herring is derived from the German _heer_, an army, on account of a way
the fish have of coming in large numbers."
Soon afterward, while passing a cobbler's shop, Ben exclaimed:
"Hollo! Lambert, here is the name of one of your greatest men over a
cobbler's stall! Boerhaave--if it were only Herman Boerhaave instead of
Hendrick, it would be complete."
Lambert knit his brows reflectively, as he replied:
"Boerhaave--Boerhaave--the name is perfectly familiar; I remember, too,
he was born in 1668, but the rest is all gone, as usual. There have been
so many famous Hollanders, you see, it is impossible for a fellow to
know them all. What was he? Did he have two heads? or was he one of your
great, natural swimmers like Marco Polo?"
"He had _four_ heads," answered Ben, laughing, "for he was a great
physician, naturalist, botanist and chemist. I am full of him just now,
for I read his life a few weeks ago."
"Pour out a little then," said Lambert; "only walk faster, we shall lose
sight of the other boys."
"Well," resumed Ben, quickening his pace, and looking with great
interest at everything going on in the crowded street. "This Dr.
Boerhaave was a great anspewker."
"A great _what_?" roared Lambert.
"Oh, I beg pardon--I was thinking of that man over there, with the
cocked hat. He's an anspewker, isn't he?"
"Yes. He's an aanspreeker--if that is what you mean to say. But what
about your friend with the four heads?"
"Well, as I was going to say, the doctor was left a penniless orphan at
sixteen without education or friends."
"Jolly beginning!" interposed Lambert.
"Now don't interrupt. He was a poor friendless orphan at sixteen, but he
was so persevering and industrious, so determined to gain knowledge,
that he made his way, and in time became one of the most learned men of
Europe. All the----What is that?"
"Where? What do you mean?"
"Why, that paper on the door opposite. Don't you see? Two or three
persons are reading it; I have noticed several of these papers since
I've been here."
"Oh, that's only a health-bulletin. Somebody in the house is ill, and to
prevent a steady knocking at the door, the family write an account of
the patient's condition on a placard, and hang it outside the door, for
the benefit of inquiring friends--a very sensible custom, I'm sure.
Nothing strange about it that I can see--go on, please--you said 'all
the'--and there you left me hanging."
"I was going to say," resumed Ben, "that all the--all the--how comically
persons do dress here, to be sure! Just look at those men and women with
their sugar-loaf hats--and see this woman ahead of us with a
straw-bonnet like a scoop-shovel tapering to a point in the back. Did
ever you see anything so funny? And those tremendous wooden shoes,
too--I declare she's a beauty!"
"Oh, they are only back-country folk," said Lambert, rather
impatiently--"You might as well let old Boerhaave drop, or else shut
your eyes----"
"Ha! ha! Well, I was _going_ to say--all the big men of his day sought
out this great professor. Even Peter the Great when he came over to
Holland from Russia to learn ship-building, attended his lectures
regularly. By that time Boerhaave was professor of Medicine and
Chemistry and Botany in the University of Leyden. He had grown to be
very wealthy as a practicing physician; but he used to say that the poor
were his best patients because God would be their pay-master. All Europe
learned to love and honor him. In short, he became so famous that a
certain mandarin of China addressed a letter to 'The illustrious
Boerhaave, physician in Europe,' and the letter found its way to him
without any difficulty."
"My goodness! That is what I call being a public character. The boys
have stopped. How now, Captain van Holp, what next?"
"We propose to move on," said Van Holp; "there is nothing to see at this
season in the Bosch--the Bosch is a noble wood, Benjamin, a grand Park
where they have most magnificent trees, protected by law--Do you
understand?"
"Ya!" nodded Ben, as the captain proceeded:
"Unless you all desire to visit the Museum of Natural History, we may go
on the grand canal again. If we had more time it would be pleasant to
take Benjamin up the Blue Stairs."
"What are the Blue Stairs, Lambert?" asked Ben.
"They are the highest point of the Dunes. You have a grand view of the
ocean from there, besides a fine chance to see how wonderful these Dunes
are. One can hardly believe that the wind could ever heap up sand in so
remarkable a way. But we have to go through Bloemendal to get there--not
a very pretty village, and some distance from here. What do you say?"
"Oh, I am ready for anything. For my part, I would rather steer direct
for Leyden, but we'll do as the captain says--hey, Jacob?"
"Ya, dat ish goot," said Jacob, who felt decidedly more like taking
another nap, than ascending the Blue Stairs.
The captain was in favor of going to Leyden.
"It's four long miles from here. (Full sixteen of your English miles,
Benjamin.) We have no time to lose if you wish to reach there before
midnight. Decide quickly, boys--Blue Stairs or Leyden?"
"Leyden," they answered--and were out of Haarlem in a twinkling,
admiring the lofty, tower-like windmills and pretty country-seats as
they left the city behind them.
"If you really wish to see Haarlem," said Lambert to Ben, after they had
skated a while in silence, "you should visit it in summer. It is the
greatest place in the world for beautiful flowers. The walks around the
city are superb; and the 'Wood' with its miles of noble elms, all in
full feather, is something to remember. You need not smile, old fellow,
at my saying 'full feather'--I was thinking of waving plumes, and got my
words mixed up a little. But a Dutch elm beats everything; it is the
noblest tree on earth, Ben--if you except the English oak----"
"Aye," said Ben, solemnly, "_if_ you except the English oak"--and for
some moments he could scarcely see the canal because Robby and Jenny
kept bobbing in the air before his eyes.
XVIII
FRIENDS IN NEED
Meantime, the other boys were listening to Peter's account of an
incident which had long ago occurred[22] in a part of the city where
stood an ancient castle, whose lord had tyrannized over the burghers of
the town to such an extent, that they surrounded his castle, and laid
siege to it. Just at the last extremity, when the haughty lord felt that
he could hold out no longer, and was preparing to sell his life as
dearly as possible, his lady appeared on the ramparts, and offered to
surrender everything, provided she was permitted to bring out, and
retain, as much of her most precious household goods as she could carry
upon her back. The promise was given--and forth came the lady from the
gateway bearing her husband upon her shoulders. The burghers' pledge
preserved him from the fury of the troops, but left them free to wreak
their vengeance upon the castle.
[Footnote 22: Sir Thomas Carr's Tour through Holland.]
"Do you _believe_ that story, Captain Peter?" asked Carl, in an
incredulous tone.
"Of course, I do; it is historical. Why should I doubt it?"
"Simply because no woman could do it--and, if she could, she wouldn't.
That is _my_ opinion."
"And _I_ believe there are many who _would_.--That is, to save any one
they really cared for," said Ludwig.
Jacob, who in spite of his fat and sleepiness, was of rather a
sentimental turn, had listened with deep interest.
"That is right, little fellow," he said, nodding his head approvingly.
"I believe every word of it. I shall never marry a woman who would not
be glad to do as much for _me_."
"Heaven help her!" cried Carl, turning to gaze at the speaker; "why,
Poot, three _men_ couldn't do it!"
"Perhaps not," said Jacob quietly--feeling that he had asked rather too
much of the future Mrs. Poot. "But she must be _willing_, that is all."
"Aye," responded Peter's cheery voice, "willing heart makes nimble
foot--and who knows, but it may make strong arms also."
"Pete," asked Ludwig, changing the subject, "did you tell me last night
that the painter Wouvermans was born in Haarlem?"
"Yes, and Jacob Ruysdael and Berghem too. I like Berghem because he was
always good-natured--they say he always sang while he painted, and
though he died nearly two hundred years ago, there are traditions still
afloat concerning his pleasant laugh. He was a great painter, and he had
a wife as cross as Xantippe."
"They balanced each other finely," said Ludwig; "he was kind and she was
cross. But, Peter, before I forget it, wasn't that picture of St. Hubert
and the Horse painted by Wouvermans? You remember father showed us an
engraving from it last night."
"Yes, indeed; there is a story connected with that picture."
"Tell us!" cried two or three, drawing closer to Peter as they skated
on.
"Wouvermans," began the captain, oratorically, "was born in 1620, just
four years before Berghem. He was a master of his art, and especially
excelled in painting horses. Strange as it may seem, people were so long
finding out his merits, that, even after he had arrived at the height of
his excellence, he was obliged to sell his pictures for very paltry
prices. The poor artist became completely discouraged, and, worse than
all, was over head and ears in debt. One day he was talking over his
troubles with his father-confessor, who was one of the few who
recognized his genius. The priest determined to assist him, and
accordingly lent him six hundred guilders, advising him at the same time
to demand a better price for his pictures. Wouvermans did so, and in the
meantime paid his debts. Matters brightened with him at once. Everybody
appreciated the great artist who painted such costly pictures. He grew
rich. The six hundred guilders were returned, and in gratitude,
Wouvermans sent also a work which he had painted, representing his
benefactor as St. Hubert kneeling before his horse--the very picture,
Ludwig, of which we were speaking last night."
"So! so!" exclaimed Ludwig, with deep interest. "I must take another
look at the engraving as soon as we get home."
* * * * *
At that same hour, while Ben was skating with his companions beside the
Holland dyke, Robby and Jenny stood in their pretty English schoolhouse,
ready to join in the duties of their reading class.
"Commence! Master Robert Dobbs," said the teacher, "page 242; now, sir,
mind every stop."
And Robby, in a quick childish voice, roared forth at schoolroom pitch:
"LESSON 62.--THE HERO OF HAARLEM.
"Many years ago, there lived in Haarlem, one of the principal cities of
Holland, a sunny-haired boy, of gentle disposition. His father was a
_sluicer_, that is, a man whose business it was to open and close the
sluices, or large oaken gates, that are placed at regular distances
across the entrances of the canals, to regulate the amount of water that
shall flow into them.
"The sluicer raises the gates more or less according to the quantity of
water required, and closes them carefully at night, in order to avoid
all possible danger of an over supply running into the canal, or the
water would soon overflow it and inundate the surrounding country. As a
great portion of Holland is lower than the level of the sea, the waters
are kept from flooding the land, only by means of strong dykes, or
barriers, and by means of these sluices, which are often strained to the
utmost by the pressure of the rising tides. Even the little children in
Holland know that constant watchfulness is required to keep the rivers
and ocean from overwhelming the country, and that a moment's neglect of
the sluicer's duty may bring ruin and death to all."
["Very good," said the teacher; "now, Susan."]
"One lovely autumn afternoon, when the boy was about eight years old, he
obtained his parents' consent to carry some cakes to a blind man who
lived out in the country, on the other side of the dyke. The little
fellow started on his errand with a light heart, and having spent an
hour with his grateful old friend, he bade him farewell and started on
his homeward walk.
"Trudging stoutly along by the canal, he noticed how the autumn rains
had swollen the waters. Even while humming his careless, childish song,
he thought of his father's brave old gates and felt glad of their
strength, for thought he, 'if _they_ gave way, where would father and
mother be? These pretty fields would be all covered with the angry
waters--father always calls them the _angry_ waters; I suppose he thinks
they are mad at him for keeping them out so long.' And with these
thoughts just flitting across his brain, the little fellow stooped to
pick the pretty blue flowers that grew along his way. Sometimes he
stopped to throw some feathery seed-ball in the air, and watch it as it
floated away; sometimes he listened to the stealthy rustling of a
rabbit, speeding through the grass, but oftener he smiled as he recalled
the happy light he had seen arise on the weary, listening face of his
blind old friend."
["Now, Henry," said the teacher, nodding to the next little reader.]
"Suddenly the boy looked around him in dismay. He had not noticed that
the sun was setting: now he saw that his long shadow on the grass had
vanished. It was growing dark, he was still some distance from home, and
in a lonely ravine, where even the blue flowers had turned to gray. He
quickened his foot-steps; and with a beating heart recalled many a
nursery tale of children belated in dreary forests. Just as he was
bracing himself for a run, he was startled by the sound of trickling
water. Whence did it come? He looked up and saw a small hole in the dyke
through which a tiny stream was flowing. Any child in Holland will
shudder at the thought of a _leak in the dyke_! The boy understood the
danger at a glance. That little hole, if the water were allowed to
trickle through, would soon be a large one, and a terrible inundation
would be the result.
"Quick as a flash, he saw his duty. Throwing away his flowers, the boy
clambered up the heights, until he reached the hole. His chubby little
finger was thrust in, almost before he knew it. The flowing was stopped!
'Ah!' he thought, with a chuckle of boyish delight, 'the angry waters
must stay back now! Haarlem shall not be drowned while _I_ am here!'
"This was all very well at first, but the night was falling rapidly;
chill vapors filled the air. Our little hero began to tremble with cold
and dread. He shouted loudly; he screamed 'Come here! come here!' but no
one came. The cold grew more intense, a numbness, commencing in the
tired little finger, crept over his hand and arm, and soon his whole
body was filled with pain. He shouted again, 'Will no one come? Mother!
mother!' Alas, his mother, good, practical soul, had already locked the
doors, and had fully resolved to scold him on the morrow, for spending
the night with blind Jansen without her permission. He tried to whistle;
perhaps some straggling boy might heed the signal; but his teeth
chattered so, it was impossible. Then he called on God for help; and the
answer came, through a holy resolution--'I will stay here till
morning.'"
["Now, Jenny Dobbs," said the teacher. Jenny's eyes were glistening, but
she took a long breath and commenced:]
"The midnight moon looked down upon that small solitary form, sitting
upon a stone, half-way up the dyke. His head was bent but he was not
asleep, for every now and then one restless hand rubbed feebly the
out-stretched arm that seemed fastened to the dyke--and often the pale,
tearful face turned quickly at some real or fancied sounds.
"How can we know the sufferings of that long and fearful watch--what
falterings of purpose, what childish terrors came over the boy as he
thought of the warm little bed at home, of his parents, his brothers and
sisters, then looked into the cold, dreary night!
"If he drew away that tiny finger, the angry waters, grown angrier
still, would rush forth, and never stop until they had swept over the
town. No, he would hold it there till daylight--if he lived! He was not
very sure of living. What did this strange buzzing mean? and then the
knives that seemed pricking and piercing him from head to foot? He was
not certain now that he could draw his finger away, even if he wished
to.
"At daybreak a clergyman, returning from the bed-side of a sick
parishioner, thought he heard groans as he walked along on the top of
the dyke. Bending, he saw, far down on the side, a child apparently
writhing with pain.
"'In the name of wonder, boy,' he exclaimed, 'what are you doing there?'
"'I am keeping the water from running out,' was the simple answer of the
little hero. 'Tell them to come quick.'
"It is needless to add that they did come quickly and that----"
["Jenny Dobbs," said the teacher, rather impatiently, "if you cannot
control your feelings so as to read distinctly, we will wait until you
recover yourself."
"Yes, sir!" said Jenny, quite startled.]
It was strange; but at that very moment, Ben, far over the sea, was
saying to Lambert:
"The noble little fellow! I have frequently met with an account of the
incident, but I never knew, till now, that it was really true."
"True! Of course it is," said Lambert, kindling. "I have given you the
story just as mother told it to me, years ago. Why, there is not a child
in Holland who does not know it. And, Ben, you may not think so, but
that little boy represents the spirit of the whole country. Not a leak
can show itself anywhere either in its politics, honor, or public
safety, that a million fingers are not ready to stop it, at any cost."
"Whew!" cried Master Ben, "big talking that!"
"It's _true_ talk anyway," rejoined Lambert, so very quietly that Ben
wisely resolved to make no further comment.
[Illustration: _The ice seemed fairly alive_]
XIX
ON THE CANAL
The skating season had commenced unusually early; our boys were by no
means alone upon the ice. The afternoon was so fine, that men, women,
and children, bent upon enjoying the holiday, had flocked to the grand
canal from far and near. Saint Nicholas had evidently remembered the
favorite pastime; shining new skates were everywhere to be seen. Whole
families were skimming their way to Haarlem or Leyden or the neighboring
villages. The ice seemed fairly alive. Ben noticed the erect, easy
carriage of the women, and their picturesque variety of costume. There
were the latest fashions, fresh from Paris, floating past dingy,
moth-eaten garments that had seen service through two generations;
coal-scuttle bonnets perched over freckled faces bright with holiday
smiles; stiff muslin caps, with wings at the sides, flapping beside
cheeks rosy with health and contentment; furs, too, encircling the
whitest of throats; and scanty garments fluttering below faces ruddy
with exercise--In short every quaint and comical mixture of dry-goods
and flesh that Holland could furnish, seemed sent to enliven the scene.
There were belles from Leyden, and fishwives from the border villages;
cheese women from Gouda, and prim matrons from beautiful country-seats
on the Haarlemmer Meer. Gray-headed skaters were constantly to be seen;
wrinkled old women, with baskets upon their heads; and plump little
toddlers on skates clutching at their mother's gowns. Some women
carried their babies upon their backs, firmly secured with a bright
shawl. The effect was pretty and graceful as they darted by, or sailed
slowly past, now nodding to an acquaintance, now chirruping, and
throwing soft baby-talk, to the muffled little ones they carried.
Boys and girls were chasing each other, and hiding behind the one-horse
sleds, that, loaded high with peat or timber, pursued their cautious way
along the track marked out as "safe." Beautiful, queenly women were
there, enjoyment sparkling in their quiet eyes. Sometimes a long file of
young men, each grasping the coat of the one before him, flew by with
electric speed; and sometimes the ice squeaked under the chair of some
gorgeous old dowager, or rich burgomaster's lady--who, very red in the
nose, and sharp in the eyes, looked like a scare-thaw invented by old
father Winter for the protection of his skating grounds. The chair would
be heavy with footstoves and cushions, to say nothing of the old lady.
Mounted upon shining runners it slid along, pushed by the sleepiest of
servants, who, looking neither to the right nor the left, bent himself
to his task while she cast direful glances upon the screaming little
rowdies who invariably acted as body-guard.
As for the men, they were pictures of placid enjoyment. Some were
attired in ordinary citizen's dress; but many looked odd enough with
their short woolen coats, wide breeches, and big silver buckles. These
seemed to Ben like little boys who had, by a miracle, sprung suddenly
into manhood, and were forced to wear garments that their astonished
mothers had altered in a hurry. He noticed, too, that nearly all the men
had pipes, as they passed him whizzing and smoking like so many
locomotives. There was every variety of pipes from those of common clay
to the most expensive meerschaums mounted in silver and gold. Some were
carved into extraordinary and fantastic shapes, representing birds,
flowers, heads, bugs, and dozens of other things; some resembled the
"Dutchman's pipe" that grows in our American woods; some were red, and
many were of a pure snowy white; but the most respectable were those
which were ripening into a shaded brown--The deeper and richer the
brown, of course the more honored the pipe, for it was a proof that the
owner, if honestly shading it, was deliberately devoting his manhood to
the effort--What pipe would not be proud to be the object of such a
sacrifice!
For a while, Ben skated on in silence. There was so much to engage his
attention that he almost forgot his companions. Part of the time he had
been watching the ice-boats as they flew over the great Haarlemmer Meer
(or Lake), the frozen surface of which was now plainly visible from the
canal. These boats had very large sails, much larger, in proportion,
than those of ordinary vessels, and were set upon a triangular frame
furnished with an iron "runner" at each corner,--the widest part of the
triangle crossing the bow, and its point stretching beyond the stern.
They had rudders for guiding, and brakes for arresting their progress;
and were of all sizes and kinds, from small, rough affairs managed by a
boy, to large and beautiful ones filled with gay pleasure parties, and
manned by competent sailors, who smoking their stumpy pipes, reefed and
tacked and steered with great solemnity and precision.
Some of the boats were painted and gilded in gaudy style and flaunted
gay pennons from their mastheads; others white as snow, with every
spotless sail rounded by the wind, looked like swans borne onward by a
resistless current. It seemed to Ben as, following his fancy, he watched
one of these in the distance, that he could almost hear its helpless,
terrified cry, but he soon found that the sound arose from a nearer and
less romantic cause--from an ice-boat not fifty yards from him, using
its brakes to avoid a collision with a peat-sled.
It was a rare thing for these boats to be upon the canal and their
appearance generally caused no little excitement among skaters,
especially among the timid; but to-day every ice-boat in the country
seemed afloat or rather aslide, and the canal had its full share.
Ben, though delighted at the sight, was often startled at the swift
approach of the resistless, high-winged things threatening to dart in
any and every possible direction. It required all his energies to keep
out of the way of the passers-by, and to prevent those screaming little
urchins from upsetting him with their sleds. Once he halted to watch
some boys who were making a hole in the ice preparatory to using their
fishing spears. Just as he concluded to start again, he found himself
suddenly bumped into an old lady's lap. Her push chair had come upon him
from the rear. The old lady screamed, the servant who was propelling her
gave a warning hiss--In another instant Ben found himself apologizing to
empty air; the indignant old lady was far ahead.