rigging, my friends?” shouted the Count, who at a glance saw that by so doing the sloop would be set free.“But we shall lose our mast if they do that,” said the man at the helm.“Better lose our mast than be sent to the bottom,” answered the Count.Again he shouted, “Cut, my friends, cut.”The sailor who had sprung to the end of the jibboom, supposing the Count to be the captain, did as he was bid, and with a few strokes of an axe quickly severed the rigging, and the shrouds fell down on deck, while the sloop, gliding on, was quickly free of the ship.“Why didn’t you keep a better look-out?” shouted the captain of the ship. “It was your own fault in getting in our way.”“Ja, ja,” answered the man at the helm, who like the skipper had been indulging in potations of schiedam. The skipper himself now came on deck, to which the Baron had just before made his way, and began storming and raging. The crew of the big ship only laughed at him and sailed proudly on, while the sloop lay helpless on the water.“The sooner we repair the rigging the better,” observed the Count, who never put himself out, whatever happened. The only man who was capable of doing this was the one who had been forward; he at once lowered down the mainsail and saved the mast from being carried away, which it might have been had a slight puff of wind come on.“Put the vessel to rights, you lubbers,” cried the skipper. “I am going below to finish my bottle of schiedam.”“Ja, ja,” answered the sober man of the crew. “Mynheers, will you help me, and we shall be able to do it,” he said, addressing the Count and the Baron.They consented to do their best to pull and haul as much as was required.“That’s all I want,” he said, fixing a rope to the severed rigging and going aloft with it. Having passed it through a block he told them to haul away. When the upper end had reached the masthead he lashed it there as securely as he could.“That will do, provided we do not get a strong breeze. Now, Mynheers, help me to set the mainsail.”The Count and the Baron hauled away right lustily, and the sail was soon set.“Now,” said the sober sailor to the man who had been at the helm, “go forward and sleep; it is the only thing you’re fit for at present.”The seaman obeyed, and disappeared down the fore hatchway. The sloop sailed on and on. The Count looked into the cabin and saw that the skipper was fast asleep; the Baron went forward and found half his crew employed in the same way.“Never mind,” said the sober sailor; “the wind is fair, and provided no other big ship runs us down we shall get safely to Amsterdam soon after nightfall.”This was cheering news to the travellers, and they promised a handsome reward to the sober sailor if he would take them in safely.“Glad to do that for my own sake,” he answered. “It won’t be my fault if we do not.”Still, as the wind was light the sloop sailed slowly; yet it was very evident, from the number of vessels they encountered, that they were approaching the great emporium of commerce; but the evening was drawing on, and darkness would increase the dangers of the voyage. At length they could only see lights glittering here and there, ahead and on every side, and tall masts rising out of the water. Now and then shouts warned them to get out of the way of some vessel, and the sober sailor shouted in return.“Now, Mynheers, whichever of you can steer the best take the helm, and we will bring the sloop to an anchor. We must wait till daylight to get through the outer drawbridge.”“I never steered in my life,” answered the Count.“Nor I either,” said the Baron.“Then do one of you take the tiller and do as I tell you,” said the sober sailor.“Baron, I leave that honour to you,” said the Count; “I do not feel quite up to it.”The Baron, who would have been ready to steer a seventy-four if he had been asked, at once took the tiller in hand, and, as the sailor sang out, “Pull the tiller towards you,” or “Put it away from you,” he did as he was bid. They glided on in the darkness, the lights round them twinkling like fireflies. At last the sailor hauled down the jib and foresail. “Now put it from you,” he sang out, “as far as you can.” Then there came a splash, and the cable ran out, and the sober sailor requested the Count and the Baron to help him lower the mainsail.“Now I have you all snug,” he said, “I can put you on shore, or you can remain on board till morning if you wish it.”“I think we had better remain on board,” said the Baron; “I do not fancy going into a strange town at midnight without knowing an inch of my way, or what hotel to go to.”“I agree with you,” observed the Count, “though I cannot say that I anticipate much pleasure in passing the night in a close cabin with a tipsy skipper snoring as loud as a grampus.”“Not pleasant, certainly,” remarked the Baron; “and I am ready to sacrifice myself for your benefit, if our friend here will take me on shore and wait for me while I search for an hotel; whether I find one or not, I will come back to you.”The Count gladly agreed to this proposal; and the sober sailor, launching the boat, at once put off with the Baron, intending, as he said, to land him at a quay at no great distance. The Count walked the deck impatiently waiting his return; and, as he heard the skipper and the man forward snoring, he began to regret that he had not himself also gone. The sober sailor and the Baron were a long time absent.“What can have become of them?” exclaimed the Count, over and over again. He had sat down to rest in the after part of the vessel, when he saw some one moving forward; and, going in that direction, he discovered the sailor who had been asleep.“What are you about there?” he asked.“Giving more scope to the cable,” was the answer. “The tide has risen, and the sloop wants it.”“All right, I suppose,” thought the Count, and he went aft, while the sailor descended, and was soon again fast asleep. The Count heard a noise such as rope makes when running over wood. Presently he observed that the objects, dimly seen through the gloom of night, were moving. “What can have happened?” he thought. Faster and faster they moved. The vessel appeared to be in a rapid current.“Oh, dear! oh, dear! what is happening?” he cried out; and he shouted to the skipper and the man forward, but neither answered him. Presently the vessel struck against the side of a house which rose out of the water, then against a pier, then she bounded off, then once more she came with tremendous force against another house, which appeared to be a store, carrying away her bowsprit. “She will go to the bottom, and I shall be drowned,” thought the Count; and he scrambled up the rigging just as the head of the mast pokedits way in at a large opening in the wall. Climbing the shrouds of a vessel was a feat the Count had never before accomplished, and was very contrary to his habits; but he exerted himself to the utmost. The unpleasant recollection came upon him, as he was doing so, that these were the shrouds which had been severed when the ship ran into the sloop, and he feared, naturally, that they would give way at the very moment that he was upon them. This made him climb the faster. Now, as the vessel heeled over, his feet touched the wall of the building, and he feared that he might be jammed against it. The darkness prevented him from seeing clearly what was befalling the hull, but his impression was that it was going down into the deep canal, and that the skipper and the remaining portion of his crew would be drowned; but he had no desire to share their fate, and was utterly unable to help them. He shouted, however, loud enough to arouse them out of any ordinary slumber; but the schiedam they had drunk had so completely lulled their senses that they heard not his shouts, or the bumping of the vessel against the wall. He therefore continued his ascent till he reached the top of the mast, when, getting hold of a beam which projected from the opening in the building, he hauled himself up. Just as he did so the mast cracked; the vessel with a jerk heeled over to theopposite side; he was left clinging to the beam while she was borne away by the tide into the darkness. Again he shouted to try and arouse the skipper, but no human voice replied to his cries.
When the Count and the Baron awoke, they found to their surprise that the sloop was not only afloat but under weigh, and sailing over the waters of the Zuyder Zee. The skipper, who was short and broad, had a crew of two men, who were, he assured his passengers, amply sufficient for navigating the sloop.
“We shall not reach Amsterdam quite as soon as you might have expected, Mynheers,” he said; “for I purpose putting in at Monnickendam for a few hours. It is not a very lively place, though it was once a wealthy city, one of the twenty great towns of Holland, but its glory has passed away.”
As the object of the Count and the Baron was to see the world, they willingly agreed to visit this dead city of the Zuyder Zee. They were accordingly rowed on shore in the sloop’s boat.
“Well, this does seem to be a city of the dead, or else the inhabitants, if there are any, have gone to sleep,” observed the Baron, as he and the Count paced the streets, which were payed with yellow bricks. The houses were all red, and the Venetian shutters green—one house was almost exactly like another; not a door nor a window was open, not a face was to be seen at any of them; through the entire length of one long thoroughfare they met not a single person—not a cat, nor a dog, nor a sign of life. They went through street after street—every street was the same; only when they returned to the harbour a few people collected to inspect them, examining minutely their boots and hats, their coats and umbrellas.
“Well, gentlemen,” said the Baron, making them a profound bow, “you will remember us should we ever have the pleasure of paying your defunct city another visit.”
He and the Count stepped into the boat which was waiting to take them on board the sloop. Whatever other business the skipper transacted at Monnickendam, he had not omitted to imbibe a considerable amount of schiedam, and although when he stepped on deck he was as steady as a church steeple, there was a twinkle in his eye, and a mode of expressing himself which showed what he had been about. The Count and the Baron, however, did not at first discover this. When the sloop was got under weigh, he invited them into the cabin to partake of the dinner, which one of the crew had prepared. The wind was light, and the sloop glided steadily on.
“After all, I really do think I like the sea,” said the Count. “This style of navigation suits me—no trouble, no fatigue. We can eat and drink and go to sleep, and return on deck to enjoy the fresh air. When, Captain, do you think we shall reach Rotterdam?”
“Reach Rotterdam, Mynheers, why when the sloop gets there,” answered the skipper. “I cannot say how soon we shall reach it, the winds must know more about that than I do. We have Uitdam and Durgerdam to pass first, and the wind may fail us or become contrary. It was not in our agreement to tell you when we should get there; have patience, Mynheers, have patience; let the world go round as it likes, and have patience.”
This was not a very satisfactory answer, but as the Count and the Baron were tolerably comfortable they made no complaint. The skipper sat in his chair, and after he had finished dinner quaffed schiedam and water; one of the crew was engaged below in cleaning up the dishes and plates, the other was at the helm. Presently there came a loud cry, and the cutter heeled over. The Count, who was the most active of the party, jumped up to see what was the matter, while the man forward did the same.
“We’re run into by a big, lubberly ship,” cried the man at the helm.
The fact was very clear. The bowsprit of the big ship had caught the rigging of the sloop, and was bearing her over.
“What is going to happen?” asked the Count, in a state of no small trepidation.
“We shall be sent to the bottom if our mast and rigging are not carried away,” answered the man at the helm. The crew of the big ship were rushing out to the bowsprit end to try and clear the sloop, but that seemed no easy matter.
“Can’t you cut the rigging, my friends?” shouted the Count, who at a glance saw that by so doing the sloop would be set free.
“But we shall lose our mast if they do that,” said the man at the helm.
“Better lose our mast than be sent to the bottom,” answered the Count.
Again he shouted, “Cut, my friends, cut.”
The sailor who had sprung to the end of the jibboom, supposing the Count to be the captain, did as he was bid, and with a few strokes of an axe quickly severed the rigging, and the shrouds fell down on deck, while the sloop, gliding on, was quickly free of the ship.
“Why didn’t you keep a better look-out?” shouted the captain of the ship. “It was your own fault in getting in our way.”
“Ja, ja,” answered the man at the helm, who like the skipper had been indulging in potations of schiedam. The skipper himself now came on deck, to which the Baron had just before made his way, and began storming and raging. The crew of the big ship only laughed at him and sailed proudly on, while the sloop lay helpless on the water.
“The sooner we repair the rigging the better,” observed the Count, who never put himself out, whatever happened. The only man who was capable of doing this was the one who had been forward; he at once lowered down the mainsail and saved the mast from being carried away, which it might have been had a slight puff of wind come on.
“Put the vessel to rights, you lubbers,” cried the skipper. “I am going below to finish my bottle of schiedam.”
“Ja, ja,” answered the sober man of the crew. “Mynheers, will you help me, and we shall be able to do it,” he said, addressing the Count and the Baron.
They consented to do their best to pull and haul as much as was required.
“That’s all I want,” he said, fixing a rope to the severed rigging and going aloft with it. Having passed it through a block he told them to haul away. When the upper end had reached the masthead he lashed it there as securely as he could.
“That will do, provided we do not get a strong breeze. Now, Mynheers, help me to set the mainsail.”
The Count and the Baron hauled away right lustily, and the sail was soon set.
“Now,” said the sober sailor to the man who had been at the helm, “go forward and sleep; it is the only thing you’re fit for at present.”
The seaman obeyed, and disappeared down the fore hatchway. The sloop sailed on and on. The Count looked into the cabin and saw that the skipper was fast asleep; the Baron went forward and found half his crew employed in the same way.
“Never mind,” said the sober sailor; “the wind is fair, and provided no other big ship runs us down we shall get safely to Amsterdam soon after nightfall.”
This was cheering news to the travellers, and they promised a handsome reward to the sober sailor if he would take them in safely.
“Glad to do that for my own sake,” he answered. “It won’t be my fault if we do not.”
Still, as the wind was light the sloop sailed slowly; yet it was very evident, from the number of vessels they encountered, that they were approaching the great emporium of commerce; but the evening was drawing on, and darkness would increase the dangers of the voyage. At length they could only see lights glittering here and there, ahead and on every side, and tall masts rising out of the water. Now and then shouts warned them to get out of the way of some vessel, and the sober sailor shouted in return.
“Now, Mynheers, whichever of you can steer the best take the helm, and we will bring the sloop to an anchor. We must wait till daylight to get through the outer drawbridge.”
“I never steered in my life,” answered the Count.
“Nor I either,” said the Baron.
“Then do one of you take the tiller and do as I tell you,” said the sober sailor.
“Baron, I leave that honour to you,” said the Count; “I do not feel quite up to it.”
The Baron, who would have been ready to steer a seventy-four if he had been asked, at once took the tiller in hand, and, as the sailor sang out, “Pull the tiller towards you,” or “Put it away from you,” he did as he was bid. They glided on in the darkness, the lights round them twinkling like fireflies. At last the sailor hauled down the jib and foresail. “Now put it from you,” he sang out, “as far as you can.” Then there came a splash, and the cable ran out, and the sober sailor requested the Count and the Baron to help him lower the mainsail.
“Now I have you all snug,” he said, “I can put you on shore, or you can remain on board till morning if you wish it.”
“I think we had better remain on board,” said the Baron; “I do not fancy going into a strange town at midnight without knowing an inch of my way, or what hotel to go to.”
“I agree with you,” observed the Count, “though I cannot say that I anticipate much pleasure in passing the night in a close cabin with a tipsy skipper snoring as loud as a grampus.”
“Not pleasant, certainly,” remarked the Baron; “and I am ready to sacrifice myself for your benefit, if our friend here will take me on shore and wait for me while I search for an hotel; whether I find one or not, I will come back to you.”
The Count gladly agreed to this proposal; and the sober sailor, launching the boat, at once put off with the Baron, intending, as he said, to land him at a quay at no great distance. The Count walked the deck impatiently waiting his return; and, as he heard the skipper and the man forward snoring, he began to regret that he had not himself also gone. The sober sailor and the Baron were a long time absent.
“What can have become of them?” exclaimed the Count, over and over again. He had sat down to rest in the after part of the vessel, when he saw some one moving forward; and, going in that direction, he discovered the sailor who had been asleep.
“What are you about there?” he asked.
“Giving more scope to the cable,” was the answer. “The tide has risen, and the sloop wants it.”
“All right, I suppose,” thought the Count, and he went aft, while the sailor descended, and was soon again fast asleep. The Count heard a noise such as rope makes when running over wood. Presently he observed that the objects, dimly seen through the gloom of night, were moving. “What can have happened?” he thought. Faster and faster they moved. The vessel appeared to be in a rapid current.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear! what is happening?” he cried out; and he shouted to the skipper and the man forward, but neither answered him. Presently the vessel struck against the side of a house which rose out of the water, then against a pier, then she bounded off, then once more she came with tremendous force against another house, which appeared to be a store, carrying away her bowsprit. “She will go to the bottom, and I shall be drowned,” thought the Count; and he scrambled up the rigging just as the head of the mast pokedits way in at a large opening in the wall. Climbing the shrouds of a vessel was a feat the Count had never before accomplished, and was very contrary to his habits; but he exerted himself to the utmost. The unpleasant recollection came upon him, as he was doing so, that these were the shrouds which had been severed when the ship ran into the sloop, and he feared, naturally, that they would give way at the very moment that he was upon them. This made him climb the faster. Now, as the vessel heeled over, his feet touched the wall of the building, and he feared that he might be jammed against it. The darkness prevented him from seeing clearly what was befalling the hull, but his impression was that it was going down into the deep canal, and that the skipper and the remaining portion of his crew would be drowned; but he had no desire to share their fate, and was utterly unable to help them. He shouted, however, loud enough to arouse them out of any ordinary slumber; but the schiedam they had drunk had so completely lulled their senses that they heard not his shouts, or the bumping of the vessel against the wall. He therefore continued his ascent till he reached the top of the mast, when, getting hold of a beam which projected from the opening in the building, he hauled himself up. Just as he did so the mast cracked; the vessel with a jerk heeled over to theopposite side; he was left clinging to the beam while she was borne away by the tide into the darkness. Again he shouted to try and arouse the skipper, but no human voice replied to his cries.